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lonewolflink · 2 months

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Wheel, Snipe, Celly Ch. 5 Glossary

A glossary so big, so powerful, that it wouldn't fit in the AO3 endnotes.

Celebratory Fist Bumps – after scoring a goal (and after the post-goal hug), all the skaters on the ice skate towards the bench where the rest of the team is and fist bump them all in a line. Like so.

Post-Goal Hug – after a goal is scored, the skaters (forwards and defenseman) on the ice get together to celebrate the goal in a big group hug before going to the bench for the fist bump line. Often the site of guttural screams, bopping of each other’s helmets, and the phrase “FUCKIN’ RIGHT!”.

Beauty/Beautician – A player that is talented, both on and off the ice, and loved by their teammates.

Stickhandling - A term for the skill of carrying the puck along the ice with the stick; involves manipulating the location/sliding speed of the puck with the stick, allowing the player to maintain control over it.

Deke – A fake by a player in possession of the puck in order to get around an opponent or to make a goalie move out of position. A deke is used by an offensive player with the puck to confuse a defender or goalie. It is a fake or feint move. A common deke is to lower the shoulder in one direction but actually turn in the other, or to lead one way with the head but go the other (called a “head fake”, see here). One of my favorite fake out moves of all time is Matt Hendricks’ “Paralyzer”. What a beauty.

Curl and Drag – the act of deceiving an opponent while skating forward with possession by putting the puck in front of you while facing them, curling it to the right or left (depending on whether you’re a righty or lefty), and when the opponent tries to swat it away you draw the puck back (drag) so the opponent misses the attempt and you continue to speed down the ice. See here for a helpful visual explanation. See here for an in-game example that resulted in a goal.

Dangle – dangling is hockey slang for high skill, finesse stick-handling on the ice (including complex dekes like the toe-curl and curl and drag). Dangles are called “dirty dangles” when they’re especially impressive. I must insist that you watch this set of highlights (at least). Please enjoy.

Goal Line – the red stripe at each end of the rink extending from each of the side boards running across the width of the ice. The goal posts are situated at the center of the goal line.

Blue Line – the blue line dividing center ice (neutral zone) from the defensive/offensive zones for each team. Defensemen are called blue liners because when they’re in the offensive zone, usually they “play the blue line”; it’s their job to keep the puck in the offensive zone by stopping it from crossing the blue line that demarcates where the offensive zone begins.

Defensive Zone – The area where the goal is located is the “defensive zone” for the team defending that net. The border between the defensive zone and the neutral zone (in the center of the rink) is marked by a blue line on the ice.

Neutral Zone/Center Ice – The area between the two blue lines in the center of the ice (also called center ice).

Offensive Zone – The area where the goal is located is the “offensive zone” for the team shooting on that net (trying to score a goal in it). The border between the offensive zone and the neutral zone (in the center of the rink) is marked by a blue line on the ice.

Breakout – When a team gains control of the puck in their defensive end they will “break out” with the puck to go on the attack. Most teams have established break out plays to accomplish this important part of the game.

Penalty Shot – A free shot, unopposed except for the goalie, most commonly award to players that have full possession with no opposing player between them and the goalie but are taken down by the opposition. The team which commits the offense is not penalized beyond the penalty shot, whether it succeeds or not. Like so.

Shootout – if a game is still tied after regulation and overtime, it is decided by a shootout, i.e. penalty shots. A shootout consists of three rounds where each team selects one player per round to take a penalty shot against the opposing goaltender. If the shootout is tied after three rounds, it’s next round wins until someone gets the victory.

Blocker – A rectangular piece of equipment worn by goalies on their dominant hand; the non-dominant hand usually wears the catching glove. Goalies hold their stick in their dominant hand and use the padded rectangle to block shots and bounce them away from the net (vs. the glove, which catches and holds the puck). Skilled goalies can steer shots into certain directions away from the goal by angling the blocker just as the puck strikes.

Blocker Side – indicates that the puck has been directed to the same side as the goalie’s blocker (usually by an opposing shooter). Contrasted with “glove side”.

Dots – “The dots” is short for faceoff dots, or the dots into which the referee drops the puck during a face off.

