#apparently its pirated code. so it has no instructions

[randygrim]

It literally is. Like it looks servicable if not weird, but the more u read rhe more it makes 0 sense

Spoilers btw the code didnt work

Coding my website and i just feel everyone needs to see this <3

What the shit is happening

[fatefulfaerie]

Priority (Part 1/2)

Wind Waker Link and milk for @chocolit-mxlk. 

He silently begrudged his height as he crossed his arms over the wood of the counter, his shoulders popping up. He knew this was normally a place for adults but he had to get taller sometime.

Right?

“Hey Link,” Gillian said. “What can I get for you today?”

“Four deku nut cakes,” Link ordered.

“Those pirates have you running errands again?” She said with a smile, adoring the boy.

“Yeah,” Link replied with a shrug.

“Anything else?” She prompted.

“Do you have the Lon Lon Milk in yet?” Link asked.

“Sorry, Link,” Gilllian said. “The island we get it from still hasn’t sent any shipments. I’d go ask myself but my pop is still sick. I can’t leave him alone and if I leave the cafe, I lose business. All we can do is practice patience and wait for them to sort themselves out. Everyone got hit by what has been happening on these oceans recently. It’s only a matter of time before they recover.”

Link nodded as Gillian placed a stack of four individually boxed deku nut cakes. Link looked forward to having something sweet on the ship, but doubted Tetra would let him have all he wanted.

“That comes to forty rupees,” Gillian prompted, Link pulling a purple gem from his pocket, to which Gillian furrowed her brow. She thought upon the oddity of a youth like him having so much money on him, but didn’t remark at it.

“Do you need change?” She asked.

“No, I…” Link started. “Can you tell me where that island is? I want to check for you.”

“You’re tipping me ten rupees for information?” She questioned. “Shouldn’t I be paying you for helping me get to the bottom of it all?”

Link shrugged.

“I...I don’t know,” Link said. “Is that normal? I just want to help.”

Gillian smiled. What a strange boy.

“It’s not far,” she said. “Straight north of Crescent Island. It’s hard to miss.”

“Thanks,” Link said with a nod and smile before taking the stack of cakes into his hands.

He started towards the door.

“Link,” Gillian prompted, Link looking behind him.

She tossed the purple rupee, Link catching it with nothing but surprise as he held the cakes with one arm.

“Humility is rare,” she said. “And so is selflessness. Do me a second favor and don’t grow out of them.”

Link nodded in acknowledgement before departing.

“You want to do what now?”

“It’s an island to the north,” Link explained. “It’s where the cows are, where their milk supply comes from.”

“Yeah, you’re on your own,” Tetra said, her head hung over the map. Their ship was docked at Windfall, yet it still was rocked by the waves of the ocean. “You have a lot to learn about pirates if you think milk is of any priority. This isn’t a cargo ship. Actually, it took quite a while to convince the boys that you weren’t cargo yourself. If you want to go off on your own, go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it that,” Link tried to explain, but she was already walking away.

“I would come back!” He called after her.

But she had already closed the door to the innards of the ship, Link huffing a sigh of impatience before following in.

He looked from his right to left before seeing the burly pirate Nudge.

“Can’t allow you to go further, scrub,” Nudge said. “Miss Tetra’s cabin is private to her and her only.”

Tetra stood with a smirk and crossed arms just behind him.

“She’s right there!” Link said with a gesture pointing at her. “Can you just step aside?”

He didn’t budge. Link shook his head, forgetting about convincing this pirate out of his duty.

“Will you at least wait for me?” He asked Tetra, meeting her eyes past Nudge.

“Wait for you?” She retorted with a slight laugh.

“To get back from the island.”

“I suppose my boys can spend a few extra days here in Windfall,” Tetra said. “If they feel like it.”

“We’re staying longer?!” Niko asked from below the stairs, among the many pirates who were loading supplies. “That sounds great!”

Tetra’s eyes burned with frustration at his stupidity, her eyelids twitching.

“If we feel like staying,” she continued nonetheless. “Then maybe we’ll see you again. But you’re not in charge of anything. If we get a tip on a good loot, we’re gone. Not exactly part of our code to wait for people, especially people like you. We would get on without you fine.”

Link peered at her stoicism. He knew her better than her current demeanor. This ship hadn’t pirated anyone for as long as he’d been in the picture. Perhaps her main concern at one point, it wasn’t anymore.

“Right,” he said slowly.

They were both there when the King of Hyrule instructed them to find new land together. He knew her better than the front she put up. Perhaps cold on the outside, he had seen her vulnerability clear as day when she assumed her identity as Princess Zelda.

Link copied Tetra’s smirk.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going then,” Link said, walking off. “See ya later, Princess.”

Her face fumed red with anger at that one word. Tetra pushed herself past Nudge only to see the door to the outside latching closed.

She pursed her lips.

“Remind me again why he joined our crew?” Nudge asked.

“He’s good with a sword,” Tetra reasoned. “Better than any of you. Besides, he bested Niko. Anyone that can put that sniveling sailor in his place is welcome on this ship.”

“But he’s so small,” argued the pirate.

“He’s as tall as I am,” Tetra said, looking behind her to Nudge. “Is there a problem with that?”

“N-no,” he stammered. “O-of course not, Miss. No problem at all.”

“Thought so,” Tetra said, facing the door again.

Her eyes scanned the door and thought about chasing after Link with what she wanted to say. A good luck or a goodbye that came from a place within her that was hard to dig for. Only when she wore that dress or when she saw him come face to face with death was her sincerity easy to access.

Here, she was the pirate Tetra, the orphan, the successor to her mother. Her crew saw her a certain way but Link saw that side of her that her mother’s death had hidden. In fact, it was him and his adventures that pulled it out of her, proved it existed. Maybe someday she would learn to show it again.

“Don’t die, Link,” she said quietly, apparently to no one. “You’re good at not dying. Keep it up.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The small red boat creaked as the sail folded down, the wind that had caught upon the sail now whizzing past the boat instead, the speed of the boat slowing considerably.

His brown boots sank into the sand as soon as they could, Link hopping down from the soulless form of the King of Red Lions.

The island was larger than Windfall as he peered with wide eyes. The ground was flat and, after a stretch of sand, had green grass that spread for at least a mile. If this island were on his map, it likely would have taken up most of its designated square.

Link saw the cows in the distance as he walked towards the first house, as well as other animals like pigs and sheep and cuccos. He knocked on the door with the courage he could always depend on.

“Come in,” he heard a voice holler.

