#he might mean well…well enough….but he’s down bad for Night Swan and too smart for his own good

[lordkingsmith]

I remembered after posting Cygnus built a time and space tower. And two people (possible apprentices) who are gold and silver coded…their dance routine is throwing themselves into it. Presumably to test it. We don’t know where Blake and Liv are. Also he allegedly is living there in a sort of self exile

If he is a ranger he could also very well be his own mentor

Dear Just Dance: are these two ok? I have Mild Concerns about the safety of Cygnus’ most likely canon apprentices

It would be…intensely darkly funny if it turned out the rangers were a Thing thirty years ago and Cygnus is actually the former Blue Ranger

I doubt it and for my purposes he’s the mentor but I cannot deny…that would be darkly funny

Another funny and dark in a different way idea is he was the red Spectronizer

[onlymexsarah]

Can we please get more Prince Friedrich? Maybe meeting his family

Prince Friedrich | The sweet taste of sin

I had few informations so I let my fantasy take the control. I hope you like it, otherwise write me and I’ll do something else for you😘

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Kinda the Sequel of “Prince Friedrich | Jealousy” Prince Louis Charles and Duchess Frederica of Prussia come at the end of the season to see their son and meet y/n Bridgerton, the lady who had taken the heart of the Prince, but there is more…

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Bridgerton!reader

A/N: so I made some researches about our lovely prince Friedrich and I found out that he never become a king because he was the cousin of the actual King, and now everything makes sense to me. Also, I’ve learned that the Prince’s and Duchess’ marriage wasn’t a happy one, because they didn’t love each other :( Prince Luois Charles should be dead, he died three years after Friedrich birth, but it would be too much complicated so we are going to pretend that we sucks in history and none of us knew it, alright? ;D

warnings: my english :)

PREQUEL 1 - PREQUEL 2

Here we are, the end of another scandalous London season.

Surely, it has not been boring for everyone. We had found out the diamond of the season, and found out that sometime a pearl can take the most requested heart.

The Duke and Duchess of Hastings are organizing evrything for the last ball of the season, how many scandals it will bring to us?

There are rumors about a separation between the two; was their love just a flame that with the first rain had been turned off?

Well, what we know is that the Duchess’ sister, Miss Y/n, is still enjoying her newborn love with her Charming Prince, and I am more then happy for them.

It seems that Duchess Frederica and Prince Louis Charles of Prussia are coming to visit our lovely Queen Charlotte and their son, Prince Friedrich, is this the only reason? Lady Y/n Bridgerton had been seen quite nervous in these days, fear to meet your future father and mother in law, dear?

What I know far now is that the Prince hasn’t proposed yet, and this could bring doubts in the mind of a young Lady in love. Instead of walking between the streets of the city, the Prince had invited her to see the Palace’s garden more often, but don’t be surprise if you find yourself in front of them; it must be remember that Lady Bridgerton is still one of us, she can’t stay away from her normality too much.

I ask myself what the Royal Family will think about that...will they accept her or they will take the Prince away to return in Prussia and found themself a wife for him?

When it will happen, I’ll be the first to find out. But no need to worry our future Princess, you will charm the Duchess and the Prince as you had charmed Prince Friedrich.

“‘Normality’? Now being normal it’s bad’“ you said offended looking the paper in your hands.

“I am sure she meant nothing bad, my dear.” said your mother sweetly sit in front of you. You were drinking tea at the park all together, your family and Friedrich. He insisted to spend time with them to know all your brothers and sisters, and you couldn’t be more than happy. There were times when Hyacinth and Gregory weren’t polite and quiet as all of you, but he didn’t mind instead he started to play with them or just listen what they had to say.

“There is nothing to worry about, Y/n. In this months I learned to ignore Lady Whistledown’s words if they are not nice things toward someone.” Friedrich said resting his hand on yours that was on the table. You smiled to thank him turning to focuse on the paper resting now on the table in front of you.

“Lady Whistledown had written only good things about you two, sister. I think she likes you, together.” Colin said standing behind your mother chair looking the children in the park.

“Yes, I know...” your voice was a whisper and yu weren’t sure if he had heard you, but you couldn’t move away your eyes from Lady Whistledown’s words. Will Friedrich’s parents accept me? I am not a princess, how can they like me?

Since you knew about their arrival the doubts started to hunt you day and night. The dram of thr last night kept repeting in your mind; you had arrived at the Palace to meet Friedrich, but in the Great Hall you had seen him and Cressida getting married telling the guards to take you away. You knew she would be a better princess then you; she had the behave and the submission that you had never had. You couldn’t deny thet they would be a perfect couple together, but yet he had chosen you and the fear that he might see the mistake he had done when you’ll meet his parents scared you.

The Prince saw a shadow crossing your face while everyone started talking again. You were in your own world with the eyes focused on nowhere and an empty smile on your face.

“I would like to take Miss Y/n for a walk, if you agree Miss Bridgerton.” said Friedrich kindly. Hearing your name woke you up from your trance looking him first and then your mother.

“Of course you can, Prince Friedrich. Y/n is not the one who likes stay sit for a long time.” she said happy. He had always made sure to have her approvation for everything you did together; he valued her thoughts as much as Anthony’s.

“You are right, mother. I find the walks very healthy, indeed.” you took Friedrichìs hand that was kindly offered by him to help you to stand up. Intertwining your right arm with his, you started to walk hearing the footsteps of his guards behind you. They never left him evem when you had lunch at your house, but you didn’t mind, it was for his own safety and you didn’t want anything to happen to him.

After a while, when your family was out of hearing, he took an orange lily at his right and raised it in front of your face. “A flower for your thoughs.”

You took the beautiful flower in your hand with the first true smile of the day. “Thank you, my Prince. I am sorry if I’ve been revelead to not be a good company today; just...”

“Thoughs.” he finished your sentence understanding. It had already happened sometime that the two of you finished each other’s phrases; it was lovely for the other people and funny for you. “They might be about what Lady Whistledown wrote? When you call me ‘my Prince’ means that something if wrong.”

You brought the flower at your nose to smell its perfume. “Well, I like how it sounds, my Prince.” you smiled amused seeing him lowering his head and laughing. “But it’s not just that. Lady Whistledown had been in our life since months now, I’m used at her words...” you took a breath looking around. “Your father and mother are coming... They might expect that the one who took the Prince’s interest is at least a princess as well, but they are going to see that I am just...me.”

“I stop you here, dear.” he stopped in the middle of the little bridge of the park bringing you in front of him. “They don’t expect nothing if not what my letters said about you, and you know who they are going to see?” he took the flower from your hands breaking the stem and slowly putting the lily in your hair over your ear. His hands made you feel butterfly in your stomach; you didn’t know what your body desired, but you were sure that the little few times he had touched you weren’t enough. “They’ll see that the woman who took my heart is the most clever, beautiful and wonderful woman in the world. Because this, my dear Y/n...” he brought your hands to his mouth kissing them sweetly making you blush with a shy smile on your face. “is who you are.”

“I do not know what I did to deserve your heart, Friedrich, but you took mine long time ago, and I know there are no safest hands that could hold it.” you both stepped closer at the same time finding yourself with only few inches between your bodies. Your chest were almost touching, his breath a little above your lips and your hands still in his big ones. His big blue eyes didn’t leave yours, looking for few seconds your sweet smile.

“I promise you that I will take care of it as you are taking care of mine.” after a while still looking in each other’s eyes, you started to walk again laughing and joking and at the end of the day you felt more relaxed.

You slept all night, and when in the morning Mary, your waitress, came to wake you up you had almost forgotten Lady Whistledown’s words and you were ready to see Friedrich and apologies for the behave you had the day before. You were worry for nothing, even when Mary dressed you and styled your hair who you saw in the mirror was a Lady who looked like a swan in her dress.

When you entered in the living room all the eyes were on you; your brothers stood up quickly while your mother hid something behind the pillow of the couch. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes sister.” “Nothing wrong.” “You look nice in that dress.” they said almost at the same time nervously.

“You are odd.” you said shaking your head and walking toward your mother. “What is happening?”

“I have to tell you something, my dear. Sit down, here.” you sit on the couch beside your mother still confused by the reaction of everyone. “You see, we had found out a thing...you don’t have to-”

“The Duchess and the Prince are here in London!” yelled Hyacinth excited. Your breath froze, the air seemed to be stone because you coudln’t move and all your eyes could focus on was your mother in front of you who now was yelling at your little sister.

“Mama, tell me they are not the Duchess and the Prince of Prussia.” she looked at you sorry trying to find the right words to calm you. “Brothers! Tell me they are not.”

Benedict and Colin ran away from the room closing the door behind them and blocking Anthony with you. He turned around with a nervous smile on his face studying your body language. Impossible. You have grown up hiding your true feelings, with a smile on your face and ready to nod whenever you didn't share the same ideas of your interlocutor because you were a woman, and you had to appear polite not smart. But in a family like yours you couldn’t care less, indeed Anthony could see the bright light of the fear in your eyes.

“Yes, dear sister, the Duchess and Prince of Prussia are arrived tonight. Lady Whistledown talked about it in her morning paper.” he said walking toward the couch that was in front of the one you and your mother were sitting on.

“S-so they’re here.” you looked your mother terrified. “Friedrich said that they would have spent the first few days at the palace or around the city, so I don’t need to worry for now.”

The door opened and one of your manservant enterd in hurry. “Lord Bridgerton, Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton...” he bowed to all of you. “Prince Louis Charles and Duchess Frederica of Prussia have requested your presence tonight to dine with them at the Palace.” your eyes got wider froze on your seat unable to say something. “And...Duchess Frederica had requested your presence personally, Miss Bridgerton. She wish to know you better and...talk.”

His and your mother’s eyes were fixed on you while Anthony looked in your direction with the corner of his eyes trying to not laugh at your terrified face. “Tell them we will be there.”

The manservant bowed and walked away closing the door behind him. That day all the housemaids, waitress and waiters had the orders to help Anthony, Lady Violet and you in any ways possible to male sure that you would be ready for the dinner with the Royal family. No one questioned your absence around the house, they were all to busy to notice it.

You were in your room, sit on your bed looking the wall opposite of you with Mary beside the mirror waiting for your orders. Nothing was worse than think that all your time with Friedrich, all your laughs and your conversations could be swept away just with a worng word, awkward movement or with the wrog dress.

The fear of losing Friedrich was more painful than you expected. It wasn’t because he was a Prince, no you couldn’t care less about his title when there were just the two of you together. You liked his company, his humor and you had a thing for his voice; sometime happened that he told you thing in german making you loose your mind. You felt save around him, and it wasn’t because the guards always with him, but you knew that he would never let something happen to you; he would protect you with his own body if neccessary. And then, there was the physical part; you liked his eyes, his curly blonde hair, you liked his being taller and muscular than you, you liked when his big hands took yours or when he would put his hand on your wait during a dance. He made you feel strange feelings in your body, feelings you could not tell anyone about.

You..you loved him? What was love? Love was the one that shared your father and mother; love was the feeling that kept together your family; love was Simon who married your sister to not let her fall in a scandal; maybe love was Colin who would refuse to dance with any ladies to dance with Penelope... you were sure that love was the smile on your mother’s face at the wedding of Daphne and Simon.

Was love the flower in your hair? Was love the book on your bedside table that had a sweet note from Friedrich? Was love the fact that he forbide to you and your family to bow when you meet? Was love the shivers you felt on your back everytime you were extremely close to him? Or when he spoke in your ear?

You weren’t sure if what you felt was love, maybe the love arrived after the marriage, or maybe after the first child, but something strong must precede it, right? The same strong feeling you felt inside your chest all the time you thought about him. If it was love, if there were a thiny little chance that what you felt was the true love that mother used to talk about then you had to fight and keep it. No Prince, no Duchess and no Queen could take it away until you said so.

You stood up walking in front of the wardrobe opening it and then turned around to look at Mary whose eyes were already on you. “Mary, I want to look like a princess, tonight.”

“I promise you, Miss Bridgerton, you will be the most beautiful Princess that the world had ever seen.” she said smiling and starting to search the right dress among the ones that your mother made you buy from the modist.

“I’m fine with just the England and Prussia.” you smirked slyly.

Hours passed and finally you were ready to take the carriage with your brother and your mother. Benedict spoke to you before your departure, complimeting your beauty and reassuring you that everything would be fine.

He was right, you were beautiful. Your dress, long and bright blue Bridgerton had gems on the top and the bottom was simple but elegant. You didn’t want to wear to much jewerly, they weren’t your type, so instead you decide to wear a necklace choker with a small diamond in it. Your long arms were free and around your shoulder was a shawl of a colour little more lighter than your dress.

When the door of the throne room opened in fron of you the nervouness made you almost faint. Sit on the thrones were Queen Charlotte and a beautiful woman you suspected to be the Duchess; Friedrich was standing beside the Queen and his father beside his mother.

“Your Majesties: Lady Viole Bridgerton, her son Lord Anthony Bridgerton and her daughter, Miss Y/n Bridgerton.” the guard announced you. You three walked toward the throne smiling even thought you didn’t know who to look at, so you watched the Queen and the Duchess until the end and then, before bowing, you looked at your Prince who was already looking at you and both of you smiled at each other.

Staying bowed in front of the Queen felt like the day you’ve got present to her along with Daphne, but this time Prince Friedrich was there and coming to your side he offered you a hand. You took it and stood up smiling at him. Even thought you charmed him with everything you did, he didn’t want to see you bow in front of him; it seemed like everytime you did it a wall grew up between you two.

“Your Majesties, it’s a honor to all of us to meet you.” said your brother raising up beside you with your mother.

The Duchess stood up and with her husband walked toward you. You couldn’t read their expression at all. The Duchess was a beautiful woman with long blonde curly hair and the Prince was as tall as his son with white hair and a kind face.

You smiled trying to relase your nerves, they both seemed kind and Friedrich spoke about them a lot so yoi kinda knew that they weren’t difficult people, but still their looks made you feel a bit uncomfortable.

“Friedrich didn’t give justice at your beauty, sweetheart.” the Duchess said smiling allowing you to leave a breath of relief.

“You are too kind, Your Grace.” you smiled shyly. You didn't know what to say or what to do, should you say a compliment as well?  

"It's a pleasure meet you, Miss Bridgerton. My son talked a lot about you, all good thing of course.” said his father smiling and kissing your hand.

“I’m flattered, Your Grace. I hope Prince Friedrich didn’t lie too much.” they laughed and invited you and your family into the dining room. You and Friedrich walked together behind your brother and his father and in front of your mothers while the Queen led you through the halls.

“Prince Friedrich?” he asked looking at you with a eyebrow raised offering his arm to walk closer.

“They are the Duchess and Prince of Prussia, I cannot call their son by his first name. It’s inappropriate!” you said amused intertwining your arms together, enjoying that little touch.

“Are you nervous?” he asked kindly giving a quick look behind; your mothers were speaking together whispering and looking at the two of you.

“Why should I? There is my brother, and there is you at my side. I have everything I need right now.” you miled seeing his face light up.

“Then I promise you I will never leave your side until you order me so.” he took your chair like a gentleman helping you to sit and then he sat beside you.

“I think you will have to keep your promise for a long time, Friedrich.” you gave him a sweet smile before looking the others at the table.

The Duchess was sit in front of you beside your mother, you were between Friedrich and your brother while the Queen and the Prince were at the two heads of the table. You offered a smile to everyone noticing that the Duchess’ smile never left her face while you spoke.

They made you questions, what you liked to do, where you met Friedrich and the Prince asked you to tell them about your travel with Colin leaving you surprise by such kindness and curiosity. Friedrich took every chance to speak with you and your mother, wanting to make both feel comfortable, but the Duchess commited herself in a lot of conversation with you.

Once the dinner was ended you hoped that you and Friedrich could have time to walk away like usual, but the Duchess surprised you again.

“Miss Bridgerton, can I have the honor to walk with you a little?” she asked making your eyes grew wider. Friedrich tried to say something but his mother sushed him. “Don’t worry Friedrich, I only want to know her without you men around. Come sweetheart, you can show me the garden.”

You gave a smile to Friedrich trying to reassure more yourself than him. You walked with the Duchess out of the dining room with two guards behind you. “Your Grace...just know that the honor is mine...” you said shyly trying to break that silent.

“Please we are alone, call me Frederica now. My husband is the one who follows the rules.” she took your arm kindly, but you could feel that it was different from when was Friedrich the one who took it.

“I am not sure if I can do it, Duchess.” your sincerity made her laugh.

“Friedrich told me that. You are really a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“I hope so, You Gra-F...Frederica.” you got out into the garden. The moon was full illuminating all the flowers and the fountains.

“You learn fast! Come, sit down with me. Here, good.” you sat confused starting to wonder the real reason of that walk. “Now, I wished to speak with you alone for a long time.” you nodded to let her keep going. “My son is a charming man, and many women fell for him even before knowing his title. Hi’s handsome, I’m aware of that, but still his heart is kind and big and it’s my duty as a mother to make sure that it will not break for the wrong person. So, I can trust you and leaving his heart in your hands?”

“Of course you can, Your Grace. I have no desire to make Friedrich unhappy or even break his heart. I would never, never do such thing. ” your heart was beating faster and faster afraid that one wrong word and the Duchess would walk away forbidding you to see her son again.

“Good! You can come back to my son then, I’m sure he is worried for you. I’ll stay here to enjoy this beautiful night.” she said relaxed looking the sky. You watched her astonished...did she really believed you? Didn’t she need a speech or a proof?

She seemed so in peace with herself, like that was the happiest moment in her life. You could run away, you could return to your Prince and spend time with him. It was what your body wanted, indeed your legs made you stooding up and walking away. Few steps and your consciouness made you stop, you couldn’t leave her there with just those words.

“Your Grace...” she looked at you like she was already expecting it. “My father died when I was little...I don’t have many memories with him, he was a busy man, but I knew he loved all of us.” she smiled sweetly taking your hand to make you sit again. “I grew up with the stories of my mother about how much they loved each other. It was my favorite tale when I was little and my biggest dream now...you see, I don’t know what is love, I don’t know how to recognise it, but I promised to myself that I would have married for love, the same love that my father felt for my mother and vice versa, the same love that keep my mother waking up every morning alone in the same bed she once shared with the love of her life.” the Queen had tears in her eyes with a hand in front of her mouth. “In your son I found a friend, I found someone with who I can share interests and hobbies. He makes me feel above the moon, and I hope I do the same at him...I don’t know if this is love, but I assure you that nothing will change my feelings for him and could God never forgive me if I will break his heart.”

She hugged you, strongly and warm as your mother was used to do. It didn’t feel strange that the Duchess of Prussia was hugging you, it felt like a second mother. “My marriage was not for love, but I made sure that Friedrich knew the meaning of it. My biggest desire is that a day he would have what I didn’t, and I think I can trust you, dear Y/n.” she smiled wiping away the few tears she had on her cheeks. “Go, we have made my son waiting enough.” you returned inside laughing with the Duchess leaving all of the people inside the living room speechless. “Oh, hi honey. I’m sorry if we did late, you two will make up for the lost time in these days. Now it’s late, should we going to sleep?”

“I agree, Your Grace. Come Y/n, it’s quite a long journey.” said your mother standing up from the couch looking for Anthony who was speaking with the Prince.

“At this time the street are dangerous, Lady Bridgerton. Are you sure you don’t need some guard with you?” asked Queen Charlotte concerned.

“Thank you, Your Highness, but I have to refuse your offer.” Anthony said bowing and taking his hat.

“Such nosense! The Palace has hundreds rooms at least, you could stay here for the night.” Prince Louis suggested looking Anthony for his approval.

“It’s too much, Price Louis. We don’t want to disturb Your Highness even more.” he said polite looking the Queen.

You and Friedrich shared a confused look, what if you would spend the night there? You could see him in the morning and maybe he would walk you at home to stay together longer.

“In some way or another Lady Bridgerton we are destined to be family...” the Queen said looking at you and Friedrich quickly making you both blush. “So I don’t see any problem to let you sleep here for a night. Prince Friedrich wuold never forgive me if something happens to you.”

With astonishment in the face of all of you Bridgerton, the waitress showed you the rooms where you would stay. All the three of you got separeted at some point and you had no idea where were the rooms of your brother and your mother; you didn’t even know where you were.

Your room was huge, full of paintings and books. There was a canopy bed in front of you, the blankets were white, pure as a flower that must be took yet; just like you.

You let your hair free from all the haripins, the long waves caressed your back while you let the dress fell down. You took the corset away, breathing again like you had been drowing; you would sleep in your petticoat that was of the colour of your dress.

Once the curtains were closed, you were ready to go to sleep when you heard someone knocking at your door. Sure that it was your brother or your mother you went to open it before gasping in surprise. Friedrich was in front of you, not in his usual uniform, but with a simple beige shirt and black pants.

“Y-your Gr...I mean Friedrich. I didn’t expect you to come here.” you were afraid; afraid of how easyly seemed in that moment to fall and commit a sin without being seen, and you couldn’t let it happen.

“I know, I am sorry to disturb you. I wanted to make sure if you were ok...I don’t know what you and my mother talked about...” he said smiling. You let out a breath; of course he wasn’t there to tempt you, his intentions were true and it wasn’t his fault if you felt such strange feelings inside you. He wasn’t aware of the battle your body was having with your mind.

“You are so kind, Friedrich. I am more than fine, your mother is really the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” you offered him a smile. “I thank you for your though, but it would be not appropriate if some one see us here alone...”

“I-I know and it was not my intention to insult you in any way coming here. It felt strange being in the same place but not being together...I missed you, Y/n.” you felt your heart melt at his words making you close the door behind you so that you were in the desert hall together.

You took his hand bringing it to your cheek. You close your eyes for few moments enjoying his warm against your skin. “I missed you too, Friedrich, but I had to assure your mother with some business.”

You smiled to each other while he came closer to you with a step. You had never imagined that being at the same distance as when you dance would be different if you two were alone. There was no reason to stop, there was no reason to compose yourself if no one would be able to see you, and you were scared that there was nothing to hold your body to take what it craved so much.

He kissed your hair letting your forehead restin on each other. You noticed that his breath had got heavier just as yours and you had to close your eyes to focus on the situation and not on his lips so close to yours.

He cleared his throat caressing your cheek with his thumb. “A proper gentleman would leave, wishing you a good night and telling you he would wait the morning to come so he could see you again.”

“And a true Lady would thank you for your words and praying to the morning to come faster so that the hours spent alone wouldn’t be too much.” you whispered taking big breath. You felt something tickling inside your stomach, your legs shaking and shivers were emanated from his other hand that now was gently rested on your hip.

“Can...can you hear someone approacing? Listen carefully.” both of you staied silent trying to control your breaths so that you could hear better.

No noise arrived at your ears, only the whisper of the night that brought sinful suggest. You shaked your head slowly, not wanting to break the silent that was hugging you, hiding your bodies from the people out there.

He opened his mouths few times, trying to say something but the words died in his throat. He was distracted by so many things...your skin under his hand, the blush on your cheeks... he was drunk of your parfume and your breath on his lips was like a magnet to him; a magnet too strong for his own soul.

He brought his lips on yours, slowly and kindly, leading you on the street of the pleasure. Your body was completely under his control; your hands went to caress his hair while his hand that was on your cheek lowered slowly on your neck. His thumb kept moving on your skin while the hand went on the back of your neck, knowing that you would not be the first to break the kiss, but keeping your body hypnotized by his touch.

He kept his movement slow even when the kiss got deeper. You were sure he knew what he was doing, because when you felt your legs shaking even more he made your back rest on the door closed behind you.

Your body knew what to do, your lips moved with his like it was something you had done every day, and oh god you wished you could. Now that you had tasted him, now that you were feeling his lips on yours and his hands touching your body like he never did, you wanted more. You were sure that you couldn’t have enough of him from that day on, because once you know the sweet taste of a sin, you can’t stop.

[headinthestaticsky]

Sanctuary With the Enthralling Moon, Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan.  Story 2, Chapter 1

AUTHORS NOTE: None of the character in Twilight belong to me. ALL rights go to Stephenie Meyer.

Summary: Another year has gone by, and that year was quite an eventful one. Bella moving back to Forks shook up Fleur’s life and yet, Fleur has never been happier. Her relationship with her sister might not be the best but... she is surrounded by love. Her friends, her father, and Jasper have all filled her life with happiness. But what happens when a incident occurs on her 18th birthday. Will the Cullens leave? Will Jasper stay in touch with Fleur? Or will she be cut off by them entirely?

LINK TO MASTERLIST

https://headinthestaticsky.tumblr.com/post/658474113276477441/sanctuary-with-the-enthralling-moon-jasper-hale-x

“Wake up in an ice-cold sweat And my skin starts to creep You're hovering above my bed Looking down on me Haunted house sound effects Dracula Teeth.”

Dracula Teeth by, The Last Shadow Puppets

I was getting softly shaken away by someone, I groaned and had turned the other way.

“I graduated... I don’t have to go to school anymore.” I mumbled.

“Wake up Petal, happy birthday.”

My eyes lazily opened, my dad was staring down at me, his eyes crinkled with happiness.

“Oh yeah... it is September 13th, it’s Bella and I’s birthday.”

“You forgot your own birthday?”

“I never know what the date is anymore dad don’t worry...”

“I got presents...” Dad said in a sing-songy voice... I could tell her was trying to persuade me.”

“Okay, okay I’m getting up.”

Dad had handed me two boxes, wrapped terribly but it was the thought that counts. The gifts were a new paint set and canvases and a new writing journal.

“Wow, these are great dad, thanks.”

“You’re welcome Petal.”

“You give Bella her presents yet?”

“Yeah, she freaked out on me for a bit... I joked and told her she had a gray hair. Speaking of gray hair... it looks like you have a speak there.” Dad joked.

“Ehh, gray suites me well.”

“So, what’d you plan on doing today? Were you going to hang out with Jasper?” He asked, he sat down on the edge of my bed

“Not until later on tonight, I thought we could something together...That steak at the diner sounds pretty good... or we could just take a long drive... both sound enjoyable to me”

“Sounds like a plan Petal. I luckily got the day off” He then got up and walked toward the door, leaving me by myself.

Graduating early had it’s perks... I had a lot more free time on my hands and I could do whatever I wanted with it. I got dressed eager to spend some one on one time with dad. Bella was already gone by the time I got up so Dad and I quickly made it to my car. We had been driving through the town for 30 minutes when he started a conversation.

“So, how are things with you and Bella?”

“Uh... it’s okay I guess. We don’t really fight but we don’t really talk at all if I’m honest.”

“Everything that happened last year in Phoenix got to you huh?”

“Yeah, it did. I guess it’s going to take some time for me to let it go.”

“I understand... I love that girl to death but I don’t even know if I’ve fully let it go.”

“I would understand if you hadn’t... she said some messed up stuff dad.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad stuff on your birthday.”

“Don’t worry about it you didn’t upset me, I get it, you were just curious.”

The rest of the drive was nice, quiet at some points but nice, we had gotten back into town at 4:30. Just in time to eat at the diner, then after that I would be off to the Cullens for the night.

“Ugh, that was good... but I think if I eat anymore I might explode!” I dramatized.

“Me too Petal, me too. We better go on back to the house, You said you had to be at the Cullens by 5:20.”

“Yeah... blame that on Alice, she’s very excited to throw Bella and I birthday party.”

I had driven back to the house quickly. My timing was immaculate, as soon as I had parked in the driveway, Jasper had pulled in as well.

“Chief Swan, nice to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, Jasper.”

“I hope you don’t mind me stealing Fleur for the rest of the night...”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“Bye dad, love you! I had fun.”

“Love you too.”

Jasper and I drove off as soon as dad was in the house. I was buzzing with excitement Jasper of course, fueled that excitement for me.

“Happy Birthday Darling.”

“Thank you love.” I pecked his cheek.

“I gotta ask... how crazy did Alice go with this whole birthday thing?”

“She reeled it in... like 10% of the crazy back.”

“Well, you tried to calm her down... as long as cake is involved we won’t have a problem.”

“Yes, their is cake... glad it could persuade you into coming down for the night.”

“I’m glad we both reached an agreement... you have cake, I show up.”

Jasper chuckled and held my hand. I felt happy, turning 18 marked another year of my life. When we arrived at the Cullens house, Alice had jumped out of the house and ran to greet me at the car.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” 

“Thank you, I really appreciate what you did for me.”

“No need to thank me, come, come.” I was then dragged inside by Alice. I could feel the excitement radiating through her body.

“Hey short-stack, happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday, Fleur.” 

“Thanks Emmett, Thanks Dean.”

“Fleur, happy birthday.” Esme said her warm smile bring me even me joy.

“Thank you.”

“Happy Birthday Fleur! Rosalie said, she then pulled me in for a hug.

“Thank you, Rose.” I looked around after we broke apart.

“Where’s Bella at?”

“She’s late... as usual.” Alice said.

“Speak of the devil.” Rosalie said.

I turned around, I saw Edward and Bella standing in the living room. Neither of them looked very happy. I hadn’t seen Edward since everything that had happened with James. I couldn’t trust him much either, I felt uncomfortable to be around him now.

“Okay, Fleur, you open our gifts first.”

Esme and Carlisle had gotten a new phone, Emmett had gotten me seat covers and a new wheel cover for my car, Rosalie had gotten my a ring with my birthstone in it, and Alice had gotten me a new pair of black ankle boots.

“You’ve had your others ones long enough.” Alice stated.

“As nice as these are... you know I’m going to keep my other boots.”

“Of course, you’ve always been stubborn. Okay Bella, your next! ” Alice exclaimed.

Rosalie begrudgingly walked up to Bella and handed her a box.

“It’s a necklace... Alice picked it out.”

“Thanks.”

“Here’s Emmett’s.” Alice said

Bella shook the box, it was empty.

“Already installed it in your truck. Finally a good sound system for that piece of.”

“Hey, don’t hate on the truck.”

“Sorry...”

“Okay open up Esme and Carlisle next!”

The gift was in an envelope, before Bella could open it however... she got a paper cut. 

“Ouch, paper cut.” She said and stuck her index finger up showing everyone.

“Wow Bella, how smart... show off a open wound in front of vampires... some of those vampires haven’t had blood...” I couldn’t even finish my own thought, growling was coming out from behind me. I turned around, Deans eyes were pitch black, and he had dark circles around them. He lunged toward Bella, Jasper had pulled me back and held me against his chest. Turning me around so I couldn’t see what was happening. I heard a huge crash followed by the sound of glass. I then heard another loud bang, followed by the sound of what seemed to be someone stepping on the Piano keys. Jasper led me out of the room after that. Taking me back outside.

“I-I didn’t think that was going to happen. I’m so sorry.” Jasper said, guilt laced in his words.

“It’s okay, I’m fine... It’s wasn’t your fault.” I said, pulling him close to me.

He rested his forehead against mine and sighed.

“Nothing good can come out of this you know... Edwards going to try and do something heroic.” Jasper said.

“Yeah, I know, love.”

“I don’t care what it is, as long as I can stay with you.”

“Always such a smooth talker Hale.”

“I do try my best.”

“It’s an amazing effort.”

“I better take you home, I don’t think Dean can be around any humans right now.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Timeskip: Back to Fleur’s house.

“I’ll see you tomorrow love.”

“Okay, love you Jazz.”

“Love you too.”

I pecked him on the lips before leaving his car. I ran inside, eager to get warm. It was always cold in September in Forks. I went to bed, I had a unsettled feeling in my stomach. I knew something was going to happen, and I didn’t know if I could stop it. The next day was strange, Jasper hadn’t called or texted me all day. I was starting to get worried. Dad was at work and Bella was at school so I didn’t have anything else to do. So, I decided to pace, I walked back and forth, back and forth through my room all day it seemed. It wasn’t until later that I had finally seen Jasper. The look on his face proved my gut feeling to be correct.

“Jasper? Whats wrong.?”

“We.. we’re leaving Forks.”

I stood there, my eyes widened, this was the last thing I wanted to happened.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

For the headcanon thing

I think Hatter likes to watch bad movies. Like the really bad ones. The ones that make you roll your eyes/laugh/cry at every single thing about it, doesn't matter if it's plot or acting. But you know what he loves more than watching those awful movies alone?

Watching them with someone else.

"hey, Mori, wanna watch a movie?"

"...no."

"c'mon, you'll like this one."

"no, I won't."

"...no, you won't. But I will enjoy your presence. C'mon bro, do it for the sake of bonding time."

"*sigh* fine..."

(inspired by real life events)

💕 Sleepover 💕

Rating: PG13 for language and alcohol consumption

Relationship: Takeru (Hatter)/Aguni

Tags: banter, friendly insults, Just Guys Being Dudes, drinking, swearing, love confessions (sort of), They Talk A Big Game But The Love Is There

Bangbangbangbangbang!

“Mori!”

