#'in front of me'. apparently i am also become pirate

[eisthenameofme]

I have Got to stop leaving random enamel pins face down on my floor

[riordanness]

better than revenge — [k.jones]

wordcount: 2.1K

warnings: none???

requested: no

“C’mon lass, you get what you want, and I get what I want.”

I raise my eyebrows at this. “Oh?” I question, sipping from my goblet, keeping my eyes on him.

“What do I get out of this?” I ask, my voice hard and my gaze resolute. If I knew one thing, it was to never let down my guard, never show weakness.

The man laughs, tips his head back and gulps the rest of his alcohol down. He looks me in the eye. “I’ll let you live, lass… and I’ll even throw in a few pieces of gold for your trouble.”

I stare at him for the count of four.

“Deal.”

Hours later, under cover of nightfall, I tiptoe down the docks. My leather boots are soft and worn from use, and I have perfected the art of silent footsteps.

My fingers curl around the hilt of my sword, ready to pull it from its sheath the moment I perceive a threat of any kind.

I silently go through my mission once again, knowing full well a single mistake will result in my death. If the pirates aboard this ship don’t get me, the man who sent me on this mission surely will.

I have a simple goal: sneak aboard the Jolly Roger, find a magical compass, and get out alive.

My eyes rest on the ship itself, its name painted in cursive letters right on the waterline, so as the ship moves slightly on the waves, the words appear to dance.

I slip forward, seeing no one on deck. With one swift, fluid movement, I place my right hand on the starboard railing, then I use the momentum from a scissor kick to propel myself from the dock to the deck, dropping without a sound onto my feet.

I quickly shift my body to the shadows, crouching down and moving fast, getting to the doors leading to the lower deck.

Opening it, I slip inside, shutting it quietly behind me. I hadn’t spent the greatest amount of time on boats in my short life, and I haven’t the faintest idea of where to search for a compass of all things.

Luckily for me, I have a locator. I pull it from my pocket now, a shiny white stone, glowing faintly. Apparently, the closer to the compass I get, the brighter the light will shine.

I turn in a slow circle, and when I face the corridor to my left, the brightness of the stone becomes more obvious, in a way I can’t describe. It didn’t become literally brighter, exactly, but it was suddenly very clear which direction I should take.

I follow the stone’s magical light, until it leads me to a small desk inside what I think is the captain’s chambers. Luckily for me, no one is at home. I’m daft. the entire ship is empty. The crew must be out for a night at the pub, and good for me too.

I yank at the top drawer of the desk, its hinges crusty and rough. When the drawer finally slides open, my eyes come to rest on the only object inside.

A golden compass.

I smile, and reach towards the compass. The metal is cool to my touch, and my fingertips glide over it as smoothly as if it was polished merely moments earlier.

I lift it up out of the drawer, dangling it in the air in front of me. I stare in awe, watching as the compass catches the light, glittering and flashing. Rainbows dance across the chamber’s walls, filling the room with colour.

I am just about to drop the compass into my dress pocket, when a voice behind me scares the daylight out of me.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

I whirl around, shoving the compass into the deep pocket of my skirts. It was safest there; the pocket easily missed due to the many folds of my skirts. I draw my sword, and stare at the dark figure lurking in the doorway.

Shadows dance across his face, distorting his features. He’s tall, and I can tell his sword is also drawn, the blade catching the light of the only lamp in the room. My eyes drop to the lamp on the desk beside me. Without thinking, I blow out the flame.

It’s completely dark. I use this to my advantage, running fast at the doorway, crashing into the figure. We both land hard on the floor, and I scramble to my feet, ready to run.

But then, hands grab at my waist, hold me fast, and my hopes of escape crumble.

“You aren’t getting away that easily, love,” an accented voice whispers in my ear, before something hits my head, and I remember nothing else.

•••

My head pounds, and I dread opening my eyes. When I do, I immediately cringe in pain as light seemingly floods my vision, increasing my headache by tenfold.

I push myself up to a sitting position, taking in my surroundings. I’m in a bed, a simple woven blanket over me. I’m still in my normal clothes, which means no one changed me, thank goodness.

With a slight gasp, I hastily check my pocket. Of course, no compass. I shouldn’t have even dared to hope it remained in my possession. Of course that pirate would have taken it back.

Speaking of that pirate, I frown. Turning over all the events of last night (or what I assume was the last night; I’m not sure how much time has passed since I was knocked out; or even what time of day it is. Whoever’s cabin this is, they clearly hate windows), I shiver slightly. The memory of that voice in my ear, whispering seductively…

I shake myself, and climb out of the bed. I must find that compass, even if I am now a prisoner on this bloody pirate ship.

I leave the cabin, finding my way down the corridor, trying to find the familiar door that leads to the upper deck. When I finally find it, I can hear voices from outside. Pirates laughing and shouting and jeering at each other. At least half of the voices are obviously drunk.

My choice is a simple one, but I still hesitate. Remain a prisoner on this ship? Or risk dying in the battle across the deck?

My father always used to call me his little daredevil, before he died, so I decide to live up to his nickname for me, and push open the door.

The moment I step onto the deck, into the harsh sunlight, the chatter all around me stops. A dozen pairs of pirate eyes gape at me in curiosity. I wonder how often a woman has been on this ship.

Suddenly, someone drops down in front of me, swinging off a top with one hand, and landing on his feet. Startled, I take a step backwards, almost losing my balance.

The man straightens, and locks eyes with me. He smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. I mean, it’s nice. He’s fairly attractive, but his smile leaks devilishness.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, love,” the man says, and I would recognise that voice anywhere. He’s the man from last night, the man who knocked me out.

“I’m Killian Jones,” he continues. “Or as I’m not commonly known as, Captain Hook. To whom do I owe the honour?”

My eyes narrow suspiciously. I am a girl who has tried to steal from him, and yet he seems unaffected by this fact. My guard is instantly up, and I prepare for a fight.

“You are going to let me go,” I say stubbornly, wishing badly that I had my sword. I hadn’t noticed it right away when I’d awoken, but they’d taken it from me. “And I require your golden compass as well as my freedom.”

Killian Jones stares at me for a moment, then throws his head back and laughs.

His crew joins in the laughter, some pointing their fingers at me, some jeering and making stupid noises and gestures.

I roll my eyes at them. I have no time for men who aren’t my father. They’re a troublesome species that require a great deal too much effort for my own personal liking.

The captain gains his composure, and stares at me, rather dumbfounded.

“Love, there’s no way in hell I am giving you this compass, just like that.”

I narrow my eyes. “Then fight me for it. A duel. Winner gets the compass.”

Killian Jones raises an eyebrow at me apprehensively. “I don’t fight women. At least not with a sword.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Then this’ll be an easy win.” I step quickly towards one of the crew members, elbow him in the chest and pull at his sword at the same time, yanking it from its sheath as he stumbles backwards.

I launch an attack on Killian, my sword coming down on his head. In a flash, he brings his arm up to stop my blade.

My sword clangs against metal, and I stare in shock at what should be Killian’s hand… but isn’t. Replacing his hand is a shiny hook, which has caught my blade mid-air.

I blink in surprise. “You…”

“Yes, I know,” Killian sighs. “Captain Hook isn’t just a catchy nickname.” With his other hand, he gently pries my fingers off the hilt of the borrowed sword.

“Now, love, you’re going to stop attacking me, and do what I say. Or else you’re not going to get a very happy ending.”

I stand, deflated, and watch as he tells a crew mate to tie my hands together, and lash me to the main mast. I slump to the ground, a heavy feeling of defeat clouding over me. I watch in silence as Killian and his crew go back to their loud, joyful drinking. I seem to be forgotten, just like that.

I grit my teeth in frustration, but am suddenly aware of how loosely my bonds have been tied. Clearly, the crew member Killian Jones elected to tie me up was more than a little bit drunk. I smirk to myself as I wriggle my fingers, working at the poorly made knots.

Once my hands are free, I still, watching carefully, planning my escape. Most of the crew have wandered below decks now, and only Killian Jones and another man with a red beanie over his messy hair (who I guess is first mate), stand against the ship’s railing across the other end of the Jolly Roger.

Killian seems to bore of the first mate, and dismisses him, waving his hand at the man. The man disappears into one of the doorways at the back of the ship.

I wait, silent, hoping Hook will follow his mate. He doesn’t seem to have any plans of doing this. For a while, I just sit and watch him as he leans his back against the railing, picking at his metal hook, running his forefinger up and down it, tracing the sharp edges.

“You alright there, love?”

The break in silence startles me so much I barely hear the question. “I–what?”

Kilian looks up, meets my eyes, and smirks slowly, his chin tilting up a little as he does so. His tongue traces his upper teeth, his eyes studying me hard.

“I can’t let you go, you know,” he says.

“Why?” I refuse to believe him. There has to be a way for me to get out of this. Silently, I curse that random, awful man in the tavern for getting me into this mess. Even for a bit of gold and my life, I doubt this is worth it. A whole lot of hassle for not much gain, it was starting to seem.

“Because,” Hook replies, apparently not wanting to elaborate.

I roll my eyes. I am done with this rubbish. I stand quickly, my ropes dropping to the deck.

Killian’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t seem especially surprised at my escape. “What exactly are you going to do now?” he asks me, a glint in his eyes. Whether it’s from amusement or pure evil, I don’t exactly know.

“Get out of here and kill you,” I say, eyes narrowed.

He laughs. “Okay, love. You do that.” For a moment, he does nothing but play with the hilt of his sword. Then he looks up at me. “You know, you could always join my crew.”

I frown immediately. “What do you mean? Why on earth would I do that?”

He smirks. “Because… I want you to.”

I stare at him, unsure if he’s serious or joking. Then, I make a dumb decision and decide, “Why not.”

[beanghostprincess]

Bughawk is soooo underrated and it makes me so sad. Please tell me you see how grand this vision is

I am personally more of a Shuggy/Crocobug shipper but that's mainly because Mihawk isn't doing it for me much?? I love him and his gold autistic eyes staring into my soul and his classy attitude and vampiric looking aesthetic, but I wish he had more screentime to figure out his personality better and enjoy him more. But I do like him! I swear! And tbh one of my favorite ships is Cross Guild, like, the three of them together, even if I have a bit of a preference inside of the trio. I do love them and tbh I think Mihawk and Buggy's relationship would be really funny to explore. Especially within the fanon portrayals of the characters because god forbid Oda gives the cool edgy swordsman more than three minutes of screentime and more than five words per episode.

Okay, so doing a mix between fanon and canon and "whatever the fuck I want to see these characters as because I am the princess of this blog and I can do whatever I want": I think their relationship is fucking hilarious.

Unlike with Crocodile, Buggy doesn't really know what to do with Mihawk. Crocodile at least is easy to read and he's usually the one to make the first move, but what the fuck is Buggy supposed to do with the swordsman sitting in front of him, legs crossed and staring into his soul like he's about to bite his neck and suck him dry. Scary. And also very hot. But mostly scary. But turns out Mihawk is like, way more peaceful than what he thought. He likes reading. And classical music. And swords in a very weird obsessive way that the clown should not speak about. And not much, honestly. Cooking, too, apparently. Buggy keeps learning new things about him every day and the guy opens up little by little, because even if he's quiet, the very few words he says speak a lot for himself. He's also a fucking sadist and loves teasing Buggy all the time to the point of making him cry of frustration, but, well, when he's good he's really nice to be around <3

They both have history with Shanks. You know the movie "The other woman"? The one about this girl who discovers her boyfriend is married and then becomes besties with the wife and start hating him together? That's the energy I'm getting from this triangle. Stop making Mihawk cry over Shanks not loving him and a past love!! Make him go "Oh. Yes. Red Hair and I had something. Pretty sure he still felt something for you, clown, so I am not happy about that" / "What?! Why would you be angry at me for Shanks' shitty feelings that have absolutely nothing to do with me, by the way, our thing ended years ago when his stupid-" / "No, no. I am referring to him. Moron. I like you" / "You do???'' / "Sometimes. Sort of. Maybe. Your existence confuses me". And then they start dating because nobody can tell me Cross Guild isn't just a poly relationship doing business together.

I think Mihawk likes Buggy because it gives excitement to his boring life and also he's fun to bully. Besides, he's more than what he looks like and he actually has a dream and pirate spirit, so maybe he's not as useless as he used to think. He's still annoying, yes, but oddly comforting. Mihawk can't quite figure out what he wants with this clown, so he just sticks around with him. Buggy is like a chihuahua. A very loud chihuahua. Mihawk is definitely a black cat. They don't match. At all. Not in the slightest. And yet, Mihawk likes his company. And Buggy actually loves seeing all the soft and interesting sides of Mihawk and realize that he's not as scary as he looks like. I mean, he could slice him in half if he wanted to and he's still scary and hot but, y'know, he has a very domestic side that Buggy likes.

Thinking about them being established is pretty sweet because I think Mihawk would like reading out loud to him and Buggy would make the funniest comments about the story. And they would cuddle. And it would be so uncharacteristically soft of them and it's something they only do in private. Crocodile stares at them from the corner of the room and,,, He likes having them there. He's not alone and it's kind of sweet.

Also overprotective Mihawk with Buggy my beloved. In the sense of: He cooks for him because his eating habits suck. He makes him go on walks and do a bit of exercise. He makes him read, too. Listen to music that it's not only commercial pop or circus music or musical/Broadway tunes. He takes care of the clown when he's not bullying him. I think Mihawk treats Buggy like Sharpay Evans treats her dog.

And following the Shanks thing to end this post: Bughawk is really cool because I think it would break Shanks' heart and I love angst.

[axcel-lucci]

hello!! i love your works and i'm a huge law fan myself!!

I was wondering if you'd make a request for me (you don't have to do this if you don't want to). Law and his crew are on an island and Law meets this girl getting robbed by a few other older men. This girl is blind btw. Law saves her and almost instantly falls in love with her. Maybe she wants to repay him back for saving her and they go on a date?

Law x blind!reader (if you don't feel comfortable making the reader a female, gn reader is okay too!) fluff fluff fluff

Please and thank you!! <3 :)

I can see you now.

Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

A/N: I've been thinking of this for a while now but I don't have any prompts to plot around, and yours is really cute! Sorry if it took some time to make since I'm still arranging some things for my school this year. Also, I kinda made law a bit ooc and a few changes to fit the narrative, I hope you like it regardless...

Law had to get away from those... Idiots he calls "childhood friends" for some reason.

So walking around the island was a good idea until he passed by a what seemed to be an empty park with a pond that has a lot of ducks.

He glanced around the empty park to think of he could have some peace here as he entered the small wooden gate, watching out for splinters before deciding that yes, this is peaceful enough.

He walked over to where he assumed the benches are only to find, in his mind, the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in the world.

Her hair flowing with the wind smoothly, her skin as clear as day, her eyes... Her eyes were sparkling beautifully.

He can't help but stare but at the same time feels like a creep for doing so... And after some back and forth with himself, he scoffed to himself and slowly walked over.

He also noticed how she just looked straight ahead, as if she was just listening to her surroundings, though when he got a closer look in her eyes, he can kinda see something that he knew was probably something but shrugged it off

"Hey..." He called before sitting beside her.

"O-oh...! Uh... Hello!" She smiled, still not looking at him even though she knew he was already there.

He waved a hand on front of her and raised his brows, "you're... Blind?" He asked

"Ah... Yes... Were you... Um... Showing me something? I'm sorry... As you see, I am blind" she laughed

"A bad pun..." He smirked, "I like it" he chuckled, "what're you doing here?"

"Listening to the nature around me... It just makes me feel so peaceful... Compared to the village..." She muttered, "and uh... You?"

"Ahh... I just need to take a walk..." He shrugged only to realize she wouldn't see it, "I'm Trafalgar Law, and you're...?"

"Trafalgar... Oh! That famous pirate! I think that was..." She mumbled a bit with a hum

"Surgeon of death?" He mused making her nod

"Mhmm! I always hear about you... You're quite a star now aren't you?" She laughed, "I'm (y/n)... By the way, I hope you didn't come here to steal my eyes, they're quite useless" she smiled

It made him laugh, "I only steal the eyes of my enemies. And you're not an enemy." He hummed, amused at how light he feels around her, "anyway... I hope you don't mind me asking, how... Did you become blind? Is it some sort of tumor or were you born with it?"

"Oh, it's some tumor the doctors didn't want to risk taking out for a lawsuit, also... Too expensive for those who are risky... Haha" she laughed a bit

Law nods to himself, "do you have... Um... A boyfriend or girlfriend to help you around? Are your parents present?"

"Oh... It's just me, my parents died a year ago due to old age... And... No person would want to take care of a blind person, because apparently, blind people can't do anything because they're blind. But I get around, I'm currently living off of my inheritance from my parents but soon, I know it'll run out..."

He hummed a bit, "I see... You know... I'm a doctor myself, want me to help you?" He offered

"If you want, sure." She smiled again.

"Alright then, though it might take a while before I take you in for operation since I'll be researching a bit... Is that alright?"

"Go right ahead" she nods

"Are you always here?" He asked

She hummed, "why yes... I'm always here... I love listening to the nature in here, also, it's shady and cool, since... You know, summer?"

He smiled as well, "I understand... Well, I'll leave for now, I'll come back tomorrow? If that's okay"

"It's alright with me... Oh and uh... Thank you, for talking to me... It's not always anyone would talk to me" she smiled sadly making him nod

"No prob, I'll be back tomorrow... Okay?"

"Okay"

He ruffled her hair after getting up making her giggle

And so he did.

He came back the next day, then the day after that, and the day after that, and goes on...

It has been a week of him going out for almost hours everyday only to come back with a lighter mood.

It made the crew suspicious as to why the hell he's like this, but they will NEVER question it because with his lighter mood, they can get away with anything.

But one day, Law wanted to give the good news to (y/n) that he'd be able to operate on her only when he reached the park she was always at, he heard her scream loudly making him immediately rush inside to see two teenage boys trying to take away her walking stick and her bag

Only for one of them to kick her on her stomach causing her to let go of both items as the boys run off.

Seeing this made his blood sizzle and boil.

"Room." He casted as the blue dome covered the whole park, "shambles."

He motioned with his hand as the two boys suddenly appeared in front of him as they look at him with fear and shock knowing that an infamous pirate was going to steal their loot.

...

"(Y/n)-ya...!" He ran over after dealing with the now bruised and injured boys who ran off crying to their mommies.

"L-law...!" She gasped as she cried, "m-my things..." She cried as he held her tightly in his arms

"Don't worry... I got them right here" he smiled when she gasped.

"R-really?! Y-you have them??"

"I cought the boys who tried to steal them, here..." He handed the stick back to (y/n) and helped her up slowly before handing her the bag, "are you alright? That was a pretty solid kick."

"It was a kick...? I thought someone punched the living shit out of me..." She muttered, "b-but... Thank you for retrieving my things, Law..." She smiled at him

"You're welcome...." He smiled softly.

Meanwhile...

Shachi and penguin wanted to know so they followed him only to see two teenage boys run out of a park, crying and bruised.

Upon notice, they instantly knew who inflicted those on them so they rushed to the park only to pause when they saw Law, comforting and hugging a woman while smiling softly at her

"Okay... I guess we're late to the party and uhm... Captain's got a girlfriend, finally." Shachi whispered.

"Yeah... Let's go back before he sees us" the two nodded to themselves before rushing off, probably to tell the crew or not.

....

"Uh... Law, do you... Do you want to come with me? I can make you something back home..." She smiled, "you know... As a thanks"

"Oh... It's alright, you don't have to-"

"But I want to, Law... Please?" She may not know it but she puts on the cutest "please" expression he has ever seen on a human being.

"A-alright..." He muttered thanking whoever is in charge that she can't see him blush ever so furiously

They soon arrived at her small cottage just a few blocks away from the park.

Law observed how the front yard was well-kept and the porch having a rocking chair on it before hearing her open the door after fumbling with the keys.

"Please, come in" she smiled as she let him in and take off his shoes, "this way..." She smiled as she placed a hand on the walk before walking to probably guide him to the dining room that was attached to the kitchen.

"Nice house you have, (y/n)-ya" He smiled softly.

"Ahh... Thank you" she smiled again as she entered the kitchen

"Do you need help with that?"

"Oh uh... Can you cook the rice?" She asks, "and I hope you're alright with some curry?"

"Oh, that's alright." He smiled as he helped her in the kitchen before sitting down once he finished his job

She soon served him the most beautiful food in a plate with rice.

It also smelled nice.

He took a spoon and scooped a spoonful before eating only to melt at how delicious it is.

"Mmmhhh...!" He hummed in satisfaction, "this is so good!"

It made her smile excitedly, "really?? I'm so happy you think it's delicious...!"

Law finished his food before drinking some freshly made juice, "before I almost forget, I was going to tell you at the park something"

"Oh? What is that...?" She felt around for a chair to sit in only for law to guide her hand to a nearby chair as she sat in it

"Good news and bad news"

"And... What might that be..?"

"Bad news... We'll be leaving tomorrow, but good news, I'll be able to take you on that operation!" He said as she can hear him be excited.

"But you guys are leaving... How can that be..?"

"This part is where the decision you need to make is very important, either... You can come with us... Or not... But don't worry, we'll take you back here as soon as you recovered or drop you off at an island if you want."

"Law... I... I want to... And if you do help me regain my vision... I want to repay you as much as I can" she smiled making him smile again

"Alright... I'll pick you up first thing tomorrow morning... Then I'll introduce you to my crew" he said with slight excitement

She laughed, "okay. I'll be waiting for you..."

