#makes me wonder. is the wizard beginning to forget their own identity too? or are they doing this on purpose?

[nightside101]

Do you guys remember in arc 1 when people used to call the wizard by their name? And then by late game no one ever uses their name anymore and they're referred to exclusively as The Wizard, even by people who consider themselves to be friends? Even by people who once used to call them by their actual name? Even though they live in a wizarding world that is, ostensibly, mostly made up of wizards?

and then by Lemuria they're introducing themselves to people as The Wizard too...

[ashesandhackles]

Deconstructing Harry: The boy we meet in Philosopher's Stone to the man in Deathly Hallows

I have often seen fans talk about how nebulous Harry is as a character, especially in the earlier books. They can't make sense of who he is as a character and other more colourful, more actualized personalities take over our attention from any traits Harry might display. Harry becomes more defined for a lot of people OOTP onwards where he displays traits that sometimes make him unbearable or unlikable.

Harry, as we are introduced in PS, has a very little sense of self. He is narratively self deprecating or plays down his presence or skills, not that he is aware he has any. He grew up without any presence of him displayed in the house - no photos, no idea about his parents or what they look like or what really happened to them and discouraged from asking questions. Harry as we meet him is neglected, rootless about his identity and longs for escape. For him, every day is a battle against Dudley, who bullies him or Vernon, thus setting a worldview that never truly goes away: him vs adults. But just because Harry doesn't attach traits or values to self, does not mean he does not have it.

It's an effective narrative tool though - for Harry to be our eyes of the world. Only in later re-readings can we get a grasp of the traits that become more pronounced as books go on. Also, it's not surprising that Harry develops a better sense of self when he is removed from an abusive home.

Let me begin with this:

1. Harry is a fighter

One of the things that struck me in later re-readings is that how much of a fighter Harry is, from the very beginning. He will not lie down and take abuse. The narrative presents it as no big deal, because Harry doesn't assign any importance to it - it's every day life for him.

-Verbal standing up-

See his reaction to Uncle Vernon and the letter fiasco. He stands up for himself, even if it falls on deaf ears. "I want my letter - as it is mine!". Later on, in the same book, a completely befuddled 11 year old Harry stands up to Snape too, but in a politer way: "I think Hermione knows the answer. Why don't you try her?". He gets less polite with Snape as books go on. Harry's humor is something he employs liberally with Dudley when standing up to him - "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick" and we see this trait manifest into the sass we all know and love.

- Fight or flight-

He is remarkably good at "fighting himself out of tight corners" as Snape put it. And although Snape attributes it to luck and more talented friends, he is onto something about Harry's ability to worm out of tight corners. He lives moment to moment in a dangerous situation - relying on his nerve, very fast reflexes and athleticism. He is also able to notice things in an environment that will get him out of a quick pinch. You see this clearly in Department of Mysteries in Book 5 where he comes up with the idea to smash shelves, the mad idea to escape on a dragon, the ministry escape where he manipulates Runcorn's image (as he noticed how people were reacting to him) to create chaos and get the Muggleborns and the trio out, Chamber of Secrets when he instinctively understood the diary is the source of power and stabbed it.

Where does the athleticism and ability to spot dangerous situation come from? This boy has spent a decade cheeking Dudley and running away from his gang, spotting when he needs to get out of the way as "long experience had told him to be out of Uncle Vernon's arms reach" or "ducking when Aunt Petunia aimed a frying pan at his head". The instinct to see a dangerous situation develops over the course of the books in his adventures - to the point Harry unconsciously brings out his wand in Tottenham road without thinking too much about it. He is almost always wary and less quick to lower his wand.

When hiding/ escaping is not an option, Harry is not above physical fighting - despite how small and skinny he is in Book 1. Both he and Dudley fight for a chance to listen at the door when letter first arrives for Harry. Dudley wins the fight. Later on, Harry jumps Uncle Vernon from behind and hangs on to his neck to get his letter. He even does the same thing to the troll in the same book. ( Then over the course of series, we see him beat up Sirius in Book 3, Malfoy in Book 5, strangle Mundungus in Book 6 - all of these are related to his fury over the dead, so different context. But still).

- Manipulation/ Cunning-

11 year old Harry even tries sneakily - waking up early to get his letter (unfortunately didn't work). The other sneaky methods he has employed throughout the series is - not telling Dursleys at end of PS that he is not allowed magic at home, threatens Dudley with it in COS, not telling them Sirius is innocent to play up the threat of a murderous godfather to keep them accountable, and also the smooth way he negotiates with Uncle Vernon for Hogsmeade letter. ("Well it will be hard work, pretending to aunt Marge that I go to St Whatsits" ,"Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her"). He similarly displays his negotiation and playing to what he knows about people with Slughorn in Book 6, Pettigrew in Book 7.

The scene with Slughorn is disturbing, with Harry coercing a drunk Slughorn to give up his memory. You can argue that this is the influence of Felix Felicis, but I think the potion acted more as facilitation. The disturbing way Harry brings up his mother's murder to unnerve Slughorn is his own doing. ("Voldemort stepped over my father's body towards mum" "I forgot - you liked her, didn't you?"). Again, in a life threatening situation, Harry plays to Pettigrew's latent guilt: "You are going to kill me? After I saved your life? You owe me Wormtail!"

2. Relational justice over abstract justice

Harry's concept of justice is relational and based on his high empathy for the underdog. He notices power dynamic in a situation and empathises with the victim. This is in contrast to Hermione, who has more abstract, bigger picture view of justice. It's no wonder that Hermione is the one who is the most political of the three.

His high empathy for the underdog and needing to stand up for them is because he feels responsiblility that no one should go through what he went through. He stands up for Neville in PS and encourages him to stand up for himself. When he sees his father bullying Snape, it is not about an abstract "this is wrong behavior". Harry goes further: "Harry knew what it felt like to be taunted among a circle of onlookers" , Harry focuses on young Snape's mismatched clothes because he himself knows what it's like to wear clothes that are not yours or ones that make you look ridiculous. His empathy extends to Voldemort too - understanding why he may not want to go back to his orphanage and desire to be in Hogwarts, wondering why Merope wouldn't stay alive for her son, his fixation with Voldemort's maimed soul in King's Cross chapter and later asking Voldemort to feel remorse (" I have seen what you will become otherwise"). Even his reaction to Dobby in COS - "Can't anyone help you? Can't I?" when Dobby talks about his slavery. Hermione is usually seeing the bigger picture, Harry sees the individual.

3. Pathological mistrust of adults

He is less likely of the trio to take an adult at their words or be assured by them when they say they are taking care of things. He has learnt, from a very young age, that he is always expected to take care of himself. And the times he does take things to adult, they consistently disappoint him - by patronising him or acting like he is a child, neither of which he has tolerance for or appreciates. This is why he takes to Sirius and Lupin, who exhibit neither of these communication patterns. In some ways, Mr Weasley too.

Umbridge's abuse of him for him is framed as a battle of wills between her and him, as if he is an equal. And he loses if he complains - "not giving her a satisfaction of knowing she got to me". Harry's worldview has always been - adult vs him.

His inability to trust adults even extends to the ability of adults he likes to look after themselves. While Sirius is understandably a wreck in OOTP, he has by and large followed Dumbledore's orders. This doesn't register with Harry (Ron points it out: "Sirius listens to Dumbledore even though he doesn't like what he hears") and Harry's fears about Sirius, excaberated by Sirius's tendency for recklessness, comes to play.

He even showed similar distrust in Lupin's judgement in taking a potion from Snape in POA ("Harry felt the urge to knock the goblet out of Lupin's hands" and tries to hint at Lupin that Snape will "do anything" for DADA job). And he shows this once again with the most magically powerful wizard he knows - Dumbledore. ("if I tell you to abandon me and save yourself, you must do so". Dumbledore has to insist on this before Harry nods reluctantly. It's also Dumbledore's wording, but this is a wizard Harry feels safe with almost entirely because of his power - and yet Harry cannot obey an order like this without reluctance). It's not about Harry's own ability to take care of them - he just innately cannot leave people to it.

4. Humor as a value and coping mechanism

Harry has an established coping mechanism by the time we are introduced to him - quip in the face of danger/ dark humor. There are repeated instances of Harry amusing himself with snarky comments in his head when things are really bad for him. Like in PS, when they are in the hut, Harry wonders if the roof will fall in and then thought that if it did fall in, he might be warmer. In the earlier books (before his growth), he seems to value Ron over Hermione simply because he is more "fun". Harry enjoys being around funny people like Ron, Weasley twins, later Ginny simply because there is some dark stuff happening with him and he needs "fun" people for semblance of normalcy, escape. In fact, this desire is so strong, he attaches it to his romantic relationships: Ginny is a "blissful oblivion" and times with her are "something out of someone else's life". His relationship with Cho failed because her coping mechanism is discussing her trauma and Harry's is escaping it.

-dealing with conflict with people he likes, small digression-

A part of his growing up in later books includes valuing Hermione as much he values Ron and we see it in display in HBP, where he is more willing to stand up for her to Ron (something he kind of did more quietly before in POA - "can't you give her a break?" ) and also get confrontational with her instead of using Ron as a buffer between them to fend off her more boisterous/ bossy tendencies. ("let him make up his mind" "skip the lecture" "don't nag" - Ron took the heat in earlier books. In HBP, Harry is more willing to be irritable with her in a day-to-day interaction - "I hope you enjoy yourself" he tells Hermione when she states her intention to investigate Half Blood Prince. Or when she tests the book - "Finished? Or do you want to see if it does backflips?" "Do you have rub it in Hermione, how do you think I feel now?" at the end of HBP. ) In OOTP, his best method to deal with her when she bothers him was lying, avoiding her nagging and if that doesn't work, explode and treat her to display of his temper. There is more to explore here, of course - even with regard to how he deals with Mrs Weasley in Book 4, 5 and the difference of him hugging her in Book 7.

5. Fascination with the dead/ a passive death wish

Harry feels remarkably little sense of betrayal knowing that he was set up to die by Dumbledore. His self sacrificing streak is rooted in his love, yes, but I also think Harry is a little bit too fascinated by death, not surprising considering most people he loved are dead. Him wanting the resurrection stone in DH, him obsessively spending time at Mirror of Erised (to the point he feels feverish and Ron thinking he looks strange) until Dumbledore stops him, him almost wanting to fail to learn a Patronus because he wants to hear his parents voice, the hearing of whispering voices in the Veil in OOTP which only Luna could hear apart from him, the scene at the grave where he almost wishes he was "lying under the snow" with his parents, the possession scene in the book of OOTP has him wishing to die so he can be with Sirius. You can almost argue the Harry has, in many moments, shown raw desire of death. In fact, him choosing to let go of the stone and not go looking for it is a big character decision for him.

I also want to address Harry's temper and how that develops over course of series, the implications of understanding the people he loved and put on pedestal are flawed - but I am afraid this post is already way too long. So I will leave that for some time later.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

hello dear librarian! thank you for all of the wonderful recs you spend your time gifting us! i thoroughly enjoy reading the fics you recommend! i was wondering if you had any aus where either sirius or remus is famous and the other is not? thank you so much!

Hello friend! The Librarian definitely has some recs for you since this is a very popular trope. Hope you enjoy some of these finds! 

�� Famous Sirius ��

The Certainty of You by uponavenueroad Sirius is a Hollywood actor who has not been entirely forthcoming about his identity to an undeniably charming, befuddled antique book seller from Notting Hill. The truth comes to a head the morning after a steamy one-night stand.

A Promise by @kattlupin Remus Lupin and Sirius Black are two strangers both seeking solace in solo trips to Paris. Strangers that is, until happenstance sits them together on a plane and their solo trips turn into a romantic adventure together.

The Heir by @remus-john-lupin

They’ve been playing this game all evening— this sly cat-and-mouse thing, except the tables are continuously turning. One moment Remus is the cat, confident and careful as he corners his prey, and the next he’s the mouse, pinned under this enticing man’s quick paw.

Sweater Weather by @lumosinlove Remus works for the Gryffindor Lions as a physical trainer, and has been half in love with Sirius Black, the Lions' heartthrob captain, for a while now, but he never expected Sirius to return the feelings. Read if you like cute nicknames, slow burn, and pining. Yep. That's it.

Collateral by fingerprintbruises The fic where Sirius flees from the paparazzi, Remus runs a bookstore, and Lily has great timing.

Whatever Words I Say -orphaned account When Remus Lupin is hired to control the antics of famous lead singer of the Marauders, Sirius Black, he knows he has his work cut out for him. Sirius is contrary and has absolutely no chill, and loves pissing off the press. Remus feels up to the challenge, but he certainly does not expect to fall head over heels in love from the moment he meets the charismatic singer.

Never Above You, Never Below -orphaned account Actor Sirius Black just wants to spend his time off filming shopping in peace. But when an overly excited boy introduces the celebrity to his single dad, everything in his life changes.

Stalking Sirius by @remuslives23 Reluctant paparazzo, Remus Lupin, manipulates his way into rock star, Sirius Black’s, life, hoping for a scoop that will kick start his flagging career. Instead, he finds himself torn between his growing feelings for Sirius, and the article of a lifetime.

500 Miles (I’m Coming Home to You) by @museme87

When Sirius Black left Manchester six years ago for a record deal, he also left behind Remus, his longtime boyfriend. Now they have a chance to be reunited, but Remus isn’t sure he’s willing to make amends with the man who sold their love for stardom.

Finest in Fairford by @bluepeon-y Remus Lupin’s job in a Fairford coffee shop is always uneventful, until an exotic new customer begins leaving messages with his tips.

This is You and Me by Children_of_the_Shadows The first time Charlus Potter met Remus Lupin, he was reminded of a past he was trying to forget. The first time Dorea Potter met Remus Lupin, she was reminded of her own limitation. The first time James Potter met Remus Lupin, he was indifferent. The first time Sirius Black met Remus Lupin, he threw a punch to his face.

The Sweet Love Between the Moon and the Deep Blue Sea by @momstiel, @kerstintxt Sirius Black was okay, no matter how often Lily and James and his manager were going to ask him about it. He didn't need to cancel the tour, and he didn't need an assistant to play his babysitter, and he certainly didn't need a guardian angel to fall in love with... wait, what?

Addicted To The Magic -orphaned account

Sometimes you meet a stranger on the tube, and the entire course of your love life changes--even if you have no idea who they really are. And sometimes you know exactly who the messy-haired, speccy prat is who keeps showing up at your work, and as much as you try and deny it, he truly is growing on you.

🌙 Famous Remus 🌙

The Muse by @fangirlwolfie-blog Maybe it's time, he finds himself thinking as Arthur starts talking about this girl he's dating, Molly. Maybe… it's time to move on. Naturally that's the day Sirius calls him. Remus is stupid because he should say no. It's been too many years for him not to be able to just tell Sirius NO every damn time he comes calling. But he's weak.

Wizard Beat by eprime Hogwarts-Era. Sirius is a fanboy.

[desencante]

oi, march reads! I read a lot this month.

Please, don’t forget to leave a comment or kudos for the authors of these fics!

(The texts aren't the summary, just my ramble thoughts.)

Loving Cannibalism by glittering_git/@glittering-git (Mature, 2 works, 952 words) | Post-War, Angst, Established Relationship

Two marvellous and poetic histories about (loving) cannibalism. This is such a dark and heavy theme but the author does a great job writing and makes me enjoy reading them. (And I'm definitely here for more.)

(Please, read the Author's Tags.)

don’t say you love me, that’s extortion by LowerEastSide/@lower-east-side (Explicit, 1k) | Post-War, Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship

It is a domestic and loving and little sad history – about not saying 'I love you' but acting in that way.

The Pink Paradox by vina_writes/@dracothecupcake (Teen and Up, 1k) | Post-War, Humor, Auror Harry, Unspeakable Draco

Harry Potter Is Obsessed With Draco Malfoy TM. And Draco has pink hair. Have a fun time!

Harry's Promise by JosephineStone (Teen and Up, 2k) | Post-War, Angst, Reunion, Established Relationship

This one it's kind of part two of Circumpolar. The history continues the consequences of Draco's change, after the war – left me with a warm heart.

Burnt Casserole by Samunderthelights/@samunderthelights (General Audiences, 2k) | Post-War, Fluff, Established Relationship

Nervous Draco for Meeting Ron and Hermione. Getting back together and meeting your boyfriend's friends (who may hate you) showing them your (not) great cooking abilities.

Magical Homes, and Where to Find Them (in the arms of your lover) by Erebeus/@erebeus-roxy (General Audiences, 2k) | Post-War, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship

Who doesn't want some fluff established relationship sometimes? Harry has a painful case at work and then comes home to a calm and domestic night with his husband.

Together Like This by shealwaysreads/@shealwaysreads (Explicit, 3k) | Post-War, Getting Back Together

Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World TM. I find it so interesting reading stories where Draco denies Harry's love because of the war, and Harry is there to change his mind. Here we have that and it's written the super talented shealwaysreads.

For Old Times' Sake by thestarryknight/@the-starryknight (Teen and Up, 3k) | Post-War, Drugs, Potioneer Draco, Artist Harry

This one gives me such a cosy and domestic vibe. "'It's Complicated' is their relationship status" resume perfect what this fic is. (There're some cool references too, so pay attention.)

Like Gold by The_Sinking_Ship/@the-sinking-ship (Explicit, 4k) | Post-War, PWP

(It's always good to see.) Harry Has a Motorbike Just Like Sirius! Harry rides a motorbike and Draco rides him.

Harry and Draco's Little Talk by Ladderofyears (Teen and Up, 5k) | Post-War, Angst, Established Relationship, mpreg

Who doesn't hear 'I need to talk to you' by someone you like and run with? Harry thinks Draco will break up with him and freak (a little) out but maybe the subject of Draco's conversation is quite the opposite.

Sugar Sweet by The_Sinking_Ship/@the-sinking-ship (Teen and Up, 5k) | Post-War, Humor, Fluff, Auror Harry, Healer Draco

It is a very sweet story with a surprise party for Draco and Harry getting late but not so late.

Show them the night that they dreamed about before by fluxweed/@fluxweeed (Explicit, 6k) | Post-War, PWP, Threesome, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dubious Consent

(Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Percy Weasley)

All I have to say is: 😳😯🤫😈🔥🥵🔥🥵😈😏!

This Is How by bixgirl1/@bixgirl1 (Explicit, 6k) | Post-War, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, a/b/o

Omega Draco has an incident in the ministry Alpha Harry is there to help. After they fall in love! (One more reason to read: it's written by bixgirl1!)

It Never Occurred to Me That I Would Fall in Love With a Frenchman by lamerezouille/@elsalapizza (Teen and Up, 6k) | Post-War, Angst, Humor, Established Relationship

OMG, I never read something like this! The plot was so surprising – you will ever think about the Malfoys meeting the Dursleys? BOOM! Here it's a very awkward dinner that looks funny but has some depth stuff going on.

Litany by thistle_verse/@thistle-verse (Mature, 7k) | Post-War, Angst, Pandemic, Isolation, Touch-Starved, Ghost Draco

Ghost's story isn't my cup of tea, but I give this one a chance and don't regret it. The magic world is passing through a pandemic (just like us!), Harry is doing quarantine at home alone until ghost Draco, directly from Azkaban, shows up. Then, we have fluffy and sad conversations between the two and a turn of events in the end. (And lots of lists.)

As the Crow Flies by thestarryknight/@the-starryknight (Mature, 7k) | Post-War, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Animagus Draco, Werewolf Harry

Draco helps Harry on a full moon night. Domestic vibes with some angst. 10/10!

Circumpolar by LowerEastSide/@lower-east-side (Teen and Up, 8k) | Hogwarts Era, Angst, Sectumsempra Scars

I see an amazing fanart and spend some days obsessed with Draco having worse scars from Sectumsempra. (There's, in this list, another two fanfics with this concept.) In this one, because of the pretty bad scars Draco's plan about the war change – is interesting to imagine how one incident could put another thing in perspective for him. And Draco and Harry have a touching conversation on the Astronomy Tower! (I'm a sucker for long expressive conversations about feelings.)

if somebody’s there, then tell me who. by kryptidfox/@kryptidfoxwrites (Explicit, 11k) | Post-War, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Housemates

Much more like Idiots to Lovers! Draco has a disastrous way to make Harry notice him – bring every man possible to a one-night stand then call their name very loud – until things go wrong when he brings a guy named Harry. I constantly have a good time reading these two making dumb thing in their path to be together.

Commander by Cassiopeias_shadow/@cassiopeiasshadow (Explicit, 14k) | Post-War, Horror, Suspense, Drugs, Animagi, Auror Harry, Light dom/sub

Almost a case fic with dark things in the plot. Draco is addicted to potions and in a pretty bad place when he has a chance to help the auros in a big case. It turns out that Draco got so much involved with the case he needed Harry, to make him put his feet on the ground – the fine line between doing everything to make up for your past or lost yourself doing things for the great good. Featuring: Harry as a snake and parselmouth kink.

(Please, read the Author's tags.)

Fire and Wonder by Lomonaaeren (Mature, 15k) | Post-War, Dark-ish, Veela

Lomonaaeren written dark Harry, I'm here for! After the war, Harry get wing and has some controversial ideas about The Great Good. So, we see him put these ideas into practice with his mate Draco.

Hold what's dear in your hands (and never let go) by Fae_vorite/@faevorite-main-blog, PollyWeasley/@polly-weasley (Explicit, 16k) | Post-War, Arrange Marriage, a/b/o, mpreg

I was always here for some a/b/o and this story is a chef kiss! Harry can't find a partner; So he goes to an upgrade tinder and matches with Draco, then they live happily ever after. Featuring intersex Draco and a lot of sex kinks.

Keep Me Close (I Need Your Faith) by aviforsrose (Explicit, 23k) | Post-War, Angst, Friends with Benefits, Light dom/sub

Idiots in love! The old same GOOD story: I love him but he loves me? Yes, of course! Man, you two have been pinning each other for years now. Let's do some love confessions.

The Critiquer by dysonrules (Explicit, 24k) | Post-War, Humor, Romance, Secret Identity

Drunk Harry doing dumb stuff with Seamus and Dean, take him a very funny drive to Draco's hearty. Draco and his assistant interactions was another very humorous part. Can't forget to congratulate who made all of the edits, principally the text divisors.

