#it's endlessly fascinating and i genuinely WANT to see it get better

[mister13eyond]

Ngl tho, the "why do you as an adult care about what minors say all the time" arguments feel so disingenuous to me

Like, spreading misinformation about sex and kinks gets a pass just because it's a minor who's spreading it? Or when an adult is being accused of heinous crimes over their fanfics, they should just suck it up because the ones accusing them just so happen to be minors? This is so tiring. I just can't look at those arguments in good faith

That's reasonable! I think there's a threshold of reasonable push back you can and SHOULD give when people in fandom are spreading misinformation or mass harassing fan creators, regardless of age. I think it's always within reason to stand up against that and to put your foot down and refuse to allow bullying and harassment to happen in your circle or to make it clear that kind of shit is harmful and often entirely constructed on misinformation and falsehoods.

I think I've also just seen so many accounts (on Twitter, mostly, because it's a hellsite) where it seems like they're just... spending every. Single. Day. Immersed in bad takes, QRT-ing some stupid opinion a teenager has, constantly talking about antis, constantly engaged in arguments with antis, and it hits a threshold where it's like.... are you doing this because you care about freedom of expression and exploring dark or troubling topics in safe spaces anymore? Or do you just like to argue? I care a LOT about these things and I think the current puritanical pushback against queer sexuality and kink is definitely harmful and actively hurts people, but oh my god, sometimes I see people who spend every single day hunting down bad anti takes and I have to wonder when the last time they had FUN in fandom was. Like... I think there's this idea that we're fighting the good fight by arguing against these things, and I ALSO want to make sure that we have spaces safe to do so and knowledge on how these are perfectly healthy and human ways to explore subjects we would never want to encounter in real life, but once it gets to "hunting down and QRT-ing some 15 year olds bad take" it honestly just spreads those ideas to a BIGGER audience by broadcasting them, even in the form of debunking, you know?

I guess it's just a matter of, like, balance? It's so so bad for ANYONE online to constantly immerse themselves in things that upset them. That's a real problem with puritanical circles- they're constantly constantly immersed in these things they say are triggering or upsetting, and therefore go on the attack and harm people over fiction- but the opposite can be true too. Immersing yourself in a constant flood of abusive language, baseless accusations, misinformation and harassment because you are "fighting it" is bad for you! You can't spend all your time doing that, or it becomes a kind of self-harm, you know?

I will definitely admit I'm biased by my own perspective, but I will say anecdotally- I spent a good chunk of my earlier time in fandom neck-deep in the "proship vs anti" trenches and I felt... pretty consistently miserable. I was only following people who were proship, and I thought seeing bad anti takes deconstructed and taken down would make it better and more cathartic to follow these arguments, but it got to the point where every single day I was exposed to the idea that someone out there likely thought absolutely horrible things about me based on what I read/write/draw. I felt super paranoid and really scared of even creating things at all, anticipating I'd get dog piled at any moment... Eventually I realized a small handful of accounts were the ones CONSTANTLY giving traffic and attention to these harmful posts & ideas (in the form of debunking them/arguing back against them) and I unfollowed or blocked as needed to focus instead on, like. Actually just DOING the things I thought would make fandom better? Sharing kink fics or art, sharing my headcanons that could be heavier or more troubling, etc. And I have to say it feels A HUNDRED times better. I know there's still a lot of misinformation and harm out there, but I feel like it's so much more productive to me to simply... provide a good example to the alternative? To go 'hey, I'm one of those people who make and read the kinds of things that everyone says are horrible and make me a bad person.' while also doing my best to consistently be kind, supportive, communicative and show that I am in fact a happy healthy adult with good relationships and good support and people who love me? So that I can simply, focus on the positive side of what fandom and all its weird kinks and weird fiction have given me! Because these things ARE very much something that's brought a lot of positive things into my life.

Sorry, I didn't mean to soap box! I think you have a really good point- a lot of the time those arguments ARE in bad faith and are thrown at anyone who exhibits even a moment of pushback against harassment or harm just because it's coming from a minor. I just think there's also a really toxic side of the "constantly in arguments on the internet" subset of people who really need to step back and try and give themselves some healthy breathing room and cut off the onslaught of 24/7 exposure to abuse and misinfo 😔

[llamagoddessofficial]

I have a question related to the prison au. Sorry if this has been asked before but what if Mc didn’t com in as a nurse but rather a therapist. Like the jail’s first therapist and it was all mc’s idea because Mc thinks that if the prisoners have more of am emotional outlet they won’t be as aggressive to one another and will become better people/monsters after they get out. And Mc wants to make a difference for them because Mc knows that their jail life isn’t the best. Mc can tell sans is trying to manipulate them, and isn’t affected much by reds attempts to charm her as much, and Mc can see threw skill’s scary and can understand him more and teaches him how to communicate how he is feeling better.

Oooooo...

Sans: Unlike pretty much all her other counterparts, this Mc is onto Sans' shit from the very start. Originally assigned to him as a mere formality, she immediately clocks that this motherfucker is much scarier than anyone has noticed before. His 'therapy sessions' are more like mental chess matches between two very perceptive people. Her aim is to genuinely try to treat him, genuinely try to get to the bottom of why he's turned into this terrifying mastermind, and perhaps even help him; there's not much else she can do. No one will believe her. Sans knows that, too.

Sans loves it. At last- someone who really, actually understands him, and the monster (not Monster) he's become. Not someone from his past lingering endlessly on who he used to be, not another pawn buying his 'harmless' persona. He loves having someone who is finally, finally in on his game. He was already fascinated with her from the start, this just makes it so much more intense- he loves being able to drop the mask. He loves the challenge of having to find ways to manipulate that are outside of his usual routes. He loves her, she's all he lives for.

She wants to help him? Cute. He'll show her what the world is really like. Then they can be puppetmasters together.

Red: She's assigned to Red to 'help' with his constant violent outbursts, after he gets in a particularly brutal fight and has to choose between attending therapy or lengthening his sentence. He's not the first violent offender she's dealt with, and he's definitely not the first flirtatious patient... but he's definitely the first that seems so utterly determined to charm her. She's firm on not breaching her ethics and she won't allow herself to do anything more than just get along well with him.

Mc actually makes a big impact on his mental health. The instinct to open up to her is a hard one to ignore, given his affection for her and their great rapport, and Red just likes her more and more with every issue she helps him work through. He doesn't like that she absolutely refuses to be with him, and he sees it as more of a challenge than anything.

When he gets out, he'll make sure she knows he's still very interested in some private sessions...

Skull: Giving Skull a therapist kinda feels like putting a band-aid on a completely severed torso. But it was a legal requirement. He cycles through therapists who either immediately refuse to treat him, or get a few days in and THEN refuse to treat him. Mc is just another in a long line of therapists that the prison expects to see rolling in.

... Except... he's so good for her. He tries to talk, he's calm and never bites, he's highly engaged with the tasks she gets him to do with her, he quickly notices that the better he does the more they make her spend time with him. The less violent he is, the more she talks to him in that lovely soft voice. Anything for more of her voice.

... Issues arise when Mc starts to understand that Skull has developed feelings for her. Deep feelings. He's always trying to kiss, nuzzle or hold her- it feels unethical to keep treating him. But it's also a well established fact that her presence in his life has probably saved several lives. If she tried to tell the prison that she didn't want to treat Skull anymore, she'd probably get a response along the lines of "we don't care, just keep him from eating anyone's hands".

She's not really got much of a choice.

[ipostdumbthings]

Moonlit Dinner Date

Pairing: Gale/Tav

Characters: Gale, Tav, Astarion, Karlach

Rating: G

Genre: Romantic Fluff

Summary: Gale returns to camp one evening to discover a wild magic mishap from sorcerer Tav. Pre-relationship.

It was still fairly early in the evening when Gale found himself strolling back into camp, clean for the first time in days. Camp had been made late in the afternoon, they’d stopped near a river and a turn order was quickly established to get everyone in camp a turn to a small but blissful amount of privacy, and freedom from the muck and sweat. He was still toweling off his hair when he stepped foot in camp proper,only to find himself almost bumping directly into a certain pale companion of the vampiric persuasion. The look on the elf’s face made it clear that he’d been waiting for Gale for a while now, a look that said “you’re wasting my time”. The wizard didn’t love how often he saw it.

“Here’s something I never thought I’d say, but thank the gods you’re here Gale we need your help.” It might have been a jab at him, but Astarion wasn’t wielding his particularly cruel tone of voice, did Gale actually detect something genuine there? He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off immediately, not by the man before him, but by the bleating of a sheep. Of course. He didn’t need to look, but he did anyway, sidestepping the elf to join the camp proper. Not too far from the fire was a sheep, a rope tied loosely to its neck to keep it from wandering off. Affectionately petting and tending to it was Karlach, who looked all the more excited to see Gale.

“Tav?” He asked, already so certain of the answer, but received further confirmation when he spotted the bowl of water someone had laid beside the sheep with the name “Tav '' hastily painted on the side, no doubt Karlach’s work. It could be hard to believe that a woman of so much heat could have such a soft heart.

“Yes, she got a little bold with her spell casting I’m afraid,” Astarion replied, a certain quirk to the corner of his mouth indicating just how funny he found all this. It had endlessly fascinated Gale just how well Tav could get along with everyone here, and how someone with so much kindness and concern for others could find genuine affection and camaraderie with someone like Astarion. He was certain for the elf’s part, the friendship had mostly been a great source of amusement, provided he was well outside the blast radius when something went wrong. But Tav had disagreed with Gale during one of their chats about that, well not entirely, she knew Astarion found it funny when her magic went awry, but she was positive there was a genuine connection of trust and friendship between them. That was getting off track though, there was very much a situation he was faced with, one that was frankly frustrating, and should’ve been avoided based on his and her previous conversations. He heaved a sigh so deep he felt it in his soul.

“I specifically asked her not to cast her magic in camp for this reason. Could’ve been a fireball that sent all the tents up in flames,” he said, adopting a chastising tone as he addressed the sheep more than the two people. Sorcerer’s and wizards rarely saw eye to eye under the best of circumstances, given their different philosophies, their different experiences with magic. Sorcerers took magic for granted, and the one type of sorcerer you didn’t want with that sort of flippant attitude was one of wild magic, and yet Tav seemed blissfully unconcerned by the chaos she was capable of wreaking. He’d hope she’d learn something from this, but he knew better.

“Oh, no, that’s not what we need help with,” Astarion said, his genuine delight only seeming to swell.

“When you say it like that Astarion, it makes me feel like we’ve been arseholes,” Karlach said sounding like a guilty child. She even wore a pout. 

“She’s got grass, we put down a clean water bowl for her, her precious sheepish heart yearns for nothing. Frankly I wish people tended to my needs the way we’ve been keeping her for the better part of the half hour.” The elf sounded defensive, but not in a way that indicated he felt bad in the slightest for anything that was happening. Gale pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a certain weariness he imagined his mother must have felt when she was dealing with his youthful magical indiscretions.

“If it’s not about Tav the sheep, then what exactly did you need?” The question was quick, clipped, and demanded an answer.

“Well, it’s not not about Tav and her adorable little hooves.” The way Karlach emphasized the last three words was further hammered home by her taking Tav’s sheep face in her hands and cooing at her.

“It’s a bet,” Astarion said, and could not suppress a grin as he spoke, “we were wondering if, someone were to… shear her, you know, shave off all the wool, while she’s a sheep…” 

“Would she pop back to being a human bald or naked? And what would happen to the wool when she turned back? Would that be her hair? Her clothes? Or would it stay wool?” Karlach finished the question, redirecting her gaze back to Gale with genuine curiosity. He blinked at the absurdity of the question, at the knowledge that they had been patiently waiting for him for half an hour just to ask. Karlach didn’t surprise him as much, but he would’ve assumed Astarion for the sort to get to the bottom of the matter himself.

“Ah. Well, I can't say I’ve ever tried it. Honestly I’m impressed at the restraint you’ve shown in not simply attempting it yourself.” He’d said it as a joke, but the look on Karlach’s face had the deep sigh renewed.

“We thought about it, but I’m too pretty for such a menial task, Karlach is too afraid of hurting her, and Halsin gave us a very stern ‘no’ and that same disapproving look you seem to be wearing right now.” Well, at least someone in the camp could be trusted to behave like an adult. He held Astarion’s gaze for several moments, making sure he fully expressed said disappointment, before finally looking back at the popular subject of the evening, Tav. He should still be irritated, but he had to admit the question was an interesting one, and far be it from him to not indulge the curiosity of others in regards to magic. Even if he didn’t exactly have an answer.

“Ignoring the ethical implications of you two attempting to shave one of your friends while they’re completely indisposed, hypothetically-“ he was cut off when the sheep made eye contact with him, and he felt the sudden, intense connection brought on by the tadpoles locked in their brains. For just a moment it didn’t make sense, just sheep sounds and flashes of the grass on the ground at the camp, but then he felt it: the disappointment. The sheep held his gaze, drifting to thoughts of the clearing nearby, the one with bright green grass.

“Wait. What just happened?” The words from Karlach pulled him from the moment, and his bewildered stare must have made it obvious.

“Did she just use the tadpole on you?” Astarion sounded positively delighted, the airy laugh erupting from him. Gale glared.

“Oh was it Tav-Tav, or Sheep-Tav? Why didn’t she do it to me? I was just staring into her little face?” Karlach asked with a mix of absolute whimsy and disappointment. She gently rested her hands under Tav’s face to coax the sheep to look at her again.

“Don’t take it personally, Karlach, she’s not really Tav right now, she’s well and truly a sheep,and you two were wrong about her wanting for nothing, she wants better grass.” With that he crossed the space to his tent and returned everything he’d taken for his bath, then snatched up a book. There was no telling how long it would take for Tav to become human again, and she’d been very clear about what she wanted. He could sit with her for a while as she indulged in sheepish pleasures.

“Shit are we being bad sheep guardians?” Karlach asked with a groan, she did start untying the rope from the stake in the ground, which she handed over to Gale when he approached.

“Do you mean shepherds?” Astarion asked, but Gale was very much through with the tom-foolery of the evening. Taking the rope in hand, he gave Tav the gentlest of tugs to get her moving.

“I’m going to take her to a clearing nearby, if she’s going to return to humanity with the taste of grass in her mouth it might as well be good grass.” Tav may have frustrated him at times to no end, but there was no denying that he respected her. Valued her, even. She was competent at decision making under catastrophic circumstances, unwaveringly compassionate to those in need, and a damn fine friend to anyone that allowed her to be. There were times that his fondness for her only increased his frustration about her casual disposition to her brand of chaos. He wanted her to care enough to take care of herself, to be careful. But he supposed, at least for the time being, she had him to do the worrying for her. Seemed a few others were up to the task too.

“Don’t forget her water bowl, Gale, I put her name on it and everything, you know, for next time it happens.” Karlach almost spilled the water bowl in her haste to hand it over, genuinely concerned he may leave it behind. The wizard took the bowl with a small bow of his head, yes even when he wasn’t around to watch after her, Tav was usually in good hands.

“I’m certain she’ll be touched by the kind gesture. Now come along, Tav.” With that, he gave another gentle tug on the rope, and sheep Tav seemed to know exactly what to do, which he supposed made sense, she had requested this.

—

He did have to give her credit for good timing, though, it was a lovely night. Stars twinkling above, the moon brilliantly lighting their little clearing. The air was cool, but not cold. A nice gentle breeze carried the sounds of the night time wildlife beginning their evening. Perfect night to sit with a book and enjoy the world for all its splendor.Even the company was pleasant, now satisfied with the grass she had available Tav was content to silently wander and munch nearby. He’d take breaks from the page to glance up at her to make sure she was fine, and frankly marvel at how he managed to enjoy her presence even as a sheep.

The two had shared many late night evening talks, mostly about the sort of things one expects a wizard and a sorcerer to discuss. Magic and its nature, mysteries of the universe, that sort of thing. They talked about other things, and he was constantly amazed by how much he enjoyed those chats just as much as he enjoyed the ones on his favorite subjects. Even in these trying times she approached life with enthusiasm, with passion and joy. Not to say she wasn’t aware of the impending doom that loomed above them, she’d let slip her air of exuberant confidence a few times to reveal just how deeply afraid she was. He’d realized then that she was attempting to shoulder all the worries of the team, that she’d been determined to be the source of comfort and hope when they couldn’t be one to themselves. He didn’t envy her. He did want to help her though. Which was yet another reason he was sitting out here with her.

It was a wonderful, quiet hour that past, and sheep Tav had settled in the grass and was deep into a snore when the magic dispelled. One moment a sheep snoozed happily, the next there was Tav. She sat up quickly, facing away from Gale. She twisted her head back and forth before rising to her feet. When she finally spotted Gale she broke into a big grin. A big, beautiful grin. She looked relieved to see him, happy to see him. He blinked back at her, and felt something stir in his chest that felt suspiciously like his heart fluttering. He hoped it was dark enough that she’d miss the faint tingle of redness on his cheeks he felt forming. A moment passed before he realized he was staring at her, and he quickly cleared his throat to break the silence.

“You should know, your dear friends seriously debated shearing you in pursuit of scientific curiosity,” he said, he’d intended his tone to be more chastising, after all he had asked her not to cast in camp for a reason. But his heart wasn’t in that, not at the moment, not with her looking at him like he was her safety, her comfort. It came out as the gentle, affectionate tease it truly was. Of course he knew he’d been fond of her already, but that look on her face under starlit skies was forcing him towards some rather hasty and unexpected realizations about just how fond of her he was.

“Oh to see if I turn out bald or naked?” She asked with an easy laugh, as she took a seat on the ground directly beside him. The urge to put an arm around her was one of the hardest he’s ever had to suppress. He settled for tilting his head to the side as he peered at her, watching the expression of good humor form on her face. He was finding he liked that one quite a bit too.

“A question you seem to have pondered quite a bit yourself,” he remarked.

“Well I’ve spent more than my fair share of time as a sheep. Always wondered why it was a sheep. Honestly, the universe probably knows I’d be too powerful as a cat.” She was looking directly into his eyes as she spoke, and he found himself even more acutely aware of how close they were and how intimate this moment between them was. The idea of her as a cat, however, was enough to get a laugh from him. Surely she’d be the sort to knock everything over, to break all your favorite things, and just when you were sure it was time to get rid of her, cuddle up on your lap and make you love her all over again.

“With your predisposition for chaos? I suspect you may be right.” He loved the way that made her laugh, the way her nose crinkled as her whole face lit up. She gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder, and he made a mental note to ensure an abundant future of that. She finished laughing and for a brief moment she sat and peered up at the stars before she looked back to the grass she’d been eating not ago.

“Awfully nice of you, though, to bring me out to this lovely patch of Baldurian Bluegrass.” She looked thankful. He blinked at her, and then looked at the grass, and then back at her.

“… You know what type of grass this is?” He must have sounded incredulous from her next little laugh. Tav was not much of an expert on the great outdoors, she’d never successfully identified an animal track, knew absolutely no potion ingredients, and seemed to be allergic to most things they came in contact with. She smiled a knowing smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“When I realized that I would be spending a decent amount of time as a sheep, I started growing little patches of grass at home, and had some brought in from all sorts of places. I figured, you know, spoil myself.” It was his turn to laugh, he shouldn’t have been surprised in the first place. That was exactly the sort of thing Tav did. 

“Ah yes, exotic grasses from across the globe. Truly a feast fit for a sheep of your caliber.” He teased, and felt that flicker in his heart when her eyes were back to him.

“But the one I always eat the most is the boring one, Baldurian Bluegrass.But do you realize what that means?” She asks leaning just enough that it felt like they were conspiring about something together.

“I can’t even imagine what’s about to come out of your mouth.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened, and he knew with such certainty that it would far from be the last. It excited him in a way that he hadn’t expected it to.

“You just took me out for a nice moonlit dinner with my favorite food. If you keep this up, Gale, I’m going to think you’re into me.” It was a joke, he was certain. Wasn’t he certain? He could almost be bold enough to lean over and kiss her, to wrap that arm around her and hold her. To spend the evening like this teasing and talking together. Almost.

