#blues clues taught me how to draw books and i never learned any other way

[skipar00]

robin in overalls like if u agree

[louadorable126]

Demons(you).me - A DMC Cyberpunk AU (Chapter 4)

Click here to Read over on Ao3! :D

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Summary:

In a city controlled by the generally altered race of Demons, Lady's life as a mercenary on the lower floor was never easy. Especially when she ran into Dante. A demon on the hunt for his missing brother.

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Important information!

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Realtionships: Dante x Lady, Vergil x Lady

Characters: Lady (Devil May Cry), Dante (Devil May Cry), Vergil (Devil May Cry) Morrison (Devil May Cry), Nell Goldstien (Devil May Cry) Eva (Devil May Cry), Sprada (He’s mentioned bless him), Mundus (Also Mentioned)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Genetic Engineering, Sci-fi Fantasy, Strip Clubs and Strippers, Dystopia, Seizures, Flirting, Eva and Sprada are alive! :D, Human Experimentation, Cults.

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Chapter 4

“Hey, so what is it actually like working for the demonic military?” Lady asked curiously, as the trio strolled down a familiar alleyway. A gentle morning breeze blowing through the cramped corridor between the large buildings towering above them.

Despite the overwhelming exhaustion she felt from being rudely woken at the crack of dawn by the ghostly Specter of Vergil standing over her in the dark. Seriously, for someone who was supposedly well-bred, the guy had no clue what "personal space" meant! He’d scared the shit out of her!. Then being dragged onto a train to the lower city, alongside an equally sleep deprived Dante - who took the opportunity to loudly vocalise his annoyance at Vergil’s spartan attitude. Lady had to admit that morning walks certainly had a certain peaceful serenity to them.

She had become so accustomed to her busy morning commute to Morrison’s bar - always having people bashing into her as they ran past her, or the sheer overwhelming noise of people’s everyday lives washing over her - that she had forgotten that peaceful silence could exist in the city. This was certainly one of those times. As nothing, aside from the group's footsteps tapping against the concrete floor below them, which even had a certain calming hypnotic beat to it, resounded in the nearby area.

“I’d think it's not much different to your career as a Mercenary.” Vergil said eloquently. Looking over at Lady beneath the shadows of his blue hood.“Every week, me and Dante are given several different assignments to complete by our superiors. We can’t be sent off onto the battlefield for another two years, so our father arranged for us to do peacekeeping at home.”

“Yeah, and we don’t get paid jackshit for doing it.” Dante moaned on the other side of her. "Think of it like annoying homework if anything, babe!”

“Huh.” Lady remarked. Surprised at how mundane they made such an extraordinary job sounded. If these kinds of thrilling adventures were what they did day in day out, it seemed amazing they had time for anything else! "Wait, so did you guys ever go to school? Or are you Demons only taught military stuff?”

“We were formally educated until we were around 16. Unfortunately…duty called for us to depart.” Vergil’s nasally voice began to fade near the end. He grew deathly silent, coming to an abrupt halt as his grip on Yamato tightened; falling behind the rest of the group.

When the pair realised he wasn’t with them, they quickly spun around. Finding Vergil standing there, his body tense as he gazed down at his boots. His pale face was completely obscured by the hood of his coat. It seemed he could sense their concerned gazes, as he quickly looked up again. His regal features schooled into an emotionless facade. Yet, Lady could’ve sworn she saw a glint of insecurity and immense hurt, hidden away in those glacier eyes of his, as he began to walk over to them. Then right past the pair. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Lady watched him hurry off down the street ahead of them. Disappearing moments later, when the tail end of his deep blue coat vanished out of sight behind the building at the end of the alleyway.

“What’s up with him?” She asked, turning her head towards Dante. Confused as to why Vergil would have such a distressing reaction to a rather simple question.

“Oh boy.” Dante muttered to himself. Letting out a long sigh, as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “Well...to put a long story short, Verge wanted to stay on for higher education rather than joining the demonic military full time."

“Really?” To say Lady was surprised by such a revelation was an understatement. She was utterly gobsmacked. Never in her wildest dreams thought the stoic, battle-hardened demon would care for the intellectual. Let alone try to pursue it! He’d seemed perfectly content flaunting his flawless combat ability at every opportunity, from what she had seen of the demon so far.

“Yeah! He’s always been into books and learning since for as long as I can remember, so he wanted to go off and study English. Only issue is Dad’s position in the Emperor’s court meant that we had to go serve in the military as a show of ‘good will’ to Mundus.” Lady could practically hear the biting sarcasm in Dante’s words. “God, you should have seen him when he heard the news! Practically grabbed Dad’s knees and begged him in tears to let him stay on.”

“And he obviously didn’t?” Lady asked softly, just as the pair rounded the street corner.

“Yeah, Dad said his hands were tied and he couldn’t do anything about it.” Dante sighed, shaking his head dismay at the unpleasant memory. “I think Vergil understands now why Dad was kinda stuck in a Catch-22. But he didn’t talk for him for months until he got sent off to Vigrid."

“Wait, so is that why he’s acting like a stuck up prick? Because he’s annoyed at the world?” Lady hypothesised. She wasn’t exactly a psychologist, but she thought it was interesting to think about these things when dealing with people so damn weird.

“Nah! Vergil's always been like that!” Dante chuckled. Patting her on the shoulder like she were his dumb little sister. Much to Lady’s annoyance. “Doubt he’s ever going to change! So you better get used to it!"

“Great.” Lady sighed. It seemed the true nature of the aloof blue demon would remain an enigma to her, for the time being.

The pair soon arrived outside the now abandoned tattoo parlour. It didn’t look all that different since the last time Dante had been here. But, he could clearly see the tale-tell signs of the clean up crews presence here. Mainly, the lack of blood stains, dead bodies, and the distinct chemical smell of bleach in the air was the biggest clue.

From the looks of it, his twin had already gone inside. The front door had been left wide open for a steady draft to blow in black dust off the street, and into the building.

“Well this place certainly looks like a quick way to get blood poisoning!” Lady commented slyly. Peaking through the cracked windows of the tattoo parlour at its shoddy equipment. She began to stroll over to the entrance. “No wonder then cult decided to use it as a front-“

All of a sudden, Dante rushed past her and stood in the open doorway. Stretching his arms out so that he was holding either side of the worn door frame. Blocking her path.

“Hey Lady, can you wait outside for a bit?” Dante asked in a serious voice. Utterly devoid of the usual devil-may care energy it always had.

Immediately alarm bells started going off in the Mercenaries' head. Something wasn’t right here. She’d never seen Dante act like this before about anything they did. He’d never barred her from following him into certain danger. Nor had he ever kept any kind of major secret from her. Which given his current status as a Half-breed he probably should've done. But if anything that clarity between them had been a show of trust! (Ok, that and her stumbling onto that roof. In retrospect, Vergil probably hadn’t meant that little secret for her ears.)

Hell, it was normally her being the one to keep his sorry ass in check, and keeping him from doing anything stupid! And this abandoned tattoo parlour certainly didn’t seem dangerous in the slightest! What? Was she going to get a bruised knee if she tripped up? Maybe a slight cut on a shard of broken glass! She could handle that! She’d certainly had worse in her time! So what on earth was Dante playing at?

“Why?” Lady interrogated coldly, looking up at the handsome face hidden beneath his crimson hood. “Look, if this is because some super secret demon bullshit, I don’t really care. I’m not going to tell anyone-“

“No, it's not that.” The demon said, shaking his head. A few loose locks of flowing white hair falling out of his hood, as a concerned look grew on his features. One which certainly fit Vergil’s identical face more than it did his.

“Well what is it then?” Lady demanded. Growing more infuriated every passing second. She put a hand on his chest and tried to push past him. He wouldn’t budge. "Seriously! Just tell me Dante! Its fine-"

“Lady…when we were assigned to take out the cult's operations here. It was because they were doing illegal demonic conversions.” Dante explained slowly. Cringing internally as he watched the mercenary freeze up, deathly still, at the news. Her heterochromatic eyes blank and emotionless as she seemingly started into nothingness, or perhaps a not so pleasant memory from the past. Her small frame trembling ever so slightly, as she reached a shaky hand up and grabbed a fistful of her dark hair. Clutching it tightly. Rapid breaths escaping her parched mouth.

Dante hated to watch her breakdown. Here he was, standing here like a complete idiot while she suffered. It's what he had been desperately trying to avoid, for crying out loud! All his tact and dissuasion utterly useless in the end. But, he knew there was nothing he could do about it now. The truth was already out in the open now. All he could really do was place a gentle, warm hand on her shoulder and keep talking. Hoping that it would draw her back to reality. “I know your sensitive about that stuff 'cause of what your old man did-“

“I understand.” Lady suddenly responded in a serious voice, tinged with shakiness. She tilted her head up so she was looking at the red demon face on, a determined look to her features. Their eyes met. "I’ll guard the entrance until you get back.”

Wordlessly, Lady backed away from the door without any further argument. She swung her heavy rocket launcher off her back, and then sat herself down on the shop's doorstep. Back turned away from Dante, as her heavy weaponry rested peacefully on her lap. Taking solemn vigil like the original guard who had stood there. Her chestnut hair blowing gently in the wind.

Seeing this as a sign Lady wanted to be left in peace. Dante around turned and took a step forward onto the shop floor.

"Thanks Dante.” Lady called out softly from behind him. He quickly spun back around at her words. Only to find the young woman still turned away from him, as she looked out down the street.

For all he knew he could have imagined it. But something about that voice made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He was touched by her words in a way. Knowing that this was her genuine gratitude towards him, untouched by any sarcastic banter that had constituted too much of their short relationship. Dante felt proud that he’d done something to help her, and make up for the mistakes of their first night together.  

"No worries, babe. See you in a bit.” He replied, smiling slightly. Before heading into the building.

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Click here to read more over on Ao3! :D

[itsybitsybatsyspider]

If You Give a Troll a Taco

Part 1/?

Summary: Jamie Bennett knew that a lot can happen during the night. He just never thought that he could make friends with a half-troll and aspiring wizard with tacos. 

Notes: takes place 4 months after the Battle of Arcadia and 6 years after the encounter with Pitch Black. Jamie is 15 years old and still believes in the Guardians. Jamie has been taught by the Guardians how to defend himself and he sometimes helps them with problems that they have or just as a helping hand. And Claire is learning magic from Merlin. She has a new staff now, and i’ll reveal the powers of that one in later chapters. Switching perspectives.  

warnings: minor swearing

word count: no clue. I’m just writing this as i go. 

ENJOY!!

               All Jamie wanted to do that night was sleep. But no, he had to study for his damn science test in the morning. Why did he have to have science as his very first class of the day? Why did the school have to give tests so early? Why did he have to be so bad at it in the first place? Why didn’t he listen to Jack about skipping science till sophomore year? He banged his head on the table and let out a groan. A loud thud resonated through his room and Jamie winced at how loud it was. He didn’t want to accidentally wake up his mom, or worse... Sophie. He was thankful when he heard no sound come out of their rooms. Heaving one last sigh he sat back up in his chair and spun around. Overlooking his room as he twirled around. 

Over the years, it had changed drastically but a few things still remained the same. Like the positioning of his bed, the drawing he made when he was nine with him flying on his sled, the desk stayed in the same spot and so did his bookshelves. But other than, everything was different. A lot was different these days. It was kind of hard to remember the way things were in the times when Jamie had still been a kid. Oh, how he missed those days. Spending hours outside with his friends, playing with Abby, his greyhound, and watching cartoons with Sophie. Sometimes he wished he could go back to those days. But alas, Father Time said no when he had asked, and what Father Time says goes. The encounter had left him a little disappointed. But what could Jamie do about it? Now, he barely had much time to go outside, with his job, chores, homework, and school getting in the way. He still hung out with his friends, but it just wasn’t the same anymore. Abby died a few years ago when he was in seventh grade, and it had really hurt him. He had loved that dog and he knew that there’d never be another one like her. But he was bitterly happy for her. She was getting old and it was her time to go, but that didn’t make the ordeal any less sad. And as for watching cartoons with Sophie, well, let’s just say that Sophie got a lot more annoying than she had been six years ago. So hanging out with her frustrated him a bit. Jack had mentioned that once he got older, he would connect with Sophie more and care for her more than he did then; but that time still hadn’t come yet. So yes, his life was different. And sometimes he wished to have a bit of excitement one more time. Just for old times’ sake. But his wish hasn’t been answered yet. 

Jamie shook his head, trying to clear his mind and gather his thoughts as he kept indirectly procrastinating. He glanced at the clock next to his textbook, his shoulders sinking in defeat. It was 1 in the morning. He was going to fail his test for sure. And on that note, he closed his book shut, gathered his papers and notes and proceeded to put it all into his backpack. But while he was doing so, a clash rang through his room. Jamie jolted in surprised and almost yelped. Heart beating loudly in his chest, he tried to calm himself down, but to no avail. Then he heard talking, or more like scolding. 

“C’mon, Zulg! Don’t do that! You know we can’t do that! What do i keep telling you?” Someone, a boy, scolded. He sounded to be about Jamie’s age, but Jamie couldn’t tell exactly. There was something off about his voice that just didn’t seem right.

“To not dig through the metal cans.” another voice said. This one sounded gruff, as if the person who owned it was gargling rocks. 

“Because?” the boy said. 

“Because it can risk someone seeing us.” The rocky voice replied, sounding meek, obviously ashamed that he got caught. 

Curious, Jamie crept towards his window, careful to not make any noise. Even though it was unlikely that they could even hear his footsteps, he still thought it better to be as quiet as possible. He thought of different scenarios as to how this would be a normal conversation, to anyone, but he couldn’t come up with a single one. Why would someone be going through his trash anyways? Or not want to “risk” someone seeing them? It was probably just a couple of hobos right? But none of that was even close to what it truly was. He wouldn’t have expected in a million years, to see talking, living stone walking through his back alley. Jamie’s jaw hit the floor. He had never seen anything like them in the six years he had been around magic! What were they? They were all different colors, and had what looked like fur on top of their bodies in differing locations. Strange grooves were carved into their “skin” that somewhat resembled tattoos and some of them had pointed ears or horns curving out of their heads. Jamie was stunned to say the least. None of the Guardians had ever mentioned such a thing like them!

Two of them in particular, caught Jamie’s attention. One was a normal looking girl, about his age, with raven hair and a white streak going through it; she wore a casual purple t-shirt, some cargo capris, hiking boots, and a black backpack. She would’ve passed for a regular high schooler if it wasn’t for the glowing purple bracers and greaves she was wearing on her arms and legs.

 But compared to the person she was walking beside, she looked ordinary. He was tall. That Jamie knew for sure. He looked like one of the stone-beings, but also looked too much like the girl to be one of them. He had blue “skin” and long ears that peaked out from his nest of hair. But the horns were the most distinctive part of him, that clearly said he wasn’t human. Jamie could already tell, by the way he held himself, that he didn’t wanna mess with him. He stood and walked the exact same way Bunny or North did. Like he knew how to handle himself or fight at a moment’s notice. The “boy” wore a large sweater and those baggy pants that were elastic at the bottom. What were they called again? Oh, right! Joggers. He was wearing joggers. But they seemed to be just a bit small on him, as if he was in a rush while he was getting them. He wasn’t wearing small bits of armor like the girl was, which confused Jamie a little bit. But he still seemed just as ready for an attack. He watched as they slowly began to make their way past his house. 

Jarring out of his stupor, Jamie realized that they weren’t gonna be there for long, if they kept walking at their pace. So as quickly and quietly as he could, he walked to his bed stand and unplugged his phone that was charging; he went to the window and quickly opened the camera app, taking a swift picture of the stone-beings as they walked away. But he forgot to turn his flash off.

Oh, shit! 

Jamie ducked down underneath his window right when he heard a girl’s voice say. “What was that!?” 

shit shit shit shit shit shit please think it was nothing, please think it was nothing, please think it was nothing!

“Well, whatever it was, it wasn’t good. We have to keep moving. Let’s find somewhere to set camp.” the boy from before said. Nobody said anything after that. It was quiet, and for a few minutes Jamie was too anxious to peak over the windowsill again in case they were still there. But after about twenty minutes of sitting on the cold wooden floor, he gathered enough to courage to check outside. There was nothing. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief and got up off of the floor. 

Shuffling to his bed, he laid down beneath the cool crisp sheets and thought about what he saw. He’d have to tell Jack about this the next time he visited Burgess, and of course he’d tell his friends at school tomorrow. This was more exciting and important than some silly old science test. He could tell that it was the start of something, he just didn’t know what. But one thing was for sure. He wouldn’t be getting a lot of sleep tonight.

“Guys, i’m telling you! There were like stone creatures behind my house last night!” Jamie said to his friends while they were sitting together at lunch the next day. 

“Jamie come on. When was the last time something like this happened? It’s been years since we’ve seen that many myths in one place, and you’re telling us that you’re the only to see them?” Claude whispered skeptically to Jamie. They were all a bit wary when Jamie told them what he saw last night. To them, it just sounded like a dream from a conspiracy theorist freshman who stayed up too late and had one too many Redbulls. So of course they were gonna be a bit cynical to Jamie’s claim of seeing stone-beings in his backyard. 

“The only reason i saw them was because they were going through my trash cans and the noise startled me while i was studying for today’s science test!”

“You don’t think it could’ve been just a few hobos that were going through your trash?” Pippa suggested. She trusted Jamie when it came to these kind of things, but based on how late it was and how much studying he did, she knew it was enough to make anyone hallucinate. 

“No, Pippa, there weren’t any hobos! They were creatures made of stone! Simple as that!” 

Cupcake grunted in annoyance. “Pictures or it didn’t happen.” Jamie went to grab his phone. “And by ‘pictures’ i don’t mean that blur of a screen you call proof.” Jamie’s hand fell. And so did his confidence. 

“Why won’t you guys believe me? Has the last six years really changed you that much?” Jamie asked. His friends didn’t answer him, which only made him feel even better about the situation. 

“Like Cupcake said,” Monty began, “Pictures, or it didn’t happen.” 

Jamie’s face scrunched up in mild disgust. He couldn’t believe what his friends were saying right now. Why were they doubting him all of a sudden? Is this gonna be a repeat of what happened six years ago? Cause Jamie really wished that it wasn’t. “You know what? Fine! I’ll get pictures. And I’ll have ‘em by tomorrow. See you guys later.” He said as he packed up his stuff, threw away his lunch garbage, and walked out of the cafeteria. 

He was determined to get those pictures, and he didn’t really care if he had to pull another all nighter to get them. And besides, it probably wasn’t going to be any more dangerous than taking on Pitch Black, or sparring with North or being the target of one of Jack’s pranks. Right?    

Boy, this was a bad idea. Jamie thought as he walked through the streets of Burgess. What was i thinking? He began his search right after school, and it was 9 o’clock at night right now. He had been walking around Burgess for six hours, and nothing. Nothing to show for his hard work and nothing to show his friends for tomorrow. Jamie grunted in frustration and kicked a rock. 

“Ugh, this is hopeless!” he exclaimed to no one in particular. “How can i not find a group of walking rocks the size of cars that shuffle through garbage cans in the middle of the night! Honestly.” He kicked another rock. “Might as well go home.” he mumbled to himself. Shoulders sinking in defeat, Jamie turned around and began his trek home. He was on the other side of Burgess, and the only thing separating him from his house, was Lionel Park. Usually, the park was closed at this hour, but on more than one occasion Jamie would walk through it during a rough night or when Jack was visiting. The park was a good place to have a conversation no one could hear, and it made it easier than talking in his room. Jack could get claustrophobic easily and sometimes his mom would hear them talking when she walked past Jamie’s door. Or more like, he’d hear Jamie talking to “himself”.  So they both thought it better to just chat in the park. It also helped Jack get more believers. 

The park was quiet, as it always was at night, and the only sound that could be heard were the crunch of Jamie’s footsteps, crickets chirping by the pond, and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. It was dark, as September nights always were, and the shadows of trees adorned the ground, creating mesmerizing patterns making the shadows look dark and deep enough that if you made one misstep, they’d swallow you whole. The cold September wind bit into his nose and ears, making him shiver as he walked. You’d think that hanging around a winter spirit most of the time would make you used to the cold. Apparently not. The sky was clear that night, and Jamie looked up at the stars as he kept going along his usual path, mentally pointing out the constellations he recognized. Another wind blew, and his nose and ears were nipped at again. The leaves rustled, his feet crunched the dead leaves beneath his feet. It was quiet. 