The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren (Explicit, 27k) | Post-War, Angst, Politics

I love reading Lomonaaeren stories with dark-ish Harry. This is another great example of just not the good or evil side. Harry can't Make a Better World because of pureblood politics so he goes to Draco for help.

Can I tell you something? by GallaPlacidia (Not Rated, 33k) | Post-War, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sectumsempra Scars, Drugs, Auror Harry, Burlesquedance Draco

What I can say about this one? It's by GallaPlacidia, go read! The story takes place during a few years, after the war, Harry collides in parties with a drugged Draco, things happen – they lived a very real journey of connecting with someone, learning to love and to be loved and understanding the mistakes of the past... 10/10!

Says The Magpie To The Morning (Sorrow, Take Your Own Advice) by Femme/@femmequixotic (Explicit, 33k) | Post-War, Angst, Getting Back Together

Draco Horrible Sad TM after a breakup with Harry. Featuring so much PDA by Pansy/Ron, angst, miscommunication, angst, sharing a house with your ex and angst. If you are up to a sad time before a happy ending this nice story is here.

Eight Days (to Save the World) by gnarf/@gnarf (Mature, 47k) | Post-War, Friend to Lovers, Housemates, Case Fic, Auror Harry, Unspeakable Draco

Shit happens in The Wizard World again so Harry, Draco and company get together to Save The World Again. What will you do if you receive an order not so right by your superior? A very interesting story begins with the ministry's haunted easy target to blame for the new conspiracy. Enjoy too Protective Harry.

Turning Leaves by Kbrick (Explicit, 112k) | Post-War, Angst, Fluff, Time Travel, Auror Harry, Unspeakable Draco

Draco Tries to Concert His Friendship With Harry by Time Travel. This gives me The Cursed Child vibe but so much better, Draco goes to several scenarios trying to change one important moment in the past to make Harry like-like now. A great story who think about what will happen if Draco acts differently in the Hogwarts years.

Cannot Save You Now by tigrelilje (Mature, 132k) | Hogwart Era, Angst, Horror, Dark, Vampire Harry

Harry dies and comes back (as a vampire) for revenge! If you want to see Harry hating almost everybody this fanfic this here. Featuring: Slytherin Harry.

[actuallybibis]

Visiting Hours - George Weasley

This is my first one shot, I’ve decided to do this because for some reason this new Ed Sheeran song reminded me of them. The lyrics will be slightly different. Please let me know what you think.

Words: 1328

I wish that heaven

Had visiting hours

A sign can be seen in front of a big gate, in a big white arc. Heaven visiting hours, it’s what it says. Walking alone through the gate is a tall, red headed wizard, that came every time that he could, just to talk to his brother.

“Hey Gred.”

So I could just show up

And bring the news

That he's getting older

And I wish that you'd met him

The two would spend hours talking about everything, but for some reason it’s been months since last visit.

“It feels like forever since I last saw you, what happened?” Fred asked.

“I’ve been distracted.” George said, waving his brother of. “But I have some exiting news.” He announced with the biggest smile in his face, since the war four years ago, it was rare to see George this happy.

“What is it mate, don’t leave me hanging.” Fred said almost jumping with curiosity.

“Angie and I had a baby!” George cried.

“Oh my Merlin Gred, this is amazing.” The older twin screamed. “I am an uncle, I am an uncle.” He singed, dancing around. “I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, me neither.” George said. “I just wish that you could meet him, his name is Fred Weasley the second.” He told his brother, letting a tear slip from his eye.

Fred pulled him into his arms squeezing him tight.

The things that he'll learn from me

I got them all from you

“Now all you have to do is let go.” George explained to baby Fred, letting a dungbomb fall from the top of the stair from the burrow. “Me and your uncle loved to do that kind of stuff, and I know you’ll love it to.” He said looking at his son, kissing his head.

“GEORGE WEASLEY” A shout could be heard from the kitchen. “YOU BETTER NOT BE DOING WHAT I THINK YOUR DOING”

The baby in his arms couldn’t be more clueless about his surroundings.

I'd just stay a while

And we'll put all the world to rights

“You know” George started. “Ginny and Harry just had a baby too.” He told his brother.

“I can’t believe he knocked up our little sister.” Fred said, “I hope you and the guys gave him a proper scare when they told the family.”

“Believe me when I say, he will be terrified to even bring up the topic.” George answered laughing.

The little ones will grow

And I'll still drink your favorite wine

“He is so big Fred, he reminds me of you.” George said.

“Of course he reminds you of me, we’re identical!” Fred exclaimed “Honestly Gred, sometimes I think I got all the intelligence.” He said shaking his head.

George laughed, but inside he knew what he meant, and it was much deeper than the looks.

“Hey do you remember that wine that you brought home that day, when we had just closed the shop? It was the end of our first week, you bought to celebrate it.” He asked.

“Yeah, I remember, it became my favorite one, and I even remember that when I bought it, I was just joking around about being posh.” Fred said thinking back to that specific day.

“I still drink it ‘till this day.”

And soon they're going to close

But I'll see you another day

So much has changed

Since you've been away

“Hey Forge, I have to go, I think it’s closing time.” George said. ”I’ll come back tomorrow, same time. I still have so much to tell you.”

“No George…” Fred started but he was already gone.

Well, I wish that heaven

Had visiting hours

So I could just swing by

And ask your advice

What would you do in my situation?

I haven't a clue how I'd even raise them

What would you do?

'Cause you always do what's right

“I was just wondering, I think the shop needs some new products” He started. “But I can’t think of anything good enough. So, do you have any ideas?” George asked.

“Not really, but do you remember that thing muggles have that send an electric wave when shaking hands?” Fred asked. “I think you could come up with something to make this thing even funnier, I think dad would love it.”

“That’s actually a good idea, thanks Fred.” George said getting up to leave. “Looks like I have work to do, see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, don’t…” And again, George was out of reach.

Can we just talk a while

Until my worries disappear?

I'd tell you that I'm scared

Of turning out a failure

He'd say: Remember that the answer

Is in the love that we create

So much has changed

Since you've been away

“I don’t think I can do it Fred.” George said, almost crying.

“Of course you can, you did once, you can do it twice.” Fred responded. “Angie loves you, I love you, your son loves you and your daughter will to.” He said. “Remember that the answer is in the love that we create, or in our case, the chaos.” He laughed.

“You’re right, Angie is waiting for me, see you soon.”  George said rushing out.

“Hey wait… FUCK!”

I wish that heaven

Had visiting hours

And I would ask them

If I could take you home

Again, in front of the gates, was the red headed man, but this time he wasn’t walking, he was standing and looking up.

“PLEASE, PLEASE, LET ME TAKE HIM HOME” He screamed. “He doesn’t deserve to be here, I need him with me, he deserves to be living, he deserves to have a family like me, please, just please let me take him home.” He pleaded for someone, tears streaming down his face, he fell to his knees.          

But I know what they'd say

That it's for the best

“You don’t know what’s best, he was only 21, how can I deserve this life I have, and he doesn’t?” He cried.

So I would live life the way you taught me

And make it on my own

“George, c’mon, get up.” Fred said.

“Why can’t you be down there with me, I miss you so much.” George cried. “Every time I look in the mirror I see you, and it hurts so much.”

“No brother, every time you look in the mirror you see yourself, you need to stop thinking about why I died, things happen for a reason, I’ve accepted my death, you have too as well. It’s been years, I need you to stop coming here.” Fred told his twin.

And I will close the door

And I will open up my heart

And everyone I love

Will know exactly who you are

“I don’t think I can” He cried.

“Of course you can, live your life to the fullest, enjoy it.” Fred demanded. “I just have one request.” He said. “Don’t let anyone forget about me, and tell my nephews and nieces about me too, or else I’ll just have to pull your feet at night.” He joked.

'Cause this is not goodbye

It is just till we meet again

So much has changed

Since you've been away

“And remember, this is not goodbye, it’s just see you soon, you are not immortal my friend. When your time comes, I will be right here waiting for you.” He continued. “I just hope it will be many years from now.”

“Believe me I will never let anyone forget you, I love you so much.” George promised.

“Promise me that the next time I see you will be the day you die, preferably really old, like the Triwizard Cup day.” Fred pleaded.

“I promise.” George said. “I love you, see you soon.” He told his brother, passing trough the gates and the same sign that was there from the beginning.

Heaven: visiting hours. Opening hours: from the time that you sleep, till the time you wake up. 

[host-club-hq]

Call of the Scar pt. 3

➼ pairing: harry potter x reader

➼ genre: sfw, fluffy, fantasy

➼ word-count: 3.4k

➼ summary: Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley embark on their great journey together in their fourth year at Hogwarts. What does this unsuspecting year hold for them?

➼ part 3 of many :)

➼ want to request? do it here. let me know what i can write for you :)

Dumbledore rises and nods to the back of the Hall, signaling Filch, who begins to limp forward with an old chest.

"I wold like to say a few words before we bring in the casket." The Hall stops and looks to Dumbledore at the front of the Professors' tables. 

"Casket. Did he say casket?" you lean over to Hermione to confirm your suspicions. Hermione nods.

"Eternal glory. That is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do so, that student must survive three tasks. Three very dangerous tasks.”

"Wicked." Fred and George mutter with identical smirks adorning their features.

"You see, the Triwizard Tournament has an unfortunate history of killing off its participants. For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain, we have the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Bartemius Crouch-"

CRACK!

A stitch of lightning flashes across the enchanted ceiling and the torches along the walls flicker, casting the Hall into and eerie semi-darkness. The rear doors fly open and a man stands in dark silhouette, clad in a long black traveling cloak, clutching a staff. Lighting flashes again and Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody is revealed, all grizzled grey hair and scarred flesh. As he limps forward- CLONK! CLONK!- all eyes shift to his wooden leg while the electric blue eye imbedded in his skull scans the Hall warily.

"Bloody hell. That's Mad-eye Moody." Ron speaks aloud.

"Alastor Moody? The Auror?" Hermione corrects as she leans to get a look of him.

"Auror?" Dean Thomas pipes up from where he's seated.

"Dark wizard catcher. Half the cells in Azkaban are filled thanks to him. Supposed to be mad as hatter these days, though. Sees Death Eaters in his dustbins." Ron sighs in disappointment of the once great man.

"Dark wizard catcher?" you take a sudden interest in the profession as it's mentioned in this passing conversation. 

Another bolt of lightning flashes. Annoyed, Moody points his wand to the ceiling and, casting a red jet of flames, calming the enchanted sky. Slowly, the torches regain their bloom.

Satisfied, Moody pockets his wand, brings out a flask, and tips it to his lips. Harry watches his every move, fascinated. 

"That's that he's drinking, d'you suppose?" Seamus quietly inquires. 

"Dunno, but I don't think it's pumpkin juice." you grimace. 

Moody and Dumbledore exchange whispers and a handshake, then Moody takes one of the remaining seat at the tall table. The staff eye him in mute disbelief. 

"Barty, as you were saying..." Dumbledore gestures for Barty to continue. 

Barty Crouch blinks and turns back to the stunned students. 

"After due consideration, the Ministry has concluded that, for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen will be allowed to put forth their name for the Triwizard Tournament. This decision is final." Barty winces when the uproar of upset underage students begins and he does his best to ignore them.

"What?!" Fred is bewildered. 

"That's rubbish!" George shakes his fist angrily. 

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore bellows. He says this so forcefully the result is absolute. 

"Thank you."

Taking his wand, Dumbledore turns to the casket and gives it three taps. As the lip opens, he removes a wooden cup dancing with blue-white flames.

"The Goblet of Fire. Anybody wishing to submit themselves to the Tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and drop it into the flame within the next twenty-four hours. Do not do so lightly. If chosen, there is no turning back. As of this moment... the Triwizard Tournament has begun."

With a massive thud, Moody drops a textbook onto Neville's desk, the same textbook on everybody's desk: The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.

"I see you all slogged down to Flourish & Blotts like good little boys and girls and bought the textbook. Congratulations... it'll make a find doorstop." Moody sneers. 

The students exchanged confused glances and then glance back down at their textbooks. Not like most were going to read them, anyways. Moody turns. 

"I'm Alastor Moody, ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'm here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story, goodbye, the end. Any questions?" Moody's blue eyes scan the silent classroom and land on Harry. Harry stares back, willing himself to hold the old warrior's horrifying visage. Moody turns away and takes his flask.

"When it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a practical approach. You may wonder what I mean by that. I'll show you. But first, which of you can tell me..." Moody takes a sour tug on the flask, snatches up a specimen jar, and watches a spider scuttle within.

"... how many Unforgivable Curses are there?"

The students trade uneasy glances. Finally, Hermione's hand raises tentatively. As his real eye continues to stare at the spider, Moody's blue eye rotates into Hermione.

"I might've known. Go on, Granger." Moody encourages. 

"There are three, sir-" She stops. "How did you know..." Moody circles again.

"Your name? I know a bit more than that. You're top of your class- correct?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Naturally inquisitive?"

"Yes..."

"Socially inept?"

"Well..."

"And... Muggle born." Moody stops, eye raking over the others.

"I'm not about to walk into a room full of strangers without doing background. Constant vigilance!" Moody jabs his staff into the floor right in front of you and Harry. As the class jumps, Harry studies Moody's scars. 

"Girl Weasley!" He exclaims. Your eyes rake up to meet his with anxiety swimming in your irises. 

"Sir?" you gulp.

"Don't think I didn't research your background as well." Moody makes sure of that.

"I don't doubt you did, sir." your eyes fail to maintain eye contact. 

"Twin sister of Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes, sir."

"Always alert?"

"I would think so-"

"Bossy?"

"I-... I would suppose I am-"

Moody speaks to Harry. "The devil likes disguises. Never forget that." He nods. Harry remains transfixed. Finally, Moody moves on. You let out a hitched breath and slouch your tensed shoulders. 

"He's right, you are bossy." Harry smiles mischievously. Your eyes shift to look at his and you make no comment, which is highly unusual for you, given your nature. Harry's smile disappears when he notices your irregular breathing and the tears welling up beneath your eyelids. He assumes you didn't take Moody's comment well and he'd taken it a step further. You turn away and Harry reaches for your shoulder cautiously. 

"Wait, Y/N, I-"

"Again, Granger. How many curses?" Moody speaks again and Harry instinctively shuts his mouth. 

Hermione hesitates, noticing the glossy nature of your eyes before she realizes she's being spoken to. She steals once last glance at you before she turns to Moody. 

"Three." She replies. 

"And they're so named...?"

"Because they're unforgivable. The use of any one of them..." Hermione's voice shakes. 

"... will earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban, correct. Now, the Ministry says you're too young to see what these curses do, I say different! You need to know what you're up against. You need to be prepared. You need to find another place to put your gum besides the underside of your desk, Mr. Finnigan!"

Seamus blinks, caught in the act. He whispers to his desk mate. "Blimey. The old codger can see out of the back of his head..." Moody whirls around and chucks the chalk he was writing with in Seamus's direction.

"... and hear across classrooms! So. Which curse shall we see first? Weasley!"

"Y-yes?" Ron gasps and jumps to look up at Moody. 

"Give me a curse." Moody implores pressingly, his artificial darting from the board to Ron hastily. 

Ron watches uneasily as Moody returns to the specimen jar, reaches inside and lets the spider run up his hand. 

"Well... our dad once told me about one... the Imperious Curse." Ron falters, voice wavering. Lory nods grimly to herself, Ron's statement evoking a memory of long ago. 

"I expect your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a fair bit of grief some years ago. Perhaps this will show you why." Moody unsheathes his wand and aims it carefully towards the fidgeting insect.

"Imperio!"

As Moody waves his wand, the spider leaps from his palm onto Dean Thomas's desk. The class begins to giggle, and the giggles turn into roaring laughter as the spider hops from Dean's desk and into Crabbe's face, who exclaims in horror and reaches up to swat the spider from his face. 

"Don't worry! She's completely harmless." Moody assures with a small smirk playing on his face.

The spider flies across the room and lands on Paravrti's hand, who immediately ceases her laughter and exchanges her amused expression for one of terror with a mixture of horror. She stiffens and freezes at the contact, heavily exhaling as the spider crawls up her arm and dangerously close to her face. 

Moody cackles in amusement as he directs the spider to hover dangerously close to Ron's face, who whimpers in terror. 

"If she bites... she's lethal!" Moody grins with a playful wave of his wand, causing the spider to drop on Ron's face, who's eyes widen to the size of saucers as his body stiffens. Moody laughs once more, true delight gracing his features. 

Draco's laugh sounds prominently through the classroom and snatches Moody's attention, who doesn't enjoy the smug look gracing his features. 

"What are you laughing at?" Moody challenges, hurriedly waves his wand to cause the spider leap through the air and land directly on Draco's face, causing him to yell in horror. 

"Serves you right, Malfoy." you turn in your seat and grin childishly at him. Once the spider finally removes itself from Draco's face, he doesn't hesitate to glare intently at you, smugly sitting in front of him. 

"Shut your mouth, blood traitor." he growls. You merely shrug, your heart hammering in your chest with confidence. 

"Talented, isn't she? What should I have her do next? Jump out a window? Drown herself?" One by one, the students' smiles dry up.

"Scores of witches and wizards claimed they only did You-Know-Who's bidding under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Here's the rub: how do you sort out the liars?" Moody rapidly wets his lips, stating intently at the class. The statement sinks into the minds of the students as it falls silent for moment, if only just. 

"Another!" Moody urges. He scans the forest of hands, when his eye rotates with particular interest on... Neville.

"It's Longbottom, is it? Professor Sprout tells me you have an aptitude for Herbology." Moody mutters quietly to Neville as he towers over his desk.

Neville nods shyly, then answers. "There's... the Cruciatus Curse." he stutters nervously.

"Yes. Particularly nasty." Moody exclaims. He steps forward, looming over Neville and drops the spider onto his desk.

"Crucio!"

The spider twitches, legs trembling violently. Moody stands utterly motionless, eyes fixed on Neville, who seems transfixed on the spider's misery. Lorelei's contorts in sympathy for the creature as it whines and screeches, her eyes squinting shut to obstruct her sightline of the writhing spider. Hermione's eyes drift from the spider to Neville's hands, which are clenching the corners of his desk so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

"Stop it! Can't you see it's bothering him?! Stop it!"

Finally... Moody drops his wand. The room falls under a solemn silence. 

"Um... perhaps you could give us the last Unforgivable Curse, Miss Granger." Moody stands at her desk, drops the spider from his hand to her desk, and stares at her expectantly. Everyone's eyes are trained on Hermione to catch her response, especially you. 

Hermione glances at you and shakes her head insistently. 

"Avada Kedavra!"

There is a flash of green light, a rush of air, and the spider... rolls onto its back. Dead.

"The killing curse. There is no blocking it. Only one person is known to have survived it. And he's sitting in this room."

As the others turn their eyes on him, Harry looks up and sees Moody studying him. Moody's tongue nervously probes the corner of his mouth as he takes out his flask and turns away. Harry's eyes drop tot he spider, lying motionless.

"Bugger off, you lot. Nothing to see here." you shoo off the tables around you and the students avert their eyes elsewhere in the room. Harry is silently grateful. 

You, Harry, Ron, and Hermione drift from the class. 

"Brilliant, isn't he? Completely demented, of course, and terrifying to be in the same room with, but he's really been there, y'know? He's looked evil in the eye." Ron gushes. 

"I think he's cruel. Did you see Neville? I though he was going to-" Harry lets out a short warning whistle before you can continue: up ahead, within earshot, Neville stands by a stained glass window, his face running in rainy blue light as he gazes vaguely beyond. 

"Neville....?" you gently touch his shoulder. 

Clunk! Clunk! Moody limps past them and places a leathered hand on Neville's shoulder. 

"It's alright, sonny. You come with me. We'll have a cup of tea in my office." Moody leads Neville away. Harry and the others head off themselves. 

Set within the glass pane is an ancient witch fashioned out of blue glass, her "skin" running with rain. A tiny fissure mars the glass below one eye. She looks be crying. 

A bitter wind sweeps crystalline sheets of rain from the roof. Far below, Cedric Diggory dashes toward the Great Hall.

Inside the Hall, the goblet flickers eerily at the top. A group of underclassmen- Harry and Ron among them- stand by as their older classmates submit their names. Hermione clutches a copy of Triwizard Tragedies. You nudge her. 

"You're only going to worry yourself sick with that book, you know." you inform curtly, eyeing the book. 

"People have gotten splinched in this Tournament! More than once!" Hermione exclaims in horror. 

"Splinched?" Dean Thomas inquires. 

"Dunno. But it doesn't sound good." Seamus exhales anxiously. 

"Potter." Cedric nods to Harry and drops his name. Ron raises his hand in greeting, but Cedric is already dashing back into the rain. Ron frowns, drops his hand, and glances back to the Goblet. 

"Eternal glory. Be brilliant, wouldn't it, three years from now, when we're old enough, to be chosen?" Ron dreams. 

"Better you than me." Harry grins and Ron nods knowingly. 

"Better not be either of you, you hear me?" you warn the two. Ron rolls his eyes. 

"You're not the boss of me. I am two minutes older." Ron brags. The group groans. 

"Not this again." Hermione goes back to her book. 

"Oh, two whole minutes older. What an accomplishment. You probably pulled me by my heal to get out first." You retort in exasperation. Ron scowls. "Did not!" He exclaims. 

You’re about to continue the argument when, just then, Fred and George come striding forth, looking very pleased indeed. 

"Well, we've done it, lads." Fred announces proudly, almost smugly. 

"Cooked it up just this morning." George smirks. They hold up twin vials. 

"It's not going to work..." Hermione informs in a sing-song tone. Everyone turns. Hermione flips a page in her book. 

"Yeah? And why's that, Granger?" The twins arrive either of her sides. 

"Because a genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by a dodge as pathetically dim-witted as an Aging Potion." Hermione informs with an annoyed expression. 

"That's what makes it so brilliant. It's pathetically dim-witted." Fred's playful smile never falters. 

"Go on, then." you challenge. 

"Ready Fred?" "Ready George." "Bottoms up!"

As one, they top a gooey green liquid onto their tongues and, with great drama, cross the golden line encircling the Goblet. As they drop their names, everyone waits. And waits. Fred and George grin and hive five each other and...