“We should get back to camp, Karlach will be both relieved and disappointed by your reversion,” he said and cursed himself for being a coward. Tav took pity on him it seemed, leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he felt his heart absolutely pound in his chest. She rose to her feet quickly thereafter and offered her hand to him to help him up, which he gratefully accepted.

“Thank you, Gale, for taking care of me,” and there was that smile again, but it didn’t linger for long, and she was quickly starting the short walk back to camp. He didn’t let her get too far ahead though.

“It was a privilege and an honor, my lady.” He did stop to pick up her water bowl though, with her luck it would be helpful soon enough.

[scoobydoodean]

Just wanted to send a random positive ask to say you literally make my day better and I really love what you bring to the fandom (as you might have noticed by me liking everything you post after 0.5 secs if the notifications alert you lol). Also I love that you describe yourself as genuine in your bio, that’s the vibe I get from you 100% and it’s so nice to see, even in the few things in which we diverge or I just haven’t considered. Lastly, may I ask (and it’s a bit of a tall order) how you became so interested/invested/knowledgeable in media analysis? I find it such a fascinating skill to have.

This is very sweet. Thank you <3

As to your question—I've never really thought about it before! I don't have any formal education in any of this tbqh. I was an avid reader in my childhood and performed well in English classes through college, and I was involved in public speaking and debate from middle school upward, so there are some communication skills I started to develop pretty early with that, but my field of study is not related to literature. I started talking to other people about a piece of media I really liked on reddit when I was about 19 (that'd be 10 years ago now), and I think because the fandom for that piece of media was on the whole just extremely eager to discuss the story in great depth and explore the characters and themes and symbolism, I was able to work on explaining myself and forming my thoughts about stories I like within a fandom that was very small and encouraging and very positive about the story we were all invested in and the fact that it was a something worth analyzing in great detail. By reading the thoughts of other people who had interesting things to say or who challenged my perceptions and wanted to have conversations about what we agreed and disagreed on and why, I think I probably was able to learn a lot.

There are very few pieces of media I've become even remotely as interested in as Supernatural though, and I have definitely noticed that when I really like something, I tend to get extremely invested in rewatching/rereading it and trying to pick up new things to analyze just because I enjoy it, and there's something about Supernatural in that regard that is just endlessly appealing to me.

[shaanks]

>.>

Shanks and/or Kid.

Quin my lovely friend! :"D Thank you so much! Let's do both~ :3c

Shanks

How I feel about this character:

I genuinely love him, like. I think he's fascinating from a narrative standpoint, the place that he has to stand kind of straddling the gulf between the old era that birthed him and the new era he's been charged with stewarding in, like. He's tragic in my mind, because from a character standpoint he has everything - looks, intelligence, potential, power, influence - and yet he either loses or has to let go of everything he really loves, and wants to keep around.

I love that he plays really loosey goosey like his job is Beach and he's a silly funny guy, but can get awfully serious at the drop of a hat, I love the way he carries himself and the very careful vocal cadence he holds onto. Fascinating 2 me.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Oh goodness, you see the problem with hims I feel him to be THE king slut of all time, so I can be persuaded about like. a TON of pairings for him lmfao. The ones I usually default to are the same ones everyone does, Buggy and Mihawk, altho due to the way Shanks is and the advent of the Cross Guild I've had some funny forays into Shanks trying to seduce Crocodile lmfao. (and like. Me. lmfao <3)

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Luffy, Benn, Ace, the whole RHP crew tbh. It's odd bc I usually subscribe to the "all vice captains are insane about their captains" thing but I just haven't ever gotten that with Shanks and Benn lmfao.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Weirdly, it seems to be an unpopular opinion that he's a good guy, so probably that? I can't think of anything else I think about him that's especially against the grain.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

I just want him to live through this lmfao. There are several people in this that I love and am very worried about it, and he's one of them. I'd love for him to be able to reconcile with Buggy too, because so much of what's kept them apart for the last two decades has been misunderstanding of a difficult situation that happened when they were teenagers during a really traumatic event. I know that's not usually how things work in this story, but ya know.

**

Alrighty :"D Round 2

Kid

How I feel about this character:

I find him endlessly endlessly endearing to be perfectly honest. Setting aside the fact that I'm so attracted to him it regularly makes me act very silly, like. He's so smart! He's loyal to a fault! His crew adores him, he sticks to his convictions (for better or worse), he will tell you what's on his mind and deal with you honestly, and expects that of the people around him. Even when he acts all gruff about it, you can tell when someone has earned his respect.

He takes responsibility for the people in his care, he's incredibly brave and charismatic, and goddamn does he ever commit to his aesthetic, and the bit. I love him is the tl;dr. It's so funny bc I made it like 5 jokes into dunking on him about Law in Sabaody before I realized I'd backed myself into a corner about him bc like. Personally imo 2 me, if you think about him with any kind of seriousness, I think it's hard not to love him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Oh man. Killer obv top spot, but I've also gotten really attached to the big Kid Pirates Polycule bc of your thoughts on that subject. I like the KidLawLu polycule too, altho that's more for fun play in my mind. Fascinatingly I think he'd have gotten on like gangbusters with Ace, though I'm as inclined to make that platonic as romantic lmfao, either way. (Also, again...me. I love him lmfao.)

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

In a more serious way probably this is where Kid and Law and Luffy fall in my mind. I love their dynamic and how goofy they all fucking act about it lmfao.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

That he's really fucking smart. He's an excellent tactician when he wants to be, he's a mechanical engineer, like. Those prosthetics aren't just a bunch of junk mashed together that he's forcing to move, they have artificial articulating musculature, they have functional hydraulics, they WORK. Hell, Damned Punk is a plasma canon that you can SEE has actual refined mechanical pieces to it that he's able to pull together without even looking.

Also not for nothing but figuring out magnetic polarity and then getting that shit to behave itself in reasonable ways so that you can use it reliably in battle requires intelligence and serious skill.

His wisdom stat is a lil low but my boy's fucking brilliant.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

I get it. I GET why Oda [redacted current arc spoilers] for both him and Law. All I'm saying is he better fucking live through it. Him and his crew. I wanna see them again. :(

**

Alrighty!!! This was wonderful friend ; u ; Thank you for askin about my boys, I love any chance I can get to ramble about em. <3

if anyone else wants to play, give me a character and I'll break their ass down!

[analysisn3rd]

Dorian Gray

Morality

Dorian has one of the most changing, and interesting, moralities I’ve ever encountered. Throughout the book, I would say that there are three distinct changes of morality that he goes through. I will identify and explain them in detail, but first I will place them on the scale. The first portion of the book, he is in the pale section, a bit far from the middle grey part. During the second portion, he is in the grey section, leaning towards the dark region, and the final portion, he is in the same pale part as the first part.

The first portion is at the very beginning of the book. It’s when Dorian was just introduced to Lord Henry and was still getting to know him. He was exactly what he seemed then; boyish, innocent and “good”. He always had a moral code, and he always knew what is “good” and what is “bad”. During that time, he was acting along his moral code, because why else would he not? He’s seen a horrible person act immorally in the form of his grandfather, and he hated that man, so he decided to act as “good” as possible. However, he got tempted by Lord Henry’s ideas, and he started to contemplate the way he’d been living, and what his life could be like if he were to do what Lord Henry said. During this time, he got to know Sybil Vane and proposed to marry her. After he snapped at her, his morality caused him to feel terrible about what he did, which motivated him to amend things with her and stop talking to Lord Henry.

In the blink of an eye, the following morning, after a few mere moments of grief, his morality changed. He started to genuinely believe what Lord Henry told him; fascinated by the possibilities of life in the manner that was told to him. That’s when his morality changed, becoming darker, towards the grey section. The change was like how he described it to Basil; “I suffered immensely. Then it passed away.” He continued to have this same morality for the majority of the book, where he was fully aware of “right” and “wrong” but choosing not to act by them. After all, nothing happened to him when he defied them. He was still the same youthful, beautiful man that everyone was charmed by, and he will always be. Beauty, to him, is much more important than being good, which is something that Lord Henry had remarked in the book.

One of his many a-moral actions was killing Basil Hallward. This was an action that he thought was necessary, but he clearly didn’t realise the impact that it would have on him. At first, he was unaffected by his action, moving on normally in his life. Then it struck him. When the realisation of his action hit him, he fainted. Even though he would endlessly deny it, the murder of someone who he considered a dear friend has haunted him. That was, the way I see it, the reason why his morality changed back. This was the catalyst for wanting to be “good”. He wanted to better himself, to become a better man. The only reason for this, which Dorian denied to himself and others constantly, is Hallward’s murder. 

After all of his other heinous actions, he never felt a shred of guilt. He even found it amusing to see the painting change and become worse and worse as time goes on, and he thought that the same would happen with Basil’s murder. He was mistaken. The reason for why he felt guilt is unclear, but I think that the only reasonable explanation is that he, at least partially, loved Hallward. It was also his first murder, and it’s said that the first murder is the only one that actually impacts the murderer; it’s the only one that they fully regret, and I would say that the same goes for Dorian.

Overall, Dorian is someone who’s fully aware of the moral code, and of how his actions will be thought of. Yet, for most of the book, he chose to disregard it, as he wanted to indulge in beauty and the glorious life granted to him by it.

Personality and insecurities

Dorian has an incredibly interesting personality, and it’s what makes him such a remarkable character in literature.

Something that’s very obvious about Dorian is that he’s charming, and well-liked. He has an air of charisma that attracts people to him; they’re fascinated by him. This is mentioned in the book where it’s said that “There was something about Dorian that charmed everybody. It was a pleasure to even see him.” This is most likely due to his appearance and innocent act. Anybody would be drawn to a person who’s beautiful. People naturally gravitate towards what they like, and what they find interesting. Dorian simply happens to be both of those things.

A trait that I would use to describe Dorian is passionate. He’s very enthusiastic about the things that interest him, which is something that’s both natural and fitting for his personality. He’s inherently a person who loves to get absorbed wholly and fully by all that’s mesmerising. He’s so knowledgeable about all his interests and that doesn’t come without a lot of love and eagerness for the subject. An example of this is the book that he was given by Lord Henry, and how many times he read it and fell deeply in love with it. Another is how he learns everything he could about all that interests him.

Something I didn’t initially think to associate with Dorian is intelligence, which was very wrong of me to do. He’s evidently observant, although it’s not as impressive as a detective’s observation skills. This is clear as he observes people, watches their behaviour, to identify how he would act towards them; how he would show them that he’s “good” and innocent. He also has a little of a manipulative strand within him, where he uses his observation skills and intelligence to figure out how to blackmail people correctly and get them what he wants them to do, much like what he did with Alan Campbell. Due to his intelligence, he’s able to make people believe that he’s innocent, despite doing horrible actions. He may not be a genius, but he’s smart enough to protect himself and his reputation.

Dorian is a character with many insecurities and fears. There are three that I shall be discussing here in depth.

He’s terrified of losing his youth. This is because if he didn’t have it, no one would want him, which is something that Lord Henry said. He would be undesirable without his beauty, which is why it’s all that matters to him. This caused him to do anything and everything to preserve it, because he doesn’t want to be abandoned and alone, like he was when he was a child. He wants to be wanted, and he knows that, if it weren’t for his beauty, no one would want to know or befriend him.

I would consider him a prime example of the phrase “You become what you fear”. He feared his grandfather when he was younger, and, for the majority of the book, he became him. The biggest proof of this is the painting, as it was described to look like his grandfather quite a lot. The last thing he wanted to become is a cruel, hideous old man, and he indeed became that, even if people couldn’t see it. The painting concealed his reality, but it didn’t mean that it was any less true. Initially, he was horrified by this, so he rejected it and denied it. He’s not like that man. However, later on in the book, he began to celebrate it. The thing that stopped him from doing so was the worst thing that he had done; killing Basil Hallward. As I’ve mentioned before, it was the murder’s impact that caused him to become a better man. This was not only because of his horrible guilt, but also because of his realisation of who he had become; he had truly become his grandfather.

This was something that both Lord Henry and Basil Hallward knew was possible. Lord Henry was fascinated by it; knowing that Dorian is inherently someone who would agree with his ideologies and philosophies, and would always live by them, which is something that he could never dare test himself. He couldn’t do it, he’d lose everything he’s ever had, but Dorian could. Dorian will always be seen as innocent, due to his beauty and ability to conceal his crimes. Dorian had privileges that Lord Henry didn’t. Hallward, on the other hand, feared this. This is why he didn’t want Dorian to ever meet Lord Henry. He always wanted his innocent, boyish, handsome friend. He loved that friend dearly. He didn’t want his friend to be ruined by himself.

The last fear I’ll mention is how Dorian is afraid of people pointing out his actions. This ties into his aforementioned fear of abandonment. This is because if people were to find out about his true actions, they would despise him, and he would lose all his status. He would become a nobody, when all he wants to do is become a somebody.

Conclusion

Dorian is one of the most interesting characters I’ve ever read about. He’s very changeable, and there are a lot of layers to him. He’s incredibly amusing to read about, much like all of Wilde’s characters in the book. I simply hope that I did him justice within my analysis.

[jonsaslove]

Not sure if you want to expand, but how is Braime misunderstanding either of the characters? I think the beauty x beast retelling is right there... If you just don't ship it, I get that too cause I don't care for it myself but I thought it was, not canon exactly but it's THERE

Hey anon! Sure I'll expand.

Disclaimer, this is just my opinion and not something I even talk about very often as I try to not spend a lot of time focusing on things that I don't like. If anyone reading this likes Braime then that's awesome but it is not my cup of tea and I'd recommend skipping this post.

Breaking it down further, there are a few things I'll touch on. I'll talk about my thoughts on Braime's narrative, Jaime's arc, Brienne's arc, and then a bit more about the Braime fandom.

Braime's Narrative: I do think that Braime has an interesting story narratively and actually I do see the reason why people ship them, there is a lot compelling factors to their relationship. My hang up is the shippers who think they are an epic love story or they are "obviously endgame" and that the show "ruined them". IMO Brienne and Jaime are not going to end up with each other and that has never been the direction GRRM was going with them despite the obvious romantic aspect to their overall arc. I don't see it with them ending together. So again, my issue is less with people shipping them but more with people who truly believe they will end up together and will listen to no argument to the contrary. In contrast, I believe Jonsa should end up together and think it would be narratively satisfying but I'm more than willing to recognize that there's arguments against it.

Jaime's Arc: From the first time I started reading ASOIAF and then watched GOT it was very obvious to me that Jaime's arc was a tragic one. His relationship with Cersei has many toxic aspects but I don't believe that he is going to "break free" from it. In my experience a lot (obviously not all) of Braime shippers view Cersei as this abusive villain who has tricked Jaime into being with her and that she doesn't love him at all. Jaime and Cersei both do awful things to each other and the power balance in that relationship is endlessly fascinating but I don't think one of them is the clearcut victim to the other. If anything over his life Jaime feels more resentful to his father and the expectations Tywin has of him and how he is unable to live up to them.

Another key factor is that I believe Jaime WANTS to be a "better" man. He doesn't want to be known as the Kingslayer, he doesn't want to continue committing incest with his twin, but his arc to me is about his attempt to be a better man and his failure to do so because he is always eventually going to return to Cersei. This may not be narratively satisfying to those who hope for a "redemption arc" but to me it is what's most realistic. I don't believe any of the Lannisters are getting a "happy" ending.

Also, Jaime views Brienne as a possible means to being that better man but in the show we see that as soon as he tries with Brienne he realizes that "good man" is not who he actually is and he falls back into the same patterns. I don't see this as D&D's bad writing, I see it as the natural conclusion of Jaime's story.

Brienne's Arc: Brienne's story...this is something I admit I feel less confident about but I'll give my thoughts on her arc. I think Jaime's presence in her storyline has a lot to do with Brienne's rather rigid thinking about good and bad or right and wrong. She initially thinks that Jaime is nothing more than a Kingslayer but comes to see that people have more complexity than that. Her ideas about the world are challenged through her encounters with him and she grows as a character because of it.

I do believe that she has genuine feelings for Jaime but again I think Jaime's arc is meant to end with Cersei. I have less strong opinions on how Brienne's arc ends, but I think she will have a roll in Arya and Sansa's ending and be with the Starks at the end of the story. I also think one day she will find the love she is looking for from someone who isn't using her to try and prove something about himself. In other words Jaime trying to be in love with Brienne to prove he is a good man.

The Shippers: As for Braime shippers, I've already mentioned this but I think at large they have convinced themselves that this is a fairytale romance with a happy ending and I will simply never see it that way. I also will not forget the way many of them were frothing at the mouth at the idea of Jaime going to KL in S8 to kill Cersei and their unborn baby. Some of the posts from that time were genuinely nauseating.

Now there's a whole conversation to be had about me shipping Jonsa and Jon killing Dany, of course. There are obvious similarities and I could go further into depth with my thoughts on it but ultimately it's my opinion that the situations are different enough for it not to bother me. I also feel that the two fandoms approach Jon killing Dany and Jaime killing Cersei in vastly different ways.

All of that to say that the Braime fandom left a bad taste in my mouth from their treatment of Cersei, I don't believe it makes sense narratively for Braime to have a happy ending, and I don't believe a happy ending would actually "work" for either of them in the long run. I don't think they are well suited to each other on a basic level and I really believe Brienne deserves miles better than Jaime.

[kindestegg]

It bothers me seeing some people complain about TOH going a ‘boring’ route for the Collector ‘without moral grayness’ just because they hadn’t been imprisoned for killing anyone or destroying anything (as far as we technically know at least). The clues were already there in 2B that the Collector wasn’t malicious and probably didn’t even hunt Titans to begin with, plus it reminds me of that past fandom trend of ignoring the psychological impact of Belos’ abuse on the Collector, and reducing him to funny murders iPad kid.

Also, it feels like said people are ignoring the fact that, a more sympathetic side to the Collector being necessary here, they still very much did turn people into puppets. Like that was a thing that still happened in this episode. Besides, there arguably is a ‘moral grayness’ to this well-intentioned kid who still ended up betrayed, used, and punished, even by King to an extent, finally snapping in retaliation and betrayal. Idk it just feels like they’re complaining the story didn’t go in one direction for his character VS another, when both routes are equally compelling.