Bangbangbangbangbang!

“Moooooori, let me iiiiiiiiiin!”

Clunk!

Click!

Creeeeeeaaaaaak!

Aguni opens his apartment door, wincing at the slap of summer heat that greets him as he does.

“C’mon man,” an overheated and impatient Takeru implores, “it’s miserable out here!”

“You bring me samosas,” Aguni asks, crossing his arms across his chest, “Because I’m not letting you in without my samosas.”

Takeru’s face twists into a look of shocked indignation.

“Would you really leave me—your best friend on this beautiful green Earth—to swelter and die on your doorstep in this blazing summer heat…all because I forgot the samosas?”

Aguni considers.

“No. I’d ask you to swelter and die in the parking lot. Neighbors’ll kick up a fuss if you block the stairwell.”

“Well it’s a good thing I got two orders this time,” Takeru shakes the bag enticingly, “so we don’t even have to share.”

“Someone’s splashing out,” Aguni murmurs, taking the bag from Takeru’s outstretched hand and standing aside so the man can enter his home, “Don’t suppose there’s a reason for all this…”

“Maybe I just wanted to be nice,” Takeru says flippantly, toeing off his shoes, “a little ‘thank you’ for welcoming me into your home.”

Aguni carries the bag of food over to his coffee table and sets it down, being careful not to disturb the place settings he had so thoughtfully arranged. Two plates, two spoons, two glasses of water—all neatly placed in the center of his new, sage-green placemats.

Hopefully nobody spills curry on them.

“You brought one of your weird movies again, didn’t you?”

Takeru rolls his eyes. Shoving his arm into his messenger bag, he rummages around its contents for a moment before yanking a dark, thin rectangle and holding it up for Aguni to examine.

“The 1977 horror classic, House,” he explains with an edge of exasperation, “is a critically-acclaimed work of art that has been inspiring both film fanatics and the average man for nearly half a century.”

“Straight from the back of the box,” Aguni mumbles, opening the stapled-shut paper bag and peeking at the containers inside, “Anyways, I thought you didn’t like scary movies.”

Takeru scoffs.

“Not sure what gave you that idea,” Takeru says, shoving his feet into his slippers—yes, his slippers, black velvet with red-and-gold dragons embroidered on the front because ‘I’m here enough to warrant my own damn slippers’ and ‘these are fucking awesome,’ “We saw Hereditary in the theater!”

“And you were scared the whole time,” Aguni points out, gingerly lifting their food out of the bag and arranging the containers on their respective plates, “You had to sleep with the lights on for a week. Screwed up your cat’s sleep schedule and everything.”

Takeru swans his way over to Aguni’s refrigerator and opens it, more or less sticking his whole head inside to examine its (admittedly meager) offerings.

“It’s not my fault that Ziggy is such a smart, beautiful boy who knows what ‘lights out’ means. And besides,” Takeru says while examining the bottle of white wine Aguni had put in to chill, “I’ll be staying here tonight, so it won’t be an issue.”

“So the cat gets to sleep, but I don’t?”

“You, my dear, get a evening of my company, complete with scintillating conversation, cultural enrichment, and—as we have already established—your very own order of samosas,” Takeru calls out from the kitchen, rummaging for a suitable pair of wine glasses, “And besides, I plan on sleeping deeply and comfortably knowing that any and all monsters would no doubt eat you first, giving me ample opportunity to flee the scene…”

Aguni lifts the lid off his curry, admiring the rich yellow hue and inhaling its bold spices. There are even a few extra chilis lying on top, which is a lovely surprise.

Takeru arrives at the table, glasses in one hand and wine in the other. He gives the spread a discerning once-over and then a nod of apparent approval.

“Anyways,” Takeru says, twisting off the top of the wine bottle (not without giving Aguni a look of distaste as he does it), “I’m a bit disappointed in you, Mori-chan. I thought you’d fight me more on this one…”

“It’s a losing battle,” Aguni concedes, sitting himself down in his usual spot and turning on the television, “I have too many brain cells and not enough patience to go through the usual theatrics.”

Takeru hands him a generously-full wine glass—not as full as his own, of course, but still more than what the average person might pour.

“This’ll help the brain cell problem,” he says with an over-enthusiastic smile, “probably the patience, too. Wine makes you sentimental.”

“Hmph.”

“See? It’s already working.”

“Yeah, well,” Aguni grumbles, taking a small sip of his beverage, “better get the movie started before I change my mind.”

Takeru begins his usual indignant grumbling as he fumbles with the DVD player. Aguni could help him, but, frankly, it’s entertaining to watch his friend struggle with the simple electronic setup.

When Takeru manages to get the tray open, he gives a small cheer of victory. Aguni stifles a smirk.

Hopefully the movie is this much fun.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“Mori. Hey, Mori-chan.”

Aguni rolls his eyes, and then himself onto his side to face Takeru.

“What,” he grumbles, squinting in the dark as he tries to make out the other mans’ shape, “piano thing still got you upset?”

“It ate her fingers, Mori,” Takeru whisper-shouts, “and then it got the rest of her too! That’s enough to upset anyone!”

“It wasn’t even that scary,” Aguni mentions, shimmying his shoulders in order to find a more comfortable spot on his futon, “besides, you don’t even play piano, so you don’t have to worry.”

Takeru is silent for a moment—a blessed, beautiful moment.

“I guess you’re right,” he says after his brief contemplation, “but that’s not the only thing on my mind.”

“I’m guessing ‘sleep’ isn’t one of ‘em?”

Takeru scoffs. There’s a shuffling and fluttering sound from his neighboring futon as he turns to face his disgruntled companion.

“In due time,” Takeru says, “what plagues me now is more of a philosophical question.”

Aguni sighs.

“Remember the part where that guy got turned into a pile of bananas?”

“Yeah,” Aguni responds, “that was weird.”

“What if that happened to me,” Takeru asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “would I turn into a pile of bananas, or would I be a different kind of fruit?”

Oh, you’re different alright, Aguni thinks to himself, but he knows better than to say that out loud. Takeru’s using his ‘this is going to keep me up all night unless you give me a good answer’ voice, so Aguni starts thinking about how best to answer.

“I think you’d be melons,” Takeru concludes, “yeah…definitely melons.”

“Because of my round head and lack of hair?”

“No,” Takeru snaps, “well, that wasn’t my original thinking.”

Aguni subtly checks his phone—half-past one o’clock in the morning, too late to send Takeru home on a train to ask his cat these burning questions instead of him.

“Why,” Aguni asks, “do you think I’d be melons?”

“Well, like you, melons are strong and tough on the outside. Make a nice thud sound when you smack ‘em.”

“So do I,” Aguni mentions, “if you get the right spot. But I also hit back, so that’s not very melon-y, is it?”

“Hm. I suppose not. But,” Takeru says, “where you really start to resemble the melon is on the inside.”

“Inside, huh?”

“Yeah,” Takeru considers for a moment, “underneath all that tough rind, melons are soft. Sweet, too. Nothing fancy, they’re not trying to prove anything, they’re just…good. Like you.”

Aguni hadn’t been expecting something so…sentimental. It’s a touching departure from their usual quips and playful jabs, and it makes something warm and kind of familiar bubble up in Aguni’s heart.

“And also,” Takeru tacks on, “they’re green. And green is your favorite color! So it’s perfect.”

“I think you’d be a strawberry,” Aguni says after a beat.

“A strawberry? You mean only one?”

“Only one,” Aguni confirms, “but one of those fancy designer ones, the kind they grow in those hydroponic farms and sell in department stores for thousands of yen.”

“I heard about a guy who got murdered at one of those places,” Takeru says, “some yakuza guy who was selling weed on the side, someone put a hit out on him and used the body for fertilizer.”

“That’s…disturbing,” Aguni replies, “but that’s beside the point. Don’t you want to know why I think you’d be a single strawberry?”

“Is it because they’re red?”

“Sort of,” Aguni says, “Got a lot of seeds, too. Get stuck in your teeth pretty easily, if you’re not careful.”

“I am rather tenacious.”

“You are.”

Aguni considers his next words carefully. His relationship with Takeru is…complicated, and uncertain, and if anyone ever asked him what they ‘are’ he wouldn’t know how to answer.

“Strawberries are sweet. They’re sour, too. You’d know the flavor anywhere. And you…”

He pauses. Takeru, for once, doesn’t try to fill the silence with his own voice.

“…Well, those designer strawberries are all one-of-a-kind, just like you. So that’s why there’s one one,” he says slowly, “and I like strawberries. Might even, uh…love ‘em.”

“Oh, Mori…”

Something flops onto Aguni’s blanket—once, twice, and ah, it’s Takeru’s hand, and he’s looking for something. Aguni slips his arm from under the covers and covers Takeru’s hand with his own. This is apparently what Takeru had been searching for, because he pulls Aguni’s hand closer to himself.

“You know,” Takeru says, “now that you mention it, I think I might love melon, too.”

Aguni feels lips against the back of his hand—a soft kiss, gentle, a reassurance as much as an act of affection—and he’s glad for the dark of night that hides the blush of his cheeks.

“I feel better now,” Takeru announces, giving Aguni’s hand a light squeeze, “In fact, I think I’m falling asleep as we speak…”

“Hmm,” Aguni hums in agreement.

He’s still holding Takeru’s hand, and Takeru, his—neither seem too keen on letting go, at least, not for now.

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (10/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

-/-

“Swan? Let’s do what?”

Emma’s lips are parted, and he keeps waiting for her to finish her sentence, to say something. He was rather interested in hearing what exactly she was about to suggest that they do, but she’s no longer paying him any attention.

What could have possibly gotten her attention?

Killian twists his head around to look behind him, and it would be impossible to miss Neal.

Neal and Tamara and the way that they’re standing hand in hand in line for the Ferris wheel like some kind of cliché out of a bad movie that plays on TV every Saturday night.

Well, fuck.

Killian’s hands fall from Emma’s hips before he moves them to her shoulders, tugging on them and trying to get her attention. It doesn’t work at first, but then she’s blinking and shaking her head before snapping her mouth shut, her lips pressed into a firm line.

“Hey, let’s get back to my place, yeah? The fireworks will be soon, and we don’t want Liam and Elsa to get the good spots. Liam’s got that huge head, so he might block the view.”

Her laugh in response is pathetic, and she obviously knows it from the way she overcorrects and attempts to make her laughter genuine. It falls flat. She’s an open book to him sometimes, he wishes all the time, and right now, he knows the path her mind is about to take.

He would know. He’s pretty much paved the damn path for her.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” she hisses, eyes slanting.

“It’s a holiday. Everyone here spends it at the pier.”

“Not Neal. Never Neal. He told me every year that he would never come with me. That asshole.”

Emma pulls away from him, and he loses his grip on her shoulders as she storms off toward Neal. Her swan falls off, and he has to lean down to pick it up.

Bloody hell.

Is he ever going to get to quit chasing this woman?

“Emma,” he shouts before cursing under his breath. He doesn’t need to bring attention to them. “Swan, hey.” He has to jog to catch up to her, tugging on her wrist and pulling her back and away from the main path until they’re standing between two booths.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go yell at that fucking bastard for showing up here with her.”

“That is not going to make you feel better.”

“Really? Because I think getting to tell him that I absolutely despise him would make me feel a hell of a lot better.”

“For a moment, yeah, but then it all goes away and he gets the satisfaction of knowing that he is still affecting you like this.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. He may be a stubborn ass, but she’s the exact same way.

“Really? You’re telling me this? You, who if I remember correctly, had sex with me to forget about your ex when she showed up, is preaching about momentary satisfaction not being good enough.”

Killian flexes his hand and tries to keep it from balling up into a fist. He’s got the stuffed swan in his left hand, and it’s already straining from how he’s clenching it. Damn thing. He hates how easily it hurts now.

He hates that this is the way Emma is about to be, but if she’s going to have to realize that he’s more than capable of giving what he gets.

Stepping closer to her, Killian dips his head down until his looking into Emma’s eyes. “Aye, that I did, but I was not the first to do it and I also regretted treating you like that. I think it may be smart for you to remember that before you decide to throw stones at me because you’re upset with Neal.”

Her jaw clenches, and her eyes cut away from him. He can feel the heat radiating off of her, and her chest heaves as she breathes. There’s this part of him, something he knows is primal, that can’t look past the way her breasts look as they move or the way that he can see her stomach when he looks down. She’s been wearing a bloody bikini all night, the flannel shirt on top of it not at all buttoned, and he’s tried not to think too much of it.

He has spectacularly failed. The woman is a temptress.

But she is also his best mate, and none of that is what he should be focusing on since it doesn’t even make the list of his priorities at the moment.

“I think I need to be alone.”

“Swan – ”

“It’s…you’re fine. We’re fine. I’ll be on the rooftop at ten like I’m supposed to be so we can all watch explosions in the sky. I just need some time to breathe.”

“Emma.”

She finally looks at him. “I’m not going to talk to Neal. I promise. See you later, okay?”

“In half an hour, love. I’ll save you a seat.”

“Good.”

And then she’s walking away and turning in the opposite direction of Neal and Tamara. Killian, however, can’t seem to do that.

He’s seen Emma upset more times in the past month and a half than he has in the past five years. There have been times when she’s broody and annoyed and mad as hell, occasionally at him, but it’s never been like what he’s seen lately.

It’s never been heartbreak that she’s been attempting to hide.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s never cared this much either.

Right now, though, all he can think about is what a fucking idiot Neal has to be to cheat on Emma and to keep doing things that are going to upset her.

She doesn’t deserve it. No one does.

Well, Neal Cassidy might.

He and Tamara are still standing in line at the Ferris wheel, but Killian now realizes that they’re not in line at all. They’re simply standing there talking with Neal’s hand on Tamara’s ass as she throws her head back in laughter.

If Emma wanted Neal to come here every year, Killian can’t understand why he wouldn’t. They were together for half a decade, and the man couldn’t come once? It’s not asking much. Hell, it’s barely asking anything.

But he’s here with the woman he was sleeping with behind Emma’s back?

Maybe he should have let Emma tell him off because that would feel so damn good right now.

Breathing in, Killian pushes down the urge to walk toward Neal and decides to walk past him. Momentary satisfaction, he reminds himself. If he discouraged Emma from doing it, he can’t be the hypocrite.

Damn does he want to be.

Fortunately, or unfortunately really, for him, Neal seems to want to let him have the opportunity.

“Hey, Jones.”

Fuck.

Killian stops walking and slowly turns on his heels. Cassidy is walking toward him, his girlfriend staying back where they were standing, and Killian is definitely going to rip the head off of this swan before the night is over.

Better it than Neal, he guesses.

(Logistically. He would much rather rip the bastard’s head off, but he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison.)

“Cassidy,” Killian greets, but he doesn’t offer anything else.

Neal smiles and laughs before sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging. Is he trying to look nice? Because it sure as hell isn’t working.

“Can I talk to you for a minute? In private.”

“You can talk, but you can talk here. I’ve got somewhere to be in a few minutes.”

Neal’s eyes narrow, and he looks down at Killian’s hand. Out of instinct, Killian wants to pull his shirtsleeves down and cover his scars, but that’s not what Neal is looking at.

“Look, man,” Neal sighs, that same, insincere smile on his face, “I saw you walking around earlier with Emma, and I feel like I’ve got to warn you.”

Oh, this asshole definitely deserves to have his head ripped off.

“Pardon?”

“You and Emma.” He shrugs again while Killian straightens his shoulders. “I always kind of knew you two had a thing going on, but I didn’t believe it until I saw you walking around with her earlier. I’m cool with it and all, but I don’t think you know what you’re getting into with her. There are a hell of a lot consequences when it comes to choosing to be with Emma, and they’re not good ones.”

Killian swallows as his teeth start to grind. What kind of bastard is this man? Who the hell does he think he is to tell Killian that there are consequences to being with Emma? Killian wants to laugh, he really does. He wants to laugh and tell Neal that he has no idea what he’s talking about since Killian is most definitely not with Emma.

Mostly, he wants to knock the man’s front teeth out and break his fucking nose. He used to not be this bad. Killian was rarely a fan, but Neal had his redeeming qualities. They could have been friends in a way.

He doesn’t mourn the lost opportunity there.

“What could you possibly know about choosing Emma?” Killian sneers, stepping into Neal’s space. “Because it seems to me that you didn’t, that you did the opposite of that, and for you to think that you have any right to what she does with her life has got to be the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So, you are fucking her then? I was right.”

It’s like he’s just been slapped across the cheek.

“What could possibly make you think that?”

“You wouldn’t be defending her like that if you weren’t.”

He scoffs and closes his eyes, his breathing heavy. “You said there were consequences to choosing Emma, aye? Well, I would still choose her every damn time even though I’m not with her. You, on the other hand, left, and the consequences of that mean I never want to hear about you trying to interfere with her life again. Go spend time with your girlfriend, Cassidy. I’m sure she’d love to know that you’re still hung up the woman you left to be with her.”

“Fuck you.”

Killian bites his tongue and focuses on the feel of the stuffed swan in his hand to keep him from doing something stupid.

“Emma has always deserved better than you. It’s a shame it took you hurting her to see it. Fuck off, Neal. I think it’s time that you moved on.”

“Neal?” Tamara calls from behind them. “Is everything okay?”

Neal blinks, slowly, and then the smile on his face transforms from sinister to charming. “Just catching up with an old friend.”

And then he walks away and goes back to Tamara.

Killian has no idea what just happened. All he knows is that he’s pissed off, still desperately wants to break Neal’s nose, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to act normal around everyone when they’re watching the fireworks.

He just really needs a damn drink.

But he is not paying for an overpriced one when he’s got perfectly good rum at home.

It’s easy to get back to his apartment once he gets out of the crowd. It’s quieter, too, and he can hear voices coming from the rooftop already. The darkness of the night makes it impossible to tell who’s up there, but he’ll find out soon enough. When he walks inside and makes his way upstairs, Skipper is asleep on the couch. He doesn’t bother to do more than lift his head when Killian comes in. Some guard dog.

Killian puts the swan down on the kitchen island, reaches into the cabinets for a bottle of rum, and takes a long sip. He doesn’t need a glass, not yet.

“You planning on sharing that?” Emma asks.

Shit. He didn’t even know she was here yet, but she’s sitting in the dark corner of the living room with her knees pulled to her chest.

“Do you want some?”

“You don’t have my wine, so yeah, yeah I do.”

She stands from the chair and walks over to him, grabbing the bottle out of his hand before taking a long, slow sip. She’s usually not much of a rum drinker, but it does happen on occasion.

“Why aren’t you up on the roof with the others?”

“Didn’t feel like climbing up there yet. You know, it’s really a shame that the fire escape is not on the side of the building that your room is on. Would have saved me once or twice.”

“I’ll have a talk with whoever built this place a few decades ago.”

She huffs and takes another sip before putting the bottle on the counter. “I wasn’t ready to see everyone. I don’t know. I felt like maybe I couldn’t keep it together, and I…well, I felt really damn pathetic.”

“Hey, hey, no, don’t do that. I – ” Killian sighs and reaches forward to put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “Do you want to go to my room and talk? I know we don’t have our slushies, but I think it can still work.”

“To talk or to…”

His lips press together. “To talk, love. Come on.”

Killian gently pushes Emma out of the kitchen until she’s walking toward his bedroom. He grabs the swan off the counter as a last-minute thought before following her. She doesn’t turn on the lights, so he doesn’t either. Instead he moves to open the curtains on all of his windows so that moonlight filters through. The fireworks will be starting soon, and he doesn’t want to miss them. He’s got a pretty good feeling they won’t make it up to the roof tonight, but he’s fine with that.

His mattress squeaks as Emma settles down, and it shifts when he joins her, the both of them settling against the headboard and under the comforter. It’s silent for awhile, and while Killian thinks Emma is going to take the lead, he finally realizes that she isn’t.

For once, it might have to be him making the first move.

Out of the corner of his eyes, his scars flash silver in the moonlight, and all of the sudden, Killian has this unbelievable need to share something he hasn’t talked about in years.

Something he’s never wanted to tell Emma before, but now, it’s all he can think about.

“Do you know how I got the scars on my arm, love?”

She twists her head. He’s not looking at her, but he can feel her gaze on his face instead of his arm. “No.”

“I was in an accident.”

“When you were in the Navy?”

Killian clicks his tongue. If only.

If only it had been that. He imagines that might be easier to deal with when it’s all said and done, but that’s not at all what happened.

“It was a car accident, actually.” He swallows and braces himself. If he focuses on simply staring at the painting of a sailboat hanging above his television, he might be able to get through this. “I was with my girlfriend at the time. Her name was Milah. We’d been out to dinner, and I was driving us back to my place. The roads were empty. I swear, I’d never even seen them that empty, and our light turned green so I started driving when an SUV ran a red light and crashed right into us in the intersection. I don’t actually know what happened after that, but the police report said we flipped several times before hitting a tree.”

A soft, small hand brushes against his own, and he spreads his fingers so Emma can twine hers together with his. It’s the most comfort he’s felt in ages, so he doesn’t stop himself when he brings their joined hands to his lips.

“Milah died in that accident, while all that happened to me was my hand getting caught in the door and shards of glass leaving some pretty nasty scars. I don’t even know how I stood up again after Liam told me she was gone. I didn’t think I would survive. I was so young and in love, and I thought she and I had the entire world in front of us.”

Emma squeezes his hand, and really, it’s better that way instead of her trying to say anything.

That’s not why he’s sharing this.

“I was so heartbroken. I’d never felt pain like that before, but then, as I started to make funeral arrangements, I got a call from her husband telling me that I was not welcome. I didn’t know she had a husband, that she had a son either, and it was like I was grieving two different things: the woman I’d lost and the woman I thought I knew.”

“Killian.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, pulling their arms over Emma’s shoulder and tugging her closer. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want pity. I simply felt like you deserved to know this about me and to know why I am so unbelievably fucked up when it comes to relationships. I loved a woman who lied to me for years, and I loved her still even after I knew about it. That anger you feel toward Neal? The one that’s mixed with betrayal and sadness and this underlying love, I have felt it. Sometimes I still do, and you are not pathetic for feeling anything that you’re feeling. I don’t care how many times we have to have this conversation. I will tell you the same thing every damn time.”

“Maybe one day I’ll actually be able to listen to you and believe it.”

“It takes time, and while I’m sure one of our friends is much better equip to understand emotions, I know that I understand you, Emma. I always have, and though you piss me off half the time, I’m never going to judge you for anything.”

She sighs, her shoulders moving with it, and then she leans her head over to his shoulder, strands of her hair tickling his chin, and Killian tugs her closer before brushing his lips against her forehead. There’s a loud whistle outside and then an explosion of light that flickers down over and over again as the fireworks show starts. the view isn’t quite the same from in here, the height of the windows not quite right, but he’s not going to complain. There are things much more important than lights in the sky.

“Do you want to hear something stupid?” Emma suddenly asks.

“I always want to hear something stupid.”

“I’ve never won a stuffed animal before. Hell, I’ve never even had one as a kid.”

Suddenly, he gets why it was such a big deal to Emma that Neal come with her to the festival. He understood, partially, but sometimes he forgets that Emma’s childhood wasn’t ideal. It was hard and painful from the few things he’s been honored to hear from her, and even with how much his sucked, it wasn’t like Emma’s. He at least had a few good experiences before his mum died and before his father became one of the biggest asses in the world.

It’s not a competition in who has had a shittier life, but it does help him keep on understanding her. A few days ago she made some off-hand comment about having a few minor run-ins with the law as a teenager, something about stealing food from convenience stories, and it clicked in his mind why she doesn’t like when Neal works at the pawn shop.

She doesn’t want to fall back into her past, and she doesn’t want to take any risks that are going to lead her there.

Knowing that and knowing that Neal must have known too, makes Killian seriously regret not breaking the man’s nose.

“It’s not stupid, love. If it’s important to you, in any way, it’s important to me.”

Her laugh is lost amongst the sound of the fireworks, but he still hears it. It’s a good sound to be able to hear.

“I always wanted to get to play the games as a kid, but I didn’t have the money. So, I don’t know. It was nice. It was stupid, but it was nice. I’ll have to find a place to put it in my apartment even though I’m not sure where in my apartment it would go.”

“On that chair in your bedroom where you put all the clothes you’re supposed to put up but never do.”

“Shut up. Just accept that I’m thankful for it. Don’t make fun of my laundry habits.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll win you however many stuffed animals your heart desires. No questions asked.”

“Then I expect several next year.”

Killian laughs into her hair as something unfamiliar settles in his stomach. “It’s a deal.”

-/-

-/-

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[letterboxd]

Best of SXSW 2021.

From properly good Covid comedies to an epic folk-horror doc and an Indigenous feminist Western, the Letterboxd Festiville team reveals their ten best of SXSW Online.

We dug out old lanyards to wear around the house, and imagined ourselves queuing up the block from The Ritz (RIP). We dialled into screenings and panels, and did our level best to channel that manic “South By” energy from our living rooms.

The SXSW festival atmosphere was muted, and that’s to be expected. But the films themselves? Gems, so many gems, whether shot in a fortnight on the smell of an oily stimulus check, or painstakingly rotoscoped over seven years.

When we asked SXSW Film director Janet Pierson what she and her team were looking for this year, she told us: “We’re always looking for films that do a lot with little, that are ingenious, and pure talent, and discovery, and being surprised. We’re just looking for really good stories with good emotional resonance.” If there was one common denominator we noticed across this year’s SXSW picks, it was a smart, tender injection of comedy into stories about trauma, grief, unwanted pregnancy, chronic health conditions, homelessness, homophobia and, yes, Covid.

It’s hard to pick favorites, but here are the ten SXSW features and two short films we haven’t stopped thinking about, in no particular order.

Recovery Directed by Mallory Everton and Stephen Meek, written by Everton and Whitney Call

“Covid 19 is in charge now” might be the most hauntingly funny line in a SXSW film. In Recovery, two sisters set out on a haywire road trip to rescue their grandmother from her nursing home in the wake of a severe Covid 19 outbreak. There’s no random villain or threat, because isn’t being forced to exist during a pandemic enough of a threat in itself? If ever we were worried about “Covid comedies”, SXSW managed to flush out the good ones. (Read about the Festiville team’s other favorite Covid-inflected comedies, including an interview with the directors of I’m Fine (Thanks for Asking).)

Alex Marzona praises the “off-the-charts chemistry” between leads Mallory Everton and Whitney Call. Best friends since they were nine, the pair also wrote the film, with Everton co-directing with Stephen Meek. Every laugh comes from your gut and feels like something only the cast and crew would usually be privy to. “You can tell a lot of the content is improvised, which just attests to their talent,” writes Emma. Recovery doesn’t make you laugh awkwardly about how awful the last year has been—rather, it reminds you that even in such times there are still laughs to be had, trips to be taken, family worth uprooting everything for. Just make sure you’ve packed enough wet wipes for the road, and think long and hard about who should babysit your mice. —EK

The Spine of Night Written and directed by Morgan Galen King and Philip Gelatt

Don’t get too attached to any characters from its star-studded cast—nobody is safe (or fully-clothed) in The Spine of Night’s raw, ultra-violent and cynical world. Conjured over the last seven years, directors Philip Gelatt and Morgan Galen King’s rotoscoped epic recaptures the dazzling imagination and scope of their influences Ralph Bakshi and Heavy Metal. Approaching an anthology-style structure to explore how ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely’—a proverb more potent now than when Gelatt and King began their project—the film packs a franchise’s worth of ideas in its 90-minute runtime. Though the storytelling justifiably proves itself overly dense for some, it will find the audience it’s after, as other Letterboxd members have declared it “a rare treat” and “a breath of fresh air in the feature-length animation scene”. For sure, The Spine of Night can join Sundance premieres Flee and Cryptozoo in what’s already a compelling year for unique two-dimensional animation. —JM

Kambole Campbell caught up with Gelatt and King (who are also Letterboxd members!) during SXSW to talk about animation inspirations and rotoscoping techniques.

The Drover’s Wife: The Legend of Molly Johnson Written and directed by Leah Purcell

Snakes, steers and scoundrels beware! Writer-director-star Leah Purcell ably repurposes the Western genre for Aboriginal and female voices in The Drover’s Wife. Molly Johnson is a crack-shot anti-heroine for the ages, in this decolonized reimagining of a classic 1892 short story by Henry Lawson. And by reimagining, we mean a seismic shift in the narrative: Purcell has fleshed out a full story of a mother-of-four, pregnant with her fifth, a missing husband, predatory neighbors, a mysterious runaway and a young English couple on different paths to progress in this remote Southern land. Purcell first adapted this story for the stage, then as published fiction; she rightly takes the leading role in the screen version, too.

As a debut feature director, Purcell (Goa-Gunggari-Wakka Wakka Murri) already has a firm grip on the macabre and the menacing, not shying away from violence, but making very careful decisions about what needs to be depicted, given all that Molly Johnson and her family are subjected to. She also sneaks in mystic touches, and a hint of romance (local heartthrob Rob Collins can take us on a walk to where the Snowy widens to see blooming wildflowers anytime). Judging by early Letterboxd reviews, it’s not for everyone, but this is Australian colonization through an Indigenous feminist’s eyes, with a fierce, intersectional pay-off. “Extremely similar to a vast majority of the issues and themes explored in The Nightingale,” writes Claira. “I’m slowly realizing that my favorite type of Westerns are Australian.” —LK, GG

Swan Song Written and directed by Todd Stephens

Udo Kier is often the bridesmaid, rarely the bride. Now, after a lifetime of supporting roles ranging from vampires and villains to art-house muse, he finally gets to shine center-stage in Swan Song. Kier dazzles as a coiffure soothsayer in this lyrical pageant to the passage of queer times in backwater Sandusky, Ohio. “He is absolutely wonderful here,” writes Adrianna, “digging deep and pulling out a mesmerizing, deeply affecting and emotionally textured performance, proving that he’s an actor with much more range than people give him credit for.”

A strong supporting cast all have melancholy moments to shine, with Linda Evans (Dynasty), Michael Urie (Ugly Betty) and Jennifer Coolidge (Legally Blonde) along for the stroll. Surreal camp touches add joy (that chandelier, the needle drop!) but by the end, the tears roll (both of joy and sadness). Writer-director Todd Stephens ties up his Sandusky trilogy in this hometown homage, a career peak for both him and Kier. Robert Daniels puts it well, writing that Swan Song is “campy as hell, but it’s also a heartfelt LGBTQ story about lost lovers and friends, vibrant memories and the final passage of a colorful life.” —LK

Leo Koziol spoke with Todd Stephens and Udo Kier during SXSW about Grace Jones, David Bowie and dancing with yourself.

Islands Written and directed by Martin Edralin

Islands is a Mike Leigh-esque story that presents a Canadian Filipino immigrant family full of quirk and character, centered around Joshua, a reticent 50-year-old homebody son. The story drifts in and out of a deep well of sadness. Moments of lightness and familial love make the journey worthwhile. “A film so Filipino a main plot device is line-dancing,” writes Karl. “Islands is an incredibly empathetic film about what it’s like to feel unmoored from comfort. It’s distinctly Filipino and deals with the psychology of Asian culture in a way that feels both profound and oddly comforting.” In a year in which we’ve all been forced to physically slow down, Islands “shows us how slow life can be,” writes Justin, “and how important it is to be okay with that.” Rogelio Balagtas’s performance as Joshua—a first-time leading role—won him the SXSW Grand Jury Award for Breakthrough Performance. —LK

Ninjababy Directed by Yngvild Sve Flikke, written by Flikke with Johan Fasting and Inga H. Sætre

Ninjababy is as ridiculous as its title. When 23-year-old Rakel finds herself accidentally pregnant, scheduling an abortion is a no-brainer. But she’s way too far along, she’s informed, so she’s going to have to have the baby. The ensuing meltdown might have been heartbreaking if the film wasn’t so damn funny. Ninjababy draws on the comforting and familiar (“Lizzie McGuire if she was a pregnant young adult,” writes Nick), while mixing shock with originality (Erica Richards notices “a few aggressive and vulgar moments [but] somehow none of it seemed misplaced”).

An animated fetus in the style of Rakel’s own drawings appears to beg and shame Rakel into motherhood while she fights to hold onto her confidence that not wanting to be a mother doesn’t make her a bad person. Ninjababy’s greatest feat is its willingness to delve into that complication: yes, it’s righteous and feminist and 21st-century to claim your own body and life, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to turn away from something growing inside of you. It’s a comedy about shame, art, finding care in unlikely places—and there’s something in it for the gents, too. The titular ninjababy wouldn’t leave Rakel alone, and it’s unlikely to leave you either. Winner of the SXSW Global Audience Award. —SH

The Fallout Written and directed by Megan Park

Canadian actress Megan Park brought the youthful wisdom of her days on the teen drama series The Secret Life of the American Teenager to her first project behind the camera, and it paid off. Following the scattered after-effects of a school shooting, The Fallout may be the most acute, empathetic depiction of childhood trauma on screen in recent memory. “It sneaks up on you with its honesty and how it spends time with its lead, carried so beautifully by Jenna Ortega. Even the more conventional moments are poignant because of context,” writes Kevin L. Lee. Much of that “sneaky” honesty emerges as humor—despite the heavy premise, moments of hilarity hang on the edges of almost every scene. And Ortega’s portrayal of sweet-but-angsty Vada brings self-awareness to that humor, like when Vada’s avoidant, inappropriate jokes with her therapist reveal her desperation, but they garner genuine laughs nonetheless.