... are ejected high in the air, out of the circle and flat on their backs, whereupon little white beards sprout on their chins. Everyone laughs.

"You said!"

"You said!"

The twins lunge at each other, limbs tangled as they wrestle each other into submission, blaming the other for their shared misfortune. Then Seamus stops laughing. Then Dean. Harry. Ron. You. Finally, when no one is laughing, Hermione looks up and sees what has silenced them:

Victor Krum.

He drops his name, glances at her, briefly, then lowers his head and slouches away. Hermione watches him go, briefly, then returns back to her book. 

"What do you suppose that was?" You lean slightly to whisper in Harry's ear, who shrugs. 

"No idea." he answers with little interest. Ron, on the other hand, is close to glaring.

The House tables crackle with anticipation as, overhead, the enchanted ceiling swirls with dark clouds. At the Tall Table, the staff awaits, Moody among them. Dean Thomas dashes up to the Gryffindor table.

"Did you hear?! Not a single student from Beauxbatons submitted their name." he exclaims. 

"What!?" Ron gasps. Harry and Ron glance to the Ravenclaw table, where Cho sits next to an empty seat. Ron looks crestfallen. 

"Oh, rubbish, one of them must have submitted their name." Your expression changes from determined to confused when you realize that none of the Beauxbaton students are anywhere to be seen.

"They've gone home!" Ron declares, bewildered and disappointed. 

"I can't say I'm surprised. Those girls were just a tad high-strung, if you ask me." Hermione's triumphant smirk is unmissable, and you pat her on the shoulder with the same type of smirk. 

Suddenly, there is a stir at the back of the Hall and the Beauxbaton girls, chins held high, stride single-file into the room, past the House tables and up to the Goblet of Fire where- one after another- they deposit their names. As a final flourish, tiny Gabrielle Delacour casts a handful of pixie dust into the Goblet, which issues a pink cloud of rose petals. The Hall rings with whistles and cheers. Ron beams. 

"Oh, for crying out loud." you slouch in your seat at the display. 

"I love it when they do this..." Ron sighs with a dazes expression overtaking his features. 

"Do what?" Hermione demands. 

"You know... walk together."

"Thank you, ladies of Beauxbatons, for that enjoyable but of theatre. Now... the moment has arrived." Dumbledore draws his wand and gives a great sweeping motion. Instantly, the torches lining the hall gutter, then die. The only light comes from the blue-white flames of the Goblet. 

A hush descends. Then... the flames crackle and turn red. A charred bit of parchment flutters from the goblet and Dumbledore plucks it out of the air.

"The champion for Durmstrang is... Victor Krum." A storm of applause accompanies Krum from the Slytherin table to the top of the hall and into the adjoining chamber.

"No surprise there!" Ron scoffs. 

Once more, the Hall grows quiet, all eyes on the Goblet. The flames turn red. A second piece of parchment, a particularly feminine parchment, floats free.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour."

"I'm telling you, they don't make them like that at Hogwarts." Ron shakes his head and whistles through his fingers- a touch too loudly, and you whack him harshly upside the head. Hermione glowers at him.

"And lastly, the Hogwarts champion." A beat of stressed silence passes. "Cedric Diggory!"

"Silly git..." Ron grumbles as the Hall erupts in cheers. 

"He's meant to be quite smart, actually. And he's a Prefect." you nod curtly. 

"Like that's a good thing..." 

"Excellent! We now have our three champions. I'm sure I can count upon all of your to give your full support to each and every-"

A collective gasp cuts Dumbledore short: the flames in the Goblet of Fire have, once more, turned red. Moody's eye rotates. A fourth... and fifth shred of parchment flutter forth. For a moment, Dumbledore simply lets them float in the air, regarding it suspiciously, then he takes them.

"Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley." He announces grimly. 

Your face falls and your heart stops beating for a moment. The blood drains from your face and you turn to look at Harry, who's utterly confused as well. 

There is a moment of suspended silence. Then every eye in the Hall turns toward you and Harry. Incredulous, Ron searches your face for some explanation. Finally, Hermione whispers:

"Go on, you two." Hermione places her hand gently on the small of your back to push your up. 

You and Harry rise stiffly and you begin the slow walk past the house tables. As you come level with the tall table, Harry catches sight of Dumbledore. He is not smiling.

[vivithefolle]

Ron’s greatest acts of bravery

An itty-bitty butthurty Harmony shipper reported this answer of mine and got it deleted by the Quora moderation. Naturally, I have contested this decision, but my appeal has been unanswered as of now. So here’s what we’re going to do, folks: I’m gonna repost this answer of mine here, where no angwy widdle Hawmony shipper can censor it. And y’all are going to spam the reblog button until people can’t go in the Harry Potter tag without finding this answer reblogged at least five times over. Good? Good.

(this is totally a demarcation line I don’t know what you’re talking about)

What was Ron Weasley's greatest act of bravery in any of the Harry Potter movies or books?

We of course have the mythical “I’ll be a knight” but that’s so easy. Ron would die for his loved ones any day of any week, because that’s how stupidly selfless and self-effacing he is.

There is the equally mythical “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!” which reeks of badassery and awesomeness, but it has also been quoted before, and to be fair that wasn’t one of Ron’s greatest acts of bravery. Oh, yes, it is incredibly brave, but Ron has plenty more of those to give.

One that is often forgotten is “He beat you!”, spoken to Voldemort in the flesh, which also highlights just how far Ron has come from the beginning of the series - because unlike what the haters want you to believe, Ronald Weasley has an actual character arc. An arc that keeps getting reseted and postponed in-between books because his author is too busy trying to make her Mary Sue look better instead, but he has one, and it’s so perfectly illustrated by this:

"... and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about be ing a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort" Ron gasped. "What?" said Harry. "You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people --" - Philosopher’s Stone

—-

"Malfoy's dad must have told him," said Harry, ignoring Ron. "He was right in Voldemort's inner circle --" "Say You-Know-Who, will you?" interjected Ron angrily. - Prisoner of Azkaban

—-

“My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again." "Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth. "And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. - Goblet Of Fire

—-

"You see?" said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where he lay. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!" "He beat you!" yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.

From the boy who flinched at Voldemort’s name, to the man who was the first to sass back to Voldemort when the latter dissed his best mate. To say nothing of the fact that this was the first time Ron ever saw Voldemort in the flesh. Ron had never seen Voldemort before, yet the second Voldemort says something about Harry, Ron is up in arms and ready to kill the Dark Lord with his bare hands.

We could go with the tested-and-true “follow the spiders”. Unlike in the movies where Harry immediately sees a trail of spiders and Ron follows moaning and bumbling all the while, in the books Harry and Ron are comfortably in the castle when they decide to follow. Ron has the time to psych himself up, to terrify himself into imagining the spiders, and was given the time to backtrack a million times over. But he didn’t. This one Tumblr post has said it all.

Yes, “Follow the spiders” is probably one of Ron’s bravest moments, but…

But, but, but.

There’s more.

Sure, I absolutely adore Ron and can’t choose between all those awesome moments he has to his name, because they’re all so wonderful. From the ones that highlight just how much he’s grown and developed in spite of his own author treating him like an afterthought; from the ones that showcase just how good a kid he is, how much he loves and fights for his friends; all those moments that show that no, Ron Weasley isn’t a fair-weather friend and anyone who calls him that needs a high-five in the face with a block of concrete…

Out of those moments, out of them all, I have to pick something that is too often forgotten, too often glossed over, even by those of us who love Ron.

I’m talking, naturally, of his return.

Harry had no strength to lift his head and see his savior’s identity. All he could do was raise a shaking hand to his throat and feel the place where the locket had cut tightly into his flesh. It was gone. Someone had cut him free. Then a panting voice spoke from over his head, “Are—you—mental?”

Whether you think that Ron “abandoned” Harry and Hermione, whether you think that Ron is a traitor or a man with the patience of a saint who put up with Harry and Hermione’s bullshit for too long. Whether you think the three times Harry told him to leave were a factor or whether you place the blame solely on Ron’s shoulders.

Ron comes back to save Harry’s life.

But not only that.

“No!” said Ron. “No, don’t open it! I’m serious!” “Why not?” asked Harry. “Let’s get rid of the damn thing, it’s been months—” “Because that thing’s bad for me!” said Ron, backing away from the locket on the rock. “I can’t handle it! I’m not making excuses, Harry, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it made me think stuff — stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse. I can’t explain it, and then I’d take it off and I’d get my head on straight again, and then I’d have to put the effing thing back on—I can’t do it, Harry!” He had bakced away, the sword dragging at his side, shaking his head.

Ron came back, even though he knew it would mean being with the thing that had tortured him all this time.

The thing that latched onto all of Ron’s weak spots, cultivated them, weaponized them, used them to push Ron closer and closer to the edge, until he couldn’t take it anymore and snapped. (Funny how some will act as though Hermione’s birds were her “snapping”, but when Ron is holding Voldemort’s soul in his hands and going insane under their very eyes they just say “hurr durr teh locket didnt do nuthin”…)

And with this thing preying on him, tormenting him, Ron did what any rational, sane human being would have done when their abuser forgets to lock the door.

He opened it and ran.

But, but, but, and that’s where the bravery comes in.

He came back.

He knew there was this thing that preyed upon him relentlessly, a thing that managed to make him believe his best friends didn’t want nor cared about him, that his entire existence amounted to nothing, that he was just a waste of space nobody wanted around.

“Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence... We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption —”

“You mother confessed,” sneered Riddle-Harry, while Riddle-Hermione jeered, “that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange...” “Who wouldn’t prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him,” crooned Riddle-Hermione

Ron fled from this sort of abuse, from this sort of torture, then he decided to come back for more.

Because even though he believed his friends didn’t need him, even though he thought his friends were better off without him, he still wanted to make himself useful. He still wanted to help.

And once he’d saved Harry, he was back to facing the entity that has been torturing him, and that entity proceeded to show off Ron’s deepest, most shameful secrets… to his best mate.

Ron’s entire self-esteem is tied to the way his loved ones perceive him:

“You did brilliantly, Ron!” This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands; Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.

The image the Mirror of Erised showed Ron was one of glory and fame… or was it?

"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head boy!" "What?" "I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too."

Being Head Boy and Quidditch captain. He could have seen himself being crowned World’s Best Emperor if he wanted, with legions of fans throwing himself at him, but that doesn’t happen.

Instead he sees himself being like Bill. Like his cool older brother. And Quidditch captain, like his other cool older brother Charlie.

What Ron wants… is to make his loved ones proud.

Ron defines himself by the way his loved ones look at him.

When Malfoy calls him an idiot he scoffs because it’s Malfoy. When Hermione calls him an idiot, though…? Ouch.

And now all of Ron’s secrets, all his feelings of inadequacy and inferiority that he has tried to keep quiet throughout the series out of respect for Harry, his deepest fears… They’re all there for Harry to see, for Harry to judge, for Harry to feel disgusted by. Because how dare Ron Weasley have problems, how dare Ron Weasley be envious of Harry Potter, whose life is nothing but suffering?

Ron’s greatest act of bravery, to me, was coming back, even though for all he knew Harry and Hermione had hooked up while he was gone (they’d never, of course, but how could he know?), even though he knew it would mean being up for Round #2 of his private torture sessions with Voldemort, even though he believed he wouldn’t be welcome…

He still came back. Because it was the right thing to do.

Anyone who’s gonna tell me that Ronald Weasley isn’t loyal to the core can suck on a cactus.

[searchingwardrobes]

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 3/11

So this is where things really start to shift from the original, and this is probably one of my favorite chapters. I probably worked harder on it than any other! This is also where Neverland mythology begins to come into play. Right before starting the rewrite-a-thon, I re-read J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan to my eight year old. The famous line “all children, except one, grow up” really hit me for the first time. Wait a second, all children except one? Every version of Neverland I had ever seen, from the cartoon, to Spielberg’s Hook, to Once, portray Neverland as a place where no one ages. But that’s not what the novel says!! Then, later on, the book casually mentions that the Lost Boys are constantly changing because some get killed in battle or - get this - Pan “thins them out” when they get too old. Umm . . . say WHAT? So here’s where my story gets dark with a super sadistic Pan . . . and I’m not sorry. At all. (mwhaha)

If you haven’t noticed, all chapter titles come from Peter Pan. They are either chapter titles in that book or phrases from the book. This one, mocking kisses, actually refers in the novel to Mrs. Darling who has a “mocking kiss conspicuously in the right hand corner of her mouth” which it says not even Mr. Darling or her children can get from her. There’s tons of interpretations for that, none of which have anything to do with how I’m using it here. Here, it has to do with growing up and awakening sexuality, and of course - you know - actual lip locks. So it’s not all dark in this chapter . . .

I’ll stop being an English Lit teacher and shut up now. Except to thank, once again, the incredible mods for the @captainswanbigbang and to my betas - @shippingtheswann , @optomisticgirl , and @distant-rose . This chapter especially deserves massive thanks to Ro for her pirate expertise! And be sure to follow the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-thon because ALL of the fics are incredible!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian

Words: A little over 7k in this chapter (all chapters will be rather lengthy from here on out)

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 16

Emma lies in bed, wide awake, staring at the wardrobe across the room. It looks eerily familiar, though she tries to tell herself that’s crazy.

Her new foster family seems incredibly nice. Even the two boys who are the couple’s real children seem excited to have her here instead of jealous. The mother even seemed embarrassed when she showed Emma her room, explaining that it used to be an office, so it didn’t have a closet. She hoped Emma liked the wardrobe she had found at an antique store.

Emma stares at the wardrobe now and thinks of Martha. Another kind foster mother and another wardrobe, almost identical to the other? Happy coincidences like that don’t happen. At least not to Emma Swan.

She huffs and rolls over on her side, and tries not to think about the little boy with the soulful blue eyes. He was just an imaginary friend. A figment of her hurt soul and bruised heart. Her hand hovers over her cheek, and she inwardly berates herself. It was just a peck on the cheek, and she was ten for heaven’s sake! Correction, there was no peck on the cheek because it wasn’t real.

Because now that she’s 16, she knows better. Friends don’t just fall out of the sky – or wardrobes. And real kisses are an enormous disappointment. Like Tom Pierce when she was 13, her first kiss playing spin the bottle at a Halloween party. All she can say about that is that it was wet and sloppy, and he had bad breath. Then there was Robby Eddleston at the school dance last year. She thought he actually liked her when he asked to talk privately behind the bleachers. Then she was pinned against the wall while Robby shoved his tongue unceremoniously down her throat. But a quick knee to the groin had quickly taught Robby that she wasn’t an easy score.

Emma punches her pillow now in irritation. It’s ridiculous that an imaginary kiss to the cheek has been her best yet. Pathetic, Emma. She decides to push thoughts of the wardrobe and that pair of blue eyes from her head.

She’s just drifting off when a familiar creak reaches her ears. She ignores it, assuming she’s already dreaming. But then she hears footsteps padding softly across the hardwood floor. Emma squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Is someone standing over her, or is that her imagination? Then a hand softly touches her hair, and her eyes fly open as she sits up quickly. Her green orbs meet blue, and she gasps in shock. It startles her so much, her hand seems to act on its own and she slaps him across the cheek - hard.

“Bloody hell, Emma what was that for?”

“Killian?” She swallows hard. “I thought . . . I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, you’re real?”

He smiles, even as he rubs his red cheek, and it lights her up inside. “Liam didn’t think you were real either when I finally told him about you. But when I saw that wardrobe in the captain’s quarters, it looked so much like the one from when we were kids, I had to try.”

Emma winces. “Sorry I slapped you.”

Killian shrugs. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

Emma stares at him unabashedly by the light of her bedside lamp, taking in how much he has changed. Gone is the scrawny little boy, though he is still of slender build. Just like last time, he’s wearing a nightshirt that hangs to his knees, but she can still see defined muscles in his arms and legs. His chest is broader, and his shoulders are squared back, stronger and more confident than when he was ten. His hair has gotten darker, and it’s longer, hanging down in his eyes so badly, Emma itches to push it back. It also hangs down so close to his shoulders, that he could pull it back in a low ponytail if he wanted to. His freckles are less noticeable, and his complexion is more tanned, making his azure eyes spark even more than she remembered.

“I hope the Captain doesn’t catch me. I could be whipped for being in his quarters. Though it will be worth it, now that I’ve seen you again.”

He ducks his head as he realizes that he’s been chattering on and on, and Emma feels bad for him because she knows she ought to quit staring and say something already. He pushes his hair back from his face, and when he does, Emma notices his ears. They are slightly pointed, almost elf-like. They’re adorable.

He’s adorable.

He’s also cold, she realizes as he rubs his arms and curls his toes into the hardwood floor. Emma lifts the edge of her blankets. “Come here, you’re freezing.”

Those adorable ears of his turn red at her offer and he gapes for a minute like a fish. “That would be bad form, lass. Liam says I should always be a gentleman.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “First off, if you’re that worried, you’ll definitely be nothing but a gentleman. Second, I can take care of myself. If you get handsy, I’ll just put you in your place like I did with Robby Eddleston.”

“Who’s he?” Killian asks as he slides under the blankets next to her.

“Just a jerk who shoved his tongue halfway down my throat without permission.”

Killian’s eyes darken to a stormy, steel tinted cobalt. “He did what?”

Emma shoves him in the shoulder, “Calm down, jeez. I told you, I can take care of myself.”

“What did you do?”

“Kneed him in the jewels,” she says with a shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.

He grins at her with obvious pride, “That’s a tough lass.”

They fall silent for a moment, and then Emma finally whispers into the dark, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came back.”

“No need, love,” he quickly assures her, “though I was worried what had happened to you.”

Emma picks at the comforter spread across their laps, “Martha died of a stroke, and I had to go someplace else.”

Killian reaches for her hand, and her movements still. “I’m sorry. I know you said she was a good woman.”

Emma nods, swallowing down the pain. She turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Did you get my bunny?”

“I did, thank you,” he nods, “though I regret to say that he ended up in Davy Jones’ locker. My master at the time called me a baby for having it and tossed it out to sea.”

Emma cringes at the word “master,” but Killian doesn’t miss a beat in the telling of his story. “Davy Jones locker?” she asks. “People really say that where you’re from?”

Killian looks confused. “Seamen do.”

“Oh . . . “ she trails off, her brow furrowed as she tries to make sense of the difference between his world and hers.

“Nevertheless,” he continues, “I can’t tell you how much that small gesture meant to me. It had been so long since I had a plaything. Anyway, how has this new home been?”

Emma looks around her at the still unfamiliar surroundings. “Well, I haven’t been here long, actually. I’ve been bounced around a lot of places since Martha, and most haven’t loved me as well as she did. Except Sarah, until I found out she was crazy.”

“Crazy? How so?”

Emma groans at the memory. “She thought I had magic!”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Why is that crazy?”

“You can’t be serious! I mean, she almost got me killed.”

Killian shrugs, then gestures with his hand at the wardrobe. “I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?”

She huffs out a breath. “Well, okay, yes, you and I . . . that’s hard to explain. But me being like Hermione Granger or something? No way.”

“Hermione who?”

Emma laughs as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know, Harry Potter.” He just blinks in confusion. “Books. About wizards and witches.”

“Oh,” he says with a nod, but she can tell he’s still a bit confused, and no wonder. When they were ten, he didn’t even know what a movie was. Emma finds his confusion surprisingly endearing.

Emma leans against Killian’s shoulder with a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and my pathetic life? What’s been going on with you?”

Killian secedes to her wishes and begins to speak. He tells her about discovering rum for the first time at thirteen, and then gambling with dice and cards at fourteen. “I’m pretty good,” he brags.

Emma tilts her head up and grins at him saucily, “I’m sure you are.”

He swipes his tongue along his lower lip in a way that is simply unfair, then continues telling her about letting Liam down at every turn. He weaves a story of a storm at sea where all hands are lost but he and Liam; a story that has her hanging on his every word. This leads to him and his brother joining the Navy at 15 and 17, respectively. Emma turns her head again, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t fifteen awfully young for that?”

Killian shrugs, “Some join as powder monkeys at 11 or 12,” he tells her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His words remind her once again that their wardrobe connects two very different worlds. She also still wonders if Killian travels through both space AND time. His world seems so old-fashioned compared to hers. “I’ve caught on fast, though. So has Liam. He’s a lieutenant already, and many of the sailors think he will be the youngest yet to make Captain. I’m still just a cabin boy, but my Captain says it’s only because he likes the fine job I do. He’s talking of promoting me soon. This time, I won’t let my brother down.”

They both fall silent for a moment. Emma’s not sure what to make of their bizarre situation. Emma doesn’t want to contemplate what it means if he’s actually 300 years old or something and no longer living in the 20th century, so she decides to change the subject. She turns her hand so their palms are touching and laces her fingers with his.

“What kinds of things have you had to learn? Like sailor’s knots and star charts and stuff?”

“Aye, and other things, too. I’ve had to learn cartography and geography. And languages, too. Greek was the hardest.”

“You know Greek? Like Zeus and Poseidon and all of that?”

The smile he gives her almost seems teasing, “Of course.”

Emma pokes him in the side and grins when a laugh spills from his lips. “Say something in Greek for me.”

His face turns suddenly earnest as he gazes into her eyes and says, “Omorfi kopella.”

“What does that mean?”

He blushes and ducks his head. His unfairly long lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he answers. “I said you were beautiful.”

Killian brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb and then leans towards her. Emma meets him halfway. His lips are soft and warm against hers, and their touch makes her heart soar in her chest. This is what she had always imagined a kiss should be. It’s nothing like kissing Tom Pierce or Robby Eddleston. Killian tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers thread through her hair, and Emma sighs into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are a midnight blue as he rests his forehead against hers.

“The thoughts I’m having right now aren’t very gentlemanly,” he confesses huskily.

Emma chuckles. “Good,” she tells him, thumbing his lower lip, still moist from their kiss.

A bright shaft of light falls across her bed and Emma groans. Killian cups her face in both his hands. “I wish I could stay, but –“

“Your brother,” she finishes for him. She looks long into his eyes. “I get it. You’re all each other has.”

Killian nods and brushes one more brief kiss across her lips as he rises from the bed. He bows to her, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. She giggles, and he gives her a slightly roguish smile.

The last thing she sees before he disappears inside the wardrobe is the look of longing in his blue eyes.