(holds hands with you and we skip over a field of flowers into the sunset together)

but really, you worded this pretty well and in a way i have also been thinking for quite some time!! really, its something ive considered making something about in the future because it fascinates me endlessly: there is just something so strange to me about the fact that to some people recognizing collector is a kid or that he has a complex backstory and is more layered than "sadistic selfish shadowy entity" means "ruining his character"

on the one hand i get it, sometimes people just want a mean old crazy villain who has no qualms in doing whatever just for the hell of it because they want to have fun, and i get it!! i really like villains like that- hell, part of the reason i even got interested on collector when i first saw them in hollow mind was because i love characters like that so much!! the bill cyphers, the discords, the quackerjacks, the dimentios, the jevils, the ecolos, i love all characters like that!!

but like... come edge of the world, hearing luz go "that collector kid" and going "OH SHIT THIS IS A CHILD" was game changing for me because?? you really dont see characters like that often that are also kids?? and idk about you but that was exciting to me! because it explores such an interesting path of like, how do you begin to approach an antagonist that IS so sadistic and self serving but also is STILL growing and still young and has still potential to be good?

old time followers of this blog will KNOW i have already talked all about that though... so what else can i say?

i will say i absolutely agree with you there on the cues being there. while i dont think its fair to say that it was easier before to infer he really didnt do ANYTHING, there were at least a lot of indications carefully laid out to make us empathize with them and understand their situation. like, isnt it interesting that at the start of o'titan, they couldve shown collector saying anything at all, since he thought he was all alone monologuing to himself, and they chose to have him talk about how lonely he was and then plead for king to stay with him? and then, as if to follow up on that, clouds has him doubting whether belos is his friend or not sounding genuinely concerned! we know from these clues that collector is a kid, that he is lonely, that being inside the prison has messed with his mental health, and that belos is unsurprisingly a terrible friend that is making him worry if he will uphold his end of the bargain.

all of these puzzle pieces were put there deliberately, including kings connection to collector, to first let us see a different side of this character and understand him better, and then second to also let king do this and prepare him to be more likely to want to consider collector as someone he could approach, even back in kings tide! because having that previous mental connection allowed him to wonder if collector could be reasoned with, and it worked! he stopped the spell for him! and like, once again, the writers utilize what time they have to quickly establish that the collector would rather play with king and holds no anger towards him or desire to hurt him! this is again, important as an indication that collector is not like we thought!

the whole "murderous ipad kid" started rubbing me the wrong way too, while i am brazilian so the "enzo gabriel" memes were endearing to me in a way, it became really frustrating seeing as how EXTREMELY few people back then seemed interested in exploring the tragedy of a character so young mentally having been stuck in an eternal unchanging prison and how that fucked them up, and how it being BELOS who he was stuck with was even worse! or even, hell, explore the fact he seems to not have wanted to hurt king and how their connection makes them perfect foils to each other and how they could be friends in a better world! but most people just saw him as a one dimensional murderous child (if even a child at all) and either ignored him completely or if not, had him do incredibly uncharacteristically violent and extreme things. and like, yeah, sure, this IS the kid who helped with the draining spell and was excited for people dying, but also like. come on buddy, if thats all there was to him, they wouldnt have tried to establish this other side of him during s2b.

and you are so correct on the puppet thing like!! that is STILL fucked up! even if he isnt physically torturing or hurting people, that is still not a good thing to do and it is terrifying to imagine losing control of your body and even consciousness for god knows how long! and collector doesnt care! he thinks that just because he is playing pretend and that this is how the game is played, that it doesnt matter that he is doing this. that is messed up! and it reminds us that this is still the kid who laughed about people dying, laughed about the grimwalker deaths. him being a sad and lonely kid with a compelling backstory doesnt change that. it just adds to more layers to his character.

i think you are on the nose when you say that it is just because people are disappointed they wanted a type of character and got another. though it is puzzling to me seeing them be unable to admit that they were wrong and that they did miss the cues early on and move on, instead complaining that it "came out of nowhere". i will say i think the BEST argument for them is that his character feels rushed and that it is confusing to add him into the series when he is so similar to so many other characters (caleb, hunter, luz, king, etc), because then yeah, i agree, it is a really odd late minute addition, specially considering he only exists because of the shortening, not in spite of it. and to that i can only say: i think collector wasnt a character added with logic in mind, but rather with pure pathos. dana and the crew wanted a fun out of left field super silly character that was entirely self indulgent and so they added him just for themselves, and as result, he is neither fully well fleshed out nor is he the most unique in terms of metanarrative role.

then again one COULD argue his role is more one of giving king a foil and someone he can further his own arc through, as well as giving better exposition to the history of the titans, but... yknow. ive already talked enough.

[silkendandelion]

Mirage In The Desert - Chapter 4 (One Year Ago, Pt. 2)

Summary: Having left the island what he believes to be permanently, River travels to Rainbase with Miss All Sunday. Mr. 0 reveals himself, and a contract is made.

Rated Teen and Up Audiences for unsafe situations, extortion, gambling. Ongoing, will cover the Alabasta Arc. Cross-posted to Ao3, same username. Send me a DM: yell at me, send flowers. Cheers.

~*~

“Are you thirsty?” The woman, “Miss All Sunday”, handed him a canteen.

“Thank you, I hadn’t realized how dry this country is.”

“Does it rain on Oasis?” She seemed genuinely curious as she rested her chin on her palm.

“Oh yes, all the time. I guess I assumed you all saw the same rain. Maybe we’ll see some before we get to the capital.”

“It’s been two years since it rained. And you still think we’re going to Alubarna.”

Any protests he had went unaddressed. The most he knew about their journey and destination was this indirect, vague comment that only barely confirmed it was not the capital. More time together didn’t help as the mysterious woman managed to keep him talking endlessly about the tiny island he had left behind with nothing but her beck and call. His one valiant attempt to be standoffish yielded a single, perfect smile and the promise that she could be quiet as long as he could.

It would end up going on for days as the endless desert passed by the window.

“You were telling me about the Bananawani.”

His cheeks colored at her smile, this one somewhat warmer, like he was interesting. “It’s rude to only talk about myself. You could tell me where we’re going. Or just a hint? You had me buy nice clothes, that’s one, you—you said ‘days’ so we’re not leaving the island. Maybe it’s—”

Her laugh was melodious, reminding him just how little power he had, and how sweet his death would be if she killed him in this moment. They must look like friends on a weekend away, not a doomed man and his reaper.

“Talking will help you relax.”

“You’re a sadistic woman. You want me caught off guard when you kill me.”

“You think I’m going to kill you.”

“Stop being so ominous! Don’t laugh either!” He felt his shoulders fall anyway, doomed to find his reaper effortlessly charming.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

That can’t be right. Beautiful woman, sharp as a tack. There’s no reason she couldn’t find better company than a terrified merchant who, for once, was poorly managing all the attention he attracted. Maybe she really was a killer.

“The, um...” He cleared his throat. “We’re not friends with the Bananawani, we just coexist. There’s a sort of sand bar just south of us, maybe it’s an island that never grew enough to break the surface. Females lay their eggs there in the beginning of summer and just before autumn they return to take the ones who’ve hatched. We take the eggs that don’t make it, but otherwise try to stay away from each other. Except Ramon, he is fascinated with them. He’s so obsessed that when he was younger he would swim out to the deep and try to ride them. We all think he’s a little crazy, but he’s still a good man. Very good—”

“We’re here.”

He froze, and his heart nearly slipped from his chest into the road. They had talked so long he had forgotten to look out the window, and obviously lost days to her easy conversation. There were trees in the distance, how long had it been since he saw anything but sand?

“This is what I expected the rest of the country to look like.” He tried to exit the carriage but a petite hand stopped him.

“I’ll tell the driver to wait. Change your clothes and I’ll be right here.”

“I’m not going to keep doing this. You give me orders but I’ve seen nothing for my compliance thus far.”

“One more time, Mr. Faustina. The man who will answer your questions doesn’t see anyone who isn’t dressed appropriately.”

He wanted to flee, slip out the second door and follow the sun back to the shore. But Miss All Sunday was in no hurry, no worry for his escape when she was sure that the desert would kill him even more efficiently than she could. Then again, they weren’t likely to retaliate if they thought him dead. A knock on the door startled him back into his body.

‘If you hurry, we can get lunch before our appointment.’

He squeezed the box containing his clothes, perhaps the last clothes he’ll ever wear. But the endless desert and his slow, painful demise could wait just a little longer.

One more time, Miss All Sunday. ____ ___ __ _

“Enjoy your day, ma’am. Sir.” The driver dismissed them as they were left in front of their destination.

River opened his mouth to speak but Miss All Sunday apparently moonlights as a mind-reader. “The city is Rainbase. And this is their casino: Raindinners.”

“A… casino?” He had never seen one, recognizing the word from a novel or two.

Certainly the biggest and tallest building in the city was the luxury resort and casino that sat perched atop the surface of it’s own lake. It looked to be made of gold, tossing back sunlight and brightening the sky. River looked to Miss All Sunday but she had her head on swivel, perhaps she wasn’t used to being in a crowd. And despite Claudia’s attempt to teach him manners, he stared openly at the expensive clientele that not only disappeared into the casino but walked by them, in and out of sparkling shops. He noticed they were staring back at him.

“Come, Mr. Faustina.” She beckoned.

“Welcome back, ma’am. And guest.” The staff greeted them, parting the doors open wide.

From gaudy socialites to the whispering wealth and tacky tourists that peppered the room, he felt eyes on him from every corner, drinking in his drapes of Oasin blue and gold. Face shielded by a veil, he felt more akin to a ritual sacrifice than any expected guest.

He heard Miss All Sunday’s voice beside him as they walked. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.” His voice was firm but he counted his steps to quell his heartbeat, one foot in front of the other as the golden lights parted for the thrum of conversation on the casino floor. People laughed as they drank and games clattering added to the buzz of the chatter. River could hear their whispering even over the noise, the hissing of snakes and bureaucrats. Suddenly the attention he attracted easily was no longer a luxurious coat but a funeral gown, tight on his throat. If given the chance, these strangers would try to write his epithet without even knowing his name. And they didn’t care to know.

‘Is that the Oasin? I’ve never met one.’

‘How pretty.’

‘I’d heard Crocodile was getting a new business partner.’

“Crocodile? That name sounds familiar.” He murmured, more to himself than his handler.

“Does it?” She led him to an elevator, tapping a passcode to take them to the top floor. ____ ___ __ _

In his office, Crocodile looked up to the familiar clack of his partner’s shoes on a polished floor. “Welcome back.”

“Shall I send him in?”

“You’re late. I’ve been waiting.” Smoke fell from his lips and clouded the air between them.

“Oh? The appointment was for 4—“

“3:30—”

“Apologies.” She said as courteous as ever, but River saw her come back to the parlor where he waited with a satisfied, unrepentant smile. He was brought to stand in front of a large desk where an unapproachable man sat back in his chair, a fur over his shoulders and alarmingly golden weapon laid across his lap. He was taller than River remembered, suddenly recalling the face of Alabasta’s hero. Intelligent, dangerous, and apparently more deceitful than he advertised.

“You’re Crocodile.”

“Manners dictate you begin with your own name. And that you remove your face covering, it’s just the three of us.”

River yanked back his scarf, violet eyes much less than welcoming. “You know my name already, and I know you. I’ve seen you at the market, they called you a war, something—warlord. A pirate. I’m done being led around like some calf to slaughter, you’re going to tell me what’s happening—”

“For someone who’s never left his little island, you yap like a spoiled prince.”

“I won’t ask again—” River’s threat was cut short when the man dissolved in a swirl of sand to re-materialize in his space, hook pressed beneath his chin. River grabbed his forearm, the patch of flesh solid as he stood his ground, albeit shaking as he stared up into the face of yet another unknown threat.

“Threats beget violence, Mr. Faustina. This is your only allowance.”

He remembered Ramon’s voice when he first encountered an adult Bananawani in the sea. Don’t meet their eyes unless you’re prepared to fight and die. Unless you’re like me.

His hands gripped Crocodile’s arm hard enough to make the buttons creak and the warlord’s lip twitch, the only indication that River had managed to cause pain.

“I was tricked into coming here, traveling for days, taken from my home and my family with nothing but the clothes on my back. I think I’m owed much more than an explanation, Crocodile. Let’s talk business.”

Golden eyes gave way to mischief, practically lapping at the fire that radiated from this new variable. He had never expected to find a Haki user this close to the Red Line, let alone one that snapped and sparked in the face of overwhelming disadvantage. Too valuable to kill, too dangerous to leave free. And though Crocodile wasn’t one to waste time on self reflection or even idle pleasure, he was excruciatingly aware how long it had been since he felt electricity from just meeting eyes. Crystalline, expressive eyes that haven’t learned to lie, brave because they had never been defeated, too naive to know they needed a mask. What a treat.

He released the smaller man with a startling bark of a laugh, putting several steps between them. “Miss All Sunday.”

“Sir?”

“Leave us. We’re going to talk for awhile.”

“Sir.” The pleased smirk she wore as she left was all the reassurance River needed to know he might not die today after all. ____ ___ __ _

Their negotiations had lasted hours, through dinner, and solidified by a strong handshake among men. Crocodile’s skin prickled where he remembered River’s grip.

One year. You are to work for my organization for one year, as both penance for your assault and supervision for someone with your dangerous talents. We’re on the verge of civil war, you see, such power cannot be affiliated with either side. Either the war ends, or your time runs out. That is how long you will work for me.

His beautiful reaper had shown him to his room, a crisp little dwelling, draped in white and with his own bathroom. He went to his window, too high and too smooth to climb from, as he expected. There was water in a pitcher for washing, fresh linens in the cupboard. But little else. He opened all the drawers and cupboards for something to read, pencil and paper maybe. Nothing.

No one stopped him from wandering the halls, but there was little staff to do so until he entered the lower floors. The elevator was unguarded but several floors were inaccessible without a code, and a few staff-only floors immediately booted him back the moment he left the lift. No doorknob was left untouched in his search, though it seemed security was good at their job.

“Excuse me?” He asked but the passing housekeeper seemed to not hear him, engrossed in her journey.

He tried a suit that carried a briefcase, but no answer. “Excuse me, I just—”

A couple in matching furs smiled at him when he got to the ground floor. “Do you know how to get the private club rooms? You look like you know where you’re going.”

His face couldn’t hide his discomfort, but the pair looked undeterred. “… I’m afraid it’s my first time.”

“No worries, dear. You’ll have a great time.” They waved goodbye to him with their gloved hands, resuming their search down another hallway.

He finally came to the kitchen, spying a den-den mushi sleeping on top of a steel cabinet beside their prep line.

“HEY! What are you doing? Get out of here.” One of the chefs barked at him and snatched the snail from his hand.

“I need to make a call.”

“So find another phone. Go on, shoo.”

River refused to leave the door, feeling his eyes begin to prickle. “I need to use the phone. It’s an emergency… Please, I’ll pay you.”

“How much is a phone call worth to you?” He watched River take off his gold earrings, each fitted with a wild caught pearl.

“Pretty. Make it quick, the boss might call.”

“Thank you.” River took the snail and struggled to recall the code before hearing it putter at last, dialing across the country.

On his island, Esai was helping Claudia with the chores River had left behind, her household now down to one. His snail phone puttered, unanswered, until River couldn’t let it ring anymore.

“They didn’t answer, huh?” The chef said.

“...No. Suppose they wouldn’t.”

“Shame. I’ll take those earrings now.” He held out his wide palm.

“What? It didn’t even connect, no one was home.”

“You wanted to use the phone. No one HAD to answer.”

River felt a familiar itch in his chest, one that wanted to punch the chef as hard as he had hit the man at the market, right in his smirking face. Would Crocodile feed him in this place? Would this be the kitchen where his meals came from? How would the staff get even worse towards him if he abused the chef on his first day?

He reached up to take his other earring off, setting the pair in the man’s hand as he held them up to the painfully white kitchen lights.

“Really nice, I’ve never seen pearls this color. If you’ve got any others, Oasin, I’ll let you use the phone as much as you want.” He burst out laughing, pleased with himself as he pocketed the jewelry, and continued to stir whatever was in his pan. ____ ___ __ _

Crocodile isn’t a man to waste time and called for River first thing the next morning, immediately handing over legal documentation that River only held before signing as he was instructed. His tired eyes wandered the pages, half absorbing the half of the documents he bothered to touch while Crocodile smoked patiently, writing on his own work while the Oasin pretended to read.

Refreshments were brought to their meeting, and Crocodile took the break to take in the ignored cup of tea on River’s side of the table, the way his full, blue-black brow was furrowed and violet eyes were red with lack of sleep. He could smell him even over the coffee, like sea salt and perfume oils that were baked into his skin and hair by the sun, permeating any room he entered. His hair was streaked from long hours outside but he clearly cared for his dewy skin, and even when he didn’t speak Crocodile wanted to just look at him. But something was different.

“You forgot to put on your earrings this morning. Did you sleep poorly?”

River looked up from his papers after a long moment. “I didn’t forget. Phone calls are expensive around here.”

“Someone took your jewelry for a phone call?”

“I didn’t even get an answer.” He massaged his temples, his hand dragging down his face as he leaned back in the chair.

Crocodile stubbed out his cigar, breathing a long, fragrant cloud into the silence. Neither of them spoke before he leaned forward to write a note on his papers. “That’s enough for today. Rest up, your first mission brief is going out tomorrow.”

River got up without protest, intent on leaving in silence until Crocodile spoke to his back.

“Compile a list of things you need. Bring it to me before the end of the day and I’ll have Miss All Sunday bring them to you.”

He looked back at the warlord, his first smile of the day on his face. “Thank you, Crocodile. That’s kind of you.”

A jeweled hand waved him off, though River couldn’t bring himself to be offended as he began his list in his head, starting with pens and paper. Books would be third, though he assumed specific titles would be hard to come by on short notice, settling for “poetry”, “geography”, and “whatever Miss All Sunday likes”.

Sleep came easy with the promise of better things and he slept until the next day, awaking to the polite knock of his delivery.

“You look like you slept well.” Robin smiled and he reflexively touched his tousled hair. “I found everything on your list, you’ll have to forgive me for how much of it is books.”

“These are wonderful, Miss All Sunday, thank you.” He examined volumes of various size, some he had read, most he hadn’t. Her delicate hand suddenly offered a small velvet box, tied with a ribbon, and she relinquished it reluctantly as if accepting the gift was binding, and delivering it made her an accomplice.

“This wasn’t on your list but Crocodile sent it anyway.”

A single tug to the ribbon let it flutter to the floor, revealing his surrendered earrings, polished and pinned to a cushion. “I… Thank you. Thank you so much. And please give Crocodile my thanks.”

“All right. Have a good day, Mr. Faustina.” ____ ___ __ _

His mission brief promised the meeting of his new partner, Mr. 2, whose almost blank section of his instructions left them as mysterious as Miss All Sunday. They would leave in the morning for reconnaissance in a nearby sea, and were expected to meet resistance: deadly force approved. The anticipation of combat reminded him his swords were on Oasis, left behind with no time or method to retrieve them. No money either, having been suddenly thrust into a free market economy. But he was in a casino.

“The buy-in is 10,000 Berries.” The dealer informed him downstairs, deliberately not offering him a seat at the roulette table.

River took off one of his bangles and offered it to him. “I don’t have any money. This bracelet is inlaid with a rare sea glass, only formed once a year and deadly to harvest on beaches protected by Bananawani.” He hoped the dealer had both too little knowledge to challenge his fib and enough indifference to take gold for what it was.

“Cash only, sir.”

“Well—” River was interrupted by a man wearing a fur that matched the coat of the woman with him, and whether or not River recognized them, they remembered him.

“Oh come on. Oasins don’t use money, you have to expand your rules if you’re going to entertain a wider variety of customers. I’ll put up collateral to cover him. Go on, son, put your bracelet on the board.”

“Thank you… er, how do I play?” He looked at the pair and the woman smiled, all white teeth and bright lipstick, leaving colorful rings on the tip of her cigarette holder.

“It’s just chance, baby, you can’t be bad at it. If the ball picks the spot you chose on the board, you win.”

“Any more bets?” The dealer asked the table.

“We’ll double his bet, put us all on the same spot. What’s your name, son?”

“River.”

“Nice to meet you, River. I’m Don. My wife Patty.” He said as the wheel clicked, spinning and chasing the ball. The table all seemed to lean forward, crowded around the peppered grid that was weighted down by chips (and bangle) on 13 black.

“13 black.” The dealer called among their gasps, placing all the winnings into Don’s pile.

“That’s some beginners luck, son, here.” He puffed on his cigarette as he handed River a slice of his chips for the win. “Go again, let’s keep going.”

He moved his bracelet to another square, 1 to 12, and a single chip to red. Don matched the bet both times, and Patty offered River one of her cigarettes with a smile as she lit it with a kiss of her own.

“10 red.” The table erupted in hollers, drawing the attention of nearby tables as Don clapped his hands on River’s shoulders.

“How about that, he’s lucky!” His shaking almost toppled the cigarette free from River’s lips as they smiled and cheered. “How long are you gonna be here today? ‘Cause you’re spending the day with me, let’s drink to that. Crocodile’s gonna have to hand over the deed by the time we’re done here.” ____ ___ __ _

“Cash.” He told the lady at the payout counter that counted his money with polished red nails, quicker than even the shopkeepers he had served who handled cash all day long.

The shops were ready to close but River ran through the streets to find what he needed, hoping the cash in his pocket was enough. He came to a blacksmith with the closed sign already in his hand, and pressed his palms to the glass.