The man Link opened the door to was surprised, his eyebrows moving upwards with a twinge.

“Well, hello young man,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m here on behalf of the Cafe Bar on Windfall Island.”

“Yes, I expected someone would come eventually,” he said with a couple nods. “Although I expected it to be that Gillian. My son actually fancies her quite a bit.”

Link’s expression was unchanged, only blinking in his unamusement.

The man cleared his throat.

“Yes, well,” he said. “I suppose you’ll understand when you’re older. If you’re here about the milk shipments, there’s nothing I can do. You see, there were rumors of a Ghost Ship around these parts. I didn’t believe it and sent shipments anyway, but none of them ever came back. I lost two ships, two men, and about four dozen boxes of goods. I’m not risking it again.”

“But the Ghost Ship is gone,” Link said with a creased brow. “I got rid of it myself.”

“You?” The man said with a slight chuckle. “You expect me to believe some nine-year-old got rid of a ship that haunts the seas?”

“I’m twelve,” Link corrected.

“Still.”

“Send me to Windfall with a shipment of milk,” Link insisted with a step forward. “If I make it there and back in one piece with the rupees I receive from Gillian, then you will start sending shipments again. If I die, you can keep the rupees I leave here, as well as anything you’d like from the pirates of these seas.”

“How do you know them?” The man asked.

Link held his hand in offering without answering the question.

“Deal?” Link prompted with a tip of his head.

The man hesitated.

“How much money are we talking about?”

Keeping his hand right where it was, Link pulled out his entire wallet and threw it to the man, who caught it with a visible surprise.

He looked inside and his eyes immediately widened before scrunching it closed.

“For Farore’s sake, how does a twelve year old kid get so much money?” He whispered.

“Deal?” Link repeated.

The man let out a chuckle. All this just for some milk? This kid must have known he was getting the short end of the stick.

But, if he’s going to profit off of some kid and his death wish, then he may as well profit from it. The deal literally ended in either business with Windfall that would set him and his family for life or an amount of rupees that would set him and his family for life.

“Deal,” he said, shaking Link’s hand.

[whirlybirdwhat]

East Sea of Monsters - Chapter 17

Whiskey Peak doesn’t often experience visitors from the East but Baroque Works tends to treat them like everyone else.

That is their first and final mistake.

-

Chapter 15 of this series now has a podfic by the amazing @oceanaromantic ! Please go check it out if you haven't done so, its absolutely awesome to listen to! (Part 1 Part 2) 

Read the entire series on Ao3 for better quality and authors notes! Gen, creepy, featuring all of the Straw Hats, multi-chapter story. (Tag “Ficart” on my blog should also show some fan art for this fic!)

“The East Blue has a different nickname to those in the Grand Line, and those who hail it as home have a few… unique traits.”

-

Whiskey Peak has many visitors. Some not even from this realm.

Some fall quickly to their (Baroque Work’s) schemes, others take a bit more convincing, but eventually, they all do become another nameless, stone grave upon its rolling green hills.

(Before the hunters of Baroque settled there, there were still gravestones littering the peaks, gently Illuminated by moonlight. They don’t know where they came from, and perhaps they never will.

But they are always careful of something on this (breathing) island that might get them instead of the other way around.)

(Has it left?)

(Gold Roger was the last person to step foot on this island. According to local legend, that was the last time a stone cross appeared on its own.)

These visitors should be no different, even if there are special instructions for their capture and death.

These pirates are from the East Blue after all.

And everyone knows the East Blue is the weakest.

(They don’t think about monsters such as Garp and Roger. Bounty hunters aren’t particularly bright like that. )

The Straw hat pirates are insane and the ‘townspeople’ slowly falling unconscious isn’t a complete façade, but eventually they wear away to sleep.

The permanent kind.

Dead or alive after all.

(The bounty hunters don’t comment on how they can’t quite focus on their visitors, how Ms. Wednesday had shaken her head when they tried to ask what sea they came from directly. (East Blue they found out, and thought nothing of it. East Blue, they think later, and shiver.) Bounty hunters deal in information but Whiskey Peak has never needed it before.)

They didn’t count on one waking up. On all of them waking up.

(For the first time in 23 years, Whiskey Peak adds some of its own to the graves dotting the hills. The beast, touched by East Blue waters, feasts on its people with a wicked smile.

-

A good swordsman never lets the drink overcome him, and Zoro is no different.

(Unless he’s sure that his nakama can handle it. Booze is great after all.)

Plus, costumes and stupid code names. A trap, obviously.

(Mr. 7 could never have made it in the East Blue – he would have been eaten alive (literally) – it’s a good thing Zoro took his head.

(Asura had been pleased))

Standing in the moonlight now, watching them walk out, thinking they had taken care of all of them, he can’t help but smirk.

The bounty hunters have no idea, do they? They don’t know of the darkness that seeps into these waters, of the darkness that they unwittingly invite into their homes. They don’t even register the misty quality about their crew and how Luffy’s playful bites at hands serving his food had been anything but.

There is blood to be shed tonight, and it won’t be Zoro’s – this he is certain.

(Ever since they crossed into the Grand Line, there as been a presence, pressing down on them all. Crocus had explained it vaguely – the Veil, this thing that obscures what should not be seen.

Zoro, and the rest of the East Blue, apparently fall into that category.

(And it’s no surprise – Zoro thinks of the things he has seen beneath the waves and the people on every island, and wonders if there are things that are obscured from him.)

Technically, they shouldn’t be here. Technically, they shouldn’t have any strength to surpass this bearing might of some invisible force.

But Zoro doesn’t care. He’s strong enough to withstand it – and eventually, he vows, he will surpass it.)

He lifts Wado, lets her blade gleam in the moonlight, and announces his presence.

(In shimmering view, two other arms lift two other shadowy blades – solid and sure but not quite of this realm.)

“Sorry, but I think you might want to let them sleep a little longer. Luffy’s hungry when he wakes up you see…”

The bounty hunters quiver, and Zoro can taste their fear.

Good.

-

There’s blabbering, and Zoro reveals a bit of his hand. It doesn’t matter though, because a step forward (through three worlds) and he’s in their midst’s, a feral grin on his face and moonlight shining off his blades and many arms (not that they can see all of them).

“Wanna fight?” he smiles.

They pull their weapons and Zoro unleashes hell.

-

The moon sets later to an explosion of fire. Zoro watches dispassionately and licks the blood off his blades.

So the bounty hunter is actually a princess, huh?

Funny. He thought princesses had more sense. Weren’t they supposed to run from monsters?

