#like EYE barely know anything except what is common knowledge in the fandom

[haneentifosa005]

You don't understand I HAVE to talk to ollie about taylor swift. Like oh his fav artist is taylor swift, right but how much of the lore does he know? How deep in the rabbit hole is he? You don't have to know everything to enjoy her music but has he watched the eras tour movie? I don't think he has or otherwise his playlist would be a bit different. oh here's his fav taylor songs, he has The Way I Loved You tv on there, he has Cruel Summer, Exile, I Knew You Were Trouble, Wildest Dreams tv, All Too Well 10 min tv, Red tv, and Enchanted. but what other songs has he listened to? oh his favorite song is Love Story because he's "a bit of a romantic" but does he know Sweet Nothing? You Are In Love? Labyrinth? invisible string? This Love? Paper Rings? Call It What You Want? I just feel like you can know so much about a person based on their opinions on taylor's music and taylor herself. And him admitting that he likes her music and naming her as his fav on main says alot and I love that. He's already halfway there, someone just needs to hold his hand and drag him a lil and he'd become a full time taylor fan.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 45

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary:  Calypso and Leo spend an evening at Waystation and things start heating up (continuing from the previous chapter)

A/N: Wow, finally a chapter to post! I feel I say this every time but this chapter really was quite something else to edit. Anyway, as the summary suggests, in this chapter things /do/ get a bit heated but given that this is a T rated fic (at least at the moment), I am not going to details, so sorry about that.

Anyways, as usual, I hope you guys enjoy and please please please do let a comment because the previous chapter got none and I do worry that no one cares about this fic anymore... The fandom is so quiet. (Speaking of, I'm currently rereading The Lost Hero and actually loving it much more than the first time. Can't wait to get to House of Hades ;))

Words: 2800+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

Calypso insisted on making something better for Georgina to eat than the McDonald’s additions even though the little girl herself said she didn’t have to. Luckily the power was finally back at Waystation, making the task notably easier. Meanwhile Georgina was building a pillow fort from the sofa pillows and blankets in the living room, saying that she wanted to have a movie picnic there. When everyone was finally ready, the food was already pretty cold but they were so hungry that they didn’t care.

The movie Georgina had picked was Aristocats. Calypso thought it was rather fitting considering the girl really loved the foster cats at Waystation. Leo amused Calypso with his Disney knowledge (he even hummed ‘Everybody wants to be a cat’ even though he always claimed he hated singing) but when she asked how he knew so much about those movies, he sullenly stated that they had been one of the few things that had brought him comfort as a kid, besides tinkering. She didn’t tease him after that.

When the movie ended, it was already past 10 pm and Georgie could barely keep her eyes open. Despite that, she kept insisting that she wasn’t tired. When Leo put an episode of a TV show that the little girl liked on, it only took her about 5 minutes to fall asleep on her spot on the blanket. Leo carefully carried her into her own bed before returning back to Calypso who was still lying on the blankets and pillows on the floor.

“Did she wake up?” she asked.

“Nope. As sound asleep as only she can be,” Leo said quietly, smiling a bit. Then he joined Calypso in her pillow fort and laid down next to her.

“It’s been a day,” he yawned, pulling a blanket over his lower body. “I beat my fear… sort of at least?”

“You did,” Calypso said encouragingly. “I bet the next time will be easier for you.”

“Yeah! I want to believe that too. At least it should make participating in the lab classes easier. But aside from that, we also managed to treat a feral cat… I may have a couple of scratches in my arms but that’s okay. And Jo’s motorcycle got some extra paint on it…”

“Do you think she will be angry about it?” Calypso asked, partly worried, partly amused.

“Oh, I think she’ll curse me to Tartarus at first…” He used a term that he had heard from her. “But when she hears that I managed to make those guys repaint it, I think she’ll be really excited. I swear it’s in her blood to help problematic kids like me.”

“I’m glad she and Emmie found you, even if it took a while,” Calypso stated, turning on the blanket to face him.

“Yeah, me too,” Leo replied. “Their approach is so different from the other adults I’ve had in my life… except maybe my mom. They believe in the power of example. Like, they never yell or anything like that. If you do something wrong, don’t dwell on it; instead think if there’s something you can do to fix it. And if there’s nothing you can do about it… well, move on and do better next time. That’s the way they live.”