“We’re closed.”

“Can you just tell me if you sell swords?”

“That’s a strange question to ask—beg someone at the end of the day.” They met eyes, and the blacksmith appraised the pearls in his earrings, ones that matched the pearl in his own pendant.

“10 minutes.” He said as he opened the door to let River inside. The Oasin was scanning the shop with wild eyes, hunting for a specific prize as the blacksmith went to get stock from the back.

“What are you doing so far from home?” He watched the way River startled before holding up his necklace. “Your pearls. Thought maybe you’d bought ‘em, but you’ve got the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. You’ll have to get better at that. What’s got you scared enough to pound on my door at dusk for a weapon?”

“Would you believe me if I said I can’t tell you?”

“Yeah, I would.” He snorted. The trunk he produced was full of short swords, daggers, haphazardly collected to be sold under the table for frightened civilians looking to protect themselves in the coming war. They were dull enough he could dig his arm to the bottom and pull out a smaller box, dusty and scratched.

“You can have one of these. Their previous owner said they can only go to another Oasin. I think they’ve collected dust long enough.” The dilapidated condition of the outer shell gave no indication of the shiny satin inside, cradling two twin blades, too long to be daggers and too short to be swords. They were one solid piece of metal, carved on the hilt to the smallest detail in bright silver.

“Their names are Amante and Amigo. They haven’t done any great deeds but their previous owner insisted they have names. Said it makes the metal tougher.”

“I’ll take both. How much?”

The man assumed he had no money, and asked for the same bangle that River had almost gambled away hours earlier.

One year, come what may. Just one year and I can go home.

But River would remain a part of Baroque Works for 15 months and 3 days. And when he was finally unemployed, he wouldn’t be allowed to return to Oasis.

[necer0s]

So I finished my read of the 90s Superboy comic— plus Young Justice and Impulse, which I got sucked into along the way.  Definitely a fascinating read on all three counts, though obviously there were plenty of rough spots.  A few thoughts:

I love how every single member of Young Justice gets a character arc from the start to the finish.  (The middle isn’t necessarily so smooth at carrying it out, but that’s comics for you.)  No one personifies that better than Secret, who is the beginning and the end of Young Justice, but everyone gets one. Robin learns how to trust the team and show his face, Superboy learns how to open up and be emotionally honest, Wonder Girl learns how to step up and have confidence, Impulse learns a fear of consequences and empathy.  It’s very impressive.

Empress is a fantastic character, and I would love to see more of her. DC always has a good cast of magic-users, but not a lot of them are also good at actual fighting.  It’d be great to see her filling that role of magic user more often, especially in fanfic.  Just imagine— Gotham has to deal with some magical nonsense, and Batman really doesn’t want to call in Constantine. Tim has an alternative, but they have to pay for her babysitting.  It’d be great for a Danny Phantom crossover, since she specializes in contacting and contracting with spirits.  Zatanna’s a great magic-user for working with the younger heroes, but Empress has a nice touch of darkness to her that I think is essential to a DC mage.

Honestly, all the side characters in YJ are great.  Secret, Arrowette, Empress, and Slo-bo all have heartbreaking arcs, and almost all of them are self-contained to this one series.  In the world of comics, where characters tend to show up and then stick around forever, leaving and coming back and dying and resurrecting endlessly.  As much as I might like to see more of them, that’s a rare commodity and well-worth respecting.

There’s a lot of missed potential in various places among the three series, but one arc stands out to me: “A World Without Young Justice”, which follows up on the original villain that Young Justice faced together and has him use time-travel shenanigans to make the team into washed-up versions of themselves.  I really wish they had made the premise a little closer to the title, and shown us a world where none of the YJ members were ever heroes at all.  There was a great opportunity here to show us all the things that have gone wrong in a world without Young Justice— and by extension, show us all the incredible things these children have achieved— but instead they used that opportunity to sexualize Empress and make fat jokes with Cassie.

The Superboy series has a heck of a lot going on, and I’m genuinely not sure if the writers know about any of it.  Like, there are some very fascinating stories being told about child celebrities, clone rights, urban housing, identity... but they almost all feel like accidental side-effects of writers trying to tell a story about a “cool teen”. 

The Impulse series, on the other hand, frequently knows exactly what it’s trying to say and does a fantastic job saying it.  A more general read of Flash comics is definitely going on my list, because I love Bart and Max.  

All in all, an interesting and fun bit of reading.  I’m starting in on the 2003 Teen Titans, so we’ll see where things go from here.

[evansbby]

Omg yeah I don’t even think I thought of him killing her because I was so devastated with the last segment of the book, but you’re so right. I’m sorry if I’m a little fuzzy on the details lol, I literally read it right when it came out because I saw that it had dropped (so 2 years ago now I think…)

But yes, idk like I read the book many years after I had read the Hunger Games, so the monstrosity of Snow wasn’t as fresh in my mind (all I had memories of was the blood roses and his weird threats to Katniss, and obviously yeah his whole endorsement of Panem and the Hunger Games). But it was endlessly fascinating to get the backstory of all of that, how any of this had started, how his family was one of the destitute elites clinging to symbols of wealth to keep their reputation as an old money/power family. I guess seeing him as a child and then young adult made me see the pressures that he was under, growing up in a society that prioritized and rewarded grit, defining it as this winning quality that was pretty much comprised of always choosing yourself, keeping up appearances, and sacrificing other people out of necessity (but at what point do they realize they’re doing it out of a sick joy, not reluctance).

So yeah, those moments with Lucy, I completely agree, I don’t remember the specifics, but I remember thinking that this person hardened by the world he grew up in was inexplicably drawn to the light of a person who insisted on being herself, optimistic and eccentric and weird and a songbird in a world where evil and cruelty and being cutthroat was celebrated. She was the antidote to that society, and in all their moments together, I couldn’t help but hope that somehow she would change him, because they were so clearly in love. I almost put the fact that I knew how he ended up in the back of my mind, and let myself fall in love with their love. So yeah, when that scene happened and he left her behind…… idk but it literally felt like some piece of my heart breaking off and shattering in my chest. It was all these pinpricks of hope that love would be enough, her love and innate goodness would heal him and break apart the stirring seeds of malevolence in his heart. But obviously, it was never going to be enough. That book genuinely messed my heart up lol, sent me back to being like love is truly dead lmao (I’m better now)

Anyways I did not mean to turn this into a long ass review but I am so fucking excited you read this book!!!!!!!!!!!! Because I was so hype when I read it when it came out and so upset because literally no one was talking about it like where were all the hunger games fans????????? And I texted my friends about Lucy and snow and the heartbreak and recommended it to them but they didn’t read it so anyways I’ve literally been saving up this angst and have yet to organically come across a single person who even knows about this book. It hits different and it’s amazing and I’m done now and sorry for throwing this unhingedness in your inbox 🫠

majorly agree with all of this! and im still reeling from the book tbh, like there’s sooo much i wanna add to this but I just can’t find the words! I too have no one to talk to about this! None of my closest friends are readers! And exactly, the fact that Snow’s love was NEVER going to be enough and we as the reader know this is just… wow. I really really wanted him to change, be better. In the end, I wanted Lucy Gray to somehow outsmart him, get the best of him. Well, she didn’t but at least she found out the truth about him before she died. And you’re right about the feeling of your heart shattering… like I was reading it in a Starbucks bc I was running errands and I didn’t have the patience to go home and when I finished it I literally just sat there staring into space. That last scene by the lake haunts me. How Snow just… betrayed and left behind and killed the two people who loved him most: Sejanus and especially Lucy Gray. HE LOVED HER. But it wasn’t a pure love and it wasn’t enough 😭❤️

[eldritch-spouse]

Could you maybe list some things bregg likes? Does he have hobbies? Kinks? Daydreams? Favorite food? This man has been in my head for like 3 days now (if you don't want to write this I'm totally okay with that)

[Hold on hold on- Let me- *stumbles over notes* Shit fuck-]

General likes:

Very sappy human entertainment among the lines of cheesy novellas, romantic comedies, dramas and even some trashy reality shows that fascinate him endlessly (*cough* 90 Day Fiancé);

Also, romance songs, get ready to have him mumble the oldies;

On that note, he has a little bit of trouble reading properly but he does collect strange magazines, monster and human ones alike, even if his favorites are the gossip human ones. He has no idea who most celebrities are, Breg just likes to see reputations burn;

As someone who spent the vast majority of his youth inside a facility, Breg despises monotony and loves anything that involves vivid colors or excitement. He's not an artist, but he enjoys decorating things, adding personality to living spaces, adding a personal touch to anything and everything he can;

On that same vein, he likes to exercise regularly and keep himself busy. As hilarious as it is to picture it, Breg would probably dig those high-effort dance classes at the gym. He gets really into the songs.

Hobbies:

Cooking. Listen... It's a work in progress, okay? Breg needs to learn a whole lot before he can serve a presentable meal that involves more than three steps, but he's nothing if not determined. And hungry. Very hungry. He hopes he can make sweets for you one day, and he most definitely wants a cheesy apron;

Singing. Privately, that is. Breg will probably choke up and crack immediately the moment he's caught singing by anyone. He used to hum a lot when he had nothing to do in his cell;

Learning. Breg doesn't have very many hobbies yet, and most of this is due to the fact that he hasn't had enough time to discover more aspects of society or leisure activities. He spends a good amount of his free time just absorbing whatever he can like a sponge. Even if it's misinformation.

Favorite food:

In spite of being pretty carnivorous, Breg has a strange affinity for fruits and loves pineapple particularly. Fruit salads are genuinely some of his favorite meals ever. He's not very picky though, aside from hating spices.

Daydreams:

Predictably, his biggest daydream is of living happily ever after with the object of his obsession, you. Disney style, you know? In spite of it not being possible, Breg often likes to picture the two of you having biological children and theorizing about what they might look like (not pretty, I'll just tell you here and now);

Along those lines, Breg would love to live surrounded by nature, so as to reconnect with all the opportunities to see the world he was denied of during youth. He'll settle for a yard where he can plant all sorts of things;

In a not so positive note, Breg does occasionally have very resentful, vicious daydreams of tearing people who remind him of his "captors" asunder in soul-shattering ways. This monster refuses to enter a hospital without throwing a massive fit. He better be dying if you're going to drag him there.

Kinks:

I will answer this on another ask, please wait a little <3.

[willgrahambf]

Why Did Hannibal Let Bella Slap Him?

hannibal and bella’s relationship endlessly fascinates me because it is so much different than every other relationship that hannibal has on the show. one of the scenes between them that intrigues me the most is when bella slaps him after waking up in the hospital alive, her suicide attempt thrwarted by hannibal. bella slapping hannibal seems uncharacteristic of hannibal to take on the surface. he’s killed people for less. insulting him is enough to wind up on his dinner table. i think the reason that he lets bella slaps him is because he truly does feel a form of guilt for saving her (also uncharacterstic of hannibal). let me explain. 

as i said, bella and hannibal’s relationship is different than every other relationship hannibal has. he purposefully seeks out people who are prone to violence and seeks to influence them to act on those urges. when hannibal meets bella, however, she is already dying. she offers no indication of wanting to hurt others. in fact, the first time she meets hannibal, she refuses to even partake in a meal in which an animal may have been killed inhumanely. bella’s only inclination towards destruction is against herself which she candidly explains to hannibal when she tells him she doesn’t want chemotherapy. i think for hannibal this is the perfect opposite of people who are prone to violence against others -- violence against the self as an inverted expression of what he wants to bring out in people. he tells bella that death is a cure, and he genuinely believes this is true. for will, death of others is the cure. for bella, the death of herself. 

jack’s relationship with hannibal is also important here. hannibal has been playing with jack for years, taunting him and evading him. he wants jack’s ire against the chesapeake ripper, otherwise, he would not be of any use to hannibal. just like his patients, hannibal would like to see jack give into his darker urges, even if they are steeped in righteous judgement. he also wants to see how low jack can be brought by bella’s eventual death. he makes himself a friend to jack by being there for him constantly when jack first finds out about bella’s cancer. while commiserating with him, he’s also digging his thumb into the wound if you listen carefully enough to their interactions. almost every time they talk about bella, hannibal brings up her eventual death (”now death has followed you home,” “when bella is gone you will feel her absence like a draft,” etc.) i’m certain that he wondered if jack would eventually assist bella in her suicide. 

so when hannibal saves bella, he’s making a choice between two sides of a coin, literally represented by the coin he flips before saving her. on one side, he sees bella’s suicide as her ultimate becoming. on the other side, jack assisting her is as close to his ultimate becoming as hannibal will get him (after all, he can’t even kill hannibal in contorno when he has him beaten). at his and jack’s breakfast meal the morning after bella’s attempt, hannibal tells jack, “it wasn’t what i couldn’t do for bella. it’s what i couldn’t do to you.” translation: i was perfectly happy to let bella die, but i could not take away the opportunity from you of helping her. hannibal’s desire to have jack help bella is also shown in mizumono. bella tells him, “you saved me for jack,” and “you moved my meaning.” yes, hannibal saved bella for jack. her new meaning is that jack will have to live with the fact that he euthanized his beloved wife for the rest of his life. this was the side of the coin that hannibal chose because although he had to wait longer for it, both desires eventually became true -- bella died and jack helped her. however, i think he did feel a form of guilt for making bella wait. he wanted for her what she wanted for herself, and for the time, he was unable to give it to her. being unable to swiftly complete his plan of care for someone is disappointing for him, hence him telling jack, “i guess i am a better friend than therapist.” he chose his “friendship” with jack over his “treatment” of bella. so when she slaps him, he takes it. he can’t hold it against her when he feels bad for withholding her cure from her. 

[elizabeethan]

Overboard: 1/1

Emma Swan spends years trying to find her parents, and when she finally does, she gets more than she bargains for

A Silver Hook AU for @the-darkdragonfly

hours of watching Wicked Tuna has ruined me and thus this AU was born. Sorry...

Thank you to @the-darkdragonfly, @donteattheappleshook, and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings

Rated M

Read on Ao3

Read my other stuff

~~~~

The sun pours through his blinds, assaulting the lids of her eyes as she squeezes them shut. Delicate fingers dance across the expanse of her bare stomach, making her giggle before she even has the wherewithal to stop herself. As sleep leaves her assuredly, she should feel irritated, but she feels nothing but comfort in her bedmates arms. 

 “It’s rude to wake people up,” she chastises, and his answering hum is deep and rumbling against the skin below her ear. “Shouldn’t you have learned your manners by now?”

“Are you making fun of my age?”

 “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she whispers back, giggling as he pokes his tongue against her skin and then nips at it lightly. 

 “That’s good. Because one mustn’t disrespect one's elder.” 

 “And you are quite a bit older than me,” she points out in jest, rolling onto her right side to face him straight on, her smile beaming as the sun lights her golden hair. He distracts himself from their morning banter to run his fingers delicately over her temple, tracing over the shell of her ear as he tucks a wayward strand behind it. 

 “I seem to recall you being a bit more appreciative last night. What was it you said? Something about my extensive practice?”

 Emma hums softly, nuzzling her face into the skin of his palm as she recalls their rather satisfying evening. “It’s true,” she tells him. “With great age comes great experience.” 

 Killian laughs, refusing to let his thoughts of being too old for her taunt him. “I can assure you, I’m not nearly as experienced as you may believe.” 

With a small shrug, Emma wriggles under the thin sheet that covers them until she can sling her legs over his own. “You’ve got a good decade on me. And trust me, you know what you’re doing.” 

Killian falters, holding her cheek with his palm again as he pushes away more thoughts of self doubt. He stops himself from correcting her- fourteen years, love- and chooses instead to lift his head high enough to meet her lips with his. In the six months that he’s known her, he’s been endlessly fascinated by her free spiritedness. And in the four months since she joined him in his bed, hardly giving him much of a choice to deny her of what she so desperately wanted, he’s been unable to go much more than an hour without thoughts of her plaguing his mind. Thoughts of her body and her mind and her most alluring personality. 

 He’s falling for her, of this he is completely certain. 

 She grins against him in response to the groan that escapes his throat, her tongue lightly tracing the lines of his collarbone and making it that much harder for him to consider getting out of bed. “I’ll surely have a mutiny on my hands if you don’t stop now, love.” 

 Humming in question, Emma sits up and gives him a look of disgruntled confusion. “Your crew is going to be mad that you’re getting laid?” 

 With a smirk, one that he tries to fight, he shakes his head and says, “my crew is going to be mad if I miss another day on the water.” 

 Rolling her eyes, she responds, “I suppose I can’t keep you from your livelihood forever,” in concession. 

 He rolls them easily, Emma much lighter in weight than his usual catches as he flips her onto her back and latches his mouth to her neck. “That’s very considerate of you, siren,” he says against her warm flesh. 

 “I told you, I’m not a damn mermaid,” she says, likely rolling her eyes before she lets out a soft sigh. 

 “Aye, but I find myself struggling to believe you as you continue to seduce me with your wicked ways.” 

 Snorting softly, she meets his mouth with her own, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth gently and tracing her tongue along the tip of his own. She lets her hands wander, careful not to get too explorative with the knowledge that he should be getting up soon as she scrapes her fingers down the taute skin of his back. Despite her jokes, she really doesn’t want to keep him from his vessel. She knows his crew relies on their captain to bring them out each day, especially as the season comes to a close and the pressure to catch becomes more and more. But the way he kisses her gives her other ideas all together. 

 “I think one day I’d like to go out with you,” she hums thoughtfully against his mouth, and he stills anxiously. When they first met upon her first coming to town, Killian was almost embarrassed to tell her what he does for a living for fear of her judgment. Her genuine grin as he explained the way his family has been fishing for generations quelled his nerves, but still it felt like his profession wouldn’t be good enough for the likes of her. 

 “It can be quite dangerous,” he tells her instead, wanting not to dwell on the twinge of embarrassment that sits in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her watching on as he battles each and every paycheck he earns. 

 “I’m sure you’ll keep me safe,” she flirts, tenderly stroking her long fingers through the hair at the base of his scalp and smiling softly up at him. The sun catches her eyes again, the emerald reminding him of the warm ocean water stirred up after a rough storm. 

 His smile is sad and awkward as he turns his face from hers, glancing out the window at the horizon. “I’m sure there are better ways for you to pass your time visiting our sleepy little town.”  

 “Killian,” she says more firmly, moving her hands to cup his cheeks and encourage him to look back down at her. “You know I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.” 

 The look in his eyes when they finally meet hers cracks her hardened heart, his anticipation of rejection something she knows all too well. “No one would blame you for heading back to Boston, love.” 

 She shakes her head. “I came here to meet my parents. To get to know them. And while that’s still important to me… they're not the only reason I’m sticking around.” 

 He feels selfish, foolish, as he gazes into her deep, soulful eyes. Of course he knows that Emma has a reason to stay in town, but when she says that he’s a part of that, he becomes consumed with a sense of desperate want. A desire to become all of that for her. An insatiable craving to become everything to her. 

 Of course, he’s never had much of a way with words. Thoughts, that’s a different story. But getting those thoughts out of his mouth and into the air between them is almost impossible. So, rather than express himself to her in the way that any mature adult should be able to, he leans down and captures her lips with his in a kiss that he hopes tells her everything that she deserves to know. 

 “You're going to be late,” she murmurs against him. “And as much as it would be nice to meet your friends, I’d rather not do so while I’m naked in your bed. I have a feeling they’re going to come knocking down your door if you don’t get to the docks.” 

 “Aye,” he agrees. “Hopefully we get lucky today and I can come back in relatively early. Will sometimes loses the plot if we come in empty handed.” 

 She rolls her eyes, prepared to make fun of how painfully British he sounds as he crawls over her to the edge of the bed, giving her a rather distracting view of his ass. He may be quite a few years older than her, but the physical nature of his work, and his devotion to his crew leading to him doing as much work as they do, gives him a physique that she isn’t shy about ogling. 

 “Will you tell me when you get in?” she asks shyly, the two of them playing off of the others insecurities without meaning to. “I mean, you don’t have to. But I’d like to see you--” 

 He cuts her off with his mouth on hers, leaning over her so that the stubble on his chin scratches against hers. “Normally, if we catch something, we bring it to the harbormaster to have it dressed and weighed. Perhaps I can inform you when we’re there? And meet you afterwards?” 

 She smiles up at him, careful not to let his words stall her as she considers their content. Perhaps it should have been obvious by now, that a local fisherman should have to deal with the harbormaster on a fairly regular basis, but the topic has never come up and so it’s stayed far from the front of her mind. “Okay,” she finally chokes out nervously. She’s always been good at hiding the intricacies of how she’s feeling, but given the way his eyes narrow at her, she wonders if she’s losing her touch. “I look forward to it.” 

 “Very good. Perhaps you’d… that is… I wonder if you’d be amenable to--” 

 “Killian.” 

 He clears his throat, standing from the bed and stepping away from the mattress to grab one of his aged knit sweaters. He’s rather old school in his techniques, she’s found, and the old fisherman sweaters that he wears out on his small fishing vessel are no exception. 

 Watching as he wrestles a pair of jeans over his legs, she giggles and sits up, bringing his thin sheet with her to cover her breasts modestly. Finally, while he stands by the door and fascens his watch to his wrist, he asks, “I simply wondered if you’d perhaps be interested in joining me for… a meal.” 

 Emma sits stoically still under his sheets as he fiddles around the room anxiously, refusing to look her way out of embarrassment and fear of rejection. She knows the feeling well, so she sits and waits for his eyes to dart in her direction before she gives him a soft, encouraging smile. “Are you asking me out?” she finally asks, and she watches his throat bob up and down before he turns to face her. 

 Clearing his throat, he says, “ah, I suppose I am.” 

 Really, it’s about bloody time he asks. Each time they’ve been together-- each time they’ve been anywhere near each other-- it’s been with her making the first move. He should be grateful for her willingness to take the leap that they both want to take, but after four months, he figures he’d best put his fears aside and grow a pair already. 

 It’s not that he thinks she’ll say no, although rejection is painful enough. His worry is that she’ll say yes, and eventually realize how much better she could have it. He’s a forty-year-old fisherman, for goodness sake. At only just twenty-six, she could certainly land a man with a more respectable, more lucrative, less deadly job, and that fact isn’t lost on him. It hasn’t been since the moment he first saw her at The Rabbit Hole six months ago. 

 She hums happily, smiling up at him and nodding. “I guess this means you’ll have to come in tonight. Better catch a good one, Captain.” 