Yet here she was, on her knees and absolutely terrified but begging them to save her country.

“You hail from the East, don’t you? Please, I know the truth – you can help me save my country, can’t you? I’ll offer you anything – anything, just please, help us – there’s no one left.”

Zoro doesn’t care about her all that much, but Crocodile is a war lord, and rumor has it his right-hand man is proficient with blades. A challenge, right off the bat in the Grand Line – looking to his left he can see Luffy thinks the same, if about Crocodile, but probably with the addition of a feast.

(His captain should be sated for now, though he will have to cut down how much he eats in front of Vivi. She already saw Zoro, bloody and blood thirsty, cutting down her former colleagues – how will she react to Luffy, bloody and bloodthirsty, feasting on the people of her country?)

Nami, the blasted weather witch, has berries in her eyes. The storm she’s made of rumbles and flashes with the promise of gold as she sidles up to the princess – “A princess, eh?”

“FEAST!” Luffy shouts, and Zoro knows for a fact they were heading to Alabasta.

Vivi trembles but the inklings of a smile make their way onto her face. Zoro gives her a grin and goes to take a nap, internally laughing at the paling of her face as she caught a glimpse of his fangs through the veil.

She better get used to it.

It’s one of the more mundane things on this sea.

(In flickering moments, she sees the truth, and becomes used to dwelling with demons, in a way that few are. She doesn’t question things, and doesn’t let fear rule her as she sleeps unguarded.

Zoro’s proud to call her nakama, when they leave.

They should have taken her with them.)

-

As the Going Merry leaves Whiskey Peak, blood sinks into the ground. The water darkens and only a few more souls manage to leave the deceiving paradise in the moonlight.

The rest are not seen again.

A hundred more gravestones appear.

(Water from the East flows from Reverse Mountain without the bracing divide of the Calm Belt to stop any presence. It. corrupts as far as it can reach, turning whales into beasts and islands into monsters.

Whiskey peak, the closest island to the East Blue, has been in its waters for a long, long time.

It’s an Island and it does not take kindly to visitors.

Especially ones that create their hideout on its shores.)

[edream93]

I’m Hooked On All These Feelings (Harry of Auradon AU) Part 2

Hello, hello! Remember that Harry of Auradon AU thing I did awhile ago (here’s the link for Part 1)? Well, here’s an update! Enjoy and of course let me know what you think either on here or on AO3 or FF.net. 

The sun shined down on the picturesque view of Auradon Prep students enjoying their day off from classes. Sitting on the bleachers, Uma tried to tune out the Tourney team’s coaches loud yells and whistleblowing as the group of boys ran drills. She pushed up the sunglasses that she had found (stolen) back further up her nose as she allowed herself to soak up the sun’s rays.

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” a timid voice asked next to her.

Uma spared a glance over to her side causing the pastel colored princess next to her shift nervously as she gazed at him over the rims of her glasses.

“Well, it’s no love potion, but it’ll definitely give you a bit a luck and confidence to help raise the odds in your favor with asking out whatever pretty face has caught your attention,” Uma shrugged turning her gaze back to the sidelines of the Tourney field where Gil was waving happily up at her from where he stood amongst the other cheerleaders. Uma gave a slight nod of acknowledgment which seemed to satisfy the boy before he began to talk excitedly with some other cheerleader. Audrey, who had apparently made it her mission to watch all the Isle kids scowled up at her from her place near Gil before shouting instructions at the others around her to get into position.

Uma rolled her eyes, glad that for the most part, Audrey focused most of her attention on Mal.

“O-okay. How much do I owe you?” the princess asked, drawing the sea-witch’s attention back to him.

“Not much,” Uma shrugged again, nonchalantly, moving her braids over her shoulder. “Just your voice.”

Biting her lip to hold back a laugh, Uma watched as the girl nearly toppled out of her seat, looking extremely pale.

“Kidding!” she plastered on a sickening sweet smile on her face. “Just kidding. It’ll be ten-fifty, angelfish.”

The girl smiled awkwardly, handing over the money before quickly scampering away, a small bottle in her hand.

Uma sighed, smile quickly melting on her face as she flopped back into her seat, tucking the cash into her boot.

If she sold a dozen or so more of her “luck in a bottle” - which was mostly just boiled sandalwood, ginger, and a few other nice smelling things Gil had managed to find (These idiots would believe anything you gave them when you had a mother who was infamous for her potions) - then she would be able to get one way bus tickets for herself and Gil to the furthest kingdom from Auradon. Shit was going to hit the fan, whether or not Mal and her crew got the wand and she wanted to make sure she was far far away from it all.  

She was nearly all packed up and ready to go to what was quickly becoming her corner in the library when she heard a now familiar voice shout out her voice from the field. Uma refused to acknowledge him, making her way quickly down the bleachers, ignoring the way she felt his gaze burning on her back.

The sea witch’s daughter had just made a few steps away from the bleachers when she heard the sound of someone running after her.

“Uma!” Harry jogged up next to her, slightly out of breath but sporting his usual boyish grin.

“You know,” Uma began, never slowing down. “Maybe this is a cultural difference but I’m pretty sure you’re stalking me.”

Harry snorted, gently grabbing her hand and placing another one of his too gentle, too passion filled kisses on her hand as he always did in greeting. “I’m sure a beautiful lass such as yourself is used to men, and perhaps even women, chasing after your affection, darling.”

Uma paused, unbeckoned memories right after Mal’s betrayal coming to mind, when people thought she was too weak and too defenseless to slash at their throats with a rusty kitchen knife of her mother’s. She had shown them.

Removing her hand from his grip, with an expressionless mask, Uma asked, “So that gives people the right to invade my space and do what they want with me? Because I’m a beautiful lass ?”

The boy took a step back, as if he was slapped before his face contorted into rage, something that Uma had never thought was possible for a person born in Auradon to make. She should have been scared but something within her told her that his rage wasn’t directed towards her. (And it would never be.)

“Uma,” his voice was firm, the accent he tried to hide growing heavy. “If I am bothering ye, then I’ll stop. Ye won’t see neither hide nor hair of me. I never meant-”

She put a hand firmly against his chest, stopping his rant. She should just say, “Yes, go away”, knowing that he would keep his word and leaving her with one less thing for Mal to nag on her about. No good came from the son of Auradon’s most celebrated and decorated hero taking an interest in the sea witch’s unwanted daughter. After all, no matter how his attentiveness made her feel like she was riding the crests of the tides, he would always be seen as a hero and she, a villain.