“They remind me of Martha’s forget-me-nots,” she thinks to herself, “but sad, too.”

Killian: Age 16

“Get up here, little brother!”

Killian grabs his naval jacket and dashes up the ladder to the deck, grumbling under his breath about it being “younger” brother not “little.” It especially bothers him when Liam is speaking as Lieutenant Jones and not just family. Yet it seems Liam isn’t the only one loose with naval order at the moment. When Killian climbs out of the hold, he finds the rest of the crew chattering excitedly, gazes tilted upward.

“Killian!” Liam calls, racing to his side. “You almost missed the excitement!”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, but the captain gave me a new sextant to plot our course, and it uses star charts I’ve never seen before.”

Killian’s eyes scan the ship’s deck, his eyes landing on the men wrestling to hoist an unusual sail. He blinks, thinking surely he must be seeing things, but as the sail rises, he finds it is, in fact, made of feathers. In the center of it is the symbol of a horse with wings.

“This sail,” Captain Roberts announces from his place on the quarter deck, “is made of feathers from the wings of the famous mythical horse Pegasus.”

“Captain!” the gunman shouts breathlessly. “Enemy ships off the port bow!”

The Captain ignores the announcement and turns to Liam Jones. “Lieutenant, plot our course!”

“Should we prep the canons, sir?” the gunman asks, confusion clear on his face.

“There will be no need,” Captain Roberts dismisses with a mysterious smile, “where we are headed, they can not follow.”

Killian glances at his brother, who heads for the ship’s wheel, but Liam looks just as confused as he. Killian rushes to the railing along with several other men of lower rank. They lean forward to watch the cannonballs from the enemy splash with a mighty roar into the water a safe distance away: warning shots.

Killian almost loses his balance as the Jewel of the Realm creaks and sways, his stomach dropping. His eyes widen as he sees the ocean fall away below. He and the rest of the men gasp as the reality sets in - the Jewel is airborne.

“Quit gaping and man your stations!” Captain Roberts shouts. “We’re heading to Neverland!”

There’s a quiet murmur after the announcement, even as the men scatter to their duties. Most have never heard of such a realm, while others whisper excitedly of a place they once visited in their dreams as children. The whispered tales seem far-fetched to Killian: a place where your dreams come true, where you can eat chocolate cake all day long, swim with mermaids, and even fly? Even at ten, he would never have believed it.

Of course, a magic wardrobe that takes you to the girl of your dreams seems far-fetched, he supposes. He grins as he remembers Emma’s lips on his, her soft cheeks beneath his calloused fingers, her silken hair tickling his jaw. He has to find a way to get back to her - hopefully tonight. He isn’t sure what this mysterious mission is all about, but surely the captain’s personal cabin boy won’t be needed for whatever it is. He only has to figure out a way to sneak into Captain Roberts’ quarters when the man isn’t there -

“Killian!”

He startles at the sound of his name, and Liam chuckles, clapping a hand to Killian’s shoulder. “Everyone else is mesmerized by our journey to the skies, yet here you are daydreaming.” Liam cocks his head as he regards his younger brother. “Oh no, it’s a lass, isn’t it?”

Killian blushes as he shrugs and returns to his work. “I’m just thinking.”

“If you say so,” Liam laughs as he tugs on Killian’s arm, “but don’t let your brooding cause you to miss this.”

Killian lets his brother drag him over to the railing. The ship cuts cleanly through the white, billowy clouds, with none of the swaying he’s become used to at sea. The air is crisp and a bit cold this high, and a particularly thick cloud suddenly envelopes them.

“Incredible,” Killian whispers.

“Brother, look,” Liam whispers back.

The clouds part, and the Jones brothers gasp as the world of blue and white becomes dark and gray. An island shimmers in the distance, surrounded by a blue-tinged glow. They lean further over the railing as the ship dips and begins its descent.

The Jewel of the Realm has arrived in Neverland.

******************************************

In front of Killian, over his brother’s shoulder, is an inviting beach with palm trees that sway in the warm breeze. Behind him, the Jewel of the Realm is shrouded in an unnatural fog.

“Don’t worry, little brother, it’s a simple mission.”

Killian doesn’t even bother correcting him on the “little” part. “Aren’t you the least bit suspicious? A ship full of navy men, yet only two boys can fulfill this task?”

Liam narrows his eyes. “At eighteen I am hardly a boy.”

Killian chuckles. “You better hope you’re wrong if the superstitions of the rest of the crew are to be believed.”

Liam scoffs. “I think it has more to do with the simplicity of the task. We get the plant, row back to the ship, and we’re heroes.”

Killian hopes his brother is right. Captain Roberts had Killian in mind all along to retrieve the plant, but it was supposed to be twelve year old Jim Hawkins in the row boat, not Liam. Unfortunately, the lad had broken his leg and had to be left behind at the last port. Killian tries to tell himself that the captain is just being cautious, like Liam said, tries to agree with his older brother that the tales about this place are just stories nursemaids tell to their charges at bedtime. Shadows that take you away to the island in your dreams, pixies who blow their dust on children to make them fly, mermaids that drag lazy children to their deaths - it’s all surely nonsense.

They beach the row boat, and Liam slings his satchel over his shoulder. Inside is a sketch of the plant they are looking for. Killian narrows his eyes at the shadowy jungle before them. How are they ever to find one single plant in all this vegetation?

He and Liam hear the movement at the same exact moment and spin as they draw their swords. Standing before them on the beach is a lad about Killian’s age, dressed in a tunic made of green leaves and breeches crudely made of animal skins. The smile he gives them is full of mischief and something a bit more sinister. Killian’s spine crackles with suspicion. He glances at Liam, and it’s clear his brother doesn’t see the boy as a threat at all as the elder Jones casually lowers his sword.

“Is there a king on this island, boy?”

The lad smirks. “Just me.”

Killian narrows his eyes, and the boy glances his way with a knowing grin. Liam pulls the sketch out of his satchel.

“We’re looking for this plant, do you know it?”

The boy’s eyes widen. “Dreamshade? Of course I know it. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with it. It’s the deadliest poison.”

Liam scoffs. “It isn’t poison, it’s medicine.”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Who told you that?”

“My captain.”

“He lied. This captain must be quite the ruthless killer. Nothing causes suffering like dreamshade.”

“What’s your name?” Killian asks.

“Killian, don’t waste your time, he’s just a child.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “I’m about his age. Am I just a child?”

“My name is Peter,” the boy tells them, a gleeful laugh spilling out of him, “and if you’re tired of them trying to turn you into men, you can come and play with me and my lost boys.”

“We don’t have time for games,” Liam mutters.

“Suit yourself,” Peter tells them with a shrug, “if it’s dreamshade you seek, then you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

Then, with a crowing laugh, and to the utter amazement of both Jones boys, Peter launches himself into the sky and speeds away upon the clouds back into the recesses of the forest.

“Okay,” Killian says slowly, “clearly that particular rumor was true.”

“Let’s just get this plant and get the bloody hell out of here.”

“I agree to the getting out of here part, but maybe we should proceed with caution about the plant.”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Surely you don’t believe that boy over our own captain.”

Killian’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never trusted Captain Roberts completely, and besides, Peter is a native of this island. Perhaps we should -”

“Killian,” Liam cuts him off, “you don’t trust anyone.”

The smile his brother gives him softens the words, and Killian smiles back. “I trust you.”

“Then trust me in this,” Liam says with a slap to Killian’s shoulder. “Without order, without discipline to your superiors, this navy life won’t work.”

Killian wonders, not for the first time, if that’s the very reason this navy idea is a better fit for Liam than it is for him. Nevertheless, he sighs in resignation. “I’d follow you anywhere, brother, you know that.”

And with a nod of understanding and trust, the two of them plunge into the deep woods. The jungle is dark and damp, and Killian only has the trust in his brother’s navigational skills and his compass to find the way. Killian grips said compass in his sweaty hand, pushing aside the tendrils of fear that seek to grip his heart. There’s something ominous in this jungle, and he has the feeling they’re being watched.

Liam squints down at the sketch in his hand. “I thought the boy said this plant was abundant here.”

“Perhaps we’ve -”

Before Killian can finish his sentence, a crowing shout fills the air, and filthy boys drop from the branches above them and burst from the thick foliage on all sides. Some have arrows notched to the bows they carry, others have spears resting upon their shoulders, while still others grip daggers in their fists. All of them have smeared their faces with mud and are garbed in either bits and pieces of the nature around them or tattered remains of clothing. They snarl and gnash their teeth more like animals than humans. He and Liam pull out their swords, but they are completely surrounded. Some of the boys only reach as high as Killian’s hip, clearly only eight or nine at the most. The last thing he wants to do is kill children, even if they do appear savage. The circle of boys part to allow their leader through.

“May I introduce you to my lost boys,” Peter grins. “This island is ours with no grown ups to tell us what to do.”

Liam shakes his head. “All we want is the plant. We told you.”

Peter tilts his head as he steps closer. “You’ve already grown up.” He turns to Killian. “But you - you could join my crew. I can tell you like to play.”

For one, dreamlike moment, Killian wants to tell Peter yes. No expectations, no responsibilities - it sounds wonderful. Playing sounds nice, too. He hasn’t played since his mother passed, and when was that? How old was he? He can’t remember anymore. The parents who were supposed to be there for you and protect your innocence left, leaving you at the mercy of rough hands and sinister eyes. Grown ups were the people who stole your childhood, who tossed your plaything into the deep, dark sea. He thinks of the stuffed rabbit Emma gave him, pure white and soft, bobbing farther and farther away from him. His mind can almost see it, with that bright pink ribbon. His heart beats wildly, he sways where he stands, and -

Liam steps closer, his shoulder brushing up against Killian, and it’s that contact that snaps the sixteen year old out of it. Yes, his brother. He can’t let Liam down.

“Never.”

He expects Peter to scoff, get angry, or turn on him. Instead, his gaze takes him in and a slow, sinister smile plays across his face.

“We’ll see.”

Casually, Peter turns to one of his crew and takes the spear the lad holds. With a subtle gesture, he gives the boys a command, and they all relax their postures, holding their weapons loosely. Pan spins the spear playfully as he turns back to Lieutenant Jones.

“You still trust your captain, lieutenant?”

“Always,” Liam insists.

Peter lifts the spear and taps it gently against Liam’s chest. “Let’s test that, shall we? That plant you seek? The tip of this spear has been coated with its sap. Your captain says it is medicine, I say it’s poison. Who should you trust?”

“Liam,” Killian pleads.

Liam lifts his hand to still his brother. “I have no reason to trust you, boy.”

Peter’s eyes flash with a mixture of bloodlust and glee as he slashes the spear brutally across Liam’s chest. Liam cries out and stumbles to his knees, hand to his chest as blood stains his shirt. Killian shouts and falls to the ground beside his brother.

“Just a scratch,” Pan laughs, practically bouncing around them. The lost boys join in his revelry, spinning and giggling maniacally.

Liam groans and falls back, his body shaking. Killian catches him in his lap. Through the gash in his shirt, the wound on Liam’s chest is turning black around the edges and vines of black extend outward, spreading across his torso.

“What’s happening to him?” Killian shouts at Peter.

“Dreamshade poison. I told you. He’ll be dead in minutes.”

Killian goes pale as he looks at the boy in shock. It isn’t so much the casual way he spoke the words, but the spots of red in his eyes and the pleasure curling his lips.

“K-Killian,” Liam gasps, reaching towards his little brother with a trembling hand. Killian takes it and clasps it as tears stream down his face.

“Stay with me, brother,” Killian weeps, then he looks frantically at Peter. “Save him! Please!”

The boy shakes his head. “No one can be saved from dreamshade.”

“Killian,” Liam says again, wincing against the pain, “I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sor-”

His voice cuts off and he goes limp in Killian’s arms, his hand slipping out of its hold and falling to the ground.

“No!” Killian screams. “No, no, no!”

He cradles Liam’s still form to his chest, rocking back and forth. Sobs wrack his body. He doesn’t know if the lost boys are still there or what they are doing. The whole world could fall apart and he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really. I tried to warn him.”

Killian’s head snaps up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Anger fills his veins, but when he speaks, only despair colors his words. “He was all that I had.”

“I know,” Pan replies in a voice that almost sounds sympathetic. He crouches down next to where Killian still clutches his brother’s form. “And now that he’s gone, you finally have the look that all my lost boys share. The look of someone who is completely and utterly alone. An orphan.”

********************************************

Killian watches Pan through the flickering flames of the campfire. The branch of a sapling rests in Killian’s lap, and his fingers twist a vine around each end to make a bow. Pan plays a song on his pipes, and several of the lost boys dance about to its melody. The song calls Killian, urging him to cast aside his pain and join the dance.

But he won’t let himself.

He squints up at the sun. He guesses it’s been about thirty three hours and . . . around twenty minutes since the lost boys tossed Liam’s body into the sea. Thirty three hours and twenty minutes without Liam. His entire life, Liam has been there, and now he’s gone.

Yesterday at dawn, he snuck down to the beach. The rowboat was still there, but the Jewel of the Realm was no longer a hulking form shrouded in the fog. He had taken the rowboat out - not for long and not far - and the ship was nowhere near shore. Surely they hadn’t flown away on the Pegasus sail. Surely they would wait longer than that before giving up on the Jones brothers. He guessed they had simply sailed out of sight or found a cove to hide in. Yet despite his hopes, it’s obvious that his captain cares little for mere boys. No search party has been sent, and Killian doubts it ever will.

Peter reminds him often that Liam’s death is the captain’s fault. The fault of every grown up on that ship, actually. They never cared about you. They never believed in you. Did you really think they would let you be a hero? There’s truth to Pan’s words, Killian knows this, and he’d be lying if he said hatred for his captain didn’t burn within his breast. But he’ll also never forget that it was Pan who sliced the spear laced with dreamshade across his brother’s chest. He’ll never forget Pan’s gleeful smile of satisfaction or the spots of red in his eyes as Liam’s blood seeped his naval shirt.

Killian eyes Pan across the fire now. The dance has reached a feverish pitch, and Killian already knows, in just thirty three hours as a lost boy, that the dance will soon fall apart into a wrestling match. Killian also knows that his only hope for survival is to play the part of a lost boy. Yet despite the naval blue ripped at the knees, despite the way he crowed when they set his naval jacket on fire, despite the mud smeared across his cheeks, Killian will never stop hating Peter Pan.

“Has Peter showed you how to lace that with dreamshade?”

Killian turns to the boy who has plopped down next to him. They all have names, but he can’t remember this one. His black hair is curled tightly against his head, his teeth seem white despite their filthiness against his dark skin. Freckles are barely visible across the bridge of his nose, and his brown eyes seem different somehow from the other boys.

“You forgot my name already didn’t, you?” he chuckles. “It’s Starkey.”

“Right,” Killian mutters, biting off the end of the vine that holds the arrowhead in place.

“There’s a trick to the dreamshade so you don’t nick yourself,” Starkey continues despite Killian’s unfriendliness. “Pan doesn’t always warn the boys. Thinks it’s funny.”

Killian casts a curious glance Starkey’s way. There’s definitely something in those mahogany eyes . . .

“He’s a bit sadistic, isn’t he?” Starkey asks, and Killian gets the impression he’s testing the waters somehow. The lad swallows, glancing nervously to where Peter is crowing over the inevitable wrestling match. “All boys but one grow up,” Starkey almost whispers.

Killian’s heart beats faster as he stares into the flames. “You mean,” he whispers back, not looking at his companion, “the others do?”

“I’m near thinning time,” Starkey replies, “so are Nibs and . Some are oblivious though. Ruffio, for example, he’ll no doubt stay faithful to the bitter end. I hate the look in their eyes when we turn on them.”

Killian turns his head in shock, but Starkey is slipping away into the jungle already. Starkey has obviously told him these things for a reason. But why?

As the next few weeks go by, he and Starkey have more whispered conversations, and Killian is surprised how quickly they become friends. Starkey’s tale is similar to his own, having spent time as a slave on a schooner. The only difference is that his parents were murdered and he was kidnapped, a trauma that Killian is sadly able to imagine now that Liam bled out in his arms.

Slowly, as the days go by, Starkey brings more boys into his confidence: Nibs, first, then Jooks, Noodler, Cecco, and Curly.

A hunting crew returns with a boar to roast, and that night there is a feast and a wild rumpus to follow. Though there is no alcohol, the whole thing reminds Killian of how he used to act when he’d drink too much rum. Killian feasts, he dances, even plasters a smile upon his face, but it’s all a show for Peter Pan. He can’t stop thinking of his brother for one, but there’s also Starkey’s cryptic words : thinning time.

Killian plops down, exhausted, and grabs a coconut to guzzle some of its milk. As he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, he sees Pan at his side, leaning forward and scrutinizing his face. It takes all of Killian’s willpower not to startle back. For a long moment Peter studies him, and it causes a chill to run down Killian’s spine. When Pan finally speaks, his voice holds barely contained anger and a trace of shock.

“You have a mocking kiss in the corner of your mouth.”

Killian blinks. “Wh-what are you talking about?” His mind goes to Emma, of course, not that she is ever far from his thoughts. Especially now with Liam gone, he longs for the wardrobe in Captain Roberts’ cabin and fears he may never see it again.

“There,” Pan accuses, pointing with a dirty finger, “perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner. How did I not see it before?”

Killian glances around nervously as the party noises have gone silent. Several lost boys have drawn closer, concern furrowing their brows.

“He has a kiss, Peter?” one of the boys asks.

“Kisses are dangerous!” another one gasps.

“Yes,” Peter answers, his eyes narrowing with a faint glimmer of red, “a mocking kiss, and one he’s very fond of too.”

Killian swallows hard as he rises to his feet. The lost boys seem to be closing the noose around him, and he looks around frantically. There seems to be no choice but to fess up, hope for mercy, though Peter doesn’t seem the merciful type.

“So I’ve kissed lasses. So what? I’m 16!”

“No,” Pan hisses, “not lasses. One lass. A special lass.”

Killian clenches both fists, his face flushing at the way Pan spits out the words. Emma is special, and he won’t deny it. Ever.

“We don’t like girls,” Peter snarls, “they fancy themselves your mother, making you wash before meals and putting you to bed at a proper time.”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Um . . . I think you’re a bit confused.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He couldn’t help his sass, has rarely been able to help it.

“Your brother was obvious. He’d already chosen to grow up. But you, you tricked me. You can’t be a lost boy with that kiss always mocking me.”

Killian knows a heartbeat before it happens that the lost boys will fall upon him. What he doesn’t expect is to find his old naval sword in his hand or for Starkey, Nibs, and several others to fall in line just behind him. He glances at Starkey right before the two sides clash, and the other boy winks at him knowingly.

Those on Killian’s side are all older, but they are fewer in number. And Starkey was right, not all the other boys close to thinning time are willing to turn on their leader. Rufio is the oldest and fiercest fighter, his loyalty to Pan clear in his gaze and his willingness to die. Killian guesses he is seventeen, and he’s broader and taller than Killian. Nevertheless, Killian has naval training with a sword. He holds back, however, unwilling to slaughter little boys, no matter the situation. Yet when he finds himself face to face, blade to blade, with Rufio, something shifts. Pan may not want his boys to grow up, but Rufio fights like a man. Unrefined and a bit desperate, but with strength and muscle behind it.

All skirmishes cease as the sound of the blades clashing draws everyone’s attention. Ruffio fights dirty while Killian has been taught to fight like a gentleman. At first, Rufio’s style seems to be winning when he trips Killian then flings sand in his face. Yet Killian’s training has given him muscle memory, and even with his eyes burning, he acts instinctively.

Killian’s blade pierces Rufio’s heart. The boy’s eyes widen in shock before he hits the ground, blood spreading quickly across his chest. The lost boys are silent. Chest heaving, Killian turns towards Pan, lifting his blood-stained sword.

“I have a crew of my own now,” he tells the demon child, “and we’re leaving.”

Pan narrows his eyes, and before Killian can register what’s happening, he’s taken flight and making circles around him. Pan lands just behind Killian and startles him when he speaks.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow mutiny in my ranks.”

Killian turns to face Pan, ready for a fight, but is unprepared when Peter plunges his hand into his chest. Killian gasps and chokes as Pan squeezes. Then he tugs and with a sharp pain, yanks Killian’s heart out. Killian’s mouth hangs open in shock as he presses his hand to his chest. There’s no blood. How is there no blood?

Pan lifts a glowing red object and holds it in Killian’s face - his heart. It pulses, bright red, with tiny swirls of dark flitting through it.

“Look at this, Killian Jones, you have a touch of darkness in your heart.”

Killian doesn’t know what to do, he can scarcely comprehend what is happening. He’s heard rumors of witches and warlocks who could steal a man’s heart. He never expected it of this boy, however. Killian drops to his knees as Pan squeezes his heart.

“I could crush it right now and end you,” Pan mocks gleefully, “but since you attempted to steal my crew, I’m thinking of a more fitting punishment.”

Pan leans forward and slams Killian’s heart back into his chest. In the same moment, Peter’s other hand snatches Killian’s abandoned sword and he brings it down upon Killian’s wrist, slicing off his left hand. Killian screams in pain, holding his severed appendage to his chest as he falls backwards. Starkey catches him and helps him to his feet, Nibs supports him on the other side.

Pan kicks at the lifeless hand where it lies upon the ground. “They say a vein runs from the heart right down to the tip of your left hand. Fitting don’t you think?”

Pan and his loyal followers melt into the jungle, and Killian doubles over in pain. “Leave me,” he grits out to Starkey and Nibs.

But the two former lost boys in addition to the few others who had stood at Killian’s back refuse to leave him. They drag him through the jungle in the opposite direction of the rest of Pan’s crew.

***************************************

Killian Jones stands at the top of the highest peak in Neverland. The last month has been a time of healing for him. Healing from losing his hand. Healing from the loss of his brother.

But the thirst for revenge? That hasn’t waned.

Killian looks down at the curve of metal at the end of his left arm. His jaw clenches as he gazes upon it, then back out to sea. His new crew had taken him to a couple of fairies - Tinker Bell and Tiger Lily. They had enough pixie dust between them to help him heal, though it was still a long, slow process. No amount of light magic, however, could give him back his hand.

“Hook?”

Killian turns to where Starkey stands further down the hill. That’s what his crew calls him now: Hook. His blue eyes gaze back out to sea at a familiar speck of white on the horizon.