The next day, (y/n) had her things packed, which wasn't too much than just 2 bags of her belongings.

But it was enough to make the house empty...

Someone then rang the doorbell and she went to the door, "who's there?" She called with a smile

"It's me..." She recognised his voice and immediately opened the door.

"Law...!" She gasped with a smile before feeling arms suddenly wrapped around her tightly

"Come on, let's get going... It looks like it's about to rain" he smiled softly

"Yeah, like I can see it." She joked making him laugh as she stepped aside cautiously, letting him in

"Anyway... These are all your things? Just... 2 bags...?" Law muttered

"I don't have a lot... But... I hope it's not that heavy..." She smiled softly

Law picked them up, "not really..." He mumbled before shrugging, "well? Are you ready?"

She nodded, "though... I wish to stay with your crew when I regain my eyesight back... You know... Like me paying you back?" She smiled a bit, "and... It's nice being with you... I like your company, hehe..."

It made him blush softly before chuckling, "me too... I find your company rather... Comforting"

later...

"Here, let me carry you" he smiled before lifting her up into his arms then jumping into the sub, and as he was in the process of gently placing her down, she heard multiple gasps of surprise and shock

"What..." She muttered once he secured that she was safely

"Oh uh..."

On Law's side, he was too focused on (y/n) that he failed to notice most of the crew lounging on the deck.

So it came as a shock to them that captain, at least they think, recruited the blind girl Shachi and penguin told them he'd been visiting these past few days.

"What?" He grumpily said

"Captain...!" Bepo cooed first, "who's that?"

Law sighed before placing a bag down and holding (y/n) gently to face them making them make a sound of being in awe at how cute and beautiful they think (y/n) is.

"Everyone, meet (y/n)-ya. (Y/n)-ya, you may not see them for now but these are my crew... I hope you can familiarise them by voice?" He said as (y/n) hummed

She then nodded with a smile, "hello everyone...! Nice to meet you all, I'm (y/n)...! Lovely weather we're having, yeah? Too bad can't see them." She joked

It made them chuckle a bit before introducing themselves

Some... Sound the same to (y/n), while some are unique and easy to distinguish. But she was also glad that there's another girl in the crew, Ikkaku...

Ikkaku was more than thrilled to see and meet (y/n).

"Oh. My. Gosh... You are so CUTE!" Ikkaku gasped and held (y/n)'s hand, "I'm Ikkaku, nice to meet ya!"

It made (y/n) giggle a bit, "I'm (y/n), nice to meet you too, miss Ikkaku"

"Ah... No need for formalities, just call me by my name. And if you need me, feel free to find me" Ikkaku smiled

"Yeah, as soon as I get my eyesight back, I'll definitely find you." (Y/n) half joked making her laugh

"Captain...! You never told us your FRIEND is so funny" the crew said before earning a glare from the man.

"Come on (y/n)-ya, let's get you settled in and prepared for surgery. The rest of you, get back to work, let's leave before the marines come." Law ordered as he placed a hand on (y/n)'s shoulder and gently dragging her away

"You sounded so scary back there, haha" she laughed as they walked through the halls.

(Y/n) could hear the sub's low hum and buzz, some pipes, and metallic echoes of their footsteps and possibly others, too.

Law only huffed, "let's get you settled" he softly said, "then let me conduct a quick check up before I get you admitted and prepared for surgery" he finished, (y/n) could sense him smiling, in which he was.

Later, Law decided to settle her in the room across from his before leading her to his usual doctor's office to conduct some check up, hand in hand, they walked through the halls towards the office.

Some crew saw them and instantly knew that Law was growing close to (y/n), making them wish that (y/n) would stay forever.

Because truth be told, they've never seen him relax this much around the sub, only time he's relaxed is when he literally passed out from overworking.

So it was a great sight for them to see...

They soon arrived at the office as he placed her down on a small bed before grabbing his kit

"Just listen to me, okay?" He said before putting on his gloves and doctor's coat.

She nodded and unconsciously started kicking her legs since the bed was kinda high.

He noticed it and thought that it was cute.

The check up soon ended as he was currently writing the conclusion on the paper

"Hey... Law..." She called almost quietly as he hummed

"I'm... I want to stay with this crew... Whether the outcome of the operation succeeds or not... I... It's just been a long time since I've had people not wanting to take advantage of me being blind... And..."

"I understand" he cuts her off, "you're joining us anyway"

She could feel him smirk making her giggle before hearing him walk over, "come on, let's get you admitted for surgery."

Timeskip...

The surgery was a success, Law could feel himself brag all over that despite him doing this for the first time, he excelled in it.

So now Law was waiting for his little patient to wake up and see if it worked, hoping it did...

So that she can finally see the world again.

But while waiting, law started to reflect on those days...

Had he not taken a walk would he ever meet her, had he not talked to the woman staring into nothing, they wouldn't have known each other better.

He was proud of the choices he made, and now... The only thing to do is to confess what he feels towards her.

Though he kinda knew it's going to be for a few more months, years even, for him to do so.

While he was thinking deeply, he felt her hand twitch making him alarmed and stand up immediately.

"(Y/n)..." He softly muttered as he moved closer

(Y/n) groaned a bit before squinting her eyes to adjust to the light above her, "law...?" She called before looking to the side, her vision still hazy

She then gasped and her eyes widened, "law... Is that... You?" She muttered as she reached her hand towards law.

It filled him with so much joy that it worked, his intelligence helped him once more as he grabbed her hand

"It worked... It fucking worked!" He grinned before moving closer and kissing her hand

"Law..." She muttered, tears soon brimming her eyes as she sat up.

With his help, she sat up and immediately grabbed his face in her hands to observe his face.

"It worked... Law...!" She gasped while crying before hugging him

Law immediately hugged her back but tighter.

They pulled away a little bit after as Law wiped away her tears that kept spilling from her eyes

"Hush now... This is something to celebrate..." He smiled

(Y/n) nodded before smiling brightly.

The moment was there... Though none of them talked, it was clear.

"Thank you..." She muttered before feeling him start to lean closer, she sighed softly to calm herself before leaning back against him.

His lips pressing against hers in a soft kiss.

"Thank you, Law.." she smiled once they pulled away, "I can see you now... Thank you..."

He chuckled, "you're welcome..."

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

OFMD 2.04 - "Fun and Games" Thoughts

Under the cut! Spoilers aplenty within!

2.04 - Fun and Games

Oh my Godddd, I loved Anne and Mary so much, they were so hilarious, glorious, unhinged, terrifying, spectacular. They’re, like, what I think Eve and Villanelle would’ve really liked being able to picture themselves like as an established couple, when really they would’ve just been Stede and Ed. The madness! The stabbing, the poisoning, the burning your house down; all in a dinner party’s work! I was also obsessed with the set dressing of their house; in my second watch, I was just drinking in all the clutter and the detail in the background. Sometimes, you turn your pirate booty into an antique store in the middle of nowhere that nobody comes to. That’s just life! SUCH a fun and deranged adventure that I cherished utterly. Smacks of the Dinner Party episode of The Office in the best way. (And apparently Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, which both of these are harkening back to, but I haven’t gotten to that one yet! I should probably look into it though, knowing my taste in TV episodes about deranged dinner parties.)

I am a big nerd about looking at connections between corresponding episode numbers in each season, and I really liked how this episode, like 1.04, was about marriage and about getting burned out on marriage. In season one, we had Ed/Stede contrasted with Mary/Stede and Izzy/Ed, and here we’ve got Ed and Stede looking at their relationship in contrast to Mary and Anne’s. I like how this dinner party from hell really confronts them, especially Ed, with the reality of what it’s like to stay in that Toxic Drama Pirate Run from me, darling, run, my good wife Headspace forever (they’re all just in various stages of fucking each other over!), and gives him the perspective that it’s not worth it if it means that becoming his relationship with Stede. Really solidified at the end by Buttons’ miracle transformation after he imparted the wisdom about needing to change for love! And Ed being a doubter who became a believer because the proof was right in front of his beautiful face!

I really love that this episode highlighted Ed and Stede’s irrepressible fondness and liking for each other, which is the thing that made them fall for each other so fast and so totally back in 1.04. You just can’t keep a force like that down! Ed being like “I’m not gonna melt back into your arms!” and then proceeding to melt at Stede’s earnest love for him, especially in the wake of his “I’m unlovable” profession in the gravy boat, was just so much. And Stede being so sincere and so romantic!!!!!!!!!!!! I love you! I love everything about you! Breathing the same air!! I don’t even know what to say about that!!!!! They haven’t invented words yet!!!!!!!!! It felt very good to witness with my mere human eyes and ears!!!!!!

Ed saying he was all in!!!!! Twice!!!!!!!! Because Luke/Lorelai never leaves me!!!!!!!!!

Their fighting and their tense moments were wonderful too; so satisfying to be reminded of how much Ed doesn’t know and how much communicating they totally haven’t done, and to finally get to see them starting to wrestle with this stuff onscreen! Also, Ed hiding himself under a blanket on the sofa was so valid. Iconic. The best.

I have felt that line about being insecure about the beard shaving coming since 1.10 aired – I think I worked a version of it into a few fanfics, only one of which got posted – and so getting to actually see it happen onscreen was thrilling. STEDE LOVES HIS CHIN!!!!!! Also, that little compliment about him liking the beard length and Ed being like, “................. Thank you.” I’m a wreck!

Mary’s monologue about them being 14 year old boys who don’t know about relationships was absolutely incredible and incredibly delivered. I don’t know if I, er, agree with her (and hey, she got a surprise from her boo right after that! 🔥 Maybe it’s not all just waiting to see which one of you will die first after all!), but the delivery was just glorious and it tickled me in the context of D. Jenks’ various remarks in interviews about Ed/Stede being, emotionally, a teenage romance at this stage.

I must give some individual props to Anne’s absolutely unhinged energy and the apparently accepted-among-pirates truth that she’s a total psycho while Mary has sort of descended into violent madness over the years. The face-stealing romantic yarn, lolol! I want Anne and Mary to come back at least once. I need them.

Stede absolutely sprinting back to the ship (or trying to) after his and Ed’s Very Casual conversation about Ed staying one more night, ahahaha. And the way Ed watched him go! His lil’ schmoopy face! Who knew a few mere years ago that Taika Waititi would be one of TV’s top contenders for incomparable heart eyes??? And then Buttons, there to make it weird yet also so wise and helpful! (I really hope Buttons isn’t a bird forevermore. I NEED HIM. First The Swede and now Buttons? My heart can’t take it! I know the only constant in life is change, and yet. No.)

Ed’s reunions with Mary and Anne both made me really happy. He needs HUGS!

Bunny. Or, I guess: wolfy. RIP. 😢 (Maybe another little life lesson/warning for Ed. If you stay in this deranged pirate mentality, you ARE going to have to keep eating your friends! Either metaphorically or literally!)

In other storyline news: I also loved everything about the crew’s adventure on the ship! The scene where they were all appraising each other on the deck trying to decide if things were going to escalate to violence was so heart-wrenching and so funny all at once. Ugh, poor traumatized bbs! And poor Izzy! And I love that what brought the crew back together again was a) caring about one of their own who’s having the worst and loneliest time of it (and that’s saying something!), and b) arts and crafts. Arts! And! Muthaflippin’ CRAFTS!

(I’m very sad that they couldn’t enjoy Roach’s cake. I hope that the cake trauma passes. That’s no way to live.)

Izzy allowing himself one small smile when he was alone staring forward at the sea was so much. 🥺

I also loved Wee John’s sweater and the fact that he was knitting the whole time. VIBES. 🧶

I’m so thrilled that Rachel House was here (PAULA HALL: CHILD WELFARE, CINEMA’S MOST MAGNIFICENT VILLAIN ALWAYS!!!!!) and that they ended this episode with the same song as Hunt for the Wilderpeople in what felt certainly like a deliberate homage! (Esp. with Ed and Stede walking off into the wilderness together while having a fun chat.) Hunt for the Wilderpeople ALWAYS. 💚💚💚💚💚 Weird Reverend/Psycho Sam ALWAYS.

[desertleviathan]

Hey, Mr. Zabac! (apparently, return carriages are forbidden.) To reiterate, your space is a great little work of storytelling. When/are you holding events? Eorzea80 is my little space on the internet. Bless you if you're old enough to know what I'm referencing with the banner.

Ahoy! So right now the Chowder Sluice is just kind of an art piece. Too small and cramped to really be good for RP events or anything like that. The plan is to move it to my FC's house though. I'm the only FC member who stays active between patches, so everyone gives me free reign to do whatever I want with the space. So the house (A Medium plot) is going to become the new expanded Chowder Sluice, while the apartment may or may not stick around as the Original Chowder Sluice, depending on what other ideas I have for it.

The main impediment is the old ADHD brain having ambition that outstrips its focus, of course. I have all eight character slots on Sargatanas server in my Free Company, and I plan to use all eight of their FC rooms to fill out kind of the back rooms of the Chowder Sluice, the kitchen, the storage room, the secret gambling den, the underground fighting pit, etc. Because it turns out the whole restaurant is just a money laundering front business for a crew of Sky Pirates, which is how it stays in business despite the fairly rancid vibes.

Once it's all together though I'll be putting notice out from here!

Also I am 42 but I'm afraid I don't recognize the banner reference. I grew up in a moderately strict religious household and spent a lot of my youth watching the same Disney VHS casettes over and over and over.

[abundanceofnots]

a little (just under 2k) playground scene with Lip and Ian as dads, as per @pink--and--white's request. i apologize to all actual parents in advance.

“How the fuck did we get here?” Lip asks through a huff of incredulous laughter.

Ian shades his eyes from the sun, turning to his older brother with a look of mock concern. “Your memory that bad already, old man? We drove here.”

It earns him a stinging smack on his thigh.

“Asshole,” Lip retorts back. “You know what I mean.”

Ian’s eyes flit back to the scene before them. “Yeah, I do,” he confirms a beat later, his voice more earnest this time.

This, by far, isn’t a new feeling. Lip’s had the exact same thought pass through his mind countless times in recent years, always in a momentary flash of warmth that filled up his whole chest. It happens all the more often now over the most mundane shit, though.

The first time was, probably, when Freddie was born. Then Ian got married, and Al came along, and Liam got to a good school—and after that followed every other quiet (not literally) evening when the whole family gathered up in the kitchen.

In those instants, Lip would stall himself for just a second, getting lost in the overwhelming sounds and visuals, and think, what the fuck.

He’s getting soft. That’s it, most likely. He’s getting soft and sentimental, going on with his extremely unexceptional life, wondering how in the hell did a piece of shit like himself get so lucky, and slowly becomes someone he’d gladly punch in the face not too long ago.

It hits him hard again, this strange sense of pride and wonder, as he sits next to his baby brother on a bench overlooking a kids’ playground.

This one’s the real deal. Everything here is child-proof and clean, with no syringe or dogshit in sight. Frank or some random homeless guy aren’t lying in a drunken coma by the swing sets. There’s not even one bullet hole in the slide. And maybe it’s not so hard to admit that this is actually pretty nice. That this is them now.

Still, the whole thing is, without a doubt, totally ridiculous. Here they are, Lip and Ian—the college dropout and the ex-con, the true sons of the South Side—sneakily munching on their kids’ packed afternoon snacks.

“Dumb luck, I guess,” Ian answers Lip’s question after some musing and takes a sip from Toe’s pink-colored juice box.

Lip hmms before he bites into a baby carrot. “For us, or them?”

“For us. Definitely.”

They’re just two regular dads who carry around lunchboxes and always have a wet wipe or a pack of tissues at hand, ready to blow noses and wipe off residue chocolate from chins and hands. There aren’t enough words in the English language that would describe how incredibly ridiculous this is, because once upon a time, not too long ago, still, Ian wore a jumpsuit with Dav on the nametag and believed this was it for him, and Lip thought the only way to get through life was by drinking himself through the ordeal.

How the fuck did they get here?

“Freddie! Hey, Freddie!” Lip calls out to his oldest, who hangs upside down from the monkey bars, effectively ignoring him. “Fred!” he tries again with an annoyed sigh, and the boy finally remembers how his ears work. “Can you help your cousin on the slide?”

“Okay!”

With a swift motion, Freddie pulls himself up again to grab hold of a bar, unhooking his knees in the process, and jumps down into the sand with practiced ease. He then immediately gets into a run, coming behind the red-headed girl in black overalls who’s been trying to climb the gentle ramp on her own.

“What was that about?” Ian inquires amusedly.

“Early puberty, I think. He doesn’t want us to call him Freddie anymore. It’s Fred. No Fredster, no Fredtastic, definitely no Fredosaurus. Just Fred. Apparently, I went to bed, and my son turned into a middle-aged man overnight.”

“Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. The next thing I know, he’s gonna get a neck tattoo and his first STI. Al, buddy!” His younger son Alvin, at least, seems to have no trouble with hearing. “You need help? Want me to push you?”

“No, I’m good!” the blond kid shouts back from the swing, and to prove his point, he pushes himself harder off the ground to gain momentum.

Lip scratches his forehead. “They don’t need me anymore,” he comments darkly. “I am officially a bother.”

“You’ve always been a bother,” Ian notes before he stuffs his mouth full of grapes. “Come on, Lip. Freddie’s eight. He’s not exactly packing his bags to leave home. He’s still very much a daddy’s boy.”

“I don’t know, man. When I remember what I was already doing when I was his age….”

“Yeah, but that’s different. They’re not like us. They don’t need to be, and that’s a good thing.”

Ian’s right, but the concept of normal as something desirable, something he doesn’t necessarily need to rebel against, is something Lip may never fully come to grasps with. And neither does Ian, even if he says otherwise.

“We might be getting a dog,” Lip says after a while, pausing before he sinks his teeth into a cheese stick.

“No way!” Ian smirks at him. “Look at you, perfect American family and shit.”

Lip snorts at that. He and Tami are pretty damn far from perfect. “You not thinking about getting a pet? A friendly rottweiler for Mickey, perhaps?”

“No. First, I gotta talk him into having another kid.”

That takes Lip by surprise. He knows Ian absolutely adores his little girl, his mini ginger twin that everyone got to call Toe, short for Tomato, but he also knows the whole story behind how she came to be.

“Oh, yeah? You’d like another?”

“Yeah,” Ian admits, and as his eyes drop to his lap where his fingers fiddle with a paper straw, Lip realizes he sounds ashamed about it.

“Not as easy as poking holes in condoms with you guys, huh?” he jokes to release the sudden tension.

“Hah. No.”

“You told Mickey yet?”

Meeting his brother’s eyes again, Ian gives a noncommittal shrug. “I hinted.”

From experience, Lip knows that hinting in Ian’s case almost exclusively means Mickey is fully aware of his intentions and just chooses to ignore them before Ian confronts him head-on.

“Hopefully, you’ll have another girl,” he tells Ian after a quiet moment filled with children’s high-pitched screams and the steady screeching of a swing set. “It’s a lot more physical with boys. These two are already fighting like we used to.”

“Doesn’t really matter when you’re raising a Milkovich,” Ian remarks before yelling: “Hey, Toe? You wanna have a sip of your juice for me?”

The girl waves at them eagerly as she slides down the bendy chute. Getting to a run right as her feet touch the ground, she comes to a jolty halt in front of them, taking a good, hard look at the juice box as if only now realizing what’s expected of her.

“No, thank you,” Toe then peeps and skips off again.

“Polite,” Lip appraises.

Ian gives a low chuckle. “Fuckin’ weird, huh?”

“With Mickey as her dad? A little.”

They watch the kids play for a few minutes. Ian offers to exchange a cheese stick for three grapes, and Lip negotiates it up to five before agreeing.

“You think he’d be against it? Having another kid?” he asks Ian mid-chew.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame him, after all the shit with Terry. Maybe with a second kid, he’d think there’d be twice the damage he could do. Dunno,” Ian surmises uncertainly. “I know how hard it was for him to even want a kid, and I get why he was scared. Don’t get me wrong, I’m shitting myself every day when I think of the ways I could fuck this up. But he’s a great dad. You saw him with Toe. She’s obsessed with him. The way she laughs at everything he says makes you think he invented comedy or something.”

Lip’s aware that their conversation turned sort of serious once again, but he can’t help not breaking into a smile. “Sounds like you’re kinda jealous of your husband there, Ian.”

“Oh, I hate his guts,” his brother confirms, only partially kidding. “I’m a fun dad, too, you know.” As if on cue, a figure coming their way catches his attention, and Ian nods to where his daughter’s playing, telling Lip: “Okay, watch this.”

Mickey gestures at Freddie with a finger to his lips, coming around the slide just in time to catch his daughter in his arms with a victorious roar.

“Daddy!” Toe announces the good news to everyone around with a loud squeal.

Ian gives his brother a pointed look.

“Fuck, man,” Lip huffs with mock seriousness. “You tellin’ me she loves her dad? What a nightmare.”

“Yo, lunch ladies.” Mickey suddenly approaches them with Toe at his hip. “How ’bout less chit-chatting and more kid-watching? Think I’d remember if I left my kid with a giant fuckin’ bruise on her forehead this morning.”

“Yeah. She’s had a bit of a scuffle with Alvin earlier,” Ian says, reaching out to soothingly rub Toe’s calf as if said scuffle and the tears it brought weren’t already long forgotten.

“The hell’s he doin’ fightin’ someone half his size?!”

“She started it!” Lip counters weakly.

“Okay.” Mickey’s mouth hangs open for a minute before he finds his figurative footing again. “I guess she had her reasons for that. And you should teach your kids to not fight dirty.”

“I go play now,” Toe informs him then, putting a stop to his rant and his bad mood in one go.