Hold on.... Quiet?

Jaime froze. His eyes wide, body stiff and tense, but not from the cold. Ready for something to happen. A year after the events with Pitch, North took it upon himself to teach Jaime a few things, just in case Pitch showed up again wanting revenge on him. Soon, Jack joined in, and then Bunny too. Eventually. The only problem, was that they taught him how to use swords or boomerangs, or staffs. Barely any hand to hand. So Jaime was worried. He kept his ears open, and listened for any small noise that gave away his supposed attacker. When he heard nothing, Jamie began to walk again, slower, this time. Eyes and ears still open. A twig snapped and Jamie froze once more. 

shink!  

Standing barely a foot away from Jamie, was a gleaming silver sword, buried halfway to it’s hilt and glowing menacingly in it’s silver light. His heart pounded inside his chest and his blood roared in his ears. Every instinct he had was telling him to Run Away! but he couldn’t move! His mind went blank and he couldn’t think... all he could hear was the roar of a beast he had never heard of before, and the flash of silver light before he squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for.....................

[whothefuckiscassandracain]

Batman: No Man’s Land - a novel by Greg Rucka

Last but not least, before we head off into Cass’ first Batgirl run, let’s take a look at Batman: No Man’s Land. This one was fun to read, since I practically missed the first half of the event by reading only Cass’s comics issues. Warning: long post is very long. Lots of quotes instead of pictures, this time. More below the cut.

Our first mention of Cass in the novel comes from Oracle, in one of her apocalyptic journal logs, in which she describes Cass as follows:

Can’t be older than 16, if a day. Pretty young woman, Eurasian, very smart. And functionally mute, in that she seems incapable of using language. […] I don’t know if it’s a psychological or physiological trauma, but I’m beginning to suspect she was never taught how to speak or read or write. […] She’s been unable to give me her name—though whether that’s because she doesn’t have one, doesn’t know it, or doesn’t like it, I’ve no clue. I’ve taken to calling her Cassandra. Communications difficulties with her notwithstanding, Cassandra has become, in the last couple months, one of my most reliable people. She’s fast and strong and very sneaky, and to top it all off, she’s fairly imaginative, so that her reports end up being a somewhat entertaining game of charades, aided by scraps of paper and pencils. She’s a horrible artist, but I understand her concepts more often than not, so we’re getting by. (NML, page 26)

Clearly, Cass is very dear to Oracle. Once again, her aphasia is the main focus of her characterization, which makes sense, since, at this point, Cass, together with a few other kids (Alex, Charlie and Vanessa) is essentially Oracle’s eyes and ears in No Man’s Land. Aphasia: 20

Cassandra’s first proper appearance occurs between the pages 47 and 52, when she follows a terrified scream on the street, only to realize that she has been lured into a trap by a cannibalistic street gang. Although she manages to hold her own pretty well, Huntress (in Batgirl garb) arrives to help her. Once the fight is over, Cass tries to say “thank you”, but all that comes out is a croak and she explains to Huntress that she is mute, although:

It was more complicated than that, but Cassandra nodded, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to explain the how and the why. And even if she could explain those two things, she would have to explain the rest, the darkness of it all, and the evil, and she didn’t want to tell anyone that. Not ever. (NML, page 50)

Poor Cassandra is very clearly suffering from major PTSD. We also see her demonstrating another of her quirky gestures, namely how to say “thanks”:

She thought for a moment, then presented both hands, palms up. She looked at Huntress, smiling, then brought her hands together, lacing the fingers. (NML, page 51)

Huntress others Cass to stay at her place and have some food, but Cass declines, in spite of being hungry and cold, because Oracle warned her that Huntress was a criminal and Cass should stay away from her, and because she wants to finish her job (finding intel on Black Mask) first. By the time Cass manages to at least mutter “Guh byh-eeee”, Huntress is already gone. Aphasia: 21 Unusual Mannerisms: 6

A short while later, Gordon and his team start a gang war between two rivaling street gangs in order to allow them to reclaim more territory, including Oracle’s clock tower. Cass reports this fact to Oracle, who is deeply disturbed. The mission succeeds, although new complications arise, including Helena Bertinelli showing up as the new Batgirl, Black Mask leading a cult-like gang on a conquering spree, an attempt on Alfred’s life, which is foiled by Batman (Bruce’s first appearance in NML), and Gordon striking a secret deal with Two-Face, while Bruce strikes a deal with Penguin. Neither really gets what they want, as both villains turn on them and Two-Face ends up taking over Batman’s territory, which results in the loss of six innocent lives.

Not too long after, Cass delivers new information to Barbara, this time bringing along a note form Alfred, who has taken up shelter at Dr. Thompkins clinic, helping her treat the wounded. At this point, master assassin David Cain sneaks into No Man’s Land, a minor detail that will become more important soon.

Meanwhile, Dr. Thompkins successfully talks Cassandra into spending a night at the clinic, rather than constantly being on the move, or better yet: Cassandra fails to talk her out of it. It is here that we learn just how deep Cassandra’s appreciation and respect for Leslie Thompkins is, mostly because the doctor looks like she could be blown away by the breeze and would never hurt a fly, yet has incredible strength in her. This leads us to a scene similar to what we saw in Batman Chronicles Vol. 1 #18, with Cassandra performing her warrior bow for Thompkins, which leads to this heartwarming exchange:

Cassandra shook her head, then presented both hands. With her right she made a fist, seating the face of it against the palm of her left hand, extending both in front of her at waist height. Then she bowed, looking the doctor in the eye. Dr. Thompkins’s wrinkled face wrinkled some more, and then she surprised Cassandra by returning the bow, saying, “You are quite a warrior, aren’t you, dear? Thank you for the compliment.” Cassandra went to sleep happy. (NML, page 184)

Aphasia: 22 Unusual Mannerisms: 7

The next morning, Cass meets Huntress gain, who is checking in on the clinic every now and then, and uses a number of gestures to communicate to her that Cass is a courier for Gordon’s daughter. Sadly, Huntress misinterprets this as Cass working for Gordon and starts badmouthing Gordon, which has Cassandra feeling horrible for telling a lie and uncomfortable because she does not like where the conversation as going. She ends the talk by giving Huntress the same warrior bow she gave Leslie. Helena returns the gesture. Aphasia: 23 Unusual Mannerisms: 8

We have now finally caught up with Cassandra’s first comic book appearance, story-wise, as Cass returns to Oracle for a reading lesson. They start with the letters of the alphabet, for which Barb praises her. Cass tries to thank her and it is here that we see just how hard speaking really is for her:

Cassandra pushed the tip of her tongue against the back of teeth. “T-aaans…” “Thanks.” “Ta-ah nks…” (NML, page 187)

As in the comics, Oracle has just about taught her how to say “Stop”, when Jim arrives and chides her for leaving the door unlocked, before giving her a hug. Cass’s reaction here is the first indicator in the novel of just how screwed up her own family life was:

Cassandra got up, moving out of the way as Gordon passed her to hug his daughter. She could see Oracle’s smile, how they both closed their eyes briefly. Her own father had only offered her a hug once, and that had been so many years ago, just before she had left. She felt both awkward and embarrassed watching them, as if she were intruding on something she had no right to see, and so she left, slipping silently out of the apartment and back into the hallway. She could hear their voices, the soft tones, and she reached the stairs knowing that jealousy was dogging her steps. She wrestled with it all the way to the lobby, trying to see the emotion for exactly what it was. She didn’t want to feel sorry for herself. (NML, page 187)

Just as in the comics, Cassandra catches sight of her father as she exits the building and it scares her out of her socks. However, all of that goes straight out of the window as she realizes that Cain is here to kill Gordon and Cass jumps in to rescue him. Not only is she fast as the Flash about it, she also proves that she can be fiercely stubborn when it comes to protecting people:

She scared them with her approach, two of the men stepping back and freeing their weapons from their holsters, and Gordon’s surprise was alight all over his face. She didn’t care, didn’t think about it, just grabbed him around the waist, passing the Blue Boys on either side of the Commissioner, and then driving him back into the lobby, shoving him down and covering him with her body. […] Cassandra pushed herself up, still holding the Commissioner, dragging him forcefully back into the lobby, […] Gordon started to get up and Cassandra caught him by the arms, shoving him back, toward the stairway. […] Cassandra moved directly in front of Gordon, then wrapped her arms around his middle, using her right leg as a brace, trying to keep him from continuing. He tried for a second longer, but Cassandra held her ground, and Gordon finally got the message. (NML, page 188-189)

Fast As Lighting: 10 Fiercely Assertive Protector: 7

The following interrogation, in which both Jim and Cassandra become increasingly frustrated with the obstacle that is her aphasia and in which Barbara recognizes the mark of Cain that Cassandra draws for them, culminates in this heartbreaking little gem, right after they finally work out that Cain is Cassandra’s father:

Cassandra nodded and couldn’t look at any of them, avoiding their eyes. It didn’t matter; she could feel their stares, the heat and accusation in them. It didn’t matter that she had never wanted to be like her father. It didn’t matter that there had never been any choice. She was a killer, too, and try as she might, she had never been able to escape that. (NML, page 195)

Aphasia: 24

Cassandra then gets the jump on both Barbara and Jim by jumping out of her seat and locking both of them in before anyone has a chance to react. Cain is waiting for her on the other side, opening fire, but not aiming at her, and Cassandra once again demonstrates that she is the speedster on the team:

It all seemed to slow down for her then as the adrenaline poured in, and she moved forward, slapping the gun from Cain’s grip. She was terrifying in her speed, and she knew that, because this was her strength, this was her language. These were the words her father had taught her, and she spoke fluently, her right leg snapping a kick that caught him in the middle, collapsing him double. Before he could straighten she had finished the sentence, a short burst uppercut that sent a spray of blood from her father’s mouth and one of his front teeth into the air. (NML, page 196)

Aphasia: 25 Fast As Lightning: 12 Fiercely Assertive Protector: 8

Throughout her fight with Cain, Cassandra keeps flashing back to her first kill (according to the novel at the age of 10, even though according to the comics she was 8), which she describes as her father simply having asked her to “just talk”. This memory upsets her so much, that she finally manages her first full, correct word: stop. For a moment, Cain even seems to be shocked and compassionate, but as soon as he hears Gordon trying to break through the door, he is back in assassin mode. Just as in the comics, Cassandra decides to push him through the nearest window, demonstrating both her protectiveness and a serious lack of regard for her own life:

Then they were in the air, falling with the shards, and Cassandra, for a moment, felt almost happy. (NML, page 198)

Better Off Dead: 5

Thankfully, Batman arrives in time to rescue both Cain and Cassandra, although Cain manages to get away. Confident that the assassin will need time to recover, Bruce takes Cassandra to a nearby park where he buried the men who had died during Two-Face’s takeover. He tries to talk to her in a number of languages, including sign language, but of course she can’t answer. She makes him mimic punches instead, and as he goes through a number of Tai Chi Quan routines that Cass always seems to be one step ahead in, he finally realizes what’s going on. And Bats is not happy.

Batman stopped and looked at her, again grateful for the lenses in the cowl that shielded his eyes. He didn’t want the girl to see the sudden pity he felt for her. […] “I knew David Cain once, long ago, […] He used to say that the only way to truly be a warrior was to make your actions as fluid and easy as your speech. He used to say that combat itself was a discourse, the finest form of conversation. At the time I thought it was hyperbole.” Batman reached out, touching the girl’s cheek. “I didn’t realize he was insane enough to actually force that philosophy on another human being.” (NML, page 204)

The two of them then “talk” about how Two-Face hired Cain and how Batman is planning to deal with him, using drawings in the soil. Despite the conversational difficulties, Bruce manages to make it clear to her that he is not going to kill Cain, nor will he let Gordon die. He then leaves, telling Cass to return to Oracle and stay out of this mess. Aphasia: 26

Cass, being a good future batkid, of course, promptly does not listen to him and instead goes to Two-Face’s base on her own. Within about five minutes, she proceeds to knock out all his guards (including the ones with guns), threaten Two-Face, grab the money he was going to use to pay her father, and leave again. She soon finds Batman and her father battling on a rooftop, drops the money bag right in between them, and lights it on fire. Rather than be angry at his payment literally going up in smoke right in front of his eyes, Cain once again shows that, even though he trained Cass to be a killer and he did do horrible things to her, he does have some compassion and affection for her:

The battle mask that David Cain had worn crumbled, and Batman saw tears in the man’s eyes. He wasn’t looking at the flames. Cain extended a hand to the girl. She turned her back on him and walked back to Batman’s side. Cain stared at her for a moment longer, then seemed to slump, almost shrinking from within. The girl looked at Batman, then took his hand in hers. She still wouldn’t look at Cain. Cain nodded, then turned away. Batman heard him say, “Take good care of her.” (NML, page 215-216)

From this point onward, Cass practically spends all her nights sleeping on Oracle’s floor (NML, page 223) and later her couch (NML, page 229). Bruce also starts training her, this time with Oracle’s approval. This eventually leads to him and Oracle introducing Cass to Nightwing and Robin. Interestingly, their reactions seem to be inversed, compared to the comics, with Robin instantly getting along with her and Nightwing being more reserved:

Robin arrived first, and I introduced him to Cassandra, gave him the short explanation of who she was and why she was in my inner sanctum. They took to one another pretty well and pretty quickly, and it made me remember how young Cassandra really is. […] Nightwing was suspicious of her, and even a little bit hostile at first, but it was clear that his real anger was for his mentor. (NML, page 249-250)

Batmom: 2

Bruce eventually explains to them why he wants Cassandra to be the next Batgirl (would never take a life, surrender, or let an innocent be hurt), but it takes Barbara’s blessing for Dick and Tim to fully accept it. Barb hands her the costume. When she comes back into the control room, dressed in her Batgirl finest, we get a rare glimmer of Bruce being a Good Batdad™:

“Ready?” Batman asked her. Our new Batgirl nodded. It was hard to catch, and I think the others missed it. I didn’t. Batman, for a second, smiled. (NML, page 252)

Batdad: 3

After this point, things start progressing rather quickly. Bruce tears Helena a new one, then proceeds to take back his territory, piece by piece. One of the GCPD SWAT officers breaks off and founds his own violently protective gang, one of the loyal officers has a baby, Bane eradicates all city records in a bid by Lex Luthor to gain the rights to rebuild Gotham and make it his own (a plan which Bruce foils by having Barb and Tim produce perfectly forged certified copies of every record they can find before Bane destroys them) and Joker finally joins the madness, which brings us to Cassandra’s next appearance.

Cass has taken up the habit of including Leslie’s makeshift clinic in her rounds and checking up on her from the shadows whenever she can. She gets a quick hug from Leslie and an offer of tea from Alfred before leaving the camp and promptly walks into Joker and Harley. She takes the fact that he’s walking into the MASH sector with an ax in his hand pretty well and swoops in just in time to exchange a few blows with Harley and keep the situation from escalating, but to her surprise, Joker does not attack her, because he was looking for Batman, not Batgirl. For the first time since watching Barbara and her dad, Cass is truly confused:

Dumbfounded, Cassandra watched as Joker and the others calmly walked away. She didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. She didn’t know what to do. (NML, page 300)

We fast-forward again once more, and this time there is actually good news: in Washington D.C., Lucius and his campaign to get Gotham’s No Man’s Land status revoked have finally born fruits and the city is scheduled to have basic infrastructure and services again by New Year’s. This announcement has everyone hugging each other and cheering:

[...] even Cassandra was managing to make a little noise, squeaks and rasps. (NML, page 368)

However, Cass’ cuteness does not stop there! As the medical aid starts pouring into Gotham, Cass visits Leslie’s clinic in civilian clothes to say goodbye to her and Alfred. She hugs Alfred “quickly, the way she did every movement once she had decided upon it” (NML, page 374), and answers his question of whether she wants anything in particular by making what is possibly the cutest Joker impression ever:

Cassandra shook her head, then put the index finger from each hand at the corners of her mouth, pulling down on one end and pushing up on the other, making a crazy face. (NML, page 374)

Thankfully, Alfred understands her much more easily than everyone else seems to, although that’s not necessarily a good thing. He tries to shoo her away, but Cass indicates that she’d be happy to hear the rest. It’s not good:

“Joker, my dear. You don’t know him very well. He’s the worst of them. When he’s quiet, like he is now, it’s normally for a very wicked reason.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You be careful. She nodded. Alfred forced a smile back into place. “Very well, then. Off with you. I have much work to attend.” Cassandra departed, wondering what, exactly, was so dangerous about Joker. (NML, page 375)

The answer, of course, is that Joker then goes on to successfully abduct every new-born baby in No Man’s Land, kills every one of the rogue police officers, nearly kills Huntress, and sets in motion a plot that ultimately leads to Joker shooting Jim Gordon’s new wife, Sarah Essen.

Cassandra, however, is not around for any of that (at least not in the novel). Instead, her last appearance here comes during Christmas dinner, as Dick and Alfred are fighting over who gets to carve up the bird. Everything in this scene is adorable, from Alfred’s dignified threat that there will be no dinner if Dick doesn’t sit down, to Dick’s reply that he won’t eat if he can’t carve, to Bruce’s assurance to Leslie that they do this every meal, and, finally, to Cass’ epic reaction to the madness:

She nodded, then said, “Stop.” Alfred and Dick froze. Leslie covered her mouth in surprise. Cassandra grinned, reached across the table, and took the carving knife. Then she set about cutting the bird. (NML, page395)

[takadasaiko]

Fallen Series: Bit by Bit

FFN II AO3

Series Summary: One-shots following Robert Svane through his journey to becoming the Revenant Bobo Del Rey. Not written in chronological order. Pre-canon through current events in SyFy's Wynonna Earp.

One Shot Summary: Sometimes choosing to trust can shift a relationship in unforeseen ways.

Notes: Michael Eklund had a sort of impromptu Q&A on Twitter a couple of days ago, and I asked if he could see any fanfic about Bobo, what would he want to see. He said "Bobo and Willa: the treehouse years". While I've already written a couple that included Willa in the treehouse, this is the story that came up out of that tweet. No clue if he'll ever see it, but if he does, hopefully he'll like it.

Bit By Bit

It had been a learning curve for a thirteen year old girl to go from all that the 21st century had to offer to a treehouse in the middle of nowhere. It didn't have running water and it didn't have electricity. She hadn't known it was possible to live like that, but he'd taught her how.

In theory Willa had known that all Revenants were from a time long before what she was used to, but it was something else entirely seeing their leader explain how to work a kerosene lamp or set up a way for her to cook and stay warm with an old school stove that might as well have been from his time. He made sure she had everything she needed: clothing, food, books and drawing paper to keep her occupied. Even company when he had the time and she let him.

Bobo Del Rey was not what she had expected. She had seen him speaking with her daddy a few times and he had always been imposing. Dangerous. A demon. Here, though, he was reserved. A little snarky when she pushed him too far - usually when she threw things at him in a fit of frustration in the earlier days - and strangely respectful. The Revenants that had pulled her from her home had been anything but that, and they had made it very clear what they wanted to do to her. Bobo had been crass enough around them that the change as soon as he stowed her away had only added to the confusion of a teenage girl taken from everything she knew.

Slowly, though, bit by bit, she had come to accept that he wasn't a threat to her. Neither of them had made it easy. He didn't like to share and she didn't trust. It took longer than it should have to ask why he had tucked her away when she had heard him promise the others he'd kill her, and even longer to trust in the answer. Explanations came slowly, though, and those had turned into conversations. He had brought her paper and pencils when he had found out she liked to draw and she had taught herself to fold pieces into little origami animals. There was always a new book before one was finished and she found that he was surprisingly well read.