 ~~~~

 “Oi, he lives!” Will calls from the dock next to Killian’s small boat, grinning and shoveling a pile of ice into the compartment under the deck. “We were worried you’d forgotten about us.” 

 “No,” Killian replies simply, shaking his head and climbing aboard. He makes his way into the wheelhouse, dropping his bag and turning the engine over. “We’ll need to get fuel before we head out.” 

 “Something you forgot to do last night? Perhaps you were too busy?” Robin asks, winking at his captain. 

 He rolls his eyes rather than responding, turning the engine on and checking the gauges as he listens to his mates making assumptions about his whereabouts. 

 When they finally get out onto the water, they avoid the other boats in the fleet in favor of finding solitude. A lot of the other captains think that Killian has some secret knowledge about the best places to drop anchor, but really, he just listens to his gut and gets lucky most of the time. 

 “So,” Will starts once they’ve put their lines out and chummed the water. “The blonde?”

 Killian glares at his deckhand and friend, unwilling to give him much information about what he gets up to when they’re not at sea. He knows they did a piss poor job of keeping things quiet when they started up… whatever it is that they’ve started up, what with Emma practically jumping him after a few too many flirty comments were exchanged between the two of them. Everyone in the Rabbit Hole saw them that night, Emma’s fingers tightly gripping the lapels of his jacket and his sliding under her shirt and into her hair. Everyone saw them leaving together, too. His desire to hide her away and ensure that no one ever finds out about them is wholly unreachable at this point. He only wishes that he could quell his own fears about the judgment that the townsfolk must be passing on them. Emma is young, Killian is decidedly not. Emma can do better, Killian is batting far out of his league. Emma is an energetic young lady with her whole life and an endless amount of opportunities in front of her, Killian is a mildly successful fisherman. He can’t ever hope to be good enough for her, and the whole town knows it. 

 “Aye, the blonde,” he finally mumbles, wishing he could dive into the waves and never be heard from again. 

 “She’s quite something.” 

 “Aye.” 

 “A few years younger than you, if I had to guess.” 

 He glares to his left as Will continues to reel in some herring to use for bait, catching five at once without even blinking. Their age difference isn’t a secret, and it isn’t difficult to pick up on by simply observing the two of them for a few moments. The wrinkles around Killian’s eyes and the gray peppered throughout his hair and concentrated at his temples makes his age quite obvious. Meanwhile, Emma’s flawless physique and supple skin gives way to her youth, although her maturity is observable as well. One couldn’t possibly guess her to be a day over twenty-eight, and even then, she may seem too young for him. 

 Finally, he agrees, “aye.” 

 “Well, I think they make a lovely couple,” Robin supplies, poking his head out of the wheelhouse. “Sorry sod deserves a bit of happiness, finally.” 

 Rolling his eyes, Killian can’t help but agree with his friend’s sentiment. Despite the awkwardness and the assumptions of others, he can’t deny how happy he’s been since she rolled into town. And he definitely can’t deny how much happier he’s been in the last four months since she went home with him. 

 “I’m not sure she’ll be in town much longer,” Killian finally says after too much silence passes between the three of them, their lines quiet and the ocean seemingly empty below them. 

 “Didn’t she come searching for her parents?” 

 “Aye, she found them when she first arrived. But I can’t imagine her sticking around… I believe she simply wanted to get to know them a bit and then head back to Boston.”

 Will and Robin must read the shift in his mood easily, the obvious disdain for the idea of her leaving Storybrooke and going back to the busy city where she could so easily meet someone worthy of her time. Perhaps he should let her go himself, be the one to make the difficult decision for them so as to not drag things out too long, but he’s a glutton for punishment and can’t possibly consider the idea of being separated from Emma Swan for a second longer than he absolutely has to be. 

 Rather than continuing the topic and torture Killian with thoughts of Emma inevitably leaving him, they change the subject to something equally as painful when Will jokes, “I’m sure her parents love you, aye? That age difference must have gone over well with dear-old-dad.” 

 Killian cringes and shakes his head. “I doubt they even know about me. I certainly don’t know much about them, aside from what she’s told me.”

 “So she talks about that stuff with you?” 

 “Aye.” Will make a face, clearly surprised at his statement, and glances over at Robin suspiciously. “What?” 

 Robin shakes his head, casting another bait line, and says, “Nothing, we both just assumed it was just sex, that’s all.”

 “What do you mean?” he asks curiously. It’s not because this is just sex to him, but because he’s curious about what they seem to think makes it not just sex for Emma. 

 Will laughs lightly, cheering when he brings in another line full of herring. “Mate, if she’s talking about her family, it’s not just sex.” 

 He hums thoughtfully, supposing that must be true. Emma wouldn’t confide in him about her upbringing— and her trauma, and her fears of abandonment— unless she was comfortable with him, would she? She wouldn’t have tried to process her feelings surrounding her adoption if she didn’t trust him, would she? She wouldn’t have agreed to a date with him tonight if some part of her didn’t like him, right? 

 “I love the look on his face when realization strikes,” Will jokes, bumping Killian with his elbow. He looks like he’s about to say more, perhaps another jest, perhaps something that will give Killian more insight into his companionship, but the radar starts marking fish and they each stand still and silent in anticipation. 

 The line starts clicking with the indication that something may be going for the bait, and when the reel begins screaming as the fish in question tries to escape, they jump into action. There’s shouting and running and fierce reeling, and it’s almost enough to get Killian’s mind off of Emma bloody Swan. 

 ~~~~

 Emma tries not to drag her feet as she makes her way down the main dock, the chilled ocean air sending a shiver down her spine despite her borrowing Mary Margaret’s windbreaker. With the season coming to close in a few weeks, the late fall weather sends a damp chill through her bones that she isn’t used to despite growing up in Minnesota. 

 It’s not as if she isn’t excited to see David this evening. She’s been spending time with him and Mary Margaret, and their son Leo as well, fairly regularly since she’s come to town. But things have been awkward to say the least. 

 She didn’t know about her brother when she arrived in Storybrooke. Finding out about him, finding out that he’s just turned eighteen, making them almost eight years apart, hurt a bit. Of course she understands that people change a lot in eight years. But the fact is, her parents had her and gave her away. They had her brother and raised him. It stings. 

 It stings. But it isn’t something any of them can change now. So she puts it behind her, just like Ingrid taught her. 

 If she wasn’t raised by such a soft, caring woman for most of her life, Emma’s certain she would be a different person from who she’s become. She had every chance to build walls as high as the eye can see, but Ingrid broke them down little by little from the day she welcomed Emma into her house when she was eight years old. After being given back by two families in a row, she was seen as broken, as damaged goods, as a stray no one could truly want. But Ingrid saw through her trauma and her bad behavior and welcomed her with open arms. 

 When she became sick, Ingrid gave Emma all of the information she was able to dig up on her parents. It wasn’t much to go on, and Emma initially refused to use any of it for fear of hurting her mother’s feelings. She didn’t want to make Ingrid feel like she was trying to replace her by finding her birth parents. But as Ingrid lay on her deathbed, the ovarian cancer too much for her frail frame to fight any longer, she begged Emma to seek her parents out, telling her that she deserves answers. That no matter the choice they made all those years ago, they deserve to know the beautiful woman they brought into this world. 

 She couldn’t exactly turn her down. So, traumatized and heartbroken, she put all that she had into expanding upon her mother’s research until finally, almost two years later, she found them. 

 David and Mary Margaret Nolan. She found them in a small fishing town off the coast of Maine, well known on the East Coast for their lucrative bluefin tuna fishing season. 

 It wasn’t exactly what she expected. And when she knocked on their door and a gangly teenager answered, she’ll admit to feeling slighted. 

 Okay, perhaps irrationally angry is more accurate. And if her method of coping was to go to the first bar she could find and get completely obliterated, so be it. The handsome man in the soft, cream colored sweater helping her to her room at Granny’s was an added bonus. 

 “Hey, Ems,” David calls from his makeshift desk where he does all of his accounting and paperwork. She’s sat here a few times before, but found herself bored out of her mind in a matter of minutes as she watched him work over his ledgers. 

 “Hi,” she greets back. She’s found that she doesn’t really call them anything. It doesn't feel right to call them mom or dad, because she had a mom. And while David may be her biological father, he isn’t really her dad. So instead, she doesn’t address them as anything. 

 “I’ve got a couple of boats coming in,” he informs her. “Season’s almost over, so the fish are big this time of year. You may get to see some record-breakers.” 

 “Cool,” she smiles, taking a seat on the folding table he sits at all day, cringing as it creaks under her weight. 

 “I think your… I think Mary Margaret is gonna come out tonight too. We were thinking of grabbing dinner. You know, celebrate the weekend, and all that.” 

 With a small grin coloring her features, her heart skips a beat at the thought of the sailor hopefully making his way to shore as they speak. She doesn’t doubt that he’s on his way, but she isn’t sure how happy he’ll be if he comes in empty handed and with an angry crew. “I actually have plans,” she tells him with a blush. 

 “Dinner plans?” 

 “Yep,” she answers with a nod. “A date.” 

 “A date,” David says, his brows drawing close together as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Who are you--” 

 He’s interrupted by his wife, her excited voice carrying across the length of the docks as she hurries towards them. “Emma!” she shouts as she gets closer. “Hi, honey!” 

 She tenses slightly at the title, still feeling uncomfortable when she hears words of affection coming from the woman who gave birth to her. She smiles anyway, waving softly and hopping off of the table, letting the woman embrace her briefly before pulling away. “Hi.” 

 “Did your father ask you to dinner? We figured we’d celebrate the weekend starting. Plus, it seems like the fleet did really well this week, doesn't it, David? The buyers are always more generous at the end of the season--” 

 “Emma has plans,” David cuts her off. “A date.” 

 “A date?”

 “A date.” 

 “Do you guys mind?” she asks, only half joking. It’s been hard enough opening up to them and letting them into her heart and her personal life. She does try to not use humor as a way to keep them at a distance, really. 

 Mary Margaret clears her throat, smiling at Emma sweetly and only a bit awkwardly. “Who is your date with, sweetheart?” 

 “Well,” she starts turning to face David, “you might actually know him.” 

 “Oh, hold that thought for just a second, Ems. A boat’s coming in.” 

 She turns to face the water below them, noting the modestly sized vessel floating towards the loading dock. Two crewmen stand outside, grabbing for ropes as they pull themselves against the dock while the captain stands in the wheelhouse, diligently watching as he guides the boat. She smiles at the sight, taking in his ruffled appearance and the fact that he’s changed his sweater, wondering what happened out at sea to make the other one unwearable. 

 “Evening, Dave,” one of his mates calls, waving in their direction once the boat is secured to the dock. “We’ve got two big ones for ya.” 

 David praises him, watching as they open up a small hatch in the floor of the boat and reveal two massive fish. Emma’s never seen anything like it, the tunas taking up the entire space below the main deck. They must be almost twice as long as she is tall. “Think we’ve got a good thousand pounds here,” the other man calls as he wraps a rope around one of the tails. “Hope we can lift it.” 

 Killian trips and stumbles when he sees her, the blush on his cheeks spreading to his ears and down his neck and reminding her of how he looks when he’s about to finish inside her. The thought makes her blush as well as she grins down at him, giving him a small wave. He’s been quiet and shy for as long as she’s known him, but he’s also professional, and his silence and lack of greeting is almost concerning. 

 He climbs off the boat, hoisting himself easily onto the dock as the muscles under his sweater ripple with the effort. Clearing his throat, he finally makes eye contact with her, smiling awkwardly as his blush deepens. “Evening, Miss Swan,” he says sweetly, reminding her of when they met months ago. She’s not sure she likes it. 

 “Hi, Killian,” she responds with a smirk, making his blush deepen and heating him to an uncomfortable temperature in his dampened sweater. The first fish they caught was barely above the length requirement and relatively easy to hoist onto the deck, but the second has to be one of the largest they’ve ever gotten, and it put up one hell of a fight. 

 “You two know each other?” David asks, glancing between him and Emma, and it strikes Killian that she isn’t here waiting for him like he thought. She’s standing by the harbormaster, relatively close to his wife and child, and things start to fall into place in his mind. 

 They’ve talked about her parents briefly, about how they were young when they had her and made the decision to give her up at the persuasion of both of their parents. She told him about how they had a son a few years later and raised him. She just never told him that her father is the bloody harbormaster. 

 “Yeah,” she answers finally, giving David Nolan a smile that Killian recognizes. It’s the same one that David gives him when he catches a big fish; friendly and necessary but not entirely genuine. She doesn’t expand upon how they met, or how they know each other, or the nature of their relationship, and the harbormaster looks at Killian suspiciously as the machinery lifts his second fish onto the dock. 

 David evaluates each fish and offers him a hefty price for the both of them. The second one, the one that gave them such trouble, is over a thousand pounds, just like Will had guessed, so they make out very well after just one days work. Normally, their undeniable success would be enough to erase any negative thought floating around in Killian’s head, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s standing beside the father of the woman he’s sleeping with.

 He tries to be an adult about it, ignoring the awkward air that has settled between them as David’s family watches on happily, but when Emma asks, “are you ready to go, Killian?” everyone’s eyes dart up immediately. 

 Thankfully, the check had already been cut and handed to Killian, because he’s almost certain that he wouldn’t have gotten his hands on it if Emma’s question had come any sooner. He watches as David’s eyes grow twice their normal size, his wife’s mouth falling agape as she turns to stare at Emma in complete shock. 

 “No,” David says immediately, shaking his head in denial and turning to face his daughter. “Absolutely not.” 

 “Excuse me?” Emma asks, raising both brows in challenge and taking a step away from her mother and towards Killian. She sees his eyes widening and darting between the three of them nervously as the exchange becomes more and more tense. 

 The man, only slightly older than Killian, clears his throat and looks at his daughter again before saying, “please tell me you're not dating him.” 

 “How dare you,” she accuses immediately, stepping back once more until she stands beside Killian, his warmth radiating off of him and comforting her just slightly in the wake of her anger. She doesn’t even know why he would say something like that, what would make him feel the need to say that, but she’s quick to become defensive. She knows Killian is a good person, and she feels immediately as if this man has no right to dictate who she dates. 

 “Honey,” Mary Margaret starts, stepping closer to her and placing her hand on her elbow just as Emma pulls away. She looks in Killian’s direction awkwardly and tensely before trying again. “It’s just… he’s a bit older...” 

 “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she says angrily, and notices David stiffening beside his wife. 

 “Emma, please. He just catches fish for half a year. You’re too young to be thinking about settling down with someone who doesn’t have a stable career. Not to mention, he’s almost the same age as me and your mother.” 

 She senses him becoming rigid beside her, his shoulders rising slightly and his jaw clenching in tense discomfort at the accusation. They’ve had this conversation briefly several times, sometimes jokingly and sometimes out of his own insecurities. He’s always seen himself as too old for her-- too old, too common, not good enough-- and the confirmation from her father surely hurts him. 

 Of course, they’ve never talked much about who her parents are. They’ve had their share of conversations about her past and why she’s here, so he knows plenty about the things that she’s been through, but she never felt the need to tell him who they are. She never even put two and two together that he may know her father until this morning. And now she’s hurt him by keeping this from him. 

 With shock and anger, she answers too loudly. “Well, it’s not my fault you guys had me at 17, it is? And are you really judging him for his job? He works hard every day!”

 “Emma,” Killian tries softly, placing his hand on her elbow, but she pulls away in the same way that she had with her mother. 

 “No! They have no right to judge you for what you do for a living. Or us for our age difference. This is completely ridiculous.”

 “It’s alright, love,” he says, resigning to the fact that he’s likely going to lose her. Her parents are right; his job is seasonal and not always as lucrative as he would like, and he’s closer in age to her parents than he is to her. It was bound to end eventually, he tells himself sadly, as she deserves so much more than he’s able to give her. “I’ll go.” 

 “You’re not going anywhere unless you're bringing me with you,” she gripes angrily, grabbing his hand in her own and yanking him away from where her parents are standing. He lets her pull him along, looking back nervously at the harbormaster and his wife as they gape at the two of them. 

 ~~~~

 “How dare they,” she grumbles, slamming his front door harder than he thinks she means to. “I mean, they barely know me, never mind you.” 

 “Emma,” he tries, but she refuses to let him get a word in edgewise as she continues her venting. 

 “It would be one thing if they had actually raised me. If they instilled in me these values that they seem to think puts them on a pedestal. But they gave me away.”

 He guides her gently through his small cottage, the weight of his hand on the small of her back serving as a reminder that he’s here for her. 

 “Emma,” he repeats once they’re sitting and she’s able to hear him. “You know I understand.”

 She does know this. He told her one night, while their legs were entwined and their arms were around one another, about the way his father abandoned him and his brother when he was just a boy. “I know,” she confirms softly. 

 “And you also know that I hate the idea of getting in between you and your family. They’re the reason you’re here in the first place, love.”

 She stares at him for a moment, taking in the meaning of his words and angering when she realizes that he thinks he’s the problem here. 

 “Stop,” she insists suddenly. “If you’re making me consider them my family, then I’m going to consider you my family, too.”

 “Love--”

 “I’ve known you the same amount of time as I have them. And you’ve never once judged me, or let me down, or made me feel… like I’m doing something wrong.”

 His face drops slightly in response to her words as he saddens. It kills him to know that she’s been made to feel this way. “I appreciate hearing that, love. But at the same time… they have a point. I’m closer in age to your parents than I am to you.”

 “Please,” she says, rolling her eyes and pushing his shoulders until he’s lying down and she’s lying across his chest. “You should hear about some of the other guys I’ve dated. You being old is nothing.”