“That does sound like a good attitude,” Calypso agreed. “It seems to me that some of their lessons have already stuck with you. I could see that in the way you dealt with those boys earlier.”

“Thanks. I tried…” Leo rubbed the back of his neck. Calypso secretly found his reaction to the compliments adorable. He could act ‘bratty’ at times but under that goofy cover of his he was actually incredibly insecure.

“Who knows, maybe one day you’ll end up adopting homeless kids, just like Jo and Emmie did,” she said before thinking. But once her words sunk in, she felt a weird sting in her chest.

Some day, once he would have graduated and gotten some stability in his life, Leo would make a great dad. He really loved his younger sister and acted like a mentor to her in many situations despite their sibling-like bickering. And his way to solve problem situations felt refreshing to Calypso; she was so used to her father’s yelling and manipulating that she had to remind herself that there were people out there who didn’t resort to that. Someone would be very lucky to start a family with him, but it was highly likely that person wouldn’t be her.

Leo blushed fiercely. “I was… kind of hoping that would happen with you.” When he noticed Calypso’s expression, he quickly added: “I mean… not for a long while, of course! But… one day when we’re both ready…”

“Yeah… Maybe…” Calypso didn’t have the heart to say what she was really thinking but she was worried that he could sense it from her either way.

Silence fell into the pillow fort. Calypso had a hard time shaking her previous thoughts off and for once Leo didn’t seem to feel talkative either. Finally she decided that maybe music would help to give her some distraction so she asked Leo if he would mind her putting one of her playlists on. He didn’t, so she searched for a playlist in which she had put some of her favorite calming songs.

The first few songs she didn’t pay a lot of attention to; Leo’s warm hand found her back and she was simply enjoying the feel of it as he was drawing random patterns on her shirt with his fingers. They exchanged a few words here and there but mostly just listened to the music. At some point, her phone started playing Taylor Swift’s Peace. Calypso had used to consider it ‘just another love song’, and being tired of romance before meeting Leo, she had mainly ignored it earlier. But now that she was in a relationship, she realized that the lyrics hit a bit too close to home.

Wanting to make her significant other happy (‘I’d give you my sunshine’), but being aware that the problems would keep arising (‘the rain is always gonna come’) if they stuck together was something that Calypso understood too well. But what hit her even harder was the question ‘would it be enough if I could never give you peace?’ Technically speaking, things were fine between her and Leo, but she couldn’t guarantee she could give him what he deserved. Stability, normalcy, safety, a long term relationship, maybe one day even a family… Would Leo be fine with that? And more importantly, would she be willing to ask that much of him?

“Cal? Everything OK?” she heard his voice suddenly.

“Um, oh, yeah,” she stuttered. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seemed kinda out of it. What were you thinking?”

“Nothing much,” she tried to evade the question at first, but knew it was for nothing. Leo gave her a pointed look. “Um, just this song.”

“Oh? What about it?” he asked.

She braced herself for a moment before answering. “You know how it asks ‘would it be enough, if I can never give you peace’... I was wondering what you would answer if I asked you that. Would you be alright with this - what we have - even if it meant no normalcy for you?”

Leo made a weird sound that almost sounded like a snort.

“Leo, this is serious!” she exclaimed.

“I know it is! But Calypso, haven’t you already learned enough about me by now to know that my life has never exactly been ‘normal’? Burning my home, running away from countless foster homes, finally finding where I wanna be but still traumatized and having constant doubts about myself? I can guarantee you I am capable of making my life difficult on my own. A little more trouble won’t feel anywhere. So to answer your question: yes, it would be enough.”

“You seem very sure about this,” Calypso muttered, not sure how long she’d be able to keep herself together. Never before had anyone else - except maybe Zoë - been ready for so far for her sake. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.” Leo put his hand over his heart as if he was solemnly swearing something.

“Even if being with me meant you could be in danger?” she asked skeptically, referring to her dad.

“Even and especially then,” he said confidently, taking her hand into his.

Calypso’s voice finally broke. “I hate you.” What she actually meant with that: “I hate that I love you this much because that is only going to put you into a situation that you don’t deserve.” Yet she was also thinking: “I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have finally found a person who cares about me for who I am.”