Everything was a contradiction, both of what she thought she knew about every Revenant in the Ghost River Triangle and what she was once certain was true about Bobo Del Rey, and eventually, with each new glimpse to who he was, she had come to care about him.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly when that had happened. Maybe somewhere during one of their long conversations about a book she was reading or the time that she'd gotten so sick in the cold winter months that she had woken to find herself buried under his coat and Bobo dozing in the chair next to her bed, keeping watch over her. Or maybe it was when he'd finally chosen to trust her with his most dangerous secret.

The evening had started with a strange whim to begin with. Willa wasn't a cook and she knew that, so what had possessed her to try her hand at putting together a few basics she had around the treehouse to make something akin to dinner was still beyond her. She hadn't been aware that she could burn rice until that day.

Willa had gotten things mostly under control by the time the knock came at the door and Bobo entered - thankfully - with what looked like a bag from Shorty's in his hands. "Please tell me you brought alcohol with that," she grumbled, still waving a bit of the smoke out the crack in her window. It was freezing outside, but better cold than suffocating.

Bobo quirked an off-coloured eyebrow at her and set dinner down on the small table and she spotted a liquor bottle in the bag. Willa moved over to the small stash of glasses she kept there and tossed him one, watching him catch it easily and they moved into a ritual that had taken hold at some point in the last ten years that this had been her home. They spoke about the town and how nothing ever really changed. The Revenants and the humans. It had been a long time now since she'd asked about her family. She'd never cared a lot for Waverly and Wynonna…. Wynonna had killed their father. Out of sight, out of mind. She had enough to deal with without focusing on that. And now she needed to put it back out of mind.

"You've never told me how you died," Willa interrupted the lulling silence, pouring herself another drink.

Bobo tilted his head. "I have not," he acknowledged noncommittally, the tone one Willa had come to know meant he had no intention to either, but she wasn't in a mood to let it rest.

"Why? Don't you trust me?"

He shifted at that, his expression guarded. "It's not a happy story."

"Neither is this, but it's the one we live. Daddy always said that Revenants were outlaws Wyatt Earp put down with Peacemaker, so what did you do to piss off my great great granddaddy? Tell me how a man like you became a demon."

She watched him carefully, taking in the small signs of stress in the way his lips twitched downward and how he wasn't quite looking her in the eye. Maybe the story was worse than she expected. "You know, after this long, whatever it is isn't going to scare me," she offered.

"Nothing to be scared of," he answered, his voice rough and deep. "I was a fool."

It was Willa's turn to frown and she reached for the bottle of whisky, topping off the glass in his hand and settling in to wait. She knew his tells and he knew hers, so he knew she wasn't letting this go. Her time in the treehouse had taught her patience if nothing else.

After a long moment he knocked back everything in the glass, poured again, and began to speak. His voice was even as he told her the story of a man by a name Willa actually recognized, but not as an outlaw. Robert Svane's name appeared in a set of letters penned by Wyatt Earp himself. The idea that the leader of the Revenants had been a close confidant and friend of Wyatt Earp's would have floored most people - she expected that it would have left her own daddy at a loss for words if he'd been alive to hear it - but for her it filled in the gaps. Watt had been his friend and he'd shot him, wrapped him up in this curse same as the Heirs. Bobo - Robert - was innocent and everything he was now was what this horrible curse had made him. He was a victim of it the same as her. Of all the reasons he'd given for saving her over the years - some she thought more honest than others - that was the one that felt the most true to her. They were kindred souls, both devastated and beaten down by something so far out of their control, so unfair, that it had nearly destroyed them.

But it hadn't. He had saved her. Despite everything, he had saved her.

He'd stopped talking now, and Willa felt the buzz of the liquor running through her system. She wasn't sure how long his story had taken, but the sun was long gone, leaving them only with the lights the stars and moon gave them.

Silence stretched between them and she reached out, her fingers touching the back of his hand and drawing his attention. "You're a good man, aren't you?"

He snorted at that. "Once, maybe, but not for a long time now."

"That's not your fault though."

"Don't make it any less true."

"This curse… twists things up," she said as she stood, reaching a hand out to touch the side of his face in a way she never had. It drew his eyes on her and she held his gaze. "Wyatt Earp screwed us both."

Willa wasn't sure if it was the trust he had given her or if it was the alcohol and the late night, but she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, her hand still lingering on his cheek.

He kissed her back, if only for half a moment before he stiffened and pulled away. "Willa," he managed, voice raspy and strained. "You're…"

Those clear blue eyes of his were focused on her and she saw a strange mix of emotions there, all of them conflicted. She pressed her forehead against his. "I'm not a child anymore, Robert. I haven't been for a long time, or hadn't you noticed?" He had. She could see it in his eyes that he had. "I want this. Don't you?"

There was a beat of pause in which she thought she may have misjudged something and Willa had no idea what would come next if she had. She started to step back, spin some lie to cover it, but he caught her hand before she could. He was on his feet his gaze holding her there as he brought a hand up to either side of her face and leaned in. Willa felt her eyes slip closed as he kissed her. Her hands shifted to rest on his sides, fingers gripping his t-shirt there to hold onto him. She had no idea where this would go or how a Revenant and an Earp could possibly make something work between them. All she knew was that they'd both suffered and they were both alone. They had been for too long, but here, in this moment with him, she didn't feel quite so hopeless. She felt alive.

[endmetrash]

I was tagged by @1runw1thwolves212

I actually wrote half of this earlier today but lost it, a whole bucket load of fun.

(The) Last (I can make people (@1runw1thwolves212) die by those two words)

1) Drink: Water

2) Phone call: My mother, last week

3) Text message: iMessages - @1runw1thwolves212 and @omggryffindog, text – drama friend, Tumblr - @1runw1thwolves

4) Song I listened to: I Like It by BTS

5) Time I cried: watching a play yesterday, it featured a blind woman suffering from a brain tumour who bonds with a poor art student shortly before her death.

Have you ever

6) Dated someone twice: People do that? No, I’ve never dated anyone.

7) Been cheated on: See above

8) Kissed someone and regretted it: As a result of never having dated, I’ve never kissed anyone either.

9) Lost someone special: Many friends when I moved houses at 8, others when I moved schools a few more times. My father when I was 10.

10) Been depressed: I don’t think I’ve been clinically depressed. But I’ve been in a bad space…about once a day.

11) Gotten drunk and thrown up: Never drank that much alcohol.

List three favourite colours

12) Bluey green

13) Greeny blue

14) Black

In the last year have you

15) Made new friends: Not close ones…

16) Fallen out of love: Again, never really experienced that type of love.

17) Laughed until you cried: Yesterday, my drama group has a whole heap of inside jokes.

18) Found out someone was talking about you: Again, yesterday, but not at drama.

19) Met someone who changed you: I’m a believer of every single action affecting other people, so undoubtedly yes.

20) Found out who your true friends are: I’ve known who they are for over a year, actually.

21) Kissed someone on your Facebook list: I don’t have Facebook, and again, I’ve never been kissed (ah, I remember that movie)

General

22) How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: See 21.

23) Do you have any pets: I have a dog

24) Do you want to change your name: I’m starting to grow attached to my first name, but I still wanna change my last and middle names.

25) What did you do for your last birthday: I had a shared birthday with a friend. A groups of friends and ourselves went to see La La Land.

26) What time did you wake up: Around 8-9.

27) What were you doing at midnight last night: I think I was asleep?

28) Name something you can’t wait for: BTS comeback! It’s going to be amazing!

29) When was the last time you saw your mother: Can I just register the fact that this question is a little weird? My answer is 2-3 months ago, I honestly can’t remember.

30) What is one thing you wish you could change about your life: This is deep. One of two things. I wish I could either change how emotionally sensitive I am or the fact that my family is so disjointed.

31) What are you listening to right now: You Were Beautiful by Day6.

32) Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Weirdly specific question. Yes, I have a step-grandfather named Tom.

33) Something that is getting on your nerves: My family.

34) Most visited website: YouTube

35) Elementary school: 5 different ones.

36) High school: Only one.

37) College: Not certain about degree, but I’m gonna go as soon as I finish high school.

38) Hair colour: Blonde, I think it’s fair?

39) Long or short hair: Just above my shoulders.

40) Do you have a crush on someone: Not anymore.

41) What do you like about yourself: How quickly I learn and how sympathetic and emotionally creative I am.

42) Piercings: I used to have the standard ear piercings, but I let the holes close in.

43) Blood type: I used to be tested a heap, but I don’t have contact with anyone who knows. I’m actually curious.

44) Nickname: Tash, Trash.

45) Relationship status: Single and not really willing to mingle yet.

46) Zodiac sign: Pisces

47) Favourite TV show: I don’t really know…how about…American Hustle Life (BTS TV series)! That was on TV! It’s a series! It counts, right?

48) Tattoos: I don’t have any, but once I’m legally able to get one, I want a pretty reference to a book/movie/anything really. It would probably be one of those deep and meaningful quotes, it would be somewhere I can hide easily but won’t look weird if I show off.

49) Right handed or left handed: Right handed, though I don’t feel uncomfortable doing some things left handed.

First

50) Surgery: I don’t know if I had one earlier, but I had to have tongue surgery because the join between my tongue and the bottom of my mouth was REALLY far forward.

51) Piercing: My ears, I think I was 9-10.

52) Best friend: Jacob, I haven’t seen him since I moved house just before I was 8, I honestly could barely even remember his name, makes me feel kinda sad.

53) Sport: Swimming, I think I started that before horse riding.

54) Vacation: Cairns, QLD, Aus. I was 8 years old.

55) Pair of trainers: Wait, who ACTUALLY remembers that stuff!

Right now

56) Eating: Haven’t eaten for AGES

57) Drinking: I finished a bottle of water just recently

58) I’m about to: Get back to doing my homework, I gotta annotate myself a book by Tuesday.

59) I’m listening to: Fire by BTS

60) Waiting for: As above, BTS COMEBACK ITS GOING TO BE AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL. Also for the next Every Day6 release, Hi Hello is beautiful and makes me feel emotions.

61) Want: My friends, food, sleep, no homework, BTS comeback, all BTS merchandise and music, to meet BTS.

62) Get married: Umm? Not at the moment, and I’m uncertain about making that commitment at all.

63) Career: Frankly, I have no clue.

Which is better

64) Hugs or kisses: Hugs, because I have experience and a good hug is the BEST feeling.

65) Lips or eyes: Eyes, they tell you so much about a person and they’re really pretty to look at.

66) Shorter or taller: Depends on what for. For friendship I’ll say shorter because I’m used to that. For a romantic relationship I’ll say taller, but not by much, probably because of relationship stereotypes. I think I’m slightly traditional in terms of romantic attachments.

67) Older or younger: I don’t care about age specifically, but I internally believe in the stereotype that older people are more mature so might go for someone older for relationship on that basis. I focus on personality more that age.

68) Romantic or spontaneous: I really don’t know, I want a connection with my partner so I don’t really care about romantic gestures.

69) Nice arms or nice stomach: Honestly, I couldn’t care less. I care about how I get along with my partner. Can I answer nice personality?

70) Sensitive or loud: I want someone who is both. I suppose more sensitive as I want someone who really pays attention to me and cares about how I feel. I want someone who can be loud though as I want to be able to have fun with my partner.

71) Hook up or relationship: Relationship, no doubt. I care about emotional connections.

72) Troublemaker or hesitant: I want someone who can do both. I suppose troublemaker as that person would be more confident than the hesitant one?

Have you ever

73) Kissed a stranger: As above, I have no experience.

74) Drank hard liquor: Nope.

75) Lost glasses/contact lenses: Real talk, I am the WORST when it comes to losing glasses. At one time I had THREE pairs of glasses lost AT THE SAME TIME.

76) Turned someone down: Um, no one’s ever propositioned me…so…

77) Sex on first date: No, I despise the thought.

78) Broken someone’s heart: Does my own count?

79) Had your own heart broken: Platonically, yes, almost constantly because of a few bad friendships I’ve been in. Romantically, see above.

80) Been arrested: No.

81) Cried when someone died: When that someone was a fictional character, yes. I am TERRIBLE at not crying, I just feel all the emotions and can’t help myself. When that someone is a real person, yes. Nowhere near as much as a fictional character, but still a lot. I taught drama to young primary school children and one of them was involved in an accident. This was around November last year and I still wanna punch anyone who brings the topic up.

82) Fallen for a friend: I draw a strict line between people I allow myself to feel that way for. Anyone in a position of authority or I am close to platonically are definitely in the DO NOT FALL FOR zone

Do you believe in

83) Yourself: Not really.

84) Miracles: No

85) Love at first sight: That, my dear, is called hormones and is an ATTRACTION. I believe that ‘love at first sight’ will not last unless built up and strengthened over time.

86) Santa Claus: Nope, the only reason I pretend to around my family is so that I get the benefit of presents.

87) Kiss on the first date: Depends on how long you’ve known each other, how close you are and the dynamic at that moment. I would definitely say no to anything too extensive,

88) Angels: Not beyond the comparison to really kind people.

Other

89) Current best friend’s name: I refuse to choose between Tara and Payton, so there you go, you get both (see Tara, one of us is fair).

90) Eye colour: Blue

91) Favourite movie: I really have no clue…

Ok, that’s it. I don’t really have anyone to tag so just feel free to do it. Sorry for the delay in posting.

[terreisa]

The Savior and The Scoundrel: Best Laid Plans

Emma has had a few titles attributed to her in her life: princess, captain, pirate but none sat so heavily on her shoulders as Savior. When fate forces her to step into the role prophesied before her birth the only saving she wants to do is to bring back the man she loves. Fulfilling the Prophecy along the way is an additional reward. Sequel to A Crown and A Captain.

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

ff.net, AO3

“You’re going to wear a path into the stone.”

“I’m going to do more than that if you don’t shut up.”

Roland stuck his tongue at at Emma as she passed by him once more.  She almost reciprocated but thought better of it as she ground her teeth, fearing she’d bite off her own tongue in her agitation.

“You don’t know if he’s truly upset with you.”

Emma stopped mid-stride and spun to face him, “The King of Balliolshire, the one with no heirs and enough troubles in his own kingdom, hasn’t decided to come here to have a cup of tea and discuss the weather.  The last time I saw Liam we were only civil to each other because we had to be.  It was also the last time he saw his brother.”

“He can’t blame you for that.  I don’t blame you for it, none of us do,” Roland stated emphatically, his warm brown eyes boring into hers.

“He can and he will.  Even if he’s making me wriggle on the hook by taking so long to get here,” she grumbled and resumed her pacing.

“You know, if I had known that all I’d needed to do was cast a curse to meet so many royals I would have done it years ago,” Roland commented lightly after a few minutes.

“We’d be hunting you down, not seeking your advice.”

“True,” he said thoughtfully, “Let’s see, Belle doesn’t count because I’ve known her for years.  I’ve met you, Princess Emma of Misthaven, Prince Killian of Balliolshire, Princess Charlotte of-”

“Can’t you just say the names and skip the formalities?” Emma huffed, resigned to listening to his ramblings.

“I could say your whole title if it’ll help pass the time,” Roland smirked.  It turned to a wide grin as she rolled her eyes at him, “Now where was I?  Right, Princess Charlotte, Prince Lucas, Princess Sophie and her twin Prince Josef-”

“And all of them were swept up in the curse.  I hope you weren’t trying to make me feel better,” Emma groaned.

“A secondary goal that’s failing apparently,” he said, shrugging apologetically. “Shall I continue?  I think I will because all that’s left is your mother Queen Snow and now King Liam.  I think meeting the Savior tops them all don’t you?”

“No, and I told you to stop calling me that,” Emma snapped.  She took a deep breath and cast about for a less fraught topic, “I didn’t know Belle was royalty.”

“She was,” Roland said slowly. “But while she was held as Regina’s prisoner her kingdom fell to ruin after her father’s death.  When Will helped her escape there was nothing left for her to return to.  My father told her she was always welcome to stay with us and she hasn’t left since.”

“I didn’t want to.”

Emma whirled around to see Belle standing in the doorway of her study.  She and Roland had been pouring over maps of the kingdom before her nerves about Liam’s arrival had gotten the better of her.  It was two months past the spring equinox and none of them had any clue as to when he’d arrive.  Equally frustrating was the continued lack of any substantial information to be found in any of the books left in their possession, despite Belle and Snow’s determination to go through them all.

“I had sacrificed myself to save my kingdom and had resigned myself to never sitting upon a throne.  When I discovered that my cousins had squabbled so thoroughly over what would have been mine, that there was nothing left to inherit I was almost relieved.  I have been much happier with my life as it turned out than what it might have been,” Belle said fixing on Emma with a knowing look.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Emma said, wondering uncomfortably how much Snow had told Belle about her continued reluctance to become queen.

“Don’t worry about it Emma.  You would have learned about it eventually, Will loves to go on about how he’s swayed two queens to leave their throne for him.  Even if I was only ever a princess.”

“Two queens?” Emma asked unable to help her curiosity.  Especially if it would give her something to hold over Will, who still seemed to regard her with a wary eye.

“His first wife Anastasia was a queen in Wonderland.  She was killed by the Queen of Hearts.  It’s part of the reason he hates magic wielders so much,” Belle explained almost apologetically.

“Oh, I- I didn’t know,” Emma whispered, horrified that her petty need for dirt on Will unearthed something much more personal.

“It was a long time ago,” Belle assured her with a gentle smile.

“I thought he hated magic because of everything Regina and Zelena have done,” Roland said in mild accusation.  Emma looked back at him in shock and he shrugged, “Like Belle said, it was a long time ago and he’s been married to her for much longer than he had ever been with Anastasia.”

“We celebrated twenty three years of marriage this past fall,” Belle said modestly.  Then she frowned, “I didn’t come up here to natter on about my life.  I think we’ve found something.”

Emma stilled.  She was afraid that if she made a single move or even breathed that what Belle had said would prove to be another cruel dream.  In the tension filled weeks since the announcement of Liam’s intent to speak to her she had dreamed of Killian every night.  While none had stuck with her as that first one had she had come to anticipate and dread laying her head down for the night.  It was never a guarantee that the dream, when it came, would be good.

“Really?  What?” Roland asked eagerly.

He jumped up from his seat and raced past Emma.  She blinked rapidly before slowly following him to Belle’s side.

“Come with me to the library and I’ll explain along the way.”

Belle started walking without waiting for either of them to agree to her request.  Roland shot her an amused look before following.  Emma trailed behind in a daze, still trying to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming.

“After Will pointed out that Zelena’s curse probably took everyone to a different realm Snow and I decided to alter what we were looking for.”

She smiled to herself at Belle’s diplomatic way of reminding them of the time will had called them all ‘bloody idiots’ for not even considering the missing had been transported to a different realm.  Emma had snapped back using language that made her mother blush to tell him that not everyone ran away from their problems to a completely different realm and therefore didn’t see it as an immediate option.  It was a pointed guess on her part that had struck home almost too accurately.  What had ensued was a yelling match between them that had the others scrambling from the room and ended with every candle and fireplace in the castle set ablaze and Belle sending Will on an extended hunting trip.  Alone.

“We didn’t know where it might have sent them so we started by searching for everything we could about realms apart from ours.  Will had told me about Oz and Wonderland and both Snow and I had read of other lands in the past.  It quickly became clear as we learned of more and more lands that we had no way of knowing which one Zelena chose.  There were dozens that we had read about and probably hundreds that we hadn’t.”

Roland groaned in frustration while Emma was not surprised.  Snow had told her as much after a particularly frustrating day of listing numerous realms that she and Belle had come across.  However Belle sounded far from discouraged as she ushered them through the doors leading into the library.

“Even if we had a way to travel to a different realm we’d have no way of knowing which one to choose.  On top of that if we happened to choose the right realm we could spend years searching and still never find the people we were looking for.  It seemed no matter what the odds were against us succeeding,” Belle said solemnly but Emma could see an excited look in her eyes.

“You’ve found a way for us to do all of that haven’t you?” Emma smiled widely, feeling elated that they were finally making some kind of progress.

“Yes,” Snow answered, beaming at them as they approached the table she was sitting at. “We might even be able to find a way to the new realm at the same time we find the object we need to guide us.”

“What is it?” Roland asked eagerly as he hurried over to the book laden table.

“This!”