“Get the crew together,” he tells his faithful friend. “We have ourselves a ship.”

**********************************************

For only the second time in his life, Killian Jones has bloodied his sword. Killing Rufio had been largely in self defense, and he had felt sick as he watched the boy’s life blood stain the ground. He doesn’t feel sick now as he strides amongst the naval crew he used to be a part of. He and his new crew had fought ruthlessly, and now their remaining enemies have been tied and gagged.

“If you don’t want to die today,” Killian announces, “you can pledge allegiance to me, Captain Hook.”

A choking laugh escapes the gagged mouth of the Jewel of the Realm’s captain. Killian’s eyes flash when he hears it, and he strides to Captain Roberts. He leans down and yanks the gag from the man’s mouth with his hook.

“Is something funny?” he snaps.

“You are still nothing but a boy.”

Killian leans close to the man’s ear and speaks to him in a whisper. “Really? Is that why you sent my brother and I like lambs to the slaughter? You sent mere boys to retrieve your poison?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the navy.” Roberts turns and spits in Killian’s face.

Behind Hook, his new crew of former lost boys gasp in shock. Their new leader stands erect, calmly wiping the spittle away with his handkerchief.

“What about loyalty, Roberts? When my brother and I didn’t promptly return, you sailed away and left us.” Killian clenches his jaw. “I see Hawkins is back on board. Were you returning to send him to this accursed island? Still a coward?”

Killian doesn’t need the man to answer; he knows it to be true. Hawkins stands behind him, shoulder to shoulder with Starkey, his arms crossed as he coldly assesses his captain. Killian catches the boy’s eye and Jim nods his approval before Killian hefts his sword and plunges it into Captain Robert’s shoulder. The man flings his head back and screams. Seeing the blood spill upon the deck as he pulls the sword back reminds Killian of Liam, and filled with rage, he stabs the man in the other shoulder. Whimpers color the man’s grunts of pain.

“What do you want?” he manages to choke out.

Killian raises his hook and plunges it into the man’s chest. “I want my brother back, you son of a bitch.” He twists his hook viciously before yanking it out, and the man’s lifeless body crumples to the deck.

Silence reigns on the deck as Captain Hook calmly straightens, wiping his bloody hook clean on his handkerchief. “Raise the black flag!” he shouts to Starkey. “This ship is now the Jolly Roger!”

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​  @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

[chaoticartwork]

Like Peas in a Hive Pod

———————

In the halls of the HQ, a Titan roams the halls seemingly searching for something. He scratches his horned helmet and sighs, and begins to move towards the other end until he bumps into a Hunter by accident. Within a split second of running into her, he feels something odd. It feels as though he’s on constant guard, and the reek of the ozone is creeping into his mask. ‘This feeling is so familiar...is she?” He thinks to himself.

The Titan immediately grabs the girl by the arm to lift her off the ground and back to her feet. He excitedly clasps her hands together and exclaims: “You’re just like me!”

The hunter frowned a bit in confusion. She knew what this strange Titan fellow was talking about with the words 'just like me', the familiar feeling of loneliness and distance, as well as the twinges of pain in her back made it that more obvious. However she wasn't sure if she wanted to acknowledge and agree with him or deny his statement. She kept her silent and just observed for now.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Her ghost popped in between them to help her out.

The Titan immediately realizing what he did in the middle of the excitement. “Oh! I’m sorry! My name is Leon.” He steps back and bows quickly. “I apologize for my abruptness. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

"Leon?" The ghost turned to the hunter, wondering if she knew him. The woman shrugged back in response. "Well... Good day to you then." The floating thing said to the Titan and they turned their backs and walked off.

“Wait!” Leon calls out to her. “You and I have the same...affliction...I guess. Do you want to be friends?” He puts his arms on his hips. Even though he’s wearing a helmet its obvious to tell he’s smiling.

The hunter looked and frowned once more. Affliction? Same? She was doubting how accurate that described the two of them.

"Hmm..." Once again, it was the ghost that spoke up and not the hunter herself. "Don't you find that... dangerous to be talking about to a random person you just met?"

He stops for a moment. “I guess so, but this is my friend’s clan. I trust the people in it!”

The hunter's frown deepen, seemingly disapgreeing with his choice. But it was his, and at least he didn't meet anyone who will backstab him one day. This clan houses a variety of people. And these people, though guardians, don't all hold up to the honor that most mortals portray them to have.

They have people who abuse the broken rules of the crucible; People who hog all the power ammo in matches, any type of matches, because they want to be the star of the show, and will yell at others for taking their spotlight in any way;

There are people who lack focus, or have no patience, they jump from one thing to another and achieve nothing in the end; There are people who win by framing their achievements just right to make themselves look mighty, when in reality, their scores aren't impressive;

There are people who are rude, who uses their mental illness to gain sympathy and care from others, but when they get what they wanted, they will abandon those whom had once helped them; There are ass-lickers, boot-kissers, blind trend followers...

And there certainly are *backstabbers*. To put it simply.... The clan, regardless of branch, doesn't really do much screening before people join. It's always after do they find out the rotten piece of shit in the bowl of the steaming hot soup.

"Don't." The hunter finally spoke up. "You are not safe here."

He looks at Polaroid confusedly. “I can’t really confirm that, but hey someone who is going through what I’m going through is here, plus my dear friend!”

He takes off his helmet revealing his awoken face and green eyes. “I don’t plan on joining, I’m just visiting.” He smiles. “So do you want to be friends?”

The hunter looked at him. She had no reaction for him revealing his awoken identity. At this point in her guardian life, things are just not really that surprising or interesting anymore.

"Friends seem a bit.... abrupt." She spoke with caution. Her ghost backed down once she started talking, almost like she had an authority over him. "But we can get to know each other when given the chance. My name is Polaroid, by the way. If you find that hard to pronounce, just call me Camera. Same thing."

“Polaroid...Polaroid...that sounds so familiar.” He thinks for a moment. “Oh! I have a polaroid!” He pulls out a locket with a square. It opens showing three guardians with their arms around each other: Chaox, Leon, and a female hunter with blonde hair.

He shakes his head. “I’m getting off-topic. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Polaroid!”

The hunter felt like the man might pick her up and whirl her 'round and round at any given moment with all the energy he emits.

"A pleasure." She said. "So you're friend is...?" She didn't get to see the picture that well before he excitedly put it back to... wherever he pulled it out from. Either or, she would assume that he's here to meet the friend and is lost, that's why he bumped into her.

Leon’s face saddens. “Chaox...he’s my friend, but I haven’t seen him in years.” He slaps his face in an attempt to get rid of the sadness. “But enough at me, what about you? You’re a member of this clan right?” His smile returns.

"I barely interact with people of this space nowadays, but... yeah. I am." The hunter doesn't seem to be happy about anything, nor was she ever giving a straigh answer. "I'm the information desk worker in this clan." She wasn't lying, but she also weren't telling the whole truth.

“Really? Huh, so you meet a lot of people right?” He makes a serious face for a moment. “How’s...how’s Chaox doing? Is he okay?”

Polaroid paused. The last time she had ever talked to Chaox was when he heard about her take corruption. It was all over the news. Some people even formed hate groups and had plans to 'hunt her down', or so they claim. The hunter's friends were protective, and Chaox was... well he was interested. But after that, they didn't have interaction or contact.

"He's fine, I think. I meet a lot of people, but it gets to a point where you meet too many come and go, you forget who everyone is, you know?" She guided him towards Chaox's room, up the elevator, down the hallway.

“Here...we are.” He looks visibly nervous. Leon takes a deep breath in and blows it out. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Polaroid. If we can talk again about our...issues. I’d love to hear your story.”

He knocks on the door, and scrunches his eyes. No response. Another knock. Nothing. “Ah...this is embarrassing. He may not be here.” He chuckles. “All that deliberation and worry for nothing.”

Polaroid thought about what the Titan said. "Your story first." she said in response to that. She then knocked on the door as well. "Chaox?" She said softly, as if anyone could hear her from the other side of the door.

“Haha, I suppose that’s fair.” He smiles, but his expression turns serious again. “I was possessed by a hive wizard while searching for more hive knowledge. While in my body, they hurt and betrayed people who I was close with, and started a lot of the issues on the moon.”

He sighs. “They then went to the infinite forest to try and steal the vex’s knowledge, but Stera and Chaox beat them out of me. I wandered the forest for a long time, met Saint-14 and became friends. And well, here we are!” He smiles. “Also, I’m sorry if this is all too fast. I mean we just met a couple of minutes ago, and here I am demanding to be friends.” He laughs.

"It's nice to have people whom you can count on to keep you in check." the hunter said, mumbling her words. She took a deep breath in and out. "I..... " She was still unsure of telling her own story. "I was shot in the head by a taken sniper, and since then, I can see and talk to Taken creatures that are in another plane. I can even see if people are taken corrupted. And trust me, there's more than people think."

“Huh...how interesting. You never would guess it.” Leon hold out his hand. “It truly was a pleasure meeting you, Polaroid. If you ever want to talk to someone again to someone who knows what your going through, give me a call!” He writes out his frequency on a screen he pulled out. “It’s also nice meeting a new friend.”

The woman shook his hand without hesitation. She nodded, and quickly, they parted ways.

———————

Another fun little rp between @zennore and myself!

[crispychrissy]

Escape - Part 1

Summary: Sam knows what he needs, and he’s lucky enough to know exactly where to get it from. Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Castiel, several OC’s Word Count: 1392 Warnings: Fluff, talk of SPN canon violence A/N: So, I didn’t really announce this because the idea attacked me out of the blue, but I’m planning on making a small drabble series about Sam’s adventures here if everyone likes the idea. I’m not going to spoil anything up here because I want you all to read it and make your own assumptions as you go. This was looked over by my two lovelies @saxxxology and @bamby0304. Please let me know if this kind of story is something you might like to see more of. :)

Sam’s sneaking out again.

It’s the fourth time this month, but he knows he needs it. Dean would judge him for it, Cas wouldn’t understand, and Y/N would probably want to know more details than he feels comfortable sharing. It’s easier for all of them to be out of the loop. It’s not like he’s going to be gone for an entire day. He can always pick up a few groceries on the way back to cover any suspicions they may have… nothing weird about going for a supply run.

Sam bought a motorcycle, thanks to one of his stolen identities, and every time he leaves, he wheels it out of the garage and down the road before starting it to make sure none of the bunker occupants hear his departure. Out of the all the memories he obtained while he was soulless, the knowledge of how to ride a motorcycle was probably the most useful. He definitely would love to forget being such a sex-crazed douchebag, though, that’s for sure.

About halfway down the long driveway to the bunker, Sam staddles the Yamaha and turns the key, making it rumble to life with a low purr. Pulling on a helmet, he throws his backpack over his shoulder and loops his arms through the straps before driving off down the road to the main street that runs through Lebanon.

The ride is usually pretty boring, the scenery in Lebanon isn’t really all that interesting, but Sam loves feeling the rumble of the motorcycle beneath him, grounding him, making his breathing even out and his mind settle. He understands now why people buy motorcycles. The feeling of the wind whooshing by and being unconfined by the metal of a car is freeing, and he wonders if Y/N would ever want to come riding with him.

His destination is only twenty minutes away, a straight drive down Route 36. Sometimes he plays a game with himself, counting trees or counting how many farmers are out riding tractors. Once, he counted how many religious billboards lined this stretch of road, smiling to himself and wondering what those zealots would do if they met a actual Angel. Or God, for that matter.

All too soon, Sam’s driving along the short worn brick road to his destination. The old sandy brown building covered in sun-faded posters sits back a bit from the brick road, and he remembers her smile when he made a Wizard of Oz joke, even though she’s probably heard them all before. Man was he lucky to find her, it’s not every day when you can find someone that’s familiar with the life, but isn’t in it. Someone who can understand the short amount of time you can spend with them, and someone who doesn’t mind being interrupted by a case that needs his attention.

Sam pulled into one of the parking spots to the right of the building and turned off his motorcycle, dismounting it and sliding his helmet onto the left handlebar. Running his fingers through his coppery locks, Sam swallows hard, trying to will the nerves away. It isn’t the first time he’s done this, but it’s the first time he’s really going to go all out. It’s the first time he’s going to share his full complicated history with her.

With a quick exhale full of nervous energy, Sam walks to the front of the building, pulling off his sunglasses and stripping off his heavy jacket as he steps inside. The cheerful blonde named Kelly behind the counter gives Sam a long look up and down before settling her eyes back on his own. She does this every time, much to Sam’s discomfort. The flirting is something he’s grown accustomed to, but he’s there for one reason and one reason only, and focuses on the woman he’s been dying to see for the last few days.

“Hey, Sammy,” Kelly chirps, making Sam grit his teeth at the high pitched frequency of the bubbly blonde’s voice.

“It’s Sam,” he grounds out, unamused.

“Come on, just admit it, Sam. One of these days you’re going to come by just to see me instead of her, right?” Kelly asks hopefully, her expression falling once Sam shakes his head.

“I’ve only got eyes for one girl here, Kel,” Sam smiles, watching her narrow her eyes at the use of her least favorite nickname.

“Kelly, leave the poor guy alone,” a male voice scolds from one of the side doorways, and Sam smiles as the man steps into the room and looks at the younger Winchester. “Hey Sam, she’s all ready for you, I’ll walk you up.”

“Thanks, Alan,” Sam nods, following the younger heavyset man as he leads Sam up the stairwell to the left of the desk Kelly sits at. She winks at him and waves as he walks away, and Sam only rolls his eyes.

They walk in silence for a few moments before Alan speaks up. “Man, I don’t know what you do that makes you so special, but she never drops everything to see anyone… except when it comes to you. One day you’ll have to tell me your secret.”

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told anyone, would it Alan?” Sam laughs as they reach the top of the stairs. Alan holds his arm out, directing Sam into the familiar room, and he takes a seat on the pull-out sofa bed, usually preferring it over any of the other furniture in the room.

“She’ll be in in just a second,” Alan turns to walk away, but stops and points an accusatory finger at Sam. “And remember, you only pay for an hour, so you only stay an hour, okay? Last thing I need is a repeat of two weeks ago.”

Sam nods sheepishly and raises his hands in front of him. “Understood, sir!” He does a lazy salute and smiles as Alan laughs and turns, disappearing from the doorway.

This room has slowly become Sam’s favorite ever since he’s began coming here. It’s warm, welcoming, and doesn’t loudly scream what kind of services go on behind closed doors like most other places do. He shifts and slides off his backpack, setting it down along with his jacket next to him on the futon.

But then he’s nervous again. It’s like the second he steps over the threshold into this room, everything becomes real. He anxiously rubs his palm against his thigh, mentally reminding himself he needs to have Y/N work her stain-removing magic on this particular pair of jeans; he’s only now noticing the dozens of faded droplets of blood that are dotted along the material from the rough vampire hunt last week.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor makes his head pop up as he looks expectantly at the doorway. The woman he’s been waiting to see rounds the corner with a bright smile on her face. Today, she’s wearing a white blouse with a navy skirt, and has her raven black hair tied up in a loose bun at the back of her head, probably due to the sweltering Kansas summer temperature outside. She nods at Sam, who also returns the non-verbal greeting, as she walks over to her desk and grabs a few supplies.

“I’m so happy to see you again, Sam,” she coos, her voice as smooth as honey on a hot day. It immediately puts Sam’s mind at ease and his body loosens up as of the tension he holds deep in his muscles fades away.

“I’m happy that you were able to see me on such short notice,” Sam replies, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“It sounded like you needed it,” she nods as she turns around and walks over to the chair across from the futon. “Vampire hunt, right?”

“Yup.” Sam pops the p, watching as she sits down in front of him and crosses one leg over the other, resting a dark brown patient folder in her lap. “It was a pretty bad one. Things got dicey at the end and now Dean is mad at me. I don't really know what else to do, Dr. Davis.”

“Well then, let’s get to it,” Dr. Davis begins, pulling a pen out from behind her ear. “How does this type of problem typically make you feel?”

Forever: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @trashimaginezblog @jensen-gal @spnbaby-67 @mizzezm @there-must-be-a-lock @atc74 @mereka18 @pilaxia @supernatural-jackles @impala-dreamer @bambi95-blog @wonderfulworldofwinchester @batmmgray @brooke-supernatural16 @dwgrl1903 @hey-bxtch @turnttoverr @kittenofdoomage @leanbeankeane @emoryhemsworth @xalgaliareptx @mhnfatima @bi-e-ne @speakinvain @pebblesz892 @kararanae23 @kassablanca13 @mogaruke @tockettt @quiessilva-meriff @wildefire @waywardbaby @serienjunkiegirl @alexwinchester23 @mrswhozeewhatsis @stars-and-seas @jaremish @ellen-reincarnated1967 @nyxveracity @andkatiethings @bamby0304 @deathtonormalcy56 @winchesterprincessbride @adoptdontshoppets @moonstar86 @missihart23

Sam: @ronja-uebrick @be7van @hunterswearingplaid

[radiantcutice-blog]

Prison Break

Ten keys.

Not all of them are useful, not to Len, but the weight of them in his fingers is grounding, even more so than his gun strapped to his thigh. Barry had been aghast, of course, when Don and Dawn brought them to Len, but now Len wonders if they hadn’t known, somehow, that he’d need them. If it was really just a coincidence, or if it was something more. He hadn’t bothered asking, just thanked them softly, again and again, and promised he was getting their dad back.

Sam and Marc follow him up through the abandoned hospital wing to Iron Heights proper, surveying the cells around them as prisoners start to stir. Their time is limited; even with Barry playing along, Papercut and Folded Man can only keep him occupied for so long; so Len gets to work.

Blacksmith stays where she’s at- Len doesn’t have time to butt heads with Miss New Rogues, nor the patience to try and rein in her chaos. Murmur doesn’t get a second glance, either- he needs a breakout team, not a mass murderer.

The first person Len lets out is Girder, and it’s clear that it’s not out of any goodwill. He locks eyes with Woodward as he opens the door, breaking the airtight seal of his cell and watching the agony crawl across the metal man’s face. “Snart,” he creaks, lurching towards him, but Len keeps moving, letting Sam and Marc push the iron golem towards the Pipeline security that’s surely on its way. If he rusts away, good fucking riddance. Len has no sympathy for a rapist.

Abra Kadabra and Plunder both get passed over, Kadabra briefly meeting his eyes to sneer at him. The 34th century man has thrown in with the Light, and Len wants nothing to do with them, certainly not in a position where he’d be indebted to the shady fucks. He’ll get his people without throwing in with the death cult that nearly handed the world to aliens, thanks.

Plunder- well, Morillo’s just useless.

Len slows at Doctor Alchemy’s cell, rapping lightly at the door to draw his attention from his book. “Desmond.”

“Snart,” Alchemy replies, finger holding his page as he shuts his book briefly. “To what do I owe the honor.”

“Was wonderin’ if you were lookin’ to take a walk,” he suggests, and, while Alchemy sighs, he doesn’t go back to his book just yet.

“And what would incentivize this… walk, Leonard?”

He smiles, briefly. “Flasher’s takin’ it kinda hard over in the city proper. Heard Magenta was gettin’ called in to reinforce him.”

“How is Miss Kane?”

“One way to find out.”

Albert considers Len for another long moment before fully setting aside his book. “I think I’d like that.”

Len nods, unlocking the cell and lobbing the Philosopher’s Stone at Desmond underhand, the Heights-issued version of his costume melting from where it meets his glove outwards. Once he’s really dressed, Alchemy nods regally, striding past Len into the hall.

“Head for the abandoned hospital wing. There’s a tunnel out. And don’t let Girder follow ya, if you don’t mind?” Len suggests, chuckling as Alchemy makes a familiar face at the mention of Woodward.

“Certainly not,” he mutters, reaching out to touch Len’s parka lightly. “Tell your family, when you see them next, that I said hello.”

A nod satisfies him, and he turns to leave, slipping past Sam and Marc as they rejoin Len, past where Girder is engaging the Pipeline guards, and towards the exit.

Peek-a-boo is next, curled up in her cell with her knees to her chest, and Len knocks again, gentle, to get her attention.

“Lashawn?”

“Whatever you’re sellin’, I’m not buying,” she snaps, pulling in tighter on herself, and he sighs.

“Your pop’s at the top’a the transplant list. I figured you’d wanna get out to see him.”

That catches her attention and she stands, slowly, arms still wrapped around her torso. “What’s in it for you?”

“You see your family, I see mine.”

Len can see the doubt, can’t even blame her for it. She’s a good kid. “And after?”

“After, I got papers for you. Clean identity. You can get yourself back to school, see your dad every now and then- no strings attached. Even see what we can do about that metagene of yours.”

If she turns him down, Len’s willing to move on- it’ll suck, but he is. He figured he should at least give it a shot, though.

“One job,” Lashawn tells him, and he nods.

“One job, kid,” he agrees, unlocking her cell and giving her a wide berth to exit, Sam passing over her confiscated gear as their group keeps moving.

He doesn’t have a key for the final cell he stops in front of, and both Sam and Marc make disgusted little sounds, but they know they’re desperate. No one says a word, all regarding each other warily from across the glass.

“Your boyfriend know you’re here, Snart?” August asks casually, too casually, and Len doesn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“The Feds shoved my people in a swamp to rot. You wanna help me help them, or you gonna sit here and twiddle your thumbs like you couldn’t leave whenever the hell you want,” Len challenges, and the spark of lightning in Heart’s eye tells him all he needs to know.

“You letting me out or not?”

Scudder fires off a shot into the glass of August’s cell and steps through, reaching to grab the speedster by the wrist and yank him through into the hall with the rest. August raises his brows and tilts his head a little, obviously offering his collared throat for Len to do something about.

He makes an indignant noise when Len turns away. “Hey, cabr��n, forgetting something?” Heart calls, and Len would ignore him if not for the fact that he doesn’t hear his feet moving.

“I’ll take it off when we get where we’re goin’.”

That doesn’t make August any happier. “Really? Someone touches Baez and she blows, and you’re more worried about keeping me under wraps?”

Lashawn doesn’t look impressed by being dragged into this, and Len can hardly blame her, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking directly at Heart. “Baez hasn’t, to my knowledge, expressed interest in killing me before.”

