#why was she in the woods? billy buried her board to get on her nerves...

[bananananurr]

Itsy bitsy teensy weensy little wittle s1 El and Max

[autistic-stedebonnet]

I can’t thing of a title, sorry

Shirbert fic :D

a teeny tiny bit of angst (Anne gets angry at Gilbert)

happy ending because i can’t do sad stuff

sorry that i can’t do the keep reading thing, it doesn’t work on a mobile device and i don’t have another device i can use tumblr on

enjoy! :)

• • •

There were quite a few problems that came with Ms. Stacy being on a two week trip in Toronto. The first being that well... she wasn’t there. The second problem was that they had a substitute. But there was one more. There was nothing particularly wrong with said substitute, in fact, he was quite a fine teacher. While his ways were admittedly, a bit more conservative, his teaching methods weren’t too much unlike Ms. Stacy’s.

And he wasn’t cruel, not at all. He seemed to enjoy having an air of lightheartedness in the classroom, and would never dream of whipping a student.

He was quick to get to know his temporary pupils, and while he didn’t know a whole lot, it only took him a few hours to memorize names and take down notes. For example, the tall raven haired boy and the sharp little redhead were tied for top of the class. He knew to keep an eye on the slightly meaty brunette boy, but the gun he carried on his back gave that away immediately. And he was quick to notice that calling out the small girl in pink in front of the whole class would only result in tears. No, that wasn’t the problem either.

He was kind, witty, a wonderful teacher, and he seemed to truly enjoy his profession. That was not the issue.

And you can’t really blame him for the comment, he’d made a few similar ones in the past, and it resulted in giggles and a moment of red faces, before the classroom returned to normal. “Miss Pye, i would ask you to leave your note writing for after class, I’m sure Mister Andrews can wait 10 minutes.” That was fine. “Moody Spurgeon, while i don’t doubt that Miss Barry’s hair ribbon is very intriguing, I’d encourage you to focus on the lesson.” Once again, no problems.

The problem was, he hadn’t been there long enough to understand the... relationships between the students. He was well aware of Anne and Diana’s friendship, and the fact that Gilbert didn’t seem to be too close to the other boys, but those were the obvious things. Really, you can’t blame him, even Ms. Stacy was still trying to decipher the not so obvious things. But regardless, whoever the blame belonged to, you can’t turn back the clock.

It happened the Wednesday before his departure, a fine spring day. There’d been no incident, aside from Billy Andrews being 20 minutes late. There was less than an hour left and they were nearing the end of a geometry lesson, when he glanced up from the chalkboard.