Snow held up a large tome and flipped it around for them to see.  Amidst the words Emma wasn’t close enough to read was an intricate drawing of a compass.  There seemed to be nothing in the sketch that indicated the compass held any spectacular abilities beyond indicating direction and Emma hoped the text proved otherwise.

“A compass, Your Majesty?”

Emma snorted at Roland’s attempt to sound impressed instead of disappointed.  He shot her an annoyed look.

“It’s not an ordinary compass,” Snow said patiently.  She tapped on the drawing with her finger, “This particular one was enchanted to aid those traveling through a portal.  Specifically if the traveler is not quite sure of the destination.”

“How?” Emma asked stepping forward to get a better look at the sketch.

“According to this whoever is holding the compass only has to think of what they’re trying to reach.  It could be a place, a thing, or a person as long as they keep it fixed in their mind,” Snow explained as she passed Emma the book.

“But it only works with a portal?” Emma peered closely at the words to read the purpose of the compass for herself.  It took a moment for her to realize it was written in a foreign language and another moment before she slowly recognized it as the written version of the fairy language, something Blue had taught her to read along with her practicing her magic.  She sighed, “Magic beans are not easy to come by.”

“Which brings us to where the compass was last seen,” Belle said reaching around Emma to grab another book that looked more like a journal. “According to this it was amongst a hoard of treasures discovered a little over thirty years ago during the war with the giants.  Your father mentioned seeing a compass, here, in his journal and there’s every chance it’s the one we need.  Since contact with the giants has been essentially cut off since then it’s possible the compass is still there.”

Emma looked sharply at Snow.  It had been because of Prince James, not her father David, that the war with the giants had happened at all, that nearly all contact had ceased between the giant’s holdings high in the sky and the humans down below, and that only one lonely giant remained to guard and remember it all.

“We can’t.  We signed a treaty,” Emma protested, heart sore for a different reason than she had been as of late.

“Anton will understand why we need it.  He’ll let us use it if we promise to bring it back once we return-” Snow grasped her hand, “Sweetheart, he knows better than anyone what it’s like to lose family.”

“You want to ask about the beans too, don’t you,” Emma said flatly.

Disappointment and hope warred in her veins.  She tried to reconcile herself with the idea of going back on the promises they had given one of their most tentative allies.  Reaching out to the giant Anton, the only survivor and last of his people, was one of the first acts of diplomacy she had spearheaded.  Even at the age of thirteen she’d recognized the need to try and mend one of the many bridges that had been burned by her uncle’s blackened heart.  To approach him with the singular goal of exploiting his own heartaches to soothe hers left a foul taste in her mouth.

“I feel as though I’m missing something,” Roland said slowly as he looked from Snow to Emma, a scowl forming on his face. “The giants have been extinct since the war.  Your father killed the last of them for some treasure and glory before chopping down every beanstalk so no one could attempt to raid for gold as he had done.  Even raised by thieves I know when a man has no honor.”

“You are missing something,” Snow bit out in a voice laced with steel, “My husband did not commit those acts

“Forgive me Your Majesty, but everyone knows of the deeds your husband committed under the guise of heroics before he met you.  You may have brought about his change of heart but you cannot make us forget the suffering his ego caused before that happened,” Roland sneered, lifting his chin slightly and squaring his shoulders as though preparing for a fight.

“Knock it off Roland,” Emma snapped wearily. “That wasn’t my father, it was his twin brother James.”

“His twin?” Roland blinked quickly, clearly caught off guard.

“And there’s still one beanstalk left with one very lonely and very mistrusting giant at the top,” Emma continued, ignoring his mouth opening to most likely question her further.  She turned back to Snow, “The first time Dad and I went there Anton didn’t believe we were only there to talk.  He made it clear that he destroyed every bean he had.  If we’re looking to create a portal we’ll have to find another way.”

“He might know where others might be.  There was a time where humans traded with the giants for beans, it might even be how the compass ended up amongst their treasures,” Snow fired back undeterred.

“There have been accounts and rumors of beans scattered across the realm since the last skirmish with the giants,” Belle chimed in hesitantly. “Perhaps we don’t even have to ask your giant friend, Anton, where they could be.”

“But we’d still need the compass,” Emma pointed out, trying to ignore the roiling in her gut as she realized she had already begun contemplating the best way to persuade Anton to give her the compass.  There was a dry click in her throat as she swallowed, hating what her next words would be, “I’m going alone then.  If we’re going to ask this of him it has to come from me.”

A volley of arguments broke out around her.  She let each of their reasons for accompanying her wash over her as she strengthened her resolve.  Finally, once they began to repeat themselves, she cut in.

“Anton will refuse outright if I show up with strangers in tow,” she said, addressing Belle and Roland first. “Belle you need to stay here and try to see if you can find anything that will lead us to a bean and I mean anything.  Even a whisper of a rumor will do at this point.  Roland you’ll help Grace and my mother prepare for King Liam’s arrival-”

“Exactly why you should wait and then I can accompany you!” Snow broke in quickly. “Liam is coming here to speak to you.  It wouldn’t do for you to not be here when he arrives.”

“Then he should have been here when he said to expect him and not months later!” Emma snapped.  She took a deep breath to calm herself, “Look, I’ll only be gone three days at most.  The beanstalk isn’t far from here and talking to Anton will take an hour or two regardless of his decision.  Most of my time will be spent climbing up and down the beanstalk.  We know they only threat will be me falling off the thing and even if someone was with me there’d be nothing they could do for me if that happened.”

“But Liam?” Snow protested once more but Emma could see that she knew it was a weak argument.

“He won’t turn around and go back to Balliolshire just because I’m not here.  There’s questions he needs answered and I… I’m the only one that can do that.”

Emma ended her statement in a near whisper, blinking down at the toes of her scuffed boots.  She wasn’t running from what would happen when Liam finally arrived but it was a near thing.  Worrying about how to approach and convince Anton to give them the compass was the perfect opportunity to get out of the castle and out of her own head and her swirling thoughts.  If only for a moment.

“You should take something with you, a gift to assure him that you’re not there to merely take the compass with no regard for him,” Belle suggested softly. “I think I have something that will be perfect.”

“No, Belle, I can’t-”

“When are you leaving?” Belle asked with a stubborn set to her jaw.

“If I leave soon I’ll make it to the beanstalk before nightfall.”

Belle pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in twenty minutes?”

Emma nodded and watched bemused as Belle walked away from them muttering to herself with the journal that belonged to James still in her hand.

“If you insist on doing this now I’d wish you’d take Roland or Grace with you.”

Her mother was giving her a small, hopeful, smile.  Albeit one tinged with a resignation that Emma could see easily in her eyes.

“I’m sorry but I can’t.  You need them here more than I do.  Especially if Liam and whomever he brings with him do finally arrive.”

Snow gave a quiet sigh, “Then give Anton my best wishes and tell him I regret being unable to be by your side when you ask him for the compass  And be careful, sweetheart, it’s been a very long time since any of us were able to visit him.  He may not be pleased to see you at first.”

Emma frowned as she considered that startling fact.  Before Zelena’s attack their family had visited Anton two to three times a year to not only prove to him that they wanted nothing more than to be allies but also to assuage the crushing loneliness of being the only giant left in the realm.  In the years she herself had been on the run Anton had been left more isolated than even Snow had been in her island tower.  She at least had had guards to keep her company.

Quickly shaking herself from the melancholic thoughts Emma said goodbye to her mother, promising to stay safe and that she would keep them informed of her progress through her glittering messenger birds.  As she turned to leave she wasn’t surprised to see a grim expression on Roland’s face.  He followed silently as she left the library and headed towards the stairwell.

He remained quiet all the way to her quarters and stood just slightly inside her doorway with his hands clasped behind his back as she packed.  She moved about her room in agitation as his taciturn silence and dour expression began to grate on her nerves, throwing items she thought she needed haphazardly into the pack she had emptied upon their settling into the castle so many months before.

Realizing she needed one more thing she gritted her teeth and stuffed a pair of trousers into her pack with a bit more force than was necessary.

“Close your eyes.”

“I beg pardon?” Roland’s hands dropped to his sides in surprise.

“I have to get something for the climb and I don’t want you to see where I keep it,” she huffed, waving her hands at the room at large.  Then she tilted her head, considering him, “Turn around too.”

“Close my eyes and turn around?” He asked indignantly.

“You said it yourself, you were raised by thieves,” Emma shrugged and then squared her shoulders for the fight she knew had been brewing since she’d snapped at him about his misjudgment.

Roland’s mouth dropped open in shock, “You don’t trust me.”

“I do but I can’t help letting what rumors I hear override everything I’ve learned about someone by actually getting to know them,” she said pointedly, arching her brow at him. “Now close your eyes and turn around.”

He did as she asked without further protest but not before she caught the look of hurt in his eyes.  Emma knew it had been a low blow but his earlier accusation had been just as low.  Her years as sailing under the guise of pirate had inured her to all kinds of suspicions and labels but she had never been able to ignore slights against her parents.  It had caused more than her fair share of bruised knuckles and even once or twice being forced from a port earlier than anticipated.

As soon as she was sure Roland wouldn’t sneak a peek she moved to the foot of her bed.  Geppetto, with Pinocchio’s help, had carved the beautifully intricate frame her down mattress laid upon.  There were depictions of scenes from her favorite stories, including her parents’, on the headboard, mythical creatures from land and sea wrapped themselves around the posts that held the canopy aloft, and on the footboard was a finely detailed, down to each individual feather, carving of a swan floating on calm waters.  With a final check on Roland she unerringly pressed the second feather of the wing above the waterline and smiled to herself at the sound of the secret compartment unlatching.

Pinocchio had made the hidden drawer for her at her request blending it seamlessly into the waterline beneath the swan.  At the time she had merely wanted somewhere to stow her childhood treasures where a nosy maid or her mother wouldn’t find them.  Many of those trinkets still remained and she sifted through them quickly before she found what she was after.  The plain, black leather cuff was scuffed and weathered, hardly looking like anything of value but it was essential for her to wear it when she climbed the beanstalk.  It had been enchanted by Blue to counteract the magic used to keep humans from making the climb.  There was another to match but Emma didn’t know where her father had hidden his.  Another reason she had to make the trip alone.

Emma grabbed it and quickly shut the drawer.  She crossed back to her pack and stuffed it deep under the clothing she hadn’t bothered folding to fit nicely inside.  Her trust in Roland only extended so far and if he knew what she had grabbed she didn’t doubt he would scour the castle to find one exactly like it to follow her.  Whether he wanted to protect her or discover Anton’s side of the story Emma didn’t know and didn’t have the patience to find out.

“You can turn back around,” she said as she cinched her pack closed.

He turned and quietly watched her for a moment as she fiddled with the ties before saying quietly, “If your father isn’t James then why continue with the charade all these years?  I doubt the people would object or feel betrayed by the subterfuge.  Your parents were fair and just rulers.”

Emma bristled slightly at both his use of the past tense and his essentially calling what her parents and even herself had done as lying to their subjects.  No matter how true his words were.  She sighed and moved back to her bed where she flopped down onto it, finding comfort in the way her body sunk into the mattress.  She knew she looked like a petulant child as she threw her arm over her eyes but the answer to Roland’s question made her feel like throwing a childish tantrum at the unfairness of it.

“My grandfather isn’t truly my grandfather,” she began with another sigh, clenching the fist that was at her side. “It’s a long story that I don’t want to get into but the Dark One was involved.”

Roland made a choking noise and Emma wondered what his history could possibly be with the imp but tucked it away to question him about later.

“While my mother was fighting to retake the kingdom from Regina my father was fighting to keep my mother safe from King George.  They succeeded together against Regina but the fight was far from over with Grandfather.  He couldn’t expose my father without exposing the weakness of his own kingdom for having no heir but he promised to stop at nothing to end my father’s happiness.”

“But your kingdoms are at peace now.  What happened to change his mind?”

“I did or at least that’s what I’ve been told,” she grimaced.  Removing her arm from her eyes she propped herself up on her elbows, “After my parents announced that I had been conceived Grandfather changed his tune.  He tried to form an alliance, one that benefitted him and his kingdom over my parents and Misthaven, but they refused.  It took months but they finally settled on terms that prevented either kingdom from attacking the other, as long as an heir united them.”

“As long as you continue to live, then?” Roland said with distaste.  He walked over to the side of the bed and hesitated, only sitting when she patted the space beside her, “But his wrath couldn’t have ended just like that.  You are a singular woman but to put a stop to such a contentious feud.”

“Grandfather’s kingdom was failing long before my father took James’ place and I was the saving grace-” she shot him a wry smile, “His vendetta against my parents nearly brought his kingdom to ruin and he has never had any kind of magic on his side, unlike the loyalty of Red, her grandmother, and the assistance from the fairies that my mother enjoys.  She had also proven herself as a champion of her people through her years of struggle against Regina.  If Grandfather had tried to attack my mother or father or attempted to take the kingdom by force he would have been defeated thoroughly and he knew that.  Peace with Misthaven became his only course of action.”

“So your father had to remain James to appease your vicious grandfather?  Seems like an unfair deal, keeping your true identity a secret and being saddled with the reputation of a man without morals.”

“My father didn’t seem to mind so much.  There were a few who knew and even they called him James in private.  I think he realized that he could do more with the reputation of a prince that had found his soul than a shepherd who had married into a crown.”

Emma sat up fully and was relieved to see that Roland was nodding in thought to himself.  She somehow knew that he wouldn’t protest her leaving quite as adamantly as he would have before her tale.

“I promise not to go looking for your hiding place while you’re gone,” he said pleasantly, giving her a cheeky smile. “It’s a cupboard or drawer of some kind, am I right?  Nowhere near where you had your pack, perhaps closer to this side of the room.  I’d wager it’s somewhere in this astonishing bed frame.”

“Thief,” she grumbled good-naturedly as she heaved herself off the bed.  Belle was most likely waiting for her down in the kitchens and she needed to get a move on if she wanted to get to the base of the beanstalk before the sun had set for the day.

“For a pirate I’m surprised you don’t take better care with hiding your treasure,” Roland stood beside her, his smile sliding into a teasing grin.

“If I really didn’t trust you I would have made you leave,” Emma said hoping he’d hear the apology in her words.

“I know and I’m sorry that my words made you doubt me, Highn-”

“Ugh, enough of that.  I need to go meet Belle.”

She grabbed her pack as Roland chuckled at her annoyance, following her as she headed down to the kitchens.  They were discussing exactly how much food she’d need to take before she realized that they were almost to the kitchen doors and she could hear Will speaking to someone inside.  While she wasn’t thrilled to have to speak to Will herself before she left she was glad for Belle’s sake that he had returned in one piece.

Emma pushed through the doors, ready to trade barbs with Will and stopped short at the sight of too many bodies before her.  She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar faces before her and Will, smirking at her as he stood from the stool he had been perched upon.  He was blocking her view of someone behind him but before she could crane her neck to see who it might be one of the men moved forward and bowed.

“Your Highness, it is an honor to see you again,” the man straightened and she felt a niggling in her memory of the face looking back at her. “Despite the circumstances of our visit rest assured that we offer our assistance in any way possible.”

“We?”

Her confusion slowly melted into awareness as she took in the appearance of the half a dozen men in front of her.  They were all in uniform and while most of them appeared to be low in rank the one who had addressed her was much higher.  With a jolt she suddenly recognized him, the colors of his uniform, and recalled his surname, Turner, but worst of all remembered exactly who his superior was.  It was at that moment that Liam stood from his own seat and stared hard at her from over Will’s head.

“Came across them on my way back to the castle.  Thought it’d only be proper to escort them in, as it were,” Will said with a smirk, seemingly enjoying her discomfort.

“Bloody hell, that’s Liam?” Roland whispered behind her.

Turner glared at him, “His Royal Majesty, King Liam, requests an audience with Princess Emma.”

“King Liam can ask for one himself,” Emma snapped, focusing her anger at the situation on Turner instead of the man whose eyes reminded her so much of Killian’s.

“I- but Your Highness- he shouldn’t-” Turner spluttered as he looked helplessly over in Liam’s direction.

“It’s alright, Turner, we both know that the princess has the manners of a pirate.  Even with her seemingly miraculous return to the throne.”

Emma wanted to draw her sword, even though she wasn’t wearing one, instead she carefully made sure that she gave no outward appearance that Liam’s insult had affected her, continuing to look at Turner alone.  She knew her tenuous hold on her temper would break sooner rather than later but she didn’t want it to happen in a room full of people that already held a low opinion of her.  Roland was the only one she counted as being on her side.

From the corner of her eye she saw the men step aside to make way for their king to approach her.  Turner gave a deep nod as he stepped back, leaving her staring into the depths of the kitchen as she continued to ignore Liam’s presence.  From behind she could sense Roland’s hesitation and then the movement in the air as he bowed deeply.  She couldn’t help the roll of her eyes at that.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” Liam’s voice dripped with insincerity, “I would like to formally ask for an audience, in private.  If you would be ever so kind.”

Like, Turner and Roland he bowed beside her.  Emma knew it wasn’t out of respect.  She hadn’t held hope for civility from the man but she had thought that in the months that had passed since she had informed him of his brother’s fate his temper would have cooled.  The soldiers and Turner shifted uncomfortably as their eyes skittered away from the two of them.  She felt a gentle touch at her elbow.

“My lady?” Roland asked hesitantly.

He stepped to her side, setting himself between her and Liam.  She recognized the gesture for what it was and gave him a grateful smile.  By placing himself in that exact spot with his back to Liam he was not only declaring his loyalty to her but insulted the man and the crown he represented as well.  Still facing Turner she saw him scowl deeply at Roland, making her smile.

She turned to Roland, keeping her eyes firmly on him.  It was easy enough when he was both taller and broader than Liam behind him.

“If His Majesty requests an audience, then I’m happy to oblige,”  Emma said in a saccharine sweet voice.  Roland’s head tilted slightly at her tone, “Roland, why don’t you go and fetch my mother.  I’m sure the Queen would appreciate know our honored guest has finally arrived.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Roland replied with a smirk, catching onto her game.

“Could you also inform Lady Belle that her husband has returned as well?  I doubt he did so himself seeing as how he brought the King here to our humble kitchens instead of a more appropriate room.  It seems his time away did little to improve his manners,” she shot Will a smile that matched her tone.

He scowled back.

“Consider it done.  Shall I also escort His Majesty’s guard to the rooms we’ve prepared?” Roland asked seriously, lips twitching.

“No, Will can do that,” she turned back to Turner. “I’m sure Mister Turner will want to inspect His Majesty’s rooms.  They may not be much, sir, but they’re the best we can offer considering the state of the castle.”

Emma watched with joy as Turner bristled at her thinly veiled insinuation.  From the minimal time she’d spent with him back in Agrabah she knew he prided himself on his proper conduct and manners.  By the flush she could see creeping up his neck it was easy to tell he would have done exactly what she’d suggested, but only after he was out from under watchful eyes.  She could also tell he was bursting to correct how she addressed him as a commoner instead of using his proper rank title she had determined from the embroidery on the cuffs of his uniform.

“I’m sure they’ll be more than sufficient, Your Highness,” Turner said tersely, with a curt nod of his head.

“Gentlemen, Will, allow me to escort you out and leave His Majesty and Her Royal Highness to their discussion,” Roland said, smiling widely at her before gesturing for the others in the room to proceed him out the door.

“Now wait a bloody minute, I won’t be havin’ you tell me what to do!” Will snarled, stalking towards her.

Roland’s hand struck out as quick as a viper and snagged Will by the upper arm.  Will winced.

“You swore before me, your wife, and our men that you were loyal to the royal family of Misthaven.  Which means following the Crown Princess’ orders,” Roland said in a dangerously low voice.  Will’s nostrils flared in pain as Roland seemed to tighten his grip further, “It’s high time you prove where your true loyalties lie.”

Will stumbled back slightly as Roland released him.  Emma sensed that there was a history behind the confrontation.  More than just Will’s attitude towards her.  She didn’t get a chance to dwell on it, becoming distracted by Will storming from the room and Liam’s guard stumbling over themselves to catch up.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Emma said softly to Roland.