 He pinches her hip in response to her jest and says, “I dare not hear about them, or else I may leave here and start a fight with each of them.”

 “You’re too old to fight.”

 “Aye, that’s right.”

 They lie in comfortable silence, Killian’s tired arms running up and down along her spine until her breathing evens out. It’s either an indication that she’s feeling less angry, or that she’s fallen asleep, but he knows it to be the former when she speaks up. 

 “Do you know that you smell really bad? Like… I mean really bad.”

 “Thank you, darling.”

 “You’re welcome,” she says, and he can hear the sly smile in her voice without needing to see her perfect face. “You know, I could probably help you with that.”

 “Is that so?” he asks in falsified surprise. 

 “Yes,” she nods. “A nice hot shower is just what the doctor ordered.”

 “Oh, are we playing doctor now, Swan?” 

 “Ugh, no, Jones. It isn’t 1950 anymore, old man. Kids don’t play doctor. Now come with me if you want me to soap you up.”

 She yanks him from the couch, guiding him through his small space until they reach the shower. It’s a tight fit, squeezing the both of them inside, but she somehow manages to get on her knees before him and quell his anxieties that he’s not good enough for her. Her mouth is useful when it’s using words to comfort him, and it’s just as useful when she’s using it to worship him until he can finish in the back of her throat. 

 As she stands slowly and salaciously, the warm water trickles down her face and into her hair, dampening the flawless length of her body as she reaches behind him for the body wash. “Does this mean you aren’t going to leave me?” she asks softly as she squeezes some soap into her palm. He can barely stand straight, leaning against the wall of the shower as she begins to lather the soap over the coarse hair on his chest. 

 His thoughts finally return to him and he says, “please tell me you didn’t just give me the best blowjob of my life as a means to convince me.” 

 She snorts, wrapping her arms around his waist and running her hands up and down his back. He knows she’s trying to follow through on her promise to soap him up, but she grabs onto his rear and he isn’t sure if she’s cleansing him correctly. “No,” she responds, pressing her lips to his neck and licking along his racing pulse. “But... did it help persuade you?” 

 He hums, not trusting his own voice and nodding. “It did,” he breathes, then he rights himself and remembers how imperative it is that he get his point across. “Emma, I don't want to leave you. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy if you aren’t by my side. I just… I only want to do what’s best for you.” 

 “You are what’s best for me,” she says, her voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. She finally looks up, releasing her lips and tongue from his skin and meeting his eyes with hers. “I never… I mean, I didn't grow up with a family. I know how to get by without my parents. But it’s-- It’s different with you. Ingrid always said that I need to fight for my happiness. I finally understand what she meant now that I’ve met you. I can’t lose you.”

 Her words are so soft, so small, that he could have missed them. If he wasn’t watching the way her lips moved when she spoke, he would have. The way that she’s able to perfectly express how she’s feeling, while also giving words to the way that he feels about her, makes his heart practically jump out of his chest. 

 “Love,” he breathes, his voice gruff and barely audible as he cups her cheek with his palm. “I can’t lose you either.” 

 “You just mean a lot to me,” she whispers. 

 “Aye. You mean more to me than I could put into words.” 

 “Then please don’t leave me,” she mouths. He knows she had the intention to say the words aloud, but it’s as if she isn’t able to. 

 He’s unable to form the words that he so desperately wants to, either, so he leans in close to her and captures her lips between his own, molding their mouths together as if they were made for each other. And she kisses him back in a way that conveys how she feels about him. 

 Her fingers slide through his chest hair, scratching along his skin as they glide up towards his neck. She grips the back of his hair with her fingers, grounding herself through the emotion of the entire evening. It was hard enough on her when she learned her parents disapproved of her lover. Harder still when she found out he was considering leaving her for what he assumed was her own good. Now, she can’t get enough of the soothing comfort that comes from being with him. 

 He reaches behind himself, easily shutting off the flow of the water so that the silence of the room consumes them. The only sounds between them are the weakened, aged fan and the sounds of their heavy breathing. 

 “I’m— I—.” She starts speaking, but cuts herself off in favor of kissing him again. 

 “Aye,” he agrees, and although he doesn’t know what she was going to say exactly, he has a hunch and hopes to any god who may be listening that he’s right.  

 “Take me to bed,” she asks against his mouth. “I need you.” 

 He doesn’t waste a moment; when Emma Swan tells him to take her to bed, he knows he’d better listen. Pushing the curtain aside, he holds it open for her and allows her to step out of the shower, holding onto her elbow in hopes that he’s offering her some semblance of support. It’s entirely unnecessary, though; Emma Swan is the strongest person he’s ever met. She gives him a soft smile in thanks, grabbing his towel off of the hook and using it to dry herself quickly before turning it towards him and tossing it into his hair. She scrubs the towel through the gray and black locks playfully, giggling when she lifts it over his eyes and smiling at him so brightly that he finds it impossible not to grin back. “Thank you,” he says softly, and she leans forward, holding the towel around his head and using it like a hood to pull him into a kiss. 

 What starts as chaste and gentle turns heated and passionate in second, her tongue sliding against his and her hands lighting a trail of fire as they scratch down his back. He picks her up easily, her slender frame much less heavy than the monsters he battled earlier, and carries her bridal style over the threshold of the bathroom and towards the bed they’ve been sharing. The bed in which he hopes to never sleep alone again. 

 He presses her down into the mattress, making her groan into his mouth and wrap her ankles around his hips. She’s desperate to pull him closer to her, to have him inside her until she’s seeing stars behind her eyelids. He never fails to bring her ecstasy, each time they’re together fighting for the title of ‘the best time’. When his fingers find her sensitive and soaked for him, he smirks against her lips and kisses her harder. When he slides into her, making her gasp with the welcome ache as he stretches her, they press their foreheads together and breathe each other in. He rocks into her slowly and gently, exactly as she needs him. He reads her effortlessly and flawlessly, stroking her above where their bodies join until she’s powerless to stop the desperate noises from filling the room. 

 She squeezes her entire body around him as they finish together, and she cries out his name in loving praise as he spills himself into her. He can’t get enough of her, the high of being with her is like a drug from which he will never be fully sated, and he will never stop trying to bring her pleasure and joy and contentment for as long as she allows him to stay by her side. 

 The hum that leaves her throat as they come down together relays exactly how he feels as well. They’re sated for now as they embrace each other, although he knows that his longing for her is only slightly extinguished, only to be fueled again with just the slightest encouragement from her. 

 “That was nice,” she breathes nonchalantly, making him smile softly through hooded eyes as he rolls onto his side to look at her longingly. 

 “That’s one word for it, I suppose,” he concedes, running his hand up and down along the length of her waist. Her eyes flutter shut at the tickling sensation and she leans close to him to press a soft kiss to his lips. 

 “Very excellent? As if I was being fucked by a savant? Is that better?” 

 “No,” he whispers, “I think you’re just making fun of my age again with that one.” 

 With a soft grin, she says, “you’re pretty slick for an old guy.” 

 “Hush.” 

 She snuggles into his chest, resting her head under his chin and kissing against his collarbone before uttering, “a quick nap, and then you’re taking me to dinner.” 

 “Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.” 

 ~~~~

 There’s an old wives tale, apparently, that tuna are more active during a storm. At least, that’s what Killian told Emma when he left that morning with the sky bright red. She was expecting him to heed the weather advisory and the warnings given by the coast guard that it isn’t safe for small crafts to be out during the oncoming storm, but of course, he’s as stubborn as she is and dedicated to his career and to his crew. They all want to go out and catch fish, so that’s what they do. 

 It’s not like she doesn’t trust his abilities as the captain, because of course she does. And it’s not like she’s naive enough to think that he’s never been out in bad weather before. But they’d just had a heart to heart a few nights ago, and if she loses him to a storm, she’s certain that she’ll lose what’s left of her sanity as well. 

 The fact is, she loves him. She knows she does, and she knows that she has since the moment she met him. She doesn’t care that he’s older than her, or that he works seasonally, or that he considers himself to be not good enough for her. What matters is that he’s the kindest person she’s ever met. He’s the most generous man who’s ever been in her life. She’s never met someone so gentle and caring and utterly perfect, and she feels physically sick at the thought of losing what she has with him. 

 He makes her want to be a better person. He makes her strive for patience and understanding, rather than impulsivity. He makes her rethink her tendency to shut people out before they can hurt her. She’s better for having met him, and she fears what she could become if she loses him to a crashing wave or a sinking ship. 

 After he leaves, after she watches as he sets off into the open ocean, she heads to Granny’s, the wind already strong enough to push her in that direction. She has a room rented out, but she hasn’t been in it in days in favor of staying with Killian, locking themselves away from the world and letting themselves be consumed with one another. She dreads the idea of going to her empty room, the one that isn’t hers and Killian’s, but she’s in need of a good facemask after neglecting her routine for days on end, and she could use a change of clothes that don’t belong to him.

 After showering and, admittedly, taking an unexpected nap, she wakes ready for an order of grilled cheese and onion rings. The bell above the door chimes when she opens it, and Granny gives her a quick yet welcoming smile. “Afternoon,” she calls from behind the counter. “Want a seat with your folks?”

 Emma groans internally as she turns and sees her parents and brother sitting in a booth, each of them giving her a kind smile. She returns it, although hers is much tighter than theirs seem to be, and says, “sure,” in a less-than-convincing tone. 

 “Hi, honey,” Mary Margaret says when Emma approaches them reluctantly, and she tries (and probably fails) to hide her cringe. 

 “Hey.” 

 David slides over towards the wall, offering her the only available seat beside him. “Been a few days, huh? How’s it going?” 

 “Fine,” she shrugs. “I’ve been staying with Killian.” 

 She watches as her parents stiffen, her brother obviously indifferent to her dating life. “That’s… nice,” Mary Margaret forces out, her discomfort so plainly written across her face that Emma has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She didn’t come here to start anything, and she didn’t sit with them because she wanted to argue, but it’s becoming more and more difficult. 

 “Yes, it is nice. Killian is nice. And polite, and compassionate, and perfect in every way. So yes, it’s been a very pleasant few days.” 

 “I’m glad you’ve… I'm glad that you’re happy,” Mary Margaret chokes out. 

 “I am.” 

 They’re silent. Emma’s lunch is delivered to the table and they eat quietly, the only sounds between the four of them the bustle of the diner and the appreciative hum that David gives with each bite of soup. The wind whips outside, rattling the windows violently and blowing over a table on Granny’s patio. Many of the patrons stand, David and Leo included, and hurry outside to right the fallen piece of furniture, and Emma begins to gnaw at the short nail on her left thumb. 

 “It’s bad out there,” she remarks obviously, her leg bouncing up and down in quick, anxious succession. “I hope--” 

 She notes the way Mary Margaret looks out the window with wide eyes, realization setting in as the source of her daughter’s fear becomes obvious. “Emma, is he out there? In this weather?” 

 Emma looks at her mother and, for the first time since they’ve met, finds comfort in her eyes rather than a reason for distrust. “Yes,” she chokes out in a whisper, sucking her lips between her teeth. “He said he’d be fine, but…” 

 Mary Margaret nods in understanding. “It’s kind of bad out there.” Emma nods, too. “I can see why you’re so worried.” 

 “His boat is pretty small,” she explains, her voice shaking. “But he said it’s the best time to catch the fish.” 

 “That’s what your father always says, too,” Mary Margaret responds, reaching across the table and giving Emma’s hand a squeeze. For the first time since she’s met her mother, she doesn't pull away. “I’m sure he’ll be alright. He’s a knowledgeable captain.” 

 “He has been doing this a while,” Emma reasons, mostly with herself. 

 Mary Margaret sighs, giving Emma’s hand one final squeeze before letting go and leaning forward towards her daughter. “Sweetheart,” she starts, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. “I-- I’d like to apologize for the way your father and I reacted the other night. It wasn’t fair of us to judge your… relationship.” 

 Emma looks up into the eyes of the woman who gave birth to her, the woman who gave her away, and sees truth behind them. “It wasn’t,” she agrees. 

 “I can tell now that you truly care for him.” 

 “I do,” she nods. “Very much.” 

 “It’s just that,” she starts slowly, noticing her husband and son reentering the diner. “Well, you’re our little girl. It was surprising to find out that you’ve been seeing someone, never mind someone so much older than you. We just want what’s best for you.” 

 David sits beside Emma again and Leo takes his seat next to his mother, both of them looking as though they realize that they’ve walked into a pretty serious conversation. Emma thinks about holding back with their arrival, especially considering the presence of her brother, but she simply can’t. 

 “No offense or anything, but… I'm not your little girl. I never was. I never got the chance to be. And Killian’s age means nothing to me because he’s the best person I’ve ever known. No one else I’ve dated has ever treated me nearly as well as he has; no one listens to me or cares for me or loves me the way he does. And as terrifying as it is, because my dating history has seriously sucked, I know he loves me without even hearing him say it. And I… I love him too. And I’m really going insane right now not knowing if he’s alright out there, and you judging me for being with him isn’t helping how crazy I feel.” 

 The table is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, and Emma chooses to go back to eating her onion rings and nervously bouncing her feet against the floor. Mary Margaret gulps, David’s wide eyes look between Emma and his wife, and Leo awkwardly eats his fries in the same way that Emma does. It’s the most painful silence she thinks she’s ever sat through. 

 “I’m sorry,” David finally says softly, turning his entire body so that he can face Emma. “It startled and surprised us when we found out, but you’re right. It isn’t fair for us to judge you. We’re clinging to the hope that you’d be, well, our little girl. But it’s time we realize that isn’t realistic and celebrate the time that we do get to spend with you. No matter who you choose to spend your time with.” 

 “Thanks,” she mumbles. She appreciates the sentiment, truly, but she gets the feeling there’s a but coming. 

 “I just hope that he feels as strongly for you as you clearly do for him.” 

 She tries her hardest to ensure that the look she gives him from the corner of her eye is not a glare, and she nods. “He does.” 

 “Alright, then,” David says casually, folding up his napkin and placing it on his plate before grabbing for his wallet. “Let's head to the docks and check the radar, then, shall we?” 

 Her eyes widen with anticipation and relief as she asks, “can you do that?” 

 “I’m the harbormaster. I can do whatever I want,” he says with a smirk and a wink shot in her direction. She follows him out of the booth with more enthusiasm than she’s felt all day, practically skipping out of the diner behind her father. 

 ~~~~

 “I can hear all of the long-range radio communications on here,” he explains once they arrive at his makeshift office. He pulls out his chair for her and lets her sit while he adjusts the receiver. “You’ll just have to listen out for him. So far, no distress signals or anything, though.” 

 “Good,” she agrees. She jumps in excitement when she hears a message coming through, and even though it isn’t from Killian, she knows he’s out there with this other captain. 

 She listens in silence for a while, David leaning against the table beside her and Mary Margaret and Leo standing off to the side and talking quietly. She hears many messages come in, many captains talking back and forth about the storm and the choppy waters and the dangerous conditions. A few of them have caught some fish, so she supposes it was worth it to them, but she hasn’t heard anything from Killian. 

 Eventually, after what feels like far too much time has passed, she hears someone ask for him. Emma desperately wishes there was a transmitter that would allow her to speak to him, but all she can do now is sit by and listen. 

 “Jolly, you still on?” the man asks, and David translates to let Emma know that they're wondering if Killian is still reeling in a tuna. 

 There isn’t a response, though. David explains that each captain should let the others in the fleet know when they’ve caught something, and Killian’s lack of response probably means that he and his crew are still wrestling with the giant beast. At least, that’s what she tells herself. 

 “Jolly Roger, come in. You guys still on?” 

 “Guess that means yes,” another captain responds after a moment. “‘Less he went overboard.”

 Emma pales, putting her hand over her mouth and biting her lip until David places his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “He’s joking,” he tells her. “They’re all like that. A bunch of ball-busters.” 

 She nods and gulps, listening on as the fleet’s captains joke with each other as if there isn’t a nor'easter threatening to capsize each and every one of them. As if it isn’t possible that it’s already taken the man she loves away from her. She hears one of them saying that they’re on their way back to the docks, having caught a fish big enough to justify ending their trip, and she silently begs anyone who might be listening that Killian is finishing up catching something big and will do the same. 

 Eventually, after far too long, someone speaks up and says, “I’m going in, too. Anyone hear from Jones?” 

 “No,” another answers. “He was fighting something big; hopefully they catch it soon. Gettin’ bad out here.” 

 Emma knows she can’t wait at the docks for him forever. It’s unrealistic, and she’s going to freeze to death. It’s nearly winter, and the mixture of snow and rain and heavy wind that assaults her in the scarcely covered dock is starting to soak down to her bones. But she can’t leave. She still hasn’t heard Killian’s voice over the radio-- it’s been pretty silent for the last hour-- and she can’t get herself to leave before she knows that he’s alright. 

 Mary Margaret apologizes as she leaves, bringing Leo with her to get warm. She says she’ll have a mug of cocoa waiting for Emma at Granny’s, but she isn’t sure when she’ll make it over there. Despite how cold and wet she is, she can’t leave here until he gets back. She can’t even think of the alternative to him coming back. 

 David waits with her for another hour. They’re fairly quiet, hardly any words exchanged between the two of them, but after some time passes, he starts to open up to her in a way she never expected. He tells her how grateful he is that she found them. He tells her how impossible it was for him and Mary Margaret to give her up, and that both of their parents essentially forced their hands due to their young age. He tells her how painful it was, finding out about Mary Margaret’s unplanned pregnancy and being faced with the reality that they could keep this child and they couldn’t keep her. He tells her how badly he wanted to try to find her, considering breaking the terms of the closed adoption that fell through for years. He had no idea that the family who adopted her initially had sent her back because once they agreed to place her for adoption, they gave up their right to know anything about her. 

 Tears spring into his eyes when he talks of wanting to give her her best chance. When he admits to her that giving her away was a mistake-- “the biggest I’ve ever made.” 

 When she was young, this is what she’d hoped for. She dreamt of her tortured parents, broken because of their decision to give her away. She’d hoped that they realized their mistake and regretted it every day. But now, seeing the way that the decision they made 25 years ago hurts her father, she wishes she could take his pain away. They didn’t have much of a choice at 17, what with having no income and no support from their families. They thought they were doing what was best for her; they can’t help that it didn’t work out that way. 

 “It’s alright, dad,” she finally says after some silence passes between them. She notes the way he looks up at her hopefully, his eyes still glassed over, and she realizes why. She’s never called him that before, never thought she ever would. But in this moment, with the support and honesty and love he’s shown her, she can’t think of him as anyone other than her father. Her dad. 

 She sniffles as she steps towards him, her eyes beginning to match his own, and she embraces him. It feels exactly how she’d hoped hugging her father would feel. It feels true, and loving, and she’s at peace here with him. 

 “I love you,” he says into her hair, his hand cupping the back of his head. “I always have, since the moment I found out about you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you the life you deserved.” 

 She doesn’t even think before she says, “I love you, too.” 

 A boat comes in and David buys their fish. When asked about the Jolly Roger, the captain shrugs and says he hasn’t heard from Killian since he got a tuna on his line, but that was hours ago. “Sometimes it takes a whole day to get them on the deck,” David tells her after the captain leaves. “With the weather, I'm sure they’re being challenged out there. But we would’ve heard a distress call if anything was wrong.” 

 She tells herself that he’s right, and that he would know, and sits back down at the table. She can’t torture herself standing by the entrance of the warehouse, getting soaked and becoming even more frozen as she stares out at the horizon. She distracts herself with her phone, trying to keep busy as she waits, wishing he would call or text her to let her know that he’s alright. 

 It’s nearly dark when David calls her over, and when she looks up, she sees a small vessel backing up towards the dock, Will and Robin tossing some rope around the post to keep the boat from floating out to sea. She stands with such force and hope that she sends the chair crashing to the ground, but she hardly notices as she starts running towards the stairs. It’s still windy and cold, but the snow and rain has slowed, making it just a bit safer as she sprints down the wooden stairs and across the dock where he’s landed. 