Right after those three words had left her mouth, she pulled him for a kiss. A kiss that she hoped would convey all the feelings that she couldn’t put into words in that moment, the lingering and deep kind. There was something comforting about the taste of mint she got on her lips from his. Maybe it was because it had become so familiar to her; Leo ate a lot of breath mints to calm his nerves and she tasted it every time she kissed him. Her fingers started playing with his hair and he seemed to enjoy that because he made an approving “hmm” against her mouth.

“If that’s what I get for you hating me, then feel free to hate me all you want,” Leo said in a hoarse voice once they separated for some air.

“Stupid,” Calypso sighed. She buried her face into his shirt before murmuring: “Σε αγαπώ.”

“Yo también te quiero,” he answered.

A couple of tears had fallen on Calypso’s cheeks and Leo gently swept them off with his thumbs. She secretly liked how they felt against her skin; rough from all the work they had done and a lot more confident than they had been when he had first touched her.

“Hey! No crying, please.” He sounded a bit nervous.

“Don’t worry about it… These are just happy tears.”

“Happy? But…”

“Yeah.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Because I’m lucky to have people like you in my life. It means… I can’t express in English what it means to me.”

“Oh… alright. Guess I managed to do something right then,” Leo mused.

“You did,” Calypso confirmed and closed the space between them again.

This time the kiss turned more heated fast. Her lips seemed to be craving for more even though the tiny, rational part of her was still trying to hold back. Warmth spread all the way to Calypso’s core when she during a breathing break opened her eyes to notice Leo watching her with eyes so intense they seemed almost black. Despite that there was also tenderness in them, and she couldn't help but find it charming. Her heart started beating faster as she wondered what was going through his mind right now.

“What? Do I look funny or something? Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asked shyly.

“Funny?” he repeated as if he had a hard time even grasping that concept. “No… quite the opposite. You’re pretty damn stunning.”

“Oh… thanks.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “You’re welcome, Sunshine.”

A brief silence fell into the room. Calypso didn’t want to interrupt that moment but she also realized they could find a place more comfortable and less visible than the living room floor. “We should probably go somewhere else,” she suggested. “I mean, Georgina could wake up and see us any moment…”

“Alright. My room?”

Calypso nodded, getting some butterflies in her stomach as she pictured what might happen there. Leo intertwined their fingers and helped her get up from the blanket.

…

As they were silently approaching Leo’s room, Calypso had time to think about where their physical relationship was heading to. She wasn’t a complete stranger to sex but thinking back to her previous experiences, she realized those times hadn’t been that great. The guys she had been with hadn’t really cared about her feelings but back then she had been too naïve to admit that to herself. Unfortunately, one of those times had been followed by a series of horrific events, which now resulted in hesitancy to now take the next step with Leo.

At the same time it was getting increasingly frustrating to live under the same roof with him, wanting to do more yet having the nagging voice in her head telling her she should really be more careful this time. His touches, even when he was touching simply her shoulders, seemed to set sparks of fire across her whole body. He seemed more attractive and lovable to her every day even though she had used to think that he was not her type. And sometimes, when they were alone at their home and he whispered to her what he really thought of her, she was wondering: ‘what am I waiting for?’ She knew she could trust Leo, and wasn’t that the main thing?

And so she decided she would let herself see where that evening would take them. Maybe her brain would eventually say ‘no’ and if that was the case, then she’d simply tell him she still wasn’t feeling comfortable enough for the next step. Hopefully he would understand. Or maybe her brain would remain quiet and for once allow her to enjoy something she had secretly wanted to do for a while. But she would never know if she didn’t give it a chance.

…

Once in Leo’s room, he sat down on his bed and patted the spot next to him.

“Look, I’m not sure where this is going, but if you want to stop, just let me know…”

A huge weight fell off Calypso’s chest when he said. It was a relief to hear they were on the same wavelength. “Yeah, I will,” she promised.

“Good.” Leo nodded. Their lips connected again and he pulled her down with him, letting her take the lead.

The next moments were like random still pictures in Calypso’s mind:

Kisses on jaw, lips, neck, collarbone...

Hands exploring with some new found confidence.

Leo’s eyes reminding her of flames when the light hit them from the right direction.

Foreheads touching when they had to stop for a break.

Quiet words of affirmation and short morse code messages tapped on her skin.

Clothes getting removed with fumbling fingers one by one until they were down to their underwear.

Leo asking her if she wanted to have a blanket on her so that she wouldn’t get cold even though she was feeling quite the opposite.