The staredown lasts a good dozen seconds longer than Len would like, but, finally, August shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Marc snorts and Sam doesn’t bother hiding his grin as Len turns away again.

The screech of metal follows them out through the abandoned hospital wing and the tunnels- the screech, and the bellow of Tony Woodward in pain.

Maybe it says something about Len that he doesn’t even flinch.

They leave the Heights behind them, the sounds of fighting ahead in Central proper as Booker and Edwin keep Barry “occupied,” but the group turns towards Keystone instead, to one of Sam’s personal hideouts. He’s obviously still put out by bringing August, glancing over his shoulder with a slight sneer as he unlocks the door of the warehouse and hustles everyone inside and down to the basement.

One whole wall is covered in a mirror, and Len stares up at it as he waits for Sam to lock up and come downstairs, ignoring the heavy silence of their guests until Sam steps into his peripherals.

“Alright.” He turns, setting out the map of Belle Reve, created from his own stay and the twins’ memories, marked with guard towers, security cameras, and any other notes Len had deemed necessary, and begins laying out the plan.

Len counts down on his fingers and then signals for them to go, emerging simultaneously from four panes of glass on Belle Reve’s outer guard towers to take out all of them at once. It goes down without a hitch- Len can hear it over his earpiece, the quick confirmations from the others- and he looks out the window to see the dark clouds over the prison growing even darker, heavy with rain that starts to fall over the outer courtyard. There’s a ripple of unhappiness in the guards in the yard, noises of complaint coming over the tower radio, and they let it go on for a while before Marc increases the storm further, the distant first flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder signalling them to come down from the tower and meet.

When they’re in one place, he pulls one of Lisa’s devices from his pocket- his sister’s damn brilliant, not that Len didn’t already know- and deactivates August’s collar, scooping it up and shoving into an inner pocket of his parka. Heart’s whole body crackles with the familiar static of the Speed Force that makes Len’s hair stand up and his lichtenburg scar itch.

“Wizard. Give him a jump,” Len instructs, and both men glance at him, Marc in concern and Heart in confusion.

“You sure about that?” He nods, and Marc blows out a sigh, taking a moment to focus, eyes shut, more lightning streaking through the clouds over the prison to hide what he’ll do next.

Heart doesn’t look reassured. “What do you mean, a jump?” he asks, and Len can hear the tremor in his voice, used to hearing it when Barry’s stressed, the way he vibrates, trying not to just bolt.

“My wand manipulates electron fields,” Marc murmurs, opening his eyes- they, too, spark and glow with lightning, bright blue, and Len sees Lashawn step back in the corner of his eye. “I can turn potential energy into kinetic- what you speedsters run on. It’ll put you on top of your game, chabón.”

“M’already on top of my game,” Heart argues, but his interest is pretty obvious, and he takes a breath, glancing up and waiting for the next strike of lightning to let the Speed Force come over him, materializing his bright costume in a flash of white-gold lightning. His voice vibrates more now, Godspeed’s voice instead of August’s, and his gold lenses land on Marc. “Hit me.”

For the first time since Len suggested this, Marc actually grins- he can’t help being eager, and Len knows he’s been dying to test this theory for ages- and raises his wand, shocking August with the next lightning strike, blue mixing with Godspeed’s white until the speedster’s edges blur, glowing unearthly and wreathed with static. Lowering the wand again, Marc’s eyes return to normal, still grinning as he steps back.

“You alright, Godspeed?” His head moves- a nod, maybe?- and one speedster becomes two becomes three, and oh, Len hopes this wasn’t a mistake.

“Never better, Snart,” one of them answers, and Len nods curtly.

“You know your role.” All three move their heads- yeah, it’s gotta be a nod- and wait for the next crack of lightning to take off into the yard, disarming guards and knocking them out with a speed and precision that Len would take a moment to admire if he weren’t focused on the job. “Mirror Master, cameras. Wizard, storm. Boo, on me.”

They break, fluid, determined, and Len feels a pang of longing for the old days, when a small team like this would’ve been him, Mick, Lise, Sam, and Digger, just the five of them against anyone who got in their way. It’s so sudden that Len’s pace falters and Lashawn spares him a glance, but he waves her on, pulling the cold gun from its holster and powering it up as they pass the crumpled forms of guards, their dismantled weapons scattered in the mud.

He freezes his heart just like he does the prison wall, watching frost creep over the thick concrete as the beam of his gun reflects in his and Lashawn’s goggles until he releases the trigger, stepping back even further to let Baez do her part.

Standing close but not too close to the frozen wall, Baez shuts her eyes and teleports, the explosion sending brittle chunks of concrete flying through the air. A crack of thunder follows, and Len squints to see through the blinding explosion and the glow of lightning- Godspeed is there, one of him, at least, knocking aside shrapnel in a circle around Len and Lashawn and glancing over his shoulder when he’s done.

“Don’t get yourself killed. Barry would kick my ass,” he tells Len, and it almost seems like a joke, before he bolts again, leaving the duo to get back to their job.

Once the wall is down and Sam confirms he has control of the cameras, two of Godspeed dart ahead into Belle Reve, the clank of turrets and power suit pieces followed by the thump of unconscious bodies as Marc, Lashawn, a third August, and Len make their way in. Sam emerges from the dull shine of a polished metal “mirror,” making a face but not complaining as they head through the halls.

“How’s it lookin’?”

“Deadshot, Plastique, Frost, Bronze Tiger, and the Shark,” Sam relays grimly.

“We couldn’t have gotten any less?” Len grouses, the dull throb of a headache starting at the back of his skull. This is going to suck, but they’re going to do it. They have to. “If Waller lets Task Force X out, Heart, you’re on Bronze Tiger. He’s one of Waller’s enforcers on the team- least likely to listen to reason. Master martial artist, so watch yourself.” Heart nods and is off to help his doubles.

“Nanue shouldn’t be hard. Great whites fall into hibernation under a certain temperature, it’s just a matter of getting him there,” he murmurs, hand on the cold gun. “Peek-a-boo, I want you on Killer Frost. She needs to touch people to absorb heat-”

“-And touching me’s a bad idea,” Lashawn finishes. Not a hard conclusion to come to, but it still makes Len smirk when she does. “Got it.”

“Wizard-”

“Plastique,” Marc volunteers. “Same trick as Heart on her explosions.”

“I got Lawton,” Sam rounds out. “Wiz and I are gonna head for Glider and Top.”

Len nods and they split off to head for the thick glass that separates the two halves of the prison’s indoor exercise area, to the other side where the other Rogues await them. Lashawn keeps pace with Len, no longer faltering as he gets closer to his husband, freezing over unconscious guards to keep them down if they wake up before the job is done. It’s only when a bullet hits the ground in front of his feet that he stops his determined march, hearing Lashawn gasp as she nearly runs into him and hastily stumbles back, trying not to blow while Len searches for the source.

Deadshot waves down at him from a guard post and Len sneers.

“Hey, Snart.”

“Whataya want, Lawton, I ain’t got the time,” he snaps back, voice cracking like ice against the concrete walls, and Lawton raises his hands in innocence, showing that his finger’s off his trigger.

“The Wall was pissed you got to Boomer’s corpse before her. Could’ve been real useful to her,” Lawton drawls, and Len could shoot him, here and now, he really could.

“She wasn’t about to desecrate one of my people’s bodies.”

Lowering his hands again, Deadshot leans against the low wall in front of him, gun dangling in a loose grip that Len knows says nothing about how dangerous he is right now. “I know, Snart. I know.” He searches for his words, and, for once in the conversation, he seems sincere. “I’m glad she didn’t get him, either.”

Len eyes him for a long moment before Lawton nods, flicking on his safety and shoving his gun in the waistband of his prison orange. “My people and me didn’t see a thing. Never encountered you. Go get your family.”

Nodding back, Len gestures for Lashawn to follow, deeper into the prison until they reach the cell block, people gathering curiously at their doors, murmurs getting louder when they realize who and what this is.

Cries of “Cold” or “Snart” are ignored- voices he hardly recognizes or doesn’t care about, no, he’s not here for them- no, it’s the first tentative, tired call of “Lenny?” that grabs his attention.

“Motek,” Len breathes, and he’s at Mick’s cell in an instant, the bruises on his skin and under his eyes making Len’s heart ache, but the little smile he gives Len- god, he’s missed it. “Step back, Mickey.”

He does, his cellie taken back with him by a strong, scarred arm, and Len freezes the cell door, kicking one of the icy bars to watch the whole damn thing crumble.

Mick rushes him for a kiss, and Len grips him even as Mick shivers, even as the prison jeers and yells around them.

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks his husband when he pulls away, and Mick goes from lovey to his game face, confident strides leading Len to the other two Rogues scattered among the prisoners, each of them freed, collars deactivated, and joining the pack, their cellmates left to do as they please.

Len doesn’t stop them from going for the guards, embracing Hartley and muttering my boy into his long hair before bringing Roy in, too, slapping his back heartily as he lets go.

“Couldn’ta been any quicker about it?” Mick grumbles- Len knows, doesn’t snap back, just takes his husband’s hand and squeezes briefly before leading heading towards the rec area, getting a raised brow. “That ain’t the way out, boss.”

“Sam and Marc are getting Lisey and Ros, and we’re all meeting at the big glass,” he explains, the others’ eyes widening in comprehension and letting him push on, the crackle of static crawling up the back of his neck as they head further in.

Mick feels it, too, looks hopeful for a moment, but Godspeed skids into existence and his whole face darkens. “Him, Lenny?”

“I did what I had to, motek,” he answers, knowing that will be a whole other talk when they get home. “What’s going on, Godspeed.”

“Jump wore off,” he answers, voice still buzzing, but not as hard. “I can still maintain one other- he’s doing another round now. Be here soon. Guards are still out, but the cameras are starting to come back online.”

Len nods curtly, lets Heart flash ahead of them and follows the trail of lightning to the open rec space, face softening at the sight of his sister and her partner on the other side of the thick glass with Marc, Sam, and August’s double.

“Mr. Snart-Rory.” He turns to see Amanda Waller herself standing above them. “Did you really think this was wise?”

They stare silently at each other for a long moment before Len gestures to Sam, the fire of the mirror gun muffled by the glass wall, the Rogues on the far side vanishing into the mirror before the closer side ripples, Lisa’s hand reaching through. Hartley takes it first, disappearing through, and Waller can only watch Len’s people leave her impenetrable walls.

“I got a question for you, too, Warden Waller,” he answers evenly, watching Mick pass through before he steps up to the mirror. “Did you really think it was wise to cross the Rogues?”

He only narrowly stops himself from flipping her off before he steps through to the portal to go home.

[bookedbookshelf]

Revisiting Harry Potter After 12 Years: The Great, the Good, and the Bad

Some Background on Harry Potter and I...

When I was a child, I practically breathed Harry Potter. The books were everything to me. I used to connect every conversation around me to HP in every way that I could (to the great annoyance of my entire family.) But I didn’t care that I could see their indifference or that my older sister used to make fun of me for reading it. I didn’t care that I had annoyed her so much with the topic that she began to call it “Harry Pothead.” Harry Potter was my thing as a kid- a fixation I never quite got rid of, even as an adult. To this day, nothing can get me into a passionate debate the way that a Harry Potter-based conversation can. I watch the movies at least once a year with my nephews.

I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone for the first time when I was in the third grade. I had trouble reading chapter-books and writing during this time. Looking back on it, it makes a lot of sense that I was probably suffering from some kind of learning disability. If it was ever diagnosed, I’m not sure, but I had been going to a special reading and writing program twice a week since grade one. The purpose of putting me in this program was to try and keep pace with the other students around me who were beginning to read and write with a speed that I just could not match.

Even now, I remember how much it embarrassed me. I hated feeling stupid and like I lacked something the other students had. And so, when my teacher announced to my class that he would be reading Harry Potter to us during Story Time, I asked my father to purchase the book for me, so I could read along. It was a huge decision that I still remember the exact moment that I made it. That decision was the foundation for my love of reading. Reading Harry Potter, and struggling to keep up with my teacher, but doing it regardless, cemented my love for the books. It was the first chapter book I ever read cover to cover. When I put that book down, I no longer felt stupid. I felt accomplished.   

The number of times I reread the first three books are countless. I can confidently say I have read every Harry Potter book, except the last, more than four times. I have only read Death Hallows twice, once when first released in 2007 and again last month.

So, why did I wait so long to reread these books I so desperately loved and endlessly talked about?

I think I was afraid that I’d reread them and find faults and flaws that would make me become sad. I didn’t want to find a reason to distance myself from these books, I wanted them to remain this untouched relic of my childhood that turned me into an avid reader. I know so many people have the same story of learning to love reading because of Harry Potter. For me, it turned something I hated, dreaded, and pretended to do, into something I actively sought. Harry Potter changed everything about my childhood education and is probably a massive reason why I want to be an author today. I owe so much to these seven magical books about a boy who lived in a cupboard.

So...why, after all this time, did I change my mind? Why did I reread all of the books?

That sister who called it “Harry Pothead” finally decided to read them and when she told me that she was on the fourth, I was suddenly inspired to pick up my books and reread them too. And so I did, one after the other, cover to cover, first until last.

So...has anything changed? Is this series still a nostalgic favourite that cannot be touched by criticism for me?

Nope, but I still love them!

The Review: 4.5/5

Let’s start with the fact that this review is not spoiler free, as it has been...12 years since the last HP book came out. I feel that is a plentiful grace period and if you haven’t read it by now, I doubt you care much about spoilers. Even so, please take into consideration that this entire review is spoiler- heavy. 

Harry Potter perfectly captures a few things through the entire series: the pain of isolation, the importance of friendship, and the fear of failure.

But Harry Potter also lacks sorely in some areas and we’ll touch on that. While I will not be going book by book, because I was a dummy who didn’t consider doing this when I began to reread them, I will break down some of the major themes and what the series lacks or did poorly. Having flaws doesn’t make Harry Potter bad. Despite everything, these books are still like a 4.5/5, with just some nitpicky flaws from my perspective.

So let’s get started with what Harry Potter did well, in my opinion.

What I Liked...

Isolation and Character-Building:

All of the books captured Harry’s isolation perfectly. Through every novel, you wish that he still had his family and he didn’t have to fulfill an insane destiny that was thrust upon him the moment Voldemort saw him as a threat. As I am older, I understand Mrs. Weasley so. much. more. I understand why she worried about Harry so much, he was indeed just a boy.

As the novels go on, every loss that Harry suffers feels like a sucker-punch to the stomach, because you know Harry started out with so little and it feels like he is losing things for shock value. For good or bad, I can say that these books know how to tug at your heart and make you invested in the main character, as well as the side characters. One of the things that Harry Potter does best is its large cast of interesting and sympathetic characters. You even pity Voldemort’s origins and how he was created despite him being a monster of a man.

Magical World Building:

All of the books capture the wonder and magic of the Harry Potter universe with effortless beauty. There was pure genius in ensuring that Harry grew up like a muggle because it allowed us as readers to experience Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and all of the other magical places in the books, as Harry did. It allowed us to learn about magic as he did and it created a sense of being there beside Harry, learning as he did.

Never once does it feel like laws of the world are being peddled off just to catch the reader up to speed. This is something Rowling does amazingly and something I am so in awe of even to this day. Harry going to Hogwarts during his first year felt like we went with him and I’ll never forget how thrilling it was to read as a child.

Blending Other Genres into a Fantasy Series:

As the books go on, little mysteries are written here and there are truly very well executed. Especially in the Goblet of Fire, which always felt like a hybrid mystery/fantasy novel to me, as we’re trying to discover who put Harry’s name in the Goblet. Furthermore, as the books mature, so do the characters. Through book five, six, and seven, there is an aspect of romance, as Harry has fallen in and out of crushes a couple different times. I love that Rowling blends other book genres into the story very well.

Relationship Building:

As the books go on, the relationships between characters develop. Many people think Ron/Hermione was terrible, but I disagree. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Ron coming to realise he felt strongly for her and Hermione grappling with her gender identity and feeling invisible to both Harry and Ron as a female. I thought the Ron and Hermione love was actually well thought out and developed over several books, despite popular opinions.

Complex Characters:

Harry Potter has an array of complex characters, ranging from Dumbledore to Lupin, James, Sirius, and Snape. While there are characters that I despise with a bitter passion despite them being fan favourites (ahem, Snape,) I can still recognise that many of the villainous characters in HP are written BRILLIANTLY. I love me some problematic and interesting characters who keep you guessing (ahem, also Snape.) Brilliant writing, through and through.

Conclusion:

Overall, the story throughout the books is gripping and takes you through each page with absolute ease. The pacing of these books never lacked for me or dragged- the story was thoroughly gripping and entertaining, cover to cover.

But there are some things that could be better.

What I Didn’t Like...

What the Hell is Going on with the Magic System???:

Harry Potter is littered with magical inconsistencies and perhaps the MOST glaring is the Fidelius Charm. Let’s talk about Secret Keepers. Okay, we talked about it, they’re flipping stupid. I cannot express how much frustration these things have caused me over the years.

WHY DIDN’T JAMES JUST BE HIS OWN SECRET KEEPER IF THAT WAS POSSIBLE...EH, BILL WEASLEY? EH?

I feel like the Fidelius Charm has the most crippling plot holes and ret-cons out of all of the spells inside of the HP world. Why is this a problem? Well, it is only a huge freaking catalyst in the entire story: using the Fidelius Charm with the wrong people is what caused Lily and James Potter to die. I feel that more attention should be paid to the way a spell can and cannot work in the book, or else everything falls apart. Yes, we could say that James’ flaw was wanting to trust and believe in his friends, and so he didn’t make himself the secret keeper….but that is freaking dumb. The life of his wife and child were on the line, no one would spare any possible measure of safety, not even James Flipping Potter.

Let’s move onto the god.damned.trace. THE TRACE. I hate the trace mostly because of its glaring inconsistencies. It is the worse case of plot-convenience-holes throughout the series. Let’s talk about how Voldemort murdered his father and his grandparents without the Ministry even blinking an eye, as this did not happen in a wizard's house, unlike him attacking his Uncle. Because the exact way the trace works has never been specified in book canon, it leaves glaring plot holes everywhere. While I do not hate the concept of the trace, I definitely hate the execution.

Harry and Ginny? Are We Serious?:

While I did praise Rowling for her relationship developing, Harry being into Ginny felt very very very sudden and out of nowhere. Harry never considered Ginny romantically until the 6th book, fine, but his romantic interest came out of...no where? One day in the common room he noticed she smells like the flowers he smelled in Slughorn’s love potion...okie dokie. 

While we can say this is because Harry had to spend that summer playing Quidditch with her, Ron, and Hermione at the Burrow, to have these feelings come upon him. I say bull-crap. We know Rowling put years into the development of Ron and Hermione, building it up through multiple books. As a result, Harry and Ginny felt cheap, last minute, and insincere. I wouldn’t have minded the couple, if she put more time making it believable.

What the Hell Happened to Lupin in the 7th Book?:

Lupin turning into a full-on edgelord in the seventh book felt like such a cop-out to the type of character we had seen thus far. And yes, we can explain it as Harry seeing Lupin as an adult to admire and not really like a person with complicated feelings and emotions. But wanting to ditch Tonks to go on an adventure? Sorry, can’t relate. Lupin’s sudden character change felt cheap and like there was nothing leading up to the sudden change. Even the tension beforehand did not seem grand enough for this.

Let’s Talk About Deaths:

The undeniably worst thing for me about Harry Potter is how poorly Rowling writes deaths. They are just...horrible. She leaves so little detail in the actual death happening, it’s always one or two sentences max that vaguely outline someone’s death. And I am sure she does this to give you a snap sense of someone suddenly dying, but it feels unbelievably cheap and poorly thought out. Furthermore, I truly believe no one but Dumbledore needed to die throughout the last few books to advance the plot, and yet we’re hit with death after death that lent nothing to the plot.

Sirius dying felt rushed and unnecessary. What plot did his death further lend, what did it spur into action? You may say Harry needed to have everything taken from him to truly be okay with learning his fate in the last book, but I say no. I think it was just another thing written in to remind the audience of how alone Harry is and it felt lacklustre and poorly executed. I don’t hate that Sirius died, but I hate when he did. I felt killing him so early and for no reason was outrightly silly.

The biggest problem is it did not lend to the effect that Rowling intended- it did not make me feel hollow inside for Harry. It didn’t make me cry when it happened. It doesn’t hit in an impactful way at all. It just felt like Sirius died to a series of clumsy mistakes (largely due to his own actions,) but still clumsy nonetheless. Of course, characters can be killed suddenly and hard-hitting for . However, when reading through the books, it felt like Sirius’ death didn’t actually have such a far-reaching impact as it should have had. He felt discarded of in a very poorly managed way. It was as if Rowling made up a list of “people to kill” because she thought her story wouldn’t be real enough without death.

Similarly, Tonks and Lupin feel very much the same. Their deaths are more justifiable, as they are casualties of a battle, but the problem was they happened off page. You have no connection to how it happened or why, they’re just dead, in a room full of other bodies. Many argue this is impactful because it is the cost of war, but I argue differently. I argue that just seeing them dead in the Great Hall takes all of the impact out of their deaths. I feel practically all of the deaths throughout the Battle of Hogwarts were handled this way and it wasn’t as gripping as I’d like it to be. I loved Tonks and Lupin as characters, but it just felt like a shrug of the shoulders, because it was given so little time of contemplation.

Snape, on the other hand, was written very well. We saw how it happened, we saw that he knew it was about to go down. We saw his last breaths and the painful way that he died. The entire scene is very emotionally gripping, unlike the way the other deaths are handled throughout the ending quarter of Deathly Hallows.

To me, it just felt more effort was put in some deaths over others, leaving a majority of them to feel cheap, poorly planned, and poorly executed.

So, is Harry Potter Worth Reading? Even As an Adult?  

Yes, Harry Potter, books 1-7, are thoroughly worth reading. They’re enjoyable, gripping, suspenseful in places, and truly magical. While there are some flaws, such as a lack of representation and a faulty magic system, the books hold up incredibly well and there is a reason they have endured this long as a childhood favourite. Think about it, the craze of other series such as Twilight, the Hunger Games, Divergent, and so on have all died out, but Harry Potter remains strong and relevant to this day. You can find Harry Potter merchandise easily in physical stores around the world. The truth is that Harry Potter endures so well because it is a coming of age story about so much more than magic.