She was going to say that, to hiss and curse at his name, at people like his father who were the reason why her mother and everyone else’s parents were revived and forced onto the Isle. Why she had grown up not knowing her heritage or how she wasn’t given a chance to be seen as anything more than a sea witch’s daughter or Mal’s favorite punching bag.

“Stay,” her traitorous mouth uttered surprising both herself and the boy across from her.

“Stay?” he questioned, hesitant hope found in the corners of his mouth ( No, no, stop thinking about how soft his lips look , she mentally scolded herself).

Uma of the Isle rolled her eyes, a mischievous look in her eye as she grabbed the front of his jersey, tugging him firmly in front of her, ignoring the way that at this close distance she saw his gaze briefly linger on her lips and the butterflies it gave her.

“If you’re not afraid of the big bad sea witch stealing your voice,” she smirked.

A deep chuckle escaped his chest before he smoothly went into a kneel, taking her hand once again. Though his rage has passed, his voice was lulling in its unfiltered gruffness. She found she preferred it that way, wild and passionate, just like him.

“Well seeing as yer ma is safely behind a barrier and I only see a beautiful goddess before me,” he murmured, kissing her fingers almost reverently to the point where Uma forgot to breathe. “I’ll take my chances,” he winked up at her.

Unaware to the two, eyes were watching them. One of an untrusting princess afraid that history would repeat itself and villains would once again reign. Two other pairs of eyes looked worriedly between each other on the Tourney field, wondering who would be the one to tell a certain half-fae of this new development…

—

“Audrey says she’s bad news.”

“You’ll have to be a bit less vague as to who you’re referring to, little sister of mine,” Harry murmured into his phone. “Audrey says a lot of people are bad news, including you.” He kicked off his shoes and flopped back onto his bed.

Practice had finished hours ago and he had just returned from a small sailing adventure with one of Auradon Prep’s newest residents.

“You’ve lived amongst pirates, some of whom despite their morals were the best sailors of their time and they didn’t teach ye anything about sailing?” Harry had questioned incredulously. She had told him that she had lived on the side of the Isle amongst the wharfs and pirate ships, many belonging to scoundrels such as Barbossa and Blackbeard.

“Oh, some of them taught me many things,” Uma said with a casual flip of her braids over her shoulder that momentarily distracted him as he watched how the sun highlighted the blues and the greens and the white in her hair. His head snapped up at her though when he finally processed her words. She laughed, flicking his nose before leaning back into the sun warmed patch of field that they had found, away from the hustle and bustle and curious and always watching eyes of their classmates. “Harry, chill. They only taught me how to fend for myself. My mother may not give a shit about me but some of those pirates prayed to Poseidon, her father, before they were stuck on the Isle and are a superstitious lot. They might pillage and steal but they do have a Code.” She closed her eyes. “Besides, pirates were the last things I had to worry about on the Isle. Traitorous dragons on the other hand…” she sighed trailing off and he saw the way she clenched her fist tightly.

He wanted to ask her more, to know everything about her, but very early on he realized that if she wanted to tell him something, she would on her own time. He remembered when Audrey or Chad would withhold information from him when he was younger and how they always ended in a shouting match due to Harry’s quick fuse. But with Uma, though he still didn’t like it, he followed her lead.

“Well,” he sighed getting to his feet. “We’ll need to change that.”

“Change what?” Uma questioned opening her eyes to see Harry standing above her with a mischievous look of his own as he extended a hand down to her.

Tugging her to her feet, Harry grinned when she stumbled slightly into him. He gave her a devilish grin, which she rolled her eyes at but didn’t push away from him. “Well, can’t have a lovely sea goddess who doesn’t know how to sail. What kind of man would her sailor be if he didn’t help her fix that?”

He watched as Uma looked thoughtfully into his eyes, searching for something. After a moment, she stepped back with a soft smirk, something that he knew was filled with vulnerability rarely shown.

“Teach me then. So that there will always be winds in your sails,” she spoke softly, power in her words. Unintentional magic, but magic all the same.

A goddess’s blessing.

“Harry!”

The boy snapped out of his thoughts suddenly, hearing Calista Jane, or CJ as she preferred to be called, practically fume on the other side of the phone. (She hated to be ignored, even for a second.)

“The Isle girl,” his sister sighed frustratedly. “The one you’re smitten with and apparently daydreaming about in the middle of phone calls, dear brother. And don’t try to deny it. I’ll call and badger Ben or Jane for info. They’ll both sing like canaries, those two.”

The boy scrubbed his face tiredly. Though he loved his younger sister dearly, Calista Jane was already tiring him and he had only been on the phone with her for a moment. At least it wasn’t Harriet. (Seven seas, if it was Harriet this would have been much, much worse, he knew.)

“Manners, ya little fairy,” he chidded. “You’re still in trouble for badgering them when they wouldn’t tell you what I got you for birthday gift. And the Isle girl has a name you know.”

“And I’m waiting for you to tell me it. Come on, I’m all on bated breath and everything. Your attempts to seriously woo anyone will surely bring laughter to my ever so dull life,” CJ drawled dramatically on the other line before breaking out into giggles.

Harry had to pity her. Both of his sisters had been homeschooled back on Neverland, though they came to the mainland often enough. Harry, as his father’s heir had been sent off to Auradon Prep a decision that he still wasn’t sure how he felt about.

“Always know how to boost a man’s self-esteem, don’t you, Callie?” he groaned, waiting for his sister’s gigglings to subside.

“S-so,” CJ finally said, calming down. “What’s her name?”

Harry closed his eyes, unaware of the little smile that played on his lips as he thought of her. “Uma,” he breathed reverently, his mind calling up deep brown eyes and presence that could be as calm or as fearsome as the sea.

“Geez, you really do have it bad,” CJ laughed always perceptive of his emotions. And Harry would fully admit he did.

As soon as she had stepped out of the limo from the Isle, he was fascinated by her, pulled to her like the moon pulled the tides. She wasn’t anything like what he had been warned she would be like by the adults, the heroes who didn’t even know Uma but only knew her mother, Ursula.

She was a sarcastic lass with a sharp tongue and even sharper kitchen knife (he had learned that last bit when Chad had tried to flirt with Uma to get her Chemistry answers a few weeks ago. Harry wished he had recorded it. Chad nearly peed himself).

But Harry also knew that Uma, despite her cool exterior, was passionate and protective of those she deemed worthy. He had watched as she spent hours searching the library for books on how to help Gil with his reading difficulties so that no one here could look down at him. Watched as she fretted over him when he had a slight cold a week ago (he had initially thought her worry was hilarious until Gil had clued him, in that unassuming way that he always did, that many died from colds on the Isle).