He sighed quietly and cleared his throat, to no avail. “Mister Blythe, I’d kindly ask you to focus on the lesson, not the back of Miss Shirley’s head. He expected giggling, and for a swift return to their books, but he was sorely mistaken. There was no laughing, and for a moment it seemed Anne’s hair had fallen in front of her beet red face. This was nothing compared to Gilbert however, who had buried his flustered face in his geometry book as if he’d never seen a sphere in his whole life. A quick glance made it quite clear that not a single pupil was focused on geometry. He pinched the bridge of his nose and silently cursed at himself. Looking at the clock, he waved his hand, releasing the students 20 minutes early.

~~~

The flowers were in full bloom that morning, much to Anne’s delight. They were, by far, more interesting than the lesson. And she’d catch up fine, she always did.

She sighed and sank her chin further into her palms, a smile teasing at the edges of her lips. Finally breaking from her daydream, Anne turned to focus on the chalkboard. She’d grown to like the substitute. He wasn’t a kindred spirit like Ms. Stacy, but he’d do fine for two weeks.

She caught herself glancing over at a certain boy ever so often, but she didn’t like him. She was simply making sure he didn’t finish the problem before her. Nothing else. She turned back to her slate, determined not to look at him anymore, for the rest of the day.

And then it happened.

Geometry was not Anne’s finest subject, but she’d MUCH prefer it to this. And to think! She begun to like this man. She would’ve laughed at such a notion, had she not been more embarrassed than she ever had been or ever would be. This, she decided, was the pinnacle of mortification. She was just sure that Gilbert had been thinking of more creative insults based on her hair, because what else would’ve caused... that.

She didn’t notice the fact that she was staring, blank faced and red cheeked, at the front of the classroom. Nor did she notice the wave of the teacher’s hand, or Diana’s hand on her shoulder. But she had to stand up eventually. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe if she sat there long enough, she’d realize it was all a stupid dream, a nightmare. She pinched herself roughly, about 3 times. Nope, even her wild imagination couldn’t conjure up this.

She’d stood up at some point, she knew that, but only because she was now standing in the coat room. She was vaguely aware of someone attempting to apologize, but she didn’t really hear it clearly.

“Anne?”

That, that was what broke her from her trance. That stupid voice, that sounded just too caring, just too kind. She narrowed her bright eyes up at him, failing to observe how incredibly pink his entire face was. “What.” She practically growled at him, gritting her teeth. “Thinking of more cruel ways to mock my hair?” She sneered at him, quick to mask the glimmer of hope begging to be noticed.

He seemed taken aback, surprised. “What?” He replied, as if offended by her accusation. “No, no of course not, I-“

“I don’t care.” Anne cut him off, hating the fact that she observed the sudden pain behind his eyes. He looked... hurt? No, crestfallen. She shook the thought away. Who was she to care about Gilbert Blythe’s emotions? She turned on her heel and marched out of the school, braids swinging angrily behind her.

Gilbert fought the sudden urge to shoot a glare at the substitute teacher, who was silently packing his things, but backed out to chase Anne down the path. “Anne!”

She sped up her pace, turning into the woods, painfully aware that he’d be beside her soon if she didn’t run. So she did just that. Despite his advantage height-wise, she was swift and nimble, and didn’t find it too difficult to stay ahead of him.

Gilbert gave up when she began running, he wanted desperately to explain, but didn’t think it wise to attempt to rationalize with Anne in this state. He sighed in defeat and began to trudge towards his house.

***

Spring was Gilbert’s favorite season at the moment. With not a single cloud in the sky, the sun was able to peek through the window and trace Anne’s fiery hair in a halo of gold.

Her expression was so intent, so focused, and some might even think it was due to the lesson. The grin she wore told Gilbert otherwise though. Her lips were upturned slightly, and pinker than usual, due to the numerous strawberries she’d eaten at lunch. He wondered if her lips tasted like strawberries. He also wondered how on Earth anyone’s hair could be so breathtaking. Like she’d been crafted from the crimson autumn leaves and wrapped in a snake of fire. Her freckled were like sprinklings of cinnamon, he loved cinnamon.

And he truly didn’t mean to get distracted, or to smile like that. He intended for a quick glance or two, but that failed. He really did blame himself for what the substitute said. The day would’ve gone over fine if he’d been able to focus on the area of a triangle instead. But her hair was so beautiful. And there were leftover petals in it, from the flower crown she’d been wearing that morning. This made him even more sure that she’d been molded from the sun and the sky and the stars that twinkled behind nighttime clouds.

And then he said it. God, why’d he have to say that.