Edgework – a technical term used when discussing skating technique (in both hockey and figure skating). Refers to how a player uses the inside/outside edge of their skate blades to pivot, turn, build, and maintain speed.

Grinder – A player who makes up for a lack of talent by working hard and playing physical. A grinder normally plays on the 3rd or 4th lines, and will battle hard for the puck.

Line Change – A line change in hockey refers to the act of substituting one or more players on the ice with players from the bench during the course of a game. This is typically done in order to give players a rest, to change the tactical approach of the team, or to match the strengths and weaknesses of the opposing team's players. Players can be changed on the fly, which means they can come off and go on the ice while the play is still going on, or during a stoppage in play, such as after a goal or a penalty. Coaches are responsible for letting players know which line is out next.

Attack Triangle - The three forwards create an offensive triangle on one side of the ice. The puck carrier always has two outlet passes, if they are not open. The forwards rotate (or cycle) the puck looking for an open opportunity for a shot, one-timer, or opening to drive the net. In general, trying to form a triangle formation will lead to openings for passing plays.

Tic-Tac-Toe – Three tape-to-tape passes that lead to a goal. Tic-tac-toe goals are usually scored on odd-man rushes or power plays because opponents don’t have enough defenders to break up passes. Like so.

Wrist Shot – Players roll their wrists quickly and powerfully to generate a shot. Typically, the most common and accurate type of shot. A quick, accurate shot made by snapping the wrists as the puck hits the blade of the stick.

Snowing/Snow Shower – a skater is said to snow someone when they stop quickly on the ice and create a spray of snow that flies up onto the other person. This spray is called a snow shower. Snowing a goalie is considered extremely taboo in hockey; it does not harm the goalie, but is extremely disrespectful (because they usually are bent low and it sprays into their face/eyes) and can be called as an unsportsmanlike penalty by a referee if they think it was intentional. When the ref doesn’t call it, players often get very upset and protective of the goalie.

Clearing the puck – Getting the puck away from the area near your own goal; on a penalty kill, sending the puck out of your own defensive zone

One-timer – Shooting the puck immediately upon receiving it without stopping it first.

Slot – A prime scoring area located between the faceoff circles and in front of the goal.

Screen – Occurs when one or more players are between the shooter and the goalie, obstructing the goalie’s view of the play and incoming shot.

Point – The point is an area just inside the blue line of the attacking zone. It is normally occupied by the attacking team’s defensive players. When players take shots from there they are called “point shots”, and usually do not result in goals unless they are tipped or deflected by forwards in front or if the goalie is screened and cannot see the shot.

1-3-1 Power Play – A power play strategy that employs one defenseman at the point and four forwards (as opposed to most traditional power play formations that have two defenseman and three forwards). Enables the attacking team to spread out around the zone and keep a player in front of the net at all time. For more on the 1-3-1, see these links.

Box Penalty Kill – A penalty kill strategy that involves positioning four players in a box shape in the defensive zone, with two defensemen back and two forwards front.

Diamond Penalty Kill – a penalty kill strategy that involves positioning four players in a diamond shape in the defensive zone. This formation allows the team to pressure the puck carrier while also maintaining coverage of the passing lanes, but if players are not defensively savvy, the formation can break down very quickly and lead to scoring chances for the attacking team. See here for an example and breakdown of the effectiveness of the DPK against a 1-3-1 PP.

#wsc #wheel snipe celly #hockey au #ch. 5 #damn this chapter really was too crazy huh

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sednonamoris · 1 year

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raise a little hell

Pairing: John Marston x reader

Summary: You, John, and Arthur go out on the town after a successful score. Of course you couldn’t leave it at just one drink.

Warnings: Alcohol mention, canon-typical alcohol use/abuse, shenanigans

Word count: 1,240

A/N: Short and sweet to brace you for the upcoming angst 😘

Series masterlist • AO3

—

The saloon is crowded when you and the boys arrive. Laughter and conversation spill onto the street where you stand hitching your horses. Someone inside plays a jaunty piano tune. Through the window glow you watch patrons dance, eat, drink, sing. The people leaning porchside with lit cigars in their mouths tip a hat and half a smile your way.