“Yeah! You do that!” Mickey replies as he puts her down, matching her level of enthusiasm. She heads for the extensive pirate-ship-like construction this time, watchful cousin Freddie already on her heels, and Mickey drops heavily next to his husband, letting out a prolonged groan into his hands.

“Tough day?” Ian asks needlessly.

“Igor’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Told you he was.”

“And I agree, so drop it, a’ight? Hey, by the way.”

“Hey,” Ian echoes before they exchange a quick kiss.

Mickey notices the juice in his hands then and perks up. “That raspberry?” he checks after he’s already snagged the box for himself, taking loud slurps from it to get every last drop. He finishes off with a belch. “Fuckin’ love raspberry.”

Lip finds that anything he’d say at that moment would only spoil the natural fucking beauty of it, so he just appreciates with a private snicker.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Toe yells from the top of one of the pirate ship’s smaller slides. “Come play!”

Mickey pats at Ian’s thigh. “That’s on you, man. I’m beat.”

Putting his fun-dad face on, Ian heaves himself up without a complaint. “Hey, jellybean! Do you think your dad can fit on the slide, too?”

Toe shakes her head vehemently, giggling as she watches Ian jog toward her. “No, daddy! No! No!”

“What, you don’t think I can?” Ian asks again, halfway through his climb up on the board. “Well, take off your socks now because they might get blown off! I’mma fit!”

“Daddy!” Toe howls with laughter as he bumps his head on one of the low railings.

Beside Lip, Mickey imitates the reaction, both his hand and the phone he’s holding with it to record a video visibly shaking. When he notices Lip staring, his grin falters a little.

“These two jokers,” Mickey complains after he ends the recording. “She always laughs at everything he does like he invented comedy or some shit.”

Lip answers with a knowing smile, his chest feeling full of warmth.

Seriously, how the fuck did they get here?

[shinicalstorytime]

X Drake x reader - Report

You walked through the beautiful, colorful streets of Wano. There was no denying it, the land looked gorgeous, or at least certain parts of it. Of course, you were aware there were parts of this country that weren’t as nice a sight. Especially where the factories were located.

Sadly, however, you would leave this beautiful sight behind soon and take a boat to Onigashima, which didn’t look as inviting as the Flower Capital. You had no choice though, as you had to report to your captain: X Drake. After having tailed the CP Aigis 0, it just so happened that they landed on the island your captain was doing undercover work himself.

You left the beautiful capital and quickly reached the port. A ship from the Beast Pirates was waiting for you, as Drake had instructed them to pick you up. Of course, your captain had lied and told everyone that you would swear your allegiance to Kaido, since all his subordinates were under his service.

You quickly met with the captain of the ship and verified your identity, quickly getting on board as you saw he was in a bad mood. Then again, you’d be too if Kaido would be your captain.

Onigashima came into view and your mood dropped instantly. How could this place be located so close to something as beautiful as Wano? Why was Drake even there, couldn’t he do his undercover work on the beautiful mainland instead?! The things you did for your captain.

The boat arrived and you hopped off the ship after quickly thanking him for transporting you. He only grunted in response. Geez, such nice company. You left the boat behind you and started towards the living quarters of the Tobi Roppo, using the instructions Drake had given you in his latest letter.

On the way, you noticed many of the Beast Pirates, all drinking, laughing and partying. You were glad to at least see they had a better mood than that ship’s captain. If you would have to spend your undercover time looking at moody faces you’d go mad and become sour yourself. You wanted to leave this country with your sanity.

Finally, the living quarters of the Tobi Roppo came into view in the distance. Honestly, you’d be glad to rejoin your captain and your old crew. Tailing CP Aigis 0 had been quite lonely and boring. Besides, seeing him always made you happier.

At least, you finally reached your destination. It also didn’t take you long to notice which one was Drake’s since it was the most barren place. You walked over to the door and knocked. No answer. Of course, Drake wasn’t here. Why would it be easy?

“Can I help you?” You jumped and turned around at the person from who the voice came. It was a rather tall man with light blue hair which hung in a weird pompadour in front of his face.

“Uh, I am looking for Drake…” you said. After all, maybe this person knew where your captain was. The man smiled at you as he took you in. Did he see through you? Did he know you didn’t really belong here?

“Ah, you must be his subordinate right? He is currently in a meeting with Sasaki, but I could keep you company until then.” You looked at him a bit confused and you wanted to put distance between the two of you. You didn’t like where this was going. The man seemed to catch on as to what you were thinking. “Oh no, don’t get me wrong. I am Kyoshiro, and I just want to keep you company since Drake doesn’t tend to hurry.”

You decided to try and trust him, for now. After all, you had to be on good terms with the Beast Pirates and their associates. Thus, you followed this Kyoshiro to a bar nearby where he treated you to a cup of sake.

After a few cups, Kyoshiro became very good company. He seemed quite entertaining and knew how to keep a conversation going. “So, tell me. What is with you and Drake?” he asked. Confusion hit you. What did he mean with that?

Kyoshiro could see the confusion and chuckled. “Drake’s demeanor changed completely when he knew you were coming to Wano. He’s been more distracted and making sure everything would be in order for your arrival.”

Those words surprised you. Drake had been looking forward to your arrival then? You didn’t think it would make much difference for him, after all you were just his subordinate. The notion made you warm inside. Apparently that started to show on your face as well as you became red, much to Kyoshiro’s entertainment.

Kyoshiro of course had caught on to Drake’s change the past few days and it was easy to see why, seeing you in front of him. It was even more amusing to him to see the effect mentioning Drake had on you as well. He could easily tell there was more going on than just a captain and crewmember type of relationship. At last, he had a chance to enjoy himself and play cupid for a bit.

You noticed a mischievous glint in your company’s eyes and couldn’t’ help but wonder what that was about. “So, when do you think Drake will be back?” you asked him. You really wanted to get the report out of the way so you can get some rest from your long trip.

Kyoshiro shrugged. “No clue. But I am not in a hurry. Besides, Sasaki is also in that meeting and he is my usual drinking partner. I quite enjoy your company anyway.”

“Well, that is easily solved.” The voice made your heart skip a beat. Only now you had realized how much you missed that voice. You turned around and met the blue eyes of your captain. However, they were focused on Kyoshiro with murderous intent behind them.

Kyoshiro only looked amused. Oh how easy his job would be here. “Done already? That’s not your usual way of working.” the blue-haired man said, a teasing grin on his face.

Drake kept his eyes fixated on the man. How dared the try to woe his crewmate! “Sasaki is ready to be your drinking buddy again.” The anger present in your captain’s voice surprised him. Why was he in such a bad mood? Had something gone wrong in the meeting?

Kyoshiro sighed, but couldn’t hide his amusement even a little. “Such a shame, I was really enjoying my new company.” The man turned to look at Sasaki, who had been stationed next to the angry Drake, silently observing. “No offence.”

Sasaki laughed a bit, having caught on to the little devious plan of the yakuza. “None taken, my friend. I would also prefer company this pretty.” This was the last drop for Drake. Something inside him exploded.

Drake turned to you and grabbed your wrist. “Come on, (Y/N). It’s time to go.” and with that, he dragged you out of the bar. You were so confused and gave the two other men an apologetic look. Something told you you’d best keep them on a friendly side.

As Drake was dragging you through the streets of Ongashima, seemingly without a destination in mind, you were gathering your thoughts. “Okay and now we’re going to stop!” you shouted as you stopped in your tracks and effectively stopping your captain as well.

“What on earth was all that about?!” Drake didn’t know how to answer that. Well, he knew the answer, but he didn’t want to admit that he was jealous. After all, you were supposed to be by his side again now that you two were reunited.

“Drake?” His silence was starting to worry you. Was he sick? The man sighed. He knew there wasn’t a way around it. He supposed it was time to finally admit it.

“(Y/N)… I missed you.” Your cheeks warmed at those words. He did? You had missed him a lot as well. “I missed you too, Drake. But what does that have to do with that display in the bar?” you questioned. You didn’t see the correlation.

“Those guys don’t know how to treat a lady properly.” You laughed a bit. “And you do?” Sure, you loved Drake a lot but he was by no means great with the ladies.

Drake grumbled at that. “Perhaps not, but I do know how to treat you. And that is the only lady I need to know how to treat.” You were speechless. What were you supposed to say to that? Guess he did know how to woe a woman if he tried.

Your captain gained some confidence witnessing the flustered state you were in. “You’re not denying it, so I am assuming I am right?” You blushed more and nodded. “Perfect.” Drake said. God, you didn’t know how to handle it if Drake showed his more confident side.

However, you wouldn’t indulge him too much. “So, do you have time for my report now?” you asked, hoping to change the subject. “Of course I have time for you… but the report can wait.” Drake said with a smirk, taking your hand and leading you back to his living quarters. It would prove to be an interesting night for the two of you.

[grand-line-shenanigans]

My thoughts about Luffy and Emotions

(because I am having Sad Hyperfixation Hours in this house tonight, and I am going to make it everyone else's problem)

So like. So like. Something that I've noticed, since I've caught up with One Piece but especially since Luffy's backstory was reveled post-maroneford, is how little Luffy actually deals with his emotions.

I mean. His entire life pretty much revolves around two things: becoming the Pirate King, and protecting the people he loves. He's shown many, many times that he would sacrifice nearly anything to do those things. And it might not be entirely intentional on Oda's part? But it's really fucking frightening. This sort of applies to becoming the Pirate King as well, but for me, it's way more apparent in his determination to protect his crew and family.

So starting with his backstory since that's when I really noticed it for the first time (not counting my suspicion of a Tragic Backstory™ hinted at in Enie's Lobby). Clearly he's got some real trauma. Like, a lot of trauma. It tends to be downplayed I think, or like, made to seem less Awful compared to a lot of the other characters in One Piece? But when I really started to think about it, it was actually heartbreaking.

Luffy's List of Trauma (non-extensive):

Kicked Around Like A Basketball by Bandits

His idol getting fucking amputated by a sea monster right in front of him (in an incident that Luffy was partially guilty for)

"Yo random mountain bandits, take my grandson, I'm too busy to take care of him" - Shitty Gramps

Ace trying to fucking murder Luffy several hundred times in the first 3 months of their acquaintance

Bandits are Bad Parents

Ace trying to fucking murder Luffy (but this time with Sabo)

Kicked Around Like A Basketball By Bandits (but this time with knives)

Grey Terminal. Just- Grey Terminal

"You're gonna be a MARINE and if you WON'T be a Marine, then I'll KICK YOUR ASS UNTIL YOU DO BECOME A MARINE!" - Shitty Gramps

Fire at Grey Terminal

Sabo gets kidnapped

Sabo fucking dies

Probably way more that I can't remember off the top of my head

So he's got ALL THIS TRAUMA, and on top of that is this: he's lonely. He hates being lonely. He can't stand to be lonely, he would rather die than be lonely, he will imprint on anyone in his vicinity even if they're trying to murder him, and once he gets attached to someone, he will protect them until his last breath.

So what it all boils down to is a terrifying lack of self-preservation. A lack of any value, really, in himself. He just doesn't care about his own safety. Literally he does not give a shit. He'd fight god and everyone else in the universe to save one of his friends, and if he dies in the process then, well, his friend's alive and that's all that matters, right?

Anyways. How this all connects to emotions and shit is this. Really, apart from his dream to become the Pirate King, his whole personality, his whole identity revolves around his people. His crew and his brothers. And sure, he seems like he's got it all together, most of the time- he's a bouncy cheerful idiot with way too much energy- but looking deeper into his personality, after reading all 1024 chapters of One Piece, it just seems...almost fake, to me, sometimes.

Of course, not all the time- at his core he really is cheerful, energetic, you know, all the things he acts like. But he's also traumatized. And he never shows it, like, ever, except for in a few specific situations where he has literally lost everyone he cares about, right in front of his eyes, and been helpless to stop it. By which I mean, Marineford and Sabaody.

Except really? He does show it more often than that. Really, anytime someone's trying to take his friends from him. He just shows it in a different way. He gets angry, really fucking angry. It's like a switch is flipped, and suddenly he's this almost completely different person. And it is terrifying. Especially more so when I think about it now? Because really, the whole thing adds up to what seems like this: he ignores his problems. He ignores his trauma. It simply does not exist, he does not remember or think about it, it is completely wiped from his memory. Until something triggers it; until he is forced to face the risk of losing someone he loves, again, and not being strong enough to stop it, again, and something in him just. Snaps.

Of course he acts like this with other things too, like when Mouji wrecked Chouchou's pet food shop and when Don Krieg tried to take over the Baratie and really the list goes on; but it's always felt different when it was one of Luffy's friends directly being harmed. And if you think about the other incidents, too; Luffy is also heavily influenced by dreams, and by personal treasures. And really, it all loops back to his trauma as well; Luffy knows how it feels to lose someone or something you dearly love. He knows exactly how painful the feeling of helplessness is when you aren't strong enough to protect it. And something in that, in watching other people try and fail to protect what they love, I can see how it would hurt him too. How it would dredge up his own trauma, which he purposely and/or subconsciously ignores, and how he would want to stop other people from going through the same thing when he had the power to step in.

Anyways it's, like, midnight right now and I wrote this in a half-asleep daze, so I probably forgot things or got a bunch wrong. I really like talking so this was more a brain dump than a thought-out discussion point. But I LOVE TO TALK so I would be so so so happy to talk with someone other than the void, if you think you're annoying then you're wrong, human interaction makes me happy all the time. Ok I'm going to bed now goodnight

[killiansprincss]

Two Victims of Bad Form

Okay so this fic is inspired by this post I made last week and it blew up and I had a few requests to write it, so here it is!! I really hope you enjoy it!! 

link to A03

Tagging: @the-darkdragonfly​ @elizabeethan​ @superchocovian​ @lostintheskyfaraway​ @pirateprincessofpizza​

_____

Liam Jones was used to The Underworld. He hadn’t yet had a run in with Hades and it wasn’t too bad of an afterlife. He didn’t try to keep track of his time here, it was a waste. While he did wonder when he would see his brother again, he only wished he was living a long and happy life.

Liam does wonder what he is up to and what happened when they returned to their home kingdom. Killian was Captain of the Navy now, would he go in front of the King and reveal the true nature of that awful plant, and become a hero?

But had he also found happiness? As a navymen Liam can’t lie and say the female sex didn’t find ways to converse with them and Killian would often become flustered, not knowing the correct and best way to talk to them, as a men of the King there were expectations. But he had hoped there was a special female who he had found happiness with.

But his life-or-afterlife was pretty good. It wasn't great at first though. Accepting the fact you are dead was not something Liam was able to accept straight away, he kept playing his last moments over and over again, and wishing he could go back and stop himself from scratching the dreamshade on his arm. It was a foolish and rash decision which every day he regrets. He fell victim to bad form quickly. The Underworld was a strange town but the wide variety of alcohol was one thing he liked.

There was a bar that Liam would go to every day and the Rum was far spicier than the one he had become accustomed to in the Enchanted Forest, and it was stronger too. Apparently being dead knocks out your tolerance for alcohol. He was a mess. He grieved for his own life, all the things he planned to do and see, and he grieved for his little brother and how now he was all alone.

The owner of the bar, Alaric, was a former King of a long forgotten kingdom. He wasn’t the kindest or most understanding King in his former life, so in the Underworld Alaric devoted his time to helping others, and he helped Liam come to terms with the fact that while he was dead, it was not the worst thing in the world.

“If your mother is here, her gravestone will be up. If she’s in a better place it will have fallen, but a crack will appear if that is not the case.” Those were the last words Alaric said to Liam before he found peace.It was the one thing Liam wanted to know.

Finding out his mother’s fate was a high priority for Liam, he hoped she were in a better place and they would be reunited once Killian arrived in years to come. He hoped she could be proud of her two boys. He doesn’t know what he would do if she were in a worse place.

And there it was. A grave marked “Alice Jones”

Liam smiles. It had fallen over. She was in a better place.

Knowing his mother was in a better place, at peace likely, was all Liam needed to get on with his life in the afterlife.

Alaric was the first person Liam felt like he could speak to and open up to. And it felt good. He wanted to do the same for other people.

So Liam takes over and starts working at the Bar, working his way through the ranks until he eventually becomes manager and owner, well nobody is really an owner of any property in the Underworld, but in every sense the bar was his. He becomes to other people what Alaric was to him. Letting them grieve and come to terms with their own passing and potentially their unfinished business.

Every day he’s at the bar, he hopes his little brother will walk through the doors and they can be together again. Deal with their unfinished business and find peace together. But every day he doesn’t. And as much as it hurts not seeing him, it’s a good thing.

Every day Killian doesn’t walk through his doors is another day he is on Earth living his life. Maybe he's married to a Princess and is the greatest Captain the Royal Navy has seen in centuries. Just maybe.

These dreams keep Liam positive, until one day.

________

It started out like any normal day in the Underworld, Liam would wake, go for a morning run before his shift at the bar. It wasn’t too busy, a few regulars who would sit quietly on the other side to where he was working. Until a woman came in who he hadn’t seen before. She was beautiful, with strong bone structure and dark curls that accentuated her face. But she didn’t look in the best state. A new arrival to the Underworld Liam guesses, he’s seen that scared face all too many times.

“I need something strong.” is all she says as she sits on the bar stool to steady herself.

Liam nods as he reaches around for the strongest whiskey they stock and pours it into a frosted glass. This was a much nicer way of serving alcohol, he assumed this was how royals drank, vastly different to the dirty taverns he and Killian drank in.

“How did I end up here?” She sighs as she takes the glass in her hands.

“Well, this is the Underworld, therefore I’d say to end up here means you died. Sorry to be the one to break the news.” Liam says with a sarcastic smile.

She looks up from her glass, clearly not amused by the sarcasm, and Liam can see the pain in her green eyes. “It gets easier, I promise you that.”

“I was murdered.” She finally says. “How am I expected to feel better?”

It was an unfortunate fact that a lot of people ended up in the Underworld due to falling victim to murder.

“Well, I died because of my own stubbornness, left behind my little brother who is all on his own. It takes time to accept these facts, not saying it gets easier right away but you’ll get there in time.”

“I left my son behind with his horrible father. I am a horrible person.” She admits. “It wasn’t meant to be like this. I was going back for him and we would’ve been a family.”

Liam doesn’t say anything else, so he pours her another shot of whiskey and lets her sit there until she eventually leaves. This was her journey and Liam didn’t want to probe into open wounds. And if anyone knew anything about being left with a horrible father it was Liam. He hoped the poor lad ended up on a better path.

But the next day she comes back. “So that whiskey was really good yesterday. Got anything else?”

Liam smiles as he grabs the spicy rum he’s grown accustomed to drinking on days where he needs to drown his sorrows. “My bar is always here if you need a drink or a chat. Names Liam.”

The dark haired beauty takes the glass from Liam and takes a sip, “Milah. Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

Liam studies Milah for a second, her green eyes and dark curls don’t ring a bell, and he was normally good with faces. “Can’t say that I have, unless you’ve been dead longer than you think.”

__

Milah comes in almost every day for a few weeks before she starts to open up. Liam doesn’t pry, he serves her a drink while she ponders her afterlife.

“My ex husband killed me.” She tells Liam one day. Liam didn’t try to force her to say anything which she appreciates, so she doesn’t mind telling him her story.

Of all the things Milah could’ve said about her murderer, Liam was not expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you mind me asking why?”

Milah takes another sip before saying, “I ran away. To be with my lover. He was angry that I left my son behind, but he was just a boy and the high seas are dangerous. I was going to come back for him when he was older. After I ran, my ex husband got hungry for power and revenge so he found a way to become the Dark One, and sure enough he got his revenge on me. Rumple ripped out my heart and called me a bad mother, which I hate to admit he was right.”

“I don’t think you were a bad mother.” Liam tells her. “Sure you could have handled your situation differently, but it sounds like you never forgot about your son and the fact you wanted to go back for him speaks volumes. You mention the high seas, was your lover in the Navy?”

Milah laughs. “Oh no, far from it actually. He was a Pirate Captain and I guess I was also a Pirate. We weren’t bad people, I assure you that, but Baelfire was far too young to understand anything.”

Liam gives her a disapproving look which Milah catches. “Don’t look at me like that. We both ended up in the same place. Don't tell me you were in the Navy.”

Liam just nods. “Naval Captain. Died on a mission the King sent us on. My little brother tried to save me but it was poison and it went straight to my heart.”

“Well I’ll cheers to that.” Milah says, raising her glass.

A few days later Milah is telling her story again, and giving more details about how bad her life was at home with her husband. “He took my choice away from me to have a second child. Baelfire was sick, and he was too much of a coward to steal the medicine to save his life. Rumple made a deal instead that this man would take our second born in exchange, so I could never have a second child.”

“You’ll get to face him again one day, when he arrives down here and you can tell him what a coward he was.” Liam felt horrible for Milah, she was a victim of another man's bad form and it ruined her life and led to her destruction.

“One can only hope. Anyway, it was that night I met Killian and everything changed.”

Liam freezes, he hadn’t heard that name come out of another mouth since he died. Milah notices, “are you okay?”

“Sorry. Killian was my little brother's name, I haven't heard it since, and it brought back memories. Sorry, continue with your story.”

“So he tells me he’s a Pirate, and he’s captain of the fastest ship in all the realm and he can take me anywhere I wish.”

Killian. It’s a common name surely. Fastest Ship in all the realm, Liam is sure a lot of Pirates say this. But just to be sure. “What was his name? Captain who? We came across Pirates in my Naval days, I’d be interested to know who he is.”