And he watched (and hated) as that vibrant personality of hers dimmed in Mal’s presence. (Harry loved Ben like a brother but the other boy was too damn naive and smitten himself with Maleficent’s daughter, despite already being taken with Audrey. Why, even bother when the Mal sneered at him like she had stepped in something a dog left behind? Harry never really liked being in the same place with her for too long.)

“Is she, ya know, the girl? The one you’ve been dreaming about for years?”

Harry pushed himself up from his bed, needing to move, bare feet padding back and forth in front of his window.

“Now don’t go bringing that up, Callie,” he sighed trying not to think about the dreams he had since he was wee lad but it was already too late.

There had been dreams where all he heard was a haunting voice, demanding, urging, pleading for him to say something, a specific something that in his dream he knew and proclaimed with reverence but when he woke up he could never remember. There were some dreams where all he could hear was her crying, his heart breaking at the sound, at not being able to comfort her. Those dreams he hated the most because  he would often awaken to find strange bruises around his wrist, torso, and sometimes even around his neck like something long and flexible had been trying to squeeze the life out of him. (He had remembered the first time he had that dream, he had been six and it had taken Harriet hours to calm him down and reassure that it was nothing more than just a night terror.) And then, recently, there were some dreams where he was embraced by warmth, by her. He would feel a calming hand run through his hair, soft lips pressed to his cheek, his eyes, his jaw and neck, and then finally they would press against his lips and he felt like he was drowning in her with no regrets… (It was often horrible when he had those dreams at home where Harriet and CJ could walk in without warning. They would never stop laughing if they saw how…aroused a simple dream could make him.)

Harry leaned his forehead against the glass of his window thoughtfully, his frown melting away into a wistful look when he caught sight of a familiar teal head making her way to the dorms from the dining halls where had last seen her. His gaze followed her until he saw her safely enter the dorms, Gil trailing, as always, happily behind her.

“Maybe,” he finally supplied. “But she’s more than just a dream…She’s…she’s…real.”

CJ made a snorting noise, but thankfully didn’t comment picking up the tender and soft qualities in her brother’s tone. However, she asked something worse, something that Harry had been trying not to think about despite it’s approaching date.

“So, are you going to introduce your little Isle girlfriend to father and Harriet when we come to Family Day?”

[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

Assassin’s Creed: Misthaven (9/18)

Summary: For hundreds of years, the Brotherhood of Assassins and the Templar Order have waged war.  For Princess Emma of Misthaven, that war has become personal.  After a mission gone wrong, the Templar Grandmaster, placed a curse on Emma’s son that is slowly killing him.  Emma will stop at nothing to save Henry, even if it means going rogue from the Brotherhood and consorting with pirates.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Sex, Adult Language.

AN: A special thank you to @preciouscucumber for being an ever patient and diligent beta. To @cocohook38 and @utopiozphere for the awesome artwork they have created. And to @icecubelotr44 for her encouragement every step of the way.  

AO3

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Art1 for Chapter 9 by @cocohook38

Art2 for Chapter 9 by @utopiozphere

              Though Emma’s mind was still reeling from all that had happened in the last 24 hours, she was able ignore all the new information long enough to force herself to get some sleep. She woke around midday, feeling restored.   

               First on her agenda was arranging to speak with August, in a secure location.  Emma had realized while watching for Hook the night before that she had left Geppetto’s Tisanes without the invitation that August had procured for her.  In addition, she wasn’t entirely confident that August would be willing to hand it over now that he knew that she intended to go after Rumpelstiltskin, Court Sorcerer and rumored Dark One.

              When Emma ventured downstairs, Logan informed her that Starkey and Hook at gone to visit Scarlet at The Rabbit Hole.  

              “Logan, I have a task for you.  Can you deliver this letter?” Emma asked. She held up a letter she had written to August that bore her Assassin’s seal. “It goes to a man named Pinocchio, at a shop called Geppetto’s Tisanes.”

              Logan nodded enthusiastically.  Except for last night’s activity, Emma figured he’d been bored hanging about the inn while she, Hook, and Starkey had been busy planning for the mission.

              “Afterwards, please tell the Captain and Starkey that if I do not return by nightfall to seek me at this address.”  Emma handed Logan a scrap of paper on which she had written the location of the Assassin safe house to which she had invited August so that they might talk in privacy.  The house would also allow her better options for an escape than August’s secure room below his shop, should things go badly.

              “Right away, Swan,” Logan said, and immediately headed straight for the exit.

              Emma smiled to herself, marveling at how much she had grown to trust not only Hook and Starkey, but also many of the men on The Jolly Roger’s crew.  Per Assassin protocol, she had written her letter to August in one of the Brotherhood’s many codes, but she knew that it was unneeded. - Logan would deliver the letter with seal intact and untampered with.

              On her way out of the inn, Emma made sure to say goodbye to the dozen or so men of Hook’s crew that would be leaving Camelot that evening.  They would leave the city with the farmers after the marketplaces closed and ride along the road that lead back to Hedges Run.  Most of the crew would camp out along the road and join her, Hook, Starkey, and Logan as they transported Rumpelstiltskin to provide backup if they were pursued.  A few would continue on to Hedges Run and alert The Jolly Roger that they would be returning soon and that the ship would need to be ready for a hasty departure.

              Because it would take some time for her letter to be delivered and August to make his way to the safe house, Emma took some time to visit a store in the marketplace called Noctua’s Nest.  To a regular shopper, it would look like nothing more than a curio shop, but the presence of a dreamcatcher in the window told all spell casters otherwise.

              A bell rang when she entered the shop and the elderly woman behind the counter looked up from where she was sorting a collection of seashells.

              “Afternoon m’lady,” the proprietor said, smiling in a way that reminded Emma of her mother. “How may I assist you?”

              “Do you have any preservation potions for sale? Or the ingredients to make one?” Emma asked.  One thing she intended to acquire tomorrow was the Middlemist flower that Henry had requested.  Though he had said he would be happy even with just a pressing, Emma wanted to give him something more.  A simple preservation potion would prolong the flower’s beauty indefinitely.

              The old woman clucked her tongue. “That depends on what you need to preserve, m’lady, and how large it is.”

              “Only a flower, as a gift,” Emma replied, eyeing the various knickknacks scattered about the shop.  There was a large silver mirror in one corner that made her shiver, remembering the tales her parent’s had told her about how Queen Regina used mirrors to spy on and trick her enemies.