“It’s been a long time coming,” he sighed.  He looked at Turner who was whispering feverishly with Liam, “Come Mister Turner, it seems I’ll be the one to show you to the quarters we’ve prepared for His Majesty and yourself.”

“That’s Vice Admiral Turner to you,” Turner said disdainfully, lifting his chin to try and stare down Roland who stood half a head taller than him.

“Of course, Vice Admiral Turner, Sir.  If you’ll follow me.”

Emma laughed to herself at Roland’s mocking tone and watched as he strode from the kitchen without waiting.  Turner looked at Liam seemingly aghast at the lack of manners afforded him.  Liam chuckled, something Emma studiously ignored, and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.  As the door swung shut behind Turner Emma found herself alone with Liam for the first time since Agrabah.  Back when they had been informed of his father’s death and had discovered who each of them truly were.

“I’m impressed, Swan.  If I didn’t know who you really were I’d say you were fit to be queen.”

She realized her mistake a moment too late as her eyes locked onto the ones that looked so much like his brother’s.  Behind the brilliant blue was a fire and a rage that she’d only seen in Killian’s once and not in any way directed at her.  Fighting the instinct to step back or even look away she stared back trying not to show how affected she was by his gaze or that he’d called her by her moniker instead of her title.

“And who do you think I am?”

“A woman who fancies herself a princess when we both know the scoundrel pirate is her true nature.  After all, only such a person would find that a bloody letter would be enough to suffice when alerting a king that the second in line for the throne had vanished without a trace.  Not to mention that with those same unfeeling words you informed a man that for the second time in the span of a year that a relation, his own brother and last remaining member of his family, was gone.  They say that Queen Elsa has a heart of ice but you, Your Highness, have no heart at all.”

“You’re wrong,” Emma said, hating the shake in her voice.

“Am I?” Liam snorted, but there was no amusement in the sound. “When we were first ordered to go after the Brooke I admit I was intrigued.  Who had made such a powerful enemy of the Queen that she strong armed my father into sending his heirs after them?  I had heard the many rumors about the captain of course but merely chose to believe that it was a personal grudge that had escalated too far.  My mistake of course.

“Killian looked forward to your capture as a grand adventure, something to attribute to his name other than philanderer.  I merely saw it as a way to keep ourselves from suffering at the Queen’s hands.  It was his enthusiasm and eagerness to prove himself that became his downfall.  That and your pretty face.

“I shouldn’t have told him to go with you.  I knew he was already losing his head around you but I wanted to stabilize our kingdom first and in turn get the Queen on uneven footing in her own.  You were a means to an end.  I just didn’t realize it would be at the price of countless lives and cause ripples across the realm that have turned to tidal waves.”

“The people lost are still alive,” Emma said with conviction through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps, but the price of a life isn’t always death, Swan.  Although there has been plenty of that where you’re concerned.  Hewitt and Thompson would still be alive if I had listened to my good sense instead of trusting you and from what that Scarlet fellow has told me the loss of life didn’t end there either.  You are a maelstrom that destroys everything that comes near it.  I’m only glad that Killian isn’t here to see how you truly are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s clear you didn’t expect to be here when I arrived.  The surprise on your face when you entered and the pack over your shoulder are proof enough of that.  Merely running from your problems, your obligations, again,” Liam’s eyes flitted to the doorway and back. “While he never said as much in the few letters I received from him I knew Killian had fallen for you.  I wasn’t entirely sure his affections were returned and now I’m convinced they weren’t.  Tell me, Swan, did you drag that oaf of a man into your bed before or after the sheets cooled from my brother’s disappearance?”

Emma registered the sting in her palm before the action that caused it.  Liam’s head had rocked slightly to the side, an angry red mark rising on his cheek as the sound of her slap echoed in the vast space.  Without pause she curled her other hand into a fist and sent it careening into his jaw with more force than finesse, causing his head to snap back to the other side.  She felt a flash of pain in her knuckles that did little to quell her ire.

“How dare you,” she spit out, taking satisfaction in the blood welling at the corner of his mouth. “I have been doing everything I can to get everyone back and it’s not enough.  You don’t know anything about me or what I’ve had to struggle against my entire life.  You have no right to judge me when your only hardship has been watching your kingdom thrive through an alliance with Regina-”

“My father died-”

“And my parents were imprisoned for eleven years!  My kingdom was no longer mine, I was without a home, torn from my family and I did what I had to to survive.  You can’t look me in the eye and tell me that you wouldn’t have done the same,” Emma scoffed.  She shook out her hand that had begun to ache, hissing against the sharp pull across her knuckles.  Looking down she saw that a split had formed across them, blood trickling down her fingertips.  The sight caused the fight to leave her, “You were right about one thing, however.  I don’t have a heart.  How can I when Killian possesses it wholly?”

She wouldn’t say that she loved Killian, not in so many words.  She had promised herself that he would be the first to hear the declaration out loud.  Liam’s jaw ticked, his mouth tightening into a frown.  He grimaced, his hand moving to his mouth and looked at the blood on his fingertips with indifference.

“Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can garner any sympathy from me with crocodile tears or more tales of how unfair your life has been,” Liam said with disdain.

“I don’t want your sympathy or worse your pity,” she spit back, stalking to the small stash of liquor they kept to tend to her hand.

Emma wanted to hate him but found that she couldn’t.  He was hurting and had likely not had any outlet for it.  As a king he would have had to remain strong for his people and hide behind a mask of stoicism to prevent anyone from seeing weakness in their new ruler.  She wondered if even Turner had seen anything close to the strong emotions she had seen from Liam in the short time they’d been fighting.  Breathing deeply she willed herself to not hide her own emotions as she turned to him.

“I know you hate me and abhor the idea of working with me but I’m asking you to put that aside.  I can’t find Killian and the others on my own.  Please, for him, will you help me?”

Liam stared at her with a hard, flat gaze.  She stood unflinchingly under his scrutiny but couldn’t help herself from noticing the tiny details that made his face different from Killian’s and the ones that were painfully the same.  They both had blue eyes that sparkled brightly, contrasting with the darker coloring of their hair and skin, making them stand out all the more.  For the first time in months a clear image of Killian was forming in her waking mind but differences in their noses, the shapes of their jaw, the way they looked at her kept his true likeness from taking shape.  She wanted to close her eyes against the visual assault but knew Liam would perceive it as her backing down and they needed him and his resources.  Her pain could be boxed up once again.

“I will help you,” Liam said slowly, formally. “Not only for my brother but for the sake and stability of the realm.”

“Fine-” Emma nodded once, letting out the breath she had been holding.

Turning back to the bottles behind her she pulled out the rum.  She moved about the kitchen grabbing strips of cloth from the rag pile and two pewter mugs from a cupboard, ignoring Liam for the moment.  When she had everything she needed she sat herself down at the table, across from the seat he had occupied when she had first entered the kitchen.  Indicating he should join her by pointing with the bottle she went about pouring out a measure of rum for the both of them before holding the rags over the mouth of the bottle as she tipped it upside down.

“Bloody waste,” Liam harrumphed as he sat down across from her.

“It’ll get the job done,” Emma hissed as she dabbed at her knuckles with one of the rags.  She tossed the other to Liam, “We don’t have anything to make a poultice and I’d rather not die from infection.”

“If you’re implying that I’m diseased-”

“I wouldn’t bother with being subtle about it,” Emma said rolling her eyes.  She smirked at his frown and pushed one of the mugs towards him, “I’d just say it.”

She had just placed the rim of her own mug to her mouth when the kitchen doors swung open, revealing Snow.  Her mother’s eager face twisted into confusion as she took in the sight of them and Emma groaned under her breath.  She had never been very diplomatic with visiting royalty when she was younger and she had a feeling Snow was more disappointed than surprised that blood had been spilled.

“Queen Snow, forgive me for not finding you sooner to pay my respects,” Liam said as he stood and bowed.

“It seems as though other matters took precedence,” Snow frowned briefly at Emma before looking back at Liam, “My apologies, King Liam, for not being able to offer you the service or accommodations that you are used to but you are aware of our circumstances at the moment.”

“My men and I are honored to accept whatever you are able to provide.”

“If this round of formalities is going to take a while I think I’ll find Belle and be on my way,” Emma said already halfway off her stool.

“But Emma-”

“You’re leaving-”

“Leaving, not running,” she said pointedly, staring at Liam. “We think there’s something that can help us find where the curse took the missing people.  That’s why I had my pack.  I should be back in a few days.”

“Emma, now that King Liam is here I think you should wait to leave,” Snow held up her hand to stop Emma’s protest. “At least until we’ve learned what information each of us has to share.”

“That brings me to why my arrival was delayed,” Liam said with a grim seriousness. “Because of the sudden disappearance of the ruler of Misthaven there has been a void of power that has disrupted the peace between kingdoms in the realm.  Many, whom you mentioned you’ve written to Queen Snow, are trying to maintain stability in their own kingdoms but there are a few poised to strike.  I’ve spent most of my time in Camelot, placating King Arthur and trying to stem his ramblings about a Savior and a prophecy about his kingdom.”

Emma’s hand twitched and she moved to grip her mug to cover the reaction.  Luckily Liam appeared not to notice.

“I’ve written to Arthur, he seemed eager to help us if needed,” Snow said, sounding far from convinced at her own words.

“Arthur is a duplicitous snake and you should be wary of any help he offers,” Liam sneered.  He frowned, “But he’s not the one you need to concern yourself with at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” Snow’s eyes darted to Emma’s in worry.

“I have it on good authority, from my own spies and missives from other kingdoms, that King George is planning on taking control of Misthaven.  He’s been assembling troops and with no defences once he crosses into this kingdom he’ll be successful.  That is the true purpose of my visit.  I come to offer myself and my soldiers to help you win this fight.”

Snow looked stricken.  Emma could do nothing but laugh.  They had found a step forward only to find another thing that was pushing them back.  She caught the confused looks of her mother and Liam and it just made her laugh all the harder.  When she could manage she downed the rum in her mug and poured another healthy measure into it, sliding it towards her mother.

“I have a feeling we’re going to need a lot more of this before the day is done.”

As she rose to grab another mug for herself she tried to push down the thought that fate would have its way no matter what choices she made.  The prophecy was still months away from being fulfilled as it should.  She couldn’t help but wonder what else would happen before her twenty eighth birthday came to pass.

If you’d like to be tagged so you don’t miss future chapters let me know.

Tagging: @teamhook, @galadriel26

[wincestmelange]

This sprung from me thinking about all Dean’s charms/jewelry in season 1 and about Sam in the pilot (”Not normal. Safe.”) and became quite long and the usual pre-Stanford sad. It’s mostly brother feels and Sam disagreeing with John.

It starts with the amulet.

(It starts in Sioux Falls, when Sam asks Bobby for help making Dad something for Christmas — Sam was thinking he could carve a whistle, so the next time they went camping and Dad lost them in the woods they could just call — and Bobby gives him the glowering little necklace charm and a leather cord, says it’ll help keep John safe. Safe from what? Sam wonders, looks around and sees the world grow darker and more menacing, danger in every waitress’s long fingernails or each gas station attendant’s friendly smile. A few weeks later Dad leaves the journal behind; and then Sam finally knows.)

He watches Dean put the amulet on and thinks, safe, breathes the word in and holds it in chest. He wants to hug Dean, then, throw himself into his big brother’s arms and hang on, but Dean is nearly fourteen and Sam is nine and hugs are for babies or for the times Dad comes home bloody with beer on his breath and squeezes Sam so tightly he thinks his ribs will crack. (It’s another three years before Sam realizes Dad would never have used the whistle, not when he’d intended all along to leave his boys in the woods and track them silently to see what they’d learned.)

Of course, Dad comes back and finds out that Sam knows, yells at Dean for telling him and yells at Sam for snooping in things that don’t belong to him. (Dad used to bring him along to victims’ houses, before Sam knew what that meant, taught him to check out medicine cabinets and rifle through women’s purses for clues. Last year, Sam caught Dean picking pockets and made him teach Sam how it’s done. Snooping, Sam thinks, is just the Winchester way.) But Dad also seems to decide that knowing means Sam is old enough to be left on his own, a loaf of bread and money for groceries and the bus on the table, Pastor Jim’s number taped to the phone and a bag of rock salt by the door.

Dean doesn’t look too happy about leaving Sam alone for the monsters, but Dad grips Dean’s shoulder and says, “C’mon son, time you carried your weight like a man,” and Dean’s whole face lights up brighter than Christmas, barely stays long enough to ruffle Sam’s hair and tell him to be good before he’s racing out the door. Dad thinks Dean’s a man, now, and he must think something good about Sam, because he never realizes that the first few times they’re gone Sam shoves all the bedspreads and spare towels under the beds so nothing else can fit underneath, leaves the light on in the closet and spends the night in the bathtub surrounded by salt, holy water in one hand and .45 between his bony knees.

Dean calls to check in, just like Dad used to check in on them both, (gonna be a few more days, boys, you call Pastor Jim if there’s any trouble,) and Sam bangs his elbow when the phone ringing startles him awake. It’s a good thing he’d dropped the gun when he fell asleep, or the neighbors might have called the police.

“Everything’s fine,” Dean says, voice breaking because he’s fourteen and thinks he can talk like Dad, sounds like one of Uncle Bobby’s faulty engines instead. “We’ll be home tomorrow.”

Sam has the salt cleaned out of the bathroom by the time they come home, the beds neatly made and the closet door closed, and none of that matters because Dean comes back with a blue cast from above his elbow all the way down his left arm.

“You should’ve seen it!” Dean tells him, grinning, a bruise on his chin. “Thing must’ve thrown me twenty feet across the room before I shot it in the head.” Sam laughs, because Dean wants him to, offers to make Dean a Superman cape for the next hunt, but he can’t take his eyes off Dean’s pale fingers poking out of the cast.

The amulet was supposed to keep Dean safe. Dad was supposed to keep Dean safe. Clearly it’s not enough.

  He gets the prayer beads from a young imam outside the Twin Cities who was having trouble with a Black Dog outside the mosque. The beads look simple — dark, uneven wood, something one of those hippies would sell outside college libraries; Sam’s seen plenty of them when they go to local universities for books or to talk to professors about lore — but the imam says they’re rumored to be carved from a tree growing by the Prophet’s well, that they were carried by Nureddin during the Crusades. Sam’s not sure why Mr. Choudry gave the prayer beads to him — he’s pretty sure the Winchesters aren’t Muslim, though once he asked if they were Episcopalian and Dad laughed until there were tears in his eyes, so Sam supposes they aren’t much of anything — but he cradles them carefully in both hands, says thank you and sort of bows because he’s never met an imam before. Mr. Choudry laughs, ruffles his hair just like Dad and Dean do, and tells Sam that’s he’s under the protection of Allah.

Sam finds books about Islam at the next library, and adds a few new prayers to the ones Pastor Jim taught him to say before bed. He gives Dean the prayer beads as soon as they cut the cast off, feels better as soon as they’re wrapped around Dean’s weak wrist.

The rosary is from Pastor Jim, because there’s no point in working a case in Minnesota unless they drive down through Blue Earth, and Dad likes parking them there for a few months if it’s during the school year. They stay awhile: Dean hates it because it’s only a few hours from Sioux Falls, so Dad works cases with Jim or Bobby and leaves them both behind, but Dad tells Dean he needs to work his wrist, so they take advantage of the woods behind Jim’s church, practice their shooting and knife throwing and climb the tallest trees because you never know when you might need to get away from a monster on the ground.

Dean wraps the rosary three times around his other wrist and wears it as a bracelet, because, as he tells Sam, he’s not wearing a bunch of necklaces like a girl. But he never takes off the amulet, and Sam can look at Dean and catalogue: both wrists and the amulet around his neck. Protected. Safe.

Then Dean stumbles into a hunt. He’s been sneaking off to see this girl, Martha, who works at the bowling alley — Sam’s never gone bowling so many times in his life — and Martha’s boss’s bratty kid winds up dead.

It’s a kappa. Sam figures it out, after Dean breaks them into the morgue to see the body (their first case, Jim off with Dad and no grown-ups around to tell them they’re too young). Eating disobedient kids. Dean tells him that he better watch out, then, because the kappa will be coming for him next.

A kappa loses its powers if you can tip them over and splash the water out of the cavity on the top of their head. That’s what all Jim’s books say. They don’t say how hard it is to get close to a kappa, and that once you do, it’s got a beak like a snapping turtle and it moves six times as fast. It goes for Sam’s stomach, and Dean leaps forward, shoves him out of the way.

They kill the kappa. Dean says they need to salt and burn it, and Sam says fuck, Dean, that can wait, because he’s got both hands pressed down on the blood pumping out of Dean’s mangled leg.

Dean tells him he shouldn’t curse, because he’s only ten. Sam tells Dean that he can curse all he wants because Dean’s fucking heavy and he’s the one dragging his big brother out of the woods. He tells the nurse his brother was attacked by a snapping turtle, and Dean refuses to speak to him for two days.

Dad yells at them for not calling him or Bobby, yells at Dean for taking his little brother on a hunt and yells at Sam for letting Dean take him, but when he finishes yelling he tells them, “Good work, boys,” and that’s really what all the yelling meant.

Sam refuses to leave the hospital until Dean is released, because he might have protected Dean’s wrists and neck, but it’s clear now that this wasn’t enough to keep Dean safe.

Dean refuses to wear an “ankle bracelet,” even when it’s a meticulously crafted brocade omamori that Sam got from a Shinto priest. He also refuses to let Sam henna protective symbols up his legs. Sam tries drawing them in marker when Dean’s asleep, because Dean sleeps in his boxers and wrestles his sheets off the bed, but Dean’s incredibly ticklish and Sam gives up after the tenth try when Dean kicks him hard in the groin.

Sam meets Sully, but Sully’s suggestion is just to feed Dean marshmallow fluff and bring him to the carnival, and while that sounds fun, it doesn’t sound anymore like Dean than an ankle bracelet made of embroidered silk.

Sully doesn’t get it, really. Sully thinks Sam is awesome fantastic the greatest, which is nice because Dad thinks Sam’s “not pushing himself” when it comes to sprints or wrestling or shooting out the head of needle from fifty yards away, and Dean thinks Sam is “a little twerp, c’mon Sammy, I told you not to bug me when I’m trying to get Carrie’s digits.” But Sully doesn’t realize that Sam knows about awesome fantastic stuff like fluff nachos and BBQ mac and cheese because Dean makes them. Sully thinks that Sam is the best Winchester, and Sully doesn’t see that he’s wrong.

Still, Sam laughs for a long time at the idea that he soak glitter in holy water and then dump it all over Dean’s head. With the amount of gel Dean’s started using in his hair, the glitter would be there for weeks.

Sully goes away when Dean finally wears Dad down and Sam’s allowed to go on hunts (you stay in the car, Sammy, you hear me? You stay in the goddamned car). Sam misses him, sometimes, on the days where Dean’s off with a girl — fifteen now and Dad lets him drive the Impala into town, printed Dean a license that says he’s eighteen — and Dad’s squinting, tight around the eyes and looking like he could be their grandfather, when he makes Sam do all the drills twice and keeps saying Sam’s life depends on being better than he is.

It’s good, though. The more hunts Dad lets Sam help with, the more information Sam has on what they need protection from. He starts his own journal, the front half for monsters and the back half for runes and charms and myriad suggestions for keeping safe. Some of them are obviously bogus (walk three times clockwise around your bed to cure restless sleep), and some of them Sam tries (keep a sprig of lavender under your pillow, then tuck into your pocket the next day) and discards, because smelling like lavender doesn’t stop Billy McMarney from dunking Sam’s head in the toilet. (The lavender doesn’t, but Dean does, when he walks over to get Sam from school — and it’s sixth grade, Sam doesn’t need Dean to pick him up like he’s five — and some other kid tells him what went down. Billy McMarney misses a week of school, and he never comes near Sam again.)

They go back to Bobby’s, eventually, and Bobby tries to get him and Dean interested in playing football at the park before he gives up and leaves Sam rummaging through his library and goes to supervise Dean in the garage.

Sam steals Dean’s boots, that night, takes the Sharpie and inks protective runes on the soles and the tongues and even on the inside where it smells. He relaces them so that there’s a protective binding in the knots, and then goes downstairs to do the same to Dad’s.