He soon gave up on chasing her through the trees, he didn’t know the area like she did. And besides, Bash and Mary probably needed help with supper.

***

“And she thought i was making fun of her hair?!” Gilbert brought the knife in his hand down furiously, the large potato on the counter victim to his frustrations.

Bash raised his eyebrows. “And what exactly were you doing Blythe.”

Gilbert attempted in vain to seem calm, collected. “N-nothing!” He sputtered.

“So was your teacher suffering from hallucinations?”

“No!” It seemed he was trying to go through both the potato and the cutting board. “Or, yes, no! I had just been...”

“Searching for excuses?”

“Looking out the window! Anne sits very close to the window.”

“Riiight,” Bash mused, grinning. “You weren’t staring at all, not in the slightest.”

Gilbert ignored the comment and continued attacking the cutting board.

***

“The nerve of him!” Anne wasn’t totally sure if she was yelling about the teacher, or Gilbert. “My hair is not a laughing matter.” She decided on Gilbert. She swung her foot at a nearby rock and had the sudden urge to scream when she narrowly missed it. “Really?!” She almost expected the trees to answer her, but wasn’t too shocked when they didn’t.

With a highly dramatic huff, she sat down on a nearby log, splashing mud on her apron. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes but she blinked roughly until they were gone. A small part of her knew that Gilbert wouldn’t mock her hair again, but why else would he be staring at her?

“I’m not going back until that horrid substitute is gone!” She decided, sticking her chin in the air defiantly. “And I actually thought Gilbert was my friend.” She scoffed indignantly and crossed her thin arms over her chest.

“I thought so too.”

Anne leapt up from her spot and yelled in surprise. “What are you doing here!”

Gilbert scratched his neck nervously and focused his gaze on the ground. “Well I was uh, looking for you, to apologize.”

Anne turned until she was directly facing him, her small face rigid with fury. “I don’t need your pity,” she snapped.

“I-I know, I just felt bad-“

“You felt bad huh?” She attempted to gaze at him angrily without staring upwards, a feat which would prove impossible. Anne hated that he genuinely looked sorry, she couldn’t be mad when he was actually sorry.

And she hated how kind his stupid eyes looked. A warm, olive green with flecks of gold and silver, dancing through his irises like stars at twilight. Her face burned as she realized what she’d been doing, and she quickly shook away the thought.

“Yes...” He raised one eyebrow, waiting for the rest of her outburst.

“Well!” Anne hoped that he thought her pink cheeks were from anger, as his obviously were. “I- I don’t, I don’t, I...” She gave up and sank into the grass floor, not even caring enough to shoo away Gilbert as he sat beside her.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know,” Anne sniffed quietly.

He looked shocked and fought back a chuckle. “You do?”

“Yea, I guess.” She buried her face further into her arms. “I just needed to blame it on someone, and the substitute is leaving soon.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Both of them had gotten used to silences. It wasn’t awkward though. It was peaceful, warm... safe. They both knew that it was okay to sit beside each other and not say anything, which was a blessing for Anne, who tended to say things she wished she hadn’t.

When her tears had dried and she could speak without a lump rising in her throat, Anne looked up from her position. “Why... Why were you looking at me?”

That was what made Gilbert’s pale skin turn a shade of red deeper than Anne’s hair. She fought the urge to laugh at the sight.

He stared down at his boots and mumbled something incoherently.

“What?”

All she got was more completely unintelligible muttering.

“Sorry.”

He looked up at her with the same stupid eyes he always used. The same stupid expression that made Anne’s stomach do somersaults. But she did not like Gilbert Blythe. At all. She hated how deep and passionate his eyes were. She despised his sharp jawline and his tender smile that for some reason, no one but her ever saw it. And she absolutely could not stand his intellect and his drive. And she was revolted by the way he made her feel. Like everything was right with the world, but also like her stomach was training to be a trapeze artist.

“No, it’s okay.” She didn’t know how long she’d been staring before he said that, and if anyone ever told her, she’d probably sit in that spot in the woods and never leave, due to sheer humiliation.

“Anne,” He breathed tentatively. “I was looking at you, because, because...”

“Because...?” Anne knew full well the answer she was hoping for, but it was purely poetic. She did not like Gilbert Blythe. Not one bit. It was for the sake of romance, not that she felt romantical about him. She just knew that it would make for good writing material. A tale of a terribly handsome but poor man admitting his feelings for the lovely Princess Cordelia and sinking into the depths of despair upon being horribly rejected. She made a note to attempt to make the character of the man absolutely hideous.