 “Killian!” she calls as she gets closer, and she sees him poking his head out from the small cabin at the sound of her voice, shutting off the engine and hurrying towards the edge of the deck. She doesn’t let him disembark, choosing instead to jump onto the deck and nearly shoving Will to the ground as she fights her way towards him, crashing into his sturdy arms. 

 “Bloody hell,” he whispers into her hair as he holds her close, his arms wrapping tightly around her and warming her in a way that nothing else possibly could. His sweater is damp, and she’s soaked to the bone, but neither of them care. She can finally breathe again with her nose against his neck and her arms around his waist, squeezing him close to her. 

 “Are you okay?” she finally asks against his skin. She pulls away so that she can look at him, holding his head in her hands and bringing his lips to hers in a relieved kiss. “Fuck,” she breathes when she pulls away. “I thought… I was so worried about you.” 

 “I’m sorry--” he says against her mouth when she kisses him again. He chuckles softly and tries again, “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to worry you.” His hand leaves her hip and brushes her wet hair out of her face, his fingers returning to trace gently over her cheek.

 “We listened to the radio, but we never heard from you. I thought something was wrong, or--” she cuts herself off, biting her bottom lip and staring into his eyes, as deep and blue as the ocean. 

 “The radio went out with some lightning. If I’d known you were listening… bloody hell. I’m so sorry, Emma.” 

 She tries to kiss him again, their lips touching for just a single, unsatisfying second before they're interrupted by Will. “Oi, you’re standing right over the fish, mate. You lot can canoodle after we get the check, aye?”

 They caught three giant fish, the maximum they’re allowed to have on their boat at one time. She supposes he was right about a storm being the best time to go fishing, but she doesn’t think she’d survive if he went out in this weather again. She wonders in the back of her mind if the hefty paycheck David gives them for their catch is influenced by her in any way, but she tries not to dwell on it. Afterall, it could be worse. At least her father somewhat approves of him now, or at the very least, tolerates the fact that they're together. 

 When they're done, he hands the keys to his mates and squeezes her hand. “I promise I’m not going out there in this weather again, love; not if it’s going to worry you. It isn’t worth putting you through that again.” 

 “Good man,” David says softly, nodding to himself as he packs up his supplies. “Ems, I’ll meet you at Granny’s? We should probably dry off.” 

 “Sure,” she responds with a nod and a smile. “Tell-- tell mom I’ll be there soon.” 

 David blushes and nods back at her, giving her a shy smile. “Will do, kiddo.” 

 They walk away hand in hand, both of them damp and freezing and in desperate need of the embrace of the other. 

 “‘Mom’?” he asks her when they're out of earshot, trekking towards the small cottage that’s been in his family for generations. She can hear the smile in his voice over the whipping winds, and can’t help but to smile as well. 

 “I had a very interesting day,” she explains casually, looking up at him and smiling before looking back down, careful as she navigates over the bumpy stone path that leads to his front door. It’s a very short walk; his house beside the lighthouse is prime real estate in the small fishing town. “Little heart to heart with my parents.” 

 “That’s wonderful, love,” he encourages, squeezing her hand as he fiddles with the lock with his other. When they finally get inside, out of the storm and into the warmth of his small living room, he says, “I’m happy for you.” 

 She hums and smiles softly, turning to him and wrapping her fingers around the neck of his rain and ocean soaked sweater. “You should start a fire,” she suggests in a whisper. “And get out of these clothes.” 

 “Aye, same could be said for you, angel. How long were you by the docks waiting?” he asks, running the tip of his finger along her temple and down her cheek. 

 “I don't know, it felt like hours.” 

 “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t realize you were waiting. I would've tried calling, but there was spotty reception.” 

 “It’s alright,” she whispers back, pushing her forehead against his and cupping the back of his head with her hands. “I’m just glad you're alright.” 

 “Aye.” 

 “And there's… there’s something I have to tell you.” 

 “What’s that?” 

 It doesn't matter that they're both nearly dripping on the floor of his entryway, or that her hair resembles a birds nest, or that he smells like fish. None of the imperfections matter because when they're together, they disappear. Everything that could make their moment together feel amiss fades into the background when she smiles and whispers, “I love you.” 

 His heart stops beating. He wonders if he’s old enough to have a heart attack. It doesn't matter, because Emma admitting her love for him will surely keep him alive if he is. He chokes slightly, swallowing and taking a deep breath and then laughing and shaking his head in disbelief. Emma Swan loves him. 

 She giggles, too, her nose brushing against his as she asks, “are you in there?” and taps her fingers on his temple. 

 “Aye, I’m just… bloody hell. I love you.” 

 “You do?” she asks happily, her smile nearly blinding. 

 “Yes,” he responds. “Unequivocally. More than I ever thought it was possible to love a person. My life was so mundane and futile until you came into it, but Emma, you’ve given me so much hope. You’ve made my life… worth it.” 

 She breathes out a laugh and sniffles, scratching her fingers along his scalp and shaking her head. “You old sap,” she chastises playfully, making him laugh too. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 Their kiss is perfect. They don’t need the heat of the fire to warm them up because the energy between them is enough. He doesn’t feel the need to strip off his clothes because of how soaked through they are; moreso because of how badly he needs to touch her. All he can think about is her body on his and the cursed amount of layers he’s adorning. He feels slightly less suffocated when she strips him of his thick sweater, but only slightly. 

 She moans as she pulls at his trousers, popping open the button and sliding the zip as far down as it’ll go. Reaching inside, she palms at the contours of his hardened length over his underwear. She giggles, the sound ringing through his ears joyously, when she tucks her fingers under his long underwear and is met with even more fabric. “You really layered up, huh, Captain?”

 He nearly chokes at her use of his title, never liking it falling from anyone else’s lips as much as he does hers, and nods. “A winter storm requires prep-- preparation,” he stutters. 

 His eyes grow about twice their size and his breathing completely stops as she sinks to her knees before him, making her smirk as she looks up at him through her lashes in a way that she knows drives him mad. She’s practically buzzing as she looks up at his bare chest, the veins in his arms popping out tantalizingly as she runs her nose along the soft fabric of his long underwear.  

 The sounds he makes are unintelligible, and she’s found that that is exactly what she seeks when she gets on her knees before him: to have him in such ecstasy that he can hardly make sense of his words. She bites at the fabric so that she can pull it down, his cock springing free so that she can lightly scratch her fingers through the hair at the base. She loves the way he’s peppered with white all over, and she knows he likes her appreciation for it. The fact is, she can’t get enough of his perfectly sculpted body, the spatterings of silver and black making her heart skip a beat each time she thinks about him. 

 She can tell when she’s about to take it too far based on the way he struggles to keep his hips still, so she slows her movements and releases him with a pop, licking her lips as she looks up at him seductively. 

 “Do you want me?” she asks in a low, growling whisper that’s only just audible over the sounds of the wind picking up just outside the door. 

 “If I ever don't immediately say yes to that question, please smother me with a pillow. It means my age has caught  up to me.” 

 “Impossible,” she chastises, standing slowly and removing her own sweater. “You may be old, but I know you’re young at heart.” 

 He shakes his head at her, moving quickly to scoop her into his arms until her ankles are locked around his waist. “What did we say about respecting your elders?” he growls into her ear, biting at the lobe as he walks them towards the bed. 

 With a hum, she asks, “are you going to punish me, Captain?” and he tosses her gracefully onto the mattress in response. 

 “Perhaps I'll simply make you beg.” 

 “Oh, I'm not above begging. I happen to know you’re quite the catch, so it'll be worth it.” 

 “Are you making fishing jokes while I’m trying to seduce you?” 

 The smirk she gives him is telling as he pulls her leggings over her hips and bites into her flesh, making her jump slightly. “Oh! I thought I was supposed to nibble on your rod?” 

 “Emma,” he laughs breathlessly. 

 She breathes out a laugh as well as he drags his tongue along her folds, not quite touching her where she needs him. “You really know how to lure me in, what can I say.” He bites the inside of her thigh silently, making her laugh aloud and then stutter as his tongue finds her clit. He keeps it there only momentarily, moving away in favor of peppering soft kisses around her thighs and over her hips. “Stop teasing,” she whines with her eyes squeezed shut, and he can see her smile growing before she says, “or should I say… baiting.”

 He growls playfully as he hurries up the length of her body, decidedly punishing her by refusing to put his mouth on her center, although he doesn't think she minds as his lips collide with hers and his fingers plunge into her entrance. “You’re quite funny,” he says against her mouth as he expertly curls his fingers up against the sensitive spot inside her.

 “Tha-- thank you,” she says, struggling to get the words out around her gasps and moans. “W-will you-- mmm, Killian.”

 “Yes, my love?” he whispers as he sucks a bruise into her neck. 

 “Fuck me.”

 He hums thoughtfully, slowing his fingers and pulling away from her so that he can purse his lips in pensivity. “No, I don’t think I will,” he tells her, his tone serious but the sparkle in his eyes anything but. 

 “Killian,” she whines, giving him a pout and gasping as he flicks his fingers over her clit. 

 She’s about to go mad, both with need and with absolute irritation at him, before he places his lips at the shell of her ear, lining his hardened cock up to her entrance, and whispers, “I’d much rather make love to you,” as he thrusts inside. 

 Emma doesn’t even have time, never mind the wherewithal, to berate him for his jest. She clings her fingertips into the backs of his strong shoulders, weathered by the sun and battered with the exhaustion of his livelihood. Their mouths fuse together tightly, neither of them willing to be any further from the other than they absolutely have to. 

 She whimpers against his lips as he strokes his fingers against her expertly, touching her exactly as she needs him to. He pulls slightly from her kiss, his mouth hovering over hers, and she knows he’s going to ask if she’s alright without him needing to. 

 Rather than wait for the question, she says, “I love you,” into the barely open space between them. 

 Killian doubles down on his efforts, driving into her with passion and love, the likes of which she’s never felt before. He breathes his love for her into every inch of her skin, his movements echoing his words until she gives him one last warning whimper and they fall apart in each other’s arms. 

 “I love you,” he whispers against her skin. “You mean everything to me.”

 She gives him a soft smile, running her fingers soothingly into his hair as he collapses against her chest, his own heaving with each breath. “I certainly got more than I bargained for when I came here.”

 “Aye.”

 “Before I came,” she whispers, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Before I met you, it was like I was sinking. Like I could barely stay above water and I was one big wave away from capsizing.”

 He smirks against her skin, chuffed at her nautical references despite his teasing earlier, and says, “I believe I know what you mean, angel.”

 “And then I met you, and it was like I jumped overboard.” Turning his head so that he can look up at her, he raises a brow. “I was clinging to this dinky little boat that was sinking, you know? I was clinging to this idea of how my life couldn’t have gone. But I met you and you showed me that it’s okay when things don’t go the way we hope they will. You helped me see that it’s okay to let go, because…” she shrugs, busying her fingers in his hair. “Well, I guess because there was a life raft waiting for me. You.”

 With a deep blush, he shakes his head in disbelief of the woman before him, pressing a kiss to her chest before pressing up onto his elbows and finding her lips with his. “I love you,” he whispers. “You’ve changed my life for the better, you know. I was quite the half-drunken recluse before you came to town.” 

 “I know,” she whispers with a satisfied smile. “We make quite the pair.” 

 “That we do.”

 They lie in comfortable silence for a few more moments, Killian’s arms wrapped around Emma and his head on her chest as her fingers continue their ministrations through his hair. Eventually and reluctantly, they remember that they’re meant to meet her parents at Granny’s for dinner, and peel themselves off of one another just long enough to make it to the shower. They clean each other, after dirtying themselves once more under the water, and resign themselves to the difficulty they have keeping their hands off of one another. 

 Once at dinner, they tame themselves as much as they can, but neither of them miss the narrow-eyed looks being shot their way by David and Mary Margaret. Killian can’t help himself, though. She makes him feel alive; like a teenager in love for the first time. At the end of the night, after his confession that he plans to never sail through a storm again if it will ease his love’s worries, David shakes his hand and claps his shoulder wordlessly. 

 Three months later, after they’ve moved the rest of Emma’s things into his small cottage, she walks into the kitchen and catches him laughing elatedly with her mother before being pulled in for a tight hug. She wants to ask what they’re so excited about, but stops herself to take in the sight of the two of them finally getting along. It means so much more than her mom liking her boyfriend. 

 Their life together is perfection-- everything they could have hoped for and more-- and he can’t wait to ask her to spend the rest of it by his side. 

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[thedragonnerd]

Fic: Love Languages

Headcanon suggested by a lovely anon, which spawned into a fic. Read on Ao3 or under the cut.

Words of affirmation

Receiving compliments or words of encouragement are not uncommon for Namaari. She has gone through life aiming to be the best at everything she does – the best leader, the best warrior, the best Princess – and along with her success come compliments on her fighting techniques, her decision-making skills, and even her ability to look formidable in her formal attire.

As royalty, people lavish her with praises when they see an opportunity to get into her good graces, despite the obvious lack of sincerity behind their words, and it tires her to deal with fawning citizens. She loves her people, but she’d rather they’d love her back truly; false words mean nothing.

Chief Virana does not give out compliments easily, and is often faster to critique than to encourage. Namaari pretends her mother’s approval is nothing more than something important to receive from her Chief, but in reality, she craves hearing soft words such as ‘well done, Morning Mist’, whenever she is lucky enough to have them bestowed upon her.

As she grows up, she decides that sweet words are nice to have, but ultimately unnecessary – nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement is needed, before one can place it aside and move on to more important things. And then Raya comes back into her life.

Raya, who can flirt endlessly with elaborate innuendos until Namaari rolls her eyes at her ridiculousness. Raya, who is quite happy to press herself closer than absolutely necessary in their sparring sessions, just to set out some unspoken physical challenge.

And yet, when it comes to providing a genuine compliment, Raya practically freezes.

‘I like…like your hair,’ she mumbles one day to Namaari, glancing off to the side in order to avoid making eye contact. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, even though earlier in the day she had made a lewd comment about a sword which didn’t even have her blinking.

For some reason, Raya’s lack of suaveness when it comes to providing true compliments delights Namaari, and she hoards each instance close to her heart, happy in the knowledge that every word spoken was genuine in its meaning.

In return, she starts to gift Raya with compliments of her own.

For Raya is not used to receiving compliments, at least not in a long time. Her Ba used to provide encouragement and compliments often, but that was many years ago, and now he hesitates to put them into words sometimes, unsure of how this new dynamic works when he’s looking at a grown-up daughter rather than a small child.

Namaari has no difficulty in sharing them though.

‘You look very beautiful today,’ she tells Raya softly one evening, when they are having dinner. Raya stammers out some incomprehensible response, and spends the rest of the meal staring down at her bowl, occasionally darting her eyes over to Namaari.

‘I love that hairstyle on you,’ Namaari says to her a few days later, watching as Raya braids her hair back with expert precision.

‘Umm…thanks?’ Raya squeaks.

‘Your techniques were excellent today,’ Namaari informs her after a sparring session. This time, Raya just nods, and clears her throat before trying to awkwardly change the subject. Namaari can still see the smile on her lips though.

Eventually, Raya becomes better at both giving and receiving words of affirmation. Namaari learns how true compliments can be more meaningful than expected.

It isn’t the most important aspect of their relationship, but they like to encourage each other all the same.

Acts of service

Raya sees how much of a burden Namaari perpetually takes onto her shoulders, in her duties for Fang. She is so focused on helping her people rebuild and expand, or going away on diplomatic missions to help form better relations with the other lands, that she forgets to take a moment to breath sometimes.

Raya wants to take some of her stress away, by helping her carry out some of her duties or at least be involved in organizing certain aspects of the expansion projects, but she discovers quickly that Namaari is somewhat of a perfectionist. It is almost more stressful for her to find herself out of the loop or uninformed about decisions, than it would be to allow her undertake the duties in the first place, and so Raya finds it more helpful to just back off from the work unless asked to provide support.

It’s also a way for Namaari to feel as if she is atoning for her past actions. Raya wishes she wouldn’t feel the need to do so, but it is something they’ve argued about before, and they always end up stuck in a perpetual loop.

One of the ways Raya can help however, is with her cooking.

Namaari is an awful cook (something Raya unfortunately discovers herself with one ill-fated meal), but she is fascinated by watching Raya conjure something up in the kitchen.

Gone are the days of living off jackfruit jerky; with so many fresh and interesting ingredients at her disposal, and with the occasional reminders from Ba when she is unsure about something, Raya makes a whole array of different foods over the months.

It’s one of the best ways of getting Namaari to relax, Raya finds. Every mealtime when Raya is behind the pot, Namaari will abandon whatever work she is doing, and will sit and watch Raya finish making the dishes. They’ll always eat it together, and for a short while, Raya can feel the stress lift free from Namaari as she laughs over Raya’s words and enjoys good food.

Gifts

The first gift Namaari ever gave Raya has almost become a symbol for their entire complicated history. It represents new friendship, betrayal, and after so many years…forgiveness and a fresh start.

Namaari gives it back to her not long after the return of Kumandra, before she can second-guess herself.

‘It was a gift,’ she says, half-expecting it to be thrown back in her face. But Raya runs her finger gently over the surface of the dragon pendant, and then sends her a small smile. The next day, Namaari sees it hanging around her neck once more.

Once they start dating properly, Namaari can’t get it out of her mind how much the gift seemed to mean to Raya, both times.

‘She still doesn’t have that many personal belongings,’ Namaari informs Sisu, as an explanation as to why she was forcing the dragon to accompany her around endless market stalls in Talon, looking for the perfect gift for Raya. ‘I figure it’s because she was on the move so much in life, she couldn’t carry a lot.’

Sisu makes an ‘mmm’ sound, clearly not buying her reasoning completely, but allows the topic to drop when she’s distracted by shiny objects at the next stall.

Namaari finds a small knife that can be strapped to a wrist and slipped up the sleeve. She knows how much Raya prefers to be carrying at least one weapon with her at all times, and this would be perfect for diplomatic meetings – subtle, and easy to hide. And indeed, Raya wears it continuously after receiving it as a gift.

On another visit to another market, this time in Spine, Namaari spies a comb with a beautifully carved handle.

‘For your hair,’ she says in an attempt to be casual, thrusting it awkwardly in Raya’s direction that evening. Raya loves it, and it is indeed used every night before bed to comb out her braids.

Every time Namaari has to travel on diplomatic missions, she now ensures that she brings back something small for Raya.

‘I love the gifts,’ Raya tells her one day. ‘But I love even more how it shows you’re thinking of me when you’re away.’

One evening, as they are getting ready for bed, a small golden ring drops out of Namaari’s pocket by mistake.

‘Is…is that my old hair band?’ Raya asks, peering over the side of the bed as Namaari scoops it up in a hurry. ‘I thought I’d lost that years ago.’

‘I found it,’ Namaari says defensively, clutching it tight in her fist. ‘I guess…I never asked you if you wanted it back?’

Raya shakes her head with a smile, but the following evening, she steps up behind Namaari, sliding her hand into her pocket. Namaari watches as she pulls out the hair band and threads it onto a small gold chain.

From then on, they both wear a gift from the other around their necks.

Physical touch

Sometimes, everything can become overwhelming, the past traumas so great that it seems suffocating. And in that darkness, sometimes the gentle touch of another is the only thing keeping the world grounded.

Raya goes six long years without receiving a hug. At the time, she doesn’t see it as a big deal – she’s grown up fast, and learnt that the world isn’t the welcoming place her father once hoped it could be. Even moreso, her Ba was the last one to hug her, and she doesn’t mind keeping it that way.

Now though, she finds comfort in the small touches. It’s in the featherlight way Namaari’s nose brushes against her neck as they curl up together in bed, waiting for the morning sun to rise. It’s in the gentle trail of Namaari’s fingers across her back, as they stand talking to others, and Namaari absentmindedly reaches out for her. It’s in the soft kiss against her temple, when Namaari has to go back to work after lunch.