Dad notices, of course, bellows at Sam for tying knots in his shoelaces before Bobby figures it out and tells Dad it’s kind of clever, and it certainly can’t hurt. “Knots don’t keep you safe,” John says, untying them over Sam’s strangled protests. “Your knife keeps you safe. Rock salt in a ghost’s face keeps you safe. Learning to use your gun to protect your brother the way he protects you, Sammy. That’s what keeps you safe.”

Sam is trying to protect Dean. Why else would he stay up half the night with his hand buried in Dean’s stinky shoes?

Dean leaves his knots in, rolls his eyes at Sam when he sees the marker all over the sides, but shrugs and tells Sam “it looks kinda cool.” He puts them on that morning and Sam thinks: neck, wrists, feet.

Next summer Dad takes Dean on a werewolf hunt, and its claws rake Dean shoulder to hip.

Sam starts looking for armor to wrap around his brother’s vulnerable chest, same as he buckles down with a bag of mandarins and a needle to practice so he can stitch his brother closed.

Dean loses the rosary when Sam’s sixteen, fighting ghouls in a swamp in Missouri. It saved his hand, he tells Sam, during the squelching, disgusting trudge back to the car, when the ghoul’s grip slipped and hit the rosary, made him mad, man, but also made him flinch away. Dad’s on another hunt, somewhere up north, but that’s fine because Sam’s sixteen and Dean’s twenty-one and recently hunts have been better when Dad’s not around.

Of course, Dad’s started taking Dean on more hunts and leaving Sam “to do his best in school,” because Sam has a feeling Dad thinks hunts are better when Sam’s not around.

Sam’s just trying to keep them safe. That’s all. Dad wants to bust down doors and piss spirits off so that they’ll come out to play, and Dean wants to do whatever Dad is doing only three times as loud, and Sam’s just trying to keep everybody safe. What’s another day or two at the library, what’s a few extra pounds of charms in their pockets, if it means that Sam doesn’t have to stitch anybody up at the end?

Dean rejects the new rosary — Sam didn’t have a lot of money, and this one is white and cheap plastic, and all right, Sam wouldn’t wear it to school but Dean’s already dropped out and it’s not like Dean’s girls are looking at his wrist — but when Sam tells him the local Orthodox priest told him there was a sacred ring that water sprites had stolen twenty years before, Dean is thrilled.

“I’ll be like Bilbo Baggins!” he declares, sharpening his silver knife. “Or King Arthur! Water sprites live in lakes, right? It’s gonna be like finding Excalibur, only cooler.”

If by cooler, Dean meant freezing cold and dragged across a lake bed of painfully sharp rocks, then yes, it’s much cooler. He gets the ring, though, and Sam only gets a mild concussion, so all in all it’s a pretty successful hunt.

They sit shivering on the shore to bask in their triumph and watch the sun rise, and Dean slips the ring onto each finger before fitting it onto his thumb. He doesn’t offer it to Sam; and he’s not supposed to, Sam doesn’t want it, the whole point of this hunt was to find the ring and protect Dean, but… It still twinges a little, digs into that old bruise that never quite fades, the one where Sam is too slow and not trying and not good enough and not doing things the right way.

It’s dark and Sam swallows the feeling down quick so it doesn’t show up on his face, but Dean’s got some sort of supernatural powers when it comes to Sam.

“Hey.” He grabs Sam roughly around the shoulders, both of them soaked through from their coats to their boots, and tips him over so that Sam lands clumsily against Dean’s chest. “You don’t need any of this shit,” Dean says, wiggles his hand with the ring, the wrist where the rosary used to be and where Dean grudgingly allowed Sam to paint protective sigils on the hairless underside of his forearm, faded where the water sprites had curled weeds around them to drag them away.

“I don’t?” Sam replies, surprised, because he already feels safer with Dean’s prayer beads digging into his back, his cheek pressed against Dean’s amulet and his big brother’s steady heartbeat in his ear.

“Nah.” Dean shakes his head, pushes his chin into Sam’s hair and presses down until Sam yelps and tries to get away. “You’ve got me.”

“Great,” Sam says, deadpan, wonders if Dean can sense him rolling his eyes. “I’ve got a brother who smells like lake water and is covered in mud, and, oh, nearly died before we even got here because he tripped over a log.”

Dean gives him a proper noogie, then, and Sam elbows him in his unprotected ribs. “It was a really big log,” he protests, and his ring glints in the first rays of sunlight, and Sam laughs.

“That’s what she said,” he retorts. They continue the dirty jokes and the wrestling as they pull each other to their feet and stumble safely all the way to the road.

“Are you sure it’s not what killed Mom?” Sam hears Dean ask as he and Dad tromp through the door. Sam recognizes the Impala’s engine, and so by the time they get inside he’s sitting at the table doing his Physics homework instead of lining the closet with salt and standing inside, the door pulled closed and the safety off his gun. “It had yellow eyes.”

“It’s not,” Dad says firmly, but he’s got that look in his eyes, the one that he gets when he says that what’s left in the tank will get them all the way to town, or silver will definitely kill any monster even if they’re not sure what it is, or that no one will notice if Sam wears the same goddamned shirt to school three times in a row, we’ll do laundry soon, why’d you waste the quarters on soda?

And Sam realizes that Dad doesn’t know if that’s what killed Mom or not. He’s not sure, and if this isn’t it and the next monster isn’t it then maybe nothing will ever be it, and this is never ever going to end.

Sam’s not as surprised as he’d like to be. After all, he’d told Sully that this was what it meant to be a Winchester — it means fighting monsters. It means being a hero, like Dean always says they are, toasts the hunt and lets Sam have his own can of beer.

But Dad always treats it like they’re stopping, soon. Soon. As soon as we find this bastard, Sammy, I’m telling you, we’ll settle down somewhere and send you to one of those fancy preparatory schools where all the kids wear suits and ties, and Dean and I will buy a garage, Winchesters’ Repairs. Of course, by then Dad’s usually talking to his good friend Jose, and barely notices Sam’s there.

They’re not stopping, though. Dad’s back from this last hunt with a tourniquet around his thigh and Dean’s got the brace on his knee which means he’s twisted it again, and how is Sam supposed to save ligaments wrenched the wrong way too many times to count? They’re not stopping, and it’s obviously up to Sam to keep them safe.

It’s not really Sam’s idea. It’s actually Dad’s idea, though Dad might kill Sam if Sam says that out loud, looks kind of like he wants to kill Sam anyway, for holding out the acceptance letter with Stanford in bold print across the top.

Dad’s the one who keeps saying, “you’re a natural with all these books, Sammy,” “when this is all done, kiddo, I’ll hustle us up enough money to send you to Harvard Law.” He always says Harvard Law, and Sam’s not sure if it’s because he thinks his youngest son is smart or because he’s tired of hearing Sam’s smart mouth when they fight.

They fight all the time, now, Sam taller than his dad but thinner around than one of Dad’s clenched fists, Dad shouting that he’s been hunting since Sam was in fucking diapers and Sam shouting that that doesn’t mean he’s doing a good job, and Dean either between them with a wan, mediating smile, or out the door at the first raised voice and spending his evening more enjoyably at the nearest bar.

“I’ve got a full ride,” Sam says, because maybe it will cheer Dad up, hearing that he won’t have to hustle pool to help pay Sam’s fees. Maybe Dad would be happier if he realized what Sam and Dean already know — that there’s no after the last hunt, for Dad, who’s searching every monster in the U.S. for the ghost of Mom’s face. “If you wanted, we could look for a place nearby. See if there’s a garage hiring. California has earthquakes and fires, Dad, there’s got to plenty of pissed off ghosts.”

Sam never really expected his dad to take him up on that suggestion, never mind that it’s exactly what he always says they’re going to do. Dad’s never wanted to be safe.

But Sam does. Sam wants to be safe. In the last year he’s broken four fingers and two ribs, gone to the hospital when a poisoned fang sank in half an inch from his femoral artery and again when a werewolf clawed his back to the bone. And none of that hurts as much as watching Dean thrown down stairs or against marble crypts, seeing him shout a werewolf away from Sam’s racing, tasty heart only to have his own insides ripped out instead. Sam can’t forge the chainmail that will protect every inch of Dean’s freckled, vulnerable skin. He can’t. He’s tried. For years he’s tried, and this is all that’s left.

“Come with me,” he begs, when Dad’s ultimatum leaves him standing with his hastily packed duffel on the sidewalk in front of their motel. He’s crying, but it’s raining, so he moves out from under the overhang and hopes Dean can’t separate raindrops from tears. “C’mon Dean. You promised to keep me safe.”

Dean shakes his head. Tightens his jaw and spins the ring around his thumb, jostles the prayer beads on his wrist. The amulet gleams in watery yellow glow of the parking lot lights. If Sam closes his eyes, he can still feel the imprint of it on his cheek, when Dean pulled him to his chest and held him close.

“You made your choice,” he tells Sam, making his own choice when he offers to drive Sam to the bus station instead of aiming the Impala at California and settling in for the ride.

Sam takes another bag out of the trunk, before he goes, his gun and his knives, rock salt and holy water and the cheap rosary Dean wouldn’t wear, a machete that hasn’t failed him yet and a bag of charms he meant to weave into a bracelet for Dean’s unprotected wrist. If he won’t have Dean standing between him and the monsters, Sam’s going to have to learn how to protect himself.

“Be safe,” he tells his big brother, once they’re in front of the station and soaked through by the tepid summer rain, lets Dean pull him down into a hug that makes Sam feel small and protected and loved. He tries to make his words a command, to infuse them with gravitas like everything their Dad says so that Dean can’t disobey, but they're warbled and finish with sniffles that Sam tries to hide in the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

“You too,” Dean murmurs, winding his fingers through Sam’s hair and pulling him closer before stepping back and pushing him away.

He gets back in the car and Sam stands in the rain and watches him go: amulet around his neck, prayer beads and ring, leather belt with Norse runes, new boots with knots down the laces and marker on the soles. Dean’s as safe as Sam could make him, though Sam knows it hasn’t ever been enough. And Sam’s safe, now. Sam’s saved himself from the one thing he couldn’t survive. This way, he won’t be there when it happens — he won’t have to watch his brother die.

[lostallblue]

OCs #1 + #2

in other news, i have way too many ocs. i can’t even. i hate myself. but these two dorks are two of my favourites and also they come as a pair so i have to post them together. it just can’t be otherwise, mate.

so here we’ve got actual murder child celia and soft, book-nerd horatio. me? have a problem naming characters so i just name them after shakespeare’s characters? would i do that? it’s more likely than you think. incidentally, i hate epithets so much. how do you come up with them? i don’t have a clue.

@hundredsunny enjoy my nerd ocs (i’m thepinkfluffyunicorn btw, this is just my one piece blog). they’re both idiots but i love them.

NAME: jernigan celia EPITHET: the nightwalker -  because she murders people at night, truly an imaginative name. NICKNAMES: lee (literally only horatio gets away with this), most people just call her by jernigan unless they’re close friends. AGE: 21 (pre) 23 (post) BDAY: 1st of december BIRTHPLACE: arden island in the grand line - a foresty spring island with lots of big, terrifying monsters. heck yeah. GENDER: female HEIGHT:  5.8 WEIGHT: 69kg HAIR: black, v straight. EYES: dark. APPEARANCE: celia is this tol girl with kind of medium-brown skin? she looks vaguely arabian? she tends to tie her hair back with complex plaits that mean things in her culture. she has one that means honour, another that means something overcome and three for each member of her family that were killed or went missing. the rest tend to vary depending on the situation. her style is very casual when she's not in assassin-mode. jeans and a graphic t-shirt are her sort of thing. with strong boots that can handle lots of work. she also has a leather jacket that she pinched from a shop in loguetown once. she loves it. she does, however, love the chance to dress up. she goes for really gorgeous dresses that are all long and shiny. but she only rarely gets the chance. when in assassin mode, she wears tight, dark clothes with a hood and light shoes with a good grip. and knives. lots of knives. SMELL: the blood of her enemies. FAVE FOOD: lasagne FAVE DRINK: berry cider (and by that, i mean the sort we have over here that's alcoholic) FAVE SEASON: summer REPRESENTATIVE NATIONALITY: welsh BOUNTY: 100 000 000 - but not for celia the person, just for the nightwalker the assassin. they don't know who she is. because she’s a snek. DEVIL FRUIT: none! PROFESSION: private assassin CREW: none PERSONALITY: celia is an angry bean who wants to fight you. she's pretty good at concealing her feelings, but is pretty much at ease with them. she's fine with being a pretty emotional person. she's also hecka oblivious. she doesn't notice when people flirt with her. it just goes right over her head. horatio thinks it's hilarious. she would 10/10 flirt back if she realised - not that she's actually any good at flirting. her version of flirting usually involves knives in some way. she loves her knives. a lot. never leaves home without them. has named all of them and can actually tell them all apart, even the ones that look identical to literally anyone else. she loves horatio a whole lot. would literally tear the world to shreds for him. he's basically her brother in every way that actually matters. he makes her laugh when nobody else can and is the only person who can draw her out of her own head when she gets lost in her thoughts. he's also basically the only person she cares about. she hates slavers and murders them. she also appreciates money a lot. would definitely rip you off if you gave her the chance. she has a big thing about being able to make her own choices and having control over her own life - a consequence of being a former slave. she's also illiterate, so that's a problem. she doesn't deal well with being reminded of it. horatio's tried to teach her, but she's probs dyslexic so she struggles a lot with it and doesn't have the patience to actually commit to learning it. anyone who calls her stupid will face her knives. LIKES: her knives, horatio, generally pasta, tomatoes, alcohol, murdering evil people who own slaves, pretty dresses, make-up. DISLIKES: slavers, feeling stupid, spring because she has a pollen allergy WEAPONS: celia has knives. celia's life is made up of knives. she loves her knives. she would marry her knives. she's also very good with her knives. HISTORY: celia was born on arden island which is a pretty cool place. mostly forest with a few villages and a few bigger towns. no big cities. celia's home village was on the edge, looking out onto a beach and the ocean but with a forest at its back. it had one of the only three docks on the island so they saw a lot of business from both marines and pirates. anyway, a couple of years later, celia's little sister - rosalind - was born. celia and rosalind were really close as kids, they both loved to explore the forest outside their home. but when celia was nine, slavers raided their village and a bunch of people were killed, including celia's parents. both celia and rosalind were taken as slaves. they managed to stay together at first, but when they were sold at sabaody, they were seperated and celia never saw her sister again. she became a celestial dragon slave and everything was pretty bad for a while. when she was fourteen, yuji - a former marine who'd started his own group of rebels separate to the revolutionary army because he didn't think dragon was doing enough - freed a bunch of slaves of which celia was one. celia joined up with his group because she didn't have anywhere else to go and yuji taught her how to fight and kill. he basically used her as his assassin, sending her out to kill his enemies. celia adored him though, he had saved her and yuji was pretty good at making people like him. when celia was eighteen, yuji brought horatio back severely injured and celia watched horatio get better and then - in her eyes - steal her place at yuji's side. see, that was kind of yuji's shtick, manipulate people into caring about him and then pit them against each other so that they didn't band together and turn against him. so at first, celia was super jealous and that meant that she and horatio did not get along. at all. they fought constantly. but because celia was no longer quite so focused on by yuji, she started noticing how...awful and manipulative he was toward horatio. she noticed how often he'd emotionally abuse and manipulate him and make him feel like he owed yuji the world. which, she realised part way through, was pretty much exactly what he'd done to her. so she started trying to befriend horatio. at first, horatio didn't trust her. but they did slowly become friends. and celia started trying to convince horatio to leave with her. because she could see how much damage yuji was doing to him and she was Not Okay with it. horatio completely ignored her at first, but bit by bit she managed to convince him that yuji wasn't as good as he thought. and eventually, they managed to run away and headed for the grand line together. this would be when celia's about twenty. they basically set themselves up as slaver-hunters. they assassinate big people in the slave-trading business and, along the way, celia looks for her little sister.

and the next dork.

NAME: tveit horatio (not that he uses his surname) EPITHET: NICKNAMES: AGE: 18 (pre), 20 (post) BDAY: 4th of january BIRTHPLACE: icthus island in the north blue GENDER: male HEIGHT: 5.6 WEIGHT: 55kg HAIR: horatio has floppy, straight white hair. and yes, that is natural, he hasn't gone white because of stress. although he 10/10 probably would have done, if that was possible. EYES: blue APPEARANCE: horatio is actually? pretty good-looking which makes celia hiss because then people start trying to flirt with him. he's mega lanky, noodle arms all over the place. a smol boy who is just...v short, for a guy. he was tol once, back when he was like eleven, but he hasn't grown since, so......concerning. for added shortness appreciation, he's shorter than nami. chopper is the only straw hat he's taller than. this is hilarious to me. he also appreciates looking good, so most of his clothes are pretty well-made. he likes the woollen top-coat over jumper and shirt Look because he thinks he looks distinguished. celia think it makes him look like a nerd.   he has a lot of pretty horrible scars all over his body, so he tries to stay as covered up as physically possible. he likes the coat because it covers his neck when he keeps the collar up. and whenever he can get away with it without looking weird (read, whenever it's not too hot for it) he likes to wear a dark red wool scarf that he knitted himself. he likes a good pair of oxford shoes, but he tends to wear boots more because they're easier to run and fight in. he also carries throwing knives, but they're normally under his coat. he uses a long, black cane to walk - because his hip is really badly damaged and he has a bad limp. but! at least he has a cane with which to look cool and also to break the bones of his enemies. SMELL: butterscotch FAVE FOOD: banoffee pie FAVE DRINK: hot chocolate FAVE SEASON: autumn - he likes the colours and anything pumpkin/pumpkin-spice flavoured. REPRESENTATIVE NATIONALITY: norwegian BOUNTY: currently none and they're desperately trying to keep it that way. DEVIL FRUIT: none! PROFESSION: spy - as in, he spies and finds information about targets for celia, who then kills them. CREW: none PERSONALITY: horatio is an anxious nerd, okay? he's such a nerd. he's actually on the autistic spectrum so he has Special Interests such as astronomy and history. he also fixated on linguistics years ago and has never let go. he tends to feel emotions really strongly and cares a whole lot, but struggles a lot with both processing and actually showing his emotions. feelings in general are very confusing to him. he tends to do his absolute best to ignore his feelings until they become overwhelming and cause him to shut down. he sometimes loses his language when that happens. he also has OCD. so that's a fun time. he's pretty charming when he needs to be though. v flirtatious, which is hilarious considering he's hecka aro-ace. he knows how to make people do what he wants them to do. an important skill considering his job. but don't let any of that fool you, horatio is actually an idiot. sometimes he does stuff and he doesn't even know why he did the thing. he just did it. when he isn't on a job, he doesn't think about the consequences of his actions. he just acts on impulse. he's a dumbo. LIKES: books, history, linguistics, astronomy, dancing, pumpkins, stimming and also the ocean in general - horatio loves the ocean a lot. DISLIKES: potatoes, his family, slavery + slave owners, having Feelings(tm), lilies because he's allergic, bad rulers/monarchs, the marines as a whole annoy him a lot because he thinks they're all idiots which, i mean, in all fairness.... WEAPONS: like i said, he uses throwing knives a lot and also his cane which he can swing around with deadly efficiency. not to mention, nobody ever takes it away from him when he's going into places where weapons aren't allowed. you know that scene in lord of the rings: the two towers where the rohirrim are trying to take gandalf's staff away from him but gandalf's like 'you wouldn't take an old man's stick away from him, would you?' and they let him keep it. that's horatio. horatio is not above using his disability to manipulate people. HISTORY: okay so horatio was born on icthus island. but he wasn't just a random person. he was born into the royal family! specifically the tveit family. he had five brothers and a sister. all of them hated him. the tveit family is awful. in general. they're cruel rulers. so pretty much from day one, his family were terrible to him. see, they picked up pretty quickly that he was Weird because it took him like four years to talk for the first time and then it was in full sentences. and from then on, he was just...odd? from their point-of-view. they were really stiff and formal and, also, they owned slaves. because why not? at first horatio wasn't against what they did both to others and also to him, because he didn't know any better, but then. a thing happened. his nurse - aurora - who helped him to speak and taught him to handle his anxiety and sensory issues when his family would just dismiss or punish him for his bad moments, was blamed for a theft when he was nine. it was actually horatio's older sister who broke the thing that was 'stolen' then lied about it and...everybody knew. but that didn't really matter to the king and queen, so they executed aurora for theft. and horatio lost the one person who actually cared about him. it was this that really jarred him out of the whole 'this is okay' thing and he realised how awful everything they did really was. and he started trying to protect the slaves in their palace. but that just made his family more annoyed with him. and so it carried on for, like, five years in pretty much the same way. horatio did something that upset them, they beat him for it or locked him up or starved him. everything sucked. and then everything really went wrong. when he was fifteen, he made the terrible mistake of befriending a slave called antonio. antonio was from the grand line - specifically alabasta! - and told him stories about the nefertari family who are amazing rulers and so kind. horatio low-key didn't believe him, but he still has a vague dream of going to alabasta and meeting nefertari vivi and her father. but then horatio's brother found out about his friendship with antonio. before then, horatio had mostly just tried to protect the slaves, but had never actually befriended them before. his brother was disgusted at the idea of his younger brother actually befriending a slave and 'disgracing their family' in such a way. his brother told their parents and... they had both horatio and antonio brought before them. after confirming that what horatio's brother had said was true, they executed antonio. but they didn't stop there. instead, they cheerfully went on to sentence horatio to death for disgracing the family name. they basically had him tortured for days. his siblings went to town on him. and after like two weeks, they left him outside the palace to die on his own. and it was here that old yuji found him. horatio was barely alive, but yuji took him back to his nearest base and managed to save his life. this whole fiasco - btw - is why horatio needs a cane. which sucks. horatio's family believe that they murdered him, so they had this big funeral for him ala sanji and the vinsmokes, except they actually think he's dead. and this is the big reason why celia and horatio are trying to hard to make sure he doesn't get a bounty. because they do not want to risk his family finding him again. so we already know how the whole thing with yuji went. celia realises what's going on and tries to convince horatio to leave. but it takes him forever to believe her because one of the big issues that his family left him with is that, well, he has absurdly low expectations for how people treat him. in his mind, if they're not physically abusing him, then everything's cool. because they're not as bad as his family. so that's why it took her so long to convince him. horatio's about seventeen when they leave.