In this debut, Park shows an unmatched understanding of non-linear ways that young people process their pain. Sometimes kids try drugs! Sometimes they scream at their parents! But more often than not, they really do know what they want, who loves them, and how much time they need to grieve (see also: Jessie Barr’s Sophie Jones, starring her cousin Jessica Barr, out now on VOD and in theaters). The Fallout forsakes melodrama to embrace confusion, ambiguity and joy. Winner of both the SXSW Grand Jury and Audience Narrative Feature Awards, and the Brightcove Illumination Award. —SH

Ludi Directed by Edson Jean, written by Jean and Joshua Jean-Baptiste

When Ludi begins, it’s quiet and dreamy. The film’s opening moments conjure the simple pleasures of the titular character’s Haitian heritage: the music, the colors, the people. Ludi (Shein Monpremier) smiles to herself as she starts her morning with a tape recording her cousin mailed from Haiti to Miami, and listens as her family members laugh through their troubles before recording an upbeat tape of her own. But that’s where the dreaminess ends—Ludi is an overworked, underpaid nurse picking up every shift she possibly can in order to send money home. Writer-director Edson Jean fixates on the pains and consequences of Ludi’s relentless determination, which comes to a head when she moonlights as a private nurse for an old man who doesn’t want her there.

Ashton Kinley notes how the film “doesn’t overly dramatize or pull at false emotional strings to make its weight felt. The second half of the feature really allows all of that to shine, as the film becomes a tender and empathetic two-hander.” George’s (Alan Myles Heyman) resentment of his own aging body steps in as Ludi’s antagonist. Jean throws together jarring contrasts: George throwing Ludi out of the bathroom, followed by Ludi’s memories of home, followed by another lashing out, followed by a shared prayer. The tension is unsustainable. By interspersing the back-breaking predicament of a working-class immigrant with the sights and sounds of the Caribbean, Ludi elegantly, painfully reveals what the cost of a dream can be. —SH

Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched: A History of Folk Horror Written and directed by Kier-La Janisse

Building on the folk horror resurgence of films like The Witch and Midsommar, Kier-La Janisse’s 193-minute documentary Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched is a colossal, staggering undertaking that should school even the most seasoned of horror buffs. “Thorough is an understatement,” says Claira.

Combining a historian’s studied, holistic patience with a cinephile’s rabid, insatiable thirst, the film, through the course of six chapters, broadens textbook British definitions, draws trenchant socio-political and thematic connections, debunks myths and transports viewers to far-flung parts of the globe in a way that almost feels anthropological. As Jordan writes, “Three hours later and my mind is racing between philosophical questions about the state of hauntology we generationally entrap ourselves in, wanting to buy every single one of the 100+ films referenced here, and being just a bit in awe of Janisse’s truly breathless work.” An encyclopedic forest worth losing yourself in—get ready for those watchlists to balloon. Winner of the SXSW Midnighters Audience Award. —AY

Introducing, Selma Blair Directed by Rachel Fleit

There’ll likely be some level of hype when this intimate collaboration between actress Selma Blair and filmmaker Rachel Fleit comes out later in the year on Discovery+, and that’s okay, because that is Blair’s intention in sharing the details of her stem-cell transplant for multiple sclerosis. There’d be little point in going there if you are not prepared to really go there, and Introducing, Selma Blair is a tics-and-all journey not just into what life is like with a chronic condition, a young son, and a career that relies on one’s ability to keep a straight face. It’s also an examination of the scar tissue of childhood, the things we are told by our parents, the ideas we come to believe about ourselves. “I almost felt like I shouldn’t have such intimate access to some of the footage in this documentary,” writes Andy Yen. “Bravo to Selma for allowing the filmmakers to show some truly raw and soul-bearing videos about her battle with multiple sclerosis that make us feel as if we are as close to her as family.” —GG

Femme Directed by Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping

I May Destroy You fans, rejoice: Paapa Essiedu, who played Arabella’s fascinating best friend Kwame, takes center stage in Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping’s intoxicating short film Femme. It’s a simple premise—Jordan, a femme gay man, follows his drug dealer (Harris Dickinson, mastering the sexually repressed brusque young man like no one else) home to pick up some goods on a night out. Except, of course, it’s not that simple. The co-directors build a world of danger, tension and electricity, with lusciously lensed scenes that lose focus as the threat rises. Frankie calls it “hypnotizing and brutal and gorgeous” and we couldn’t agree more. A crime thriller wrestling with hyper-masculinity seen through the eyes of an LGBTQ+ character, with a sucker-punch ending to boot, the world needs more than twenty minutes of this story. —EK

Play It Safe Directed by Mitch Kalisa

If you (unwisely) thought that the vulnerable, progressive environment of drama school would be a safe space for Black students, Play It Safe confirms that even a liberal bunch of actors (and their teacher) are capable of being blind to their own egregiously racist microagressions. Mitch Kalisa’s excellent short film explores structural prejudice head-on, in an electric acting exercise that rests on where the kinetic, gritty 16mm camera is pointing at every pivotal turn. At first, we’re with Black drama student Jonathan Ajayi as he receives the assignment; then we are with the rest of the class, exactly where we need to be. “Literally in your face and absolutely breathtaking,” writes Nia. A deserving winner of the SXSW Grand Jury and Audience narrative shorts prizes. —GG

Follow the Festiville team on Letterboxd

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 11:  Known Hiding Places

Fuck!

He didn't know what it meant that David suddenly had a memory, but he knew it wasn't good. With Emma, the Curse was breaking. He'd seen evidence of that. There was no doubt in his mind all these changes were because of her arrival. He had many theories as to why David didn't have his memories when he woke, but the one that he'd been hoping for was that it wasn't so much evidence of the Curse breaking, but rather a side effect of the Curse breaking.

He'd hoped that no memories might have been a step in the right direction, evidence of a weakness in the Curse. After being asleep for twenty-eight years, it wasn't that David didn't have memories or couldn't remember; it was simply that Regina hadn't given him memories. Regina had planned to keep him that way, so she'd seen no reason to waste magic on crafting a new identity for him. That was the theory he'd hoped for the most, at least, because under that theory, then David could have had so much potential for helping to break the Curse if he truly woke up. It would have been so easy!

He'd already been drawn to Mary Margaret, and the pair had already woken one another up while they were under the Curse. So far, it was only Henry who seemed convinced of the Curse, if David and Mary Margaret could fall in love here again if they could wake one another up…that sort of development could have been invaluable for Emma in the long run.

But for David to suddenly regain his memories…how had that happened? What did it mean? It had been more than a week since the last big signs of the Curse breaking, since the crickets came back to Storybrooke. Had Emma started adjusting? Was she getting too comfortable with life here? Too used to Henry's warnings? Buying into Regina's theory that her son needed help from Archie? Was she less fierce? Less persistent? In a way, he almost hoped that was the case! Because that theory was bad, but it wasn't as bad as the other theory he had.

Regina had done something.

David had told him that he'd run into the Mayor before coming into his shop. Was it possible that Regina had seen what was going on and fought back against the breaking of the Curse? Had she done something to give memories to the Former Prince Charming? Oh, how he hoped that wasn't the case. Because if that was what happened, then it confirmed what he'd feared and suspected from the beginning…Regina had magic. Somewhere in this town, she had access to power that he did not. And though he'd been behaving in these last few weeks as though that were a likely possibility, to have confirmation of it was a terrifying thing. If she could activate Cursed memories within David Nolan, what else was she capable of doing?

Fuck!

He'd left work; locked the shop, and driven straight home but not before calling Dove and telling him to go to the toll bridge path and tell him what he saw. He'd been nearby and didn't ask questions as to why he was abandoning Emma Swan to go watch a bridge path. He was nearly home when Dove sent him a message that David had emerged from the path, crying as he walked down Main Street. He'd been finished with dinner and doing the dishes when he received another message that Mary Margaret had appeared. She was also crying.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He wanted to go and kill himself an Evil Queen!

But he didn't. Instead, he went about his typical routine that night. He glanced at the chipped cup, still set perfectly upon its clean and orderly table. He looked in on Bae's shawl hidden in his kitchen drawer. Still, he waited until he was dressed and ready for bed before checking for the most important item he owned because if Regina did have magic and was capable of watching him, then he didn't even want to give her a glimpse of the dagger. So he went to bed, rolled over onto his side, then slid his hand between his pillows so he could feel the dagger through the fabric of his pillowcase.

Still there.

Still safe.

But here in his home, if Regina had magic…it wasn't good enough. If his store could be broken into by Ashley, then his home could be broken into by anybody, especially a Mayor who possessed her mother's old skeleton keys and could open any lock. The dagger was something he couldn't risk being taken.

He had two options.

Either figure out a way to discreetly carry a fourteen-inch dagger with him everywhere he went in Storybrooke and hope that Regina didn't notice or find it suspicious if he did.

Or make a new plan.

Obviously, he elected for the second option. He spent most of the next day brainstorming, going over plan after plan in his head. At the same time, Dove continued to send him updates about David going home and Kathryn taking him back; meanwhile, he'd seen none other than Dr. Whale slip out of Mary Margaret's apartment early in the morning, leaving him with a mental image he was happy to ignore. The good news was that by the end of the day, he had a plan together. It wasn't a great one, it wasn't something he was thrilled with, but it was the safest plan he had, one that accounted for Regina looking away at just the right time so that he could do his work.

That night he sent a message that Dove was to meet him at the shop bright and early. The bird didn't complain. Not one bit. And the next morning, he managed to sneak the dagger out of his pillowcase and place the necessary items in the trunk of his car. He parked on the street and didn't even bother going inside. He just waited for Dove to turn up, and it was only then that he unlocked the door. He explained that he wanted him to go to Regina and keep her busy for one hour. No more, no less. How? He didn't care. Start a fire, complain about how Mr. Gold was treating him, talk about the volume of the clocktower chiming at night now that it was working again, hell, Dove could tell her that he'd sent him to complain about the library being such an eyesore and it would be acceptable! So long as it was for one hour, he'd make sure to cover anything that happened later.

Dove was irritated but knew better than to not listen to him. And so, twenty minutes after releasing Dove for the morning, he received a text message that told him he was about to see Regina. And he wasted no time.

He immediately got into his car and drove out into the woods on the outskirts of town. He parked his car on the side of the road and slipped on rubber boots and an apron, and then grabbed the shovel from his trunk. Then he walked inside. He'd purposefully chosen a random spot but one that was easy for him to find again. A small cluster of trees by a fallen log, perhaps a three-minute walk directly east into the woods. One of the trees had a flimsy tangle of bushes and ferns surrounding its trunk. It was easy to spot and easy to identify if he needed to come back later. It was elevated slightly, and the roots would ensure the ground didn't erode. Not to mention his watch told him he had only forty minutes to get this accomplished and get back to the shop, so Regina didn't notice his absence.

With that in mind, he started to dig. Two inches. Four inches. Eight inches, he dug until there was easily a hole that was one foot deep into the ground, big enough to fit his dagger. He'd wrapped it in cloth before he'd left home that morning, and he intended to bury it in the cloth as well. So, with a silent prayer that he was doing the right thing and not making a mistake that Nimue would chastise him for when the Curse was broken, he plopped his bundle into the hole and then began to refill it.

He was just about finished when he heard it, a sound he hadn't heard since his time in the Enchanted Forest, one that sent shivers down his back. Was that…could it be…a wolf? Half of him hoped it was at the same time the other half hoped it wasn't. On the one hand, there had never been any evidence of wolves in Storybrooke. On the other hand, there had never been evidence of crickets either until nearly two weeks ago. It certainly sounded like a wolf, and he supposed that there might have been one here who had been living quietly in the Curse…unless, of course, Ruby had realized what she was and regained some of her magic. Either way, the sound of howling and his phone telling him that he had twenty-five minutes to get back to his car and return to the shop told him that it was time to go. So, with one last cursory look around the spot he'd left the dagger, he took a deep breath, shifted the brush around him, and emerged…

Only to come face to face with Sheriff Graham.

For a moment, he feared failure, feared Regina had been on to him and sent her huntsman out to watch him as he'd sent his bird to distract her. But then he took in the Sheriff's face. He appeared out of breath, as though he were running from something or someone.

Suddenly he remembered the wolf he'd heard. That, coupled with the Sheriff's previous history...

If memory recalled, in a past life, he was a friend to the animals, specifically the kind with four legs and lots of teeth.

Maybe he wasn't running from anything…maybe he was running to some creature. That was best for him. If that assumption were true, then it meant he'd only just arrived. He hadn't been watching him hide his dagger and couldn't report the behavior to Regina. But only if he played this right.

"Good morning, Sheriff," he excused, suddenly aware that they weren't in his shop but rather the middle of a forest that was supposed to be deserted save for the animals. Graham was smart. And he had just stumbled upon him out in the middle of nowhere. He had to tread very carefully. He had to keep the focus on Graham and not him. Regina was supposed to be kept busy, but he was her bedmate…what was he doing here? "Sorry if I startled you."

"Right. Sorry, I…I thought you were a wolf," Graham huffed.

He smiled. Now…why would a police sheriff suddenly take an interest in wolves. "Did I forget to shave?"

"What are you doing out here so early?"

Shit. "A spot of gardening," he excused, hoping he didn't want details. "Yourself?"

"I was looking for, um…"

"A wolf. Yeah, I think I'm beginning to catch on," he interrupted. The best way to distract a person was to turn their attention back to themselves. If he could make the Sheriff feel like the crazy, stupid one running through the forest, maybe he wouldn't take too much note of his own presence. "You know, to the best of my knowledge, Sheriff, there are no wolves in Storybrooke. Not the literal kind, anyway. Why are you looking?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"Try me," he grinned. A sheriff taking an interest in a wolf was absurd; Mr. Gold wanted him to know that. A Huntsman who had once had many of them as his companions, on the other hand…not so absurd. And Rumpelstiltskin wanted very much so to hear his answer. He was holding his breath, waiting for this answer. After the disappointment that was now David Nolan the other night, he was eager for some good news.

"I saw one in my dreams, and then I saw one for real. Just a few hours ago. Did you, uh…did you see anything unusual out there?"

He raised his shovel and stared at it for a bit, not because he was particularly interested in it but because it kept him from leaping into the air with joy. "Saw a wolf in his dreams and then one for real."

It could have been just a dream. But after twenty-eight years of nothing, he doubted "just a dream" would send him running into the woods, actually looking for one. Especially not when, besides Henry and Mary Margaret, Sheriff Graham was spending the most time with the Savior now that she was the deputy. All magic had a price, even in this land. He wondered, whatever it was that gave David Nolan memories…memories for memories was a cost with a nice ring of irony to it.

"I'm afraid not. I do wish I could be more helpful," he explained, moving around the Sheriff, away from his dagger.

The dagger…he'd have to hide it again. Whether he had his memories or not, Regina still possessed his heart. He couldn't take the risk that he'd tell her that at the same time she'd been distracted, he'd been out digging in the woods and having her put two and two together. But…as long as he'd already buried it and was moving away…

"You know, Sheriff," he muttered, turning back. "They say that dreams…dreams are memories; memories of another life."

The Sheriff stared at him with something like fear in his eyes. No. Not fear. Panic. But not an external one, an internal panic. A crisis of identity. That was encouraging. "And what do you believe?" he finally breathed.

"I never rule out anything," he commented with a smile. "Good luck, Sheriff. I do hope you find what you're looking for."

He moved over the log before him and began to travel back to his car. But after he was a distance. He turned back at the rustling, at the moving of Sheriff Graham. He held his breath, hoping that the Huntsman was nowhere near his dagger. He wasn't. He was looking about, this way and that, looking perhaps for his wolf. And then he was gone. Into the woods, chasing after…wolves or ghosts, he didn't know. But he was away from the dagger.

Still, he let out another curse as he watched the Huntsman disappear into the woods. The dagger was safe for now, but he couldn't leave it there not for too long. He glanced at his watch. His hour was up. Or at least it would be soon. He didn't have time to unbury it and bury it again in a different place. He didn't have time to do one or the other either. He had to go.

Graham was a threat to it. But for now, he was occupied. He needed to go. He needed to rethink his plan, find a new hiding spot, plan another way to keep Regina occupied. The house wasn't safe, the woods were compromised, perhaps the third time would be the charm.

[eyes-like-a-pisces]

Rules: Answer 10 questions, tag 10 people and make another 10 questions.🧜‍♀️

Questions from my astrological twin: @maiden-song 💕

1. if you could choose to glimpse the afterlife, would you?

Yes, I would. I think a lot about It.

2. under what circumstances do you think you past life was lived?

I could have had many past lifes. I think I was a native american, cause I've always felt bonded to their tradicion and same with China, cause when I hear the sound of Erhu - traditional chinese instrument, something wakes up in me. I've also always wanted to see Sweden & Finland, so maybe I was doing something there... I mean, I could do anything. I see myself in biblical times, as well as middle ages. I could be a renaissance artist, as well as dying of hunger during victorian era, or something, and that's probably why I'm still careful with money, haha. For my latest one, I think I could have been a hippie in the 60/70s and had some drug use experience, cause when I was a child I used have dreams about taking drugs, even if I didn't know anything about It. I also had some experience with psychics (and "psychics"), my mom had a past life regression and she told me she saw me few times... I don't take anything for granded, but reincarnation is one of my favourite theories.

3. what three skills would you instantly master if you had the choice?

Playing every instrument, speaking every language, singing beautifully

4. would your rather no passion or no pain?

No pain. Everything is needed in life, but you know, enough is enough.

5. if you had a chance to leave this world and go to another one, would you take it?

Depends of the world and who I would meet there. Even if this world can be cruel and disappointing at times, I still have some love for him and humanity.

6. if you could smell like anything in the world, what would it be?

Like the first day of spring, when you go outside and the air smells different. Or a storm.

7. do you feel like common interests or philosophical comparability are not important?

They are very important. I can't imagine a relationship without similar interests, views. You either get bored or fight constantly. I think that the whole point of searching a partner is trying to find things you got in common. The more similar you are, the more understood you feel and more you are attracted to them. That's my experience at least. That's a very basic example, but as you may noticed, I'm very much into music and I was dating a guy, who wasn't into music that much at all. I thought It doesn't matter at first, but then I started feeling like I'm missing my favourite way to connect with other person. Once I met a guy who loved music as much as I do, I'm sorry to admit It, but my partner became unattractive to me.

Similar interests and views are needed at the beginning, to bond with somebody, and later, to simply enjoy spending time together (thanks Captain Obvious). I mean... chemistry and good will are not enough for a relationship to last. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you have to be identical and agree on everything - some differences can be inspiring, balance your relationship and teach you something new. It's also ok and even needed, to have some separate hobbies, things that you like to do on your own. There are also other important things, like, if you equally care about each other and if you are on the same page in general, but I can't imagine not agreeing in the key points and things that are the most important to you. And the only person who can decide what is the most important is the person who is in that relationship, no matter if It's about interests, philosophy or religion. But beside a romantic relationship, I think It's good to be surrounded by different people and listen what they got to say.

8. if there was one mystery you alone could learn the answer too, what would it be?

The mystery of life in general. Why we are here, is there any destiny, how we are connected, how this universe works, what happens after death...

9. in your opinion, is there anything more important than love?

No :) (I'm not talking about putting your relationship before other things. I'm talking about love as a big force and meaning of this universe)

10. describe a new planet you would live on, if you could.

I want things to be diverse, monumental... Maybe another moon, why not. As a concept of the world, I wish there would be peace :) everybody has their safe place to live, will to live, passion, purpose, someone to love and who loves them back. Amen.

Questions from @mybloodiedvalentine 💕👯

1. What is an unpopular opinion you hold you about which you feel strongly and with which you seem to notice a lot of people disagree?

Nothing specific comes to my mind at the moment (that I haven't mentioned before). I sure have some, but what's unpopular opinion in general and what's unpopular opinion on tumblr, are two different things. Maybe, that the "tumblr positivity" is not really helpful. Like: "in case you need to hear this: you are smart, you are loved... ". How do you know that? Those are just empty words. But It's better to spread positivity than negativity, of course.

2. What is the nicest thing a stranger has ever told you that you can recall?

Oh, I had a few situations like that... This is so lovely, when a stranger wants to just be genuinely nice, not just catcalling you...For example, when I was with my 3 girlfriends at the club and 2 ladies in their 40s where like: "excuse me, we just wanted to say that we can't stop starring at you all, cause you are the priettiest girls in the club." And we were like: aww, omg, you are beautiful too, come dance with us. And we were all dancing in our witches circle ignoring all sweaty men around us, haha. Or when my mom went to the the same hair saloon as me and asked hair dresser if she remembers me and she said that she does and that I'm nice and intelectual. I'm her faithful client now ;_; (Sorry for sucking my own dick, but It was nice to remind myself about these situations).

3. Has a piece of art or music ever made you cry? If so, do you remember a specific moment? 

Crying to music is my passion. The latest intense moment was few days ago. I was loading a dishwasher at night and I played some music and then "lover you should've come over" by Jeff Buckley came on and sudden wave of lonelliness hit me so hard, that I just had to put down the plate, hide my face in my hands and weep ✌

4. What’s your favourite piece of clothing?

Idk, maybe my Penny Lane coat :)

5. What’s a random childhood memory that fills you with a deep sense of comforting nostalgia? 

Sledding with kids during a very cold winter in my home town, until It got dark and snow looked like sprinkled with glitter and having my freezed feet warmed up with a hair dryer, when I came back home, haha.

6. What is/was your favourite thing about your mom? If not your mom, your dad? Or best friend?

My favourite thing about my mom is that she's tolerant and open minded. I didn't have to lie to her or pretend I'm someone I'm not because of that. My favourite thing about my dad is that he actually cared about being a parent, even tho my parents divorced. I respect that he has unwavering morals and huge knowledge about a world - biology, astronomy, music, art...- subject doesn't matter- but he is very modest about It.

7. What’s something you learned on your own of which you’re proud?

Playing guitar

8. When was a moment in your life you remember laughing the hardest?

I was playing cards since I was a kid. After few years, when I was about 13 y. o. I got the first poker, a royal flush. When I saw my cards, I'm not sure why, I just coudn't believe my luck, I started laughing so hard I almost died.

9. What do you like to do when you’re having a hard time mentally that invariably calms you down?

Really depends of the kind of situation and if It's triggered by something or just a longer period of time feeling in a certain way. The is no a magic trick, but some things might be helpful. When It's concrete situation, at first, when the feelings are really intense, then I just can't calm down. Every try to do so, has a reverse effect. Like, I CAN'T THE FUCK CALM DOWN and It makes me even more angry. Brain needs about 20 min to chill, if It's not triggered, so It's better to be left alone and just go mad a little until brain will have enough haha. Have a good cry, listen to some music, have a lonely walk, write my feelings down etc.

I like to listen to Teal Swan on youtube. She's a spiritual teacher. I know, It might not sound encouragingly, but she actually seems very down to earth. She has a video about like, every emotion and every problem ever. She's very good in naming feelings, rationalizing them and It makes you feel more understood. And It calms me down as result. ASMR doesn't work for me, but I remember that at some point I liked to listen to sounds of the nature, like rain, waves etc + guided meditation to fall asleep.

Music always helps in general - listening, playing guitar, singing. I also like to take an oil and do a face massage. I'm really sorry if I sound like an instagram influencer 🤢, but when you feel bad for a longer time, you frown and there is a tention in your jaw, it can be really relieving. I follow instructional videos on yt.

When I have a longer period of going into downward spiral, then every way to distract my brain is good - TV shows, internet content that is not related to my life situation (although, sometimes It's good to distance yourself from social media), for example, I like criminal podcasts, cause they are occupying enough to distract a miserable brain, meeting somebody, going to a place I've never been before. + any kind of shedule, reason to leave the house, any goal, anything positive to look forward to and having even the simplest things done, is a blessing (even if sometimes It's the last thing I wanna do). I also tend to be much sadder in the evening, so I just go to sleep. When nothing works, then It's time for the professional help.

10. Do you have a favourite holiday memory?

Discovering Cocteau Twins.

Best regards if u actually read all that chatter, but those questions were so interesting, that I couldn't limit myself to one sentence answer (in most cases).

My questions are:

1. Who or what was the most influential for your music taste?

2. If you could time travel, where and when would you like to go first?

3. If you could be someone from an opposite gender for a day, how would you like to look like and what would you do?

4. Do you have a style icon/inspiration? Or a favourite designer? Desribe your dream clothing style

5. What's the song by a band/artist from your country that you could recommend? (From your hometown or state eventually)

6. What is the most rebellious thing you've ever done?

7. Has ever something in your life happened, that you coudn't explain with logic?

8. What 5 objects someone could use to summon you?

9. What is your favourite name from your culture's language? And outside your culture's language?

10. What's a song you normally wouldn't admit you like or different from music that you usually listen, but still enjoy?

I tag: @winterdryad @bowiepop @nightmare @confusion-in-the-sea-of-sorrow @l0w-budget @numberoneblind @mirandasinclairs @mysticbride @leperwitch @comeacrossthedesertnoshoeson @hexafu @mielmelancolie @arcane-delight

[lilacmoon83]

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 7: Disbelief

"He's right, Emma…" Mary Margaret finally spoke, as the blonde turned to look at her best friend. But what she saw alarmed her. She had seen tell tale signs of this over the past few weeks since she and David had started their relationship amidst his divorce. She had seen a boldness and confidence in her best friend that had not been there before, but she had been reluctant to acknowledge it, since she had been hell bent on denying that David was good for her, let alone that their love might be real. Acknowledging that meant facing truths that Emma was not ready for

And seeing her best friend now look at her with watery eyes filled with more love than Emma had ever known was something she was also not ready for.

"It's true…" Mary Margaret said tearfully.

"She's right Mom...it's true and they have their memories back now!" Henry called, as he came out of the bathroom with David and ran up to her. He hugged her around the waist and she hugged him too.

"Henry...I know that you want it to be true, but it just can't be," Emma said.

"Why won't you believe? And why should I believe you when you lied to me?" Henry asked in frustration.

"Henry…" she started to say.

"It's real…" he said, as he opened the book to a page that showed Rumpelstiltskin and a young Baelfire.

"This is you, isn't it?" he asked. Neal smiled.

"Yeah…" he said, as he knelt beside him.

"Wow...you figured all this out on your own?" he asked in amazement. Henry shrugged.

"He is a very smart little boy," Mary Margaret said fondly.

"It got kind of obvious when I was the only kid growing and passing through grades, while all my friends stayed behind in the previous grade," he said.

"I'm sorry...that must have been hard," Neal replied.

"He's right," Mary Margaret interjected.

"I didn't realize it when I was cursed...but all my students, except Henry, have been in my class for twenty-eight years," she said in amazement.

"Do you hear yourself?" Emma snapped.

"This is insane!" she cried, as she looked at all of them.

"Emma…" David started to say.

"No...you're the last person I need to hear from! You dumped your wife to have an affair with my best friend!" Emma cried.

"That's not true!" Mary Margaret exclaimed.

"He is my husband...not Kathryn's," she said fiercely.

"She's right...I never stood at the altar with Kathryn, but I did stand at one with her, twice in fact," David replied. Emma scoffed.

"She's right...Regina panicked when David woke up and had marriage papers drawn up to keep them apart. I can confirm that and even removing all of the curse stuff, you know from your profession that faking marriage papers is not difficult," Gold reasoned. She sighed.

"You have to admit that even you were skeptical that night when Kathryn just showed up out of the blue, claiming to have no idea her husband had been in a coma for years," he added. That was definitely true and Regina being his emergency contact had never made any sense either.

"Emma...if you want scientific proof of all of this, why don't the three of you just do a DNA test?" Neal asked. They all looked at each other, wondering why none of them had really thought of that.

"That's...that's a really good idea," Mary Margaret agreed.

"Have you forgotten that Henry is with us and Regina has probably filed kidnapping charges against me? I don't think we have time to do a DNA test. We need to get back to Storybrooke," Emma said.

"I doubt she filed them with any law enforcement. She does not want that kind of attention on Storybrooke. Plus, if she did, she knows her adoption of him can come into question," Gold stated.

"What do you mean?" Neal asked.

"I mean that I arranged the adoption...and there were no home follow ups that are usually required with the adoption of a child from the system," Gold replied.

"Did you know he was my son?" Neal asked.

"No...that was all fate, I assure you," Gold replied.

"The system is overwhelmed...kids fall through the cracks all the time," Emma said.

"Yes...and Regina would want to keep it that way. An investigation from them would be bad for her, especially since the biological parents have resurfaced and one that didn't know about him," Gold reasoned.

"He's right...we have just as much leverage on her as she has on us. Maybe more," Mary Margaret agreed. David slipped his arms around her from behind and pulled her close.

"Then we use it. The town might still be cursed, but we're not. And she does not want everyone else to wake up," he said.

"She probably also doesn't want Henry's biological father stepping into the picture either. But I am," Neal said.

"Then you'll be returning to Storybrooke with us?" Gold asked.

"Not for you," Neal replied, as he looked down at his son.

"For him," he stated. That brought a smile to Mary Margaret's face.

"Don't I get a say in that?" Emma questioned.

"Of course you do...but I'm not abandoning him now that I know about him," Neal answered.

"No...just me, right?" she countered.

"I didn't want to!" he cried.

"Then why did you?" she demanded to know.

"Because August told me I had to!" he exclaimed. She pulled back.

"August...you know August?" she asked suspiciously.

"Not until he tracked me down, that night we were supposed to escape to Canada and told me everything," Neal revealed.

"Everything about what?" Emma asked. He rolled his eyes.

"The curse, Emma...the curse! He's from there too," Neal replied.

"Really? Who is he?" Henry asked.

"Uhh...he's Pinocchio," Neal answered. Emma snorted.

"Well, that explains the lying," she quipped.

"Wait...Pinocchio? That doesn't make any sense. How did he get here?" Snow asked. Neal looked at her and a bit uncomfortably.

"The same way Emma did," he answered.

"No...no, that's impossible, because the wardrobe only took one," Snow insisted and David closed his eyes, realizing it before she was willing to accept it.

"They lied to you...it took two," he said.

"I...I could have gone with her?" she croaked and then looked back at her husband.

"We both could have...if we had gone before I went into labor," she realized.

"Never trust a fairy," Gold said.

"I need a drink…" Emma commented, as she sighed.

"So Blue and Geppetto lied to us…" David realized, letting that sink in for a moment.

"So what now?" Henry asked, as they heard a noise at the door. David put his hand up to silence them all, as he crept to the door and put his ear to it. He could hear someone breathing, like they were anxious or out of breath, and opened the door. Jefferson stumbled and fell onto the floor, but David helped him up by picking him up by the shirt.

"I was hoping you'd show up," he growled, as he grabbed him by the collar.

"She made me do it!" Jefferson pleaded.

"So you just do whatever Regina tells you?" David growled, as Snow put her hand on his arm.

"David…" she soothed, as he deflated a little and lightly shoved Jefferson away.

"She told me that if I helped her that I could have my daughter back!" he claimed.

"You know that Regina will never give you what you want. She'll betray you every time. The only way to get your daughter back is for the curse to break," Gold said.

"Tell that to her!" Jefferson hissed, as he pointed at Emma.

"At this rate, the curse will never be broken!" he ranted.

"All the evidence is right in front of her and she won't open her eyes! She doesn't even believe her own son...or her parents," Jefferson added, glaring at her.

"Some Savior," he grumbled.

"Hey…I didn't ask for any of this crap!" she retorted.

"We know you didn't...we never wanted any of this," Snow said, as she grabbed the book and turned to a particular page.

"This…" she said, as she handed the book to the blonde.

"This was supposed to be our life," Snow said tearfully, as she showed her the nursery, which was full of toys and a crib, with a unicorn mobile. The same unicorn mobile in Gold's shop.

"This is insane…" Emma lamented.

"See...she's never going to believe!" Jefferson said.

"Hey!" David hollered.

"Back off...it's a lot and no matter what, even if she doesn't believe it, she's our daughter and you're not going to talk to her like that!" David snapped, surprising Emma.

"And you're lucky that I haven't punched your lights out for kidnapping my wife," he added.

"I told you why I did it! For my daughter! We both have kids we'd do anything for! Don't you think we can find common ground in that?" Jefferson asked.