              “Going to find one of Camelot’s lovely Middlemist roses are you?  That’s a fine gift,” the woman said. She shuffled through a selection of small bottles.

              “Here,” she said at last, placing a small bottle full of purple liquid on the counter. “This should do you well.”

              Emma lifted it up to the light of one of the shop’s lamps, watching as the potion began to sparkle in response.  Satisfied, she set it back on the counter.

              “How much?” Emma asked.

              “Four shillings, m’lady.”

              Using information vaguely recalled from an old meeting about trade rights, Emma estimated the equivalent value of the silver reales she carried and handed over two from her purse.  The old woman grinned, which made Emma believe that she had overpaid.  As long as the potion worked, Emma didn’t care.

              As Emma tucked the potion into one of her pockets, her eye was caught by a bottle on one of the shelves behind the counter that contained a dark, familiar fluid.  

              “I don’t supposed you have any squid ink on hand at the moment?” She asked, cautiously.

              The elderly woman frowned.  “What would a nice woman such as yourself want with something like that?”

              Emma shrugged in response.  Her business was her own, after all.

              With a sigh, the woman replied, “I happen have some.” She turned and removed the small bottle that had caught Emma’s eye from its place on the shelf, setting it on the counter between the two of them.

              “Ten shillings an ounce.”

              “And for the entire bottle?”

              The old woman blinked, surprised.  “Fifty shillings, or two and a half pounds.”

              Emma didn’t hesitate as she laid down three silver pieces of eight, which she estimated to be close to the stated price.

              Again, the old woman sighed, but passed the bottle over.            

              When Emma was turning to leave, the proprietor reached over the counter and grabbed Emma’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

              “Take these, m’lady,” the old woman said seriously, and pressed a cloth-wrapped bundle into Emma’s hand.  “May they keep you safe.”

              “Ahh, thank you,” Emma said, confused, tucking the bundle into her pocket with her purchases and leaving the shop.

              Emma unwrapped the bundle when she reached the safehouse where she would meet with August.  Inside were two small conch shells strung on leather cords, obviously meant to be worn.  Good luck charms, perhaps.  But why two? she wondered.

              The whistle of the kettle on the fire interrupted her study of the necklaces and Emma went about preparing some of the tea she had found in the house’s kitchen in preparation for August’s arrival.  It wouldn’t be as good as what he served in his shop, but it would do.

              Not long after, August arrived, entering the small house through the back door.  He was dressed casually, but Emma could see the leather of his vambraces at his wrists and the hilt of a dagger hanging from his belt.

              “Emma, you can’t abduct Rumpelstiltskin.  It would throw Arthur’s court into chaos!” August exclaimed without prologue, ignoring the tea she had set out.

              “From what I hear, his presence here has been nothing but a strain on the court.  Surely his absence will actually help restore the Kingdom to some balance,” Emma argued.

              August glared at her.  “That is beside the point, and not for you to decide even if it weren’t.  You can’t just kidnap a member of the royal court!”

              “I can and I will, August.  Though technically, I should kill him.  Or have you forgotten that the Brotherhood wants Robert Gold dead?”

              Given the way August stared at her after that statement, he had.

              “So you have two options.  Either let me abduct Rumpelstiltskin, or follow the Brotherhood’s wishes and kill him yourself.”

              August’s face fell in despair and Emma’s heart broke for him.  She didn’t like giving August an ultimatum, pitting his loyalty to the Brotherhood against his friendship with her, but it was the best card she had to play.

              “Emma, what has happened to you?” August asked at last, quietly.  

              Emma scowled and answered harshly, “I’m a mother, August.  There is nothing I would not do to save my son.”  

---

              After August left, Emma sprawled across the settee in the parlor, seized a pillow, and screamed her frustrations into it. Her self-indulgent release of anger was interrupted, however, when she heard footsteps coming from the other room. She had pulled and was aiming a throwing knife when she recognized the black leather-clad figure leaning against the doorframe that lead to the kitchen.

              “How long have you been there?” Emma huffed as she collapsed back onto the settee.  

              Hook smirked. “Long enough to know that you are a lioness among men and woe be to all who dare get in your way.”  He pulled his flask from the pocket of his coat and held it out to her, then nudged her feet.  She moved them, making space on the settee for him to sit, and accepted the flask.

              The rum was spicy and full of flavor, but stronger than she had anticipated.  It burned its way down her throat and Emma had to keep herself from coughing as she handed the flask back to Hook.

              “Thank you,” she muttered as she rested against the back of the settee.  Annoyed as she was that Hook had apparently ignored the “if I don’t return before nightfall” part of her instructions, she actually found herself pleased to have his company after the stressful meeting with August.

              “So it sounds like your friend won’t be interfering with our plans tomorrow night,” Hook said, and took a sip from his flask.

              Emma hummed her assent, and let out a sharp little laugh.  “I would have left him tied up in the basement if he didn’t agree to my terms.”

              The settee shook from the force of Hook’s laughter. “Lioness, as I said.  You’re absolutely beautiful when you’re angry, did you know?” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

              Emma felt a blush rise to her cheeks.  Many people had called her beautiful in her life, but few with the passion and sincerity in which Hook did.  Words were too difficult, and she just leaned her head onto his shoulder instead.  Instantly, his arm came up and around, tugging her closer to his side.

              After a moment, Hook spoke quietly. “After I lost my brother, Liam, I was complete mess.  I had one goal in mind and that was revenge on the Templar Order.  Now, the crew of The Jewel of the Realm, as The Jolly Roger was originally named, were mostly Templars as well.  And not all of them were in agreement with my taking command of the vessel and turning to piracy.”

              Hook rubbed at the tense muscles of Emma’s shoulders and continued, “I didn’t care. Avenging Liam’s death was all that mattered.  Most of the men who wouldn’t abandon the Order were content to leave the ship and let the rest of us do as we would.  However, a few weren’t.  They were good men.  Men with wives, children, families.  I challenged them all to try to beat me at the sword, to take command of The Jolly Roger from me.  One by one, they did.  And I killed them.”

              Emma turned her head to stare at Hook, who had a faraway look on his face   “I did horrific things on my quest to destroy those who had betrayed my brother and me,” he admitted.  “Same after I lost Milah.  But you know what?  I can’t bring myself to regret my actions.  Because despite the fact that I may have damned my soul, I rid the world of evil men.”

              “We work in the dark to serve the light,” Emma whispered, reciting the motto of the Assassin Brotherhood.