“Anne.” The way he said her name, like it truly was something special, so much better than Cordelia. He said it in a way no one ever had, as if it was the most beautiful word he’d ever hear. But she did not like Gilbert Blythe. Okay, maybe she did, but just as friends.

“Yes?” Anne was afraid to say anything else, afraid she’d say something wrong and scare him off, like she always did. A small part of her knew however, that he’d always come back.

“Anne, I was staring at you because... because...” His eyes searched her pale, freckled face. His eyes. They were so full of love that it could’ve come straight from a fairy tale.

And then it dawned on her. “Oh.” She hesitated, looking down at the ground. “Is this a prank?”

“What? Of- of course not!”

“It has to be. Why would anyone like me?!” She felt like crying, she knew Gilbert teased her, but she never thought he’d go this far. “I’m homely, and skinny and redheaded and freckled and I talk far too much and I talk to trees and, and flowers. And I’m far too outspoken, and I’m-“

“You’re beautiful.”

If she had been able to, Anne would’ve laughed.

Gilbert took a deep breath and gently turned Anne’s chin upwards, making eye contact. “And you’re smart, and creative, and yes you’re different, but that’s why I like you. That’s why I’ve liked you since the moment you smacked me with a slate.”

“That was almost 3 years ago.”

“I know.”

“But Ruby. You could have Ruby if you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But she’s pretty and she can cook and she has nice clothes and she’s not... me.”

“Anne.”

“Gilbert.”

The sun was rapidly diving beneath the trees and they both knew it. Matthew and Marilla were probably preparing how to scold Anne when she finally got home, but for some reason, even that didn’t deter either of their gazes.

Anne melted into his eyes that she hated. She choked on salty tears and almost broke down when her raised his thumb to wipe them from her cheeks. Anne liked Gilbert Blythe.

“May I walk you home? Marilla’s probably worried sick.”

Anne nodded and stood up, her knees trembling slightly. She let Gilbert loop his arm through hers and almost began walking.

Why must the girl wait for the boy? If I wanted to kiss a boy, couldn’t I just... kiss him?

“Wait.”

Gilbert furrowed his ever expressive eyebrows in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Anne set herself into the ground, determined but more nervous than she’d been in her whole life.

Gilbert didn’t have time to laugh at her ridiculous expression before she’d grabbed his chin and pressed her lips against his. Strawberries.

Anne had always dreamed of kisses. She’d never had one and was sure they couldn’t live up to the books. But in that moment she realized that no book could describe this sensation. Maybe it was a universal thing. Maybe it was because it was Gilbert. But she felt so safe and warm and every worry she’d ever had melted away in an instant. She sank into the feeling, letting him pull her closer, resting one hand on his jawline and the other on the nape of his neck, his raven curls brushing against her knuckles. At first she was afraid she’d made a horrible mistake, but then he’d kissed her back and everything was more than ok.

When they finally pulled apart, neither was fully aware of how long it’d lasted. It could’ve been mere seconds, or perhaps years.

Gilbert traded his longing look for a smirk, and grabbed her slender hand, intertwining it with his own. “Good luck with Ruby.”

Anne winced, just now realizing that she’d have to deal with that. “Oh would you let me be happy for 5 seconds, please.”

“Deal.”

They made it to Green Gables far sooner than either would’ve liked and Anne almost let go of his hand to race up to the house, but he didn’t let go.

“I feel like I should explain to Matthew and Marilla.”

“And you think the first thing they want to see upon me returning home almost two hours late is you holding my hand?”

Gilbert chuckled and scratched his neck. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well then, Bash and Mary are waiting.” She raised her eyebrows. “Gilbert.”

Before she could protest, he leaned down and gave her a quick, mischievous kiss, before waving and sauntering down the dirt road. “Gilbert!” She cried, trying to sound scandalized beneath her foolish grin.

Maybe that substitute wasn’t so bad after all.

[spnsmile]

15x11 (The Gamblers) "I gotta call Cas...✨

Coda💔

Dean didn't know what’s worse—seeing Sam get slowly defeated in a game of winner takes all, or find himself on the sideline being unable to do anything to help his brother.

So brooding and silent,  he watched as the game folds in and out of their favor. 

The length of the game makes him want to puke. Make his heart drum nervously every time Sam makes a miss. 

Cas.

He tried calling Cas earlier only to get a voicemail. Didn't help his nerves. He wants to call Cas again now that the main antagonist happened to be another immortal goddess who's out to get their limbs in pieces.

If Cas were here... He'd feel a lot safer. 

Sam misses. Dean hisses and tries not to look away. Sam needs his support. The game goes on. It's now when his heart won’t stop its erratic beats preparing for the worse. All he can do nows is silently pray to the angel to guide his brother.

Pure longing smacks Dean in the face. 