“Jones. Captain Killian Jones.”

Liam freezes and his vision suddenly becomes blurry.

No. It couldn’t be. His little brother, his trusted Lieutenant, a Pirate. No, not just a Pirate, but apparently the most ‘fearsome in the land.’ “I believe you’re talking about my little brother. Only when I died he was Lieutenant Jones of the King's Royal Navy.”

Milah’s eyes widened, “That’s why you look so familiar, you have his eyes.” Tears began to form thinking about what she had heard and what Killian had mentioned about his brother. “Something called Nightshade, it poisoned you, but the King wanted it for his army. Killed you as soon as you left the Island.”

Liam smiles, Killian had told someone about him. “The poison was called Dreamshade. I didn’t want to bore you with details of my death but I guess it relates. We didn’t know that it was a poison, and assumed it was a simple herb or plant used to heal our warriors. It was a strange island, there was this boy no older than 15, he told us it was deadly. Course I didn’t believe the kid so I cut myself with the plant. One thing led to another and I died because the water I drank which healed it wore off as soon as we were back in the Enchanted Forest.”

“I’m so sorry Liam. Killian spoke of his brother, of you. I didn’t put two and two together.” She felt horrible that she had been speaking about Killian not knowing his blood and flesh was right in front of her.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not angry at you-how were you to know. I’m a little disappointed in my brother though, as soon as he became a Navy Man he stopped drinking and always believed in good form, Pirates were the epitome of bad form.”

Milah shakes her head. “No stop that. You don’t know what your death did to him. He told me the reason he became a pirate is because how could a King send his best men on a mission that had such dark consequences, he would never serve under the rule of such a cruel man. He would not let you become a victim of the King, he didn’t want the man who sent him there to die and speak crap about what a fine captain he was and what a tragic accident it was.”

“So you’re saying he became a Pirate because of me?” Liam was having a hard time understanding how the most noble man he knew would live a life like that when they had worked so hard for their position.

“I met Killian only  a few years ago, and by then he had made a name for himself in the lands. But once I got to know him, I understood he was a broken man who drank away his sorrows. He mentioned you to me but he mainly buried what happened to you inside, bottling up his emotions so he seemed hard-faced and scary to others. But not to me.” She explains. “He idolizes you, always believing you were the best man he ever knew and how could he ever live up to that. But it was the anger over what happened to you which forced him into the situation he was in, he made a statement as the King had to scramble to find a new Navy and a new ship.”

Liam smiles at the thoughts of their so-called great King realising his navy men were now a band of Pirates and convincing the people it was fine and explaining to trade leaders why he needed a new ship and a brand new legion. “Our terrible King paid a dear price for his wicked plans, I guess it’s what they call karma.”

“We were happy, Killian and I. He was happy, his men commented they hadn’t seen him like that since you died.” Milah tells Liam. That’s all she would want to know about Bae, if he was happy.

“I’m glad he was able to move on and find love. And I’m just sad it didn’t last.”

“He will be happy again. It’ll take time but I’m sure he can find what he has with me with someone else.” Milah wasn’t cruel, she wants Killian to find love again someday with someone special- he doesn’t deserve to be alone forever.

______

While Milah stops coming to the bar every day, they still keep in touch and give each other updates if someone new arrives who knows Killian.

“Captain Liam. What a sight for sore eyes you are!” Miller, a former crewmate of Liam and Killian arrives one day, explains he was killed by someone called a Lost Boy, another Pirate. “Your brother is a fine captain, Hook may be a Pirate but you’d be proud of him.”

“Hook?” Liam asks.

Miller looks confused for a second before realising, “Oh I forgot he got the hook after you died!”

Turns out the Dark One cut off Killian’s hand and in Pirate fashion he replaced it with a hook, so now he’s ‘Captain Hook.’ Well at least he now knew to listen out for Captain Hook when new arrivals came.

And sure enough this worked out, though he wasn’t fond of some of the stories he heard.

“Did you hear there will be a curse?” Milah says to Liam one day.

Liam shakes his head, he doesn't like to hear too much of what is going on up there, he’s only interested in his brother.

“There’s an evil witch or someone who is planning on cursing everyone in the Enchanted Forest and placing them in her own personal hell.” Milah explains, she leaves out the rumours her ex husband is involved. “They say they will be frozen in time for 28 years until a saviour comes.”

“28 years? That means-“

Milah finishes his thoughts, “28 years frozen in time means nobody comes down here and we are in the dark about Killian.”

Liam sighs, it had been a few hundred years in the world upstairs, and they had learnt Killian was in Neverland, a place where nobody ages. But they had learnt so much about him and were hoping to find out more, but this curse was a setback.

_____

They know the curse has broken when people start entering the Underworld. Also turns out the town where the curse put them was based off the Underworld.

At first they don’t hear much about Killian, or “Hook”. Until one day.

“They took the Saviour’s son. Hook lent his ship to the Hero’s, they’re going after them.”

Not too long after, a face Liam would recognise anywhere shows up. The boy who led them to the dreamshade. And he is joined by the Dark One himself.

“I’m not ready to face him.” Milah tells Liam.

“It’s okay, he’s the only one who knows about my brother. I shall keep your name out of it.”

“Well if it isn’t the one handed Pirate’s brother.” The Dark One says when he enters the pawn shop, which he apparently owns in the cursed land. He’d never met the man before, but supposedly he was all knowing.

“You’re the only person who can tell me about my brother. Please I mean no threat.”  It wasn’t his place to defend Milah, he also did not wish to anger the Dark One.

The Dark One sighs. “I met your brother when he was a Pirate and I was a man with no power. He beat me in a duel when I was still powerless, so it was an unfair advantage. Many years later we met again and I cut off his hand as I thought that’s where a magic bean was but alas he tricked me. The Pirate hid in Neverland for a couple hundred years to get revenge. But I will say your brother has changed while in Storybrooke, he’s in love with the Saviour who hasn’t quite admitted she feels the same just yet. But he’s changed his tune, he may be a Pirate but he’s working on being a hero.”

Liam smiles, his little brother has found love? And a hero. This woman he was in love with- a saviour, the one who was destined to break the curse? Not admitting her feelings for him, sounds like the perfect match for the ‘womaniser’ that he had rumoured to be.

“He’s on the side of the heros.” He tells Milah that night at the bar when she was sure she was not going to run into her ex.

“You’re not serious?” Milah couldn’t believe it, Killian was working on the good side?

“Dark one confirmed it himself. He also, um,” Liam begins to tell her about how he found love, but isn’t sure how she would take to it.

“What? What is it” Milah can tell he’s hesitating, not wanting to tell her something, wait. “He’s found someone-hasn't he?”

Liam nods.

Milah lets out a soft laugh, “It’s okay that he found love again. I’m not so daft to wait 500 years for him to return. Killian is not my unfinished business, my son is. Tell me about the woman he’s found.”

___

And so Liam wonders about this woman his little brother had fallen in love with. He imagines she’s strong and feisty, like he remembers his mother was, and doesn’t put up with his brother's cockiness he inherited from their father.

Killian was always destined for great things and it sounds like he is finally on the path for this greatness. He tries to listen out for little things here and there when new people start arriving, but he wants to hear it himself when he eventually does see his brother again. Although he hopes it won’t be for a very long time, he wants to hear how his brother fell in love and started a family, giving his kids a better childhood than the two of them had.

But unfortunately one day, sooner than expected, he does overhear

“Captain Hook is here.”

He arrives at the blue house by the water, it’s grand and beautiful. Knocking at the door was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but a blonde woman dressed in white opens the door, this must be the saviour.

He doesn’t know what he will say to her, does he say thank you for being the woman his brother needs? Or does he just introduce himself and hope Killian isn’t too far away.

“Hi can I-“ she begins, but that’s when he sees him standing behind her,

“Killian!” 300 years of waiting, looking a lot older and dressed in modern black leather, his little brother was finally here.

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (1/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 8.3K and just a lot more than originally planned AN: It’s me. Incapable of writing a multi-chapter until starting a new job, and having other prompts to fill, and I really will fill those other prompts, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Christmas fic. Of which this is only kind of that. It takes place at Christmas. But also involves time travel, and way more canon divergence than I’ve ever written, and kissing. Because of who I am as a person. Blame @klynn-stormz​​ if you must. Or don’t, because she sent a very good prompt and is very nice and I hope she enjoys this mess of words. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

————

She’s so goddamn hot. It’s absurd. And disgusting. But mostly absurd. 

Sweat pools at the base of Emma’s spine, drips down the sides of her cheeks and falls from the edge of her jaw. Makes her skin crawl, the kind of heat that’s far too oppressive and she’s already having enough trouble breathing, so all of this seems like overkill. Which is Neverland’s schtick, she imagines. 

Licking her lips doesn’t help. Moving is a lost cause before she’s even considered clamoring to her feet, and she’s genuinely not sure if she’d be able to unbend her knees anyway, crouched as she is in whatever foliage surrounds the mouth of the Echo Caves. 

It smells. 

The foliage — and Emma, she supposes. Most of her thoughts drift away from body odor rather quickly though, right back into that cave and she can’t figure out who made the cell Neal was in, but she also told Neal she wished he was actually dead while he was in that cell and she figures that makes her something of an asshole. 

Feeling clenches in her chest, quite possibly the physical manifestation of her anxiety and growing fear and every single second that passes is another second they haven’t used to find Henry and—

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, not able to get her sword out of its makeshift scabbard in time. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it on her back. 

Hook lifts his eyebrows. 

“Are you alright, love?” “Shut up. What are you doing out here? It’s not your turn to watch.” Scoffing, he lets his tongue trace across the front of his teeth, which is only vaguely obscene, and Emma’s far too warm to deal with this. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. It’s ridiculous that he’s still wearing his jacket. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks, words tumbling out of her before she’s really considered them and she wishes that trend would stop. 

Quickly. Immediately, even. 

Not crying after her mother’s Echo Cave admission might be one of Emma’s great accomplishments to date. 

“Should all of your statements sound so much like insults?” Hook quips, his tongue continuing to torment Emma. Staring at his tongue is becoming something of a very real issue for her. 

Presumably because she’s now all too aware of what that tongue is capable of, and they’d been very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. Better than she thought, honestly. And she refuses to acknowledge how often she thought about it. 

She still hasn’t been able to get her sword out of its scabbard entirely. “I’m going to take your rather pointed silence as confirmation of the insults,” Hook continues. Rocking forward, the edges of his jacket threaten to brush Emma’s bent legs and she honestly has no idea what she’ll do if that happens, so leaning back seems like a reasonable response and not one that’s going to make his eyes do that thing. Where they dim ever so slightly, teasing disappearing and evolving into understanding she both hates and wants on some sort of fundamental level and—

“I’m sorry.”

On the nonexistent list of things Emma doesn’t expect, that might be numbers one through seven. Maybe even up to eight. 

“You don’t—” she shakes her head, hair sticking to her skin in the process, “Well, no that’s not actually true, because you probably shouldn’t have said anything about the making out—” “—I don’t believe I used that particular phrase.”

He actually has the gall to smirk when Emma glares at him, eyebrows twisted in the kind of unspoken challenge that regularly makes her stomach flip. Emma doesn’t have time for stomach flipping. She’s got to find her kid. Possibly get, like, twenty-four minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “Even so,” Hook adds, “it was…” There’s enough fabric on that monstrosity of a jacket that Emma can only imagine he’s got plenty of pocket options to stuff his hands into, but his thumb just finds his belt loop and the exhale he lets out is rife with emotion. The same kind she’s trying to avoid, in tandem with the stomach flipping. “Your father keeps glaring at me.”

Laughing is a patently absurd reaction to that. 

Her father is dying, apparently. Or tethered to this island, and that’s not much better, but it absolutely does not surprise Emma that he’s falling directly back into overprotective and if she’s going to be the asshole she absolutely is, then she should also probably admit how nice it was

to be hugged with that kind of determination before. 

That might not be the right word. 

Whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep if her dad were here. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Emma lies, barely opening her mouth. Like even that can’t believe what she’s trying to claim. “Although I am sorry about my dad, I can—I mean I can say something if you want.” “No, no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m sure the prince has better things to worry about than—” “You and me?”

Hook hums. Keeps his thumb where it is, and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. 

Her stomach noticeably sinks. 

“Of course, not—no, I just…” Stammering Captain Hook catches Emma off guard, eyeing the toe of his boot as it digs a fairly impressive divot into the ground that is no doubt staining her jeans. And she’s about to do something, really she is. Say something almost positive, or reassuring, or maybe simply jump back to her feet, bent knees be damned, so she can grab the lapels of that nearly-offensive jacket and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. Again. But something snaps behind her, and every single inch of Kill—no, no, Hook, still Captain Hook. 

That’s more unimportant syntax. 

Because all of him tenses as immediately as Emma had been hoping for before, a soft noise on the wind that’s strong enough to ruffle those sweat-drenched strands of her hair. Her mouth goes dry, the laughter making her pulse sputter traitorously and Hook’s sword all but flies out of its scabbard. 

“Emma, you need to move,” he says, calm as anything. It’s an act. She knows — can tell even when it appears the jungle is getting darker, and the stars above them are going out, but then again, she’s always been able to tell with him, and it’s very disappointing that her rather dramatic swallow doesn’t do anything to help the state of her mouth. 

He used her name. 

Eventually that will feel very important. 

“What? Why, it’s—”

“Please, love,” Hook presses, “I need you to come with me. Right now. How long have you been out here?” Shrugging is harder than Emma expects it to be. As if the heat is actually a weight, pressing directly into her shoulders and rooting her exactly where she is. “We need to move, Swan. You shouldn’t be here.” “Well, that’s kind of rude.”

Widening his eyes makes it even more obvious how blue they are, and they are so ridiculously blue sometimes Emma wonders if she could simply drown in them. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like all that unappealing a prospect. 

God, he was good at kissing. 

“You told me to shut up earlier. Turnabout is fair play, darling.” “Running the gamut of nicknames, aren’t we? Is that a power move?” “Endearments, really. And no, it’s not. Disappointing that wasn’t clearer what with my intention to apologize and make sure you were alright.”

“Sounds suspiciously like playing knight in pirate armor.” “Can’t imagine armor would be very comfortable. Not much freedom of movement, you see.”

She laughs. Without thinking too much about the sound, mostly because the sound seems to bubble out of Emma and that’s not right. She doesn’t bubble. She stews, and sits and—

Something springs from the ground. Spring is generous, honestly. Cracks form under Emma’s splayed out fingers, tiny green vines that file up with a smell that make her vision swim and her senses fog, and she’s dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Tugging her forward, but Emma’s legs simply are not interested in functioning, and she’s so comfortable here. Standing seems even more unreasonable than before, especially when all of her inhales come with that scent. Reminding her of something she can’t quite understand, and it’s suspiciously similar to the tide coming in, and he’s still yelling. 

And swinging his sword. Light gleams off the blade, probably because whatever is pushing out of the ground is also glowing, and Emma’s mind can’t really cope with glowing plants right now. 

She squeezes her eyes closed. Burrows her face into the very solid chest she’s somehow level with, and Emma’s not entirely sure when that happened, but she also can’t bring herself to complain about it. Especially when it feels like his lips graze her temple. More than once. 

“Swan, c’mon love we’ve got to go.”

Groaning, Emma’s head doesn’t ache. Nothing does, actually. She’s oddly comfortably and her internal-body temperature appears to be biologically accurate, but she’s admittedly not totally confident about her knowledge of that second thing, and whatever is underneath her left cheek is also quite obviously not the very solid, slightly uncovered chest of a pirate captain she’d like to make out with again. 

Her stomach flies into her throat that time. So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace. 

Emma blinks. Swallows. More than once. Licks her lips, to absolutely no avail — but she can’t be bothered with that when it’s clear her heart is doing its damndest to beat its way out of her chest, and she’s not in Neverland anymore. 

For one thing, there’s a distinct lack of smells. Bad ones, at least. Wherever she is smells suspiciously liked baked goods and the forest, which makes sense as soon as Emma blinks open her eyes. There’s a rather large tree across from her. 

Covered in garland and lights that blink back at her, ornaments hang from nearly every branch, and there are enough presents underneath that she briefly wonders which bank they had to rob to buy all of that. Snow flurries dance outside windows that are frosted over, and there are a lot of windows in this room. 

Some of them look out towards an expansive backyard, while others make it clear just how close they are to the water, and Emma thinks she can almost smell the water, but that might be wishful thinking and—

“Holy shit,” she breathes, gaze finally landing on the voice in front of her and she knew the voice, even when she didn’t want to admit it. That’s something of a theme for her now. “What—what are you wearing?” Tilting his head in confusion, strands of hair threaten to fall into Hook’s eyes. The same blue as always, if not a little sharper because it’s obvious he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Emma’s going to cling to that. So it feels like they’re on slightly more even footing. 

“Clothes,” he drawls, and that's the same too. Emma can’t move. Is having quite a lot of trouble breathing, and clothes is a vast understatement. 

Pants that are somehow tighter than any of the leather he’d previously sported make his legs look ridiculous, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of sword and Emma was kind of getting used to the sword. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, nothing covering the brace at the end of his arm, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with the number of buttons he’s undone and the vest that’s hanging loosely from his shoulders, and this might actually be the first time she’s seen him without a jacket on. 

Her stomach will probably just stay in her throat, then. 

“You’ll do dangerous things to my ego, if you keep staring like that,” Hook warns, but any passably snarky response gets caught behind Emma’s increasingly problematic tongue and her brain still hasn’t caught up yet. 

To the glint of light reflecting from his hand. 

And one very specific finger. 

Mouth dropping and breath practically flying out of her, Emma nearly steps on both of his feet when she jumps to hers, trying without much success to stay upright. Her hands fly towards him of their own accord, or so she will argue forever, and that can’t possibly be her first mistake. 

Putting her goddamn scabbard on her back was, probably. 

As it is, whatever number she’s at is suddenly the only number that matters, because her flat palms make it undeniably clear that she’s got her own bit of jewelry on her own specific finger, and Killian’s hand keeps moving. Up and down her spine, like that’s something it’s allowed to do. There is not enough oxygen in the world to sigh as loudly as she’d like to. 

“Steady on, love,” Hook murmurs, and that about does it. Neck giving up and knees threatening to buckle underneath her, Emma’s fingers curl into this absolutely ridiculous shirt at the same time her forehead collides with his collarbone, and he doesn’t really flinch. 

Tenses, slightly — although she figures that’s because of the worry she can practically fele radiating off him, and his hand stills. So as to ensure that his arm can also tighten around her middle, while his lips brush across her temple and the top of her hair. 

Anywhere he can reach, it seems. 

“Nightmare?” he asks, pulling her closer. They fit very well together, Emma realizes. Like pieces of a puzzle, and that’s admittedly sentimental, but she’s also ninety-six percent certain she’s still dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation. 

She can’t be dead. Not from a plant attack in Neverland. And Kill—Hook, goddamnit, Hook, wouldn’t have let that happen. She’s sure of that, at least. 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” she stammers. “I—sorry, I don’t think I meant to fall asleep.” “Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been baking for a small army the last couple of days, only serves that’d be exhausting.”

“Have I?” Leaning back, he narrows his eyes, and that’s fair. None of this makes sense. Rings, and trees, and baking. She’s never baked in her life. If she had, it wouldn’t smell nearly this good. 

“Who, um—” Emma continues, eyes widening when the realization hits her. “Henry! Where’s Henry?” Running is not easy with the arm still around seemingly getting tighter by the second, but her fear has already evolved into the kind of maternal-based adrenaline they do scientific studies on. “Let go of me,” she sneers, and he does. Immediately. The sound of his hands hitting his jeans is far too loud. “Where’s my kid? Why isn’t he here?” The tongue thing. 

Swiping across the front of Hook’s teeth, the tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth and the inside of his cheek, jutting out with questions and the almost audible cranking of metaphorical gears in his head. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Hook explains, voice oddly similar to a few minutes before, but Emma’s starting to realize that was not a few minutes before and she’s starting to feel a little nauseous. 

“Yuh huh.” “Are you alright, love?” He says it soft enough that something flutters in the back of Emma’s brain, some long-forgotten hint of emotion that she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t have time for it. There’s baking to do, supposedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—I’m fine,” Emma promises, only one side of Hook’s mouth tilting up. “Just...tired, I guess.” “Because of the nightmare.” “Say that again when it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation.” “No accusation,” he objects, but it rings as sincere as her promise and the light’s got to be messing with her now. Bouncing off his ring the way it is. “Haven’t had a nightmare in some time, but that’s neither here nor there.” “Wow, you suck at that.”

There goes the other side of his mouth. Emma might be staring at his mouth. “Occasionally,” Hook agrees. “What’d you dream about, then?” Lying is very appealing. Coming up with a story Emma knows he’ll only half believe, but she assumes she’s got plausible deniability too, and she can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s disappointing. 

“I was in Neverland.”

If nothing else, staring at his mouth — and the rest of his admittedly attractive face — makes it easy to tell the moment Hook’s jaw clenches. Nerves color his gaze, almost as if he’s trying to remember something he’s already forgotten, but Emma appears to be the only one having some sort of existential crisis and the hint of grey at his temples suggests its been some time since Neverland. Figuring out how much time exactly, will probably be a bit of a challenge. “And?” “And what?” “And there’s plenty of terrors to warrant nightmares in Neverland,” Hook says, stepping out of Emma’s space. Also disappointing. “What exactly was it?” Shaking her head slowly, Emma’s hair doesn’t move. She’s not nearly as sweaty as she was either, the blanket at her feet proof positive of that, although her skin feels almost clammy and the magic in her veins has started to buzz. If Killian doesn’t stop moving his tongue in his mouth, she’s going to scream. 