              “What I guess I’m trying to say, Swan, is that though you may feel like you’re doing all the wrong things, you’re not.  You’re doing exactly what you believe needs to be done,” Hook finished, resting his head up top of hers.

              “Emma,” she whispered in response.

              Hook’s head lifted and Emma could see the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkle as he stared at her.

              “My name is Emma.”

---

              Emma.

              A lovely name, for an even lovelier woman.

              Not just lovely, but also extraordinarily strong and fierce, willing to risk everything to save the life of her child.

              And Killian had to admit, he was falling more than a little in love with her.

              Which was problematic.

              Killian knew that Emma was far out of his reach. Her speech, her mannerisms, and her access to the thousand gold doubloons she had promised him all pointed to her being of noble birth. Furthermore, she was an Assassin, regardless how rocky her relationship with the Brotherhood currently was.  

              And him?  A former Templar turned pirate.  A one-handed pirate, at that. 

              He was unworthy of her.

              And yet…

              Yet, at that moment, Killian wanted nothing more than to be worthy of her.

              Unsure of how to respond, but knowing he needed to show her that he understood how important it was that she had shared her name with him, Killian reached down with his hook and used it to lift her hands to his lips.  “It is a pleasure to meet you Emma.  Captain Killian Jones, at your service.”

              Emma laughed; he marveled at her smile.

              “The pleasure is all mine, Captain Jones,” she replied, her tone light.

              Killian knew that if he leaned over and kissed Emma, she wouldn’t resist: if he so wished, he would be able to spend another wonderful few hours exploring her sumptuous body.

              He didn’t, though.  The companionable, yet still intimate atmosphere somehow meant much more than would mere sex.  So instead, he pulled her closer to his side and shared a tale of one of his run-ins with Captain Edward Kenway.  

              Emma was dozing in his arms when Killian noticed that the sun was beginning to set.

              “Come along, love.  We should be getting back,” Killian said, and gave Emma’s shoulder a nudge.

              She jerked lightly at being woken and an elbow jabbed into his ribs. “Sorry,” she murmured, rubbing her face, then looked out the window and frowned. “Damnit.  Henry requested I bring him one of the region’s Middlemist flowers. I intended to visit one of the local fields this afternoon.”

              “We should still have time,” he said, pulling Emma to her feet.

              “We?”

              Killian stopped, suddenly unsure of himself, but one look at the coy grin on Emma’s face restored his confidence.

              “Please allow me the pleasure of escorting you this evening, oh beautiful Emma,” Killian said with an elaborate bow.

              Emma broke into laughter again, and then looped her arm through his proffered elbow. Together, they set out.

---

              There was field of Middlemist flowers a short walk from the western edge of the town. Middlemist, Emma was surprised to learn, was a beautiful rose of soft pink.  

              “Local legends says that the first Middlemist flowers were planted by Nimue.  Before, they had grown only in her home village, but it was destroyed by a warlord named Vortigan,” Killian told her as she knelt in the long grass of the field.

              “How do you know that?” Emma asked as she brushed her fingers along the petals of one of the roses, admiring at how soft they were.

              “I like to read,” was all he said, a creak of leather telling Emma that he had also shrugged. Emma remembered the books in Killian’s cabin on The Jolly Roger and was unsurprised that he had known what seemed like an obscure bit of history.

              Using her knife, Emma cut the stems of a couple of roses.  Once back at the inn, she would decide which of them to preserve for Henry.

              Killian had a small on his face when she stood and walked back toward him.  

              “What?” Emma asked, perplexed.

              “I was just thinking how lucky your lad is to have a mother like you, love,” Killian said, offering her his arm.

              Emma turning her face away, guilt overwhelming her. Killian’s compliments were always so genuine, and it hurt to know that he viewed her so differently than she viewed herself.

              Killian, seeing her reaction, gently turned her face back toward his with his hook.  “I’m serious, Emma.  Few people are willing to go to the lengths you have to save another person.  Even their own children.”  

              Emma closed her eyes, her heart pained at the emotion in Killian’s own eyes.  “It’s my fault he’s cursed,” she whispered.  “If I hadn’t gone on that mission, hadn’t allowed it to go so wrong, Henry wouldn’t be suffering.”

              Killian pulled Emma into his arms.  “It’s Regina’s fault, love, no one else’s,” he murmured into her hair. “And once you save your son, which you will, you can go show that Templar wench what a mistake she made.”

---

              Emma and Killian returned to the inn just as dinner was about to end.  Killian rushed off to secure them two plates while Emma joined Starkey and Logan at their table. As she sat, Emma noticed Logan pointedly looking at the roses in her hands.  He then flicked his eyes towards Killian, clearly asking whether they were from the Captain.  Emma shook her head and Logan rolled his eyes in response.  

              She wasn’t sure how many of the crew had picked up on the growing closeness between herself and their Captain, but Logan obviously had.  He also apparently found his Captain’s lack of flower-giving amusing.

              “Will your Assassin brethren be causing us any problems?” Starkey asked.  Apparently he was oblivious to the silent conversation she and Logan had just had. Or perhaps he just didn’t care about the provenance of the Middlemist flowers she carried.

              “He shouldn’t, no,” Emma answered.  August had promised not to impede her goal in any way.  With much more reluctance, he had also sworn not to inform the Brotherhood of her location or actions.  However, he had warned her that he would not lie to them when they inevitably came asking questions.

              Killian soon joined the three of them, skillfully balancing two bowls and a plate of bread.  Dinner was a hearty stew, thick with potatoes and other vegetables.  

              Once she had had her fill, Emma thanked the Captain for dinner, bid the men a good night, and returned to her room.  By the light of a lantern, she studied the Middlemist roses she had picked.  All three were beautiful and nearly perfect, so she chose the one that seemed to be the freshest bloom to preserve for Henry.  

              Emma poured half of the potion she had purchased earlier in the day over the flower, feeling the tingle of magic as it was absorbed. Carefully, she bent one of the petals. If she found the petal undamaged in the morning, she would know that the potion had worked.

              Though it was early, Emma opted to turn in. Tomorrow would be a long day, followed by an even longer night and she knew she would need all the rest she could get.

---

              Emma woke early the next morning with a nervous stomach.  Given the task ahead of her, it would be no surprise for an amateur to have the willies: but she had never been prone to nerves before a mission so it was disquieting.  Her unsettled stomach persisted through breakfast, which she only picked at. Killian gave her a questioning look, which she deliberately ignored.