"Oh so now you want to work with us?" David questioned.

"Do I have much choice? It's either you or the Queen...though I'm starting to question if you really are the lesser of two evils," Jefferson retorted. David snorted.

"Well, keep pondering if you must, but I say we get home to Storybrooke and deal with her head on," he said.

"No need," a voice said coolly, as they all turned to find Regina standing in the doorway.

"Uh oh…" Henry said.

"Uh oh is right, young man," Regina said sternly.

"Emma didn't know I was in the car," Henry told her.

"But when she found out...she didn't turn around and bring you back," Regina accused.

"Excuse me, but I was a little busy looking for Mary Margaret, whom you had kidnapped by your goon!" Emma accused her back.

"Hey…I'm not a goon," Jefferson interjected, but he was ignored, as the two women glared daggers at each other. Regina smirked and then looked at Snow and David.

"If you two think I made your lives hell before...you haven't seen anything yet," she warned, as she looked at Emma.

"If you break my curse, Miss Swan, there will be a war unlike anything you've ever seen," she threatened.

"Mom please…" Henry pleaded.

"You are in enough trouble," she snapped to him.

"He's my son...I have legal custody and there will be no more visitation. I've been nice up until now...but that's over," Regina said. Emma snorted.

"Really? That was nice? Bring it and maybe you don't have as much leverage as you think," Emma argued.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"She means me," Neal interjected, as he stepped forward.

"And you are?" she asked. He smirked.

"Henry's biological father...who didn't know about him," Neal replied.

"Who just happens to also be my son," Gold added, enjoying the look of disbelief and the tell tale sign of fear on her face.

"You're joking…" she refuted.

"Oh not at all, dearie. It seems that your little ploy in abducting...Mary Margaret has blown up in your face, spectacularly so," Gold goaded.

"It forced my hand early and led me to my son. Imagine my surprise when it became known that he and Snow and Charming's daughter had a child. The child which you adopted," he said.

"You...you knew…" she accused.

"Oh no...that was fate stepping in and since my son had no idea that Henry existed, he intends to fight for his right to custody or at the very least, visitation," Gold said.

"You can't do this…" Regina hissed.

"Oh we can...so you might want to rethink your little war you intend to wage," he warned. She glared back at him.

"We'll see who wins this war. The curse isn't breaking...not if you want peace," she said.

"Don't worry...your curse is fine or whatever," Emma said, as she looked at David and Mary Margaret.

"It's not like I believe it anyway," she said. Those words crushed them and Henry, as she stormed out.

"Henry...let's go," Regina snapped, as she left.

"Well...that will be an uncomfortable ride back," Gold said, as he looked at his son.

"Uh...give me a few minutes to pack and you two can ride back with me," Neal offered and the couple nodded.

"What about him?" David asked.

"He can ride back with me and Miss Swan, assuming he's ready to pick the right side, because make no mistake, Hatter...you've instigated a war," Gold stated.

"You know I hate her...and if these two are really ready to fight to break this stupid curse, then I'm in too. On your side," Jefferson replied.

"We're going to do whatever it takes to get our daughter to believe and get her back," David assured, as he threaded his fingers with Snow's.

"I hope you mean that...because things may get very ugly," Gold warned ominously, as they prepared to return to Storybrooke.

[whirlybirdwhat]

(One Shot, 15k+, Gen, Monster Trio, temporary character death, please see ao3 for more detailed warnings)

“Zoro!” The reindeer shouts, and uh oh that’s his scolding voice. What did Zoro do now?! “Where have you been? I need to check you over I want to make sure cutting that rock did nothing!”

“What do you mean, you’ve been with me the entire-“

Wait.

Had Chopper been with him? Out on deck?

Zoro can’t recall.

“I don’t care, sit down!” Chopper gives him the eyes, and dimly worried, Zoro acquiesces to his pleas.

It’s nothing, surely, he thinks, accepting the drink from Sanji and belatedly (uncaringly) realizing this is nothing like him to be so nonchalant about a lack of skill.

It’s nothing at all.

Hehehehe!

-

The Monster Trio arrive on a strange island.

what the ocean drags down

If he had to pinpoint a moment it all began, Sanji would say it was three days before that island, when he had woken up in the middle of the night to a nightmare -

(Along on a rock with his hands bleeding out and blood on his face, sticky behind the metal mask that locked him in with all his fears all of them all of them and oh, were those bones he could feel along his sides?)

And gone down to the kitchen to fix a snack to calm his nerves.

Nightmares were nothing new, of course. All the straw hats had them, at one time or another. A pirate’s life is rarely free of danger, and before this crew of dreams they weren’t always living the happiest of lives.

Seeing both Zoro and Luffy in the kitchen, however, is new.

Zoro is sitting on the floor in the galley corner, tense and hands white knuckled around the bottle in his hands. He seems high strung, though his swords are laid a carful distance away as if he doesn’t want to reach for them accidentally. His one eye flashes dimly in the light, as if he’s shaken and wary.

Sanji has never seen him look like this, save for the few times he had thought a crew member had died.

(Luffy shot in the back and not getting up, the wretched screaming of their captain’s name wrenching from Zoro’s throat-)

Luffy, next to him, is the exact opposite. Instead of sitting tall and wary, he is hunched and trembling minutely. He looks small, in a way Sanji has almost never associated with their exuberant captain and future king. His hat is laid low over his face as he looks with his head down between his knees. He’s slouching against Zoro, as if trying to keep quiet and on the lookout for someone.

As if to remind himself that he’s not alone.

(After their two years of training, it had been a month before Luffy decided that he could sleep in his own bed. He had been clingy (they all had been) and in quiet moments he had admitted that Rayleigh had left him with just the animals for the remaining six months of his training.

“It’s okay!” Luffy had said. “It was just like when Ace had left to go sea!” His brother’s name hadn’t cracked in his mouth. His captain is strong. “I was alone cause I had to get stronger, so I couldn’t visit the bandits or Makino or anyone! But it’s okay this time, because I knew I had you guys!”

Why did he always have to be alone when it was worse than being hurt?)

“Hey knuckleheads,” Sanji starts, voice soft. He knows not to startle them despite the newness of the situation. “Want something to eat?”

Luffy peeks up from under his hat, revealing one wet eye, and mumbles meat. He’s not getting some, because they do have to ration it and Sanji is checking storage tomorrow, but he will get something to help him sleep. Zoro grunts, his one eye finally focusing in and his body becoming a little less wired. He leans into Luffy more, letting his fingers relax from their tight hold on the neck of the bottle.

Sanji takes that as a yes, and pretends not to notice the way Zoro’s eye zeroes in his trembling fingers and the way Luffy’s eyes don’t but he notices the shaking anyway, uncurling from his ball at the sense of pain in his crew.

Sanji offers him a slight smile, and turns on the stove to a low simmer. Some cinnamon tea to help sleep, and some leftover onigiri from before dinner (because, with Luffy, there was never any leftovers after dinner) would be a good start.  Zoro grunts again and stands up, offering a hand to Luffy before grabbing his swords and sliding into the booth.

The kitchen is quiet, save for the waves crashing against the side of the ship. Robin is on watch, isn’t she? Or were they trying out Franky’s new automated watch system?

Ah. Whatever. Sanji will check once he gets these two (and himself) sorted out.

By the time the tea is done and the onigiri prepped, his hands have stopped shaking. Zoro is slumped into Luffy’s shoulder, and the captain himself has buried his face into crossed arms at the table.  His hat is now falling gently on his back, making something in Sanji calm.

(Luffy only ever pulls the hat over his eyes if he’s far too angry to think, has a point to make, or is making an expression (tears, fear, Sanji never knows) that he doesn’t want his crew to see.)

Sanji slides the tea and onigiri in front of them both, taking care to make sure the food lands more on Zoro’s side so he has a better chance of biting into it before Luffy gets his hands on it. He then takes a place to Luffy’s left, where he can slump into him as well, his own cup warming his hands.

He takes a breath of the steam coming off it, and takes a sip, gently smiling at the pleased sound Luffy makes as he does the same.

The temptation to speak, to ask what brought them to the kitchen is slowly creeping in, but it can wait.

The kitchen at night, when there is no storm or pressing adventure, is a place for quiet and warmth. No nightmares, no shaking hands or tense shoulders, can find them here with a warm drink between their hands.

Eventually, Luffy is the first to doze off, onigiri eaten (but not entirely – worrying) and drink all but gone. He slumps into Zoro who then carries him to the bench behind them, Sanji following, so that Luffy’s stretched out, head in Zoro’s lap and his legs thrown over Sanji’s. A calloused hand makes its way through Luffy’s hair as Zoro recounts the night, breaking the silence.

“I… had a dream.” He begins, voice low and soft. “Wasn’t a good one.” A grimace but no elaboration. That’s okay – Sanji didn’t really expect Zoro too. “Shook me up a bit. Went in here to get a drink and found Luffy on the ground where we were. I don’t know how long he was there, but I think it had been awhile. When I came in he kind of … jumped? Like he didn’t expect me, which was odd, but I couldn’t really feel him either.”

Sanji was a smart man. He could connect the dots – either something had shaken Luffy and Zoro so bad that their observation haki wasn’t focused (Unlikely, considering they primarily used it in battle) or something more was going on…

He couldn’t remember if he had sensed them before entering the kitchen anyway.

Sanji hums and takes their cups away, gently moving Luffy legs first, as Zoro keeps talking.

“He wasn’t doing so good. I think he’s been up most of the night. Don’t know what woke him but… it couldn’t have been good.”

“A dream you think?”

“Maybe. You?”

“Had one too. You sleeping here?”

“Might as well. Sun rise is in an hour unless the weather wants to fuck with us.”

“Mmhm.” Sanji moves back to his old position, this time carrying a blanket. Zoro helps him stretch over the three of them, tucking it gently under their captain’s head.

It may be odd for all of them to be here at once, but nightmares and bad nights were nothing new to all of them. They were crew after all. Family. They helped each other. And truth be told, Zoro and Sanji didn’t always argue.

“Night, Shit Cook.”

“Night, Moss Face.”

Well. Almost.

(If Sanji had been any more awake and not thinking about being along and starving on a rock, perhaps he would have taken notice of the shift in the breeze, the slight lilt of the ship as their observation haki was suppressed under the guise of shaking nightmares. Perhaps he would have noticed the change in their course or the fog creeping in.

But he didn’t.

And that’s when it started.

Come to me, little pirates-)

-

Sanji woke to Nami shaking him awake. A heavenly sight, but an odd one, because he was usually the first up for meal prep.

“Nami-swan?” He asked, tiredly yawning. A part of him registered Luffy’s legs still across his, and the green head of hair his faced was smashed into. The moss-head must have leant over to use Sanji’s shoulder as a pillow while he slept, the bastard.

“Sanji you alright?”

“’Mm fine, Nami-dear.” He blinked the tiredness from his eyes, ready to focus on the wonderful light of his life. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing… you just slept past sunrise that’s all. Robin and Usopp made pancakes for everyone, but you’re going to have to make them for Luffy and Zoro and you. We aren’t skilled enough to keep up with Luffy’s appetite.”

Sanji’s eyes snapped open. He what?!

He took a look around, noting the table being cleaned up by a multitude of limbs and the faint smell of pancakes in the air. The sun was gently shining through the portholes, the brightness signifying it was well past the morning rush.

And Sanji had slept through it.

Hell, Luffy had slept through it if the weight on his lap was any indication.

“I’m sorry, you should have woken me up, I should have done that –“

“It’s okay Sanji. We figured if you weren’t up, and Luffy wasn’t going for our meals, then you three needed the rest… what happened?”

Sanji shrugs, getting up carefully and stretching. “I had a nightmare and woke up, came in here and found Zoro and Luffy, who apparently had the same thing. We drank the usual and had a bite to eat then fell asleep.”

No need to worry Nami about the lapse in haki. While they were in the process of teaching the crew armament and observation, they didn’t have to be concerned of what was going on with those in control of it.

Not yet at least.

Nami still looks concerned. Sanji brushes it off by waking Zoro with a kick to the head.

“Oi. Shithead. I’m making breakfast. You gonna get up or what?”

“Bastard, what’d you do that for?”

“You getting up or what?”

“Mmhm?” Luffy mumbles sitting up and narrowly missing the second foot that is flung at Zoro’s head, blocked with a sheathed Sandai Kitetsu. “Wassgoing on?”

“Breakfast, Luffy. You slept through it.” Nami levels him with a look before shaking her head at his panicked response.

“WHAT!? BREAKFAST? SANJI! FOOD!”

Luffy doesn’t miss this kick.

“Hold your horses shitty captain, it’ll be ready in five minutes.” Sanji relaxes his leg and turns to the kitchen. Least Luffy’s more energetic now. And by Zoro’s wheezing complaints, he’s less conscious of where he’s stepping too.

Just like normal.

(Flash of vibrant pink in the corner of his eye, a skeleton, a man with no legs in the corner of the room-)

Sanji turns and it’s just Chopper and Brook singing outside, Franky tinkering on deck viewed through the door Nami just walked out of.

It’s nothing, surely.

Right?

-

Sanji volunteers to take Usopp’s place for the first half of night watch. He’s not going to get any sleep anyway, so why not take the place of his crewmate and let him rest?

The crow’s nest is warm at night, though the outside sea is foggy and cold. Shadows dance across the deck in the soft moonlight and breeze, a calm unusual to the Grand Line.

It doesn’t help Sanji’s nerves.

He’s sitting on the window edge, cupping a mug of tea in his hands, blanket wrapped around him. Paranoia has been following him all day, despite the fact that he checked the food stores and they have enough to feed Luffy eight meals a day for two weeks. They are fine, and the sea is flooding with food.

His crew won’t starve.

So why does he feel like they might?

(Why does he feel like his former siblings are around every corner?)

Is he this shaken up by that nightmare last night?

Hehehehe~

What the fuck was that.

Sanji stands to his feet and looks out the window.

There’s nothing there, and nothing hiding in the shadows of the crows next.

Everything’s normal.

His observation haki – his observation haki seems fine.

Maybe he should have taken the chance to rest.

Maybe.

Sanji looks out the window, to the rising moon, and decides he can wake Zoro for his turn on watch.

Climbing down the crow’s nest and into the galley, he misses the ship rocking again, sharper this time. He misses the shadows crawling across the deck like mischievous devil children, with holes in their chests and limbs, and the fog that rolls across the deck once in a resounding breath.

Sanji turns his head once, but the view is silent and empy

He continues on, shakes Zoro non-too-gently awake, and collapses in his bed. Time to sleep…

Sanji never feels the devil sink into his skin

(but it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.)

He falls into a fitful rest, a smile haunting his lips.

(It won’t be there for long!)

-

Zoro has never been one to sleep.

Let’s rephrase that.

Zoro has never been one to sleep when his crew is in true danger. Since he has no problem falling to sleep, he’s sure that there’s no danger here, but he can’t help but be unsure.

The ship has been… off these past few days. Laughter chimes in his ear when the deck is empty, and shadows seem to be full of things he must protect against. Nothings ever there, but it keeps dragging him back to that first night.

When Luffy had been shaking in the kitchen, and Zoro hadn’t noticed him get up.

(The ero-cook’s observation haki is the best out of all of them, though he’s sure once Usopp gets his act together that will change, but he hadn’t noticed either. Luffy is either suppressing his presence (a skill of the conquering king, but damnit, Luffy, we’re your crew!) or somethings wrong.

Zoro hopes it’s the former)

The rest of the crew doesn’t seem to notice anything’s off, beyond the usual bout of nightmares. They don’t notice Zoro’s tenseness or Sanji’s wariness, or Luffy’s almost apathy to the world around him. The crew doestake note of the shadows slowly growing under all three of their eyes, and takes them off the watch rotation, but otherwise do not comment.

Nami probably knows something, as does Robin with her damn eyes, but that’s about it.

Hopefully it is nothing, and Zoro can actually sleep without worrying that his crew is –

(falling down down down, dead and dreamless, smiling gently at him – won’t you help Zoro? Why weren’t you there Zoro?)

In danger.

Ah. Well. Might as well sleep. He’s done his training for the day, Luffy joining him (odd – Luffy prefers his own kind of training to lifting weights), so now he can nap by the figurehead.

A nice… long... nap….

-

He awakes to darkness.

Did he sleep through the day again? No – this is something different.

Something skitters across the deck – Zoro reaches for his swords only to find empty air.

Wha-

This isn’t Sunny’s deck.

This isn’t his home. His crew’s home.

Where is his crew?

(Did they get lost?)

A voice drifts in the breeze, eerily similar to a young child cry.

Zo-ro, Zo-ro, Zo-ro, Zo-ro… Where were you Zoro?

There’s a pawprint in front of him, big and painful and his captain, Luffy, is inside oh hell

His crew is here now, and they are all dead because he wasn’t paying attention, god damnit, no – What kind of hell scape is this?

“Zoro.” The girls voice, high and reedy, is solid now. He turns his face to the left.

Kuina.

A bloody sword is held to her throat. Wado-

“We weren’t strong enough Zoro.” The blade digs in and –

“NO!”

Zoro wakes to red and wetness on his cheeks.

Kuina, no, his crew dead, Luffy –

Luffy’s sitting on his lap right in front him. He’s the red. The wetness on his face isn’t blood but the salty sea spray and (maybe) some tears, slipping down his eyes. He can’t tell.

He hopes Luffy can’t tell.

“Zoro? You okay?”

“Ye-yeah. I am.” I will be.

His captain sounds tired. (Zoro sounds tired.) His eyes are tired too. (So are Zoro’s. And the Shit Cook’s.)  Nightmares? (A reoccurring theme.)

Luffy trusts him, and knows him in a way that few don’t, so he accepts Zoro’s truth and settles back down. A rubbery hand slaps at Zoro’s face.

“Nami says there’s gonna be an island tomorrow but there’s also going to be a storm tonight so she doesn’t know if there is actually going to be an island. There’s no maps of it either, so Nami’s excited.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow and looks around deck. Huh. Usopp and Copper are already climbing the rigging to get ready to pull the sails down.  It’s a wonder why the witch hasn’t yelled at Zoro and Luffy to get their asses moving.

(Or maybe the crew noticed a little more than he thought.)

Speaking of the witch, she’s making her way toward them now. Zoro nudges Luffy out of the way and gets up –

Hehehe-

A shadow, heading straight toward Nami, that seems to be alive and moving and perhaps not entirely real.

It slips and slides until it rests under her feet and the breath is stuck in Zoro’s chest as Nami slips and –

(getting her sword for another midnight duel with Zoro, Kuina had slipped and fallen, blood scattering the steps from the crack in her head. Died, because she was a little too careless; died, for no reason at all.)

Catches herself on the railing.

Nami’s strong, always has been.

(Kuina was strong too.)

She’ll be alright. Why is Zoro panicking?

(Kuina is dead.)

“Zoro?” Luffy prompts already standing, clothes waving in the wind. Storm must be coming faster then… “You coming?”

“Yeah.” Zoro affirms and heaves himself up as the first lightning bolt cracks in the difference. “Be right there, Captain.”

He turns toward Nami, but Nami’s emerging from the galley and already barking orders

(She hadn’t gone down the steps at all.)

The sky is dark, and any shadow mixes in with the chaos of a Grand Line storm. Zoro gets to work, pushing doubt and little dead girls out of his mind.

-

The storm was brutal. Zoro, however, is almost thankful for how exhausted he feels after it. Perhaps he can sleep now.

But no.

Instead of reaching the island tomorrow like Nami had thought, the hurricane and the coup de burst they used to get over the tsunami level swells and the sea king sneaking under the waves, had gotten them within distance of the island.

So they’re anchoring tonight at any available shore so everyone can sleep.

Zoro steadies his stance and watches as the sea smooths and ripples into familiar shore patterns.

“Jungle island,” Nami deduces just by the air, standing to his left. Zoro could ask how she does it, but it’s a talent that’s far beyond anyone but her. “Pretty big too. I think there might be a mountain on the other side, but this area here is just low-level jungle. Humid and hot, with pretty beaches.”  

“A barbecue tomorrow then?” Robin inquires from Zoro’s right. When the hell did she get there?

“Hmph. Maybe. I don’t know what kind of wildlife we’ll find, but we should restock. Depends on what the captain wants. Hey- Where is Luffy?” Nami looks around, eyes narrowing in an odd mix of distrust, concern, and acceptance that her captain has already rocketed his way to the island.

She’s wrong in her suspicious for once. Zoro tosses a thumb behind him. “There.”

Beneath the main mast is a dog pile of Chopper, Usopp, and Luffy. Chopper in Heavy point and Usopp almost protectively sandwiching Luffy between them. Relaxed, soaked and uncaring, the trio sleeps.

Nami’s shoulders slump. “Of course. Well, we’ll be there in thirty minutes. They can sleep till th-”

SKKKRECHHHHK!

There’s a crunching noise beneath them. A rock, glistening and black, jutting from the water.

It had lost to the Sunny’s Adam’s Wood hull but by the sound, it was a close thing.

“What the hell?” Zoro mutters as the rest of the crew wakes or comes up to deck at the noise. “What kind of rock is that?” Can I cut it?

THUMP!

“No trying to cut strange rocks till morning!” The witch screeches, fist still raised from where it wacked his head. By now she had a sixth sense for when the crew was trying to do some dangerous stunt.

“Damn, sheesh, okay.” Zoro mutters, casting a glare at Sanji as he laughs.

Ignoring their squabbling, Franky steps up to the rail and looks over. “That is totally NOT super. Nami-sis, where’d this come from?”

The navigator purses her lips. “Don’t know, it wasn’t there two seconds ago. I was checking the currents – there was no evidence of rocks.” She’s frowning heavily before she starts barking orders. “Bring up all the sails and get out the oars. I want us going slow – this is probably just some weird Grand Line stuff, but I don’t want any more surprises.”

“Aye-aye,” The conscious members of the Straw-Hat Pirates chorus.  Brook goes to wake the sleeping members as the rest prep the oars. They are rarely used, since the engine or a coup de burst can get them through any slow patch of wind but… they are good for going slow and careful.

Luffy takes his place in front of Zoro, rubbing sleep for baggy eyes, and prepares to row. Nami’s at the forefront, watching for rocks while Franky mans the tiller.

Slowly, paddle by paddle, they make their way through the small bay.

Nami’s right, Zoro thinks looking over the railing, these rocks are rising out of nowhere.

His observation haki (now, not at its best form admittedly) can’t even predict them. They look like shadows from waves at first, peaceful and innocent below the surface, before erupting through the surface in a silent, sharp spike.

A particularly tall one almost took out Zoro’s other eye before he sliced it.

Which, good. He can cut whatever this strange rock is. Bad, because the rock started faintly glowing in specks across the remained of the rock, and pins and needles went down his spine.

He doesn’t know what to think.  

Everyone else thinks it’s pretty at least.

It’s well past midnight by the time they reach a place close enough to shore that they can weigh anchor.

“Franky,” Luffy speaks for the first time in a while, once all the navigating’s done. “Will the watch system work?”

“It should, captain.”

“Will it work.”

“Aye.”

“Then everyone sleeps.” Luffy looks out over his crew from his position on the main mast, and Zoro knows he sees how tired they all are. Wet, hungry, exhausted, and paranoid because of dumb rocks, no straw hat is fit to take watch. “We’ll look over the island in the morning.”

And suddenly, as everyone’s shoulders slump out of relief, Luffy’s seriousness wipes away. “Sanji, meat?”

“I’ll whip up a snack.” Sanji agrees, tearing off his gloves on his way to the kitchen. “It’ll be ready in a few, enough for everyone to get dry and everything.”

“Then I’m going to take a shower – Robin you coming?” Nami sighs

“Sure.”

And just like that, the crew disperses off the deck until it’s just Zoro, staring at the shimmering rocks in the moonlit water. Shadows play at the edge of his vision, but he can’t trust him.

Can’t trust any of his sense.

Hehehehe!

Chopper tugs at his leg, and oh, his haki must have decided to work because he hasn’t looked down yet. “I’m coming Chop.” He takes one last look out at the sea and follows the ball of fur inside to get changed.

When he comes up to the galley, Chopper is sitting next to Luffy, bandaging a scape he got from banging his head in the storm.

“Zoro!” The reindeer shouts, and uh oh that’s his scolding voice. What did Zoro do now?! “Where have you been? I need to check you over I want to make sure cutting that rock did nothing!”

“What do you mean, you’ve been with me the entire-“

Wait.

Had Chopper been with him? Out on deck?

Zoro can’t recall.

“I don’t care, sit down!” Chopper gives him the eyes, and dimly worried, Zoro acquiesces to his pleas.

It’s nothing, surely, he thinks accepting he drink from Sanji and belatedly (uncaringly) realizing this is nothing like him to be so nonchalant about a lack of skill.

It’s nothing at all.

Hehehehe!

(Kuina falls down Sunny’s steps eight times that night as Zoro sleeps, each time whisking Wado across a different Straw Hat’s throat.

(And they had all smiled.))

-

Ace has been talking to Luffy in his dreams lately.

It’s nothing new.

Nightmares are always like this.

(A brother there and a brother not, fire licking at his chest – why is it always fire that takes his big brothers? There are holes and Luffy is falling falling falling and there’s no one but him. It hurts more than all the poison in Impel down, this crushing loneliness and oh – when can he wake up?

Thank you for loving me-Brothers forever-SABO-Crybaby- flashes of his childhood in Ace’s voice, still so vivid to this day—)

What’s new is what Ace has been saying.

Luffy knows his brother- his brothers. They are cruel and tough and strong, or were at any rate, but they have never been to cut the ones they care about without reason. Ace would never tell Luffy that he’s worthless, or that he failed, or that he’s alone.

He wouldn’t.

So why is his dream Ace saying things like that? Why is he killing his crew one by one, dying himself, why are his nightmares so twisted and wrong?

Luffy can’t make sense of it.

He tries not to sleep too much, but he’s like Ace and Grandpa and his sleeping schedule is all messed up, so he can’t help it.

It’s been going on for a while now, more than a week, and it hasn’t eased up, sleeplessness painting dark marks beneath his eyes.

(It’s gotten worse)

But there’s an island ahead, one with adventure, and it’s all that Luffy needs if only these dumb rocks would stop trying to trap their ship.

Shitty rocks.

It’s quiet on deck as the rest of the crew retires to bed. Luffy’s soaked from crashing waves, clothes sticking to his damp skin, and he knows he should change and go to bed.

But…

The shadows look familiar in certain lights.

And Luffy misses his big brother.

A cloud shields the world for the moon for a long moment, stirring Luffy out of his daze. He shakes himself, hand falling from his chest and goes inside.

He doesn’t notice the sea fading from sight or the fog rolling onto the deck – permanent, in a final kind of way this time. The water shifts into something darker and the island trees, tall and innocent, shift in place.

Luffy sleeps, curled next to Zoro, and doesn’t notice the island watching him.

-

Luffy wakes alone.

He does not panic.

He has woken alone too many times for this to be a cause of panic.

(Makino worked late and early, Garp rarely stayed, Ace ignored him then loved him then left for the seas, three years spent in the jungle, then one at sea, then Ace left for good and Luffy spent two years (alone) on Ruskuina.

Loneliness cuts deep, but it is a hurt that Luffy knows like he knows freedom.)

This was not where he fell asleep.

Luffy is sitting on soft, white sand on a barren beach. Before him stretches the sea, dark and gloomy, but he can’t see the horizon rising above it. The trees behind him are of the familiar kind – the kind he grew up with on the islands of Goa. Jungle bark and underbrush, thick and threatening unless you know its secrets. They are dark, almost black, like the lush green that should make them up isn’t there.

Luffy looks up, placing a hand on his hat, and doesn’t see the sky.

Wait.

His hat.

It’s not there.

Luffy lurches to his feet, panicking now.

“Hat! Where’s hat! Shit, where is it?!” He can’t see it in the fog that keeps drifting in and dragging like at his clothes like drowning me. “Dumb island, give me my hat back!”

Because, of course, it must be the island which took it. No one else is there, right?

The fog seems to pause and pull away. There’s a path, leading into the forest.

Luffy follows instinct and walks into the dark path.

(His haki, cut and lost, screams at him. It goes unheard.)

The forest swallows him and doesn’t look back.

(A child laughs in the forest.)

Hehehehe!

-

Sanji wakes to the sound of seagulls and the cold press of rock beneath his back. He’s up in a second, praying this is all a terrible dream, and praying he hasn’t woken up not on the ship.

(He’s had worse dreams as of late.)

Blue eyes blink open as a leg raises threateningly. The world around him is dark and covered in a fog. He’s on a raised, rock platform, jutting from the cliff side that rises far above him. Water, black and crashing, is on every side.

The sight is a familiar, demonized version of one of the most terrifying memories of his past.

The sea-damned Rock.

Damnit!

Sanji places his foot down once he is sure that there is no threat that he can sense or see. Something crunches and slides underfoot, and when he looks down, all he sees is gleaming white.

Bones.

A human fucking skeleton.

That hadn’t been there before, had it?

Had it?

He can’t tell.

The world is growing fuzzy as the waves crash higher and the cliff side looms above him.

Think rationally, damnnit. Don’t panic. You are here. Where do you go from here?

Up.

Something slithers over his foot. When Sanji looks, whatever it is has far too many legs and is some sort of a fucking bug.

Fuck.

He screams, not that he’ll ever admit it, wishes for a cigarette, and starts kicking himself into the air. He half expects to start falling with how weird this island is and how weird the past week has been but he gets up fine.

Easier than normal even.

He doesn’t like it.

At the top Sanji finds himself facing a dark jungle and finally goes to light that cigarette. He breathes in the smoke, familiar as a cooking fire, and breathes out a sigh of relief.

He’s alive. He’s off that damn rock. It was only a coincidence that’s all.

Metal slams over his face.

“HGHK-” He chokes as the cigarette falls from his hands. He scrambles at his face as the mask locks over it, shutting him in into a world without food or freedom or friends. It encases his head from front to back, a mimic of that helmet from his youth, and it sends such a spike of fear through Sanji that he steps back.

The mask had flung from the forest after all.

He takes another step back, panic blinding him still.

Another.

Another.

And Sanji is falling down the cliffside where he just jumped up. This time, however, he’s so weak that he can’t kick his legs out, paralyzed by fear as he is.

He falls and falls and falls and falls and –

Crack.

Darkness.

Hehehehe!

-

Zoro wakes up in a new location and shrugs. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before, but it is odd that the world would change while a crewmate was sleeping next to him. Fate tends to be nice enough to let him nap with the crew, and he vaguely recalls Luffy shoving him aside to curl up in his hammock with him.

(It sometimes stopped the bad dreams for both of them.)

He’s at the top of some mountain, a cave behind him and a jungle, dark and looming, is a good ways below the cliff he’s standing at. The view, despite the height, is pretty shitty due to all the damn fog and no visible sky (why isn’t the sky there?) so Zoro doesn’t spend to long looking at it.

Instead, he looks at the only way down.

The cliffside.

“Huh.” He thinks aloud and reaches for Shusui and Kitetsu. They sink easily (with his strength at least) into the ground and don’t have a lot of give. Should work well enough.

Zoro walks over to the edge and hops down, sticking his blades into the wall before he can drop more than ten feet.

They stick.

Perfect.

Kitetsu’s oddly not whining about being used for something other than bloodshed, which normally would spark alarm bells in Zoro’s head.

Instead, there is nothing but the rushing of wind in his ears as he uses his swords like picks to make his way down the mountain.

It is steady going and good training for his arms. The wind blows harsh making it harder for his grip to stay tight, but he manages and enjoys the challenge.

Belatedly, he wonders where the rest of the crew wound up.

(This isn’t a Kuma situation, is it?)

He shudders, phantom pricks of pain running up and down his body.

(His captain had been hurt worse than that and got up running. Zoro has to get stronger so he can be worthy of the Pirate King. If not, Zoro will turn the promise he made Luffy swear on himself and stab himself through. It would only be right after all.

Zoro can’t lose.)

No, can’t be. The crew must be somewhere on this island, not spread out to the winds again. They have to be.

The wind whistles into his ear, louder and shriller this time. Zoro’s shaken from his thoughts. Focus.

“Zoro!”

He loosens his grip in shock and slips before catching himself. Shit- who was that?

“Zoro! Over here!” He turns his head to his right.

Standing there, on a small out cropping and hugging the cliff side for dear life is Nami.

“Nami!” He calls, smile breaking over his face as the oppressive loneliness to the island that he hadn’t noticed before breaks. “You okay?”

“yeah! Just come and get me! I’ve been stuck up here for the past hour!” She calls back. “And if you don’t I’ll add twenty hundred percent to your debt!”

“Dumb witch.” Zoro mutters but makes his way over anyway.  He pauses next to the outcropping that she’s at and gestures to his back with a nod of his head. “Hop on.”