Then Sam wins.

Dean shakes his fist in the air, nearly solemnly praying to Castiel to listen out of happiness. 

Then the bait comes—

“Another game, double or nothing.” She offers. Dean grunts. Of course, she would. She knows how bad Sam wants to save everyone else. Dean actually knows Sam would ask for another game anyway. His brother is too stubborn to let these people die. So when Sam says, “Yeah, deal,” Dean could only look away, trepidation in his chest. 

Luck once.  Risk it twice. 

Call Cas.

The urge to call Cas wraps in Dean's mind that his hand slips at the back of his pocket where he keeps his phone.

Sam plays,  but instinct told Dean only a miracle would help them. Deep inside he knows they would lose. That fighting gods and goddesses were like buying nukes and putting them in his pockets.

He wants to tell Cas what’s going on, wants to get him speeding here right now, the game is serious and for all Dean knows, they could actually be trapped here while the gingerbread goddess drains them of their lives.It didn’t last long and the shoe drops. Dean closes his eyes and shakea his head in defeat.

Too bad…. too bad.

“You challenged the Goddess of Luck in her own joint, what did you think was gonna happen?”

Dean leaves Sam talking to Evie on the counter. Told them he needed to have a moment to himself.He found a private corner by the fireside, away from everyone else, where no one can hear him.

It takes a moment of silence. A lot of inhales and ragged breathing. Then he bows his head,  swallowing the bitter pill with expression still hard.

He opts to pray to Castiel, but then, all things considered, Cas might just blast the door, come here, play his luck (which is no better than Dean's) and may even end up trapped here as well. 

Chances are high of Cas making another deal-breaker like with Billie.

Dean can’t have that. He licks his dried lips and look down his hands, the lump in the middle of his throat not disappearing.

Then it dawns on him. 

It’s a dead end.

What then?  Die like they don't exist?  Would Chuck bring them back? Toy with them again or maybe he'll keep them buried deep enough?

Frankly, Dean didn’t wanna. Won’t give Chuck the satisfaction of owing him anything. They’ve called it quits.

Dean takes his phone out, sighing heavily as he dials Cas’ number.

It doesn’t surprise him when all he got is a voicemail again. He stares at his phone dumbly, wondering why he couldn’t get anything else in his mind  like he’s a tower with no hope for reception, lost amidst the woods, searching for a way out.

Then it hits him. He won’t be able to say goodbye . Won't be able to see Cas again. 

The thought somewhat scared Dean. It didn't make sense.  Dying amd separation had been his and Cas' symphony ever since they met each other.  

What makes separation now any different? 

Hands shaking a little, Dean grips the phone tight and dials again. He doesn’t know how to talk to Cas, honestly doesn’t know what to say. 

He gotta reach Cas.

Tell him how he’d been stupid enough to let Sam play against the Goddess of Luck that ultimately led to their death. 

Listen to Cas call him stupid again and again, no matter how many times…. Because that’s just it, they don’t have time .

Dean knows Cas would do anything for them. He wants to let Cas, but at the same time no. This is Lady Luck. He won’t take that chance again, he won't let Cas pay for this prize. 

The voice mail sounds. 

“Hey… Cas.” he begins, his voice unexpectedly calm. “Listen uh, I know you’re busy… probably still in heaven… but I, I just gotta tell you we uh… we…” he inhales, profound grief growing in his chest, guilt clawing his insides, “Uh… you uh… remember what we used to say we gotta do stuff with…our lives on the line? Well… me and Sam just pulled out another Kirk Douglas thing… Remember Lonely are the Brave ?” 

Dean hesitates, Castiel’s face of pure confusion making him smile a little when he hears this.

“Uh…okay,  bad news pal...  But you gotta promise me you’ll listen carefully to me, okay? Before you do anything... don’t go Han Solo on me and just… just listen, Cas…”

Palpable silence. 

“We’re gonna die, Cas.” he croaks. 

A beat of silence. 

Dean turns and clears his throat. He hides his eyes on his left palm, glad that shadows kept him from prying eyes.

Just too much nerves for a day.  Too much to think about.  Too much to say and relay to his best friend. 

Too much to say goodbye. Saying goodbye to Cas... Leaving Cas alone,  Dean blinks upwards before everything hits him in the core. 

How Cas will be alone. 

“Sorry to leave you hanging, Cas,” he chuckles, trying his best to sound everything’s okay meanwhile his insides burning guiltily, “Shouldn't have risked so much in a game. I’m still processing... But uh...  We gambled and the stakes, you know we don't do things halfway so...   you can imagine. Yeah, it’s bad. Things went sideways… really bad, and we…” he swallows hard, “We lost. Lives for a coin,  winner takes all."

He wants to tell Cas he’s okay, wants to assure his friend things are good.

But there’s too much lie there and Castiel would only be hurt further.