Occasionally, she will need to be encompassed by that comfort, and in this moment, she will go and find Namaari, stepping closer until her forehead rests on her shoulder. No matter what she was previously doing, Namaari will pause everything, wrapping her arms tightly around Raya, and they stand there until Raya can feel as if she can breathe again.

Namaari has a habit of falling too far into her own mind sometimes. She is an outwardly composed and pragmatic individual, but internally, all sorts of doubts and guilt still plague her, and there are days where she can’t shake off the feeling that she isn’t doing enough in her life to atone for her past, or that she is a fraud who has no right in stepping up and trying to lead her people when her previous actions cost them so much.

It’s difficult for her to ask for help in these moments. Raya learns instead to notice the signs of a bad day, or whenever Namaari gets trapped into a downwards spiral, and she will take Namaari by the hands and sit them somewhere quiet.

There they can actually talk, and sometimes Namaari feels comfortable enough to share her fears. But the most important thing, Raya finds, is to slide an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight and peppering her cheek and bare shoulder with small kisses.

Raya refuses to let her go until she sees at least one small smile.

Quality time

In the early days of the relationship, there is still so much separation between the two of them. Raya is in Heart, helping her Ba welcome back everyone to their lands, fixing up the buildings, ensuring the harvest gets started…There are so many jobs to do, and Raya knows Namaari is undergoing the same issues back in Fang, coupled with an expansion of their kingdom.

On top of all of this, there are endless council meetings and diplomatic missions, so if it isn’t Namaari being busy with politics, it is Raya, much to her annoyance.

Whenever they do get to spend time together, they ensure no minute is wasted. They have meals together, and spar together, and find all sorts of random ways to entertain themselves. Namaari loves to go out in the evenings and watch the night sky, attempting to teach the constellations to Raya; but Raya decides that these constellations are ridiculous, and so they create their own. Raya meanwhile loves to go for hikes in the woods, dragging Namaari along to discover new plants and wildlife, and occasionally climbing the trees.

They both love to sit in bed next to each other, quietly reading their books, or discussing their day. Sometimes, Raya will lie sideways on the bed, her stomach across Namaari’s legs and her arms hanging over the edge, so she can carve pieces of wood into intricate shapes, with Namaari reads out loud for the both of them.

Even after several years, and living together permanently, Raya finds herself reflecting on the fact that she never gets bored as long as she’s with Namaari.

They are currently lying in a field somewhere in the depths of Heart land, enjoying the sun shining onto their faces and the grass tickling their skin. She lazily wiggles her hand until it makes contact with Namaari.

‘Dep la?’ Raya whispers, and Namaari grunts in response. ‘You don’t get bored with me, right?’

Namaari merely shuffles closer without even opening an eye, resting her cheek against Raya’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she mumbles, and she’s curled up so close that Raya can feel the vibrations of her voice on her skin.

‘Didn’t think so,’ Raya says in satisfaction. They continue to enjoy the peace.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 17 - ao3 -

The next week was far more enjoyable than Lan Qiren had thought it would be.

He wasn’t really sure, in retrospect, what he had anticipated a visit with Wen Ruohan to consist of – more awkward conversations or being forced to drink liquor, perhaps, although the apology of the blanket had largely assuaged his fears in that regard – but he hadn’t actually expected it to be fun.

Wen Ruohan took him around the Sun Palace and the Nightless City, allowing him to point out whatever caught his interest and casually narrating some interesting history of whatever it was, whether person, place, or thing. The Nightless City was full of treasures, some their own or won through acts of heroism, others looted from other sects; Wen Ruohan was not especially shy about describing how his sect had grown rich with subordinate sects, telling the stories of how his sect had defeated and devoured the others with relish, but it wasn’t as if such ruthless growth wasn’t echoed in every other Great Sect’s history as well. And Wen Ruohan himself was ancient, his involvement in the history of his sect personal, and above all else he was proud – endlessly proud.

He was proud of his city, of his sect, of his personal accomplishments. It was said of him that he thought every good thing under the sun rightfully belonged to him, and hearing him speak Lan Qiren could see why people thought so. Wen Ruohan thought other people were wasting their time with such treasures, leaving them to waste away half-used; he thought that he himself was the only one that could value them as he believed they deserved.

It wasn’t just items, though, whether valuable spiritual weapons or devices that any sect would keep as an heirloom. Wen Ruohan valued people, too: he had subordinates drawn from all over the cultivation world, those with special talents or high potential. Even when Lan Qiren hadn’t asked, Wen Ruohan made a special point of pointing them out, telling the story of how he’d saved this one and earned a life-debt, how he’d lured that one in with promises of riches and power, how he’d given his surname to a third who had in the end only wanted a place to belong.

It took a while for Lan Qiren to understand the message, unspoken as it was, but eventually he got it.

Like a treasured sword left to prop open a door, Wen Ruohan had said about Lan Qiren, way back when he’d sworn brotherhood with him in a drunken evening and reconfirmed it in the morning. Lan Qiren hadn’t believed him then, and he’d gone on not believing him for ages, but he was starting to suspect, to his bemusement, that Wen Ruohan actually meant it – that he thought Lan Qiren was something special, like his powerful subordinates or his talented artists and artisans, like the geniuses and scholars he added to his sect like adding flowers to a vase.

That their brotherhood wasn’t mostly a farce the way Lan Qiren had always assumed it was, whether a tease to Lao Nie or a mockery of the Lan sect, but rather something…genuine.

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure what to do about that, so he opted not to do anything at all, throwing it all in the back of his mind to be considered at length later. But he had to admit – he liked it.

He liked the attention Wen Ruohan paid him, the fact that an older man, powerful and respected and renowned throughout the cultivation world, thought he was worth spending time with even without anyone else there to mediate. He liked the way that Wen Ruohan indulged him, the way that Lan Qiren’s bed in the Nightless Palace was even more comfortably textured than his treasured blanket back home, the way the design of the furniture and even plateware was, although in red and white, in the styles he liked most; he liked the way Wen Ruohan would add things as he figured out more of Lan Qiren’s preferences, beautiful paintings making their way onto his walls and fresh cut flowers beside his table. He liked the way Wen Ruohan remembered that he liked grilled foods over stewed ones, even years later, and how he didn’t serve him meat even when he ate it himself, although he made clear that it was available if Lan Qiren wished to try it; he liked how if there was something he didn’t like, it wasn’t served again.

Best of all, though, he liked how Wen Ruohan listened to him, even when he talked too long or on a subject that he (usually belatedly) realized other people would likely find boring. Not just nodding along, either, but actually paying attention enough to ask questions and interject comments, offering new perspectives on old subjects – how sometimes it seemed as though something Lan Qiren had said had sparked some new insight for Wen Ruohan, even though that seemed improbable. Wen Ruohan would sometimes interrupt their conversation to wave over a servant, ordering them to get this or that book related to their conversation, and if his memory for remembering exact citations was not as good as Lan Qiren’s then the vastness of the library available at his fingertips more than made up for it. Their conversation flowed easily and well, despite their age difference; it was helped along by Wen Ruohan’s charm, that mask Lan Qiren had noticed with Lao Nie, but it was easy enough to ignore the dangerous aura that lingered behind the façade when Lan Qiren felt certain that he, at least, would not be the target of that danger.

It felt – easy.

That was the strangest part, really. Lan Qiren was the son of a Great Sect, privileged even among the privileged; he had never lacked for food or drink or even knowledge. And yet it felt as if he had been struggling alone up the side of a mountain, the burdens forced onto his shoulders weighing him down; even if he had been able to manage it just fine, the fact that there was now someone walking alongside him, sharing it with him, supporting him, made it feel so much easier. He felt safe, he felt secure. He felt happy.

He felt –

Well, he felt a little guilty for thinking it, but he felt as though he finally had a brother.

Lan Qiren had always been a little skeptical of the description of brothers in all the tales he’d heard, the idea of an elder brother caring for and guiding the younger one utterly foreign to him; he tried to emulate the younger siblings, who idolized and loved their elders with a passion that rivaled that which they shared with their lovers, carrying within them a bond that would never be broken, but he knew in his heart that he could not do so in truth. Lan Qiren did idolize his brother, who was perfect in nearly every way except that he didn’t much like Lan Qiren, yet that deficiency was enough to make it difficult to like him back; Lan Qiren could love him better in theory than he could in practice.

With Wen Ruohan, it was different.

Lan Qiren wasn’t quite sure it was exactly like being a brother, either – for one thing, all the attention made him feel strangely shy, made his heart beat too fast and his stomach feel tense, and it wasn’t anything at all like the cheerful and casual camaraderie he shared with his nicer cousins like Lan Yueheng or even with someone he thought might be a friend, like Lao Nie – but whatever it was, he knew that he liked it.

He liked it enough to try to be flexible on some of his own relatively strict standards: to agree to try some local specialties that Wen Ruohan especially wished to share, to take the time to help Wen Ruohan with matters relating to his sect when there was no objection, to make an effort to stay up later than his usual bedtime in order to complete a conversation.

He even allowed Wen Ruohan to buy him things he would normally have rejected out of hand – for example, Wen Ruohan seemed to have a particular fascination for selecting clothing, which Lan Qiren didn’t understand in the slightest, but after having been so indulged, it seemed like it was the least he could do to return the favor.

“I really don’t know the difference between the two cuts,” he confessed, frowning down at the sketches presented by the tailor. “It seems – fairly minimal?”

“They are for completely different body types, Master Lan, and flatter the body in very different ways,” the tailor told him. “What appear to be small choices, such as whether to wear wide sleeves or tight gauntlets, robes or trousers, the style of the shoulders, the cut and angle of the collar, can make the difference between a cold demeanor and a warm one, a mature man and a childish one, a passionate earthy beauty and a icy fairy who stands above the earth.”

Lan Qiren nodded gamely, happy to concede the point – he had always enjoyed hearing other people expound about their interests, even if he didn’t share them, and it was clear the tailor enjoyed his work – but felt obliged to add, “Even if that’s true, how can I know which one I prefer? Anyway, I really don’t need any more clothing…”

“You should have several options in each style already ready-made for sect disciples, do you not?” Wen Ruohan asked the tailor, cutting Lan Qiren off, just as he had the last few times Lan Qiren had tried to suggest that he didn’t actually need to be bought more things. Competitive, as Cangse Sanren had said, only she’d forgotten to add stubborn! “Bring out a few and let him try them.”

“I don’t think –”

“That’s the best way to see what fits best,” the tailor agreed, nodding. “I’ll bring them at once, Sect Leader.”

“But –”

Lan Qiren gave up his clearly futile protests, reminded himself that he’d decided to make an effort to cooperate, and followed the tailor to another room to change his clothing. It felt strange and almost inappropriate, putting on the colors of another sect – at least the base color was still white, which was comforting, but the vivid reds, entirely dissimilar from the usual cool blue accents of the Lan sect, were certainly unlike anything he’d ever worn before.

And the style itself was very different, too. Both sects preferred tight sleeves, but the Wen sect didn’t add an overlay with wide sleeves the way the Lan sect did, and they had a sharp cut at the shoulders and collars that the Lan sect disfavored. Lan Qiren’s usual pick of clothing was even more simple – less layered, fewer cuts – than most in his sect, and the Wen sect outfit, though far from excessive, was almost flamboyant by his standards.  

“It fits surprisingly well,” he remarked to the tailor, who smiled vacuously. “I’m lucky that you happened to have something so close to my size at hand.”

“You are very lucky, Lan-er-gongzi,” the tailor said, and although his face was blurred in the copper mirror, Lan Qiren briefly thought he almost looked nervous. “Please wait where you are, there’s one more thing I think would be a perfect fit.”

Lan Qiren nodded absently, looking down at his sleeves and tugging on them even though they fit just right. Truly it was a marvel, he thought to himself; most of his clothing was tailored for him personally, painstakingly made in the Lan sect style with embroidered arrays woven into the clothing, and yet some of those had fit less well than this…

He started in shock when he unexpectedly felt hands fall onto his head, loosening his crown, but when he looked up, ready to scold the tailor for his presumptuousness in daring to touch another man’s hair without permission, he saw Wen Ruohan standing behind him instead, a faint smile on his face.

Lan Qiren’s complaint froze in his throat.

Wen Ruohan, at least, did not violate the prohibition against touching another person’s forehead ribbon, avoiding it entirely as he skillfully wove out the guan Lan Qiren was wearing and replaced it with another in his own preferred style – silver instead of gold, and with a string of pearls that were woven into his hair and a single one that fell down to rest between his brows, just above his forehead ribbon.

That complete, Wen Ruohan put his hands on Lan Qiren’s shoulders and studied him in the mirror, his red eyes intent and thoughtful as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Very good,” he said, and his voice was thick with satisfaction.

Lan Qiren swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry for no reason he could explain.

“I knew pearls would suit you,” Wen Ruohan added, and Lan Qiren shook his head. “No? I think they do.”

“The rules –”

“Allow no more than three adornments on your waist, which this is not,” Wen Ruohan said smoothly. “And the rule against adorned beads and chains with bells is targeted at adornments that make unnecessary noise. You would not deny a member of your sect the right to wear a Jiang sect bell with its tongue removed, would you?”

“The Jiang sect only give their clarity bells to those who are in their sect, related by blood, or plan to marry in,” Lan Qiren objected, although he realized a moment later that he was quibbling over nonsense instead of getting to the key point. “I don’t need anything like this. It’s far too much.”

Wen Ruohan didn’t say anything; he only smiled.

“I should change back,” Lan Qiren said, uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

“We wouldn’t want that, no,” Wen Ruohan murmured, and Lan Qiren quickly gathered up his clothing and retreated from the room. It was only when he had mostly changed that he realized that he hadn’t taken his original guan back from Wen Ruohan. Without much choice – going with his hair down would be far more inappropriate than being over-dressed – he left the pearls in place.

“You’re doing this just to embarrass me,” he accused Wen Ruohan as they returned to the Sun Palace.

“Perhaps,” Wen Ruohan hummed. “Who’s to say what my motives may be?”

“You! You can say!” Lan Qiren huffed, but he supposed this, too, was part of being brothers. “You’ll give me a new copy of our oath, right? Don’t forget again.”

“It’ll be in your quarters by evening,” Wen Ruohan promised, looking amused, and in the end he did better than that, a servant delivering the message while Lan Qiren was still putting away the odds and ends Wen Ruohan had bought for him during the day.

It occurred to Lan Qiren later that the move might have been calculated – he’d promptly forgotten anything else in favor of looking over the terms, which to his relief were mostly the classic ones, the elder guiding the younger, the younger obeying the elder, dire consequences for betraying their oath and bond, the usual. 

There was an additional clause about loyalty and fidelity that seemed a little over-emphatic, almost as if it’d been cribbed from some marriage vow or subordinate’s oath – he supposed Wen Ruohan would have more reason to be paranoid about betrayal than most – and one about good faith and patience and education, which he suspected might have been his drunken self’s attempt to accommodate Wen Ruohan’s complaints about his excess enthusiasm, though he supposed it could alternatively be interpreted as an obligation for each of them to explain themselves to each other. Or maybe it was an obligation for Lan Qiren to educate other people at Wen Ruohan’s request - perhaps to step up and teach his sons one day? It was really very unclear, but then, such oaths usually were. 

Alcohol was clearly prohibited for a reason, he thought to himself, and then shook his head, at this point more amused by it than anything else.

He only noticed that he was still wearing the stupid over-fancy guan when he started to head out to start the afternoon routine he had already started to turn into a habit: a walk through the gardens, physical training with the sword, and then musical training to conclude shortly before dinner, which he would share with Wen Ruohan, followed by another walk, this time in his sworn brother’s company. The routine gave him the time he needed to devote to his responsibilities as a cultivator, as well as some blissful time to himself; Wen Ruohan, he presumed, used the time for much the same purposes.

Lan Qiren scowled at his reflection in the tranquil lakewater in one of the garden pools, torn between wanting to go back to change the thing out – it would be ridiculous to expect him to do his usual training wearing something that probably cost more than his yearly allowance – and the knowledge that if he did so, he would have to miss out on some part of his routine, which he hated to do. Yet if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have another opportunity to remove it until after dinner…

“Lan-er-gongzi?”

Lan Qiren turned, surprised: it was Madame Wen, who he had not seen since his arrival. He raised his hands in salute, but to his surprise she waved it off. “Lan-er-gongzi,” she said. “Could I ask you for a favor?”

“Of course,” he said, and felt a frisson of fear when she put her hand on her belly. Surely it couldn’t have to do with…?

“Could you find my husband and ask him to visit the doctors?” she asked, biting her lower lip. “The servants can be indiscreet, and I don’t think I can go myself…”

“I’ll tell him at once,” Lan Qiren assured her, now truly alarmed by the implicit suggestion. “Do you know where he is?”

“At this time in the afternoon?” she said vaguely. “Oh, I’m not quite sure…probably in the third palace.”

She nodded towards one of the buildings, a little distant from the Sun Palace but not far.

Lan Qiren nodded. “Do you need anything – somewhere to sit, or…?”

Madame Wen shook her head. “I’ll go sit down. Don’t concern yourself for me.”

Lan Qiren nodded a second time – sitting seemed like a good idea – and headed towards the third palace at a brisk pace. As much as he usually hated breaking his afternoon routine, any risk to human life would always take preeminent status.

It occurred to him as he approached it that he hadn’t been to the third palace before, despite the tours he’d been on, although he supposed that it wasn’t so surprising, with him having only been there a week. The Wen sect’s domain, like its city, was vast and sprawling, teeming with people and buildings alike; it would take many visits, he expected, before he would learn it all. Still, Wen Ruohan had promised him the freedom to wander where he willed, and no one stopped him as he headed into the palace, seeking his sworn brother through the usual signs of his presence: the overwhelming concentration of qi, and the usual disarray of guards and servants that invariably had to rearrange themselves to account for the presence of their sect leader.

He found him, too.

Wen Ruohan was smiling the same smile he had given Lan Qiren earlier that day, full of satisfaction and pleasure and amusement, a bowl of wine dangling between his fingers as he leaned back in his seat, his entire posture suggesting that he was enjoying himself as he watched a good show – only what was in front of him was terror and blood and bile, men and women strapped to horrific devices as they screamed and bled and begged for mercy that they would not receive.

Lan Qiren must have made a sound, though he did not realize it, because Wen Ruohan turned to look at him, his eyebrows arching in surprise. “What are you doing in the Fire Palace, little Lan…?”

The Fire Palace, Lan Qiren thought, feeling strangely numb. Yes, that sounded right.

He’d heard all the rumors about it: how Wen Ruohan was violent and bloodthirsty, how he craved power and control, that he enjoyed torturing his enemies unmercifully until even death was a blessing.

He’d heard.

He’d just…disregarded it. Thought it was false, perhaps, or maybe he’d just lied to himself and pretended that because Wen Ruohan was kind to him that he was kind to everyone else.

“Who sent you here, little Lan?” Wen Ruohan asked, his brows coming together in a frown. “Tell me.”

He wasn’t happy. Of course he wasn’t; Lan Qiren wasn’t supposed to be here – he hadn’t been taken to this place, probably purposefully, and he was a creature of habit and routine, which he rarely if ever broke without warning. If he hadn’t feared for Madame Wen’s life, he would never have gone himself, much less in such a rush.

Madame Wen…she must have known what he would find here.

She’d known.

He should have known.

“Little Lan?”

An elder brother was meant to guide and educate the younger. Was this what he was supposed to let Wen Ruohan guide him towards?

“…Lan Qiren?”

Lan Qiren flinched violently at the sound of his name, but it spurred him into motion – he staggered back a few steps, unable to get his bearings for a moment, and then he grabbed blindly at some terrible-looking sharp objects lying on a nearby table waiting for their turn to be used. A flick of his wrist sent them into the throats of the victims, ending their suffering in a gout of blood, and then he turned on his heel and fled, tearing off the too-expensive guan as he did, the pearls falling on the ground behind him.

“Lan Qiren!”