Evening closes in on this little town nestled into the wilderness of the West.

The vast darkness that surrounds you is held at bay by the lanterns within, a gentle embrace of artificial light. It welcomes you with open arms, and you’re quick to fall into it with easy grins and pockets full of cash just begging to be spent. The three of you are still riding the high of a successful stagecoach robbery, and though you’re meant to be lying low on your return to camp you all agreed some celebration was in order. With John and Arthur involved, that can mean only one thing; drinks.

“Bartender!” Arthur calls the moment he passes the threshold with a wolfish grin. “Let’s see that top shelf.”

The barkeep rolls his eyes at your rowdy youth, but when Arthur slaps a fistfull of bills on the counter he’s quick to jump on those drinks. Three shot glasses slide down to your spot at the end of the bar, black label and deep amber. You turn to the boys with a grin of your own, clinking the glasses together before tapping them on the bartop and swallowing the shots down.

It burns smooth and strong the way only good whiskey can, lights a fire in your belly and an ember in your eye.

“Cheers to a job well done, boys,” you say.

“Cheers to money, and lots of it,” John adds.

“Cheers to things going according to plan, for once,” Arthur laughs and throws an arm around you both. “You kids made me proud today.”

John wrinkles his nose and shoves him off. “Shut up. You’re barely older than us.”

“Still counts, Johnny Boy.”

You laugh at the looks on their faces and order another round.

—

The drinks go down easy, then easier, ‘til whiskey might as well be water. You can’t quite remember how many you’ve had, but the world has gone a little fuzzy and a lot brighter. Your face hurts from smiling.

John is across the room playing poker - badly. There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks from the drink that softens the sharpness of his features. The locals love him, laugh at all his terrible jokes and smile along with his stories. You suspect it’s largely due to how much money they’re winning off him; Every time he has a good hand he turns around to flash a goofy grin your way. You can’t help but return it even as you laugh at him. Arthur is just as amused beside you.

“You know,” he says, “that boy really does like you.”

“I sure hope so. We’re friends. Best friends, maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe.” There’s a knowing glint in Arthur’s eyes even the haze of alcohol can’t dull. It makes you squirm in place. “You’re lucky, is all I mean. Took a lot longer for me an’ him to get on. Hell, sometimes we still don’t.”

You snort a laugh into your beer bottle. “That’s ‘cause you’re an ornery bastard, Arthur Morgan.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you?”

“Delightful.”

The comment earns you a laugh, surprised but genuine.

“Okay, sure, the sun just shines out your ass, don’t it.”

You clink your bottle to his with a smirk. “I’ll drink to that.”

—

You’re leaned against a back wall in a drunken smog trying and failing to convince one of the working girls to come upstairs with you when you hear the unmistakable sound of glass shattering and Arthur yelling.

Goddamn it.

“S’cuse me jus’ one moment,” you slur. She rolls her painted eyes and scoffs her painted mouth, but you’ve already turned toward the commotion.

It takes all of two seconds for you to register that Arthur has a man by the hair and John is cornered by two others - either his friends or sympathetic bystanders. It’s all you need to stride across the room, roll your sleeves to your elbows, and start swinging.

The fight comes to you in fragments. Someone’s thick forearm around your neck, your teeth sinking in and the taste of blood in your mouth. Dark spots dancing across your vision from a broken nose, the feeling of another man’s cartilage crunching under your fist. Uncontrollable, insane laughter bubbling out of your bloodied mouth between dodged punches. The return of that laughter from your opponents before they slap a firm hand on your shoulder and declare that you’re alright.

“Not so bad for a bunch’a no-good hooligans! You kids sure can pack a punch.”

You think Arthur buys the entire saloon a round of drinks.

It’s hard to remember because he definitely orders plenty for you.

—

The piano player lands on his ass with a thunk and a drunken giggle. Arthur promptly takes his place on the bench and begins playing what you think, distantly, is meant to be the tune of ‘Buffalo Gals’.

He doesn’t hit a single note - doesn’t really do more than ham-fistedly bang along the keys - but you and John sing along at the top of your lungs anyhow. It’s awful and off-key and you slur the verses together in a drunken rasp.