CANON TIME-PERIOD CONNECTIONS: they - as a duo - have their first encounter with canon one piece characters about half-way through the pre-time skip era? they arrive in alabasta post-war and end up in a Fiasco that leads to them meeting vivi. which was their intention anyway because horatio really, really wanted to meet vivi. vivi gets on with horatio the best - the old both being royals thing really helps with friendship, apparently. celia spend roughly half the time pouting because she thought horatio liked vivi more than her. she is easily made jealous. but they do end up friends in the end and it's all good. vivi told them stories about the straw-hats and as a result, the Dynamic Duo really want to meet them. just because of that. they end up leaving about enies lobby time and heading off along the grand-line for more adventure. and murder. that too. they also run into old jewelry bonney part way through her journey, after they leave alabasta. celia fights her. then they end up bonding over mutual pasta appreciation. so that's nice. horatio was Amused. i haven't fully thought through their time-skip existence, but i know that celia wants to meet luffy even more just so she can congratulate him on punching a celestial dragon. the day she heard about it, she literally cheered. it was great. 

[coeur-dun-pirate]

Bio and Rules

Rules:

I’ll try my best to answer reblogs and asks as quickly as possible, but no guarantees because my class load is pretty heavy right now. I’m usually pretty slow with replies. My name is Jess, so if you’d like to ask me something OOC, just refer to me by that and I’ll get right back to you! I’ll reply to most anything, including smut, angst, fights, etc. Just be nice to others is all I ask! I am in the American Central Time Zone, if that is helpful, but I normally reply in the morning or evening when I have the time to. 

Bio for Main Verse (Pirate au):

Name: Captain Félix Antoine Nihilon (though he prefers the last name Babote)

Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Age: 25 (Born June 18, 1657)

Hair: Pale blond, pooled in wild, fluffy curls on his head

Eyes: Blue/Green

Height: 5'11". He’s very lanky and tall, and he’s not heavy enough to hold his liquor too well.

Other details: Very thin and gaunt face, tanned skin (this is due to him being mixed-race, but to better conceal his identity, he claims that it’s due to his exposure to the sun). His eyes are crystal clear, owl-like and observant, and the centerpiece of his face. His voice is soft, but clear and calming.

Father: Lazare Nihilon-- a harsh tempered, French slave-driver. He is unforgiving and pessimistic. He meets the world with a glare.

Mother: Kinsalababote-- a wise, kind woman of the BaKongo people, and a slave under Lazare’s command. (Within BaKongo customs, last names aren’t given based on family, but instead are based on which groups of people that person chooses to identify with. So instead of a family last name, there is a lastname/suffix name given to the person based on who they identify as. The suffix name Babote corresponds to a group that does good deeds)

Born: The french slave colony of Saint-Domingue, which is present-day Haiti

Likes: The sea, above all things. He loves the wind in his hair and the sound of the waves and the rocking of the ship. He loves his crew like they are his family, and seeks out those he sees as misfortunate or lost to be a part of his crew, such as those with disabilities or those suffering from poverty. He loves warm weather. He is very particular to finding clothes that look nice on him (he’s rather vain). He loves music, and plays a flute every now and again to raise morale amongst his crew. He also has an incurable sweet tooth, and is a bit of a show-off when it comes to swordsmanship.

Dislikes: Slavery. He is entirely against it and spends most of his time out at sea hunting down slave ships and tracking slave trade routes. He also hates excess violence, and prefers to use evasion, defense, and trickery before resorting to more offensive fighting. He hates cold weather and isn’t too fond of people showing ownership over things like the sea or land.

Other: Although he’s the captain of his ship, he spends most of his time in the crow’s nest because he enjoys looking out over the ocean. He can speak multiple languages very fluently, such as English, Portuguese, French, and Kikongo. However, he isn’t very efficient at reading those languages. He tries to hide the fact that he was born as a slave, not because he is ashamed of his identity, but because his time as a slave was the most traumatic for him and he doesn’t like to be associated with it.

Background: Kinsala was kidnapped from her home in Congo and shipped to work on the sugarcane plantations on Saint-Domingue. She gave birth to Félix after Lazare had raped her, and Lazare demanded to name her child and gave him the name Félix, which meant “lucky”, as he thought the child would be lucky to survive in the harsh conditions of the plantation.

Félix did survive, however, as Kinsala took great care to shield him from the harsher field work and gave him as much of her food as she could to keep him growing. Félix learned French, but he grew up with the traditions and beliefs of the BaKongo, and he loved his mother more than anything.

However, as Félix grew, his father treated him the same way he treated all of the slaves, and Félix was regularly and horrifyingly beaten along with his mother. As he grew older and began to take on the workload of his mother, he began to resent his father. He dream of escaping from the colony with his mother.

One night, when he was 15, Lazare was in a rage. He battered Félix to the ground and beat Kinsala until she died. Blind with anger, Félix wrestled Lazare’s sword from his belt and stabbed Lazare to death with it. He took the sword and ran, stealing Lazare’s small supply boat and sailing off into the sea. He jumped from port to port, building a crew, until he was able to raid a French navy ship and steal it for his own. For 10 years, he built up his reputation, hiding his origins away and becoming a fearsome pirate.

The sword he carries with him presently is Lazare’s sword, which is why he refrains from using it as much as he can, because he is haunted by his past and doesn’t want to kill ever again.

Bio for old verse (FBAWTFT au):

Name: Felix Virgil Nihilon (Nihilo is the Latin word for “Nothing”, if you’re wondering C:)

Age: 31 (Born June 18, 1895)

Hair: White/Silver, pooled in fluffy curls on his head

Eyes: Blue/Green

Height: 5'11". He’s very lanky and a lightweight. He would lose so hard during a fist fight, smh

Other details: Very thin and gaunt face, pale skin, wears thick glasses. His eyes are crystal clear, owl-like and observant, and the centerpiece of his face. His voice is soft, but clear and calming.

Parents (both no-majs): William and Grace Nihilon. Both of his parents were complicated people: his father was heavily involved in crime, while his mother was a terrified woman who hid away in her home.

Born: Brooklyn, New York

Wand: 14.5", Hornbeam wood, Unicorn Hair, Rigid Flexibility, Carved lilac designs run down its sides

(Due to the Hornbeam, it is very disobedient to other users besides him, and will never project any of the unforgivable curses)

Ilvermorny House: Pukwudgie

Patronus: Unicorn (Not trying to be OP, this is the result I got on Pottermore)

Favorite Colors: Blues, Greens, and all pastels

Likes: Using a typewriter, despite his ability to enchant a pen or a quill. He makes excellent tea. He always decorates his small clinic with flowers. He enjoys nature, despite how little of it there is in the city, and spends a lot of time in Central Park. He loves holding casual conversations with others, and picking up clues as to what they’ve been through. Spring is his favorite season. He likes quiet people; he views them as a challenge or a riddle. In his free time, he paints, although he doesn’t think he’s any good at it.

Dislikes: Legilimens (he’s SUPER jealous of them), loud noises, isolation, cold weather, Grindelwald/his ideals, and the weird no-maj laws that MACUSA has. He hates when his appointments are unsuccessful, and blames himself.

Other: He’s bisexual, and also a huge dork that likes showing off how much he observes about others. He wakes up early and goes to bed early, but takes frequent naps. He’s got an enormous crush on Newt, but knows that it will never work and keeps his mouth shut. He can get lost in thought very easily, and is seen as spacey by his relatives. He’s also a huge cuddler so watch out.

Background: He was always the mediator in his family. His parents fought constantly, sometimes violently, and he had no other siblings to stand up for him. His parents never meant to hurt him, but he was always caught in the crossfire of their arguments and sometimes came to school with bruises on his face. As such, he taught himself at a young age to observe how his parents ticked, and how he could draw out certain emotions in them to make them happy and content with each other. He loved spending time outside, because he never had to say a word to make the flowers be kind to the wind. His parents were always proud of him, loved him a lot, and supported his magic, but the emotional pressure that they put on him to hold their relationship together was too much, and for a while after attending school he was a cocky little punk and spent life as a criminal. He didn’t want to exhaust himself over making other people happy, so out of spite he did the opposite: he used his knowledge of psychology to work his way inside the heads of mob bosses and hustlers and make their lives miserable. He rose to the top of the criminal foodchain simply by scaring and threatening his enemies into submission, even driving them to suicide. He never killed anyone as a criminal, and when fights became physical, he got beat up quite often. He was angry and manipulative, but still had a code of honor, and never picked on those who were weaker than him. During this time, his parents tried to re-establish contact with him, but he ignored them. Then, they were killed in an attack by Grindelwald fanatics. Torn apart by his own actions towards them and the suddenness of their deaths, Felix failed to find comfort in his empty title as criminal. He remembered how good it made him feel when he got his parents to hold hands again for a while, and he made the decision to reform himself, disappearing from the underground and using the money he had built up to buy books and materials to finish up medical school. He hid himself away in his apartment, finishing up his doctorate and becoming a certified healer and psychologist. He dyed his hair and worked full time until he had earned enough money to buy his clinic, lying low and working to become a better person. He now dedicates his life to understanding other people.

That’s all folks!

[stars-forever-dwell-blog1]

Blinded by the Light: Part Three

So I was in the belly of Smaug at this point, heading down the Lonely Mountain and towards the ocean, with eight other people and a dog.

Besides the girl who owned the dragon, Melissa, and I, there were six guys. They all turned out to be weird and creepy in their own way, and they don’t really factor into the story much. I don’t remember particularly getting a crush on any of them, but one of them named Richard was cute. I thought he was out of my league, though. Melissa started dating one of them, a guy named George, who was tall and big and dark, he told me he was part Orc, and he was. Part good and part bad. He always wore a trenchcoat and carried a staff, and he would sing this song he wrote about the mountains, the rainforest and the ocean in a deep voice. I thought he was pretty cool, and he was, at first.

Now, a VW microbus is pretty small as far as vans go, so to cram it full of nine people, nine travel backpacks and a large dog is kind of pushing it. So as we were driving out of the mountains, Smaug was having a bit of a hard time. The guy driving didn’t seem to really know how to drive standard, so it was pretty painful all around. It was one of those drives where one by one, everyone drops into silence, and you’re all leaning forward, kind of willing the vehicle to get you where you need to go and not die.

We were still deep in the mountains when two of the guys, incidentally the creepiest and weirdest of the two, randomly decided they were done with the red dragon and got out. I don’t remember where they were going or why they left, but it was definitely a relief for Smaug.

One of the guys who left was the one who had been driving, and I don’t remember who took over, but we made it about six hours before Smaug took one last fiery breath and died. I don’t remember why, but luckily we had made it into Hope, a town which definitely had a car garage we could take him to. So we all spent the remainder of the night in the van, and in the morning Melissa had him towed to the garage to be fixed.

The mechanic told us that it would take at least a week to get Smaug fixed, so we all kind of settled into Hope for the time being. I don’t remember where we all slept or “lived” while we were there, but there was one experience I had that is definitely noteworthy.

When I was in my last two years of high school, my school had started to offer this class called Native Awareness because there were a lot of Aboriginal and Metis students. It was taught by a Native woman, and she would give teachings to the students on the culture, history and spirituality of the Native people that were local to my home province. I’m not Native, but I took it because it interested me, and I had some pretty powerful experiences through it. I still incorporate elements of what I learned into my spiritual practices today.

During my time in that class, I learned about the concept of animal totems and teachers. So ever since then, it had been in my mind that I wanted to know what mine was. Meeting Peter had strengthened this desire, because he shared with me the story of how he learned of one of his. I wasn’t around any elders after I left Winnipeg, so every day I kept praying and asking “the Universe” if it would show me what my totem was.

So on one of the first days we were stuck in Hope, I woke up early, and I was on the go from morning until sunset. And everywhere I went that day, everywhere I looked, I found crow feathers. By sunset I had at least thirty of them.

We were all hanging out in a park that was called, interestingly enough, Spirit Park,. All throughout it, among the tall pind trees, were wooden carvings of animals. The sun was about to set and I was sitting there looking at all these feathers, and I decided I needed some kind of irrefutable answer. I walked off by myself until I was standing under one of the tallest pines in the park.

I stood there holding this bundle of feathers, and I raised my arm above my head. I stood looking up at them, and the setting sun knifed through the trees with one last dazzling blaze. I said out loud, “Okay, if the Crow is my animal totem, give me a sign!”

At this point, about thirty crows flew into the tree above my head, cawing. I kind of paused and went, “Well, I’d say that answers my question.”

What makes that story extra-interesting is that Peter had almost the exact same experience when he was seeking his totem.

The only other thing of note that happened in Hope was that I started to learn that I am not the kind of person who can live in a VW bus with six other people and not start to go crazy for wont of personal space. I also started realizing that I don’t like sharing everything I own. But back then, that was the whole philosophy we all lived under; share everything, peace and love, all is one, blah, blah, blah. Vomit. But at the time, I was afraid to speak up and tell people to bugger off once in a while, get their own bread and peanut butter and jam, because, well, I didn’t want to seem unenlightened, or like I wasn’t “one of them.” Peer pressure. It happens among hippies, too. Not that they’d ever admit it.

So we stayed until Smaug was fixed, hung out with some other sketchy people, then were on our way again. Our goal was the city of Victoria on Vancouver Island, and not much else of note happened between leaving Hope and arriving in Vic. I was rather eager to get to said city, because Best Friend Guy was there, and I still had a mad crush on him.

Even though a few good things came from my time spent in Victoria, I can say that it was by far the lowest, darkest, most scary point of my adventures / misadventures. Welcome to Mordor.

I remember that summer as August was coming to an end and September was drawing near, thinking of what September used to represent to me back in my Winnipeg: school starting again, shuffling through autumn leaves, cozy sweaters, the smell of woodsmoke, sitting inside reading books and watching the leaves fall, movies with friends. . .and on some level I knew that summer wouldn’t last forever. It was going to get cold, and I was living out of my backpack. Well, it was around the beginning of September when I arrived in Victoria, and you know how you can sort of feel autumn creep into your bones; how even when a part of you is clinging to those last few tendrils of summer, another  part of you knows that fall is coming, heralding winter approaching? This aspect of the Goddess is never easy to face, no matter how many “turns” of the Wheel you’ve been a part of. It never gets any easier. It means death.

There was one more Rainbow Gathering that summer, since September is still technically summer (at least on the Gregorian calendar), and I decided to go, mostly because Best Friend Guy said he was going, but also because I don’t think I was ready to let summer go yet. It was held on a beach by the ocean this time (the last one had been on a lake) on the Island, and I hitch hiked out there with a guy I became friends with, who went by the name of Turtle. We got there way after dark, and it was a crazy hike through the marsh to get to the beach, at least two hours from the highway, the darkness not making it any easier. We finally got there around three in the morning, and I was pretty shocked and disappointed that there were under ten people there. Not quite like the last two, that numbered in the hundreds. It was kind of foreboding, really. The whole gathering had a sombre feel to it, much like September itself does, if you compare it to July and August. I could feel autumn seeping in, though I tried to ignore her and tell myself “It’s still summer!” It’s funny, now that I’m more familiar with the Pagan calendar, and how the seasons changing are not quite like the calendar that most people in our culture reference. Because if you go by the Pagan calendar, the mood of that Gathering made perfect sense. Harvest time begins around August 1st, and when I learned that a couple years later, it made perfect sense. The seasons don’t just end and begin; they flow into one another, like water from different pools. There is a transition period.

So Crush Guy never did come to that Gathering, and neither did Peter, which disappointed me more than I let on, which was not at all, because I told myself (and others) that I practiced the Buddhist concept of “non-attachment,” not that I had any clue what that actually meant. What I thought it meant was not getting disappointed if the guy you have a huge crush on doesn’t come to the party that he said he would meet you at.

The beach was beautiful, but my disappointment was pretty raw, so leaving wasn’t really a sad affair like it had been at the other Gatherings. This one was different.

There was a girl there who I had become friends with, though in retrospect I really don’t know what she saw in me; I just became friends with anybody back then, so me questioning what I saw in her never happened. She went by the name of Blue, and she was, as she called it, “hardcore.” Army boots. Metal buckles. Lots of black and patches. Could handle junkies and street kids. Tough. La di da. Whatever. I, as it turned out, was not hardcore. This was, I gathered from her reaction when it was discovered, a bad thing – though for some reason not obvious. Maybe because I wore army boots too. With my tie dye.

I remember this one night, this guy Turtle, Blue and I had hitch hiked into Vancouver, and Blue had introduced us to some street kids she knew who were all-around sketchy people. I remember standing there with her, and she told me they had invited us to crash at “their place,” which was nothing more than an abandoned house. For whatever reason – maybe I was tired, maybe I was really tired – I just could not handle the idea of sleeping in abandoned house with some sketchy homeless people. Call me whatever you want, I just couldn’t do it. When I told her no, she kind of snapped on me an announced that I wasn’t “hardcore” enough, which upset me at the time because I wanted to be able to handle anything and everything with grace and awesomeness, the way I thought my sister always did. So she went with her friends, and Turtle and I found a “nicer” place to sleep, down near a pond, I think it was.

As we were lying there going to sleep, I talked to him a bit about how I had felt before, downtown. He asked me if I wanted him to do something for me, and I said yes, not really knowing what I was agreeing to.

He had told me before that he had training in martial arts, and that he knew some things about Eastern energy work. I had basically ignored him, maybe because I heard a lot of people talk a lot of shit back then, but down by that pond, he said he was going to do some “energy work” or something on me. I didn’t feel completely comfortable with it since I barely knew him, but I was far too nice back then to say anything.

I lay on my back and he sat beside me. I closed my eyes, and I felt him trace something on my forehead. And all of a sudden, I just felt this rush of pure energy enter my body and completely envelop me. Suddenly I was no longer drained, depleted, scared, stressed, none of that. It was shocking because it was so intense, and so real. And I can honestly say there was no “placebo effect” going on there, because I had had no idea what to expect, and a part of me had been resisting. It was pretty cool.