"Cas, we're good.  Sam's fine.  I'm fine for now.  But I'm more worried about you that's why I called...  Wanted to make sure there's even closure here...  coz I don't really think we'll see each other again." he smiles a little,  "You know all those times Sam and I died?  Always thought luck was on our side. This time we got unlucky, and Chuck's not really on board of the whole...  Snap fingers,  you live thing.  It's done.  I think this time it's gonna kick...  And i better do my bit here propeely coz...  Coz I'm really gonna miss you, Cas. And... fuck,  I'm worried for you."

He thinks of Cas receiving this, thinks of his best friend’s grieving expression, the same face he’s seen at lost when Jack died. 

Dean suddenly lets out a tiny whimper. He remembers Jack.  Remembers how Cas already suffered losing a loved one. Losing the Winchesters would destroy him.

Dean opens his eyes again. He can’t have that. Can’t have Cas broken again. 

Dean knows how painful it is to be left behind. Oh damn,  he wants to see Cas... 

“Cas, no matter what happens, you promise me you will live, okay? That you won’t do anything to endanger your life. I don’t want you to do anything about this.  I think this is in one of Billie's black notes. Me and Sam dying together averta any chances of Chick winning. So we will be gone, but you… you gotta live. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe Chuck will leave this world alone now that we’re finally gone. Make him move on to other universes to entertain himself. Maybe you get to live a peaceful life now, Cas…”

At least he won’t have nightmares about Cas dying anymore. Stop all the heartbreaks. 

The pain is real.  The remorse is real.  But above all, regret for not being able to stay with the angel a little bit longer.

There's a gap in his heart that will never be filled.  An empty space only for the angel. 

 “Cas, please… you… you gotta promise me you will move on. That’s what you do, right? Move on. Go find another charge, go save another life… Me and Sam are gonna be with mum and dad so… move on, Cas… and help as many people as you can. Go have a new start, buddy. Forget us… forget about how we messed up. You gotta live for the world…so move on… forget us. Save more lives…”

How stupid, Dean.

Dean shuts his eyes, the familiar voice in his head sending fire all over his being. He tries to brace himself once more,  brings his cold hands to hos face and sighs deeply.

It ain't about him.

“It’s just too bad I can’t see you again. Sorry to drop the world on your shoulder, man… I want you to be happy, Cas… I want you to deserve living a happy life… I…”

He thinks of Castiel only. A world where Cas can do miracles and make people happy. Just like how he’s been with Dean. How he changed Dean’s life forever.

This time he's giving Cas to the world.  

He bows his head, tears streaming down incessantly. There's not enough words to say it to Cas. Not enough time to make anything out of it so Dean chokes silently on his palms and gives a muffled—

 “I’m gonna miss you, Cas… thank you for being my angel. Thank you for not leaving my side when everyone else did.  You put up with me… and I was… I was a mean jerk who didn’t deserve you. Cas, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if I didn’t meet you. Maybe just another hunter out for blood with no life to give.  Maybe just another brother to Sam constantly failing to understand… maybe, just maybe, just another fucked up human with nothing. I got nothing Cas, before you found me. So I gotta thank you for that. And I’m sorry for everything I cost you. Your family,  your wings, your grace… Thank you for being there even when I was being mean to you, or push you away. You gave yourself to me, Cas... You were mine from the start… and you know I’m yours too… I…"  

I love you….

Dean shuts his eyes.  He cannot be that selfish now. 

“Cas I…”

I love you… 

Dean chokes.  They never got what they deserved. 

“Thank you.”

Tears streaming down his eyes,  Dean shakes his head. 

“ Goodbye, Cas.”

He pulls the phone down and curls his knees up to his chest and hisses and gulps back at his heavy heart.

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

Keep reading (6k 👀)

Oh the purgatory prayer can't be the only one ✨🥺 trimmed down, still long, aye 🥺

[goldenponcho]

Battle for Neverland: Chapter 1

Next chapter

So this is a Fox’s Peter Pan and the Pirates fic I’ve been writing and rewriting for literally ten years. I know there’s hardly a fandom for the series anymore, but I think Peter Pan and especially Captain Hook fans of any iteration might enjoy it. I will warn for prominent OCs, so if you’re not into that, that’s cool. I’ll probably post a chapter a day until I’m caught up to where I am now.