Perfect, is what it feels like. Perfect.

John’s wiry body radiates just enough heat, his arm slung loose around your shoulders like it belongs there. You make the mistake of looking over at him and swear your heart stops. His smile is wide and dopey when he notices you, flushed with good humor and several rounds of drinks too many, and you know the one you reflect back on him is that much wider and dopier.

What a pair you are. Over-served idiots.

He really is your best friend, though. Your heart aches with the fullness of it. With the knowledge it will never be anything more. Maybe the love you have for him wouldn’t be the same without the hurt, locked somewhere deep in your chest, but you don’t think you’ll ever know.

So you smile that much wider and sing even louder and tell yourself that this is good. It’s enough. To have him singing by your side is enough.

—

They kick you out at some point. At least, you remember landing face-first in the street, howling something fierce from the busted nose you’d earned earlier. Arthur laughs, the bastard.

Things after that are… fuzzy.

Someone yells at you for being too loud. One of you flashes a rude gesture while another one takes a piss in the street, laughing. All of you stumbling half-blind and boneless away from something that chases you.

Then nothing.

—

Midafternoon sun streams through your eyelids, forcing you awake. The blinding brightness on top of a pounding headache leaves you hissing out a wince. Your nose aches, too, and your stomach is in pieces.

The past twenty-four hours hide behind the catalogue of misery you’re experiencing, but other things slowly start to fall into place. First, that you’re snuggled between Arthur and John. Second, that you’re caked in mud. And third, with dawning horror, that you’re lying in the middle of someone’s sheep pen.

Last time you’ll ever go drinking with these idiots.

#john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #fran writes #ghost story #ch. 5

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chinchintatap · 1 year

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as a foodie myself, i simply adore Sugimoto's reaction to food. he appreciates it, he takes his time to take all the flavors in. the little blush? it's nothing but wholesome and it warms my heart.

#golden kamuy #sugimoto saichi #asirpa #sugimoto the immortal #mangacap #ch. 5

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boxofcondoms · 6 months

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#2.5 dimensional seduction #2.5 jigen no ririsa #mikari tachibana #anime #bookwalker #manga #manga panel #vol. 1 #ch. 5 #romance #comedy #romcom #yu hashimoto

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brainfuzzz · 2 years

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Old Truths Ch. 5 "Coincidences"

Yep, another Crocodile learns that he's Luffy's mother fic because why not? Also, I'm making him the Snake Princess before Hancock because I'm already in Crocomom hell so why not pile on more to it, right? Expect a reunion with Dragon as Crocodile goes on a journey for the truth and eventually finds peace.

*Dragon's point of view*

The aftermath of Marineford is still fresh in everyone’s mind. The world thought the death of Whitebeard would bring an era of peace. Little did they know Whitebeard was the only thing holding back complete chaos. Now more than ever, pirates take to the seas in search of the One Piece, just like Gold Roger did all those years ago. This hasn’t made things easy for the Revolutionary Army.

Dragon frowns at another report of an island coming under attack by pirates. The Navy is stretched thin and with the new change in command they’re unable to keep up with the growing issue. Not that he truly believed they could properly handle it in the first place. He shuffles a stack of reports, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. Around him, many of his comrades still whisper and murmur about what happened at Marineford. The news of Kuma and the pacifistas is unsettling to say the least. Though, Dragon can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief to know that Ivankov is free from Impel Down. But the most concerning so far has been how Sabo has reacted to the news. The boy has lived most of his life with amnesia only to have his memories return after learning that his brother has been killed. Dragon rubs his forehead, fighting off a stress headache. He never imagined Sabo and his son would know each other let alone close enough to consider themselves brothers.

He glances in Sabo’s direction. He’s currently hunched over a scattered pile of papers with two others worriedly working beside him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he hasn’t had a proper meal since the incident. Dragon—and countless others—have already told him to rest. After regaining his memories, he fell into a 3 day coma and now the boy’s trying to get back to work like nothing happened. But Dragon knows better than to push any harder than he already has. The boy has to work it out the way he sees fit.