Nami nods and carefully climbs onto his back. The added weight is difficult, but nothing he can’t handle.

In the back of his mind, he remembers the story Chopper told him of how Luffy must have reached the top of drum.

Zoro can handle this, if only to improve his strength.

Nami curls in tight, though her body doesn’t quite fit right against his. She’s constantly shifting as he makes his way down, hair tickling him and knees digging into his side.

“Could you quit it?” Zoro snarks after another movement.

“Sure, of course I’ll sto-” Nami’s sarcasm is cut off as she slips. “ZORO!” she screeches, still hanging on just by the arms linked around his stomach.

Zoro snarls, letting go of one sword to grab on to her. “Shit!”

It does nothing. Nami looks at him with wide panic in her eyes as she slips further down and further down in the matter of seconds. “Zoro…” She trails off as her grip finally weakens.

“NAMI!!” Zoro screeches reaching out a hand to her. Her finger tips brush his and that’s the last touch he gets with her.

He could have slipped down, he quick enough with his swords to do so but his limbs are locked. He can’t move, and his hand is glued to the hilt of his one katana.

Nami falls

and falls

and falls

until she’s nothing but a smear on the ground below. He should be too high to see the impact but it rushes through Zoro’s mind with sudden clarity.

He sees it all – all the gruesome details and twisted limbs.

Nami falls, just like Kuina did, and Zoro wonders how many more people he will let fall as the darkness sinks in around him.

He stays, hanging on the cliff, for hours.

Too weak. Everyone falls, everyone dies, meaninglessly because of you.

What are you going to tell the rest of the crew?

The fog grows thicker.

Hehehehehe!

-

The forest, Luffy finds, is a lot like Goa’s. Tall and winding and full of things hiding in the underbrush that are either tasty, delicious, or both. Of course, he hasn’t managed to catch anything yet, only glimpses of the rustling bushes, but he’s sure he’ll find meat soon enough.

As he passes by a familiar path and tree and trap, however, something stops in his heart.

There’s a shattered telescope by the roots of a large tree, the kind Luffy wanted when he was a kid. Drops of red splotch the edges and lead up the hardened trunk of the tree.

At the top is a tree house fashioned like a boat, unused and abandon. A flag waves at the top, and Luffy knows that this forest isn’t a lot like Goa’s –

It is Goa’s.

He rockets to the top of the tree house, and ducks in the door.

(Maybe his hat is here?)

Hehehe!

Luffy whips around and the laugh stops.

Wha-

“Luffy.” He turns his back to the voice that shouldn’t be there, it shouldn’t it shouldn’t. “Stop jumping at shadows, crybaby.”

Ace smiles, blood dripping down his chin, and Luffy sighs.

It’s a dream.

(Ace is dead, despite the fact that he’s standing here before him, hole through his chest and just as bloody and smiling and peaceful as the day he died.

Luffy doesn’t dwell on the past much, and he certainly doesn’t travel back to it.

Ace is dead.

This is a dream.

(He wants it to be real.))

“Ace,” Luffy rasps, not flinching as the corpse steps toward him. “Have you seen my hat?”

“No. You should take better care of your things, Lu. C’mon, I’ll help you look.” Ace stumbles out the door and down the ladder.

Luffy watches the blood drip drip drip after him, and follows Ace down.

(Just a dream.

His brother is dead.)

Hehehe!

“WHO’S THERE!?” Luffy yells when he hears the voice again. It stops, just as suddenly as it began.

The forest is silent.

What’s going on? Where’s my crew?

He hopes they aren’t dealing with this too.

“LUFFY!” Ace shouts, voice sounding wet. “YOU COMING?”

“YEAH!” Luffy says and takes one last look at the tree house before jumping down.

-

“The Drifting Fog Peninsula – known for the fact that is not a peninsula at all but an Island of rock and mountain. Those who see the fog should know best to turn back – to be caught in it is to be caught in a trap, and not one of a dumb beast. The island itself is a predator, and does not like its prey easy to dupe, or so the legend says. There’s only one, from the journals of a log forgotten traveler, J.B. This is the Grand Line however, and I doubt there’s much exaggeration, Nami.”

“Right. We can tell the boys tomorrow – I didn’t see any fog, so we are probably good for now. That storm was terrible! I need sleep and not screaming.”

“Fufufu! Aye!”

-

It’s not Ace at the bottom. Or at least, not the Ace Luffy knew last.

It is Ace as a child, angry and mean.

Ace is dead, and this is a dream.

“C’mon crybaby, let’s go find your hat.” Ace says, dashing away into the forest, pipe not clanking against any tree or rock.

Its dark. Luffy wonders how this Dream Ace can see where he’s going.

(At least he’s not being mean or saying things that Ace wouldn’t.)

“Ace! Wait up!” Luffy calls and runs after him, uncaring of the branches that whack at him or trip in his path. This jungle is like Goa if not for the fact that Luffy can’t easily dash through it.

Ace runs and runs and runs. It’s like Luffy is seven again, and chasing after his big brothers who are so much stronger than him. This time, however, his big brother doesn’t wait for him to catch up, and disappears into the thickening fog.

“Ace?” Luffy halts and calls hesitantly.

No answer.

He lost him.

(Again.)

Oh well. He still has to find hat – and this isn’t really Ace that he’s chasing, only a vision from his nightmares that he can’t seem to have a connection to.

(It’s an odd dream. Usually Luffy tries to hug Ace, or be with him, or talk to him more, but he doesn’t trust this Ace.

He’s never known an Ace was a Dream Ace before.)

“Luffy?” That’s not Ace’s voice that’s –

“USOPP!”

He lunges at his friend, wrapping limbs around him on instinct. Strong arms catch him, holding him tight.

“Luffy!” Usopp says again, smiling bright. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He wonders when he woke up, because this Usopp is alive and solid before him. Usopp lets Luffy down, and starts to drag him deeper into the forest. “C’mon, everyone’s waiting. I swear you’re just as bad as Zoro, the beach is this way. Everyone’s waiting y’know.”

“Yeah?” Luffy stumbles as Usopp’s grip tightens around his wrist, urging him to keep up.

Odd, how Usopp isn’t screaming about the forest. He’s either really worried or he’s even more super than before, Luffy muses.

(He hopes it the latter. He doesn’t like it when his crew is worried)

“The ships okay, and the logue pose is set, we want to get out of here before we lose it or something. You got it, Luffy?” Usopp questions him, pausing in the forest trail. Weird, how the forest seems so much easier to navigate. “Why were you sleeping there in the middle of the forest anyway? Don’t you know-”

Blood blooms in the center of Usopp’s chest, from where he stands in front of Luffy. His words cut off as he stumbles once, twice, before falling into Luffy’s arms.

“Lu-luffy?” Usopp wheezes before growing silent.

Growing cold.

Dead.

(It’s too sudden, the warmth leaving to quickly and a projectile nowhere to be seen. There’s no enemy on this island, no one who would attack Usopp and leave Luffy alone. Luffy doesn’t care about any off the oddities as he sits there with his beloved friends’ body in his arms.

He failed. Again.

He’s too weak.

And now, in the forest, he’s alone again.)

-

Sanji wakes again to cloudy darkness, a pattern forming, but this time he can’t open his jaw or see much past the bars settling over his vision.

The mask.

Fuck.

What the hell, why the hell, is he is this damn thing again? Why why why why? Luffy, his crew, freed him from this, he’s free to chase his dreams and find the All Blue –

So why is he in this damn nightmare scenario? Who put this on his face?

What happened before this?

The rock, the rock, the bugs – fuck the bugs – leaping upward and darkness.

Right.

Take two.

Sanji gets up and touches the mask around his face. It’s heavy, heavier than he ever remembered it being, and weighs upon his shoulders like the weight of the world.

This should be nothing – Sanji is strong, stronger than any mask.

He can’t even jump more than ten feet with it on. Every time his head drags him back down to the ground, slamming him into the ground. He tries countless times, each time feeling his energy wane more and more.

Escape is so close, yet he’s still trapped on this damn rock.

Use your head, Sanji.

He takes a breath, again wishing for a cigarette, and steps back and falling until he is sitting down. The world seems to go a little hazy, a little blurry, and then he’s back.

Feeling so much weaker than before. Did he black out?

No – he hadn’t.

Had he?

Use. Your. Head.

Right.

Sanji looks down, and all sense flies out the window. His hands are practically skeletal in appearance, thin and drawn with barely any muscle. They are trembling as he looks, barely able to hold their curled shape.

What – what happened?

The last time he had seen this was with his Captain, who had starved waiting for his cook to come back. Then had been lost sailors arriving at the Baratie, and the first time…

The first time had been Sanji himself, and Zeff, standing on that rock.

He’s the rock again – again, oh shit, how the hell did he get here, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck-

His hand brushes something as he pushes it against the ground, trying to leverage his weakened body up.

It’s not a bug this time, Sanji notes, as he looks over at the item.

No, it’s not even close.

Its Robin, peacefully lying there as if nothing has happened. But –

She’s as skeletal as Sanj,i even as her hand lies outstretched to him. Her open eyes are glassy and her lips parched and cracked.

Her chest is still. She’s not breathing, and there are no wounds on her body.

Robin had starved to death on the same rock as him, probably begging him for food or a way out, and he didn’t even feed her.

Sanji didn’t feed her.

Terror seeps in deep as his heart painfully stops in his just. He didn’t feed her, oh god.

He didn’t feed his crew.

Are the rest of them the same? Starving?

Facing Sanji’s worst nightmare?

-

Zoro’s at the bottom of the cliff and he can’t find Nami’s body. Can’t even bring her to sunny to give her a proper pirate funeral.

What a failure, Zoro, you’re pathetic, Kuina’s voice rings in his ears. Wado hangs limply in his grasp.

Zoro doesn’t fear much. He never flinches, even at certain death (Take my head instead!) and monstrous beings and people hold no charge against him.

But this…

This failure to protect his crew, his dream, his family… To let them die because of something so simple and meaningless as slipping out of his grasp…

It’s like lead is in his stomach. Despair trembles through his veins.

Nami… oh god, Nami –

(Kuina was like an annoying older sister to Zoro. Nami is like her annoying counterpart, ragging on about his debt and how stupid he is but unlike Kuina she has always told Zoro that she thought he was a monster, and never thought of how much weaker she might become. She was family.)

She’s dead.

(Zoro knows death. A warrior’s death is something to be valued – dying in battle, or peacefully after a long life of victory and fall to someone greater than yourself. To die in the path of a dream. This is the death that Zoro can accept.

To die for nothing, for no reason other than accident – Zoro feels his chest tighten at the reality of it.

A thousand hells would be better.)

And he can’t even find her body.

He wants to feel denial. He wants to feel rage, something burning, something how he usually is.

All Zoro can feel is cold.

(A failure. He couldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect her from this horrible, horrible fate. A failure.)

He needs to find Luffy and everyone else so they can help him find her.

He starts walking, wandering the bottom of the cliff (as if some part of him believes he can find her body that way.) Time seems to wax and wane on this island – the featureless sky shifting from bright to dark in minutes, even seconds, as if its day and night all at once.

How long has he walked?

“Yo-ho-ho-h, yo-ho-ho-ho, Yo-ho-ho-h, yo-ho-ho-ho~”

“Brook?” Zoro echoes out at the sudden voice.

Bink’s Sake. He’ll know that tune anywhere. It’s coming from his right but…

That’s not the usual solo. That has piano in it – too many voices for one, single skeleton.

What’s going on?

He follows the song, for once not getting lost as he is prone to do. The voices grow louder in song, followed with suspicious thudding sounds. Zoro finds the coldness in him waning as concern grows. He starts running.

“Brook?” he calls again, waiting for the returning call, the breaking of song as the skeleton greets his beloved crew.

He doesn’t answer.

Zoro’s heart beats faster, his breath constricting in his throat.

Zoro comes upon a small clearing. There’s a small pond in the middle, deep with semi clear waters. Somethings in it, but he can’t tell yet.

The music’s ringing loudly now, but it’s only Brook’s voice now.

He sounds like he’s crying.

There’s a knock against his foot, and the music shuts off, leaving an eerie silence. A look down, and it was not Brook that was singing but a tone dial.

Brook’s tone dial, the one he was going to give to Laboon, the one of the Rumbar pirate’s last living song.

He never lets that out of his sight. Which means…

Cold washes over Zoro once again, like a beast digging into his heart. He steps closer to the pond, and peers in.

Brook, dead in the only way they knew for sure he could die.

Drowned.

Zoro collapses to his knees, and mourns for two of his family.

-

Usopp is left on the forest floor once Luffy struggles past the barrier in his mind (the one that screams just like Ace, all alone, you failed, you failed you failed, your alone, your weak, such a bad captain-) because Usopp had said the others were waiting for him.

What if something bad happened to them too? What if what if what if?

Luffy sprints through the trees and trips over metal, landing face first in the dirt if not for a quick arm.

He knows that clang. He wishes he didn’t, because this time there was no SUPER! shout to accompany it.

It’s Franky, curled into a ball, with his fleshy back bloody and pierced. In the center of his arms is Chopper, lifeless and limp and bloody.

Both of them aren’t breathing. Both of them are dead, no matter how hard Luffy tries to sense their force with his haki.

(Franky, it seems, had tried to protect the already wounded Chopper with his body. He had failed. Had whoever killed Usopp killed them too?)

“Franky?” Luffy croaks, still hoping he wasn’t to late. “Franky? Chopper?”

Denial shatters away like glass when there’s still no response.

His crew is dead.

Who knows who might else be?

“NAMI!? ROBIN!?” Luffy jumps up, looking around. Please not be there, please not be-

There. They are there. With Brook next to them, all dead and Sanji lying slumped next to him and Zoro… and Zoro lying right there. His swords run through him.

A familiar vivre card is burning away in his head. Sabo’s card.

His big brother is dying.

It burns away entirely.

His big brother is gone.

He has no one now.

Luffy’s alone, for good this time.

SNAP.

-

It has been days, Sanji thinks at least, since he found Robin’s body. And the others, a few days later, scattered around the rock. His memory as to how he got here, how his crew starved is hazy, but one fact remains crystal clear.

He let his crew starve to death, and is now starving himself, trapped in a mask.

Something he swore he would never let happen again.

How, he would ask, if he could get past the lead in his veins, how.

But he can’t, except sit there in numb terror as voices laugh in his head and shadows dance before him.

Taunting him, In that dizzying way of theirs.

It’s just like the rock, when every other day a mirage would appear on the water, tricking them into thinking some rescue was upon them.

This time, it was a mirage of his former family, or his friends at times, whispering and laughing at him and with him when he managed a crazed snicker.

(His chest felt tight and his ears were ringing. Is this what it was like to die?)

It was only when Zeff appeared, stretching out a hand to him, inviting him to stand up and get off the damn rock and join his crew did Sanji know he had finally lost it.

He reached out a hand anyway and –

SNAP.

The world flickered, for one, crystalline moment, and Sanji could see again.

That’s not Zeff.

The mirage came back but it was too late.

Sanji knew.

-

Zoro had dragged Brook out of the pond and laid his song in his skull. He would get Luffy, and ask Luffy what they should do about the tone dial – should they leave it with the last of the Rumbar pirates, or bring it to the whale it was destined for.

Perhaps both, and bury Brook at the sea of Reverse Mountain

He stumbles along, after carefully laying Brook down, and goes to keep searching. Each sight he finds is another horrible mockery of his crew, a death they didn’t deserve. He wants to stop and help them, but it’s like a child is tugging him along, insistent and stubborn, leaving him no choice but to follow the shadows further into the woods.

Franky dismantled. Robin collapsed. Usopp shot, Chopper with him. The shit cook dead with a cigarette still burning in his mouth.

Tears fall down Zoro’s cheeks and he’s trembling, eyes wide and horrified. His crew is dead.

(Where’s Luffy?)

(Behind you, hehehe!)

Zoro whips around at the invisible force in his head. Stumbling toward him is Luffy, looking lost and confused and with blood pouring from the wound in his chest.

“Zo..ro” His captain rasps, reaching out to him before stumbling.

Zoro catches him, watching numbly as his captaiin’s light fades from his eyes. His hat is torn and his chest slowly stops moving up and down.

Shadows sink their claws into Zoro’s body as he stands there holding his captains’ body – the man he vowed to protect, to live for, die for, give his dream for.

Suddenly, how far they have come, more than half way across the world in the most dangerous sea, doesn’t seem so far anymore.

(His captain is resting against him that first night in the dinghy, the first solid presence in a long while. He’s smaller than Zoro, but so much stronger, and the hat he wears on his head seems like a crown made of sun. Something settles in Zoro’s chest as the confidence that he will become the greatest swordsman in the world shifts into not quiet but not loud knowledge.

He will be the greatest swordsman, and Luffy will be king. Simple.)

Luffy has died before becoming king. The future King of the pirates is dead and so is his entire crew.

Zoro laws Luffy’s body on the ground and closes Luffy’s eyes with a gentle hand. There’s no smile on his face as Zoro thought there would be when this day finally happened. Just anguish.

Wado finds his way into his hand.

If you step in the way of my dream, Ill run you through with my own swords!

Luffy is dead (someone more than his own pride) and can’t fulfill his promise.

King or Dead. Guess they were dead.

Perhaps Zoro shall fulfill Luffy’s promise to him instead.

Hehehe!

Come on Zoro, Kuina’s voice lulls in his ear, join me at the top of the world.

He unsheathes Wado and –

SNAP.

Luffy fades away and it isn’t Zoro’s hand holding Wado but a shadowy one.

He doesn’t give the shadows a chance to return as the numb terror that has been so uncharacteristic finally flees from his veins. He can see clearly now, observation Haki back for just a moment, and the world makes sense again.

Zoro knows the truth.

And that was Luffy’s, living Luffy who would be the Second Pirate King, Conquerors Haki.

Zoro slashes with Wado Ichimonji and runs for the shores.  

-

The world shutters, much in the same way it did when his big brother died, but Luffy pays it no heed. He doesn’t open his eyes as he falls to ground and lets his haki pour forth. Rayleigh had trained it, drilled it into him so he had nothing but perfect control, but Luffy has never reacted to rage or sadness with anything but self-destruction.

(Before, when his crew disappeared, he had smashed his head into the ground. When his brother died, he destroyed a quarter of the island and reopened half his wounds. People scolded him, but how could he explain that he was nothing without his beloved crew? His family? His brother?)

And how could he react to all of his crew being lost, his last brother dying, with anything but soul crushing terror and rage?

Luffy is alone now. The world is bleak and cold as he opens his eyes. Count what you still have Jimbe said, and Luffy still hopefully has Jimbe, if he too isn’t gone somewhere else in the world.

Around him is a crater, his crew’s bodies suspiciously untouched by the force of his conquering will.

His will feels broken now, out of reach.

Ace sits before him, looking like the day he set out. Young, smiling, ready to brave the world.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Luffy. Ace falls eventually, now old again, into his arms, and Luffy feels terror seep into his veins. The body is gone in the next minute, as if it was never really there, but the blood coating his hands tells another story. Its just like Marineford

The world is black. Dark. Luffy is alone on this island with no family or friends. He doubts whatever is hunting down his crew spared Sunny.

He can’t feel anything any more. Just horror, sinking deep. As if something is sapping his soul, his rage, his anger, his fury at his family is being stolen, leaving nothing but the loneliness.

(Luffy has always been alone. Been left to shake in the dark while grandpas and idols and big brothers were at sea (or dead.) It shakes him, that nothing is perhaps real and there’s no one to love and cherish and treasure. It shakes him in a way he can’t understand, leaves him feeling unsteady and uncertain. He’s terrified of it.)

No shadows dance before his eyes and no voice sing out and laugh in his ear. All there is is the crushing void of being alone – it hurts, far more than Luffy thought it would.

He’s collapsed on the ground now, completely boneless, eyes wide and unseeing. His hat is still nowhere to be seen as his clothes still feel sticky with blood.

Luffy doesn’t want this.

(He wants to think there’s a way and if not I’ll make one but something is stopping that train of thought in his head like a sea stone wall. He’s powerless.)

He wants this nightmare to end.

Perhaps if he closes his eyes…

The world fades, little by little.

Hehehehe!

Luffy’s eyes snap open. He’s not alone in this place after all.

Someone else is on this island, and he’s going to stop them, for what they did to his crew. His family.

Then… then he can sleep.

For now, however, Luffy will fight.

(the shadows grasp at him as he runs but there will be time for burial and mourning later. This island, Luffy is sure, will not be their final resting place. Only the sea can have that that honor.

The shadows drag him back, but he will not stop – he will never stop.

Not when his nakama need him.)

-

Flames erupt, turning the world around Sanji hazy. The weight on his head, the heavy metal mask, falls away and when he looks down his limbs are fuzzy, as if their form isn’t truly there. It is though – Sanji knows this illusion of starvation is nothing more than that.

An illusion, designed to turn him insane on this hellish island. Sanji won’t stand for it anymore.

His friends’ bodies are still there, next to him, nearly bone now.

(Impossible, his mind says, knowledge telling him that humans don’t become bone that quickly and of coursethis is some hellish nightmare.)

Sanji ignores them and pushes against the shadows lapping at his legs.

He needs to do something, get to his friends, and the first step to that is to get free and to get off this damnrock.

Feed your friends, something says to him, voice a copy of his own, but you failed.

It’s trying to lure him back in.

“NO!” Sanji yells aloud, flames bursting around him. A cook isn’t afraid of fire but shadows should be – and these ones aren’t, still latching on to him.

Whatever.

He sinks ever so slightly into the ground, creating a crater with the force of his power, and leaps up. He makes it half way up the cliff before he needs to sky jump, and a third before the shadow things latch on to him.

(They are starting to form a shape now that they don’t have a nightmare to feed off of. Some are his ex-siblings, some are his starving friends, some are even Zeff but most are twisted, inhuman things, which act like every limb on their body isn’t theirs but they are moving them anyway.)

Sanji snarls at him and the traitorous thoughts they try to put in his brain and reaches the top of the cliff. This time, when the mask flies at him, Sanji is read. With a fiery foot the mask is kicked into the ground, smoldering and dented.

“Heh,” he says, talking just to hear his own voice again (to see if he was real), and kicks it again. The shadow things are hanging back now.

He’s sure they are thinking up a new strategy to get to him, but that won’t work anymore.

He knows their game – and he knows what he wants to win.

“Where. Are. My. Friends.” He growls out to the shadows, not expecting a response.

And he doesn’t get one – at least not verbally. When he finishes his snarl, the things melt and fly away into the darker forest like wisps.

Pieces of a puzzle he never knew existed are falling into place. Sanji finally finds a cigarette and lights it, taking a drab and billowing smoke into the air.

There’s no sky, he realizes. And no rock behind him at the bottom of the cliff either.

He takes another drag. And the shadows on the ship… the ones haunting him… were they the cause of his nightmares? The ones sinking into him and dragging his will and lifeforce out of him?

Which means…

Mosshead. Luffy.

Shit.

Sanji runs and doesn’t look back.

-

Zoro has been sprinting for a while now, and the shadows are still chasing him. Luffy is out there somewhere, alive, and so is Nami and Brook and everyone else.

These shadows, shifting and shapeless all at once with limbs that don’t belong to him, are just another barrier he needs to cut before he can return to his crew.

Zoro has one eye, but that doesn’t mean his vision is impaired. To be in a fight, to be a swordsman, to be a pirate means to always know more than what is there.

Observation haki just puts a word to it.

Except… his fucking haki isn’t there. And he can’t tell what he needs to cut yet.

Damnit.

Is this what had been going on in on the ship? Had the shadows been reaching out from this island so much that they caused his nightmares?

What is going on here?

When Luffy had let loose that conquerors haki, the world had been cleared for a second.

Assume nothing is real.

Any obstacle he could cut down.

All he needs is Luffy and his haki to cut off the head and find the real culprit of this hell hole.

Damn island! Damn it all! Bringing up memories of Kuina, of Marineford, of whatever the shite cook saw, of dead crew left and right – shit, if this is its tactics, then what is Sanji facing? What’s Luffy facing?

(Sanji’s hand shakes when one of the crew can’t eat and he hates wearing anything metal on his face. Nami had told them all about Whole Cake, about how his ex-siblings and ex-father were assholes, and how he used Sanji’s true family as leverage. Food doesn’t go to waste on Sunny, and the crew isn’t trapped or ignored. Zoro doesn’t want to imagine what it would be like to Sanji if those things did happen.)

(I’d rather be hurt than alone, Zoro, Luffy had told him once, when Luffy was in that post battle fever and had pushed himself too far. Zoro doesn’t think Luffy knows that he told Zoro, but it doesn’t stop Zoro from thinking of the two years where Luffy had thought he had lost it all – and was alone, no matter the reality.)

Zoro needs to get to his captain now.

A shadow swipes at his feet. Zoro jumps, sweeping out Kitetsu in an easy motion. It cuts the shadow, which had the vague appearance of Yosaku, and splits into two shadowy Kuina’s.

Damnit.

Where’s the shore in this place?

Zoro’s so far preoccupied with looking for the moon (moon controls the tides, therefore, follow the moon and you will find water) which isn’t there that he doesn’t notice the hat drifting in front of him, being chased by some other shadow.

Until that hat smacks him in the face that is.

It’s familiar, soft despite its straw material, and with a vibrant, old red ribbon crossed around it.

Luffy’s? Zoro pulls the hat away from his face with a questioning, concerned look. He’s about to examine it further when –

The hat disappears from his hands into some child’s before him. The child is small, freckled, and angry, staring up at him with silvered, unseeing eyes. He’s never seen him before, but there’s something in the shape of the nose and the curl of the hair that reminds Zoro of someone long ago.

He doesn’t know who that is though.

“Hey!” Zoro says to the stranger, reaching for the hat. “Give that back! That’s my captain’s!”

“Yeah?” The child snarls, vitriol practically dripping from his mouth. “It’s my brothers – your shitty captain ain’t ever getting it back.”

Brother?

The child turns and dashes away, leading the swordsman into the forest and anyway from where he thought the water was. Shit, Zoro thinks as he loses the kid, where the hell did he go?

He takes a right (or so he assumes) and then a left at the familiar big tree, and then another right at the big tree – is this tree moving?

Whatever.

The forest is watching him, mocking him, but there’s no child around him. His haki clears in spurts and burst, giving him clarity to see the truths of shadows past shadowy captains and Kuinas.

Zoro slashes them all and pauses in a small clearing, still looking for the brat.

The worlds growing dark again, not that it had gotten that much lighter. The shadows are twisting more and more, staying just outside the clearing, watching him.

Zoro tightens his grip on his sword as he looks out at the shadows. There’s something coming.  

No. Someone.

Red flies out of the bushes and barrels into Zoro, knocking him into the dirt and leaving him disoriented.

But there will never be a day he doesn’t recognize that sloping scar.

“Luffy?!”

-

Luffy feels like he can’t breathe, like his skin is buzzing with a thousand tiny needles under it. His despair and rage had turned into terror that was dragging at his heart making it sink low low low low low and beat so fast he was worried Chopper would yell at him for it.

(Except Chopper was dead now, wasn’t he?)

He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to lash out. He felt small, in the way he never did except when he was alone and there was a knife digging into his chest and twisting and twisting and twisting—

Luffy stumbles, breath catching in his throat, and barrels through the bushes. Tears from his panic threaten to fall but he won’t let them he won’t—

He crashes into something as his vision was going blurry, as oxygen refuses to enter his lungs.

But…

The world, previously blurry, zeroes in on a familiar, green shape.

“Zo..ro?” He chokes out, air still not entering his lungs as he looks towards his swordsman.

Breathing. Alive, with no blood or anything, just red tear tracks falling from his one eye.

“ZORO!” He shouts and sobs again, lunging at his first mate whose still lying on the ground, wrapping arms and legs alike around him. “ZORO!” He doesn’t know any other word.

Zoro is the same. “Luffy, LUFFY!” Zoro chokes out just as Luffy did, wrapping arms tightly around his captain. “You’re alive,” And Luffy’s not imaging the wet spot on his shoulder.

“You too, you’re alive, I thought you were dead, Zoro, Zoro!” Luffy clings tighter.

The shadows around his vision seem to bleed away, the longer he clings to his first mate. His chest loosens and he can breathe and he’s no longer alone.

And if Zoro’s alive… that means…

“Zoro.” It must be the thousandth time Luffy’s said it, but he still repeats it as he pulls away just enough to see Zoro’s face. “What’s going on? Where’s the rest of the crew? You were dead.” His heart tightens again, recalling the terror that’s now only just abating

“You were dead too. All of the crew was.”

The shadows titter around them and Luffy tightens his grip. He doesn’t need to ask Zoro more than that, can see it in his eyes that he was tempted too, by shadows with loved faces.

He hates it.

Hehehehe!

“It stopped when you used your haki.” Luffy nods at Zoro’s statement and hauls his swordsman upward. “I think it’s something with the shadows.”

“Hmm,” He hums and glares at the world around him. Fine then.

His hearts wild still, and he may still be holding on to Zoro’s sleeve, reluctant to let his new refound crewmate go but –

He’s not doing it (losing them) again.

Ever.

Luffy wishes he had his hat, but at least he can assume his crew is alive for now. And Sabo to, judging by the slip of a Vivre Card in Wado Ichimonji’s hilt.

Fine.

Luffy drags Zoro forward, and forces the world to kneel to him, in one wave of the Will of Kings.

Conquerors Haki.

The world goes still for just a moment.

Wind.

The shadows melt away, dragging themselves backward from trees and sky and people, as if being propelled by an invisible force field. The inky jungle is no more, and no longer resembled Goa’s lush trees and undergrowth. Instead it is barren, with sickly, endless trees that reach up to a cloudy sky. The fog is gone, apparently made of shadows, and there is a person up ahead, revealed by the force.

Luffy doesn’t dare let his will go, now that Zoro is before him and the shadows that laughed and took his crew away from him are gone.

The figure up ahead stands and waves, familiar hat in hand. Luffy charges forward, not letting go of Zoro’s arm and waved.

“SANJI!”

Sanji smiles and waves back.

-

A moment ago, Sanji was charging through the trees, the next, running over some bratty kid with a pipe and something that did not belong to him in hand.

The kid glares, and swipes at Sanji with his pipe, but Sanji has been mad for a while now and if the kid was looking for a fight, well.

Sanji breaks the pipe in half and snatches Luffy’s hat back from the freckled brat.

“Who the fu-“ He starts to ask before the island shakes.

Kneel. A will commanded that doesn’t end. Kneel.

It is Luffy, sending out another burst of conqueror’s and this time he seems to have gotten the clue that whatever was controlling the shadow’s will isn’t greater than his own.

Thank the seas.

Sanji watches as shadows seem to fling back from Luffy’s will, as if bouncing off a shield. The island becomes bleak as the inky figures melt from trees and shrubbery and sky, leaving a barren landscape.

And, with his captain and the mosshead in clear sight.

(Where’d the kid go?)

“Sanji!” Luffy shouts, running towards him, but Sanji is already moving to meet him. He slams into the both of them, yes, mosshead included, catching them in his arms as arms surrounded him in turn.

“You’re alive,” He cries, tears that his body told him he wasn’t able to shed (starvation) dripping from his eyes. “You’re alive!” He holds on tighter as Luffy and Zoro both tighten their own grip.

A huddle of emotions, for a minute, before instinct kicks in.

“Fuck off shit cook,” Zoro mutters, and if Sanji’s “Shitty-ass mosshead” wasn’t just as wobbly he would have teased him for years.

As it was, reunions could come later. For now…

Sanji plops the iconic straw hat on Luffy’s head. “Missing something captain?”

“Shishishishi! You found it! Thank you Sanji!” And rubbery limbs wrap around him again, damn it, he can’t breathe!

Luffy seems to get the hint and backs off, letting Sanji suck in some much needed oxygen. But still keeps a grip on his sleeve, as he was with Zoro, and Sanji understood.

He switches Luffy’s grip on his sleeve so that Luffy was gripping his head, and took a drag of his cigarette with the other.

“So… I’m assuming personal nightmares?”

The joy that had crossed Luffy’s face was no more. Instead, his lips form a stern frown as his hand made an aborted motion to reach up – presumably to touch his scar.

“Yeah.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Least you guys figured the conqueror’s haki thing out. Now we can actually find the bastard.”

The world is so much clearer now, without the oppressing force of the shadows on his mind, suppressing his haki. Like the glass has been wiped clean and now he can see the world, thanks to Luffy.

He hadn’t even affirmed the lack of haki before, but it must have started when the nightmares started.

Luffy cocks his head to the side. “Oh.” As if he just now noticing the vibrant sense in the world.

“Dumbass.”

“Hmph.”

It’s quiet as the trio looks around them. Luffy lets go of their sleeves to push his hat more firmly on his head and make a fist with his hands.