The Captain was tired. Strong limbs felt as if they were moving against a current, slave to the rough waters of the very hurricane that had doomed him to this island. Why did he feel so weak? So… Old. His head throbbed when he heard the crow. That insufferable crow… Never had anything grated his nerves like that horrendous sound. “You aren’t even putting up a fight today, old man!” Except for the urchin that horrendous sound came from. Captain Hook strained to shake the fog in his mind, “You’ll not be wanting for a fight when I’m done with you, brat!” Despite the clear anger, he could hear the fatigue in his own voice, and he hated it. Peter Pan cackled, kicking over a bucket of soap water set out on the deck before flying several circles around the Captain, dodging the blows of his sword with ease and swooped back across the deck. Hook snarled, dragging himself toward the gloating boy. He caught his reflection from the corner of his eye, and his stomach dropped. His skin sagged from startlingly gaunt features. Dark bags drooped beneath his tired eyes, and extra skin hung from a thin neck. How long had he been like this? “Feeling a little inadequate, Captain?!” The boy was directly behind him, “Understandable when you have to compete with me!” His frustration redirected at Peter, he hacked wildly, muscles straining to lift his heavy sword. This couldn’t be happening. Had senescence crept upon him so suddenly? To further drive home his helplessness, Peter hovered well within a sword’s reach of the Captain, easily evading his pitiful attacks. Peter made a show of yawning loudly, “I’m bored, Codfish…I think this game is over.” Hook was barley able to get his bearings before Peter had kicked him in the back of the head, sending him toppling off the plank that he had somehow suddenly been standing on. Absolute terror overtook him as he careened head first toward an open set of jaws, and he heard Pan’s crow before the tearing of flesh and bone. Captain Hook’s heart pounded as he jolted awake. It took him a moment to realize he had been dreaming. His breath heaved as he tried to calm himself, at the same time noticing that he and his sheets were covered in a layer of sweat. Heart still hammering, he reached up to feel that his face was not the frail, thin one he had seen in his dream. He held his remaining hand in front of his face, relieved that it as well was still healthy and strong. Relief didn’t last long as another crow rang from outside his cabin. Captain Hook groaned, “Peter Pan…” he spat, disgusted by the taste the boy’s name left in his mouth. He sprang from the silken sheets of his bed and put on his many layers of clothing at an impossible speed, hastily splashing water onto his face from the washbowl on the mahogany table set across from the foot of his bed. He stormed out of his cabin, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white beneath his glove. “Ready Long Tom, you dogs!!! And blast that accursed boy to kingdom come!!” The crew of the Jolly Roger bounded across the deck, not daring to hesitate at their Captain’s orders. “I’m not exactly sure where kingdom come is,” Peter Pan laughed, hovering just a touch out of Hook’s reach, “but it’ll take more than the likes of you to blast me there, Captain Kipper!” “Gall and brimstone!” Hook clawed at him angrily, “Your day will come soon, Pan! By Queen Anne’s Revenge, I swear it will!!” Peter Pan chuckled playfully, taking a reclining position in the air, “You shouldn’t swear to promises you can’t keep, Admiral Anchovy. Not very gentlemanly of you!” “Perhaps you’d like a pirate rather than a gentleman, you puerile little urchin! FIRE!!” Billy Jukes smirked, lighting Long Tom’s fuse and the cannon fired, just barely missing Pan’s head as he ducked at the last second. “Reload, Mr. Jukes, and SHOOT ME THAT WRETCHED WHELP!!” “There ‘e goes, Jukes!” Mason bellowed, pushing Long Tom around with little effort. He grabbed the torch from the young gunner before he could protest and lit the fuse. “NO, Alf Mason!” Jukes cried, “It’s aimed right at—” Splinters of wood darted over the ship as the mast crashed to the deck, crushing several barrels as it landed. “Have fun cleaning that up, Codfish!!” Peter laughed as he flew toward shore and out of sight. Hook snarled, burying his sword furiously in the fallen mainmast then glancing over to his crew, who were staring dumbfounded at Peter’s shrinking form, “Stop yer gaping, you miserable mullie-morts!! Fix that mast before I plunge this into your gizzards!!” he flashed his hook toward them, and his men scattered, knowing better than to upset the captain when he was in such a foul mood. “Aye, Pan,” Hook hissed, plucking his sword from the mast as if it were nothing more than a flower petal, “it matters not how many times you escape me. It will make it all the sweeter when I finally rend ye in two.” ~*~*~*~ “Ha ha haa! Did you see the look on their faces, Tink?” Peter Pan darted in and out of the narrow spaces between the trees of the thick Neverforest, “I thought Hook was gonna explode! His face turned three shades of purple when that mast fell!” “Sure, Peter,” Tinkerbell yawned, lagging behind him a bit, “I just want to get back home and go to bed.” “Go to bed?!! But, Tink, we’re just getting started! I’ve got so many more pranks to pull on ol’ Codfish today, and I need you for all of them!” “Tin tops and copper bottoms, Peter! First, we almost get gobbled up by O'Look, then we almost get trampled by Never-Beasts… We’ve been up all night! Don’t you think knocking down the mast is enough for one day?!” Peter laughed as if what Tink had just said was the most absurd thing he had ever heard, “Of course not, Tink!! You know we can’t let Codfish go the whole rest of the day without a few more inconveniences!” Peter sped up, quickly disappearing into the trees, “Now let’s go! We don’t have much time!” “Peter!” Tink sighed, “…oh! That boy