Ah, goddamn. 

“I don’t know,” she says, not the lie she still wants it to be, “just some weird plant thing and you wanted me to come with you, but that was probably now, right?” There’s no way he’s comfortable with his neck at that angle. “Maybe. Do you still want to go?” “To, uh—” “—Doc called this morning, said the paint was ready to pick up.” “Paint,” Emma echoes, another confusing string of words that threatens to knock her back on the couch. It was a comfortable couch though, so maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her. Neither is waking up in a reality where Hook wears jeans like that and stares at her like she’s his—she drops back. Onto the comfortable couch. 

“Mmhm, the color we picked out last week? He claimed he had to order it, but your father claims he’s just nervous because he doesn’t want to offend me and—” “—Why would you get offended by a dwarf?” Dots of pink appear on his cheeks. The bits not covered with stubble, and there’s some grey in that as well. It works, honestly. “He mercilessly overcharges for her services,” Hook says, clearly not the first time this particular rant has been voiced, “and it’s because he’s the only hardware store in town. Which is why you wanted to go. Help small businesses and the economy of the realm, even when Regina claimed we could order it just as easily off Amazon. But that only led to your denouncement of Jeff Bezos, and I do love it when you openly flout capitalism, so—” He shrugs. Emma might be going into shock. “Here we are, with slightly delayed, if not well-mixed paint, enough baked goods to mask the smell, and your parents guarantee that there’s more than enough room for all of us on Christmas Eve.”

“We’re painting on Christmas Eve?” Concern continues to ripple around him, made all the more clear by the pinch between his eyebrows and how often he rocks forward before shaking his head. It’s four times. “No, we’re painting—well, whenever we have time really, but you did mention Friday evening, and that way Hope could stay at the farm. Naturally she’s thrilled at the prospect.” “Right, right, right, that’s....yeah, that’s right.” She’s so bad at lying. To Hook, specifically. Open book practically broadcasts itself from every twitch of his mouth, and Emma is still doing a God awful job of not staring at his mouth, but her head is spinning and she can’t understand any of this and she’s kind of curious about what paint color they picked. 

And who Hope is. 

She refuses to acknowledge the flicker of familiarity in the back corner of her brain. 

She’s got to get out of here. Away from the couch, and whatever color the paint might be, back to Neverland, which is not something she ever thought she’d want, but they haven’t found Henry yet and who knows what Pan is planning next and— “Where’s Henry?” Emma whispers, far too aware of the desperation in those two words. Hook’s lips thin. When he presses them together. “I know he’s not going to be here until Christmas, but is—he’s ok, right?” “Swan, are you—” “—Just tell me where my kid is, Hook!” Those words fly out of her, voice rising on every letter until it feels as if they’re cutting their way out of Emma’s soul, leaving lacerations behind and the blood that’s appeared on the tip of her tongue makes her recoil. She fully expects him to take another step back, not sure when she stood up again, only that her knees are knocking together now, so naturally that’s not what happens at all. 

Hook moves back into her space, made all the easier by the lack of weapons between them, hand finding her cheek as easily as it traced her spine, and Emma doesn’t want to lean into the touch, but he’s so ridiculously warm and she’s teetering on the edge of undeniable insanity, so she’s going to give herself this. For at least six seconds. 

“Visiting Ella’s stepsister, so while he’s probably not having the best time, Lu’s always been a rather large fan of that particular realm, and Drizella is a bit of a pushover. I’d imagine the little lass is going gangbusters on the present front.”

Emma’s breathing out of her mouth. 

That seems fair as well. Trying to piece together any of that information with the life she’s currently living is all but impossible, and it’s only a matter of time until her knees give up again. Honestly, not crying continues to be her greatest talent. 

“Maybe I should just go to the store,” Hook says, “and let you try and get some more rest.”

Even the thought of being left here alone makes Emma’s magic boil in the pit of her stomach — wherever it might be sitting now, and she’s already shaking her head. “No, no, I want to make sure it’s the right color.” “Yuh huh.” “Sounding less than agreeable, Captain.” It’s a mean trick. One she knows will work, and it does. Hook’s eyes flash, and his brows jump, the hand that returned to her hip at some point tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me that you’re alright, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a woefully bad liar is what you are, Your Highness.” Scrunching her nose, Emma tries very hard to temper the fluttering between her ribs. Magic mixes with nerves and flirting that’s not necessarily easier than it’s been, but certainly more fine-tuned. As if it’s a dance both of them are used to. “You can’t pull your sword on Doc, you know that, right?” “That hasn’t happened in years.” “Hook either, that might honestly be worse.” “He’s got a stranglehold on the hardware economy in this town. It’s not right. Gives him leave to charge an arm and a leg.” “If I tell you I’m fine again, will that distract you from your questionable obsession with hardware-based economies?” “Probably not,” Hook grins, more teasing and fluttering and his eyebrows jump again. As soon as Emma licks her lips. 

“No challenging the dwarfs to a duel.” Saluting is only passably overwhelming, but that appears to be the way this is going, and Emma cannot come up with an appropriate adjective to describe whatever sound she makes. As soon as he kisses her cheek. Giggling is out of the realm of possibility. “Noted,” Hook says, “c’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can pick up the little sea monster.”

At this point, Emma would almost welcome a battle with a sea monster. Get her blood flowing, provide an outlet for all her adrenaline and, she hopes at least, if she dies in this dream, she’ll wake up back in Neverland. 

This has to be a dream. 

So, it seems they live in a mansion. 

Stepping outside, Emma’s breath catches loudly as she stares at the wraparound porch and there are somehow more windows than she’d originally noticed, and a turret-type thing involved that’s only vaguely absurd. Almost as much as the way people greet them on Main Street, familiar faces mixing in with strangers, all of whom nod and smile and some who even reach a hand out to Hook like he’s not a pirate or only recently returned to Storybrooke with the one thing they needed to get to Neverland, but Emma also supposes that was years ago, even if the math is still admittedly kind of messing with her. 

That was never her strongest subject in school. 

And there’s no sword strapped to his hip when the bell over the hardware store door rings, but Hook’s called “Doc” still sounds appropriately threatening, the scuffle of shoes and slightly panted breaths making Emma almost smile in spite of herself and her mathematical failings. “Captain,” Doc exhales, shuffling behind the counter that spans the far wall of the store. Tools and cans of paint line the shelves above his head, a name tag pinned to his shirt that seems unnecessary, but Emma’s nearly charmed by that as well and wholly unprepared for Doc to glance her way, adding—“Your Highness, it’s so nice to see you. I’ve got your order all ready, if you’d like to…”

Whatever else he says disappears in a haze of buzzing magic and malfunctioning joints, Emma’s fingers fluttering at her side while it sounds like Killian does his best to argue the price. For the paint. That they’re going to use. In their mansion. 

She didn’t ask which room they were going to paint. 

That felt like a flashing-neon sign, announcing how little she belongs in this place and Emma’s fairly certain Hook can tell, but that’s also another sign she’s not entirely ready to deal with at the moment and Doc flinches when the literal hook drops onto the counter. 

Emma presses her lips together. 

So as not to laugh. Like a person nearing their psychotic breaking point. 

“But Captain,” Doc argues, “we did agree on that mark, and—” “—Aye, but that was before it took an extra three days to receive the color, and I think there should be some sort of fee reduction for that.” “There aren’t any fees, just—” “—The overall cost, then.”

Pain flutters at the back of her consciousness when her teeth continue to dig into her lips, but the feeling twits with amusement and that looming sense of insanity, and Hook hardly even moves when Emma does. So she can rest her hand on his shoulder. 

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” she ventures. 

Hook gapes at her. “Traitor.” “Pirate,’ she counters. “But I think we can afford it. Y’know, just to help the—” “—Locals,” he finishes, “aye, it’s something I’ve heard several thousand times before, love. But it is the principle of the thing.” “The thing being what, exactly?” “Efficiency,” Hook replies, as cool as any vegetable Emma could come up with, and Doc’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses. The whole thing is actually pretty impressive. Attractive, maybe. She doesn’t have time for that. She has to—

Get back home is not the right string of words at all. Home is some abstract concept that certainly does not exist in the reality Emma came from, and even less so in a place like Neverland, but she doesn’t belong here, with the jewelry and the house, and she can’t quite get over the way his face twisted. When she called him Hook. 

“Naturally,” Emma mutters. “Can we just get the paint, Doc? Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Doc hums, but he doesn’t move and Emma can’t believe he doesn’t move. She’s given him an out. A reason to scamper back to wherever he’s keeping their paint, away from Hook’s appraising stare and the hand that’s already inching back towards hers, and he’s somehow even more tactile than usual. 

It makes her mouth go dry again. 

“Of course, Your Highness. If your husband could just agree to the terms of price, then—” Hook rolls his whole head, hair shifting in the process, and that’s minimally distracting when Emma’s heart constricts in her chest. Because she knew. Has eyes, after all. And the notable ability to stare. But there’s something about hearing the word that makes it all the more real, and Hook’s argument doesn’t have anything to do with relationship monikers. 

She’s starting to have several assumptions as to who Hope is. One assumption, really. 

Pulling her hand away from Hook’s is easier when he’s so preoccupied, twisting the ring around her finger and staring at the stone and it’s—well, it’s gorgeous, honestly. Exactly what Emma would imagine if she’d ever let herself imagine such a thing, and that’s got to be another sign or something at least in the realm of positive, and it turns out they’re painting the dining room. Blue, and that’s something of a cliche, but anything Emma has to say about that gets stuck halfway out of her undeniably chapped lips when Killian ushers her out of the store, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth because— “Color reminds me a bit of that gown of yours.”

She’s atrocious at this. Schooling her features, or acting like every word out of his mouth isn’t a punch to her literal gut. It’s a miracle she hasn’t just keeled over. In the middle of goddamn Main Street, where the guy who is very clearly her husband has stopped them. 

So as to stare at her incredulously. 

“You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Presumptuous.” “Not an answer, m’dear.” Maybe Emma will start keeping track of endearments. Just to give her mind something to latch onto. There appear to be more than she’s used to. “You wore a very blue gown to Elsa’s wedding, made some rather wonderful comments about how it matched my eyes that also made you blush rather severely, all of which I will admit to still thinking about with almost startling regularity.” She’s got no idea who the fuck Elsa is, or why they’d go to her wedding. Wearing a gown. And making sweepingly sentimental statements. 

Her smile is weak at best. “Sorry, just—that paint smell got to me, I think.” “Sure it did,” Hook says, clearly not convinced, “maybe we should go see Regina.” “Why would we do that?” Leveling her with a slightly different expression, Hook’s tongue shifts behind his closed mouth. Emma juts her chin out. In misplaced defiance, and inherent stubbornness. She’ll find Regina later. When she’s not at least partially thinking about kissing this version of Kill—

Hook, Hook, Hook, Ho—she wonders how he proposed. If he proposed. Maybe she did, what does Emma know? Nothing, apparently. “Do you remember what those plants looked like?” “What?” Emma asks. “Maybe you’re the one who got messed up by paint fumes.” “Absolutely scathing, Swan. Answer the question, please.” There’s an undercurrent of command in his voice — like she’s a member of his crew, and she doesn’t know if he has a crew anymore, but Emma bristles at the thought of being part of it all the same and the muscles in her neck do not appreciate being angled like this. “I told you, it was just a dream.” “Aye, you did. And as you would so lovingly put it, that particular lie sucked quite a bit. So once more, what were you dreaming about and where were you in the dream?” Opening her mouth, Emma’s sarcastic and inevitably snark-filled response evaporates as soon as she hears the clack of heels on the sidewalk next to them and the woman walking towards them has shockingly red hair. And a kid clinging to her side. Who immediately tries to launch herself at Hook. 

“Codfish heads,” the woman mumbles, Killian not able to hold back his chuckle or keep his arms at his side. The same ones that catch the kid and pull her close to his chest, peppering either one of her cheeks with kisses. 

Emma seriously considers dying right there. 

Dying will absolutely wake her up, she’s convinced. 

“Articulate as always,” Hook grins. The woman sticks her tongue out. “What are you doing here? I thought—ah,” he grunts, a knee slamming into his side, “control the limbs Mel, or I’m going to drop you and then your mom will be even more angry than she is.” The dexterity of this woman’s face is astounding. As is the width of Hook’s smile. “I’m not angry,” she objects, “and I’m here because you didn’t answer your phone. There’s some kind of disaster happening at the realm line.” “What kind of disaster?” “Something to do with magic, and it looks like some of Lancelot’s knights are exploring the forest here, looking for some kind of something because you know they have to have a quest.” “David can’t do anything about that?” “Was more than willing to if you actually decided to acknowledge him today. Hence the frustration over your phone issues.” “An insult roll,” Killian laughs, the sound almost more surprising than anything else Emma’s encountered today. She’s heard him laugh before. Of course she has. But it’s usually cynical, or occasionally even a little evil, and this guy can’t be evil. Not standing there, acting as a human jungle gym to a kid, and a woman Emma’s mind has also started to make assumptions about. The hair was a pretty good clue. No, this isn’t the first time she’s heard him laugh, but it’s certainly her favorite and if she plays the sound on loop in her head for at least several hours, then she hopes no one will ever be the wiser. 

Emma hardly notices that she’s referred to him as Killian. 

That’s probably for the best. 

“And,” he adds, “we finally finished with Doc, so we can go relieve the prince of his duties, even though he offered. Multiple times.” Ariel, Emma assumes this is the goddam Little Mermaid, throws her head back. “Oh Gods, did you terrify him? Is that why you’re being like this? Y’know the paint was back ordered, that’s why it took so long.” “There was no terrifying involved, and if that was the case, he should have made it known. All I heard was that he didn’t have it in stock, and it was going to take a few more days and—” 

He cuts himself off when Ariel waves an impatient hand in his face, turning towards Emma expectantly. “Did he terrify Doc?” Emma nods out of instinct, some dark and distant part of her wanting to be involved in this banter and this place, and this place isn’t real, so that’s a dangerous line of thinking, but she can’t seem to stop herself. In the same way Killian can’t seem to do anything except tug her against his side. And kiss the top of her hair. 

He really likes to do that. 

Especially impressive with the kid still hanging from him. 

“She’s a bloody traitor,” he announces, “but one of the other dwarfs is bringing the paint home, and, like I said, we were on our way to pick up the sea monster, so David can deal with the knights. They only listen to one of their own, anyway.” “No honor amongst thieves, huh?” Ariel asks knowingly. 

Killian scowls. It’s frustratingly adorable. 

“Fine, fine,” she shakes her head, “I retract any annoyance about your refusal to turn the sound on your phone on, if only because you gave my arms a break, and your dining room will look very good in that color.” “It’s a good color.” The arm around her shoulders is the only thing that keeps Emma from melting into the pavement beneath her boots. She had at least six pairs of boots in their hallway closet. Also absurd. And she hears the lilt in Killian’s voice, even if Ariel doesn’t — the soft intensity that sounds eerily similar to the way he promised he understood what it felt to lose hope, how quickly he agreed to her plan, demands, after the kiss and she imagines they kiss quite a lot in this reality. 

If her other assumptions are right. 

Ariel stares at them for a beat longer, one that Emma worries will end in a longer conversation and inevitable discussion of the awkward way she’s standing, but then the mermaid with legs is pulling her kid back and quieting the riot that causes, and Killian’s arm stays exactly where it is. “Send some pictures when you paint the first wall, ok?”

Killian nods. Stiffer than it should be, but Emma’s only barely managing to stay conscious at this point, and she doesn’t object when he directs her past Granny’s and down a road she’s never noticed before. 

His arm doesn’t move. 

In the days that will follow, Emma will never be entirely sure how she manages it. Tears sting her eyes almost as soon as the screen door slams behind her, more than one voice drifting down the hall, and there are pictures everywhere. Her own face smiles back at her from multiple times, eyes jumping from frame to frame and back again, a life that isn’t hers playing out despite her own misgivings, and if she’d thought the overall width of Killian’s smile was something ten minutes earlier, it’s got nothing on the several here. 

Wearing a tuxedo that does something unfamiliar to her heart, and gazing back from an ornate frame that also holds a grown-up face that’s still able to remind her of the boy she left in Neverland, and another with his arm around Emma’s shoulders again, exhaustion clear even from here, but there’s something cradled in her arms and a tiny hat that makes her whole soul ache and—

“Swan,” Hook breathes, and at least they’re back to that. In her head, where she's clearly going insane. “Emma love, I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

That’s impossible. Not for any other reason than Emma’s vocal chords appear to have stopped working, and she never actually cries. 

It’s a Christmas miracle. 

Of the shittiest variety, because Hook’s hovering far too close to her and Emma wonders if he notices the magic coursing through her, or if this is just how he normally stands and none of it matters when two sets of feet sprint down the hallway. 

Frames rattle in their wake, both of them shouting and jumping before Emma’s even remotely prepared. She can’t imagine she ever would be. Maybe in a different lifetime. This one, possibly. 

Not hers. 

Not as is. 

And as it is, Hook ducks down before the blur rushing towards Emma’s shin can knock her over, hauling the giggling and smiling bundle over his shoulder. More kisses are dispensed, laughter ringing out around them and only slightly muted by the mess of dark curls that threatens to cover Hook’s face. 

He tries to blow it away, several times. 

“Emma,” another voice says, tugging at the end of her jacket and it’s a little overwhelming to see her father’s eyes staring up at her. From a kid. Who isn’t very old, but feels like a memory she can’t place, and if her mind doesn’t stop piecing things together Emma is going to scream. 

She doesn’t want to know. 

Absolutely cannot cope, honestly. 

“Emma,” he repeats, “if you and Killian are going to stay here for Christmas, can we make snowmen again? Because Henry said we could and Aunt Gina said she’d magic them so they wouldn’t melt and you’re way better at rolling than Mom is.” Someone huffs, Mary Margaret’s arms crossing over her chest and there’s an apron tied around her waist. Just to drive the domestic point home. “I resent that, and Dad is totally going to be better at rolling snowballs this year. He’s promised we’re going to win.” Emma’s mouth drops. In confusion, and several other adjectives. All of which Hook quite clearly recognizes, and that’s messing with her too. 

Reading her as well as he does should leave her feeling off-kilter. Reeling, even. It doesn’t. It’s like some sort of metaphorical anchor, and Emma finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, hoping for that one specific tilt of his lips and— “Let’s wait to go over rules until Henry gets here, alright mate? Don’t want to get into specifics when he’s going to have his own demands.”

Opening his mouth, the kid’s argument disappears once Mary Margaret makes another noise, adding a soft “Neal,” and only one of Emma’s knees bends. That’s lame. Very un-Savior like. 

And she doesn’t know how Killian manages it, either. She also does not care. Leaning into the hand that’s suddenly cemented to her back, Emma nods like someone has asked her a question, and there are more footsteps and smiles and she bites her tongue. David doesn’t disappear. He’s here. In this place he shouldn’t be, some sort of farm that had an almost kitschy mat outside that screen door and chickens lingering along the side of the front yard, and Killian’s voice is in her ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” “I’ll kick you,” Emma warns.

“I’d drop the sea monster that way.” She’s just about to ask the wholly unnecessary question of who the fuck is the sea monster when the beast in question tries very hard to stand on Hook's shoulders. All limbs and hair in desperate need of a cut, both Mary Margaret and David look overjoyed by her mere presence, warmth blooming of its own volition in Emma’s chest. “Mama,” she yells, resting her chin on top of Killian’s head, “are you going to magic the snowmen too?”

More than one pair of eyes flash towards Emma, suddenly frozen with a maelstrom of fear and words echoing between her ears and she’s got to talk. She can’t talk. Her tongue is growing in her mouth, no doubt a byproduct of that now occurring insanity, and her own eyes keep moving. Tracing over the lines of her daughter’s face, and the questionably cute clothes she’s wearing and her eyes are almost alarmingly blue. 

Tears fall on Emma’s cheeks. 

“Emma,” David mutters, but she barely hears him. Reaching out a hand that’s shaking much more than she’d like, her fingers graze Hope’s cheek and the skin there is soft and warm and obviously loved, like that’s something that’s possible. This new reality doesn’t have any rules, though. So maybe that works here. 

She must nod. Emma’s hair moves, so that’s got to mean something and she’s clinging to every victory she can get at this point. “I’ll try,” Emma says, not quite the promise she'd like it to be. Hook's fingers twist under the hem of her shirt, grazing across her actual spine and it’s disappointing when she tenses. 

Noticeably. 

David’s eyes turn appraising — but he doesn’t immediately look at Mary Margaret like Emma expects. He glances at Hook, a quick jerk of his shoulders that she only notices when they bump hers. “Did you hear about the knights, then?” “Ariel accosted us on our way here. What do they want, exactly?” “As far as I can tell, they’re just scouting, but who knows with those Camelot idiots.” Mary Margaret scoffs. David might actually blush. “I’m going to go out and talk to them now, and Snow sent a bird.” The hand at Emma’s back flattens. So as to keep her upright. 

“Lance usually responds quickly,” Mary Margaret says, “but you know the cross-realm travel, it’s always hit or miss. Especially with the weather. Hopefully we’ll know what they’re doing sooner rather than later.” Humming in what sounds like agreement, Hook shifts Hope and keeps Emma pulled against his side. His eyes dart back towards David, an unspoken conversation Emma doesn’t entirely want to hear. When it’s obviously about her. 