Dragon looks back down at the stack of reports in his hands. He shuffles them again until a report involving Luffy lands on the top. He turns towards a window to hide his smile. The base had been in an uproar when they learned that Straw hat Luffy was his son. The article describes Luffy’s harrowing charge up the scaffold towards Ace. Apparently, he had been attacked by Hawkeyes Mihawk on the way but was saved by…

He tenses with his grip tightening on the paper.

Crocodile.

“You alright, sir?” Koala notices him frowning at the report. She pauses next to him with her arms filled with messy papers and maps.

“I’m fine. Keep working.” He keeps his voice steady. She nods and keeps moving. Dragon sets the stack of reports on a table and makes for the exit. Sabo’s eyes bore into him as he leaves the room, but he ignores them. He keeps moving until he reaches his bedroom. His room is the same as anyone else’s. He may be the leader of the revolutionary army, but that didn’t mean he would let himself take advantage of the position. He ate what everyone else ate and if everyone else slept in a small room barely big enough for a twin bed, then so would he.

He shuffles further inside, and grabs hold of the paper that covered the events at Marineford. He’s memorized each page at this point but there is one section that he skims over each time. He flips to the third page, feeling his fingers grip tighter on the paper, tearing the sides. At the bottom is a picture of Luffy with the group of prisoners he broke out of Impel Down. He takes his time studying each face as he scans over the prisoners. Among them are Ivankov, Jinbei who he never expected to see fighting with his son, Buggy the clown who… well. Then his eyes reached the end. The former warlord Crocodile stands beside Dragon’s son, frowning down where the picture was taken.

Dragon lets out a breath and sits on the edge of his bed. There is a reason he’s never personally spent time researching Crocodile himself. Why he’s assigned others to his case whenever the revolutionary army needed to keep tabs on him. Dragon lets the paper fall into his lap as he leans against the wall his bed is pushed against. Staring up at the ceiling, he lets his emotions swirl in his chest.

“Just a coincidence.” He mutters to himself. After closing the paper, he tosses it onto the small table that takes up as much space as his bed and leans on his knees. He links his fingers tightly together as he fights off his thoughts. He says again but much firmer, “It’s just a coincidence.”

When the thoughts dissipate, it takes his strength with them. His arms and head feel heavy while his chest aches like an old wound that’s starting to act up. He glances at the corner of his room. Had he had any strength left, he would have stopped himself. It’s been years since he’s thought about him. Since he’s really thought about him. Missing him is another matter entirely. He doubts he’ll ever be able to go anywhere without glancing around, wondering what if? What if he shows up after all these years? What if he turns the corner? What if he gives the same cocky grin he used to always give? Then he would give some halfhearted insult that would only make Dragon laugh.

But he never did. And never will. Not ever again.

Dragon drops to his knees in the corner of his room to pull the rug back so he can reach the floorboards. He lifts the loose board, revealing a secret compartment where a box has been stashed. Sitting on the dirty floor with his back against his nightstand he rests the box in his lap. It’s coated in a thick layer of dust, evidence of how long it’s been since he’s peeked inside. He carefully lifts the lid to take in the contents.

The first item to catch his eye is Luffy’s pacifier from when he was a baby. Dragon picks it up, twisting it in his fingers and smiling at the memory. He carefully places it back in the box and lets himself get lost in all his treasured items. The medal his dad gave him as a child for saving another kid that fell into the ocean. A ring that belonged to his mother. A photo of him, Ivankov, and Kuma after officially forming the revolutionary army. And finally, a small box of old cigars. He pauses before taking the cigars out of the box. He swipes his hand over the dust covering the logo.

“These were your favorite,” he says to the air, “Pricy for back then, but then again, you always did want the best.”

He carefully opens the box and takes out one of the cigars, gently lifting it to his nose. He closes his eyes and inhales the rich aroma. After all these years, the scent has dulled but it’s still there along with the memories of him.

Back then, when Dragon was just starting out as a revolutionary, he and his small team had caught wind of high government officials having a meeting in a nearby city. He, Kuma, and Ivankov deployed in hopes of listening in on their schemes. Unfortunately, back then, Dragon hadn’t quite refined his talents of moving unnoticed. So, almost immediately after splitting with Ivankov, he was spotted by a group of marines.