Harry Potter flawlessly blends many relatable themes together, such as friendship, loyalty, uncertainty, loneliness, anger, and hope in the face of adversity together into a story of fantastically written characters and settings. Backpedaled by a good plot, interesting characters, and a bit of magic, alongside Rowling’s easy to read writing style, I have no doubts that Harry Potter will continue to endure for generations to come.

My sister, the one who teased me, is 32 now. She read through every book this year as well and upon finishing it, she told me that she wished there was more. A common feeling among anyone who has read all of the books cover to cover.

[its-furiohsa-not-furiosah]

DnD Character Ramblings - Background

(Long-ass Info dump ahead! Writing this on mobile and no 'keep on reading' option, sorry!)

----

Name: M

Race: Aasimar, Protector (currently unknown to M in the campaign until my DM decides to reveal that in the story)

Class: Wizard, School of Abjuration, Level 6

Age: Early 30s when campaign starts

Alignment: Neutral Good

Appearance:

- approx. 6' 3", lanky but athletic build

- gender fluid in appearance; cannot fully distinguish whether M is male or female; can play up either in a given situation.

- medium length metallic black wavy hair, right side often braided above the ear.

- right eye is brown/black, left eye is light blue; dark circles under eyes from studying and restless nights of bad dreams

- wears a once fine and tailored, but now torn at some seams, all black travelers clothes with a lining of red inside the jacket.

- wears their father's diamond stud earring in right ear (used for their Chromatic Orb spell), and a larger dangly earing on the left ear.

----

M grew up along the northwestern coast of Faerun in the large port city of Waterdeep. Their parent's talent in business had risen them to a place of wealth and influence within the oligarchal soceity. Overall, M and their identical twin (who we shall refer to as H) lived a privileged and happy, albeit isolated, childhood.

M and H were exceptionally close; kept away from the lower status children, they were often each other's only source of company. When their parents would be throwing a gala late into the night for their business partners, the pair would sit on the library balcony, looking out over the water, read poetry and share stories.

At the age of 16, a horrific accident claimed H's life. The shaking of shoulders and their father's sullen voice breaking the news was the last thing M remebered before the wave of falling emptiness swallowed them in grief. Time was blurred and life was dim for M over the following months. It was however, in these dark times, that M began to see the spirits of the dead...

Initially chilled and frightened at this sudden revelation, M found new company in the ghosts of those long past who, too, were lonely and searching for a resolution. A few weeks passed of this and M decided to confide in their parents about this newfound ability.

Concerned that M's parents would be repulsed at hearing this, their fears were quelled when their parents were instead...thrilled at the news. They immediately pulled their influential strings to acquire an apprenticeship for M at the prestigious arcane academy in Waterdeep, The Blackstaff Tower.

The day M turned 18, their parents packed M's things in the family carriage and sent them to study magic at the Tower. "Make us proud" they said, waving the carriage away. For the next 4 years, the stone walls of the Blackstaff Tower was their home.

The solitude and quiet diligence of arcane study at the Tower was something M found to be helpful in recovering from their grief. After their first year, they became drawn to and ultimately specialized in abjuration magic (protection spells, magical wards, defenses against other magic, etc).

The 4 years of their studies at the Blackstaff Tower were coming to an end, and M had grown particular close with the head mage (no name yet DX ), we'll refer to them as the Blackstaff. One night before graduation, M and the Blackstaff were sharing a celebratory drink and got to talking. The Blackstaff looked anxious and distant, the look of deep thought and worry on their face. M asked what was wrong and the Blackstaffs gaze broke back to reality: "I--I need to confide in you about something, M" A little surpised at seeing the usually composed Blackstaff this way, M quietly nodded and responded "Go ahead, in confidence"

The Blackstaff quietly began to tell M that they were almost not admitted into the academy for study. When M asked why, because there wasn't much barring anyone from attending, the Blackstaff paused. "What I am about to tell you, I say with the desire to help you, child...'

'Prior to your parent's rather adamantly submitting your name for admission, the circle of mages at the Tower strongly suspected your parent's of using dark, evil magic to rise to power within Waterdeep"

M sat stone still and put down their drink...heart beating in their ears.

The Blackstaff kept going, "One of our own connections within the business world of the city informed us of a dark ritual that was rumored to take place at their residence one night. We managed to scry our way to get a view of this...and our suspicions were confirmed." The Blackstaff paused and took a large sip of their drink before putting it down and reluctantly continued:

"They had used evil magic to maniuplate your mind, M, and then made you murder your twin, H; your parent's goal being that the sacrifice of one of their children would trigger a series of events that would cause the end of the world, you being the catalyst for that change. They then altered your memory with that same magic to make you forget, waiting and hoping their plan had worked. That is why they were excited to hear about your ability to see the dead...that is why they adamantly sent you here to study magic, M. M?"

Frozen. Empty and falling into cold unforgiving darkness. Memories swirling to the surface...M sat motionless for a moment, gripping the arm rests, before breaking the silence. "You didn't answer my question Blackstaff...why did you accept me to the academy? Why, if you knew this?" The Blackstaff could see M's fingernails digging into the wood of the armrest and the watery reflection of tears in their eyes, then answered "We didn't want to accept you, especially after learning that...but there were some in the circle--some that believed we could help you and change that dark destiny towards good...and thats what we ended up doing. Look at all the good you've been doing here M! Whatever your parents had plan--"

The Blackstaff was interrupted when M hastily got to their feet and stormed out of the room. The Blackstaff followed and pleaded for M to stop but M had put up a ward on themselves that kept any sound reaching them. Racing waves of thoughts of betrayal, hatred, and despair consuming M's thoughts. M packed their things and left the Tower that night, disgusted and disillusioned in their parents, and themselves.

Before leaving town, M snuck back to and broke into their home along the coast of Waterdeep. They had not been here since the day 4 years ago their parents had shipped them off to become...to become some evil puppet for their sick plan. Not surprisingly, their parents were throwing another of their extravagant business galas. M wondered how many of those nights sitting on the balcony had their parents been committing dark acts of magic downstairs...

They crept into the massive study their father kept his best books and most expensive/important things. The only things M took from that life were a large diamond earring of their father's, a leather envelope of cash, and the book of poetry M and H would read together.

It was off into the night...and shit, M had never really been able to explore the city but needed to make it to the next boat out of here. Suddenly though, M felt a nearby spirit pull them towards a direction that ended at the docks of the port.

Using the cash stolen from their father's study, M booked passge on the next boat out of Waterdeep, heading south. During the 3 weeks of travel, M was frequently sick and sought reprieve on the open deck at night, looking out at the moonlit water.

However, one night M swore that out of the corner of their eye, their reflection in the water moved independently from themselves. When M turned to see this, the reflection's eyes in the water captured M's gaze and held it for what seemed like forever. Time stopped and it felt like something was staring at M through the water's depth...only to be broken by the sound of the bell being rung to indicate the changing of the ship's post.

Similar instances in mirrors, pints of ale/water or other reflective surfaces continued for the duration of the voyage. Over time, M became progressively more and more paranoid that whatever this reflection was, their parents learned of them fleeing The Blackstaff Tower and were somehow tracking M's whereabouts.

The ship finally made it to port and M begins a life of running. For the next 8 years, M struggles to learn how to survive and keep low, always looking over their shoulder worried their parents will find them. They become increasingly haunted by their own dreams where their reflection is looking at, and sometimes speaking to them.

They develop a companionship with a magical familiar in the form of a white-necked Raven, lovingly called Bishop. Bishop is there to comfort M when the paranoia gets too strong, or when hunger, resentment, and guilt sink in.

Even though those 8 years in solitude weren't easy, they were not suffered in vain. M increased their prowess in abjuration and other arcane studies. Resolute in proving their parent's plan for them wrong and using their talents and abilities to do good, M becomes what you could call a freelance exorcist.

Two years into the freelance exorcism business, and business is slow, just barely making ends meet. Quietly drinking their stress away at the tavern, they strike up a conversation with a rather peculiar dwarven bard named, Kunesh. They drunkenly get talking and sharing about their current sturggles to make it in life, on one hand a rather odd and strange looking freelance exorcism and on the other a beardless lute-playing dwarf. A deal is made that they'll split the profits they make if Kunesh can advertize the business.

Later, on a job with 2 quarreling nobles where M was needed to investigate a murder and question the ghosts of the deceased, the two learn of a phenomenon called The Death Curse spreading across Faerun. The details of this curse are particulary troubling for their business as 1) those who die cannot be resurrected through any means and 2) the spirits of the dead are swalled and trapped in another plane of existence.

With word of fame and fortune for those who can undo the curse, M and Kunesh make their way to the continent of Chult, searching for the ancient city of Omu that is most likely the epicenter of the curse. It is here that they run into the main party of the campaign who are also searching for a way to fix the curse.

----

Thank you for reading!

[technicallyoneofakind]

All In A Name

Author's Note:

So, I decided to do this while playing around in the post-game. Did you know you can have the characters in your party cycle through them calling to each other before battling an enemy for moments on end? I find it amusing. I especially like to switch between Swaine and Marcassin just to hear Marcassin call his brother by is original name.

This sparked the following one-shot, mostly because everyone else in the party calls him "Swaine".

Disclaimer: I wish I owned the rights to Ni No Kuni. I'd include cutscenes for things that don't get mentioned. I can't though.

~.~.~

It had been an argument all morning. The group was beginning to wonder if anything would get done that day as the two brothers volleyed between the two names of the oldest. They sat across from each other, gazes locked, bodies fixed like statues unless one or the other gestured to something.

The young wizard had tried to get the thief in their midst to drop the subject but was met with adamant glares from both sides of Hamelin royalty. It became clear that there was no end- they'd continue their campaigns until the other fell. The boy turned away, looking to Esther, Pea, and Drippy, a silent plea for back up.

Esther tried her hand, but the familiar tamer was met with even greater resistance- the older brother snapping at her to mind her own business. The fairy chimed in after her, reinforcing the attempt to quell the seemingly meaningless match between the two princes, that since they all shared a room- it was cheaper (Marcassin had always wanted to try staying in an inn)- it became their business the moment they started.

It was like moving the iron walls of Hamelin itself, getting them to quit. Pea finally made the suggestion of leaving them alone. Though was more along the lines of wanting to explore the mechanical city outside, but it served the same purpose. As they left the two to stew in their own vortex of sibling rivalry, Oliver asked if there was anything they wanted. They didn't answer, their argument still not going anywhere. He received a side glance from Swaine, a glance the boy had learned meant, "leave me alone" after too many times of going too far over his bounds.

The wizard was the last to leave. He paused at the door when he heard the older man warn him not to take side alleyways for Pea's safety. Oliver nodded, turning to see if they had moved, but the thief had gone back to scowling at his brother, picking up the bottle of Sage's Secret he'd been using as an example all morning to attempt to win his side of the argument. Even if they'd gone back to fussing over something the rest of them considered pointless, Oliver was thankful for his friend's concern for their safety exploring the vast city.

"And I say, 'Gascon'," the ruler abstinently replied to his brother. He refused to call him by that pseudonym he had come up with. What was wrong with his original name? No, he was always going to be "Gascon" to him. It didn't matter if his brother called himself "The King of the Hoggle-Boggles" he'd still call him by the name he was born with.

Swaine let a low growl escape him. He slammed the potion onto the bed for the hundredth time that day. Never mind the fact that the Empire's army would've been looking for him under that identity, he honestly couldn't understand why his brother stuck with calling him that old moniker. He hated it. He hated who he was then. He left it and the Empire behind to find his own identity. It was a reminder of all his failures as the possible heir to the throne. But his brother kept throwing it back at him.

"I told you, call me 'Swaine', from now on," he repeated for what felt like maybe eternity. It was like an endless loop, this farce. He finally threw his arms up in bewilderment, a change in countenance to the previous bitter and stagnant face off. "Why do you insist on calling me that? You want everyone to know who the hell I am?"

The younger brother raised a quizzical eyebrow. It wasn't that at all. He was proud of his brother's name. It, to the sage, was a strong name that commanded respect. "No, but does it matter? That's who you are and who you always will be to me," he confided, hoping that his words did anything but anger Gascon more. He soon regretted his choice, the rugged man before him leaning back suddenly with his mouth ajar.

The jacket clad thief gripped the sheets as he leaned forward, his face stern. "You'd rather remember me as the older brother who abandoned you? Who wasn't there when you needed him most? Who turned his back on his country," Swaine interrogated, pain seeping into his words, though his expression un-wavered. The younger prince's words stabbed him in the heart. He had hated going back to the past in the first place. Seeing himself, his past actions, it reminded him all too well of his negligence and inexperience. That's why he was so adamant about his name. "Swaine" was a different person- he had reasoned. "Swaine" was just a man, no nobility about him, that tried to survive. No power, no magic, no one to impress- he was just a common beggar to the everyday person.

His brother didn't see it that way. Marcassin still saw the young prince that had left all those years ago. He still saw his teacher, mentor, and only surviving family member. He saw what his predecessor was- the original heir to controlling the entire Empire. Most importantly, he still saw him as his brother. "If you had truly abandoned me, brother, you would have never returned." He observed as Swaine looked away from him in a vain attempt to hide a wounded look. "As for the rest…," he paused. He looked down at the plush royal blue carpet that covered the metal floor as if the fibers held all the answers to his older brother's questions.

The Dark Djinn would probably still be continuing his reign of terror without the support his brother had provided them in their battle. He realized then that, aside from a handing over a few spells and some magic used to help finish the Clarion, he was completely outclassed by his older brother in actual effort. He looked up at the glowering man, and though Marcassin was a ruler, he felt like a peasant in his older brother's presence. "All the magic in the world and I couldn't even join the battle, brother," he began, earning a baffled look from Swaine.

It was the thief's turn to raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What are you on about," he asked, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, his once clenched hands flying up before returning to the cream sheets of the large bed.

"You've outdone me at every turn. You actually helped Oliver face the Dark Djinn, Ga-," he cleared his throat, remembering his brother's qualms. He looked at his right hand, shame gracing his delicate features. "You were there for him. You fought alongside him. You helped make him as powerful as he is now. And I, a Great Sage? I sat in my palace giving orders and practicing politics while you and Esther fought alongside the savior of this world." He looked up to meet Swaine's now softened but concerned gaze, his hands now resting on his knees. The younger took his prior's hands in his. "I know you not as the version you remember." Before the thief could interject or pull away as he was wont to do, Marcassin gripped his brother's hands and leaned forward his expression earnest.

"I remember a brave and determined Gascon: a brother and prince wise beyond his royal instruction. I remember the brother who would design machines beyond my own imagination- who's eyes lit ablaze when a new contraption rolled out of a workshop." He watched as the corners of his brother's mouth twitched, a sign his words were reaching him at least. "I remember my mentor- my closest friend- so enthusiastically asking me to help him put together a model pig tank and how excited he was to see it work. That's the Gascon I remember- and I could never do what he does or has done."

A moment of silence passed before either said a word to each other. Each of them stared in contemplation at their clasped hands dangling over the carpet.

Swaine- no, Gascon had always thought himself as the inferior one, despite being the older brother. To hear his brother's true thoughts on the matter- to hear that he held him in such high regard despite his lack of magic ability- had shattered his argument and his resolve on the name issue. It had also warmed his heart and made his soul soar with joy. One thing bothered the older prince, though: his brother seemed to be putting himself down prior to all of that.

He finally looked back to Marcassin, disappointed to see that, despite his earlier praise, the young ruler seemed bothered. He saw an uncertain and even unconfident look, a look he had only seen when his heart was broken. "Marcassin," he called out, his voice calm and steady, guiding his sibling's head as he slowly looked up.

"You did your part, and you did it exceptionally. Hell, if you hadn't given Oliver those spells or knew anything about prepping the Clarion, we'd be in an awful way." He proudly smiled at his brother. "We couldn't have beaten him without your help."

Marcassin was at a loss for words. He simply stared at Gascon, his hands going slightly slack, but otherwise still holding onto his brother's. Had he really forgotten how useful he himself had been? He mentally berated himself for being foolish. He looked down before apologizing for forgetting his role in the entire ordeal.

The thief took this opportunity to release his hands from his brother's loosened grip. His smile devolved into a smirk and he studied the bedside table adorned with tiny pig head shaped handles on the drawers. He scratched the back of his head, fighting the mess of curly brown hair and looked at his brother. "Oh and… Don't worry about the name. Call me whatever you like." He paused, realizing the loophole in his rationale. "Just nothing too ridiculous."

Marcassin's form loosened up from the stiff awkwardness of the situation. He leaned forward in surprise, a gleeful smile on his face. "So, I can call you 'Lord Hoggle-Boggle'," he teased.

Gascon grimaced, the silliness of the name too much for even him. He waved it off as it were an annoying insect. "Hey, now." He stopped, a sly grin crawling into existence. He straightened up as much as he could with a hunch, attempting a regal look with his hand on his chest. "That's 'Lord High, Lord of the Hoggle-Boggles' to you, 'your highness'," he joked mockingly, stealing the fairy's schtick for the sake of it.

The two of them laughed together in what felt like decades. The joke had, for the moment, transported them to happier days of their childhood. When the laughter died down, the older of the princes announced he was going to lay down, calling it a day. The younger nodded, left to his own devices until the others returned.

"Marcassin," the older prince called. Sleep began to catch him, but the warmth of his gratitude seeped into his voice.

The younger who had gotten up to inspect a painting on the wall of the room turned to his brother. He could only see the back of Gascon, his jacket acting as a makeshift sheet for the thief.

"Thank you… For believing in me."

~.~.~

A/N:

I love writing for these two. If you haven't noticed, the fic title actually comes from the first chapter's context. However, I like to imagine Marcassin is nymph-like, thereby justifying my writing about him and Swaine (and keeping Gemini the Greater Naiad in the thief's brood of familiars).

The argument they're having is also based on an ongoing argument between me and my mother about my name. I don't like my name for… historical reasons.

Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this drabble. Here's to more- if there are more. 

I'd like to hear your thoughts. (I bet you’re just shy. It's okay. I won't bite. I promise.) 

[buildridernews]

[Review] Kamen Rider Build - Episodes 21-24

It’s the middle of the month, so it must be time for me to finally be caught up on last month’s Build episodes! My excuse this time is that I’ve been watching Sentai. I mean hey, it’s good to give all toku some attention. 

This is really neither here nor there, but I gotta say, I am impressed that Blood Stalk still has a voice actor and a proper actor as separate entities. With Wizard it was clearly a case of "Okay, we revealed his true identity, let's ditch the voice actor" but they are dedicated to keeping this guy around. I appreciate that for some reason.

Also highly unrelated to everything in this review... did... did Sawa just establish, 23 episodes in, that there’s a fictitious currency in this show? Like, it’s referred to as a “Doruku” which could be Dork, or Dolk, or Dollark as Over-Time chose to call it. Sure! That falls nicely into my headcanon that Build takes place in the future. 

So, without making jokes, I’ve gotta really start us off with the thing that’s most important in the first half of this month: The Hazard Trigger, and the surprising amount of forms used with it. 

RabbitTank Hazard Form receives an eerie introduction that’s beautifully shot, and not only does he start off punching everyone in sight, but he also does something that I did not expect to be such a major deal: He kills off the Stag Hard Smash; Aoba. 

I’m most certainly going to be wrong because I’m blanking on it, but in all the shows where humans turn into monsters, they never actually die, do they? At least not to the hero. Or if they do, they probably stopped being human along the way. Like in Gaim, for example. Of course I’m not gonna forget Gaim. 

But Gaim involved humans who have been mutated into something inhuman. Here, Sento very clearly killed someone who was still a living, breathing human with thoughts, ambitions, and fears. After so much dedication towards protecting humanity and undoing the deaths caused by his former Katsuragi self, blood was on his hands that he couldn’t wash away. 

This episode really puts an emphasis on that weight as Sento spends much of it in a slump, even when the government has decided to settle things by having a one-on-one battle with Grease VS one of the Riders of Touto. Sento can’t bare to take part because of what he’s done. 

I think the most stunning scene in this episode is when he’s giving his respects to Aoba and is being so haunted by the memory of the incident that he collapses and seems close to vomiting - kudos to the actor. It’s a great and unsettling episode, especially because it’s almost entirely devoid of music. 

This also features a nice contrast as Kazumi shows how he’s coping. Unlike Sento, he’s very collected and tells him how Aoba was knowingly a tool for war - he died knowing the risks. However, since Aoba was his friend, he promises to kick his ass for Aoba once their duel begins. 

Despite the state he’s in, Sento is the one who has to do it for Touto. And I’ve gotta lighten up this review now that the heavier stuff is behind us. 

In order to prepare him for the fight, Soichi dumps a bunch of Fullbottles into Sento’s inventory, among them being the RoseCopter Form pair! This form is not particularly interesting on its own, but it is within the context of what it was originally supposed to be. 

GoldScorpion Form was meant to be released instead according to toy catalog listings, but just before this episode aired, Bandai decided to swap this in. According to CS Toys, Bandai simply said they were going in a different direction. Gonna be honest, they probably found RoseCopter a lot more... easy to come up with a combat style for. RoseCopter does what you expect, it’s got vine whipping and a rotor weapon. I don’t know what you’d do with gold bars. That’s really my only theory. 

In any case, I’m glad Stalk made reference to how many reds and greens Build swapped through. Oh and I guess TurtleWatch Form is technically a show form now, if you wanna get into those semantics. It’s not. It’s a game form. Anyway~ 

What’s interesting about this first episode is that it ends with the implication that some time has passed before the big duel. This is where the YouTube spinoff comes into play, and I am actually gonna talk about that since both parts are out! If you missed it, they were subbed by Genm Corp, who I understand are fine if you can’t wait for a more accurate translation, and I doubt anyone else is gonna sub these. 

So the YouTube spinoffs for Kamen Rider have so far been pretty skippable. Ghost tried making them tie into the show... in a way that still doesn’t make sense even in context, and Ex-Aid’s is pretty fun but also very skippable. This time, they used it to tell some semblance of a story. 

In these episodes, Sento makes use of the Fullbottles he was given to raise his Hazard Level and become stronger. Utsumi helps him, surprisingly, and even fights as Night Rogue (clever clever) to help out. 