It was all going so well, until suddenly, when Leo’s fingers started playing with the waistband of her panties… something just snapped in Calypso’s head. The voice that had already been nagging earlier was back, even louder than usual.

“Leo… I think we should stop,” she said all of a sudden, letting go of him and exhaling deeply.

He looked at her with confusion for a moment before putting some distance between them.

“Was it something I did?”

“No. it’s just that… My period started this morning. I’m sorry, I should have let you know way earlier. Guess I let myself get carried away…”

That was a lie but in that moment she couldn’t deal with Leo’s heartbroken face if she told him what was really going through her head. He seemed understanding, though.

“Oh, damn. That sucks. I shouldn’t have encouraged you…”

“No, it’s fine. Not your fault.” She sat up on the bed and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down.

“You OK?” Leo asked worriedly.

“Yeah.” Another lie. “I just need a moment. It was stupid of me to let this get this far knowing we couldn’t finish it.”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself. It takes two to get to this point,” Leo tried to comfort her. “Um, anyway… I should probably… go cool down a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

Calypso felt genuinely bad for him because she had let him believe that something might happen.

“Alright.” She started collecting her clothes from the floor and hastily pulled her shirt on. “I guess it might be better if I go to sleep in the guest room... Good night.”

She gave him a quick good night’s peck on the cheek but it was a little awkward. She left the room soon after him and once in the guest room, she threw herself on the bed there. Wishing she could have just cried it out, she groaned against her pillow in frustration, but the tears didn’t come.

Why couldn’t she just let her past go?

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

[amethystdarkwolf]

My ‘Orange Side’ predictions, theories and a lot of Logan angst.

So I've had this theory for a hot second, and only recently decided to finally sit down and write it out. This goes on for quite a bit, and is a little bit on the heavier side, as it has my predictions for the last dark side, and a bunch of little patterns that are interesting to point out, that mostly lead to angst.

Okay, enjoy!

TL;DR is right before the little bonus thing at the end that's just more angst stuff for Logan that kind of applies.

So if you've been in the fandom for really any amount of time, you will know about The Rainbow Theory. Basically, all it is, is that the sides colors will make up the rainbow, and it seems to be nearly canon. We have all the colors except one. And that color is Orange.

Using the knowledge that this side will (most likely) be orange, we have a clue about him. That he's watching, and that he's aware of the audience.

From 26:34 to 26:44, in the upper left hand corner there is a score in orange text, the number is '07734'. Now, if you were to put that number into a calculator and turn it upside down, it would spell out, 'hello.'

Now this is mostly common knowledge at this point due to the fandom (me included) absolutely losing it over the hint of a new dark side. Especially since he shows up seemingly out of nowhere. I just needed to get those establishing bits out of the way before I continued on with the theory so it's a tiny bit easier to track my thinking (I tend to not explain my points correctly before moving onto the next one so I hope I did a better job of it this time through).

He is speaking to us. He's not saying hello to Patton or Roman or even Thomas! They don't even notice it! He is speaking to the viewer, which leads to the question of what exactly this side knows, and more importantly what this side is capable of.

There is also speculation that this dark side is going to be somehow attached to or the opposite of Logan. The opposite of Logic, that implication alone should be at least a little unsettling. Now, I love Logan, I love him a lot, him and Janus are my favorites. But he does seem to have kind of not the best relations with the others at times. However, I do not think we've reached him actually despising any side, not even Remus or Janus. I think that is going to change.

The color schemes Thomas and the team have been using are really clever. They convey a lot about the character just by having the color associated with them. They have also been working with the idea of opposites. And those opposites seem to conflict quite often.

What I mean is, violet on the color wheel is the opposite of yellow. Virgil and Janus' colors. Now, it is very, very plain to see that Virgil and Janus do not get along. Whatever history they have is still up in the air for specifics, but it's obvious that they have one. And at least Virgil hates Janus.

Red and green are also opposites on the color wheel. Even though they have barely interacted, it's clear by Roman's language towards Remus that they don't have the best relationship. Roman breaks down at the mention that him and Remus are similar. Also the funhouse simile, (DWIT: 35:56) "It's a little like, looking into a funhouse mirror,  but instead of a giant head, or, like, long legs and a tiny torso... It shows you... Everything you don't want to be."   That's more than enough evidence to prove they aren't on the best terms.