So, to resume: the Gathering over, we all hitch hiked into Victoria, and there I put down some shallow, dubious roots for the winter. What a mess.

It turned out that the reason Peter never came to the Gathering was that the beach was Native land, and the tribe was not happy with the Gathering being held there, so he didn’t go, out of respect. I wish I had known that beforehand; I wouldn’t have gone either.

The first thing I saw upon arriving at “the park” or “the square,” which was the unofficial hub of hippies / punks / street kids / drug dealers there, was Crush Guy sitting in the grass with a cute French girl, who later turned out to be his FWB (friend with benefits.) I ran up to him all excited, and he played it all cool, and she got all jealous, then I got all jealous, then I found out that sleeping with her was kind of a rite of passage to become part of this group of us that hung out together that winter, so I was less jealous, but hurt because he didn’t want a relationship because he was a manwhore, but all my friends said he totally liked me, blah, blah, blah. Like I said, boring story. The only cool thing about that part of the story happened after he left to go home for the winter. This was around December I think, so we had all been hanging out for a couple months, and I had never stopped liking him. He was taking the Greyhound home to Calgary, and another friend, let’s call her Sapphire, and I went to see him off at the bus station.

Me being the hopeless romantic I was (am), I cried a little bit, which shocked his hardened manwhore heart, and then he left and we waved goodbye, and that was the end of that.

A few days later, Sapphire and I were having one of our deep conversations. She had recently gotten this new Tarot-type deck called The Oh Cards. They’re not like a traditional Tarot deck, but more like an oracle; there are actually two different decks that make up The Oh Cards. One is larger than the other, and it has a word, or a couple words, printed around the edges of the cards. These words are be things like “Childhood,” “Love,” “Fear,” words that spark something in you. The other deck is smaller, and is only pictures – seemingly random pictures. The smaller card fits inside the larger card, as you draw one of each together, and the way they are drawn has a pattern, something to teach you.

So Sapphire and I were talking about Crush Guy leaving and how I was kind of heartbroken, and she asked if I wanted to do a reading. I agreed, and the two cards that I pulled kind of blew my mind.

The smaller card, the picture card, was of a person standing waving goodbye (or hello), and of a bus in the background. The larger card, the one with the word(s) on it, read Letting Go.

I never did see Crush Guy again. I tried calling him a couple times in Calgary, but he never returned my calls. Looking back, I kind of shake my head at how I let myself fall so hard for someone who “didn’t do relationships.” Nowadays, I know not to waste my heart on people like him, because guys, generally, are really straightforward. When they just want sex, that’s all they want. Oxytocin just doesn’t do to them what it does to women.

The Dragon Dwellers kind of went their separate ways once we got to the city, but a few of them come back into the story a little later.

A note here about Sapphire. She was this beautiful, sensual, short, fiery mermaid creature from Quebec with a French temper and passion to match. I adored her and was scared of her all at the same time. She was my sister’s age so I looked up to her quite a bit. We met over a crow feather, and we are still in touch today. She comes into the story more later.

So it didn’t take long to get drawn into “the group,” which was just basically everyone who hung out together in “the park” or “the square.” I really didn’t even notice when I first got there (again with the naiveté), but everyone I met there either sold drugs, or did a lot of them. A lot of them just sold weed, which I still don’t really see as a “hardcore drug,” but to say that I was hanging out with sketchy people, whatever they were selling or doing, is a definite truism.

This is one of the hardest parts of the story to recount, the most disturbing in some ways, and the scariest. Looking back, I can’t honestly tell you how I got out of that time without being raped, murdered or chopped into little pieces in a ditch somewhere. I thank my spirit guides, my creature-teachers, my angels and my ancestors – certainly not my common sense or worldly wisdom. My “everyone is awesome and trustworthy!” beliefs were about to get me into trouble.

Like I have said, I knew that winter was fast approaching, and I would need to settle down somewhere for the duration. Up until that time, I had been basically going wherever the wind took me, trusting in “my path” to guide me to wherever I needed to be. I believed in some sketchy “everything that is happening is meant to happen” destiny, so when I landed in Vic and winter was on her way, I decided that it was meant to be, and so I made some plans to stay for awhile. That didn’t include much planning; it was basically, “I am going to stay here the winter, sleeping in the big park down the road, and just hanging out and doing what all my friends happen to be doing. . .which in that town meant panhandling and doing lots of drugs. I never got into the drugs. Panhandling, I’m ashamed to say, I got quite into. It appealed to my so-called Buddhist beliefs at the time, but the reality was, I was lost and confused and didn’t want to get a job because that meant I was a sell-out. So again, hiding my low self-esteem and confusion beneath the “spiritual” veneer.

I remember well my daily routine, or lack thereof. At the beginning of my stay there, I was closest with a guy named Mike and a French girl named Mary Eve (pronounced “ehve,” not like Eve.) The three of us were basically living together in our various camping spots throughout the park, and of course it was a love triangle. I liked Mike, but he liked Mary Eve, and she didn’t seem to like anyone, at least not at first. I think I trusted Mike and felt safe around him (which was weird because he was really untrustworthy), and since I was still a virgin at the time, trust was a big thing for me in someone I liked.

So we would go sleep in this huge park called Beacon Hill that was down the road from the downtown core area, a beautiful spot that ran right into the ocean. There were tons of tall stands of trees and places to hide a tent, which we did for quite a while. We would walk there after sunset, smoke a bunch of weed, talk for a while, and go to sleep. It never got cold enough to snow there, only rain, so as long as you had shelter and a sleeping bag and stayed dry, you were fine. In the morning (or afternoon) we would get up and wander downtown, and then panhandle for a couple hours. Mike and Mary Eve started selling weed, but I never did because if I got caught, then it would show up that I had a court date I had missed. Not to mention the fact that I am a horrible liar and always have been, and would get myself all worked up into a paranoid frenzy if I were a drug dealer. So I panhandled and ate from “the food van” that came to the small drug-dealer park once a day around 6:00 PM. They gave out free sandwiches and juice and hot chocolate, and you could take as much as you wanted. We had all learned the soup kitchens in the city, too. How awesome.

So that was my life. Yes, I had moments when I questioned what the hell I was doing, and if I was happy, which of course I wasn’t. But I was still holding onto the belief that I was meant to be there, and that it would all become clear at some point as to why. And of course I was happy! I didn’t need material things like a house, food, or showers to be happy! I wasn’t that shallow! I was way more enlightened than the masses. And maybe I actually would have been, if I truly had been happy living a simple day-to-day life with no material possessions. But I wasn’t. If that’s the life for you, then go live it, I say, and live it to the max. Don’t let anyone judge you for it. But it wasn’t what I really wanted.

When I would have enough money, I would take the ferry to the mainland and then hitch hike the two hour journey to see my sister in Whistler, and that was probably the only healthy thing I did in that time. Get away from that hole I had dug myself into in Victoria. She always let me stay with her, but our relationship was kind of strained during that time. She was living in a different log cabin in the woods with her best friend, a girl from New Zealand. There wasn’t a lot of room and they were doing their own thing, so I always kind of felt like a fifth wheel, awkward and uncomfortable, smelling like a street kid and all jangly with city-energy, and ever so lost and confused, looking to them for answers that only I could give myself. I never stayed very long, always finding some reason that it was totally my destiny to go back to the city.

My sister had a made friends (yes, just friends) with an older guy who owned a property north of Whistler. I still don’t know what he does for a living, but he was, and is, pretty well-off. He was always off in Vancouver doing business stuff, and he would pay my sister to take care of his two Bouviers des Flandres, two awesome dogs that I grew to love, his large, beautiful property with the mountain view, and his beautiful house. I would go up with her sometimes and help out, and, holy of holies, shower. A few times I went by myself, and it was sooooo good; probably one of the things that kept me sane. A safe, warm, dry house with running water that I could drink and shower under! And do laundry! And sleep in a bed! And not worry about being woken up by the cops in the morning! Holy crap! Of course I felt like a huge sellout and hated myself. I was supposed to be non-materialistic, enlightened and hardcore. But clearly I wasn’t, and now, I see that that’s an awesome thing! I had standards. I had self-respect. I wasn’t okay with living in the gutter.

The guy who owned the dogs and the land and the house was a really generous, good guy, if not a little crazy, but only in a minimal, neurotic way that was mostly from living alone for too long and was actually quite funny. Once I decided I was done with living in the gutter and had moved in with my sister, he bought me a really nice pair of good winter boots that cost over a hundred dollars, just because we lived in the woods and I needed them. He was that kind of guy. He had money, you needed something, he liked you, he got it for you. Simple. As a result of his big heart, he had been burned a fair few times, and for a lot of money by one person in particular, but it still didn’t stop him from being generous. A really good guy. He’s still friends with my sister, and we hung out with him at her wedding a few years ago.

So my winter was basically a lot of back-and-forthing, which I loved because staying in one place was totally anathema to me then. Every time I got sick of the city and needed to be in the quiet and the green, I would hop the ferry and hitch hike up to see my sister in the woods. Then I would miss my friends, and head back down.

I met tons of people that winter in the city, and called them all friends. Some were definitely not my friends, some were more like acquaintances, and a few are still my friends today, though we haven’t seen each other in a long time. Sapphire is one, Rhiannon is another. (Peter kind of faded out of my life. . .I just creeped him on facebook, and there he is. He wasn’t for a long time. I’m not sure if I want to know him now, since my definition of cool has changed a lot.)

I met Rhiannon one day that was just like any other day, and I think that neither of us had anything better to do than hang out. We had seen each other before, of course, because the whole group of everyone kind of moved in circles around one another, but we had never hung out. I was, in her mind, a flaky hippie (and I totally was, for the most part), and she was, in my mind, the really cool-looking, interesting, beautiful girl with the beautiful black Lab puppy. Tall, with beautiful black hair, greenish eyes, and an exotic face. So this one day she invited me down to the ocean to smoke a bowl, which I agreed to, because I was in my “I-have-to-start-liking-weed” phase.

To explain: everyone smoked weed out there. I mean everyone. And since I was now living there and wanting to become completely enveloped by that world, I, of course, had to smoke weed to. But I hated it. It was horrible. It made me paranoid and it made me think too much, which I already did anyway, so it made me think way too much. I would tell this to people, and their response was always the same: just smoke more, and that will all go away. So, for about six months, I was stoned. Every waking minute of the day, I was stoned. Literally. I was determined.

But after six months of being a dribbling, useless mess that could barely walk, let alone talk or function in any capacity, I quit. And I didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. And it felt awesome. I think since leaving “paradise” and coming back to reality, I’ve smoked weed maybe three or four times, and I did it because I wanted to prove to myself that I could control my thoughts while I was stoned, that I didn’t have to become a gibbled mess. And I learned that I can, but it’s hard. Once I proved it to myself, I stopped. I think it’s been at least five years since I last smoked.

No one knew what to do with me anymore. My lack of smoking was actually the centre of more conversations than I can count. It’s like it was actually really, really interesting and baffling to those people. They would try to convince me to smoke with them using every argument you can think of. They would try to analyze me to figure out why I wasn’t smoking. It actually got really annoying after a while, to the point that even now I hate being around people who are smoking. If you want to do it, go for it; just don’t try and push your lifestyle choices on me. Maybe it’s because I’m an HSP, but when I’m around someone who’s stoned, I immediately start to get contact high, and I don’t like the feeling. And I don’t let anyone into my home who’s stoned or high. It upsets my balance, and my cats’ balance too.

I really believe that smoking weed is kind of like getting a tattoo (at least in some circles): all the cool people are doing it, you know. You have to do it. A little while ago my boyfriend and I were talking about tattoos (I have five, he has none), and he told me that once his brother (who has lots) told him that he has to get one. That really kind of pissed me off for my boyfriend’s sake. I mean, who says you have to get a tattoo? Because they’re cool? The point of a tattoo is that means something to you, something that you will honour for the rest of your life. Period. And if someone chooses not to do that, who is anyone to tell them that’s wrong? And who says you have to smoke weed? Is it just that same old truth that when one person quits something, it threatens the people who are still stuck in their addiction? But the universal argument of potheads everywhere is that weed isn’t physically addictive, only psychologically. Anyway, done rant.

So back to meeting Rhiannon. We went down to the ocean, sat, and smoked. And for two hours, we had the most amazing conversation. It just flowed out of us, beautiful and natural and true. At the end we kind of looked at each other, and it was like we were seeing each other for the first time. From that moment on, a beautiful friendship started growing. We had a million more awesome conversations like that first one, we laughed and were silly and shared spiritual ideas and thoughts and experiences, and she was totally there for me and I for her.

Obviously no friendship is perfect, and one thing I noticed that was sort of a bridge that I, at least, had trouble crossing, was the difference in our childhoods. She didn’t talk about hers much, but from what she said, I gathered she had been through some really rough times. There was an anger there, and a darkness, both deep. Her mom lived in Victoria, yet Rhiannon was living on the streets like the rest of us. I never asked her why, but obviously they didn’t have the best relationship. Sometimes she would go home to her mom’s and try to make it work, but she inevitably ended up back on the streets.

From the time I met her, Rhiannon had a mad crush on this guy named Bob (fake name), and it was fairly obvious he liked her too. At one point during the winter I took her up to Whistler (a big deal; I wouldn’t take just anyone to my haven) to hang out for a few days, and we were in a cabin of our own at that point. We smoked a lot of weed and talked endlessly about her crush and mine (I was still pining for Best Friend Guy at that point). Basically, we were being girls, and it was fun.

Once we were back in the city, she and Bob got together, and I was stoked for her, since she’d liked him for so long, and he really seemed to treat her well, and they seemed happy.

At first our friendship remained really solid. I remember this one day when I was sitting with her and Bob downtown, with my didgeridoo resting on the bench beside me. (For those of you who don’t know, a didgeridoo is a wind instrument that originated in Australia with the Aborigines. It’s generally long, almost as long as a person, and looks like a pipe, straight, with no holes or anything in it. You purse your lips in a certain way and blow into it – it’s called circular breathing if you can do it right – and it makes a really cool, deep sound that can be sustained for as long as you want. There is some disagreement as to whether women should play the didgeridoo, as in traditional Aborigine ceremony, it is only men who play; I wouldn’t play one now.) So a guy in town had made me one of bamboo, and I didn’t let just anyone play it, since it was special to me, my instrument. Anyway, this guy who was generally a creep came wandering up to us, and Rhiannon and I were talking and laughing together, so I didn’t even notice him pick up my instrument and start playing it. When I heard it, I glanced over and saw him staring at me with this nasty smirk on his face, daring me to do something about it.

This is one of those moments I’m embarrassed of now that I look back, but at least I tried to stop him. I asked him politely to stop and put it down, and he replied by shooting a string of swears and insults at me, and then he kept playing. I took a deep breath and asked Bob if he would help me out; he told me to just let him play it. In other words, he didn’t think it was worth getting into a fight with this idiot over it. So I, in all my dignity and maturity, tried to wrestle it out of his grasp, which obviously didn’t work, since I’m a tiny girl and he was a big smelly dumb guy. So I sat back down on the bench and stared straight ahead, angry and hurt, while he kept playing it until he felt he had made his point. Then he put it down, gave me one last dirty look, and walked away.

I started to cry, and Rhiannon covered my face with kisses and we went for food at this amazing vegetarian restaurant down the street. She always had money, since she sold weed.

So our friendship was awesome, but gradually I noticed she was distancing herself from me more and more. At first I think I thought it was because she was really in love, and it was kind of natural for her to start spending more time with her boyfriend than with me. But over time, I started to notice that something was definitely wrong, because every time I asked her if she wanted to go hang out, she would reply with, “I have to go sell.” She and Bob were inseparable then, always selling together, always together, always selling.

I decided I needed a break from it all, and went to see my sister. While I was there, we stopped in at the library, and I had resolved to ask Rhiannon what was up. I sent her an email telling her I was hurt, asking what was wrong. And her reply was not what I had expected.

Me in all my shelteredness, had expected her to say she was just really in love, or mad at me, or something, but instead, she told me that she and Bob had started doing heroin. Suddenly, it all started to make sense. She was addicted, so she had to sell enough to make enough to keep doing more and more. I can’t even say how I felt. Shocked. Hurt. Scared. Confused.

I told my sister, and that night I decided I had to go back to the city. Quite frankly, I think she was glad I was leaving at that point; I was a pretty big mess at that point in my life, really a draining person, and I know that I smelled. I had to show Rhiannon I was there for her, that we were a team and we would work it out. What I don’t think occurred to me in that moment was that maybe she didn’t want to quit and get better. That maybe me riding up on my white horse to save her wasn’t what she wanted. I couldn’t wrap my head around that.

When I got back to town I kept trying to get her to hang out with me so we could talk, but I kept getting the same answer: “I need to go sell.” I remember one of the last times I saw her, right around when I gave up. She was sitting beside Bob in front of this coffee shop, Blenz, on Douglas Street, the main road in Victoria. He was nodding off with his head on her shoulder, and I remember thinking she looked like a little girl and his mother, all at once. Then I walked away.

It took a while, but Rhiannon ended up quitting heroin with huge strength, and we figured things out and became friends again after a couple attempts, though we’re not as close as we once were. Having seen and heard how this drug and others like it have destroyed other people I knew back then, I’d say it’s pretty awesome that she did it. I’m pretty sure she’s made peace with her mom, too.

So while all that was going on, I was busy making some very bad choices in regards to the company I kept. I remember this one night in particular, I somehow ended up hanging out (alone) with this guy who sold hash and was a special breed of creepy. So somehow we ended up alone together after everyone had retired to their various sleeping spots, and he and I were sitting on a step somewhere on Douglas around two in the morning. I was still a virgin at this point, and I really had no idea how sex and everything related to it “worked.” I suppose, in my gormlessness, I had given him the message I was attracted to him, because he started sucking on my ear, which was just more weird than anything. We ended up taking a long walk to Beacon Hill Park where my friends Mike and Mary Eve were sleeping, and I remember as we were walking along in the darkness thinking, Wow, he could totally rape me right now, and there’s nothing I could do about it, and no one to hear me scream. Luckily he didn’t, and we made it to our sleeping spot, where I promptly laid out my sleeping bag and he sat there staring at me for half an hour, talking about some weird spiritual stuff and being generally creepy, which I tried to ignore and pretended to fall asleep. In the morning he was gone, and once again, I was lucky. . .not smart. Lucky.

There was this other guy that I remember thinking was this really cool person, and it turned out later he was a pimp. And yet another guy who I also thought was awesome, and he turned out to be a cokehead. What can I say?

Something interesting that has stuck with me, however, is the way that the group of street kids interacted. As I mentioned before, the majority of them sold weed and what-have-you, which is what you would expect. What you might not expect, though, is the fact that, among themselves, with no “higher authority” present, these “street punks” were actually extremely ethical, caring and honest (for the most part).

For example, most of the people who sold weed worked in pairs, and what really surprised me when I first got there is that they would actually take shifts that were agreed upon prior to their start. That way, everybody made some money each day.

I remember this one night that I met up with this girl named Lucy (in the sky with diamonds). She was all leather army boots, metal studs, piercings and black. . .and I was all decked out in my hippie gear. She was actually a really funny person. I had had a bad day and hadn’t eaten, and I sat down beside her on the street well after dark to bitch about how horrible my life was. Yeah. Anyway, when I told her I hadn’t eaten, she reached into her hat, which she had been panhandling with, and handed me enough money to get a burger at McDicks. This was a girl who did drugs and probably could have used that money for a number of other things. . .but she gave it to me because I was hungry.

Kind of makes you think about some of the well-off people you might know. Would they do the same for you?

So this part of the story has been mostly shitty to write. A lot of sad, scary and ugly things happened while I was there. I had always believed that most people were good and decent and trustworthy; living there proved me wrong. There are a lot of really messed up people in the world, and they’re not always where you expect them to be (more on that later.)

I think I’ve really compartmentalized this time in my life in my head, because it was so dark and hopeless. And I can’t say that writing this all out has been healthy. But I hope it has been.

I need to go kiss my cats now.