This is where we get what I had assumed would be exclusive forms, but PhoenixRobo appeared in the show in January and RoseCopter JUST premiered, so SmaphoWolf Hazard Form is our exclusive I guess. Then in part 2 we get ToraUFO, KirinCyclone and KujiraJet, which were all fun combos. 

I am pretty pleased at how these turned out. They only have enough time to provide some fun fights, but there’s a surprising amount of story as we see Utsumi testing out the Kaiser System (pulling back in a thing from the winter movie), and even a bit of info on how some of these forms work. At least for part 1. 

This is supposed to be a 3 part thing, and much like the last two series, part 3 will be on the DVD release - I hope it’ll at least be worth the wait this time. There’s at least gonna be an exclusive form. 

The duel begins. Build and Grease fight for an entire episode, which is pretty interesting as far as episodes go, though they do try to break it up by including some flashbacks to moments leading up to this. 

Particularly, we learn that Sento is so concerned with claiming another life that he gives Misora the job of detonating his gear if he goes too far, which is pretty unexpected. It... kind of fits him wanting to prevent more deaths I suppose, but I’m glad they saw it fit to send in Ryuga to punch him instead. It’s pretty manly. 

We also learn that Kazumi’s amnesia was actually all a hoax! Which is a nice little twist that isn’t toooo surprising but it adds some nice depth to him. He just wants his bros to do better by being a tsundere. 

Even though Build won the duel against Grease, a wrench has been thrown in their civil plans. Seito has declared war, and they’re doing so with their own weaponized humans: Remocon Bro and Engine Bro. Yes, Bros or Bro’s is the proper spelling but the plural nature of that word is bugging me on a grammatical level. 

These two make a nice pair of badasses, but I hope they matter by the time they eventually get defeated, because as is they are pretty hard to consider as anything but a duo. I mean, I guess the Hard Smash are a trio of a similar nature, but they at least have more distinct personalities. 

Regardless, they cause trouble in Hokuto and Kiba of Kazumi’s gang is trying to stop them, only to get mercilessly trampled. It’s at this point I realize this episode is almost entirely just a Kazumi episode, as we see how he struggles against these bros and how much his own bros are also suffering. Even after a narrow rescue, Kiba dies, bringing us to just one more Hard Smash. 

And then there’s THIS asshole. 

Okay but seriously, can we just... admire how much of an edgelord Gentoku has become as of returning? In what seems like a relatively short time since he left the show, he’s back with a new Rider title, and a badass jacket draped over his shoulders that goes perfectly with his evil facial hair. He really embraced how much of an obvious villain he is. 

I dunno what the fuck happened but I guess that’s a good teaser for the Rogue blu-ray spinoff. Based on what we get to see I kinda wonder how much more of a twisted guy Utsumi is. He got his sweet catharsis here. 

But also as a nice detail I once again did not foresee, Kamen Rider Rogue is actually Namba’s “Make our own Kamen Rider” project, and it’s been made for Seito, which means we now have Riders for each nation. That’s pretty dope, tying that all together. 

It seems that Gentoku has really become a much more interesting and vague person now that he’s become a Rider. He’s putting aside revenge so that he can crush Touto and protect the country... which seems a lil counterproductive but I’m gonna guess he’s not quite right in the head right now, so I’ll give him a pass. 

All this means that Kazumi and Akaba have no choice but to join the heroes, but it feels like they’ll actually blend in, potentially. I mean, it seems like Kazumi has learned to admire the passion Sento fights with, and even admits to being inferior because of it. So I’m pretty happy to see them working together, as opposed to going “Okay, we’re doing this trope”. 

They need to stick together if they stand a chance against Rogue. Always on the move, Pandora’s Box has made its way to Rogue, and he intends on opening it once he defeats Build. But with how much he overpowers him even with the Hazard Trigger, what’s stopping him?! 

Oh. That’d do it. 

So that’s one hell of a cliffhanger to end this review on. What’s going on with Misora?! I’m not even gonna watch episode previews for this one, I wanna see what the show does firsthand! See you again soon for another Build review! 

[the-captains-ayebrows]

The Long Road Home - Canon Extension for 3x11 “Going Home”

My contribution to this year's CS Storybook! Check out the cover art by @elaine--captain--swan  who makes very beautiful things, and I highly recommend looking her up on Tumblr.

A series of missing and extended scenes that mostly take place during the Season 3 "Missing Year". It begins with Emma and Killian saying good-bye as Pan's curse rolls in. Lots of internal monologue.  Canon-compliant mentions of Emma and Walsh's relationship. This also contains a favorite headcanon of mine about where Blackbeard gets all those portal beans

Length ~4K words. Rated T for a few swear words. Also on [AO3]

There’s not a day that’ll go by I won’t think of you.

Good.

-- Killian --

One word. One word is all she gave him, but it’s enough. It’ll have to be enough. Because there’s no time now. There’s never enough time. Her friends and family surround her. Then she’s disappearing into that bizarre yellow carriage of hers, and then even that disappears from his view in a wash of purple smoke. But he meant it, what he said to her. He hopes she meant it, too.

-- Emma --

One word. One word is all she could offer. Because there wasn’t enough time. There’s never enough time. And everyone else is around her, hugging her, and when the hell did she become a hugger? Anyway, it’s not the time for heart-to-heart confessions. She and Henry have to run. She always runs. At least she has her son with her this time. At least she’s not alone. But, Hook… he meant it, what he said to her. Her inner lie detector was absolutely silent. She meant it, too, her one word. And she hopes he can hear in that word what she didn’t say.  

Don’t forget me. Don’t give up. You have to remember for the both of us.

But most of all, Bring me home again.

-- Killian --

Will mermaids ever cease to be the bane of his existence? Bloody hell. The Crocodile and Pan are finally dead - rather considerate of the Croc to have taken himself and his accursed father out in one blow - and he would’ve thought all the tribulations he encountered from his centuries in Neverland were behind him. But no. Bloody mermaids. Can’t a man pay off a harlot in peace?

Still, if the lass is telling the truth about Blackbeard and his beloved Jolly Roger, all the sins of her piscine race shall be forgiven, at least as far as he’s concerned. From where he sits, or rather crouches, behind assorted cargo crates with this Ariel person and Smee, it would appear her information is accurate.

By the gods, it's been so long since he’s seen her, the first love of his life. Before Milah, before… that lass whose name he refuses to speak aloud, though it certainly echoes through his thoughts constantly. Before any fair maid had tempted him, there was her. The Jewel of the Realm. The Jolly Roger. His constant companion. His confidant. His home.

Even as he thinks the words, he feels a tug behind his breastbone, a fisherman’s hook (the irony is not lost on him) buried deep in his chest that pulls him in a very different direction from the gangplank before him. He ignores it. He forces the emptiness in his breast into the shape of a gracefully curving hull and towering sails, instead of the softer lines, painted in shades of red and gold and green, that have haunted him of late.

“You know you’re talking about a boat, right?”

Bloody mermaids. “You have your love and I have mine.”

And he does love her, his Jolly. He needs her. Needs to feel like himself again. He feels like he’s losing himself. Losing everything. He lost his revenge, the one thing keeping him alive over the centuries. The Croc now dead by his own hand. He’d lost his ship to Pan’s curse. He’d lost…

But now here the Jolly sits, ready to welcome him back with open yardarms. What is he without her? Without his identity as Captain Hook? He’s a pirate. He’s always been a pirate, just as he told the Prince those months back. He needs to get back to that, back to himself, back home to his beloved ship. It’s all he has left.

And Blackbeard is daft if he thinks he can stand in the way.

-- Emma --

He spilled his coffee on her. Ran smack-dab into her on the street, his latte splattered all over her bright red wool coat. It’s the most cliched of meet-cutes - actually, it reminds her of some story she heard a while back. Maybe an old friend met their fiancee that way? Whatever. But still… since her place in Boston burned down, she really does need new furniture for her new home, and the insurance money was surprisingly generous. He seems nice enough. Mostly harmless, anyway. So, when he gives her his business card and an apparently sincere offer to pay for her dry cleaning, she accepts it.

Walsh Ozman, Antiques and Fine Furniture.

But, here’s the thing… The wood puns may be too much for her to handle.

“Wizard of Oak. Really? Was ‘Shiver Me Timbers’ already taken?”

His smile at seeing her in his shop flickers for a moment, and she senses she’s said something wrong, but she can’t imagine what. Perhaps he’s the one who can’t handle it? His grin is right back in place before she can figure it out. He does, in fact, pay for her dry cleaning, and she buys an end table.

He calls her a few days later to ask if she’s satisfied with her purchase. She is, of course. Something about the scrollwork beneath the table top reminds her of ocean waves, and she finds it strangely calming. She’s caught herself more than once tracing her fingers across it absently as she reads a book on her couch. He asks her to dinner, and she says she’ll think about it.

She does. Think about it, that is. Henry is, first and foremost, the love her life. She thanks whatever deity is listening every day that she decided not to give him up all those years ago. Can’t imagine what kind of a person she’d be without her son. She’d probably be a lot more guarded, more jaded, without seeing every day all the light and hope in his sweet, brown eyes.

Still, it’s been just the two of them for years. She didn’t have time for anything resembling a love life when Henry was little, to say nothing of the lingering wounds Neal had left on her heart. Henry’s not a little kid anymore, though, and she’s in a really solid place in her life. Good apartment. Good job. Maybe a nice guy is the logical next step?

She can admit that she’s been lonely. Every once in a blue moon, when the loneliness got too much for her to bear, she’d been known to send Henry off to sleep over with a friend, while she ‘slept over’ with a stranger. Not that she ever spent the night.

It feels like ages since she’s even had that level of adult contact, though. She literally can’t remember the last time that someone made her feel, well, anything really. Not even base lust, and certainly not anything resembling an actual emotion.

Even as she thinks the words, something pricks at the back of her mind. It’s not a memory exactly. Or really, it’s more like a memory of a memory? Is that even a thing? Like a Xerox of a photograph. Faded, corrupted, colorless, but still there. Pieces of a dream, maybe. Has to be. Who the hell would wear black leather in a jungle in real life? As if she’s ever even seen a jungle.

Emma Swan is far too pragmatic to let herself get bogged down in fantasy. So yeah, after getting the official go-ahead from Henry, she agrees to go to dinner with Walsh. And he’s kind, and he likes Henry, and there’s something familiar and appealing about his dark eyebrows and messy hair.

So, she tells herself to hope that this, this is what’s been missing. This is the thing that’s finally going to make her feel like she’s found a home.

And she’s not about to let some stupid dream stand in her way.

-- Blackbeard --

By Neptune’s left testicle, look what the tide’s washed in! That bloody ponce has some gall to show his face in here. He knows full well this is the regular gaming establishment patronized by Blackbeard’s crew. Wonder how he feels seeing the Captain himself in residence this evening?

Perhaps he thought his old nemesis had been swept up in this latest curse, but even a scurvy git like Hook should know better. He’s not the only sailor on these waters with the sense to steer clear of an onslaught of purple smoke. If he only knew how easily Blackbeard could extract himself from any… unfortunate situation.

He’d have used a bean when Hook made him walk the plank if that little mermaid hadn’t saved him the trouble. He’s always got a handful on him at any given time, and when he runs low, he simply uses one to transport himself to the uncharted island where he grows the blasted things. Oh, everyone believed that all the beans had been destroyed when Prince James (the original, not his insipid twin) and his little strumpet Jack defeated the Giants of the Beanstalk. Certainly, Blackbeard’s taken great pains (and inflicted great pains - ha!) to ensure that is the only story being told.

In truth, the Prince had managed to steal a small cache of the beans before the last giant set the fields ablaze, then paid Blackbeard a ludicrous sum of gold to hide them from King George. Probably planning a patricidal coup or some such thing. Blackbeard swears the Prince would’ve made an excellent pirate, not that it matters anymore. The Prince went and got himself killed, and there was no other living soul to know Blackbeard still had possession of the beans.

So, he’d made a little investment of them. He’d located a tiny island not found on any map, gathered up a crew of… shall we say, 'indentured workers' to plow and plant for him, and now he’s got a field full of lovely little stalks growing as many beans as he could possibly need. Even used one to pay off a former fairy for a bit of cloaking magic, to ensure his plantation is never discovered.

Honestly, you’d think someone would’ve noticed by now. How he can be in Arendelle in the morning and the farthest reaches of the Maritime Kingdom by tea time. Bloody idiots, the whole lot. Heads firmly up their own arses.

Ha! Oh, but this is too delicious. Hook absolutely reeks of desperation, and apparently, one such bean is the object of his desire. No. Check that. It’s a woman. Captain-bloody-Hook has been bested by a woman!

This is rich. Simply glorious! He swears by all the gods, this is the best day of his life. He shall not take a single coin of Hook’s gold. No, no. The son of a codfish tried to kill him. His utter humiliation is a far better price. Blackbeard wants Hook’s ship - the very ship they dueled over before - and he’ll accept nothing less. Far be it for him to tell Hook he’s got hundreds of the damn beans at his disposal.

Let the fool trade away his pride. His ship. His home. And all for some damned wench! Ha!

-- Henry --

He knows. She hasn’t said anything, but he knows. Henry’s a pretty smart kid, after all. And it’s been just the two of them - he and his mom against the world - for too long for him not to notice.

Walsh really seems like a good guy. He’s got terrible taste in music and his store has, like, the lamest name ever, but Henry can tell the guy actually likes his mom. Like… like , likes her.

It just... Doesn’t seem like enough? He can’t explain it. His mom still seems like something is holding her back. Like her brain and heart aren’t talking to each other. She loves Walsh - says she does anyway - but Henry is grown up enough now to know there’s a difference between love and Capital-L Love .

Henry knows his mom loves him , though. Capital L truly loves him. No question. That doesn’t mean she isn’t still lonely. For, you know, the other kind of love. He worries about her. He’s the kid and she’s the parent - she likes to remind him of that when he’s acting ‘too grown up’ - but he still does.  And she’s definitely, totally, lonely.

He just… he wishes they could find that missing piece, you know? So, he asks her to go with him to his usual thinking spot. That big fountain right beside the library. The books kind of help him focus, and the water… well, that’s what fountains are for. Wishing.

He feels - he’s always felt - like there’s something about this place. Something special. Magical.  That’s stupid, he guesses, but he can’t think of a better word for it. So, he tosses his coin and makes a wish.

He knows his mom thinks he’s upset about something from school, and he should tell her he’s worried about her. He should. But there’s something holding him back, too. Something he can’t quite remember. He doesn’t know how to tell her what he thinks is missing because he really doesn’t know. There’s just this empty space, you know?

So, he tosses a coin and he wishes - more than he’s ever wished for anything - for their little family to be complete. He isn’t even sure what he means by that. He just feels like they’re waiting for something. That something is out there waiting for them. An adventure, a future, a home.

-- Emma --

What. The hell. Just happened. Emma blinks once, twice, and again, licking her lips before she can think better of it. She can’t really think of anything. Her brain feels like a cat in a YouTube video frantically scrambling on a freshly waxed floor, but never actually getting anywhere.

“Mom? Who was that?”

“No idea. Someone must’ve left the door open downstairs.”

Because no. She had no idea who he was. Just some crazy person. He had to be, but she…

Sh- she…

She froze . Emma Swan absolutely vapor locked. It was weird enough that she opened the door without looking out the peephole first - especially since the way he’d pounded on the door already had her on high alert, but even so. A strange guy dressed like a freaking pirate is standing in her hallway sighing her name as if she’s an oasis in the desert and she just, what? Stands there with her mouth hanging open, squinting at him, listening to his voice, trying to place him.

Why would she do that? Why not just slam her door in the face of the weirdo in his elaborate costume? Nope. She asked him if she knew him. As if she’d forget that face. Or that outfit.

What the hell is wrong with her? Why did he seem so familiar?

And, and, and -

God, he telegraphed that kiss. Like, every nerve ending in her body could sense it coming from the way he was looking at her alone, not to mention the awkward full body twitch before he leaned in. Even if she wasn’t a pro at reading body language, the guy practically had a neon sign over his head that said, ‘I’m about to reach for you.’

And she stood there. And let him. She didn’t step back. She didn’t grab his wrist and twist it behind him and shove his pretty face into the wall and shout for Henry to bring her handcuffs.

She stood there and closed her eyes and… time stopped. She was in a jungle, the one from her dream. Everything smelled leafy and sweaty and a mosquito was biting the back of her neck, but she didn’t give a single fuck because his lips were touching hers, and it felt like - it felt like…

Funny thing about time stopping. When it starts back up again, it zooms ahead even faster to catch up to where it should have been. It also makes a noise that sounds very much like your own voice screaming in your ear, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The kick to his balls was a (literal) knee-jerk reaction. But even then - even then - she still stood there talking to him. A random stranger kisses her on the mouth and she gives him the chance to explain himself. Like he’d tell her the truth.

He was telling her the truth.

Just because he believes it, that doesn’t make it true.

Oh, sure, she threatened to call the cops and finally managed to remember that her door does, in fact, close. But god, the whole interaction…

There shouldn’t have been a whole interaction. Who even is she today?

Maybe she’s overly tired. She’s been working a lot of late nights recently. Maybe tonight she’ll take a sleeping pill so she’ll get a good night’s rest. No...unwanted dreams. Unwanted in the sense that she doesn’t want confirmation of exactly where she’s seen his face before.

Maybe her blood sugar is out of whack and she just needs some pancakes and hot cocoa.

“Come on. Let’s eat.”

-- Henry --

What. Was. That. Let’s eat? That’s all she’s gonna say? Henry’s twelve, he’s not deaf and blind. Fine. If that’s how she wants to be, Henry can play it cool, too.   And he’ll do it better than her, without all the out-of-breath huffing. He can keep a secret after all. He hasn’t told her that Walsh is about to propose, even though it’s been a week since he asked for Henry’s blessing. So, fine. He won’t talk to her about this either.

But like… really? He knows what he heard. There was some guy at the door - he definitely heard a guy’s voice - and that guy was talking about  Cs mom having a family and that her family was in trouble and, well… Henry’s also about 99% sure his mom punched the guy or something. But then she kept talking to him? What even is that?

It was kind of like she knew the guy, but she didn’t at the same time, if that makes any sense. She never opens the door for people she doesn’t know or isn’t expecting. She says it's because of all the skips she’s put in jail. Never know when one might try to come after her. Or him. She’s really protective of him. She wouldn’t even let Walsh come over until they’d been dating for months .

Really, his mom is being super weird, even now that the guy is gone. She never acts like this. Her face is flushed, she keeps licking her lips and it’s not because of the pancake syrup. She hasn’t even touched her food which is also very un-momlike behavior. She loves food. About the only time Henry ever sees her this way is when she’s really close to solving a big case, like right on the edge of figuring it out.

Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe that guy is part of some big case she’s trying to crack.

Or… maybe she’s just being weird because she’s got a date with Walsh at some fancy restaurant tonight and she’s figured out what he’s going to do. That’s probably it. He really wants his mom to be happy, and if marrying Walsh will do that, then he’s cool with it. But, he’s not sure. It could be Walsh is the missing piece for their family like Henry had wished, but it doesn’t seem to fit somehow. He’s not sure why.

Speaking of that wish, Henry can’t stop thinking about what the strange guy yelled right before his mom slammed the door. “You have to remember, ” he’d said. Like it was the most important thing ever.

Family. They have to remember. It’s all so… Henry’s not sure, but it sends a shiver down his spine. It was seriously just a couple of days ago that he’d made that wish. That their family would be complete. Because it felt like there was something out there that he couldn’t quite remember. It’s spooky and way too much of a coincidence to let slide.

So, maybe magic isn’t so stupid after all? Maybe some strange guy showing up is somehow connected to his wish? And his mom just slammed the door in the guy’s face!

-- Killian --

That went… about as poorly as he should have expected. Nothing is ever easy with that lass. Crumpled on the floor outside her door, Killian isn’t sure which hurts more, his manhood or his heart. She did a rather stunning job of crushing both.

He’s a bloody idiot. He should have known, should have realized that she didn’t… that she wasn’t…

Gods above and below, he actually attempted to give her True Love’s Kiss. They’d only ever shared one kiss of any kind. One soul-shattering, life-altering kiss, to be sure but…

A one-time thing. Don’t follow me.

It was just a kiss. How is that your darkest secret?

He should have known, but he had hoped. He’d hoped in a way that he didn’t think he would ever be capable of doing again. She’s given him that, and even as he sloshes through a mire of self-loathing disappointment, he’s grateful to her.

I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah… that is, until I met you.

She is his new dream, his beacon guiding him out of the storm into a fair harbor. It matters not that she doesn’t return his feelings. He came here to save her, not to make love to her. He will find a way. He will bring her back to the people who love her. All the people who love her. He shall bring her home and she’ll save the day once more, not because she’s ‘The Savior’, but because she’s Emma-bloody-Swan and he’s yet to see her fail.

He must not give up. He must encourage her to remember who she is, her true self, not whomever Regina’s blasted false memories have conjured her into thinking she is. Emma is a smart woman, practical, but with a keen intuition. He’ll need hard evidence to get her to listen to him. Once she does, he hopes (there’s that word again) that her innate ability for detecting lies will convince her he’s speaking the truth.

But what evidence can he possibly offer? He racks his brain as he drags his sorry carcass off the floor and stumbles down the hallway. Gods, but this is a strange land. All these people living in what amounts to nothing more than little crates all stacked on top of each other into towering monstrosities. He’s seen tenement buildings in his travels, of course, but nothing like…

Wait. He’s seen exactly this kind of tenement before. It was here, in this very land. Baelfire’s - that is to say, Neal’s - place. He found it once. Perhaps he can locate it again? He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but this may very well be his only chance. The only place he can find something to make Emma believe again.

And when she believes, when she remembers… No. He tries once more to snuff out the tiny spark inside him that should have been fully doused when her knee connected with his groin, and yet it persists.

When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it, it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.

There’s not a day that’ll go by I won’t think of you.

Good.

Perhaps she did want him. Perhaps she does… No. No, no, no. No. At the very least, he cannot waste time thinking on it now.

For now, he must focus on the task of getting her to believe. To remember. Once she does, he will bring her home.

Whatever happens after that, well… That’s up to her. As for him, he’s made his decision. Even before he made the deal with Blackbeard. Home is where the heart is, after all, and his heart is with Emma Swan.