Now, onto blue. Blue, more specifically, Logan's shade of blue, is opposite to orange. And judging by the pattern we see developing with the opposite colors. Logan will not like the orange side one bit. Hold onto that piece of information for a moment while I make a few more predictions based on some more patterns.

Someone has already pointed this out, (if someone will be so kind as to remind me of who pointed this out that would be lovely <3), but back in Moving On Part 2, in the background, there is a picture hanging on the wall that will typically change  to fit whatever topic they're currently on, (ex: it changed to a picture of Thomas preforming in the show he won the golden apple for when it was brought up, or a zoomed in picture of the children's book he made.) At 1:30 the picture changes to show Thomas doing the 'speak no evil, hear no evil and see no evil' poses. (Covering his mouth, ears and eyes)

The dark sides and Virgil seem to each have a connection to one of these.

Virgil: See no evil. (Embarrassing Phases: 7:32. Virgil makes the room go completely black, blocking everyone's field of vision while he changed Logan's costume.)

Janus: Speak no evil. (Self-explanatory)

Remus: Hear no evil. (DWIT: 5:36-5:48. Remus muffles the other sides conversation, making Thomas hear him clearer than anyone else with the "Have you ever imagined killing your brother?" line.)  

The last one in that same vein, would be 'do no evil'.

So what does this pattern have to do with the other patterns I've pointed out?

Well, in order to get there, I need to point out, yet another pattern. (I'm so sorry)

Logan has always been a bit more physical than the rest of the sides I think. I don't really like using pre-Fitting In information in my theories, as I'm unsure of exactly how much they had planned at that point?, but I'm unsure of how to explain my point that well without this example. In Accepting Anxiety part 1, at 6:36 you can see Thomas rubbing the back of his head where he was hit with the laptop, immediately after, you can see Logan do the same thing.

To me this sort of establishes that what happens to Thomas can happen to Logan, making him a bit more of a physical presence than the others. The brain is what stimulates pain after all, it controls all the nerve endings and pain receptors.

Another much looser example, is his puppet choice in LNTAO, the whole 'not made of felt' thing was most likely just because of what Logan said that y'know, he didn't feel anything. It is also the fact of, all of the others puppets had felt somewhere on them, except his. Which makes the puppet, in contrast, feel more sturdy and physical.

I don't think this one applies all too much, but it is worth noting that out of all of the sides, Logan tends to always end up holding something/having something more physical in his possession more than the others. (Moving on being the exception)

The note cards.

The yerkes-dodson curve chart.

In Can Lying Be Good he was given a little headset.

Logic Vs. Passion he had a notebook (Which also made an appearance in Embarrassing Phases) as well as the drawings and graphs, while he wasn't physically holding them, they were real and not animation like Roman's examples.

(If you wanna count the crofters go ahead...?)

LNTAO also had the paper ball throwing physically hurting Roman.

In SvS when he was summoned (lmao summoned to appear in court I just got that as I was typing this out.) He is holding a law book.

In DWIT he gets physically hurt, twice. Having his teeth pulled out, and the throwing star. [Side note: the little interaction at 19:07 could also apply here, showing how he's more grounded as he stays almost completely still when Remus practically jump scares him.]

In the Healthy Distractions video he has what I'm assuming is coffee-

Then in the redux, he physically ends up hurting Patton by popping up too close. An odd little detail that really didn't apply, don't you think? And it's immediately followed up with Patton reiterating that they were just figments of Thomas' imagination.

Logan is much more grounded in reality and more physical than the other sides. Which is a very good thing for Logic to be, that's what it has to be.

Now what is the actual theory?

Virgil can blind the others

Remus can mute the others

Janus can silence the others

My theory is that the 'orange side' is going to have the ability to physically or mentally control the others.

And Logan is going to be his chosen victim, at least at first.

Logan is going to have an antagonistic relationship with this side because of the fact that he takes control away from him. Which order and control is what Logan seems to thrive on!

Keeping schedules, having everything in order, being taken seriously, attempting to make sure that Thomas is punctual, all of those things are Logan trying to maintain control. Now that isn't a bad thing in this circumstance at least, he's trying to make sure Thomas doesn't do anything that would cause his life to devolve into chaos.

But when it's taken away from him it's going to send him into some kind of spiral, and lead to his two-part video. Losing control of things is scary as hell. It was one of the points brought up as to why Remus was being a pest more than usual (DWIT: 29:37-29:56). And obviously being ignored and pushed to the side isn't helping either. It could just be the straw that breaks the camels back.