will be my undoing!” ~*~*~*~ By noon, the Jolly Roger’s mast was almost completely repaired, mostly due to Hook’s threat of sixty lashes to anyone caught lollygagging. Hook now patrolled the deck, a predatory glint in his forget-me-not eyes. His rage at the boy reignited the frustration at the dream-Pan from that morning, and in turn stoked the anger at the real Pan even further. The boy would never see the day that Hook was too run down to put up a proper fight. One of them would die first. “Robert Mullins!” he called up to the newly erected crow’s nest, “Any sign of those air-born blighters?” “None yet, Cap'n!” Mullins answered, “That island’s been as dead as the River Styx! Suspicious, I’d say!” “Let the brat plot his plots…” the Captain growled with a glower, “One of them is bound to land him belly-side down on my hook.” ~*~*~*~ "Peter, this is ridiculous!” Tink complained through a yawn, “I do not want to do this!” “Oh, come on, Tink! It’ll be easy!” Peter handed her a tiny blue sack only about the size of a ping-pong ball, “All you have to do is drop these into Hook’s supper! Just a few of these will make even the most appetizing food taste like pond scum.” “That isn’t nice, Peter Pan!” Peter turned with a frown toward Wendy, who now stood at the entrance to the chute that led outside, “Not nice at all!!” “Oh come on, Wendy,” Peter replied cheerfully, “since when was I ever nice to Hook?” “Those could make Captain Hook sick!” she said, hands on her hips, “Then he wouldn’t feel like fighting with you anymore.” “Oh, they won’t make him sick! At least, not for any longer than a few hours…” Peter chuckled, “Besides, a little stomach ache never hurt anybody that bad.” “Well you had best be careful. You could never forgive yourself if something happened to Tink… or to Hook, for that matter.” “Hook?!” Peter chuckled, “Why should I care what happens to Hook?!!” “Oh, admit it, Peter. You don’t really want anything that bad to happen to him. Then who would you fight?” “That’s true,” he said thoughtfully, “If I’m going to kill Hook, there are much more fun ways to do it than by poisoning him.” Wendy sighed, rolling her eyes, but she decided against pressing the matter further. “Besides,” Peter explained plucking one of the tiny green balls from Tink’s pouch, “these aren’t poisonous; it’s only filled with Neverswamp water.” Tink sighed, “If I do this, can I please go to bed?” “Of course, Tink,” Peter said apathetically. “Fine, then. I’m going,” Tink said quickly as she tied the bag shut and flew hastily from the Underground House. ~*~*~*~ Tinkerbell peeked from over the side of the Jolly Roger to the scattering of pirates on board. Mullins and Mason were reclined in coils of rope, Billy Jukes lied fast asleep on his stomach atop Long Tom, and Starkey sat at the other end of the ship, lazily picking at his fingernails with the tip of his rapier. “Alright,” she yawned, “now to get this over with so I can get some sleep.” She took one last glance across the deck, then darted through the rigging and down to the hatch that led below, peeking through a crack between the planks of wood. Cookson’s voice echoed through the hall beneath her as Tink spotted him carrying a large bowl of scraps up the stairs from the galley. She quickly darted behind a barrel just as the old Greek sea chef hobbled out the door singing something badly at the top of his lungs, Tink couldn’t tell exactly what. As soon as she was sure he was far enough away, she fluttered below decks and into the galley. She began rummaging through the numerous pots and pans strewn across the counter, first coming to a large pot filled to the brim with something viscous and green. The thick film that had formed on the top made it look very much like the scales of the Croc. Tink took a great whiff of the substance and retched. “Ugh!! That’s definitely the crew’s food. How anyone can stomach this filth every day is beyond me!” Tink quickly placed the lid back over the offending contents and continued exploring the other pots and pans, coming across several other undesirable dishes, until she came upon another pot of soup. This soup was a creamy, almost white color, and its smell was relatively tolerable compared to the other dishes. “This has to be Hook’s supper; it at least bears a resemblance to food.” But before Tink could finish the job, she heard the creaking of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and Cookson’s off-key singing. She yelped and ducked into a large, empty cabinet that sat on the floor next to the counter, “I’ll never get out of here now!” She sat for a moment, her head resting in the palms of her hands, “Great… how will I—OH!” she sat up with a start and plunged her hand into the bag she carried at her side, a puff of glittery powder floating from the brim, and retrieved a handful of the shimmering particles, “I almost forgot about the special dust I got at Small Monday Island yesterday!” She tossed the purple and blue dust in front of her, and it sparkled in the dark cabinet, then glistened white and grew into a small, round opening in thin air just big enough for her to fit into. Daylight shone in from the other side. “Peter will have to come up with some other prank,” Tink mumbled, “I’m going home and getting some rest.”