“It’s the island,” He says “Isn’t it?” Sanji’s captain’s voice is low, but it seems to tremble with anger. “Making us feel all that without our permission.”

The thing hurting them, targeting them, because they were the only ones who could sense it isn’t a person… it’s the entire island.

Puzzle pieces are falling into place. The island attacked them because they were able to sense its power, were strong enough to repel it, and tried to shut it down before it could reach that point but sending out shadows with fears in them.

Preying on them. Sanji feels disgusted.

He doesn’t know why, only knows that the Island had hunted them for sport, leeching off of their fear and despair and something awful. He doesn’t want to know what it showed the others, but judging by his own terror, it can’t have been pleasant.

The island is alive like the shadows in the Florian triangle, and Sanji wants to burn it to the ground.

Luffy’s in agreement, eyes flashing. “The shadows got to come from somewhere, right?” Sanji and Zoro nod. “Then we find the source and smash it to bits. That way it can’t come back.”

Finishing that, Luffy whips out an arm, stretches it, and knocks down half the trees to their left.

“COME ON OUT! IM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS!” He yells and charges forward. With twin devil grins, Sanji and Zoro follow.

Luffy’s haki pours forth like the flood. He’s keeping it up, strong and steady and unrelenting as they rampage halfway across the island. He’s a conqueror, a true one, even if he never wants to rule over anything but his own freedom.

Sanji lashes out at the remaining foliage and shadows, thankful that his captain is Luffy.

But… the shadows are slipping away into something greater, convalescing at the center of the island, a shallow valley surrounded by the two mountains along the side. Its growing, growing growing, like a dark hole of loveless light. It has no eyes, nothing to give it meaning, but Sanji can tell it’s watching them.

As it grows bigger, so does its effort to fight against Luffy’s will. It can’t beat it, but his captain has to put in quite a bit of effort. Zoro and Sanji start taking up more of the fight as Luffy keeps his will extended, drawing back to protect his crew.

Sanji lets fire fly, and leaves it to Zoro to tell their captain to stop with the haki for a moment.

“If we know it’s there, we can’t be tricked anymore.”

Luffy nods, preps a King Kong Gun, and drops his haki as he unleashes a ground shattering attack.

The island shudders as if its hurt but the shadows don’t stop running. Sanji’s haki is fine.

Good.

It’s time to show this island what it means to be afraid.

-

The island is a lot smaller now without the shadows. The cliffsides that Zoro climbed are no more than perhaps five stories tall – he could have jumped that, if he wanted to, and not climbed down.  The jungle is no more than a mile, and the shore is clearly visible.

The island is a fake and Zoro can’t believe he fell for it.

The laughter stops as they reach the center. The sky’s bright and no fog covers the sea– the island itself is entirely razed to the ground by the force of their attacks.

The black hole like thing that sucked all the shadows in is nowhere to be found.

Instead, the child that Zoro had met before is standing in the center, looking like a glitch in reality. Light does not bend around him, like a painting without depth or reality. He’s there, standing over some pit in the ground, glaring with silver eyes. Blood drips from his mouth and his fists, scrapes across his knees.

The shit cook starts as if he too recognizes the brat. And since Sanji had Luffy’s hat he probably did meet him.

But Luffy…

Luffy freezes, and lets go entirely of the haki of the conquering king. (Zoro had thought he already dropped it. Guess he just made it so that Sanji and Zoro couldn’t feel it, which damnit Luffy that wasn’t the point of stopping it!)

“Ace?” Luffy whispers softly, sounding confused, and Zoro has never wanted to destroy anything more than he has in this moment.

“Luffy,” The brat – Ace, is this how that polite man looked as a child? Angry and lost? – says stepping forward. Zoro unleashes his anger at the surrounding area, which is shifting, and realizes the shadows have changed again. They have condensed into this caricature of their captain’s dead big brother, and melded to the environment, changing it from barren island to warring battlefield.

Zoro recognizes it from newspapers.

Marineford.

It ripples with every sword slice, shadows tearing apart and reconnecting and recoloring, but nothing can be as terrible as this war scene. Bodies strewn about, ice and fire glinting in the light.

The sky, so clear a moment ago, is dark. Zoro feels wrong-footed, and hearing the cook shift next to him, knows Sanji feels the same. What’s real? What isn’t How can we fight this? What are its weak points?

Luffy, before them, hasn’t moved.

“Hehehe!” Ace says, laughing, that laugh that has followed them through the island and laughed at their peril. “Little Brother, you can’t win here. No one can. So many people have fallen already, given their soul to—”

“I don’t care.” Luffy says, and there is ice in his tone. His will, his haki, grows, from when it paused at the sight of his brother. Zoro bares his teeth, and watches as the shadows step back. “I’m going to be King of the Pirates. I don’t have time for shadow guys again who like to hurt my crew. You aren’t Ace. This isn’t Marineford. So shut up.”

His voice reverberates throughout the valley. Luffy has always told people to get out of the way, to shut up or fight him, and this is no different. And Luffy rarely doesn’t get his way, because Luffy fights for want he wants.

(That, or the universe falls to his whims.)

This fake Ace takes a step back at Luffy’s indomitable spirit, then another. Sanji and Zoro as one step forward and attack the shadows around them, taking the mirage of their captain’s worst nightmare away from him.

(Though, hopefully he hadn’t noticed.)

It’s not enough, as the living island realizes it can’t beat them this way  and grows.

Freckled skin turns into scars and a tank top stretches into a marine jacket and flowered shirt. A cigar is bitten between gritted teeth as the figure grows and grows and grows. Blood boils and melts and solidifies into lava as Akainu stands tall in the center of the valley.

“Yeah, boy? Aren’t you scared now?” And Zoro hasn’t seen Akainu before or heard him, but he hates him already. He may just be a mirage, but it’s enough. “Big brother isn’t here to protect you

“Yeah. He isn’t.” And Luffy, without flinching or with a drop of terror, lunges forward in Gear Four.

“I can protect myself now.”

The island splinters as the attack hits, and Zoro knows no fear.

Fight, his captain says without speaking, and Zoro fights.

-

Akainu is here, and the last time Luffy saw him was when he was pulling his hand Ace’s chest. He’s not scared of him now, though he guesses the island thought he would.

Dead brothers, and war, and lost crew.

Luffy has already faced them. This island can’t throw them back at his face again. He might have despaired for his crew, but they are here now. The past doesn’t matter.

What matters is making sure his crew comes out alive wherever they are.

This is just training for when Luffy finally takes down Akainu.

He won’t lose. He isn’t scared.

Luffy attacks, and the battlefield erupts into dust.

-

Time flows differently on the Grand Line. Islands shift in and out of storms and fog, from one century to the next. Some theorize that Raftel is one such island, drifting between the shores one era and the next.

(In some way it is.)

It should come to no surprise that when an island falls it is as if it was never there at all. The sea is as unforgiving as it is beautiful, and time does not care for any rules but its own.

Luffy fights the will of the island for what seems like days. Zoro and Sanji whirling in action beside him, fighting back to back and arm to arm, never letting each other fall. Akainu – the island- falls to ruin with every cut and punch and kick.

Akainu falls, slowly, but surely, over the pit he came from.

A final Gum Gum Pistol and Ace is on the ground, bleeding out. One last trick to play.

But Luffy, nor any of the Straw Hats, like to dwell on the past on their own accord. A force of conquerors haki, and the island crumbles into a small stretch of rock and sand. No valleys or mountains around it.

The hole, the pit of darkness that the shadows came from, is all that remains. In it, a single skeleton, not singing or drinking tea. An unkept sword rests in its grip, wreathed in shadow.

Zoro ignores it, and they all ignore the skeleton.

When they look up, it is night, not sunny nor foggy. Endless stretches of stars, so familiar in the Grand Line, scatter the sky.

Luffy looks up and places a hand on his hat.

Terror does not pump through his veins, nor does horror or despair or grief. Only acceptance, and the feeling of an adventure completed.

Tiredness creeps in after.

“Let’s go home, guys.” He says, turning toward to the Sunny docked in the small bay that the sand and rocks create. The glistening black rocks of shadow, once used to attack and trap

They go home.

(behind them, as they set foot on the Sunny, the island sinks into the sea. Water fills the pit and the sword is swallowed up by the ocean’s force. Shadows seem to leak from it, fleeing into the sea like freedom flies to the wind. In a moment, it is gone, like rocks and sand and trees never existed.

The Peninsula of Drifting Fog, once part of a continent that has since fallen to the ocean floor, is no more.)

-

Luffy wakes to Nami screaming in his ear.

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!? WHERES THE ISLAND? WHY’S THE ANCHOR IN THE WATER!? WHY ARE YOU ALL BEAT UP!?” She’s standing in front of him as he is sitting on deck, but despite her words her actions as she moves to help him sit and look at his wounds are gentle.

Luffy’s just glad to see she’s okay, and ignoring the multiple scratches and burns scattered about his arm, catches her in a rubbery hug. “Shishishi! Nami!” Spotting the rest of his crew looking at them on neck, he stretches to include them in the hug as well. “Usopp! Chopper! Robin! Franky! Brook!!”

He doesn’t let them go, feeling that frenzied, awful feeling fade away, until Sanji and Zoro wake up and attract the attention of the crew, who scramble for them as well.

They had fallen asleep in a huddle by the mast, too tired to make it to their quarters.

It was the first restful sleep Luffy had had in a while but he still feels drowsiness in his veins.

But he’s not alone now, and his crew isn’t dead.

He can breathe again, without anger or despair coating his lungs.

He can live.

-

Sanji is the one to explain to the others what happened, in a brisk sort of manner. Luffy and Zoro are never ones to ask what happened, only what are you going to do. Sanji’s the odd one out in that regard.

An island, a living island, he tells them, with a cursed sword for a heart. Nami writes in down, in the log, in the passage she titled Drifting Fog Peninsula. There’s a space marked in her map for it as well, in colors of blue and gold, to show that it has been destroyed by the Straw Hat Pirates and is now sinking under the sea.  

(There’s guilt in her shoulders, for being too tired to mention the legend last night. It had truly been only a night, the island fucking with their perception of time, instead of the weeks it felt like.)

It targeted us, because we could sense it. Probably would have gone on to you next. It tried to keep Luffy down a lot, because of his Conqueror’s Haki. He tries to avoid what it used to attack but his crewmates aren’t dumb. They know it takes more than fire and attacks to bring down Luffy, knows something went on when Sanji’s is more frantic in the kitchen and Zoro naps near the bottom of the stairs and Luffy can’t go without clinging to someone for more than fifteen minutes. It used fears.

He doesn’t say what kind, doesn’t know what the others faced, and it certainly isn’t his right to tell them that Luffy saw his brother die again (and who knows how many times before, when he was alone,) and fought the man who killed him.

We figured it out, in the end, what was causing it, and Luffy used his haki so we could all get a clear head. It was easy on out from there.

He doesn’t mention burns, or the way Luffy hadn’t cried. The way Zoro looked distant and agree and the way Sanji couldn’t stop shaking when they got on the ship.

They don’t need to know, though he does trust them.

They’re crew. Family.

Somethings you just hold close to your chest, that’s all.

-

Two nights away from the island, however, Sanji still can’t sleep without nightmares.

Each time he awakes, however, paranoia drives him to he use his observation haki to see if it’s just his regular brain fucking with him, or shadow brains.

It doesn’t particularly matter.  Zoro and Luffy are in the same boat. They all keep quiet about it, and so do their crewmates.

The past is the past on this ship of dreams, and the future is only ever King or Dead. The present is all that matters.

And presently, Sanji finds himself as he was nearly a week ago, and every night since they have been back, stumbling, bleary eyed and shaking, into the kitchen with Zoro and Luffy on the floor.

He doesn’t speak, only whips up some cinnamon tea and a light snack, and unhesitatingly curling next to Luffy, who quickly links their arms as he was doing with Zoro beside him.

Luffy’s eyes are red, Sanji notes, but there’s an ease to his shoulders now that both Sanji and Zoro are here. Seeing his crew, his captain, eat, is also doing wonders for Sanji’s nerves.

Zoro’s tense, but in the way he usually is – almost entirely relaxed but ready to protect his crew if need be.

In a moment, they find their way to the aquarium with a blanket and little conversation other than a whispered Shishi! as Zoro and Sanji fight over opposite ends of the blanket.

They sleep then, huddled in a pile, nightmares frightened away. The next night they will rejoin the crew in the sleeping quarters, crewmates finding their way into bunks not their own, but for now…

They sleep, undisturbed, in the quiet of their home.

No nightmares, no shaking hands or tense shoulders, can find them here, with a warm drink between their hands

[celestines]

                have   you   seen   IRINA   MOON   around   campus   ?   i   hear   they’re   a   FOURTH   YEAR   ,   WINTER   witch   with   a   specialty   in   ENCHANTMENTS   .   i   almost   never   see   them   without   their   ERMINE   .   if   they   ever   want   to   be   a   ENCHANTER   someday   they   should   ease   up   on   being   SUPERCILIOUS   &   MANIPULATIVE   .   at   least   you   can   say   they’re   CAPTIVATING   &   SEDULOUS   ,    too   .

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     QUICK  STATS  !

full  name  :   irina   sophia   moon   .

nickname(s)  :   rina   ,   ice   princess   .    

zodiac  :   capricorn   sun   ,   scorpio   moon   (  click   !  )

sexuality  :   bisexual   .

alignment   :   lawful   neutral   .

pinterest   :   (   tba !   )  

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     BACKSTORY  !  

hailing   from   a   long   line   of   winter   witches   &   warlocks   ,    irina   was   born   into   a   family   that   seemed   to   fit   every   stereotype   of   their   coven   :   cold   ,    calculating   ,   and   striving   for   more   power   than   they   had   .   her   parents   were   well   off   ,   and   although   they   were   not    elite   ,   they   were   prominent   enough   to   exist   side   by   side   that   world   anyway   .   almost   important   ,    but    not   important   enough   .   almost   at   the   top   ,    but   not   quite   there   .   while   most   people   might   find   it   ridiculous   anyone   could   have   so   much   and   still   be   unsatisfied   ,   it   never   stopped   irina’s   parents   from   their   desperate   ambitions   .   

she   would   be   her   family’s   only   daughter   ,    as   well   as   the   last   born   moon   child   .   irina   was   aware   of   the   differences   in   how   she   was   being   raised   versus   the   way   her   brothers   were   being   raised   right   away   .   while   her   father   payed   close   attention   to   his   sons   ,    irina   was   cast   off   to   the   side   into   the   awaiting   embrace   of   her   mother   ,    but   she   wouldn’t   find   affection   there   either   .   for   her   brothers   ,    freedom   was   a   luxury   ,   and   while   they   were   raised   studious   it   was   obvious   to   irina   that   they   had   it   easier   than   her   .   when   they’d   come   home   late   and   tipsy   after   a   long   night   of   what   they   always   referred   to   as   “   networking   ”   (   which   a   young   irina   quickly   discovered   meant   partying   )   she’d   still   be   awake   at   the   dining   table   triple   checking   her   homework   .   

while   she   took   to   books   easy   ,    what   she   felt   challenged   by   were   the   lessons   her   mother   put   her   through   .   she   raised   irina   to   believe   a   woman   must   be   smart   and   worldly   ,   and   so   irina  learned   to   play   the   violin   .   her   mother   ,   who   always   had   a   certain   fascination   obsession   with   the   winter   high   warlock   ,   truly   believed   in   the   importance   of   upholding   tradition   .   she   was   willing   to   go   to   any   length   to   preserve   the   coven   ,   even   further   than   irina’s   own   father   would   ,   and   she’d    use   emotional   manipulation   to   get   her   there   .   while   the   woman   thought   her   sons   would   have   no   trouble   rising   the   ranks   ,   she   worried   about   irina   ,    often   pressuring   the   young   girl    to   be   wise   and   marry   well   .  

in   the   years   her   older   brothers   were   away   at   the   academy   of   arcane   arts   irina   would   learn   her    most   valuable   lesson   of   all   .   underneath   every   rule   and   tradition   there   is   hypocrisy   ,   and   nothing   is   ever   truly   what   it   appears   to   be   .   she’d   believed   in   her   parents   and   the   way   she’d   been   raised   ,   wholeheartedly   believed   and   endured   it   all   ,   never   questioning   them   once   until   the   night   she   catches   her   father   locking   lips   with   a   summer   witch   in   what   they   must   have   assumed   was   a   private   corner   of   a   high   profile   charity   event   .   she   never   spoke   a   word   about   it   to   anyone   ,   but   things   were   never   the   same   after   that   .   

every   time   her   parents   scoffed   at   the   other   covens   ,   she   thought   about   that   party   .    every   time   her   mother   tried   to   control   her   friendships   or   relationships   ,   she   thought   about   the   irony   of   her   father’s   infidelity   .   while   her   older   brothers   went   on   to   become   a   successful   duelist   and   council   officer   respectfully   ,   irina   was   counting   down   the   days   til   she   finally   got   to   escape   to   the   academy   .  her   life   so   far   had   been   reminiscent   of   a   porcelain   doll’s   ,   eighteen   years   trying   not   to   fall   right   off   the   highest   shelf   .   she’d   become   exactly   who   her   parent’s   needed   her   to   be   ,   something   irina   once   wanted   more   than   anything   in   the   whole   world   ,   but   all   she   felt   was   empty   .  

 when   she   arrived   at   arcane   as   a   freshman   ,   she   already   had   huge   footsteps   to   fill   .   her   brothers   ,   who   had   excelled   not   only   academically   but   also   socially   ,   had   achieved   just   about   everything   —   except   becoming   head   of   winter   house   .   one   of   them   came   close   their   3rd   year   making   it   as   prefect   ,   only   to   lose   head   of   house   the   next   year   .   irina   quickly   became   obsessed   with   the   idea   of   making   it   to   house   head   and   she   knew   it   would   take   more   than   being  smart   or   proficient   in   magic   to   get   her   there   ,    but   she   also   knew   if   anyone   could   do   it   it   was   her   .   she’d   been   raised   to   chase   powerful   positions   ,   to   study   ,   to   be   charming   ,   and   to   find   the   right   connections   .   like   most   in   the   winter   house   her   ability   to   read   people   was   something   she   had   mastered   ,   and ultimately   it’s   how   she   finally   got   her   wish   her   fourth  year   at   the   academy   when   she   got   the   house   leadership   position   .                                          

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     PERSONALITY  +  TIDBITS  !

in   true   capricorn   nature   ,   irina   is   very   ambitious   .   while   she   used   to   strive   to   be   the   best   at   everything   she   does   to   get   a   sliver   of   her   parent’s   approval   ,   she’s   recently   made   the   discovery   it’s   much   more   satisfying   for   her   to   work   hard   and   prove   to   herself   she   can   be   so   much   more   than   just   a   pawn   in   whatever   game   the   winter   coven   seems   to   be   playing   .   she’s   a   perfectionist   that’s   constantly   on   the   borderline   of   obsession   ,   which   means   while   she   has   high  standards   for   everyone   around  her   ,    the   most  unrealistic   expectations   are   the   ones   she   sets   for  herself   .   

she   is   ridiculously   charming   for   someone   who   ,   at   first   glance   ,   appears   to   be   icy   and   distant   .   pleasant   at   all   times   ,   but   especially   in   times   of   conflict   ,    which   is   exactly   what   makes   her   a   good   house   leader   .   has   the   uncanny   ability   to   read   people   disturbingly   well   ,   which   she   does   use   to   her   advantage   (   even   when   she   doesn’t   mean   to   </3   )   .   irina   has   a   habit   of   making   people   feel   important   when   she   talks   to   them   ,   like   there’s   not   a   single  person   in   the   world   she’d   rather   be   in   conversation   with   (   exactly   like   this   quote   )   .   plays   a   lot   on   the   ambition  and   the   ego   of   winter  witches   when   leading   the   house   and   the   shiny   promise  of   being   the   best   because   she's   never   known   anything   else   /:   surprisingly   though   ,   she’s   not   as   strict   as   the   other   house   heads   probably   believe   her   to   be   ,   something   only   winter   witches   and   warlocks   would   know   (   and   keep   to   themselves   if   they're   smart   )   .   

while   most   of   her   relationships   ,   per   request   of   her   mother   ,   are   more   business   transactions   than   they   are   anything   based   on   real   emotional   vulnerability   ,    irina   has   made   exceptions   .   even   with   people   she   should   only   care   about   because   of   status   she’s   finding   it   harder   and   harder   to   act   like   her   feelings   and   vulnerable   side   don’t   exist   .   she’s   terrified   to   share   those   parts   of   herself   with   just   anyone   ,   only   trusting   a   select   few    to   really   know   her   ,    the   rest   of   the   world   only   seeing   a   carefully   crafted   projection   of   herself   .   

honestly   ...   she’s   kinda   on   the   verge   of   losing   it   JSDBWJBDJW   very   nina   in   black   swan   there’s   plenty   of   female   histeria  to   go  around   !   but   she's   trying   her   best   to   hold   it   all   together   and   stay   responsible   while  coping   with   the   fact   that   her   entire   childhood   was   some   bullshit   and   with   the   fact   that   while   she   might   actually   have   zero   interest   in   upholding   traditions   spread   by   hypocritical   witches   and   warlocks   in   positions   of   power   ,    playing   the   game   all   the   way   to   the   top   is   the   only   way   she   sees  herself   ever   having   true   freedom   ):         

she’s   rarely   cruel   on   purpose   .   most   of   the   time   when   she   hurts   someone   it’s   because   they   became   collateral   while   she's   trying   to   achieve   a   certain   goal   .   definitely   wants   to   be   genuinely   nice   to   people   as   opposed   to   fake   politician   nice   ,   she   just   kinda   feels   like   a   fraud   doing   it   ,   like   it’s   impossible  for   her   to   actually   be   genuine   when   she’s   pretending   everyday   of   her   life   .

has   a   super   complicated   relationship   with   house   rivalries   since   she’s   questioning   everything   her   parents   taught   her   .   summer   house   makes   it   hard   for   her   to   change   her   opinions  ,   however   ,   when   they’re   constantly   getting   on   her   nerves   even   if   they   don’t   mean   to   </3   generally   speaking   she’s   on   the   best   terms   and   at   her   friendliest   with   winter  and  autumn   house   ,    and   is   much   more   likely   to   trust   and   befriend   people   from   those   houses   ,    but   she   will   never   outright   discriminate   against   someone   from   spring   or   summer   house   (   unless   they’ve  earned   it   )   .  

she   specializes   in   enchantments   !   and   she’s   really   good   at   it   !   she’d   never   admit   it   ,   but   her   dream   job   isn’t  actually   being   an   enchanter   ,    but   a   professional   violinist   .   she’s   in   orchestra   club   as   a   coping  mechanism   for   the   fact   that   she’ll   never  have   her   dream   ):

her   familiar   is   an   ermine   named   jasper   ,   who   is   way   more   high  strung   than   irina   could   ever   dream   of   being   .   looks   very   cute   and   approachable   but   he   is   deadly   ...   winter   house   has   probably   learned   to   beware   when  he’s   roaming   the   halls   unless   irina   is   by   his   side   😔   

has   a   huge   phobia   of   being   in   love   ,   partly   because   she   was   raised   to   believe   it   didn’t   exist   ,   partly   because   she   wants   it   so   bad   she’s   afraid   of   what   will   happen   if   she   ever   gets   it   .   irina   also   avoids   real   relationships   in   general   and   often   uses   the   married   to   her   studies   excuse   to   avoid   getting   into   one   because   she   knows   her   parents   would   want   to   manipulate   it   /:   any   relationship   she   has   is   casual   OR   it’s   fake   and   she   will   100%   ruin   anything   that   seems   like   it’s   going   some   place  real   

has   a    wilder   side   she   saves   for   special   occasions   ,    like   more   important   parties   .   values   her   control   so   it’s   rare   to   see   irina   inebriated   ,   although   there   are   famous   (   albeit   few   )   tales   of   all   her   scandalous   actions   while   under   the   influence   .

she   just   really  needs   a   hug   🥺   maybe   a   lobotomy   too   if   she   ever   wants   to   be   happy   for  real   😳                 

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     WANTED  CONNECTIONS  !  (  all  open  to  all  genders  )

people   she’s   befriended   because   she   wants   something   from   them   !   maybe   it’s   status   ,   or   information   ,   or   something   else   entirely   .   maybe   they’re   using   her   at   the   same   time   ,   or   maybe   they   have   no   idea   .   i   think   it   would   also   be   interesting   to   have   a   friendship   that   started   out   as   fake   but   morphed   into   something   real   and  irina   feels   super   guilty   about   it   ):   

winter   witches   or   warlocks   who   get   in   trouble   a   lot   (   like   break   curfew   ,   etc   .   )    that   she   has   to   deal   with   .   maybe   she   ends   up   being   an   unintentional   mom   friend   to   them   ,   or   maybe   they   get   on   her   nerves   and   she   makes   sure   they   know   it   .   it   would   be   kinda   sexy   to   have   a   winter   witch   or   warlock   that   starts   breaking   rules   on   purpose   just   to   mess   with   irina   or   spend   time   with   her    

hookups  !   yes   ,   meaningless   (   unless   ?   )   sex   with   people   is   how   she   copes   with   all   the   stress   she’s   under    😔   .    i’d   love   some   past   hookups   that   ended   for   whatever   reason   (   like   maybe   one   of   them   or   both   of   them   was   starting   to   catch   feelings   so   irina   snuffed   it   out   like   a   candle   or   maybe   they   ended   it   )   ,   hookups   that   were   huge   mistakes   and   she’s   doing   her   best   to   forget   they   even   happened   (   mayhaps   with   a   summer   witch   or   warlock   )   ,   and   current   hookups   !    there’s   always   room   to   make   it   messy   ,    or   to   keep   it   fun   and   casual   🥺  

a   confidant   ,   someone   who   really   truly   knows   her   and   is   there   for   her   in   ways   most   people   could   never   be   ,   and   in   return   she’s   there   for   them   .    it   would   be   interesting   if   they   don’t   actually   hang   out   and   do   normal   friend   things   ,    so   it’s   a   little   weird   and   awkward   when   they   do   despite   knowing   so   much   about   each   other   .

a   summer   witch   or   wizard   who   could   be   the   child   of   the   summer   witch   her   father   is   having   an   affair   with   !    bonus   points   if   they   don’t   know   it    yet   so   there   can   be   future   drama   &   extra   bonus   points   if   somehow   them   and   irina   end   up   getting   along   despite   all   odds   only   to   have   whatever   blossoming   relationship   ruined   by   the   realization   ...      

younger   witches   or   warlocks   who   look   up   to   her   🥺   she   wants   to   be   an   inspiration   and   she   would   definitely   try   her   best   to   be   a   good   one   .  maybe   even   a   winter   witch   she’s   low   key   training   to   become   house   head   after   she   graduates   !

someone   to   bring   out   her   softer   side   &   show   her   that   it’s   better   for   her   not   to   keep   her   emotions   bottled   up   .   someone   who   inspires   her   to   be   better   and   more   selfless   even   though   she’s   not   selfish   on   purpose   /:   

an   enemy   or   two   !    people   who   actually   get   to   see   her   angry   side   and   her   dirty   not   poised   side   for   whatever   reason   .    

maybe   someone   irina   helps   to   be   more   confident   or   ambitious   .   since   she   was   raised   with   a   me   first   mentality   (   that   she’s   had   to   keep   in   check   as   head  of   winter   house   )    she’s   good   at   helping   people   who  constantly   put   other   people’s   wants   and   needs   before   their   own   . 

perhaps   some   childhood   or   family   friends   that   would   know   irina’s   family   kinda   sucks   ):    maybe   they   were   close   as   kids   and   drifted   apart   as   they   grew   up   ,    but   it’s   weird   and   kinda   sad   because   they   still   know   a   lot   about   each   other   !

a   bad   influence   😈    whether   or   not   they’re   trying   to   get   irina   to   loosen   up   with   malicious   or   not   malicious   intentions   ,    they’re   the   only   one   capable   of   melting   down   her   walls   bit   by   bit   ,   quicker   the   more   she   internalizes   all   her   struggles   .   someone   she   has   real   fun   with   who   puts   a   stop   to   all   her   overthinking   and   gets   her   to   live   in   the  moment   !           

THIS   ONE   IS   EVEN   LONGER   IM   SO   SORRY   😭😭😭   i  have   rambling   bitch   disease   and   it’s   fatal   !    once   again   if   u   wanna   plot   u   can   find   me  on   discord  @ glo lovecore ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ#8172   but   if   discord   isn’t   ur   thing   we   can   100%   plot   through   im’s   ,   i’m   just   gonna   be   slower   to   respond   through   tumblr   i   won’t   lie   🥺   give   this   a   like   and   i’ll   message   u   (   or   u   can   message   me   first   hehe   )   and   tysm   for   reading   this   novel   of   an   intro  ...     

[charmingturkeysandwich]

I Could Use a Love Song Ch. 3: don’t need no reason or happy hour

Chapter 3 of my Country Singer!Emma AU is here. I added a tag on AO3 for alcohol abuse, because while I don’t think we have true alcoholism here... Emma’s coping mechanisms are shit and the heavy drinking isn’t the healthiest. I wanted to make sure that I added that warning here as well. Please don’t use alcohol like Emma does here. I know from experience it’s hella bad news. Find a therapist! This is actual advice, not a joke. For reals. Emma should have just gone to a counselor instead of making appointments with Jose Cuervo and Jack Daniels. If anyone has treated you the way this iteration of Neal treated Emma, talk to someone. If you can’t afford a therapist, talk to me. Seriously, no lie, no joke, I’m only alive today because I eventually adopted a dog and sought counseling to cope with life’s many traumas.

Mmmmkkay enough babbling. 

Also on AO3

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Their next few gigs were some of the best in Emma’s (admittedly tequila-hazed) memory, and for once that glimmer of hope for that future of fame and fortune… well, it felt like a hell of a lot more than a glimmer.

The crowds had been rowdy, raucous, and ready to sing along to every song on their whole set. A few people even more some of the merch Killian had started selling at the door, nothing fancy of course, but it made her heart burst with pride nonetheless.

It had all gotten so real, so achievable, so close to everything she’s been dreaming about before she ever really knew that dreams were a thing that could come true.

So of course something was about to bring back the quasi-comfort of her life always reverting to being a waking nightmare.

That was a deeply melodramatic way of putting it – it’s not like she was being beaten or shamed or any of the daily torments her tiny town had ensured were burned into her brain. But that was the problem with the past, wasn’t it? It wasn’t over, even when it was. Those days were past but they would always somehow be present, replaying in her brain and aching in her heart no matter how far from Pennsylvania their little van puttered.

(Whoever said you can’t go home again neglected to mention how hard it was to leave it, even after you’d physically gone.)

It had been a Tuesday. In some chain grocery store outside Virginia Beach, the sun glowing through the big front windows and the icy chill of the air conditioning raising goosebumps on her bare arms. Emma had only echoes of a hangover, so Ruby’s constantly chatting wasn’t nearly as grating as it could be. They moved slowly through the aisles, tossing various food and supplies in their cart, more than fulfilling the list Graham and Mary Margaret had given them.

They were still struggling artists but some weeks the struggle was… less. This was one of them and if they decided to celebrate with Patron instead of Jose Cuervo and fresh, organic honeycrisp apples instead of Great Value brand dried apple chips, well, it’s because they damn well deserved it.

They couldn’t have been more than a few feet away from the checkout when the radio (a constant calming presence, most days, being the object of their ambition and all) caused her heart to drop to the deepest pits of her gut, twisting her insides until she was nearly dry-heaving to get the gross sensation of feelings out of her body and in the sewer system where it belonged.

They say scent is tied to memory, and it surely is, but there’s something, too, in sound. Music had a distinct way of tying itself to a moment, to a feeling. For some people that feeling was joy, was love, could be better than the best drug to intoxicate them with no risk of hangover. But for Emma, for this song in particular, it was all hangover, no high.

I’m set on cruise control

I’m slowly losing hold of everything I got

You’re looking so damn hot

The lyrics were innocuous enough. Sweet. Loving. There was certainly some couple out there – many, probably – who smiled fondly at each other when it came on. But for her, it was just a reminder of how pathetic she’d been, once upon a time, how deeply manipulated she’d been. And oh, the consequences she’d suffered for falling for a sweet voice and a pretty face and a moment that had felt like a country song.

And I don’t know what road we’re on

Or where we’ve been, from starin at you, girl

All I know is I don’t want this night to end

It had been a song she’d listened to in Neal’s truck, on a back road, the moon high and the stars bright and her heart hammering in her chest before he leaned over the center counsel parked in his daddy’s field and kissed her like she was precious, like she was, like he could love her through this life and the next.