Long story short, Logan's arc is going to be directly tied to that other dark side, at least in my predictions.

And it's going to hurt.

Okay, this last little bit, is purely speculation, with very little connection to anything in canonicity. All of the dark traits seem to have a connection to some kind of animal, and they're typically ones that are seen as gross or creepy in some form, spider, snake, octopus.

What if the last dark side's animal was some kind of bug? A beetle or something. Like seriously the thought of a bright orange beetle or cockroach is, disgusting.

The only reason I'm saying this is because of a random thought I had. We all know Logan's 'robot' persona he puts up, he can't feel anything, he's mechanical, right? Well, a side coming in and completely flipping all of that on it's head, and ruining the control Logan had...

That would be a real bug in the system, now wouldn't it?

Well! Thank you for reading through all of this! I know it got a bit long-winded I just like having as much evidence as possible before stating a theory.

But those were just my thoughts and I'd love to hear yours! So please tell me what you think!!!

TL;DR: My prediction is that the orange side will be able to take control over the other sides, and he will take control of Logan which would cause Logan to spiral enough to warrant his two part video.

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

BONUS: Some more angsty bits about Logan and control, that didn't apply to the theory too much! 

So first off, to me Logan seems like a very straight-forward (ha.) problem solver. If there is a problem there is no need to go through extensive loopholes or anything, no emotional mires or musical numbers unless necessary, the problem just needs to be fixed, period end of sentence.

I have a feeling that Logan applies that same logic to himself.

In the videos prior to Losing My Motivation, Logan was very very happy and bubbly. Easily excited and willing to participate in things he probably wouldn't have otherwise. He was much more expressive. (I know this is most likely because he was not a fully fleshed out character yet, but it can tie into some angst.)

Then in Losing My Motivation, Logan was brought the conclusion that he was the problem. (Note: this was also where the infinitesimal mistake was also made.)

From then on, we can slowly see minor changes to him in the videos, he starts becoming more reserved, serious, as well as trying new things to sort of fit in? (i.e the note cards) He saw the problem, and he tried to fix it. He became the definite voice of reason. Him smiling also went down a lot.

Looking back on this better explains why Logan was so upset at the beginning of Logic Vs. Passion, 2:28-2:41. To him he's already fixed his problem, he's fixed himself, he was the problem, how could Thomas run into this problem again!

Then we get to the crofters musical, where he just completely drops his walls down and sings and has fun with something he enjoys. Then of course, Virgil and Patton kinda come and unintentionally embarrass him. And he starts getting more feelings of inadequacy which build up to the whole problem of LNTAO.

Then in SvS almost his entire time on the witness stand was Janus subtly poking at him, and at 15:04, he talks about wanting to make sure Thomas is punctual and productive. He in fact calls it his passion project, something he is PASSIONATE ABOUT.

After two or three years, Logan is still trying to fix the problem. He's still trying to fix himself.

Now this link to control is mostly in what Logan is trying to get Thomas to do, be punctual, follow schedules, produce adequate content at a steady pace, and follow the same pattern every day, according to the chart in Logic Vs. Passion. This habit forming, tends to nearly eliminate variables from Thomas' life. Earning Logan more control. Which is clearly what he's wanting, as he feels that is the way to prevent problems from happening.

[yelenasdog]

bonnie and clyde (billy/4 x fem reader)

genre: angst

summary: there were five people at the funeral of billy jones. why did two, more specifically one, of them leave?

words: 1.3k

warnings: just vv sad my guy. literally no fluff i hate it here </3 mentions of death, billy’s funeral, and crying.

a/n: yo so idk if billy’s last name is jones but i saw someone on here refer to him as billy jones and i think it’s just bc of ben’s last name but anyway LMFAO. i for some reason couldn’t stop thinking abt this and so i wrote it (as one does fkefnkerjn). also y/n was not used so if u wanted to read this as an x another character or x an oc it would work as well. enjoy :)

🌃🌃🌃

There were five people at the funeral of Billy Jones.

This was common knowledge who would listen long enough to hear the vigilante talk about the experience he had only seen from afar, his own heart growing tender during, or at any mention of, the moment.

But Billy always failed to explain the situation with a full grip, to its entire truth. As to why, most anyone could figure out.

He was afraid.