And her father doesn’t respond either, just crosses the space between them and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be ok, kid.”

“Yuh huh,” she mumbles, but it sounds like a lie and Hope falls asleep with her head on Hook's shoulder while they walk home. 

It takes her about three seconds to realize she used that word as well. 

And then another fifteen to totally freak out about it. 

As silently as possible. 

To his credit, he doesn’t press the issue. He stares, without much subtlety — but Hook never comes out and accuses Emma of anything, or questions how little she knows about this life they’ve got, and she’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t ask when she’s coming to bed. He just takes a deep breath, and kisses the top of her hair again, which is somewhere like the ninth time that’s happened, walking up the stairs and presumably waiting for Emma. 

In their bed. 

They share. Together. As people. Married people, with a very cute kid and Henry’s in some other version of the Enchanted Forest with his wife, which is only marginally screwing with Emma. That’s positive, she thinks. Marginally is better than totally. 

But it’s also not her life, and around twelve forty-seven she starts to wonder if she’s fucked with the Emma that’s supposed to be here by waking up on that couch, and she can’t get over how comfortable that couch was, and she starts walking. 

Aimlessly, really. 

Down halls and from room to room, opening doors that regularly make breathing a legitimate challenge. Henry’s old room clearly hasn’t been changed, and Hope’s hair covers her entire pillow, much like Emma’s regularly does, and they’ve got an actual sitting room and family room, a nautical theme that feels a little to on the nose, but is also somehow perfect and she knows he’s there before he says anything. 

“You’re lurking,” Emma accuses, jumping onto the edge of the kitchen counter now that she’s finished her patrol. 

“And you’re admittedly freaking me out just a bit.” Her laugh does that bubble thing again, something that Killian could probably claim ownership over if he wanted. She knows he won’t, though. Not this version. Not this guy, staring at her like he’s torn between terrified and terrorizing, like he’d challenge the timeline to a duel if needs be. 

“Where’s your sword?” “In the basement. Where it’s been for years.” “You don’t use your sword much?” Taking a step forward, the floor creaks under his sock-covered feet and the realization that he must have put socks back on at some point does what Emma can only imagine is irreparable damage to more than half a dozen internal organs. “Asking that adds to my growing pile of suspicions and worries.” “The freaked out ones?” “Aye,” he nods, hand and hook resting on her hips. Maybe there are magnets there. Maybe he’s just hardwired to touch her. Emma fists her hands. “Why are you surprised by that?” “If I ask you a question will you totally freak out more?” That time he shakes his head. Hair shifts in the process, and there have to be magnets involved. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how quickly Emma’s fingers find the strands, brushing them away and relishing the exact way Killian’s eyes flutter shut and—damn, she did it again. His hand tightens. 

Like he’s nervous she’s going to disappear otherwise. 

“Question for a question is breaking conversational rules,” he starts, “But—” “—You’re a pirate?” “Something that’s been well-documented. What do you want to know?” Everything seems unacceptably vast, and Emma’s not sure which question to pick when they’re all weighing down on her still too-large tongue, but Killian’s eyes don’t pull away from her and he turns his head into her palm. The one cupping his cheek. 

She’s an absolute disaster. Which is, she’ll argue the exact reason, she asks: “Are you in love with me?” He doesn’t laugh. More credit to him, although this credit comes with an asterisk for the exact way his expression shatters. In slow motion. For maxim effect. Muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting between barely-parted lips, and his next inhale has a distinct shuddering quality to it. 

“More than I knew I could be,” he whispers. “You want to tell me the truth now?” “About? 

Bending his neck, Killian’s exhale brushes Emma’s cheek and for one absolutely insane moment, that would make sense if they were actually married, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t. Figures. Lips graze the edge of hers, sending shockwaves that ripple up her spine and threaten to make magic explode from the tips of her fingers and she has to close her eyes. At the force of his voice, steady despite the emotion behind it. 

“Who are you, really?” The shockwaves disappear. Turn into fear, and something ice-cold and Emma has to blink.

“What?” He clicks his tongue. More than once, in obvious reproach, and she wonders if she’ll have to walk to the plank at some point, the tip of his hook threatening to dig into her skin. “I’ll ask you once more, darling. It’s very good magic, whatever you’re doing. I can feel it, but—” “—You can feel my magic?” “Stop talking,” he sneers, and the symmetry of it all feels like a slap. Several times over. “Now either you tell me the truth, or I’ll have to do something drastic. Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

[wanderinginksplot]

Just for Kix

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Displaced

(Concept art by Eric Jones for a comic book - Ashcan)

Gone.

They were all gone.

Everyone was gone.

Every person, place, or way of life Kix had once known were lost now, tucked away where he could not reach them. They were all memories, relics of almost half a century of time. Time in which the galaxy had moved on, uncaring of the sacrifices that had been made for sake of a war that turned out to be ultimately pointless.

Because that's what it all had been.

That was one of the first things Kix had done when he learned where he was - when he was. He was a clone trooper of the Republic, trained to take in information and use it to formulate a new understanding. He had researched the clone wars. Thousands of his brothers had died to take down the Jedi, and it was only on dark corners of the Holonet that he read the truth about the implants. Fives's truth. But it had never been told, even after the Empire had fallen.

His brothers had been recorded - branded - in the public's mind as traitors, notable only for their willingness to turn on their generals with one single order. Palpatine had turned them into the very droids he had forced them to fight, and the bitter irony was not lost on Kix.

Such heavy thoughts were what had driven Kix to sit in the small hangar bay of the Meson Martinet, watching hyperspace flash past in a hail of stretched starlight. It was one of the few things that hadn't changed while he was in stasis - interstellar hyperspace transport was apparently as good as it would ever be.

It was only a small amount of time before one of the Martinet's crew members would come searching for him. Since they had pulled his cryo-shocked body from the remains of the Separatist ship, none of the crew had really trusted Kix. He supposed that he couldn't blame them. They had been expecting to find a treasure and instead, they had only gotten the galaxy's last clone trooper, carrying information that had become irrelevant long ago.

The last clone trooper.

The weight of loneliness was too heavy on his mind and Kix returned his attention to the viewport he was sitting in front of. For a few stolen minutes at a time, he could stare out into rapidly passing space and pretend he was aboard the Resolute, hiding from his brothers for a moment's peace before the next crisis hit.

If he closed his eyes and quieted his mind carefully enough, Kix could almost believe that Jesse would be coming by to tease him, or Rex would comm him about Hardcase, who was too stubborn to get an injury treated. Or even further back - that Fives and Echo would be wandering around, looking for rules to break or shinies to lead astray.

He didn't notice the soft smile on his own face until a tear trickled over his cheek and down the path of his curved lips.

With a sigh, Kix opened his eyes and swiped the tear from his face. There was no point in looking back. Clone troopers had been made expendable by nature, created for the sole purpose of fighting wars and losing people. True, no other clone trooper had experienced this hollow isolation. Even if they hadn't known it, there was one other vod in the galaxy.

If the burden of being the last fell on him, so be it. Kix would rather face eternal suffering than think of one of his brothers doing the same.

The sound of the hanger door opening broke Kix from his reverie. That would probably be a member of the Martinet's crew. It had been over an hour since he had slipped from the small barracks, unable to sleep with such a noisy mind.

To his surprise, Kix didn't find himself summoned by an impatient voice, or peered at with suspicious eyes. Instead, the newcomer began shuffling crates around, giving a huff every now and then. It was fine with Kix - the hanger bay on the Resolute had held many such noises, but amplified a thousand times.

The steady sound of shifting crates paused for a moment too long, then Kix heard muttering, followed by a grunt, and finally a scuffling slam. The huff of air that was expelled by the unseen person would have been easy to ignore if the hanger wasn't so quiet, but the sharp curse was enough to make him jump.

Someone had just gotten hurt, and it was enough to snap Kix back to himself.

He rose to his feet and rounded the wall of crates he had been leaning against, taking a quick look at the scene to figure out the situation. A crate tipped over on its side was a hint that something had fallen, and the Ishi Tib male holding his hand said that the crate hadn't fallen on its own.

"Is everything all right?" Kix asked, standing a polite distance away from the Ishi Tib.

"Smashed my hand," he grunted.

"Let me take a look," Kix ordered, before remembering that he didn't belong to this crew and that no one actually had to obey him. "I mean, may I take a look? I was a medic, before..."

"Yeah, I've seen the symbol," the male's uninjured hand gestured vaguely in the direction of Kix's shoulder, where the medic symbol was prominently displayed on the armor he had donned out of habit. "I guess you can see it."

He held his arm out to Kix, who gently maneuvered it where he needed it to be. "What is your name? I haven't met anyone yet, not really."

"Pendewqell."

Kix hummed at that. "Can you make a fist for me, Pendewqell?"

"Call me Pen," the male offered gruffly, not moving his fingers.

"Okay, can you make a fist for me, Pen?" Kix pressed, undeterred.

Slowly, Pen complied, squeezing his thumb and two fingers together. Kix was satisfied with the range he saw, fairly certain that none of the bones in Pen's hand were broken. "Good, now open your hand."

Pen complied and Kix nodded, pleased. "Well, it's difficult to tell if there's any subtle damage without the use of a medscanner, but it's safe to say that nothing is broken. Still, I'd like to do some checks by pressing on your fingers. Is that all right with you?"

"Go ahead," Pen agreed, shaking his head and muttering, "Medics."

"Yeah, we're the worst," Kix agreed lightly. "Tell me if there are any sharp pains that feel a little too intense given the pressure."

"I'm surprised you're still sticking around," Pen said. "Figured you would have run off the first chance you got."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Kix countered. "Everyone I know is dead."

The silence that fell was a bit uncomfortable, but Pen didn't seem to look down on Kix for his moment of self-pity.

Eventually, he said, "Most medics I know can't rest if they know there are people out there who need their help. But you just finished fighting a war. I'm sure you're not rushing to get into another one."

"Another one?" Kix asked as Pen hissed.

"That hurt!"

"Sorry," the medic apologized. He had gotten a bit carried away with applying pressure to Pen's fingers. "What war are you talking about?"

"The one between the First Order and the Resistance, of course," Pen snapped.

And so the two stood in the hanger bay, Pen's hand thoroughly forgotten, and discussed the current state of affairs in the galaxy.

Kix learned that the First Order was trying to take over the galaxy much as the Empire had, opposed by the aptly-named Resistance and most free systems who opposed the idea of a tyrannical rule. The whole thing was uncomfortably close to the information Kix had just gathered about the Empire and the Rebellion, and he had made up his mind before clearing Pen to go back to work.

He was going to do what he had been made to do. Kix was going to fight.

---

A/N - Have I ever mentioned how strongly I despise Kix's fate? Because it hurts me every time I think about it, and yet I've written a chapter about the aftermath of that fate. It's fine, everything is fine. I'm just sad. I also don't think Kix would hear about a war going on and still stay with the Meson Martinet to be a pirate. (Not saying I'm any kind of authority on Kix, of course, but I just disagree.)

Head’s up: the next chapter is going to be rough. I’ll put a warning on the chapter itself, but I want everyone to know ahead of time.

[malereader-inserts]

broken crown | ix.

“Limestone pavement,” You responded, letting go of Harry’s hand, “Dad used to take me here, day out to hike about really. It was a way to get out of the house, we lived an hour and so away. We moved away in the Christmas break of the fourth year.”

Word Count:  1,899

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Harry held on your hand tightly as you had the locket around your neck.

There was tension between the three of you after Ron had left. Harry had reflected on Ron’s word, a bit of guilt had built in him when Ron felt left out so Harry was clinging on to you - making sure you were well, his affection had increased and you wondered if it made him any less stress.

The three of you walked to an unknown destination, there wasn’t much talking. After a while, the three of you thought you were away from the original location and decided to apparate to Yorkshire.

“Why here?” Harry asked, looking at the stones.

“Limestone pavement,” You responded, letting go of Harry’s hand, “Dad used to take me here, day out to hike about really. It was a way to get out of the house, we lived an hour and so away. We moved away in the Christmas break of the fourth year.”

“I’ll set up the tent,” Hermione speaks as Harry nodded, saying that he would get enchantments up.

The air had become colder, winter had definitely settled in, though you weren’t sure what month you were in or what date it was. Harry looked over to your way, seeing you sat down at one of the rocks, snapping fire on your fingertips - he smiled to himself, remembering in the third year when you were struggling to do so, but now it was natural to you. He watches how the small little flame bounce to each finger.

Harry could tell you were preoccupied, ever since Ron has left, you were just quite, reading Merlin’s notebook and whenever you were on guard for the night sometimes Harry could hear you mumble something and the swish of your wand. He could tell that even now you were just practising your magic, Hermione checks up on you that since you had a lot of free time, the progress had increased immensely and hoped by the Easter break, you’ve grown into the power rather than allow it to control you.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry gathered Hermione’s attention, “Does (Y/n) seem off to you?”

Hermione looks at you, sitting about, flipping open the compass that Dumbledore had given to you. She looked back to Harry, tilting her head noticed the worried look upon Harry’s eyes.

“The locket affected Ron the most, perhaps it affects (Y/n) differently?” Hermione suggested, shrugging her shoulders, “He’s just concern about his dad, remember they didn’t have the best send off. Not to mention, he’s getting annoyed with any mention of Merlin recently.”

Harry had noted that; Harry moved away from Hermione to sit by you. You allowed the wind to extinguished as you looked at him. Silently, Harry takes the locket off you, you had been wearing it for hours. As he holds the locket he looks at you.

“Feeling better?” 

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?” 

“Not right now.”

“Godric’s Hallow...?” You tilted your head, standing in the middle of the tent, lost on what Harry and Hermione were talking about.

“Harry wants to visit, and I think we should also,” Hermione sighs, “It was only a matter of time and I think the sword would be there.”

The two of them looked at you as if they were looking for your seal of approval. Whilst they judge each other’s opinion, your judgement was far for valuable, they think you have a sense of the way to Horcruxes. You sighed and nodded.

“You know, you should stop putting all the final decision on me,” You mumbled, pulling on your coat.

“Well, you’re-”

“Harry,” You cut him short, knowing what his reasoning would be, “I’m not omniscient, I’m not God, I don’t know all, unlike Dumbledore, who I’m convince is more of a God than I am.”

“You might as well be,” Harry says, patting you on the shoulder with a smile, “You and your nonsense wisdom and power.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Hermione! Harry’s bullying me!”

“Boys,” She said sternly before cracking a smile, “Honestly, you two are children!”

The pair of you looked at each other before looking at Hermione, who shakes her head and starts telling you to pack up as the three of your prepare to visit. The three had apparated there, Harry gripping your hand for reassurance.

“I still think we should've used Polyjuice Potion,” Hermione mumbled, clinging on to Harry’s arm.

“No,�� Harry shakes his head, refusing with a stern voice, “This is where I was born. I'm not returning as someone else.”

“Fair enough,” You mumbled, shivering.

You really despite the snow and the colder season. Though, having endured winter at Hogwarts, up in Scotland where it regularly snows you just got used to it. The three of you walked down the snowy road, seeing a Church come up to your right, the lights were on.

“Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve,” You mumbled, looking over to the church, “Guys, listen.”

The three of you could hear Christmas carols being sung within the church for the midnight mass.

“Do you think they'd be in there?” Harry asked out of the blue, his eyes trained in the graveyard, “My mum and dad?”

“Yeah, I think they would,” Hermione answers softly,

The three of you enter the graveyard as Harry separates himself to search the headstone. You looked at Hermione who takes one side of the graveyard as you did as well. You looked at all the headstones, nothing striking out to you as you lifted your head. The cold hitting your face as you noticed that Harry had stopped in front of a grave.

You had moved to stand by his side, you kneel as Hermione arrives, the pair watching you pull out your hand and held it in front of the grave. The two watch you wordlessly and wandlessly produce a wreath of flowers for them. You stand up as you softly grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” He spoke

“Merry Christmas,” Hermione and you had spoken in unison.

You really did wonder how this world would turn out to be if one or both had survived Voldemort. Everything would have been different, you would have another uncle and an aunt. Harry would have truly grown up to be your brother or some sort. You would be childhood best friends as if the reality hadn’t conveyed that. 

“Harry, there's someone watching us. By the church,” Hermione says, looking over to the person’s direction. You looked over as well as Harry. “I think I know who that is.”

“I don't like this, Harry,” Hermione expressed her nervousness as you felt a funny feeling with this person.

You tilted your head to the side as you felt Harry let go of your hand. You looked at him in confusion.

“Hermione, she knew Dumbledore. She might have the sword.”

As Harry marches towards the gate, the woman had continued to walk as you and Hermione followed. Harry stop short noticing something, before looking up to see a house, broken beyond repair. You breathed out to see the ruins of the house that started it all.

“This is where they died. This is where he murdered them,” Harry spoke as Hermione came to your side, gripping your arm.

“Harry,” You mumbled as you noticed the woman was back, this time next to you, wordlessly staring at Harry.

Harry looked at you before noticing the woman, “You're Bathilda, aren't you?”

She uttered no words as the three of you follow her into her home. You let out a shaky breath as you looked at Hermione, gripping her hand as she grips your arm. You and her were feeling uneasy about this whole situation. As you enter her house, you looked at the dark room. 

You looked at Hermione, who was calling out to Harry, who followed Bathilda up the stairs, “I don’t feel too great about this, Hermione.”

“Nor do I,” She whispered.

Moving along the house, Hermione ventures out as you stay put, hoping Harry would come down soon. Then, you heard a thud, without thinking you raced upstairs to see a snake and Harry. You tried to grab Harry’s hand but the two of you fall back into the wall, crashing into a baby’s room.

Harry was pressed against the wall with you in between. You were struggling to get your wand out of your boot as Harry threw a book at the head, attempting to get behind you. As Nagini attacks, instead of getting Harry, its teeth latched onto your neck.

“Argh!” 

Harry’s eyes widen as you kicked the snake, it’s long fangs dragging down before detaching. Harry grabs you from under our arms as your left hand flies to your neck, feeling blood dribble out, helping you back out. As Nagini strikes again, Hermione had successfully got upstairs and cast Nagini down. The three of you taking shelter behind the bed in the main room. 

Hermione grabs Harry’s wand, which fell out of his back pocket. The three of you waited to see if the snake was to return. It did. 

Hermione exclaimed, “Confringo!”

As the fire was produced to hit back the snake, Hermione grabs a hold of Harry who was gripping you tightly. Hermione apparated you three to a forest, but by that time you had passed out. Harry, ignoring the scenery, was looking down at you. 

“Harry, set up the tent,” Hermione says softly, “I’ll sort (Y/n) out.”

“He-” Harry hiccuped, not realising he was going to get choked up with his tears because he was worried for you, “he didn’t use magic, he knows he can do magic without a wand so why didn’t he-?”

“I think he was more caught up in protecting you, Harry.”

Hermione throws him her bag as she looks down at you, applying the same potion that she had applied to Ron months ago. Watching how the wound had closed up.

“It’s going to scar but at least he’ll be fine for now.”

Hermione got up and started to make enchantments as Harry found the tent and started to set it up, every so often he would look over to you. He adored Hermione and Ron as his best friends, but you were someone different. You were his first friend, his childhood best friend.

The boy down the road who was deathly sick all the time. The boy with (e/c) eyes and wanted to play pirates with him. 

“He’ll be okay, Harry,” Hermione softly reassures him, finishing with the enchantments.

“You know, Hermione,” Harry hums as he moves to you, helping your unconscious state sit up, “What would happen to us after this? He’s going to do brilliant, magnificent things, what if he doesn’t need me anymore?”

Hermione tilted her head, helping Harry carry you into the tent. Lying you down in one of the beds as she looks at Harry with a soft gaze.

“I have seen how much he needs you, how much you need him. You’re like two sides to the same coin,” Hermione places a delicate hand on his shoulder, “You two are strangely bonded, whether it be duel mates, soul mates or whatever. You two need each other. It’s a fact.”

“But-”

“Harry, give me the locket, I’ll keep guard outside, you stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t get any worst.”

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir​​ @lanlanlan020202​ @hanniejji​ @dumbssbtch​ @lea-the-foxe​ @stan-joonies​ @littertortilla @purpleshusbandd​

[whenimaunicorn]

The Heart of Admiration - Part 5

Charles Vane x Original Female Character

The slow burn just might be heating up as these two disaster pirates find themselves in a Fake Marriage situation... with maybe a There Was Only One Bed thrown in for good measure. What can I say I write what I love.

Catch up on the start of the story with the links here

A/N: yes, you may find the opening scene feeling familiar. I did decide to include “Charles, Darling” as a part of Hope’s story. I hope you enjoy revisiting that that little moment and seeing what it turns into next.

“Watch your hands. She’s mine.” Captain Vane’s arm wraps tight around Hope’s waist, pulling her in snug against his body.

She bites her tongue, trying not to display either surprise or displeasure, and forces her furrowing brow to smooth. Is he really doing this right now? She hadn’t even known he was in this tavern. Although, while she fervently resents being rescued from a man’s advances in in such a demeaning fashion, it is also true that she had no idea how she was going to handle her current predicament without ruining everything by resorting to violence.

The man crowding Hope at the bar, a Mr. Fellows, takes half a step back. Vane is a bared saber all on his own, his very presence and dark look just as threatening as a pistol in one’s hand. Hope supposes this is one of those times that he is worth wielding, and she wraps her hand over his thick wrist at her waist. Sinking into him the way a relieved wife ought to, she pats the back of his hand. “There you are, Charles darling.” His breath catches at her term of endearment, and she figures he is trying not to laugh at her. “Calm yourself, I’ve barely been out of your sight for ten minutes! I know how you fret, but please, don’t take it out on this poor man.”