And even today, half-hungover in a Piggly Wiggly or whatever the fuck this place was, she still felt the whisper of butterflies in her. She still remembered how much she’d believed the lies and even hoped the bad stuff wasn’t actually real, holding on to nights like that first one, her and Neal seemingly the only two people on Earth and all she’d ever need to feel whole again.

Emma Swan was a fighter, a survivor, a strong, badass woman that no man would ever hurt again.

But one Luke Bryan song on a clear Tuesday afternoon had her so torn up in shame, she almost forgot her best friend was standing beside her, her little “family” of a band and crew waiting for her back at the block of hotel rooms down the road.

She wasn’t in Pennsylvania. Neal wasn’t anywhere near her. But she could practically smell his cologne and the exhaust of his truck and the fact that there was a tiny part of her that truly still wished it had all worked out, that he’d been the happily ever after she’d wanted, and she wanted to slap herself silly for how stupid one smart girl could be.

“I think we can afford some Reese’s mix, right?” Ruby asked, already tossing two bags in the cart as they entered the self-checkout line.

“Yeah,” was all Emma could respond, her traitor brain still wavering between wishing for an alternate ending to her stupid, sad tale and coming totally clean to Ruby about what horrors she’d suffered and hitting the road with her on a revenge-fueled quest to keep that fucker from ever hurting another sweet, could-be-innocent girl ever again.

“Emma, you with me?” Ruby’s voice was hesitant, her eyes wide as she took in Emma’s likely ghost-pale complexion and battle-ready stance.

(She was always fighting those internal ghosts and damn could those things travel.)

But she didn’t want to think about Neal or the bruises long-healed or how she wishes she could time travel back and prevent the most painful part of what that monster had done to her, the part where for a pretty little minute she truly thought she’d loved him.

No. The past might be doing its damnedest to creep into today but she was not going to let it.

Fuck you, Luke Bryan, and all your pelvic sorcery.

“God, I hate this song,” Emma finally croaked out. “I think we should celebrate today.”

“Celebrate how much you hate a song that I’m fairly sure David would kill you for hating?”

“No, Rubes. Celebrate this,” Emma motioned all around them, somewhat erratically, only serving to further confuse Ruby. At least for a moment. “We’re really getting somewhere, aren’t we? I mean, three hotel rooms. That’s, like, a record. We’re getting somewhere. You and I, we came from some shit, right? And now we’re headed toward something good and I think we should celebrate.”

“And how exactly do you propose we celebrate this? Because if it’s by having a four-way with Graham and Killian I’m absolutely in, with just a couple ground rules – “

Emma cut off her teasing before her brain had enough time to make any visuals of that: “Ew. God, no. Why does your brain even go there? No. I just meant, you know, hitting some bars or the beach or something. Day drinking. It’s the ultimate in enjoyment and not giving a fuck.”

“So you’re suggesting we celebrate the good the same way we drown our sorrows in the bad?” Ruby mocked, tossing the groceries on the conveyor belt and a packet of mints at Emma’s head.

“No, you drink your sorrows in the dark. You drink your celebrations when the sun’s out,” Emma said like it was the most normal, accepted thing in the world, like she was reciting it from a code of conduct instead of having made it up on the spot to cover for the fact that she very much, one hundred percent was drowning her sorrows but just didn’t have the patience to wait for the sun to set.

“Sure, Ems. Let’s go with that.” Ruby clearly wasn’t buying her bullshit – she always did have an excellent bullshit detector – but she went along with it all the same.

Emma paid for the groceries and hefted as many bags to the car as she could possibly carry, the burn in her arms like the warmth of the sun as she flip-flopped her way to the awaiting van, a great day of drinking and forgettingahead of her.

The usual six of them turned into seven that day, Killian’s old buddy from the service having been stationed at the naval base in Norfolk and here for a visit. Will, that was his name, and he was a pain in the ass in the very best way. He had been matching her shot-for-shot in the hotel room before they hopped the Uber to The Cove, a beachside bar favored by locals and tourists alike. He would tease her and taunt her and buy her drinks, but with absolutely the energy of a brother and not a I’m looking to get into your pants kind of way.

David saw her as a sister, sure, but he tended toward the serious, the protective. He cared so much and knew too much, and it kept him from being totally lighthearted or even downright rude. And Graham, well he never paid Emma quite that much attention, always on his own quests and whatnot. She couldn’t blame the guy, and truly she didn’t usually want attention, but there was something about today, something about the casual nature of her exchanges with Will that allowed her to just be free.

Killian wasn’t quite on board, though. Ever since she and Ruby had floated the idea of some casual no-show-tonight fun, he’d been weirdly quiet. Mary Margaret and David were notably excited, seeming to view it as an opportunity for date night, even with the five other tagalongs. And Ruby was pretty much always up for a party.

But Killian seemed to be cranky at her and she couldn’t figure out why.

“Let loose, why don’t you, Jones!” Emma shouted across the bar, Killian nursing a rum and coke while Ruby, Will, and Emma had joined another group of probable-tourists in a limbo competition.

“Eh, let him sulk,” Will had suggested, stumbling a little after returning to the upright position. He was suspiciously good at the limbo. Maybe he’d been a gymnast in another life?

“I’ll get him, Em,” Ruby promised, having fallen flat on her ass after the last round (the responding ooooohhhhhhshaving more to do with her skirt riding up to her waist as she fell than it was about the fall itself).

Ruby had spent the next hour or so in the corner with Killian, both steadily drinking but never really coming to re-join the party. So Emma and Will kept socializing with strangers while Graham flirted hard with a pretty girl and Mary Margaret and David found another grossly into each other couple to apparently double date with, because of course they did.

After a few drinking games, a few messy dances, and definitely too much liquor for before 5pm, Emma finally took a break, she and Will sidling up to the bar and ordering some nachos.

“Y’know, you’re not nearly as pretty as Killian described you,” Will said after a few minutes of nacho-focused silence.

“Hey! I think you’re insulting me and I don’t appreciate it,” Emma responded, cheese dripping down the corner of her mouth.

“Way he talks, you’d think you were a bleeding fallen angel or something. I definitely didn’t expect a hot mess who talked with her mouth full.”

“Hah! You said hot. I still got it,” she joked, chomping down on another cheese and chili covered chip.

Emma had become pretty good at reading people – people tended to adapt after you suffering the consequences of falling for it – and Will definitely wasn’t flirting with her. At least not with actual intent. So why on earth had he brought up her looks?

She was happy to play along with whatever game he had going, was even feeling a little bolder and more confident than usual with his carefree attitude and his backward compliments.

But his next comment was the proverbial bucket of ice on any of those feelings.

“He’s a good man, Emma. I hope you don’t toy with him.”

“Excuse me?” What exactly was this fucker accusing her of? She hadn’t even talked to Killian since they’d been at the hotel and she certainly hadn’t been mean. No, even at her most prickly, she was never all-out mean to him. He was a good guy, the type to hold your hair when you puked and nearly the opposite of her initial assumptions about him. Of course she’d never ‘toy with him.’ The fucking nerve of this dude.

“I don’t think you know me enough to continue those thoughts, Scarlet,” she warned, shoving the nachos away and downing her fruity drink.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like you, Emma. You’d make a good mate. But I’m more like you than you realize, and I know how many people I hurt before I got myself straight. Just … keep that in mind, won’t ya?”

And then the bastard just… left.

He didn’t say goodbye to anyone – not even to Killian – and left Emma pissed as all hell and sitting alone at a tourist trap in the worst city in all of Virginia.

So much for that attempt at celebration.

But before her thoughts (and actions) could turn to the dark side, Graham and David were approaching her for a friendly tournament of darts and after a couple bulls eyes and a little light taunting, her carefree spirit had returned, just in time to kick Mary Margaret’s ass and move onto the championship game between her and Killian.

“So, that friend of yours is something,” Emma observed, tossing her first set of darts and landing them with soft thunks into the felt.

“Will? Aye. He’s… he’s been a friend for quite a long time. There for me for some pain. So I choose to keep his pain-in-the-ass existence around.” His tone was light and his words sincere, but there was a weight to his expression that Emma didn’t quite understand.

He took his turn, little glints in his eye and mini-fist pumps when he hit his intended target. It was adorable, to be honest. But there was definitely something wrong and despite Will’s seeming accusations about her and her abilities to be a good friend, she wanted nothing more than to take away whatever pain he was reliving at the moment.

So she lost – yes, intentionally – and dragged him to the bar, ordering him some straight whiskey to loosen him up and hopefully to help him forget like she already was.

“Why, Swan, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk,” he practically purred, breaking the flirty tone with a gentle boop to her nose. “Which is usually my tactic.”

“Easy, Captain,” she joked with him, fiddling with the prosthetic ‘hook’ contraption he wore when they went out (it’s a perfect beer holder, he’d said, to which she’d responded yeah, right, you just want to play pirate).

Despite the fog of the liquor, a few facts clicked into place. He’d suffered some bad shit in his past, shit Will apparently witnessed. Killian had also lost his hand, probably in the Navy. And this town, it wasn’t far from a navy base. Could that have been his navy base? Had they inadvertently brought Killian to the scene of the crime, so to speak?

The way she never wanted to go back to her ‘hometown,’ the place she’d lived the longest and suffered the most… what if that’s how he felt here? What if she’d suggested they celebrate over the grave of whatever and whoever he lost?

God, she was a hot mess and she was dangerous, the way she sank into her pain without looking into anyone else’s.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she wanted to apologize. Or something. “I’m sorry about this. Or, I guess, about whatever led to this. Or accompanied it. I’m just… I’m just sorry?”

“For the ungodly amount of liquor you’re pressuring me into drinking? Don’t worry, love, I’m a big boy.”

Ugh, the deflection. She knew that tactic well. “No, I mean this,” she said, gripping the elbow of his damaged arm. “I don’t know what happened and I’m not asking, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry. Not in the fault kind of way. Just the way where I wish it hadn’t happened and I know there’s pain and you didn’t deserve it. Or don’t. Currently. You know what I mean.”

“I think you’re drunk off your ass, darling.”

“Call me darling one more time and you’ll be the one on your ass.”

“So defensive, jeez,” he quipped, finishing another drink and slamming the glass back down on the table, his face melting into something a little more serious, if only for a moment. “Thank you, Swan,” he said finally, cupping her cheek with his right hand.

Her heart about stopped as his eyes bored into hers. It was much too much, the closeness, the feel of his hand, the heat of his body, the truth in his eyes, and all she wanted was to go back to teasing and laughing and strangers who didn’t have feelings or at least didn’t share them with her and why did she even bring it up, anyway? Just because Will had made her feel bad? Why shouldn’t they drink away their pain if it quieted the demons for one blessed day? Why should we have to suffer the same memories over and over when instead we could just fucking let go.

She should have just stuck to letting go.

But his intense sincerity washed away in a blink, his flirty near-pirate persona back with a vengeance. “Now, Swan, what game shall I best you at next?” His gentle caress on her cheek turned into a full grip, his fingers scrunching her face almost comically.

“Name it, Jones. You’re on.”

Turns out their little crew had signed them all up for a cornhole tournament out on the sand and Graham had called dibs on Emma as a partner, for which she was thankful. He was pretty boss at all bar games, and she had a competitive streak even without her BAC being higher than her high school GPA.

But get her drunk and she’d pretty much lie, cheat, and steal her way to bragging rights on whatever silly game they were playing.

So of course she and Graham had made it to the finals, their opponents two bikini-clad college girls who could trash talk like no other.

Which is why Emma was totally fine with the little plot she had brewing in her head.

“Graham, we need distractions here.”

“What do you mean, like have Mary Margaret set something on fire again?”

“Oh, come on. Pretty girls. Fun, happy, drunk, pretty girls. I saw them ogling you earlier so they’re probably straight. Take your shirt off. Now!”

“I always said I’d reject your advances when you inevitably tried to get me naked, Swan, but you drive a hard bargain.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but Graham did as instructed, stretching lazily and pantomiming sweat before pulling at the neck of his t-shirt and whisking it over his head.

The girls missed their next shots, and Graham had the chance to win it with this last toss and Emma was ready to bust out her victory dance just a tad prematurely.

Until the brunette untied her bikini top and let the fabric fall to her waist just as Graham was taking his shot.

He missed, of course.

Damn, these girls were good.

“Can I be of assistance?” a husky voice offered, his breath ticking her ear lobe.

Killian, of course.

“What exactly can you offer, Jones?” Graham swooped in to ask, clearly annoyed that his bare chest hadn’t yet won them the game.

“Well, Graham, Emma here assures me that you’re one ‘fine specimen of man’ but sadly to those girls you’re all talk and no action, across the beach from them, separated by this very game. I think they need something a little more… tactile.”

Killian was over-confident when he was drinking, but it’s not as if he were wrong. If she were one of those girls and Killian came up to her, with his sultry accent and his maddening smirk and the way he’d run his fingers through her long hair…

Yeah, it would work. Definitely. Yup.

“Go for it, Jones, but don’t come crying to us if they don’t take to your charms the way you want them to,” Emma warned, rolling her eyes and banishing all inappropriate thoughts of Killian Jones to the dark recesses of her mind with her knowledge of calculus and the memory of that time she walked in on Mary Margaret sucking David off in their shared kitchen back in Pittsburgh.

Killians voice alone proved distracting enough for the blonde girl to miss her shot and Graham, his ego now challenged, sank his with ease.

Emma cheered far too loud and leaped into Graham’s arms, her legs around his waist, Ruby rushing up to high five them and pass along a few more shots to keep the day rolling.

By the time the sun sank behind the bar, the ocean in front of them streaked with the deep blues and purples of twilight, Emma was well past drunk and definitely no longer thinking of any painful backstories or traumas or anything, really, but the cinnamon burn of the Fireball and the feel of Killian’s arm around her as they walked down a set of stairs to a fire pit so much like those that she’d built on the banks of the Allegheny and yet so different, the smell of the salt of the ocean and the leather of Killian’s jacket keeping her brain from connecting the present to the past.

“Jones, haven’t you ever heard you’re supposed to keep your hands to yourself in the presence of a lady?” she teased, wiggling her shoulders where he was grasping her.

“Aye, but I see no ladies here!” He chuckled and she elbowed him and he bowed his head to her ear as they stepped down the last stair. “Besides, love, what if you’d fallen and no one was there to save you?”

She rolled her eyes again, shrugging off his support now that there was no excuse for it, solid ground beneath their feet. “Oh, I’m a loud screamer. Someone would have come for me.”

“Oh, how I’d like to experience both of those things for myself…” Killian groaned, his mind of course solidly in the gutter.

Emma just laughed it off and stumbled toward the fire, joining Mary Margaret and David on a log clearly only meant for two.

Tomorrow was going to be hell, definitely more than just the echo of a hangover. But they had hotel rooms and each other and now and really those things alone made every minute of tomorrow’s inevitable headache more worth it than she could ever have fathomed in any stage of her life before this one.

[honeysliced]

☁️: 🌆 ♡ vmin

content warning!! contains references to eating disorders and associated descriptions of food.

It’s five in the evening.

The heat of the day lifts in waves and a man with a smile that’s all angles sits beside him. The bench creaks, its paint peeling, and the man throws birdseed for the pigeons to spear with their beaks. 

It’s nothing personal but the pigeons irritate Jimin while they eat without a care.

“Hey,” the man says. In Jimin’s peripheral, he looks like a painting with vibrantly thick, always-damp oil paint strokes highlighting smeared eyes that follow you wherever you go. “Waiting for someone?”

“Got no one to wait for.” Jimin glances at the man. His smile has fallen off his face, lips turned downward and skirting between frowning and impassivity. 

As blurry as his expression is, Jimin feels drawn in by a quiet, thoughtful kindness he’s not sure is really there. “What about you?”

The man hums, rolls it around in his mouth and releases it as, “Not anymore.” It sounds even sadder than just being alone.

Jimin doesn’t mind being alone, he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants and it doesn’t bother anyone who isn’t him. Having someone then losing them, Jimin imagines, must be much harder. 

The man’s lips attempt a smile but every twitch results in them pulling back to that downward curve. His effort is obvious and when he manages a smile it’s strained, barely reaches his eyes. “Coming here is a habit.”

Smiling in return is the least Jimin can do. It’s so easy for him that looking at this man stirs a small whirlpool of guilt in his chest. Jimin himself wouldn't mind a smile or two. 

So long as they weren't laughing behind his back. 

Jimin leans closer, “How long?”

“About…” the man tips his head up, looking like he’s mentally counting and gazing past all the birds and trees and horizons, “two years now.”

Grief. “That's a long time.”

“You think so?”

What should Jimin say to that?

Time, he supposes, is just one of those concepts that varies for everyone. Jimin’s bones feel too heavy for his skin, he doesn't care about time. 

The only relevance time has to him is his nearest deadline.

“Park Jimin.” Introducing himself is easier than trying to answer subjective questions. “I’m here every Friday around this time.”

The man stops throwing birdseed and tucks his chin into his chest just enough to watch Jimin from the corner of his eye. His gaze is sharp and a softer part of Jimin instinctively flinches. “You sure you should be telling a stranger that?”

It’s hard to swallow but when he manages his throat feels thick. “What’s your name, stranger?”

The man closes his fist around some of the dried seeds, gaze cutting past his shoulder and pinning Jimin to his spot. Jimin holds his breath as he holds his gaze. “Kim Taehyung.”

Jimin exhales when Taehyung looks away.

It’s quiet. 

Taehyung continues feeding the pigeons and Jimin keeps measuring his breathing. When Taehyung leans back, hand empty, Jimin’s phone beeps a reminder in his pocket and Jimin stands up, carefully sorting his words.

“I’ll see you around, Taehyung.”

Taehyung angles himself to look at Jimin properly. He looks deceptively friendly from this angle— or perhaps his gaze was deceptively sharp earlier. “Same time, same place?”

The business of promises hasn’t seen Jimin in years but he’s drawn to dabbling in it this evening. “Sure.”

Taehyung flashes another smile. It’s more like his first, disarming and free of foreboding tension. It’s easier to see the sorrow outlining it now that Jimin knows where to look.

With their goodbye, a street light flickers on.

🌦

It’s five again. While the sun considers setting Taehyung drops his weight onto the bench beside him. Jimin didn’t expect to see him again but he returns the smile Taehyung passes him like a little secret. 

Jimin tips his head in a gesture to Taehyung’s hands. “No seeds today?”

“Don’t have any,” Taehyung answers, rubbing his hands over his denim thighs until the material is smooth as plastic. “Had to skip lunch, couldn’t grab anything for me or them.”

“That's no good.” Hypocrite. The only time Jimin doesn’t skip lunch is the weekend. 

Not eating makes him sick but he might as well be miserable. The big city is unwelcoming, he must fit into its mould. Work hard, play smart, suffer. 

Two out of three isn’t bad, but it’s not where Jimin wants to be either. “If you don’t eat dinner soon you’ll feel sick.”

“Yes, mother,” Taehyung snorts, turned in Jimin’s yet stubbornly avoiding his gaze, “I’ll eat dinner.”

A laugh bubbles in Jimin’s throat and he wrinkles his nose at it. “You talk to your mother that way?”

“Never,” Taehyung’s voice falls flat, all humour drained of it and something in Jimin springs up in approval.

Jimin checks his phone. Six is far off and there is nothing that desperately needs tending to; he mutes the alarm and tucks his phone away.

“Why’d you skip lunch?”

“Had to work on a song.” Sounds nice. “I suck at it.” Maybe not so nice. “Why’d you skip lunch?”

Boy thinks he can outsmart Jimin with third-grade mind tricks? It would have worked—if they were chatting at five in the morning. “I never told you I skipped lunch.”

Taehyung leans in, tips his head slightly and whispers. “But did you?”

Jimin doesn’t have to answer honestly. Jimin doesn’t have to answer at all but it’s nice having someone to talk with. “Maybe.”

“That won’t do, Jimin. We’ve committed a grave sin.” Taehyung’s face pinches in distaste but it looks kind of funny the way something sweet looks when doused with pepper.

Jimin laughs to himself. “Looks like we have to get dinner soon.”

That’s what he would’ve done at six but he can stay here a while more. What should he get anyway? Nothing too heavy, else he’ll be sick all night. 

“Want to come with me?” Taehyung’s voice is like a pebble swan diving into water, specifically the splash: refreshing, cooling, a little grounding. 

It’s welcome in the fog of Jimin’s head. “Hm?”

“For dinner.” Taehyung smiles and Jimin considers it. It’s a win-win situation as far as he knows. “Unless you have other plans?”

“I don’t.” Jimin gets to his feet and runs through their options. “There’s a little place two blocks down,” Jimin wets his lips. They're so dry, he feels ten times more nervous for some reason. “It’s pretty good, lots of options.” 

He doesn’t mention that it’s the only place he eats at when he can afford it but he kind of hopes Taehyung likes it. 

“Sounds great.” Taehyung bounces onto his feet with a wide smile. The traces of sadness Jimin outlined last week are faded, ever so slightly. Is Taehyung hiding it or is he in a better mood today?

The walk is short and the space between them is comfortably quiet, unexpectedly so. The crowded streets relentlessly jostle them: they bump shoulders too often, apologise under their breaths, and it’s always okay.

Every time they glance at each other they smile, not politely, but Jimin’s not sure he would say earnestly, either. Maybe instinctively.

The restaurant is a quaintly neat little spot with tan tiles, tightly woven thatched half-walls and various potted plants that spring towards the large windows and little white lights dotting the ceiling.

By the time they’re seated Taehyung’s smile seems to glow through his skin and he orders before Jimin can ask what he thinks of the menu so Jimin asks about Taehyung’s song instead. Taehyung asks about what Jimin does in turn and they discover they’re both into performing arts.

Taehyung isn’t shy about eating and the only time he isn’t smiling during their meal is when he’s busy chewing his food. He sinks into the seat, limbs lax.

It might be safe to say Taehyung likes the restaurant.

“That was fun.” Taehyung’s tense in his shoulders but he smiles from ear to ear. It would be a crime if Jimin didn’t smile just as widely in return. “See you next week? I’ll treat you next time.”

“You’ll regret it,” Jimin quips. 

It’s meant to be a joke but Jimin already wants to take it back, he doesn’t want Taehyung to regret spending time with him. It’s been so long since he enjoyed time with someone else.

“Doubt it.” Oh, thank God. Taehyung’s smile slants something endearing and he says, “Seeya next week.”

Jimin leaves with his head held high and a spring in his step.

There are odd scenes he never noticed—a bicycle propped on its back-wheel against a bus stop sign, a tiny flower bed in the middle of the walkway, letters irreverently stacked throughout the complex’s entryway, but it’s his fault for always staring at his feet on the way home.

He enjoys his new ease until he’s in his bathroom and he realises he took Taehyung out on what most people would call a ‘date’. 

☀

Five in the cool evening. The wind shoves at summer-dried leaves and Jimin is already on his feet when Taehyung comes up to him with his big smile.

Taehyung barely says ‘hi’ before Jimin asks, “Can I have your number?”

Taehyung’s smile drops into a surprised little shape.

Maybe asking for his number on the third meeting is too soon. It’s just, it’d be nice, uh, it would be great to send a goodnight text or something, but maybe that’s kind of dumb-

“Only if you give me yours, too,” Taehyung chimes, offering his phone. 

Never before has Jimin scrambled so desperately to fumble his phone out of his pocket to hand it over to another person.

If Taehyung’s laughing at him or laughing because that’s something he does, laugh for reasons unknown, Jimin doesn’t ask. He’s too busy trying not to mess up his own damn number. 

They're returning their phones when Jimin blurts, “Are you ready for our date?” Because his mouth has plans of its own and Taehyung nearly drops his phone. 

What’s with Jimin and saying things all of a sudden? He has to shut the-

“Thought I’d forget?” How does Taehyung do that? His grin says one thing but his voice wavers like another.

Jimin wants to say he didn’t mean anything but he doesn’t want to lie either. He does want it to be a date. “Well… ‘course not.”

“Good because I know just where we’re going.” Taehyung links his arm with Jimin’s, tilts his head and asks, “Is this okay?”

How exactly should Jimin say he might rocket into orbit with just how okay this is? It feels so good to be with someone, to smile, to not regret every word in the aftermath of it all. 

“It’s okay.” Jimin smiles so widely his cheeks hurt, his face wasn’t ready for it.

This time their walk isn’t quiet because they keep talking, scrambling for things to say and stammering over what they manage to get out. It’s painfully awkward and Jimin can't stop grinning for the life of him, embarrassed as all hell. 

“M’not sure what you’ll think of it, it’s not the prettiest...” Taehyung says tentatively, glancing to and from Jimin in a way that makes Jimin’s cheeks and chest warm fondly, “but I like it. Their burgers are kinda perfect.”

“It’ll be great.” Jimin soothes. “It’s got your approval and food, right?”

Taehyung laughs through his nodding, squeezing Jimin’s arm with his and Jimin wouldn’t mind if they ended up doubling back just to sit on the bench with peeling paint.

Turns out Taehyung’s ‘kinda perfect’ place is a fast food joint and Taehyung recommends the double burger as soon as they walk through the door. 

It’s just a little bigger than cramped with dull leathery couches and a jukebox tucked against a wall, yellow lights flickering just enough for Jimin to feel like he can see the grease in the air.

Fast food means oils, grease and calories calories caloriescaloriescalories but Jimin deserves a break every once in a while… right? Meeting social needs with some social eating and Taehyung chatters happily with the cashier, his warmth radiating through Jimin’s arm and pulling his thoughts from tightly wound concerns.

Just this once, right? Forget the mould; it’s not going away any time soon but what of this moment? What about Taehyung?

Taehyung’s humming, bobbing his head, inevitably catching Jimin’s attention and when he realises he has it his lips curve in this happily reserved way and Jimin’s stomach swoops for a whole other reason.

Jimin minds this development much less than he should.

Despite Taehyung’s prodding, Jimin gets a regular burger with a smear of guilt and eats half of it by the time Taehyung gets his double deluxe burger— “Double deluxe? That’s not really a thing, right?”

“Yet here it is, going into my mouth,” Taehyung punctuates his statement with a noisy chomp into his burger and Jimin almost chokes on his as a laugh forces itself out.

“Gross.”

“Says you,” Taehyung says around another mouthful, leaning over the table until Jimin pushes him back into his seat. People are giving them irritated looks. “The one laughing into his burger.”

Jimin snorts and jerks his shoulders in a playful lunge that Taehyung shimmies away from. “That’s your fault!”

“Whatever you say, Jiminnie.” Taehyung grins and Jimin lets the nickname slide in favour of laughing. 

“You’ve got a li’l something in your teeth.” Jimin makes sure his teeth are clean before grinning and running his tongue over his incisors. 

“You’re making fun of me even though I’m treating you? On a wonderful date?” Taehyung holds the burger over his mouth, eyeing Jimin through his lashes as he continues eating his burger. “Ungrateful.”

“Oh, please.” Wonderful doesn’t cut it. Jimin hasn’t had this much fun in… he can’t even remember. 

It’s been far too long. It’s hard to believe he barely knows Taehyung with how close he feels to him right now. 

Must be the smile. 

“You've got no clue how grateful I am.”

Taehyung smiles cheekily behind his burger and Jimin can only tell by the way his cheeks curve. “Naturally.”

Jimin finishes his burger to no one’s surprise but his own and Taehyung grins around a mouthful of cheese and beef as Jimin throws the wrap away.

He leans over the table with a too-wide grin and pokes at his teeth. “You’ve still got a little-”

Taehyung swats at the space between them, muffled laughter mixing with Jimin’s. “Let me enjoy my double deluxe in peace.”

Jimin snorts and slides into the seat beside Taehyung, leaning on his arm just enough to give him some grief through his enjoyment but not enough to push into his personal space more than when they linked arms earlier.

Beside Taehyung, mouth full of cheese and beef and protests against food-related coitus interruptus, Jimin forgets his stifling mould and slips into something more comfortable. If only for the moment.

[wistfulcynic]

Three Non-Blondes, 2 / 4

My silly two-shot has become a silly three shot. It’s so silly. Though it does get a little sad. Then ends on a very silly note. 

Summary: Mary Margaret is certain that her fiancé’s sister Emma and his best friend Killian are perfect for each other. What she doesn’t know is that they think so too. Matchmaking hijinks ensue.

Rating: T

AO3

Killian Jones knew he would never forget the day he’d met Emma Swan. It was a fixed point in his timeline, eternal and unchanging, the thing around which all else in his life revolved. 

He’d only been living in Boston for a month or so when he met her brother David through their mutual friend and his fellow expat Robin. He and Dave had hit it off immediately despite their very different personalities, and with the addition of Killian the casual duo of David and Robin had morphed into a tight threesome. 

Er… a close trio of friends. Yeah, that sounded better.  

Fast forward to several months later and a night out at their local and Killian walking through the door with a swagger and a smile for the bartender because it was Ruby tending bar that night and stopping dead in his tracks, oblivious to Ruby and to Robin waving him over and to the three-person pile-up behind him because he suddenly knew what being struck by lightning felt like.

Okay, that was hyperbole. He was certain being struck by lightning was nothing near as pleasant as seeing Emma for the first time had been. She took his breath away with her hair that seemed lit by sunlight even though it was dark outside and the lithe strength in her bare arms and and the cheeky grin she’d flashed at David just before she made an impossible bank shot and beat his arse at pool. Killian didn’t think he’d ever before laid eyes on a woman so bloody perfect. 

But then David had introduced them and he had smiled at her, and abruptly all the light had gone out of Emma Swan, and she had frozen out all his attempts at conversation and got away from him as soon as she could, and the next time he saw her she was smiling at Graham —poor lovesick bastard— and through his hurt and disappointment Killian had vowed that he would not be another Poor Graham. 

So he had flirted with Ruby and with Mary Margaret and even with Regina —that had been bloody terrifying— and he had not let Emma or anyone else see how much she’d gotten to him. 

And even though he loved his new friends he’d begun to leave their gatherings early if Emma was in attendance, drinking just enough to make himself not care that he was leaving with the wrong woman, letting them all think he was a dog and a player, and he supposed he was, by purely objective standards. At what point did the cover get so deep that it became reality?  

And sometimes, on rare occasions, he drank enough to drown the hurt he felt at Emma’s very evident disdain, and David or Robin or Ruby or sometimes even Poor bloody Graham would have to carry him home, and it was all Killian could do on those nights to bite his tongue and not let spill the real reason for his behaviour.

She had no right to judge him, he wanted to protest, to someone, anyone who would listen. She barely knew him. She hadn’t taken the trouble to know him, just given him one glance and written him off. 

He knew her, though. It wasn’t hard to get David to talk about the little sister he was so proud of and Killian had shamelessly nudged and urged and dropped casual questions into enough conversations that after a year or so he felt he knew Emma as well as anyone despite their having only exchanged a handful of words, most of them vaguely hostile. 

He knew that she was tough and smart and independent, and a bit prickly at times but a deeply loyal friend. And he knew that sometime over the course of the year his initial fascination had deepened into something else, and he was beginning to worry that she had ruined him for all other women when he had never even touched her. Not so much as a brush of arms as they stood at the crowded bar. She hadn’t even shaken his hand. 

Until one evening six months ago when David was working late on a case and Mary Margaret had thirty tests to grade and Robin and Regina were away for the weekend and it was Ruby’s night off. Killian had gone to the pub in his old neighbourhood just to get out of his new house and maybe chase his errant muse, and when he’d caught sight of Emma across the room he tipped his glass in toast to her then turned his back. The last thing he needed in his current mood was to watch her flirting with someone else. 

He’d sipped in quiet contemplation until a flash of gold shone in his peripheral vision and when he turned his head she was there, determination and challenge and a hint of fear in her eyes. 

“Why don’t you like me?”

He had not expected that. “I don’t not like you.”

“You never talk to me.” 

He almost laughed. “What I think you’ll find, Swan, is that you never talk to me.”

“You didn’t talk first.” Something in her tone hinted that she was trying to be flirtatious and suddenly he was furious. 

“I did talk to you, if you recall, the night we met,” he said, turning to face her fully and leaning in just close enough to crowd her personal space. “Or rather I tried to before I started to get fucking frostbite from your lack of response. Not talking to you since then was simply acceding to your evident desire not to be in my company because despite what you think I am a goddamn gentleman.”

“Wow,” she said. “You really do have a thing with words.” 

Killian slammed his glass on the bar and stood up. “I don’t need this tonight,” he growled and headed for the door, ignoring the “Killian, wait!” he could vaguely hear behind him.  

He was through the doors and several long strides down the sidewalk when she caught up to him. “Wait,” she cried, the light touch of her hand on his arm burning him through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” 

Anger and frustration were still seething in him and he spun around on her, pulling his arm from her grasp. “Sorry for what, Swan? For freezing me out then accusing me of not liking you? For judging me and finding me wanting before we’d even exchanged hellos? For having the audacity to call me out for not forcing my company on you when you so clearly don’t want it? Which of those things are you sorry for?”