He ran down endless alleys in hopes of ditching them, but it was proving near impossible. He finally leapt behind a dumpster and crouched down, praying the marines would move on. He panted and breathed in the sour trash stench as the marines reached his spot. They paused, confused by how Dragon just seemed to disappear, before darting off in a random direction. Dragon let out a sigh of relief and cautiously stepped out from behind the dumpster. He decided to continue down a different alley, hoping to put some distance between him and the marines.

When he found an alleyway cooler than the rest, he decided to stop and take a break. He pressed his back to the cool brick wall and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. He was suddenly grateful for all the times his old man chased him through the jungle. Maybe the geezer had some sixth sense and knew it would come in handy one day? Just as he pushed himself from the wall, he heard something overhead. He glanced up to see a third story window opening. He didn’t think much of it, at least not until someone jumped out of it. He should have dodged it, but back then he had been too shocked to do anything.

The person landed on him like a sack of rocks. He found himself staring at the sky and wondering why everything was spinning. The person who had fallen on him seemed fine and was able to get to their feet almost immediately. Dragon struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain in his head and back.

“Hey, you alright?” He asked, though it should really be the other way around. He blinked up at the dark outline of a person until finally their features come into view. He didn’t recognize the person at first, but after they set in their deep glare, it clicked.

Forceful hands shoved him away as the person snarled, “Don’t call me Lady! You may only address me as Sir!”

“Sir?” he said slowly before smiling. “Hey, long time no see buddy!”

At that point, it had probably been five months since Gol D. Roger’s death. Sir had tensed, either because he hadn’t expected someone to call him that or possibly because he recognized Dragon from that night too. Eventually, the man relaxed his shoulders and reached a hand towards him. Dragon reached out, expecting Sir to help him to his feet, only for his hand to extend past his hand and grab onto Dragon’s cloak. He yanked it off him and wrapped the cloak around his own shoulders. After pulling the hood up, he darted down the alley, leaving Dragon on the ground, mouth open, speechless.

Now fueled by rage, Dragon jumped to his feet and speeded after Sir.

“Hey!” he called when he caught up to the other man. Sir flinched; he clearly hadn’t expected Dragon to be so fast. “Give me back my cloak!”

Looking back on this, Dragon realizes screaming down an alley wasn’t the most inconspicuous thing to do.

“Beat it, you creep!” Sir yelled back. The word creep stabbed him deeply, but it didn’t slow him one bit.

He continued his chase even after Sir turned down a main road. They weaved between people, even knocking over a cart by accident. When Dragon started gaining on him, he leapt forward, kicking the man in the back. He grinned, thinking he’s got him… at least until he realized he’d kicked Sir over a railing and is now falling over the side himself.

“You moron!” Sir yelled as they both plummeted from the city on the top layer down to the city on the bottom layer. Suddenly the cloak didn’t seem that important. They crashed through a ceiling of a building, breaking through to the bottom floor. They both laid in a pile of rubble, groaning, and coughing at the dust and dirt clouds they knocked up. Dragon forced himself to sit up, feeling every ache and pain throb through his body. While trying to wave the dirt and dust out of his face, he clumsily got to his feet. He tried to stumble towards a door when it gets kicked open and the space that wasn’t covered in debris was then filled with marines, all pointing their guns at Dragon.

“You’re under arrest, Revolutionary leader Dragon!” one of the marines yelled. Dragon readied himself to fight when he remembered Sir behind him. He looked back only to find that he had disappeared. Before Dragon could turn back to face the marines, one of them took the opportunity to hit him in the head with the butt of his gun, knocking Dragon out.

When he started to come back around, he developed a head splitting headache. He blinked until his vision cleared and he realized he’s chained to a post down a private street while being surrounded by marines. One spoke into a transponder snail, while explaining who they’ve captured. Dragon gritted his teeth while struggling against the chains.

Iva, Kuma, please don’t be to mad at me, he thought to himself. He had already started coming up with an escape plan when a figure turned the corner up a flight of stairs directly ahead of them. Dragon froze. Sir.

Sir took his time while walking down the steps. The marine with the transponder snail paused when he noticed Sir.