The less rational part of her would like nothing more than to watch Vane smash Mr. Fellows’ face in, after the things he’d been saying to her, but she could not set loose his wrath for the same reason she hadn’t been reaching for her own belt-knife: Fellows had turned out to be the contact that the Ranger’s officers had been scouring the whole of Port Royal for. Without his cooperation, this entire voyage will have turned out to be for nothing. She couldn’t let the secret fortune he had reportedly stumbled upon slip away jut because she felt offended.

Fellows clears his throat with a nervous noise.

Vane’s still staring down at Hope in his arms. She knows the mark in front of them is more important, can’t be allowed to slip away now that the game has been changed, but she also can’t quite tear her gaze away from Captain Vane’s face either. He’s never held her like this before; she’s never let him get so close. She becomes aware of how fast her heart is beating, and she’s not certain she can attribute the entirety of its pace to anger at Mr. Fellows’ bad behavior.

“N-newlyweds?” the man stutters, offering up a handy excuse. Oh, how quickly a man’s attitude can change, when a bigger dick walks into the room.

“Yes,” Vane smiles to him. It’s a false smile, wide and too cheerful, something Hope’s never seen spread across his face, but Fellows wouldn’t know that. Certainly the lopsided grin is fitting for the ruse. He hugs her even closer, his big hand spreading up the side of her bodice, and even leans in to press a kiss to the side of her forehead.

Shameless. His affection would be positively bawdy in the more respectable circles she once walked in, but it fits the dirty alehouse just fine.

She watches Fellows stiffen; Vane must have resumed his usual scowl abruptly above her head. “And I don’t take kindly to anyone bothering my wife. If—”

She cut him off before moods can sour any further. “Darling, it’s just a misunderstanding.” She turns her face up, willing him with the force of her eyes to pay attention. “This is Mr. Fellows. And he has some very interesting stories to tell.”

Vane’s brows crease; from the flash of annoyance in his face it’s apparent that at first he thinks she’s just trying to confound him. His embrace tightens, and then she sees it click. He gives the man another look. “Is that so. Well then. I’m Charles Vane, captain of the Ranger.” He extends his right hand for a friendly shake. “How about I buy us a round, and we’ll all sit and talk a while.” Even when he tries to sound gentlemanly, that scraping growl of a voice he has still sounds like a threat.

Fellows’ eyes shift back and forth in rapid thought, and Hope can see that he’s got an idea now what’s going on, that she had not started chatting him up by accident. His face starts to glower, but he’s not looking at the door so she doesn’t think she’s lost the chance at making a deal with him. She just has to change the stratagem, now, to incorporate Vane’s looming presence.

Vane signals the barmaid, and draws Hope toward an open table. His arm stays decidedly around her waist. While she doesn’t think it’s quite necessary to keep selling the marriage ruse this hard, she’s not going to ruin it by pushing him away.

It’s only after he plops down in a seat that she realizes the table he’s chosen only has two chairs. Fellows assumes the other, and to Hope’s surprise Vane tries to pull her down into his lap. He’s got a cheeky grin on his face and she realizes that all this is not just for Fellows’ benefit; Vane is having fun with her.

She decides not to make a scene by resisting physically. But as soon as she’s seated across his thighs, she looks down at him crossly. “Charles. Darling. Get me a chair.”

A boyish grin is tugging at the edges of his lips. “I thought you said my lap was the best seat in the house.”

Oh, how she wants to smack him. And yet she finds herself wanting to smile too. “Just because when we met, I was acting like an alehouse strumpet, does not mean you get the show every night.” His scarred brow raises, and she feels a thrill she doesn’t quite understand. “I am a wife now. And a ranking member of your crew. And I will comport myself as such.” She comes back to her feet imperiously, ignoring the feeling of Vane’s fingers trailing reluctantly off her body. She grabs a chair from another table and turns it around, seating herself between the two men. She doesn’t miss the knowing look that passes from Fellows to Vane. If Fellows thinks she’s a veritable ball-buster, all the better.

“You still owe me the rest of that story,” Hope says with a broad smile. She turns the charm back on, even though that’s what had gotten her a little in over her head in the first place.  She feels Vane looming over her shoulder. And ignores him. “Where was the galleon going?”

“What galleon?” Vane’s rumble rips into the conversation, and his palm slides to rest upon her thigh, just above her knee.

Fellows’s pockmarked cheek twitches, but Hope brightens her smile, and he focuses back on her. With Vane here, she realizes, posing as her husband, it’s actually safer to keep pushing that edge, to continue to use Mr. Fellows’s attraction to her to captivate him. “Be a dear and start the story over?” The barmaid slaps three mugs on the table and Hope lifts one to hand it directly to him herself. “Otherwise he’ll never catch up.” She jerks her shoulder at Vane without looking, still holding Fellows’ eyes with a grin and a mischievous quirk to her brow.

Vane’s fingers tighten on her thigh.

It’s damned distracting, that hand. Hope does her best to just let it lie there, using it, an incongruous little reminder that however much Fellows might be enjoying her saucy remarks, her ‘husband’ is still in the room. Any possibility of dalliance that her eyes might be suggesting over the rim of her cup will have to wait for another time to be made plain. But the weight of Vane’s palm never quite leaves her awareness, nor its warmth, especially not when his thumb starts stroking a line up and down the surprisingly sensitive edge of her knee.

Fellows is cautious, but Hope is ever tenacious. Vane plays his part by leaning back, oblivious at the times when he needs to be, listening to Fellows’ tale of mysterious supply ships headed toward an unknown location. His stony face brings just enough skepticism to the table that Fellows works harder to impress, divulges more details than he meant to as he brags about his lead. And Hope is right there at his elbow, encouraging his tale, imploring Vane to take it seriously until it seems that her and Fellows are a team together, attempting to convince the captain of the Ranger to believe the man’s story, and consider taking him on. Now that she’d found her angle on him, Fellows is proving to be an easy mark.

After all, they’d come to Port Royal because Fellows was not as coy as he thought he was. Rumors had spread that there was a fisherman who might have stumbled upon the location of a new British supply dump, some island so unknown and un-frequented that the Navy felt confident they could use it to stockpile munitions and other valuable sundries. This fisherman was supposedly a less-than-staunch loyalist to the Crown, and might possibly be open to leading a crew of privateers or pirates to plunder this secret location. But up to this date, no decent crew had managed to convince him, and no indecent crew had managed to find him.

“The Ranger,” Fellows says over the rim of his fourth ale, “is that a gunship?”

Hope tries not to smile too wide. Captain Vane nods.

“Forgive me, but I don’t recognize the name.”

Vane’s eyes flash, like he’s only barely forgiving that slight. “We’re not Navy. Not privateers, either.”

Hope leans closer to the fisherman, blocking her captain just a little bit from view. “We used to sail out of Nassau.” This is it, time to lay all the cards on the table, and she can’t trust Vane not to botch it.

“Used to?”

She leans her elbow on the table, settling her cheek into her hand. “For a ‘free city,’ that place was accumulating quite a bit of overhead. Quite stifling, really, in the hands of the Guthries. We prefer to live truly free; to be accountable to no one but ourselves.” She leaves just enough pause between her words to imply there might be all kinds of ways she likes to be free. “It leaves us open to all sorts of amenable relationships. Partnerships, even.”

What man could resist twin appeals to both his greed and lust? And yet she had said nothing that would bind her to fulfilment of the latter, and Vane’s presence precluded any chance for Fellows to press her into a more concrete promise. He would be enticed by hope alone, that she might be planning to meet him for a more secret dalliance, and it would be too late by the time he realized that his dream was never going to come to pass.

Fellows grins back at her. “It almost sounds too good to be true.” Then his gaze floats over her shoulder. To Captain Vane.

Of course he’d need the man to confirm.

“Seems to me,” Vane says, leaning forward, putting more of his weight on Hope’s thigh, “that you’ve been sitting on this information for quite some time. Any of the pirate crews in the Caribbean would love to know the location of this cache. There must be a reason you haven’t already sold it.”

Fellows’ eyes shine with guile. “Just waiting for the right offer.” He nods his head, indicating a table under the window on the other side of the room. “Captain Black over there’s interested too.” He leans in conspiratorially. “But I think I deserve more than just a finder’s fee.”

Hope assesses the competition swiftly: two men in threadbare coats, with shifty eyes that betray a certain lack of confidence in their demeanor. One of their mugs lies on its side on the table, unrefilled; their coin might already be running out.

Vane spares only a glance in the direction of his rivals. They’re not even in his class. He summons an agreeable smile to his face for Fellows. “Seems only fair that the man whose careful eye caught the lead should get a larger share of the take.”

Hope smiles at him. He’s picked up on the need for flattery with this one, good.

“But have you ever gone a-pirating, Fellows?” He’s leaning in, looking at him from under heavy brows. “Faced down armed men, trained ones, try to take from them what they’re willing to give their lives to defend?” His face is only a hand’s breadth away from Hope’s, leaning over her the way he is, and she finds herself fascinated by a little muscle flexing in his jaw as he growls out his challenge. “Do you know that you have the stones not to run, not to sink to your knees when your back’s against the wall?”

Fellows licks his lips, but keeps his eyes on Vane’s hard stare. “I won’t run.”

Vane inclines his head, just a fraction. “On my ship, a man earns his share. If you fight alongside us, no matter how hairy it gets when we go in there, I can convince my crew you deserve a lion’s share.” He sits back, his hand traveling just an inch higher on Hope’s thigh. “Or you can stay on board and get your finder’s fee, let us be the ones that get our hands dirty. Your choice.”

Masterful, really. Now they aren’t talking about if Fellows will hire them, but what the terms of his own participation will be. Hope’s first impression of Captain Vane was not one of any formidable wit, but she can see in moments like this how he came to be a leader of men.

Fellows seems to have taken the bait. “Is your crew ready now?”

A long rumble of thunder, too loud to be very distant, interrupts everyone’s thoughts. A glance at the wide double doorway of the tavern shows nothing but roiling clouds, and Hope wonders how she could have missed the sudden darkening of the evening sky. She and Vane step to the door; a massive sheet of rain is sweeping across the bay, the wall of clouds stretching too far for this storm to be brief.

“Don’t think you’ll make it back to your ship before this hits,” Fellows remarks, coming up behind them. “Better to pass the night comfortably here. There’s rooms to let upstairs; I’m in one of ‘em. You two might as well see if there’s another still available. I can show you the island in the morning.”

 Hours later, they thump through the narrow upstairs hallway, arm-in-arm and singing one last sea shanty as they see Fellows off to bed. Negotiations complete, there had been nothing else to do but keep drinking, and entertain their cash cow well enough to ensure he didn’t develop second thoughts. They couldn’t have him wandering over to that other table and seeking a counteroffer.

As Fellows pulls the door closed to his room he catches Hope’s eye, head cocked and an inviting smile on his face. Does he think she might sneak out after her “husband” has fallen asleep? Hope barely suppresses a shudder. Good thing they had bought the man so many rounds that he was certain to pass out as soon as his cheek hit the pillow in there. She waves him a bland, friendly goodnight as Vane’s arm about her shoulders drags her on down the hall.

Last door on the right. Hope and Vane had indeed acquired the only room that the inn had left to let for this night. And with the rain continuing unabated, they’re lucky to have it. “Here we are,” Vane announces as he fumbles with the key given to them by the innkeeper while still trying to keep a hold on both her and the lantern, “time for our honeymoon, my sweet.”

Hope grins and slaps him on the chest. She takes the lantern from his hand so he can properly work the door. “I hope the bed is big, Charles, darling, because…” she trails off as her cheeks flush hot, simply unable to finish that line even in jest.

“Would it be too much if I carried you inside?”

Hope laughs and steps over the threshold before he can try it. She doesn’t want to have to face the way all his little physical affections have been making her feel. And yet, she can’t seem to make herself ask him to stop, either.

The door closes behind them and his arm is still around her. They’re leaning against each other more heavily than they would if they were sober, Hope is at least aware of that. And Vane most definitely outweighs her. “Get your legs under you before you topple us over,” she chides.

Instead of leaning away from her, Vane wraps his other arm around her body. “I’ll keep us steady, love.”

Hope tries to ignore the escalation of pet names, holding up the lantern to get a look at their abode for the night. It’s terribly small; there’s barely space for a chair beyond the foot of the modest-sized bed underneath a single window. It seems to be no more than a glorified closet, an alcove where they probably stick stumbling patrons to sleep off their overindulgences. If they’d taken one more step into the room they would have barked their shins on the edge of the furniture.

“Mmmm,” Vane murmurs into her neck, “What is this smell?” He inhales right against her skin, and Hope wonders how much the drink has actually gone to his head. Or hers, for that matter, as she finds herself melting just a little into his arms.

“Rosewater,” she answers, her voice coming out a bit thin, “from that cargo a few weeks ago.”

She can feel the rumbling sound of recognition he makes. A sudden throb between her legs makes Hope certain she’s had too much to drink herself. Her hands want to grasp the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer, but she pushes him away instead.

“What’s the matter?” His eyes look almost sleepy; more relaxed and cheerful than she’s ever seen from the man. A genuine smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he gazes down at her across the small distance her half-hearted shove had put between their bodies. “We are husband and wife, after all.”

She wants to meet his gaze levelly, to give him the sort of plain, no-nonsense stare that usually keeps the men in line around her. As soon as she looks into his eyes, though, something catches at her, and she cannot summon her frown. How had she never noticed the sweet, boyish softness of Captain Vane’s eyes before? She swallows, and awkwardly realizes she should have said something by now, as his face looms almost imperceptibly closer. She side-steps him, spying a nail beside the door to hang the lantern on. “Oh yes. You’ve yet to apologize to me for that.”

He pulls back. She wanted him to, didn’t she? And yet her heart dips a little as she watches him readjust his expectations. “For saving you?”

Hope just raises her brow and glares.

“He had a look about him,” Vane says defensively. “You wouldn’t like where that look was leading.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the door, which gives Hope just barely enough room to step between the bedframe and him to inspect the state of the linens the bed had been made up with.

“I had him handled.” The blanket is old, but appears unstained, and when Hope turns down the sheets they smell clean. At least there’s that.

“That you did. I was impressed, really, at the way you were able to work the man. It was a real pleasure to watch.”

She risks another glance at his face, checking for sarcasm, but his admiration seems sincere.

“I had no idea you could flirt like that.” He takes a step toward her, but it’s only so he can sit down at the foot of the bed and start working his boots off. “As good as any whore I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath sucks into her chest sharply. She doesn’t have anything against the women who make their living that way, really she doesn’t, but there’s a certain involuntary reaction that comes when that comparison is made.

Vane realizes his mistake almost immediately. “I didn’t mean—” he starts, penitent face turning up to her.

“Of course you didn’t,” Hope cuts him off matter-of-factly.

“I only meant to—”

“I know what you meant.”

Vane drops his head with a pained look and focuses intently on the laces of his boots.

And that’s about the moment when she realizes that not only is there only one bed in this room, there’s barely enough space between it and the walls for someone to sleep comfortably on the floor. A claim over the best sleeping spot would have to be made quickly, and right now it’s Vane’s butt that’s planted firmly on the mattress.

In a moment of almost childish intensity, Hope rushes to sit down next to him. Can’t have his claim appear uncontested.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him turn toward her in silent question, but she focuses firmly on unlacing her own boots. Vane finishes with his and places them carefully underneath the rickety wooden chair past the foot of the bed. His jacket goes next, shrugged off and laid over the chair’s seat.

When she gets her first boot off, he places it next to his own.

“I don’t normally prefer to act like that,” she admits, now feeling a bit embarrassed about her performance with Fellows.

“I know. It’s why I was so surprised.”

“To play that card…” she sucks in a deep breath. “It’s simultaneously the most easy and the most difficult option for a lady. I generally prefer to keep a hand full of better plays. Fellows, unfortunately… I must be his type. He set the terms of the game rather early, and would not be distracted.”

“Is this going to be a problem going forward? The poor chap seems intent on coming along tomorrow, playing pirate with us.” It was in fact all he had wanted to talk about, through five more rounds before they called it a night.

Hope shakes her head. “I don’t expect it to be. So long as he doesn’t find out we lied to him for hours about our marriage.”

Vane leans back, grinning. “It would break his little heart to know that we didn’t force a voyaging missionary to marry us at gunpoint, while the men plundered his ship?”

Hope can’t help but smile at that particular yarn they’d spun. “Honestly, I don’t think he even wants to sleep with me anymore. I think he just wants to be you.”

His eyes flash with glee. “Don’t sell yourself short now, love. If he does, it’s only because being me is the only way to get into your bed.”

She can barely handle hearing him say such things, in the dim light of a single lantern, and close enough that she could reach out and stroke her finger against the stubble along his jaw. She smooths her palm across the sheets between them and changes the subject to a much more important one. “Yes, it is my bed, isn’t it.”

Vane frowns down at her hand, then the floor. He lifts his face with a cool look. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

Hope cocks an eyebrow.

“I do outrank you. Unless you want to play one of those ‘lady’ cards you’re not very fond of, the bed by rights goes to me.”

“Any gentleman would—”

“I don't believe I have ever been accused of being a gentleman.”

Hope can barely stand to keep meeting his eyes, not with the fire brewing behind those particular words, the way they’re kindling an answering flame in her own core. But she also can’t show him even the least sign of submission on this matter.

Vane interrupts their staring match by shrugging his shirt up over his head.

Hope responds by turning down the sheet and blanket, swiveling on her hip, and shoving both her legs underneath as fast as she can. She fixes her gaze on his climbing eyebrows, not his bared chest, and tucks herself into bed, burrowing her feet behind him and pulling the blanket firmly up to her chin. “You might want to put that shirt back on; the floor’s likely to be cold and none too clean.”

For a moment, he looks like a great beast about to tear out her throat. Then his snarl cracks open into a peal of laughter. Hope giggles a bit too as Vane leans forward and inspects the floor a second time. “You really think my shoulders will even fit into that space down there?”

Hope tries not to blush as she appraises the breadth of her captain’s impressive back. “It will be cozy.”

Vane huffs, tosses his hair—and throws his body down onto the bed beside her. “Cozier here,” he intones, settling his cheek on the pillow right beside hers.

She makes her face show as much affront as she can muster.

“Would you look at that,” he continues, “there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

Vane settles in on his back and closes his eyes. “Suit yourself. I’ll be asleep in about two minutes.”

Playfulness aside, Hope knows that if she kept up her insistence Vane would respect her limits. She also knows that the heaviness in her limbs means she’ll fall asleep soon too, and what does it matter if he’s right beside her or down on the floor as she sleeps off all this ale, anyway. She can even admit that the heat of his body, the grounding presence of his weight in the bed, are somewhat comforting. Distracting, vexing even if she were to think too hard about things like that, but she’s too drunk to think that hard, isn’t she. “Put out the lantern before you pass out.”

She holds up the covers for him when he climbs back into the bed. Their shoulders come to rest softly against each other’s, and Hope falls asleep pondering what might be making Vane’s hair smell vaguely of lemon and cedar.

Sorry, ending on a cliffhanger is not usual for this story, but I already have half of the next chapter written and it picks up directly from here! In fact, yesterday’s teaser technically comes from Part 6.

Taglist is open:  @ladyhubris @summertimesadness101 @acebreathesfire​@kind-wolf  @pleasemelafook-outta-ere​

[tinabean37]

Distant Harbor

This story idea came out of a dream I had. Yes, I dreamed of Pirate Henry, and it was fantastic! Please be aware that this is my first AU story, my first olden time period story, as well as my first OFC story instead of a reader insert. That being said, feedback would be amazing!! Tell me if you liked it, hated it, want more of it...I’ll take it all.

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If you want me to start a tag list for this story and want to be on it, let me know.

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Summery: As the daughter of a merchant sailor, you convince him to let you accompany him on his current voyage. But when a Pirate Ship is spotted on the horizon, you realize the sea is a dangerous place.

Characters: AU Pirate!Henry x OFC Lucy

Word Count: 2,366

Warnings: Violence, cannon fire, talk of blood, character death, captivity, unwanted touching and kissing, abuse, if you find anything else I need to add here please let me know.