              Claiming she needed time to pack, Emma returned to her room after breakfast. Lifting the Middlemist flower she had treated the night before from her bedside, she was pleased to see that the petal showed no sign of damage.  Even so, she treated it gently as she packed it away in her travel bag.  

              Eyeing the remaining half of the potion, Emma wondered if it would be enough to preserve a second flower.  Deciding it was worth trying, she selected another of the roses and poured the remaining potion over it.  She packed it away with the other, musing on whether she might find a use for it someday.  

              A knock came on her door around early afternoon. “Come in,” Emma called, assuming it was Killian.

              “So this is the woman who has come to rid us of Rumpelstiltskin,” a high voice said from behind her.  

              Emma pulled a knife and spun toward the unexpected visitor.  It was a woman, wearing a lovely, yet simple dress of dark red.  Her pale blond hair was piled up top her head in a large bun, bound with a red ribbon that matched her dress.  She didn’t appear to be a threat, but Emma wasn’t taking any chances.

              The woman held up her hands, and spoke softly, “Peace, my lady.  I mean you no harm.”

              “Then who are you and why are you here?” Emma inquired sharply, not lowering her raised knife.

              The mysterious woman smiled and held out her hand in greeting.  “I am Anastasia, Will Scarlet’s wife.  And you, my dear, are Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

              Emma lunged, but found herself moving no more than a foot before being frozen by an unseen force.  Magic, not her own, brushed along her skin.  It didn’t hurt, but it was an uncomfortable feeling. The unwelcome visitor entered the room, carefully closing and locking the door behind her.  

              “Assassins, always attacking first,” Anastasia complained as sat on the bed.  She casually waved her hand and Emma felt the spell restricting her movements lift.  She shivered. Suspicious though a woman claiming to be Scarlet’s wife may be, Emma decided against trying to attack her again.

              “How do you know who I am?” Emma asked.  She watched the woman’s face for any hint of a lie when she answered.

              “We met, once, around fifteen years ago or so. You attended some royal function in Briar at the same time as my late husband and I,” Anastasia explained.  

              Emma studied the woman, trying to remember having seen her before. Anastasia was lovely, with high cheekbones and plump lips, and she exuded an air of confidence that few could match.  She must have been close to Scarlet in age, but she looked as young as Emma herself.

              All of it, especially the casual “late husband” remark, teased at Emma’s memories.  Eventually, an image of the woman before her dressed is a long, glittering red dress with a feather collar formed in her mind.  

              “You’re the Red Queen,” Emma breathed, vaguely remembering the night in question.  Briar had thrown an ostentatious party to celebrate Prince Phillip’s tenth birthday. She remembered her parent’s frantic whispers when Lord Stanford and his wife had been announced as guests.  They were known Templars and her parents had been worried what their attendance meant, but Emma had only admired the woman’s grace.  At thirteen, Emma had been all knobby knees and elbows, unsure of where to put her feet when dancing.  The Lord’s wife had exemplified all Emma had wished herself to be.

              “But now you’re married to a thief?  Living a commoner’s life in Camelot?” Emma asked, unbelieving.

              “Hardly a commoner’s life, I assure you,” Anastasia scoffed.  “But what would it matter?  I love Will, regardless of money or station.” The smile on the older woman’s face spoke volumes of her love for the unruly thief.  

              “So, why are you here?” Emma asked as she placed the knife back in its sheath.

              “Will thought you would appreciate another woman’s help to get ready for the ball. He has no idea of your real identity, I assure you,” Anastasia explained.

              Emma nodded, appreciating the thief’s thoughtfulness, if not his apparent tendency to share other people’s sensitive information with his wife.

              Anastasia stood, her eyes sharp on Emma’s admittedly travel-worn clothes.  “You’ll need a bath, first and foremost.  Let’s do this the easy way,” the woman said, amused: and with a wave of her hand, a copper tub full of steaming water appeared in the room.

              Within a few minutes, Emma found herself stripped and bullied into the tub with orders to scrub herself clean.  Meanwhile, Anastasia went to go see whether the gown Emma was to wear that evening had arrived from the tailors.

              The hot water of the bath was soothing and managed to calm the nerves that had been plaguing Emma all day.  After her bath, with her hair and skin thoroughly cleaned, Emma felt more like herself than she had since leaving Misthaven.

              When Anastasia returned, she brought with her a young woman, whom she introduced as the tailor’s apprentice, and a resplendent gown of red silk.

              “We added some pockets, as requested,” the apprentice said as she and Anastasia helped Emma into the dress.  It fit well, and once the apprentice left to go ensure that Killian had no issues with his new clothing, Emma tucked various knives, darts, and the vial of squid ink into the new pockets.

              When Emma asked Anastasia to assist with securing one of her vambraces to her left leg, the woman laughed.  “How creative.  What about the other?” Anastasia asked as she watched Emma test the fit.

              “Hook will be wearing it,” Emma replied. Anastasia nodded thoughtfully.  

              The other woman then pointed to the pile of chains Emma had left piled on the bed. “And those?”

              Emma sighed.  “Too clunky and loud to bring with us, I’m afraid.”

              “That shouldn’t be a problem.  I’ll cast a silencing spell on them and we can secure them underneath your dress,” Anastasia said as she moved to do just that.

              “Ana, no!” Emma shouted as she grabbed at Anastasia’s hand.

              The other woman froze, staring at Emma like she’d lost her mind.  “Sorry.  The chains were made to prevent the wearer from using magic.  I’m not sure how they will react to having magic cast upon them,” Emma explained.

              Anastasia eyed the chains with distaste.  “Wretched things.  No wonder they were making me uncomfortable.  They don’t bother you?”

              Emma shrugged in response.  She didn’t want to tell Anastasia that people who used dark magic tended to react more strongly to the chains than others.  

              “Is it because your magic is currently bound?” Anastasia continued.

              Emma blinked in surprise.  “You can tell?”

              Anastasia hummed.   “You have quite distinctive magic, Princess.  Even as a girl, you glowed with it.  That was how I recognized you earlier,” she explained as she ran her fingers along Emma’s palm. “Right now, it is… muted.  Dimmer than before.”

              Frowning, Emma thought about the implications of what she had just learned.  Being able to see magic was a rare skill, but one often gained as a sorcerer increased their power. And there was no sorcerer more powerful than the Dark One.

              “Do you think Rumpelstiltskin will be able to see my magic as well?” she asked.

              Anastasia shrugged. “Perhaps.  I’d be more worried about him recognizing your pirate.”

Chapter 10