“Ma’am, you can’t be here. This is a dangerous man.” The marine stepped in front of Sir. Dragon could see the twitch of annoyance on the other man’s face. Sir mumbled something that the marine couldn’t catch. “Huh? What was that?”

Sir motioned for the marine to come closer. Like a fly getting caught in a spider’s trap, the marine stepped closer. Sir leaned in, grinned, and whispered something that made the marine turn white. Not even a second later, Sir had a pistol drawn and tucked under the marine’s jaw. Then he pulled the trigger.

The marines were too slow for Sir’s speed and accuracy. He took out the three furthest from him with his pistol before putting his gun away and swinging a leg, knocking a charging marine into a building wall. The last one froze, knowing he couldn’t win. A sinister grin spread across Sir’s face, sending a chill up Dragon’s spine. The marine ran but it was too late. Sir caught him, coating his right arm with armament haki and delivering the final blow.

Dragon took in the destruction while at a complete loss for words. Sir dug through the last marine’s coat and pulled out a small box of cigars and the key to Dragon’s chains. He felt the chains around him loosen. When they dropped, he turned to Sir who stood over him while lighting a cigar. He took a deep pull before letting out a cloud of smoke and filling the air with the rich smoky scent.

“Why did you save me?” Dragon got to his feet, never taking his eyes off him.

Sir stared up at the sky, the cigar hanging from his lips. With a shrug he said, “This is my brand of cigar.”

He had tossed Dragon his cloak before making his way back up the stairs. Dragon watched him go until he turned the corner and was gone. He stood there a little longer, stuck in a daze before snapping out of it when a marine twitched. He pulled his cloak back on and left the area.

Eventually, he managed to meet back up with Ivankov and Kuma. They stood on the side of a street while Ivankov lost their mind after witnessing Dragon’s fall from the upper city. Kuma said nothing but Dragon could tell he was worried. Dragon shook his head at Ivankov and said, “I’m sorry I just… well I don’t really know how to explain what happened.”

“You’re going to be the death of me!” Iva pinched the bridge of their nose. “We can’t have the leader of the Revolutionary Army falling from the sky like that!”

Dragon rubbed the back of his neck, having nothing left to say. Kuma lifted his head to look down the street. Iva and Dragon followed his gaze to see the Kuja warriors making their way down the street. People parted to make way for the pirate group. Dragon almost gasped when he spotted Sir at the center.

“Hey, Iva,” Dragon’s mouth had felt dry at that moment. “Who is that?”

“What, you don’t know? That’s the Snake Empress of Amazon Lily.” They had explained. “I’d steer clear of that one if I were you.”

Dragon watched Sir make his way down the street. Next to him, a short woman spoke angrily to him. When they passed, he managed to hear, “… and you can’t just disappear like that! You are our princess after all! Take some responsibility.”

“I just wanted some air.” Sir had sighed, looking more drained from that conversation than he had from falling from the upper city with Dragon. When his eyes had lifted and met Dragon’s it had been like time stopped and with it Dragons heart. By the time Sir had pulled his eyes away from his, Dragon’s heart had started to race. He would never be able to explain what drew him to Sir. But it was that moment that had ignited something in his heart.

Now, Dragon sits on the floor in his room with his heart aching for someone who is long gone. He carefully slips the cigar back into its packaging and places it back in the box. He pauses when he sees an old news paper folded at the bottom, hidden under his treasures. His hand trembles as it reaches for it. With it folded the headline only reads SNA and beneath that DEA. Before his fingers can touch the aged paper, a knock comes from his door just as a tear slips from his cheek.

“Dragon, sir?” Sabo’s voice comes from the other side. “The meetings about to start.”

“Ri—right,” Dragon quickly puts the box back in its hiding place and returns the floor to normal. He wipes his cheek while trying to pull himself together. He stops in front of his small cracked mirror hanging on the wall to check his face. He’s always surprised by how much older he is. In his mind he’s still that young rookie trying to change the world. Now there are wrinkles and scars, both formed over time. He glances down at the paper covering Marineford and shoves it into a drawer before stepping out of his room. Sabo fills him in on what he and the others have learned, but his mind is elsewhere.

Coincidence, he thinks to himself, it’s just a coincidence.

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