She opened her mouth but no words came out, and he made an impatient motion with his hand. “It doesn’t matter because I do not accept your apology. Good night.” He spun on his heel and began to walk again. 

“All of it.” 

The quavering vulnerability in her voice threatened to break his heart. He turned. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry for all of those things, actually, except the last one because that was just me trying to fix things with you but I didn’t know if it was too late, and for some reason I thought I’d try flirting but obviously that didn’t work, and oh, God, I’m just so fucking bad at this.” 

Her distress was real, and it softened the sharp edges of his anger. “Bad at what, love?”

“At connecting with people. You’re right, I was cold to you and I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for it. I was scared.” 

“Scared of what?” he asked, taking a small step forward. 

“Of how much I liked you,” she replied, stepping forward herself though she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Or of liking you in the wrong way, or… oh, I don’t know just call it general fear of getting close to someone.” 

“But you’re close to a number of people.” Another step. 

“It’s not the same. They don’t—” Step. Hesitant glance at his face. 

Step. Slight lean forward. “They don’t what, Emma?”

Step, closing the remaining distance between them. “They don’t make me feel like you do,” she whispered.  

They were close enough now that he could count her freckles. Killian wasn’t sure he was breathing. “And just how do I make you feel?” he croaked. 

“Like…” She finally met his eyes, and what he saw in hers made his heart soar. “Like I want to just grab you and—” and then she was surging up on her toes and her mouth was on his and his hands were in her hair and he was kissing Emma Swan in the middle of the sidewalk in front of a bar, feeling like lightning had struck twice, despite what they say. 

Then they were kissing in the back of a very smelly cab and then in his bed, and when he woke up the next morning with her head on his chest and stray strands of her hair in his mouth he knew he was fucked in at least three senses of the word. 

—

Since then he and Emma had been very careful not to be seen by their friends in each other’s company. Their friends were a pushy lot, well-meaning but overbearing, and Killian did not want them ruining the frail spring bud of his and Emma’s romance by trying to force it to blossom too fast and too soon. Emma was wary of commitment, and if he was honest so was he, and so they agreed to keep things secret until they knew what they had together. 

Which, unfortunately, meant staying away from each other in public. Killian was afraid that their friends would take one look at the looks on their faces when they looked at each other and know that they were sleeping together. He was fairly certain that whenever he looked at Emma his face still wore the same dumb, adoring grin that she’d teased him about that first morning they’d woken up together. He had just been so stupidly happy that she hadn’t snuck away in the middle of the night as he’d half expected her to that he hadn’t cared what his face looked like, and six months later Emma still teased him about it. He didn’t care about that either. The fact that she felt comfortable enough to tease him and knew him well enough to do so was a source of boundless joy to him. 

He was just so helplessly in love with her, and he was beginning to allow himself to hope that she might feel the same. 

But he still didn't trust their friends not to ruin everything. 

—

Killian was floating in the hazy state of being somewhere between asleep and awake, absently running his fingers through Emma’s hair and simply enjoying having her in his arms, her skin pressed against his and her breath soft on his neck, punctuated with a little snore that he found adorable, when from the bedside table his phone began to buzz. Hastily he grabbed for it before the insistent noise woke Emma. She did not enjoy being woken early. 

“H’lo?” he muttered into the device.  

“Killian!” It was David, using that forced jovial voice he got when he was doing something under duress. “Are you still asleep? I thought you had to get up early?” 

“Aye, just about to get up now. I, uh, still have some time to make my deadline.” 

“Your editor’s a real hard-ass, huh, giving you a deadline on a Sunday.” 

“Aye, she’s a mean one.” Killian tried to keep his voice down, but despite his efforts Emma had begun to stir. She blinked sleepily then buried her face in his shoulder with a groan. “Ugh, what time is it?” she said. 

“What was that?” asked David. “Do you have someone there?”

Killian thought fast. Emma’s voice had likely been sufficiently muffled by his shoulder that David wouldn’t recognise it, if he could just play this off…

“Aye, mate, I ran into an old friend after I left the pub, and, well, she’s not left yet.” 

“Uh huh,” said David, and Killian frowned. He could swear he heard guilt in his friend’s voice. “Well, look, I won’t keep you from your, um, friend, but I’m just calling because my mom is insisting that you come to dinner tonight.” 

Emma’s face was still in Killian’s shoulder but her hand was slowly sliding down his abs and he swallowed a moan. “Mate, I’m not sure—” 

“Insisting, Killian.” The guilt in David’s voice had turned to desperation but it barely registered on Killian as Emma’s hand closed around him. “You know you can’t refuse her when she insists.” 

“Aye,” Killian at this point just wanted him off the phone. “Very well, I’ll be there.”

“Oh, thank God. I mean, see you there.” David hung up and Killian tossed his phone aside, growling as he rolled Emma onto her back and attacked her neck with kisses, all thoughts of the dinner at Ruth’s momentarily forgotten. 

—

David placed his phone down on the kitchen counter in front of him, and rubbed his temples. “So let me just be absolutely certain I understand this. Your plan is to matchmake them to each other by matchmaking them to other people?”

 “Oh David try to keep up,” said Mary Margaret from the dining table, where she was actually making a chart. “The aim of matchmaking is usually just to introduce people you think would be into each other. But Emma and Killian are already into each other, so obviously they don’t need that. What they need is a kick up the backside to get them to admit they’re into each other.”

“And you think pretending to hook them up with other people will accomplish that?”

“Yep. If for no other reason than that it’ll be reeeeeally annoying for them.” 

“What’s that supposed to accomplish?”

“Reverse psychology,” said Mary Margaret, tapping the side of her nose. “If we obviously try to push them together they’ll just fight us, but if we push them towards other people, they’ll both be like ‘Hell no, hands off my bae.’” 

“I can’t believe you just said ‘bae.’” 

“It was appropriate to the context. Now hand me my phone, please, I’m gonna call Belle.” 

David groaned. “I feel like I’ve just invited my best friend into a lion’s den.” 

“That’s because you have, sweetie.” 

[littlemisssquiggles]

Whit-ty Headcanons: Whitley’s Summon

@ezroar asks: 

“Sorry, but since I have come to love Whitley for what he could be outside of a jealous Schneebling, I actually want to talk about him more with you. I feel bad though since I feel like I’m bothering you.

Basically, I remembered that post you did about Whitley’s geist, and it got me thinking about Whitley unlocking his inheritary semblance and his first act is to accidentally summon. Perhaps there was an incident during an SDC mine inspection with his father to keep up appearances and then grimm suddenly attacked since I’m sure the SDC mines must be a cess pool of negativity. Whitley managed to down the grimm by using his smart and manuvered the grimm into position and poured a vat of molten fire dust over its head. Whereas Weiss’ knight grimm symbolises her loneliness and acceptance and the lancer grimm her empowerment, I thought it’d be cool if his summon was something like this

Image comes courtesy of Air Gear and its creator, Ito “Oh Great” Ōgure I feel there’s been a lack of distinctly feminine grimm (save for Salem) and it’d be a great way to introduce grimm with a different energy to their design. This summon symbolises Whitley need for love and acceptance, as well as protection as his summon stands resolutely in front of him to protect her ‘prince’

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. 

Squiggles Answers:

@ezroar​

Hey Ez. Thanks for submitting this question to me. Reading through your description of how Whitley killed his first Grimm to gain his first summon makes me think back to my original Whitley’s Geist headcanon post. I believe I even described a somewhat similar scenario where Whit gained the Geist as his summon after unintentionally killing it after suddenly awakening his semblance. . Let me see if I can quote from the original post.

“…By the way, I actually do know that the Summons are the creatures that the Schnees with the Glyph semblance had defeated in combat. In my original draft of this musing, I’d included a point painting a scenario where perhaps Whitley was attacked by a Geist Grimm during his sisters’ absence and him defeating the beast was as a result of him unexpectedly unlocking his semblance in the heat of battle in order to protect himself.

I didn’t include this hunch in the final draft but that’s how I saw the tie in with my theory about Whitley’s summon being a Geist.

 Imagine…one night, Whitley is left alone inside the Schnee Manor. His parents had gone out for the night on their own endeavours and Whitley is left to himself with only Klein around in case he needed anything. Perhaps this is a night where Whitley decides to entertain himself by practicing his pianist skills.

In V4, it was hinted that Whitley might know how to play the piano. We never actually witnessed him doing so, which was a wasted opportunity however his picture is hung up inside the music room inside the mansion.

So the implication is there. It’s sad. I wish they had taken advantage of Whitley’s own musical talents. If Whitley does know how to play then I wish we’d gotten a scene of him helping Weiss with her recital.

It would’ve been an amazing brother and sister bonding moment if Weiss is there singing her sweet swan song as Whitley’s fingers danced across the keyboard in coordination with his sister; casting their collaborated melodic spell over the audience. If only; am I right?

Anyways, just as Whitley is getting into the song, he hears a sudden strange noise from outside the music room. At first the young boy ignores the noise but when it became too prominent, he was forced to vacate in order to investigate it. Whitley’s search for the source of the disturbance brought him outside the house in the garden. He calls for Klein, thinking it may be the chubby man just tending to the bushes. No answer and it is at this point, Whitley was growing annoyed.

Long story short, Whitley finds Klein passed out in the gardens after being attacked by a Geist Grimm. In all the stories he’s heard of the Grimm, this is Whitley’s first encounter with one. With all his boosting about the benefits of the Atlesian Army, he never dreamt that he’d ever need to protect himself against a Grimm on his own, much less meet one in the flesh.

For the first time in his life, Whitley’s mind blanked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even breath. He had no means of protecting himself and with Klein passed out before him and everyone else in the manor gone, he was alone. No one was going to come to his aid.

He thought…of his sisters. Let’s say, when the Schnee siblings were younger—back in the days when there were good moments that displayed all three siblings actually caring about each other, Weiss and Winter were both protective of Whitley. Particularly Weiss.

Whenever he fell down, got a boo-boo or even just had a bad dream, his big sister Weiss was always there for him to be his comforter. Yeah, yeah, I know this sounds very uncharacteristic for Weiss and her relationship with her brother but let me have this one, alright?

I just need a reason—a deep, significant reason for Whitley to think of both of his sisters, or maybe just Weiss while being attacked by a Grimm—the thought resonating with such force that it’s enough for Whitley to unconsciously call out for Weiss to protect him…all the while awakening something else within him he didn’t know was there.

When Klein finally came to, he awakens to discover Whitley huddled in a corner of the garden, his breathing frantic as his body did its best to contain his fear. As Klein swiftly ran to the boy’s age, he arrived just in time to witness the Geist from earlier wither away. The infernal red eye of its cryptic mask imprinting a lasting effect in Whitley’s mind as it disappeared from his sight. Klein did not know what to make of this scene. He tried asking Whitley to explain what had happened after he’d passed out—how he managed to defeat the Geist on his own.

Instead of giving him an answer, Whitley silenced his erratic breathing and turned the question on Klein, asking him if he was alright. Once Klein confirmed that he wasn’t injured in any way, Whitley withdrew an unsteady sigh of relief before getting to his feet.

Shakily, Whitley left the garden and returned to the quiet solitude of the music room without another word to Klein. Even when the man returned shortly later with some refreshments for the young heir, the young Schnee said nothing more to him even as he stared him down in concern. Finally, then and there, Whitley gave Klein an answer but, not the one he was hoping for. Whitley told Klein to not speak of this moment to his father. He made some other point about discussing increasing security in the household to his father but beyond that, it became clear to Klein that Whitley was adamant on not discussing his feelings on the ‘grimm incident’ any further or at all for the future for that matter.

So with nod of understanding, Klein bowed himself out of the room; leaving Whitley to himself once more. 

Taking a long swig from the warm beverage Klein had brought to him; Whitley returned his attention to the piano. With his fingers to the keys, he gave a strong intro to his chosen musical piece only to miss a note and stop abruptly again.

Whitley clutched his head, grimacing as the face of the beast—the Geist flashed across his mind. Why? He was used to putting things far out of his mind. Jacques Schnee had properly schooled him on the importance of that. Yet…why did that creature still…haunt him? What was that strange…power he display earlier? Where did it come from? Why did he have it? And more importantly, what did that mean for Whitley then?

In spite of the pressing questions swarming his mind, Whitley couldn’t think of any logical reasons as to why this was happening to him. Nor…did he care to entertain the thought much further.

So for the third time, Whitley returned to the keyboard and started playing. And for the remainder of the night, he kept on playing, allowing the music to drown away any fear left following the encounter…even as the Beast’s watchful eye continued to scrutinize him from within the chained chambers of his mind. 

That’s how I’d like to see it. Just a theory but an interesting one to think about, right…”

-Whitley’s Geist (Posted June 3rd 2018)

Back then, the concept I had was if Whitley were to unlock his powers unintentionally, he’d be in complete denial of it to the point of trying to supress his powers. You know how in Disney’s Frozen, Elsa spent most of her life keeping her powers a secret from her sister Anna while doing her best to keep them under control. Y’know ‘Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let them know’. That’s how I pictured it being for Whitley. Let’s say, for most of his life, Whitley was  raised believing that he wasn’t special ; at least not in the way his sisters were as told by Jacques.

Since the Schnee name and semblance came from Mama Schnee’s side of the family, let’s say Mama Schnee possesses the same kind of power as her daughters but never utilized her gifts since being a huntress was never in her lifelong goals she had set for herself. What if…growing up, Whitley was sort of brainwashed into believing that he had no power. That he was never ever going to amount to anything else in life unless he followed directly in his father’s footsteps since, according to Jacques, Whitley was his prodigy. The one who was born exactly like him. Powerless but cunning.

Imagine a flashback where a young Whitley is secretly observing his sisters training in their courtyard from afar. What if…once upon a time, Whitley was enamoured by the powers his sisters possessed and wished to perform the same feats as them; being inspired and growing excited to awaken his own kind of powers since he had overheard Winter inform Weiss that the power they have was one shared by all the Schnees. This gave Whitley the hope of him possibly awakening own powers someday.

Imagine Whitley being excited by the prospect of unlocking his family semblance since, in his naïve mind, his semblance was the ticket to growing close with his sisters. Picture a young Whit standing in the mirror or playing alone in the garden trying to unlock his own powers like Weiss and Winter.

Whitley is then caught by Jacques who scolds him for even entertaining the idea of the Schnee semblance. Out of curiosity, Whitley asks his father if he had powers like his sisters only for Jacques to burst his bubble by saying that Whitley wasn’t special. He has no power. Jacques told Whitley that he should never look to his sisters for acceptance and support because they would never look at him on a similar playing field. 

What if…that whole ‘the Schnee abilities is beneath him’ notion was probed into Whitley from a young age by Jacques because he made Whitley believe that he had no power. Imagine if from young, Jacques groomed Whitley into thinking that his only place and purpose in the world is by Jacques side as his heir since of all his children, Jacques expected Whitley to be just like him and ensured that he thought that way about himself. This is why I’m very much invested the headcanon of Whitley unlocking his family semblance too.

Up until this point, Whitley has sort of convinced---or even prided himself on being exactly like father since the assumption being made here is that Jacques has groomed Whitley to believe that his power---his own family power---is nothing more than barbaric and beneath him. So imagine how Whit would feel if he did have power. How would he take it?

For me, I’m seeing this storyline going one of two ways for Whit:

On one side, you get the concept of Whitley unintentionally unlocking his powers but choosing to keep them suppressed and hidden from his father out of his denial of his heritage and his loyalty to Jacques. This ultimately results in Whitley losing control of his powers and unleashing the beast that lives to do his bidding. His summon. I loved this original theory because I really liked the idea of there being a mystery where a monster has been attacking adversaries to the SDC and the Schnee Family. Upon further investigations by our team of young huntsmen, it is learnt that the monster is actually a Grimm summoned by Whitley that’s been doing his bidding all along. However Whitley is unaware of this because he has no control over his semblance nor his summon. But it’s through the aid of his sisters that Whit learns to finally accept and control his newfound abilities. That’s one idea.

On the next side is my current favourite Whit-ty headcanon where Whitley is enrolled at Atlas Academy by Jacques as a means of spying Weiss and possibly sabotage any progress she was attempting to make at the academy as a ploy set up by Jacques to spite his own daughter and get her to return home to her cage under his watch. I still like the idea of Whit being the huntsman in Weiss’ Snow White story. However unbeknownst to his father, Whitley had his own ulterior motive for pursuing huntsmen training. Part of it was due to his own curiosity and an eagerness to understand why his sisters would stray from their family to pursue such a barbaric lifestyle. The main reason was Whitley genuinely wanting to use the opportunity to try and develop a relationship with his sister. I know Whitley becoming a huntsman as a means of trying to develop a genuine friendship with his sister sounds a little farfetched. However I personally like it since Whit strikes me as the type of character who commits to certain things out of a willingness to understand.

Like he strikes me as the type of person where if you told him that you liked chocolate ice-cream and thing it was the best  flavour of ice-cream in the whole wide world, Whit would try and even study everything he could dig up on the flavour himself as a way of understanding why you would like it especially if he was only doing it as a means of trying to comprehend you as a means of growing closer to you. It’s a different outlook on Whit but that’s how I see him.

So Whitley starts training to become a huntsman so he could understand first and foremost why his sisters chose this lifestyle and it is through his adventures at the academy where Whit slowly achieves what he’s always wanted---to be close with his sister. To have her look at him as someone she could trust or at least like. By my head-canons, what Whitley truly wants are his sisters. To have them both trust and finally look at him as family.

As someone meant to stand by their side instead of being left behind alone in the cold.

Growing up in Schnee Manor, Weiss had Winter (as implied by her anthology). It may seem as if the Schnee sisters have always had each other’s backs while leaving poor Whit in the dark. My assumption is that Whit had wanted Weiss to support him similar to how Winter supported her or at least look at him as someone she can trust and count on. But unfortunately for Whit, this never happened due to several misunderstandings from Weiss about her own brother. Right now, Weiss’s interpretation of Whitley is something shared with the FNDM members who distrust and heavily dislike him as a character.

For whatever reason (not properly justified in the main series canon), Weiss sees Whit as someone akin to their father. Heck she probably sees him as being a complete copycat or mini me of Jacques. I think this is what has kept Weiss and Whit from developing an actual relationship. Weiss’ impression that her brother will only turn out like their father. Manipulative. Conniving. But that’s not who Whitley truly is; at least not by my assumptions and by the power invested in my headcanons, I believe that Whit desires more than anything to prove this to his sister.

I swear if Whitley’s endgame isn’t him having a healthy close family relationship with his sisters then I’d be deeply disappointed. But that’s mostly what I’d love to see going forward into V7 with the Schnee Family Affairs side of the arc.

As for what kind of summon Whitley would have, I actually really like your idea Ez. You wanna know something funny? I pretty much had a similar thought. I think it would be very fitting if Whitley’s signature summon has a more feminine look to it for the very same reasons you gave.

In this case, Whit would be the opposite of Weiss. With the exception of Klein, you can almost say that Weiss hasn’t exactly had the best support from the men in her life. As a matter of fact, one of the most oppressive figures in Weiss’ story is her own father so the fact that her summon is an armoured knight meant to serve and protect her is very symbolic. Weiss was oppressed by a male figure yet her key summon (outside of the Queen Wasp) is a rather masculine-looking suit of armour.

This is why I’m saying it’d be the opposite for Whitley. While Weiss was more or less disgraced by the main men in her life, for the most part, Whit was disgraced by the man women in his life. His mother is practically non-existent and his sisters have left him alone while standing by each other only. So Whitley having a female summon to serve as the Queen protecting her King would be excellent. I mean, in a game of chess, the Queen is the important player who protects the King.

So it would be interesting if Whitley’s summon takes inspiration from the Queen chess piece. I’m not saying make it a straight up female version to Weiss’ Armoured Gigas; y’know the ole Angemon and Angewoman treatment (although that actually wouldn’t be too bad of an idea given Whit and Weiss’ relation and similar yet opposite circumstances). 

But a summon that emulates the same sense of strength as you rightfully said.

As a matter of fact, the idea I had in mind was that Whitley’s signature summon could possibly be some kind of Fairy/Elf type of Grimm. I’ve been told that Whitley’s character was inspired by Artemis Fowl. While I honestly don’t know much about this character (I’ve only read like a few chapters of the first book in the series), what I do recall is Artemis having a partner who was an elf fairy named Holly Short.

This makes me love the reference you used from Air Gear as an idea for Whitley’s summon. This character could easily pass for a fairy type of character with the Queen’s Chess piece motif which I think is the perfect kind of summon for Whitley Schnee.

But these are only my thoughts. I hope this answers your question Ez. Again, thanks for picking my brain with this. I really dig this idea a lot. This puts me even more on-board with the idea of Whitley awakening his trademark Schnee semblance.

If I’m being completely honest, I would be very disappointed if the CRWBY Writers did nothing to really flesh out Whitley’s story and character especially his ties to his sisters. Why I believe the likelihood of Whit awakening his family heritage is more prominent is due to the emphasis alluded to it by V4.

Why have Whit say that Weiss and Winter’s abilities---a power that is shared by pretty much everyone in his family---a power that he too might possibly possess---is beneath him if that small titbit wasn’t going to amount to something important. Why emphasis that Whit is supposed to be more like his father if it wasn’t going to potentially lead into Whit being exactly like his sisters---the two were broken free of the patriarchal prison. Why do that at all if it wasn’t going to slowly build up to Whit becoming the person he was meant to be. The Schnee he was meant to be.

I’m also curious to know how Jacques would feel if he discovered that Whit had powers. Would he turn away from the last heir under his control or…being the Machiavellian, greedy man that he is, what if… Whit unlocking his family power encourages an open opportunity for Jacques to use him even more like a pawn in his selfish schemes.

“…It’s foolish not to do what father asks…”

Picture…Jacques exploiting the Schnee family semblance through Whitley to carry out the nefarious crimes of the SDC. Apart from the Faunus abuse, imagine… Jacques making Whit use his Glyphs and summon to terrorize and take out competitors. That could be an interesting twist.

Imagine…Weiss investigating her family affairs only to discover someone with the same kind of powers as her and realize that it’s actuallyWhitley doing it on behalf of their father.

Imagine…the hypocrisy of Whitley implying that the Schnee family power is barbaric when used to serve humanity yet he abuses his power to commit heinous crimes that harms the people for the will of Jacques. That could be another intriguing twist and great subplot for both Schnee Siblings.

But again, like I said, these are only my ideas. We’ll have to wait and see what the CRWBY has in store for Whit in V7.

For what it’s worth, I pray it’s at least satisfactory and gives a much needed and hopefully better conclusion to Whitley’s story than what was done for certain other characters from a certain previous season. Y’know something to make us Whits feel happy as opposed to the latter.

Seriously if Whit’s story ends up being another poorly executed and mishandled subplot in the main plot then…I don’t  know what I would say. I’m doing my best to remain as positive and optimistic as I can be when it comes to the current writing in RWBY. 

While I still wish to stand with the side that believes that Miles and Kerry are talented, competent writers who know how to tell a good story; at the same time, I can’t deny the mistakes (both the ones pointed out by members of the FNDM and acknowledged by myself) made particularly in this last season as it’s still very fresh in my mind.

This makes me miss RWBY Chibi. Usually Chibi is the buffer to cipher off any distaste in the FNDM left behind by the last season while getting us pumped for the next one. But there seems to be no Chibi this year. At least as far as I’m aware of.

If I’m being honest with myself here, I am more nervous for the development of  my favourite characters going forward in the narrative than genuinely excited. Fans thought V6 would’ve fixed the issues created in V5 but by trying to correct the damage from the previous season, V6 introduced its own fair share of problems that can either be addressed or ignored in V7.

For now, I can only hope that this new arc will provide a chance for the Writers to reflect on the treatment of this last arc trilogy in preparation for a much better constructed and exciting new arc trilogy. As the saying goes, third time’s the charm so here’s to the Atlas Trilogy being a success kicking off with V7. We shall see.

In the meantime, that’s all I have to say on that for now, fam. 

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[chaossmagic]

16 and Robron for the mini fic please!!

Home Farm Week angst, fluff, and hurt/comfort all in one! 

Also, I’m pretty sure this is far too long to be a mini fic, but I don’t care because it satisfies one of my main headcanons/unanswered questions about their relationship’s development.

Tagging @sugden-dinglefirst because she’s my #1 cheerleader in my fanfic ventures.

Lying on cool, cotton sheets, completely naked with Robert pressed flush against his back, Aaron fought sleep though his eyes burned as he tried to savour the feel of the man next to him. His skin was slightly sticky with sweat, his breath tickling the back of Aaron’s neck, one bare leg slung over his hip and the other lying across his stomach, cocooning him like a warm, living blanket.

They’d been lying there for hours, spent and exhausted, and yet Aaron didn’t want to go to sleep just yet.  He wanted to keep this memory, as well as all the others, alive in his mind just a little longer. He wanted to remember this, the simple thing of lying in bed with someone with their arms around you, to try and imagine just this once what it might be like if things were different.

If this were his - their - bed.

If Robert were Aaron’s husband instead of Chrissie’s.

Just thinking the words made him feel sick to his stomach; he wasn’t Aaron’s. He belonged to someone else.

But it didn’t stop him from settling further into Robert’s arms, listening to the sound of his slow, rasping breaths, feeling the the curl of his toes against the back of his calf and waiting, every so often, for the barely-audible snore he gave, which made Aaron bite his lip to stop himself from sniggering.

Robert Sugden snored. That was both bloody brilliant and downright infuriating, especially when he was just about to fall asleep, only to be interrupted by a snort-grunt coming from behind him.

Rolling onto his opposite side, Aaron turned in Robert’s arms to face him directly, wanting to watch his face as he slept. There was something about him that changed when he was asleep, Aaron had noticed. Gone was the hard, cocky attitude and ‘rebel without a cause’ exterior, and in its place there was something….soft about him. Gentle. With the smirk gone from his lips and his nose no longer in the air in a ‘holier than thou’ way the way it usually was, with him swanning around the village in a battered - though, probably, knowing him, very very expensive - leather jacket thinking he was James bloody Dean, Robert was different. Aaron liked him more like this, when he wasn’t trying so hard to pretend to everyone that he was someone he wasn’t. Like this, he wasn’t Robert Sugden, Village Arsehole, but just Robert.

In the dim light of the room, a thin strip of moonlight coming through the curtains was just enough for Aaron to make out the smattering of freckles on Robert’s cheeks, and he found himself tracing them with his eyes, the way they decorated his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose in that God forsaken way that Aaron found endearing. Made him look less like a cocky bastard and more of an actual human being with feelings.

Without really thinking about it, Aaron raised the tip of his finger to Robert’s cheek and stroked the path of the freckles there, feather-light and soft lest he wake him up. He stirred, but remained asleep. His skin was soft under the rough pads of Aaron’s fingers from years of hard work as a mechanic, and he felt the warmth there spreading through his whole body, lighting him up from the inside.

Gently, as softly as he could, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the tip of Robert’s nose; he let his eyes flutter closed as he took in this simple moment, this tiny gesture of domestic bliss that they rarely ever let themselves feel. They were so often hurried and rushed, always sending last-minute texts and speaking with using words over the vast space of a packed pub, but now they had time, and Aaron wasn’t looking to waste any of it.

Robert shifted next to him, his eyes slowly blinking open, stretching out slightly as he woke from sleep. His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “You going soft on me, Dingle?” he joked in a sleepy voice, nudging Aaron’s calf with his toes.

“Nah,” Aaron grinned, leaning in for another soft kiss to the tip of the other man’s nose. “Just admiring the view, aren’t I?”

“Hmm,” Robert hummed, wrapping one naked leg more tightly around Aaron’s, holding him closer and bringing their chests flush together. With each breath, their bare skin brushed, and it was enough to leave them searching for each other’s mouths in a desperate kiss, all tongue and warm lips.

Robert woke fully now, wrapping his strong arms around Aaron’s waist and splaying his hands across the expanse of his back, moving his mouth from his lips to his jaw and then his neck, lightly sucking there with a tiny moan as they tangled together all over again, neither really knowing where one ended and the other began. It was a mess of teeth and tongues and limbs, the moonlight playing over their bare skin as they wound around each other.

Aaron rolled onto his back so that Robert was on top of him, arms bracketing either side of his head, hands spread wide on the pillow. He reached up to find his mouth again, groaning as the new position changed the feel of the kiss, hooking one hand around the back of Robert’s neck to anchor him there. His hips arched voluntarily, and Robert broke away with a gasp to lower his pale blond head to Aaron’s chest and stomach, peppering the sensitive skin there with harsh, wet kisses that made Aaron’s blood heat. His fingers found Robert’s hair and pulled, holding him in place as he laved over his skin.

Until he felt Robert graze the raised, jagged skin on his lower abdomen, and his whole body tensed as fear closed itself around his chest and throat, making his hands,  still holding Robert’s hair, shake violently.

“Robert,” he managed to croak out. “Rob-stop, please. Just stop.”

“Why?” the other man asked, his voice muffled against his stomach. He turned to start covering his body with kisses again. “I was just getting started.”

“Don’t!” Aaron said, this time more harshly. “Please.” His eyes screwed shut as he clenched his jaw to keep from losing his head completely. “Trust me, Robert. I don’t - I don’t want you to touch me there.”

This time, Robert obeyed, and raised his head to give Aaron an intense, concerned look. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion - and worry. “Aaron?”

“I’m ugly, Robert,” he said quietly. “Okay? I - I got scars, all over me, and I don’t want anybody seeing or knowing about them….or touching them.”

“These?” Robert asked gently, rubbing his finger and thumb over a particularly angry one near Aaron’s hip.

He remembered, as clear as day, the memory of how and when he’d done it. He’d had a nightmare, another one, a bad one, and he’d woken up in the middle of the night in a blind panic, unable to breathe, and slashed at his skin with an old razor he found in the bathroom cupboard.

He shut his eyes against the memory, turning away from Robert. But he was persistent, and he heard the rustle of the sheets as he climbed back up to him, cocooning him in his arms and pressing his cheek to the top of his head.

“I used to cut myself,” Aaron whispered into the blackness, not daring to turn his head or look anywhere but at the backs of his own eyelids, because he was too afraid that this revelation might send Robert running for the hills. That it would make him discover that he preferred Chrissie, who didn’t have a map of bad memories and a lifetime of agony etched into her skin. “Before. When I was growing up.”

For several long moments, there was only silence. Aaron filled it awkwardly, suddenly grasped with the desire to get everything off his chest. “I guess I was depressed or summat, I dunno. I think I was. I mean, I didn’t get diagnosed or anything. But I knew I was ill, and I couldn’t stop it, so I just kept cutting because it was the only thing that made me feel any different to how empty I thought my life was. I did it for years.”

“You’re brave,” Robert murmured against his hair, smoothing a hand over the side of his torso and down his thigh in a slow, circular motion, as if to soothe him by his physical touch. “You’re braver than I am.”

“You saw the scars, Rob. They’re disgusting.” Aaron repressed a shudder. “I hate them. I wish I didn’t have them, but I do, and nothing can change that.”

“Hey, hey,” Robert called softly, “don’t talk like that. They’re not disgusting. They’re-” he cut himself off, swallowed audibly. “They’re beautiful.”

Aaron huffed a derisive laugh. “No, they’re not. I don’t need you to pity me, Robert. And I don’t need any false rubbish about how they make me a strong person, because I’ve heard it all before from me mum and I don’t believe it.”

“She’s a smart woman,” he agreed. “She may hate me, but she’s right about that, at least.”  He nuzzled the side of Aaron’s neck, pressed a tiny kiss to his shoulder. “Please believe me when I say I don’t care about what you’ve been through. You don’t have to tell me everything, but - I’m glad you’ve told me about this.”

By some form of miracle, hearing those words loosened something in Aaron’s chest without him wanting them to; just the acknowledgement that he was glad, he was thankful, that he’d shared this with him made it seem a little less of a burden to deal with.

“Thanks for, y’know, listening,” Aaron replied gruffly. “I’m sorry I kind of freaked out before, when you touched me.”

“I get it, it’s a sensitive issue for you,” Robert said. “I’m just sorry you had to go through it, whatever it is, that’s all.” His hand came to rest on Aaron’s stomach. “I am here for you, you know.”

“I know,” Aaron concurred, sleep starting to slur the edges of his words now, the warm lull of Robert’s voice and sincere words - because he believed they were sincere, despite the circumstances, despite everything - making his body relax and become heavy. “Thanks, Robert.”

Robert pulled up the sheets higher and tucked them around them both, protecting them from the slight chill that had descended on the room. “Go to sleep, Aaron. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh-ohkay,” Aaron yawned, his eyes closing.

And for the first proper time in a while, he did.