**I do not know or own Henry Cavill(even though I would love to!) The original female character, Lucy, was made up by me.**

***Feedback welcome and encouraged :)***

~~~~~~~

The gentle rocking back and forth of the sailing vessel helped lull you into a restful sleep at night, and also woke you from the same slumber. The glow of the rising sun reflected off the ocean, and onto your face. It was the third day into your journey, and the motion and close quarters were already becoming bothersome. Your father was a merchant trader and had reluctantly agreed to let you accompany him on this voyage as you requested. You always dreamed of adventure and new horizons. All you had gotten so far was stir-crazy and discouraging looks from among the crew. 

They reasoned that it was unlucky to have a woman aboard a ship as she would anger the sea. But they also apparently felt that certain hygiene practices were unlucky, so you couldn’t put stock in much of what they said. Your father, however, kept a very close eye on you, and usually relegated you to your cabin, to not rile the crew. You were never one for following rules, however, so you decided to dress quickly, and head onto the deck to take in the fresh sea air. You leaned against the deck rail, hands gripping it tightly, eyes scanning the horizon. You squinted your eyes against the sun. Was that a spot of white you just saw? You turned to see if anyone else had seen something when you were joined at the rail by your father. 

“Lucy, you know you should not be out here unaccompanied.” His voice sounded tired, but you were unsure if it was due to the nature of his work here, or the number of times he has had to remind you of this fact.

“Father, I know you worry for me, but I am no longer a babe clinging to the nursemaid. I cannot be locked in that cabin the whole journey. I want to experience what you do. I want to experience anything at all.” You looked at him with a steely expression. He softened as he cupped your cheek. 

“I know, my dear daughter. But after we lost your dear mother, you are all I have left. You cannot fault me for being an attentive father.” You knew he was right. When sickness took your mother seven years past, it nearly broke him. He gave up sailing for almost a year, to keep you close. To keep you safe. But the banks were only sympathetic for so long before he knew he had to return to the sea. So having you on this voyage with him was, you felt, his way of allowing you freedom, while still keeping you close. You gave your father a kind smile and embraced him close. 

“I understand father, and I promise, I will heed your instructions from here out.”  Giving you a nod of acceptance, he turned his gaze to the sea. You both stood in calm silence for a few moments, until you saw your father tense and grip the railing. He shouted to the passing crewman. 

“Hawkins, get me the spyglass. I think I see sails!” Once the metal tube was placed in his hands, he focused out on the horizon. “Sail, ho! There’s a ship starboard side, 2 leagues out. She’s flying a black flag. Pierce, get to the helm. Keep it at a distance. Don’t let it catch up!” Your father’s authoritative commands both impressed and terrified you. 

“Black sails? Father, pirates?” Without answering, he grabbed your arm and led you quickly to your cabin. Once you were safely inside, he commanded you as well. 

“Lucy, you must listen to me, this is very important. You must stay in your cabin. We are going to try to outrun the vessel, but we are heavily laden. I cannot guarantee the safety of this ship. I need to know you are safe. Do you understand?” Too terrified to speak, you let out a whimper and frantic nod. Your father gave you a quick smile before running back on deck. Terrified for him and the crew, you knelt where you stood and began to pray. 

You were soon startled out of your prayer by the sounds of frantic shouting on deck. You ran to the porthole and saw that the pirate ship was much closer than you thought possible, and getting closer. The order from the deck was to man the cannons and prepare for crossfire. You were in disbelief. This was supposed to be a routine supply voyage. How quickly it had come to this. You hurriedly crossed the cabin to get away from the windows. You sat on your bed, pulled your knees to your chest, and wrapped your arms around them. And that is how you were when the first cannonball hit the ship. 

~~~~~

The barrage lasted what felt like forever. The loud blasts of the cannons soon became shouts and the clashing of steel when your ship was boarded. You sobbed as you drew even further into yourself. You couldn’t tell who was winning, but you were too scared to see for yourself. And you promised your father you would stay in the cabin. Your heart was pounding when the sounds of fighting outside seemed to stop. Was your father's crew victorious? Is your father safe? What will happen next?

You got your answer when someone began banging on the door from the outside. Your father had locked it, thank god, but if whoever it was could not unlock it, then it was not your father. Panicked and thinking quickly, you hid in your wardrobe. A few more loud bangs sounded against the door before it burst open. You held your breath, terrified whoever just entered would hear you. From your hiding spot, you couldn’t see anything, but you heard them ransacking the room. They must not know you were there but just looking to pillage. You couldn’t help shaking knowing that they would eventually look in the wardrobe and discover you there. Almost as if you willed it by thinking it, the door was wrenched open, and you let out a small scream of surprise. 

“Oi, what do we ‘ave ‘ere, then?” The pirate grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to stand in the cabin. “Yer a pretty lass, ain’t ye? Methinks me treasure been found ‘ere, ay?” You desperately tried to get out of his rough grip, as he began to grope and grab at you. 

“Let me go! You cannot do this!” You made your voice sound as commanding as possible, but the pirate just laughed. Your heart clenched as fear grew in you. 

“Ye think so, princess? There is plenty I can do, don’t ye fret.” His hands kept grabbing through layers of fabric, and you kept swatting them away. Once he got frustrated, he grabbed your chin in his dirty hand and kissed you roughly. Throwing your head back to escape the kiss, you slapped him roughly across the face. “Oh I like em feisty, I do.” He spat and tried to kiss you again. You struggled against his rough hold on your face and kept tossing your head back and to the side to avoid his foul mouth. Angered by your defiance, he roughly grabbed both arms and slammed your back hard into the cabin wall. Pain shot down your spine as it collided with the hard surface. You were unable to stop his mouth’s assault this time. When you felt his tongue attempt to break through you bit down as hard as you could. He let out a scream mixed with pain and anger. His hand was lightning quick as it struck you hard in the cheek. Tears blocked your vision as blood pooled on your split lip. “Don’t make me get a muzzle on ye, bitch!” Just then, another pirate stormed in, took in the scene in front of him, and his eyes clouded with anger. 

“Smythe, ye know the Captain’s rules. All prisoners need be brought to him. What do ye think yer doin’?”

“Just having a bit o’ fun. No ‘arm in that, is there?”

“Ye can have yer fun when ye finish yer job. Now get the girl to the Captain, and shove off!” You had been too scared to speak during their exchange. You only managed a whimper when the man called Smythe grabbed your arm painfully and began to drag you onto the deck. More strangled sounds came out as you saw the carnage on deck. Your father's crew, the men you had been sailing with, all dead. The bottom of your dress dragged in the blood on the deck as he pulled you towards the gangplank. However, your body stopped still when you saw one particular face you recognized amongst the havoc. The lifeless face of your father. 

“FATHER! NO!” You wailed. You pulled with all your strength and managed to wrench free of your captive’s grasp. You ran to him and knelt at his side. Your hands fluttered over him, helpless, as you wept for him. You laid your head on his bloodied chest and sobbed. Too soon, you felt the pirate yank you to your feet. “Please, no! I cannot leave him. Let me go! Please…” you begged to deaf ears. He continued to drag you to the waiting pirate ship, all the while you were fighting to return to your father’s body. He didn’t utter a word to you. You didn’t expect sympathy, but you expected something. The rest of the way, every lifeless face had the visage of your father. 

Now on board the pirate ship, you were led to the cabin directly under the helm, the captain’s cabin. The room was empty, but you were tossed in any way. The pirate roughly sat you on a wooden chair in the corner of the room, and without care, tightly tied your hands behind your back. You thought of trying to fight your bonds, but you couldn’t find the strength. You had nothing left. You were alone. And now, you belonged to the captain. 

~~~~~

You were unsure how long you waited in that cabin, tied to the chair alone. Your thoughts were only of your father, his crew, and your horrible fate. Would the captain kill you? Enslave you? Molest you? As terrified as you were, your fight was gone. You decided to accept your fate, whatever that may be. A short time later, you startled as the silence was broken. The doorknob turned, and the loud boot steps of the captain rang in the cabin. 

You were terrified to look up and face him, so your gaze stayed trained on the ground. A few steps later, the boots came into view, and then stopped in front of you. The silence filled the room again, almost as if he was waiting on you. Shaking, you slowly raised your head and took in the man standing in front of you. He was a giant of a man. Tall and broad. His dark curls rested wild on his forehead, almost hiding his striking blue eyes. His mouth was set in a hard line as if he was unsure what to do with you. You weren’t sure why he wasn’t saying anything. Doing anything. He was just staring at you. 

“Please, sir. Please don’t hurt me. My father was on that ship. He’s dead now. I don’t want him lying there alone. Please.” You begged between sobs. He sighed deeply before speaking. 

“I am Captain Henry Cavill. You are a prisoner aboard my ship, The Wretched Blue. While you are a prisoner here, you will be in my care. But do not think it will be a comfort. You will fetch a large amount of coin for me, so I will see to your captivity. Do you understand?” His tone was very direct and full of business. When he looked you in the eye, he did not show emotion. Trembling with sobs at your fate, you lowered your eyes from his gaze and let out a defeated sigh. Taking that as the only acceptance he needed, he turned towards the pirate that appeared there and started giving him orders that you were unable to hear. 

Before long, he had returned with a cot and bedding, seeing as there was only sleeping furniture for one in the cabin. It was apparent that he had also ordered the pirate to return to your ship, and your cabin, because the next item he brought in was your trunk. The lock and hinges were broken on it, so it was clear it had been riffled through. The last item was secreted to the captain before you could discern what it was. But you paid it no mind. You were thoroughly defeated and wanted nothing more than to surrender to the blackness at the edge of your vision. The captain gave his crewman a satisfied nod and granted him leave. You were once again left alone with the intimidating man. 

“I am your captor, but I am also a fair man. I will not be cruel, but there will be rules to follow. And punishments if those rules are not obeyed. Do you understand?” Your head nodded in shallow agreement. “Well then, as I stated, I am not a cruel man, so I will leave you to grieve. Do I have your word you will not try to escape? Or do I need to bind you?” Again without words, you shook your head to assure him you would not try anything. “Fine. The accommodations are small, but I offer you the bed as your own. Cross me, and your stay will not be nearly as comfortable.” He turned to walk away but stopped just short of the door. He came back to you, reached into his vest pocket, and pulled out the item that was handed to him along with your trunk. Silently, he handed it to you and breezed out of the room. You stared at the item in your hands and fresh sobs grew in your chest. It was the small portrait you had of your mother and father. This brought everything into perspective. You were now very alone. 

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts] The Shinrai no Kokoro

Summary: In which Sora temporarily makes Sabrina his captain during a trip to the Carribean. No better way to gain someone’s trust than to place them in absolute power, right?

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,691 words

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- - -

It didn’t matter how old he was, where he had gone, or what his mission was as a Keyblade wielder, there was a special part of Sora’s heart reserved for sailing the Caribbean. He didn’t have time to find Jack Sparrow, or see how Elizabeth Swann was doing, though- he had come on a special mission with a very special someone in tow. Not Kairi -to whom he did promise a private leg around the archipelagos-, but none other than the disagreeable Sabrina Sidney.

Sabrina was a friend -a very close friend, if certain people had their way- of Ventus. She was always disagreeing with someone, for no other reason than she could. Ventus (with a few moments to Aqua and Kairi) was the only one she seemed to occasionally open up to- something that Sora (as a friend magnet) couldn’t fathom. Who wouldn’t want to be his friend? How could he not want to add Sabrina to the list of people he could trust in times of need? Her persistence was admirable, and the way she thought certain problems through would impress Sora just enough to be in awe. But she had a chronic ‘can-not-spit-it-out’ problem. So when she just walked up to him earlier today to say she wanted to go to the Caribbean in his vessel, Sora was beside himself.

Among anything, he was excited.

Wearing his pirate attire again after so long felt like a hug. His hands on the ship’s wheel was like shaking hands with a friend. He would belt out in sea shanties if he knew Sabrina would enjoy them. Just enough so she didn’t tell him to be quiet and hide away in the captain’s cabin for the trip, at least. For now, he didn’t. Instead he kept his hands to the wheel as Sabrina occasionally checked the map and compass for their course. Sora liked when she placed her hands on the rail overlooking the lower deck and stood tall as she watched the seas roll past them. Her raven hair would probably be flying if she didn’t have it tied back into a bun, helped by the numerous braids of various widths to keep each flyaway in place.

He knew she wouldn’t admit it, but Sabrina liked to dress up as a pirate too. She wore a long sleeved linen shirt that fastened in the front- the top three hook and eye clasps undone to show a small portion of her chest to give fools with less respect than Sora a small show. The necklace she wore with a medallion sized pendant also helped emphasize the area. Her canvas breeches were cut a little below her knee, with small patches of wear that looked almost strategic. The coat she wore was a deep purple with golden embroidery along the sleeves and edges; the coattails were shorter than Sora’s, only reaching to mid-calf on her.

As she stood tall, you could almost feel the confidence radiate off of her. Sora only caught a glimpse or two just to show admiration. But he didn’t keep his gaze for long- he had a ship to command, after all.

“Doesn’t this feel great?!” Sora declared, hoping to garner her attention. “The wind through the sails, the smell of the sea, nothing for miles but us and three different shades of blue…”

“And the constant reminder you grew up on an island...” Sabrina noted with a dull tone. She looked over at him, the disapproving look on her face proving to be nothing more than a major downer.

“This trip was your idea.” he reminded her, almost in a smug little voice. It didn’t phase her in the slightest. “At least have a little fun, Sabi.”

“I’m not on a Gummi Ship, I don’t have to.”

“You didn’t laugh once on the way over either,” Sora also pointed out. Not long after a wide, mischievous grin crossed his face before he said, “Although I do think it picked up your thoughts on surprising Ven…”

He was barely able to dodge her attempt to whack him. However, his hand was still on the wheel, so the ship violently turned before Sora was quickly able to steady it again. He offered a sheepish grin in a half baked apology. Sabrina huffed before returning to study the maps. Sora’s grin didn’t stop as he looked over her for a moment.

“Oh!” he then realized. “We need to establish this ship’s rules!”

Sabrina looked up again, her expression less than amused.

“What are you talking about?” she questioned.

Sora’s grin got even wider. “You, Lady Sabi, get to be my fine vessel’s captain. But only for today! We’re on a very important mission, and you’ve got the maps.”

“Whatta joy.”

Sora offered her a boastful grin as he gave his nose a little brush. “It’s all for Ven, right?” he mused. “You’ve got the maps for the treasure you’re giving him. It only makes sense to make you captain for the day. Now, where’re we headin’, captain?”

“Keep the course straight,” she told him, looking between the map and the compass, “Eastbound all the way.”

“Aye, aye madam!” Sora agreed with a salute before maintaining their course. The start of a new journey causing a buzz in his body. He was even taking it with one of the most solidary people he knew too! It was enough to almost make him want to sing. In fact… 

“Yo ho mateys, away!” the young man almost belted out at the top of his lungs, “There’ll be treasure and adventure today! Heave-ho, here we go, together as a team! Captain Sabi and first mate So-ora, are we!”

Sabrina did absolutely nothing to hide her groan as she buried her head in her hand.

. . .

The duo dropped anchor when they came to a small cove hidden behind a dormant volcano. They both took an oar on their little rowboat so they could get closer in. Sora got out first so he could help Sabrina out, she took his gesture with some hesitation. Just the acknowledgement made Sora happy. He didn’t leave her side once as they ventured further in.

“There.” Sabrina said when she noticed something on a large rock ahead of them. Sora let her go on ahead, but something out of the corner of his eye made him pause.

“Sabrina,” Sora spoke up, “I don’t think we’re-”

He didn’t have time to finish as a loud wail filled the area. Sabrina and Sora immediately recoiled from the sound. When they were able to collect their bearings again, someone else was indeed with them. A siren now sat on the rock. Seeing her caused a chill to run up Sora's spine, and he immediately went to Sabrina’s side. Sabrina, too, had become more apprehensive at the newcoming.

“Who dares to take my treasure from me?” the siren questioned, its voice not quite male or female. Its black and blue eyes flicked from Sabrina to Sora and back again with a dark gaze.

“I am.” Sabrina said without an ounce of hesitation. “What of it?”

The siren raised an eyebrow at her.

“The treasure here, the Shinrai no Kokoro, can only be taken by one who passes my test. Do you accept this challenge?”

To this, Sabrina scoffed. “Well, if you’re going to make it complicated...” she grumbled, her eye roll deliberate as well.

“Very well.” the siren agreed with a nod. The siren then opened its mouth to let out a sound that made Sabrina recoil so badly, she had to cover her ears. To Sora, it had a different effect. His muscles started to relax, his pupils dilated, and his mind took a backseat to the soothing sounds of the siren. Once it was sure he was completely under its thrall, the siren stopped its song.

“That’s your test?” Sabrina questioned. “Some high pitched wail that did nothing?”

The siren smirked at her. It then turned its gaze to Sora and gave a nod. Sabrina found it odd, immediately turning to look at Sora as well.

“Sora?” the young woman asked, cautiously looking him over. “You alright, there?”

Sora summoned his Keyblade. Sabrina let out an annoyed sigh.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Sora raised his weapon and pointed it at her, the tip blazing in preparation of a magic attack. Sabrina immediately protected herself with Barrier before it had the chance to hit her. As she called her own Keyblade, it left her open for a new attack. The possessed young man readied his Keyblade before driving toward her. A sound of surprise escaped Sabrina’s lips as she fumbled out of the way. How she ever avoided that was beyond her- and, unfortunately, the siren was not done with Sora yet.

“Why do you seek the Shinrai no Kokoro?” Sora asked, his voice mingling with that of the siren’s. It was hard to tell if they were simply talking at the same time, or just an effect of the siren’s control over him.

“Because I wanted to give Ventus something nice for his birthday. It’s, like, a week from now. Which you would know.” Sabrina sharply told him, jumping out of the way from a rather hard hitting swing. She quickly turned to the siren to seethe, “If you’re going to possess someone, the least you could do is leech his memories before asking obvious questions.”

The siren simply offered half a shrug in response. Sabrina had some choice words for the creature but didn’t have time to say them as she happened to parry another blow from Sora. The shock of it caused him to stumble backwards slightly.

“Why give the Shinrai no Kokoro to Ventus?” Sora asked.

“Do I really have to say it?” Sabrina groaned. She almost didn’t notice that Sora was preparing to perform Sonic Blade and was nearly hit at the first blow. It would have been a successful dodge had he not clipped her arm on the last strike. 

“Fine!” she shouted in aggravation. “It’s because I like him! And since I don’t show that I like people in a ‘normal’ way, these few times when I do would mean more to the people around me. Especially for him. He doesn’t give up on me in a way that isn’t annoying or overbearing, and deserves to know that I do see it. The least I could do is remember his stupid birthday.”

The siren gave a small sound of approval at this. Why was a concept that was going to grade on Sabrina’s nerves for awhile. Not that she had much time to think. Sora, despite not being a ‘master’, still apparently knew enough to have an upperhand while possessed. Maybe the siren was just drawing out his frustrations toward her- if they truly existed. Wouldn’t that be a fun concept? It would explain why his inner mind apparently had no resistance to all of this. Not that Sabrina was going to go on and beg for him to snap out of it either.

What she needed to do was think smarter, not harder. She moved to an area where she could get a better read on his attacks. It wasn’t much, but there was a definite moment where Sora had to configure his body before attacking- like a puppet adjusting its limbs so the strings did not get tied up. It was enough of an opening that when he rushed at her again, their Keyblades let out a loud clang as they connected. Sabrina and Sora were now in a deadlock. Up close, Sabrina could see the haze over Sora’s eyes from the siren’s control.

“Why choose Sora to accompany you?” Sora asked her as he pressed their Keyblades closer together. One of them would have to give soon, their strength was close to being evenly matched in this state. Sabrina did not plan on being disarmed first.

Unfortunately, in a way, she still had to.

“It’s because you’re the only one I trust with this.” she admitted, somewhat in a grumble. “I am capable of seeing when someone wants to get through to me, and I know the Carribean is your favorite world, so of course I would ask you to help. You’re the only one I could ask. I…” (the young woman took a moment to give a small, disgusted groan) “I trust you.”

As the words came from her mouth, the grip Sora had on his Keyblade started to weaken. His pupils returned to normal size as he gave several confused blinks.

“Wait…” he slurred- his voice belonging just to him again, “You mean that?”

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

What Sora did next happened so quickly that Sabrina was caught completely off guard. He dispelled his Keyblade, bringing her to rock forward a bit from the sudden weight change, then he launched himself at her to give a tight bear hug. The force of which knocked them both to the ground. Sora’s laughter filled the cove as he held Sabrina tight. The siren gave a small, approving smile at the display, even as Sabrina started to demand for Sora to get off of her.

Even after Sabrina managed to shove him off, Sora still laid on the ground in a happy -practically relieved- laughter. Sabrina scoffed at him as she got up. She took time to brush her pants and jacket before giving her shirt a little shake to get the sand out.

“You have done well.” the siren approved, earning the attention of both teens again. “Come.”

Sabrina adjusted herself a bit more before taking careful strides to the siren. Sora, his laughing starting to cease somewhat, also got to his feet but he did not stop her. He could quite clearly see the siren hold up the palm of her hand; a ring nestled inside that was silver with green and purple jewels embedded within it. Sabrina opened her hand as well, allowing the siren to let the ring drop on her palm. The siren smiled as she covered Sabrina’s hand with both of its own.

“The boy you give this treasure to will value it above gold.” the siren informed the young woman. “Not because it has any true value on its own, but because he knows it came from your heart.”

“As all sappy gifts go.” Sabrina huffed. The siren offered a soft smile before her form dissolved into a pile of sand.

Sabrina turned around to go back to Sora, letting out a long, tired sigh in the process. She slipped the ring onto her finger for safekeeping. It fit so well, she wondered if whatever magic kept it the perfect size would still work when Ven got it. Sora patiently waited for her to be at his side again. He gave the ring a look as well. It was rather pretty, and for a moment the two of them just admired it. If it had any rare magical abilities to it, he wouldn’t have been the one to know. But it must have had something special to it if Sabrina thought Ventus would like it.

“We’re ready to head out captain.” Sora told her, standing tall as he gave her a salute. Sabrina blinked, looking up at him with a confused glance. It took her another minute more to even realize what he was saying.

“Then get back to the rowboat.” she told him, her usual attitude returning in full swing. “We wasted enough time here as it is. The last thing I want when we get back is Aqua questioning where we went. If Aqua questions where we were, everyone questions where we were, and there goes Ventus’s surprise.”

“Aye, aye madam!” he agreed, finishing off his salute. He then gave a rather gleeful laugh as he started to run back to the ship. Sabrina watched him with a small shake of her head, unsure if she should be annoyed and amused. She looked back down at the ring then back at him.

“Thank you, Sora.” she said, soft and barely audible, before following him out.