Afraid of getting her hurt, afraid of thinking of her for just a moment too long, afraid of his impulse driving him to get his ass right back up and go say he still loved her.

Four was afraid of a plethora of horrible scenarios that could occur if he let the truth about his funeral slide to anyone except One (which was bad enough that he had to know by default as it was).

And the irony of it all, was how miniscule and ineffective something like who had left his funeral early and as to why, would be to anyone else on the team.

Sure they all had their secrets that would seep into the pool that was their little family, Three’s mother, One’s lover, Two and Three’s infatuation with each other (though, that one wasn’t really a secret).

Not to mention, Four despised painting her in a bad light, allowing others to think for a fraction of a second that she didn’t leave because her already frail heart couldn’t handle to see her beloved’s name etched onto a gray stone in a patchy field of a horrible green, couldn’t handle the idea that their Bonnie and Clyde reminiscent days (minus the killing of 13 people, that is) had come to an end.

There were two people at the funeral of Billy Jones who left early.

The first? An old friend from his hometown.

He was a wealthy businessman now, having abandoned the life of pretty crime and rush of his youth. He showed up to Four’s not-so-celebration of life in an ashen tux with an obsidian tie and shiny oxfords, and barely a minute into the service he had begun checking his shiny Rolex, probably counting down the seconds until he would be considered late to some important meeting for whatever corporate hoax he was a part of to be able to stay afloat. How ironic.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock

The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to her, while the action itself felt like somewhat of a betrayal, even though Billy and the businessman hadn’t talked in years. It was a kind enough gesture that he had even come to begin with.

But she didn’t care.

Because before the service had even started, salty droplets were rolling down her reddened cheeks, dampening her hoodie, his hoodie, that she had coiled so tightly around herself and her limbs, almost like a corset.

So when the businessman turned to go after what could maybe have been a measly few minutes, she could barely control her anger.

But she did, for Billy. She sucked it up and stayed put, keeping her eyes trained to his mother who was now speaking, her striking emerald eyes also obviously wet. But in reality, Billy had wanted his former lover to turn around and smack that prick square in the face.

But then 4 took some time and realized that if it were the other way around and she had been dead, he could conjure in his mind how distressed he would be to where he would prefer to focus on wallowing in his sadness for her and her only, not be consumed by anger for some random fellow.

Billy truly wanted to leave One where he stood, wanted to run to where her shaking was escalating from ever so slightly to violently as could be, wrapping her in his strong arms she already missed. The strong arms that she believed should have kept him safe when he was dangling from that damned building with that damned necklace in his mouth.

The image could have been some renaissance painting with how beautiful he looked, even then, on the brink of what the world would know as the death of Billy Jones.

In fact, most of Billy’s and the girl’s adventures could be different renaissance paintings. Alive and free, bursting with vibrant colors and emotions that weren’t able to be captured with words, so rather, they were thrown on a canvas in what was somehow a meticulously put together flurry.

On that rainy day, the weather so fitting to what she had been feeling, she wished for nothing more than to somehow place herself back into those non-existent paintings, to even for a fraction of a second bask in his never ending love like some sort of oasis.

She wanted to run her fingers through his golden curls one last time, kiss his forehead goodnight one last time, to tell him she loved him more than anything in this universe, one last time.

But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t ever get to.

And her one final chance to say what she wanted him to hear, she had missed out on, as that’s when she had left.

It was long after the uptight man in the fitted suit, long after his crying mother had gone from where she was speaking up front, back to the shadows of her baby’s grim event that she should never have had been alive to see.

She had managed to drag herself halfway up to where his casket was sitting just above the ground, trying to not look at the box a second too long.

Rather, she pretended there was a pair of rose colored glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, helping her pretend that this was all some big misunderstanding, that Billy was just pulling one of his infamous pranks.

He would pop out from behind the tent covering the few who stood with their feet shifting on the damp soil, or perhaps from the headstone of his very own grave. She would gasp or shriek and then smack his arm, lecturing him as he grabbed his chest, doubling over in laughter, the sound like music to her ears.

God, what she would do to hear that sound one more time.

Nevertheless, in the end he would stand up, and wipe her tears from her sweet face, pressing gentle kisses on either of her cheeks to rid her of that pout he hated to admit he loved. She would crack a small smile and he would punch a celebratory fist in the air at the gesture, leaving her to only shake her head at his antics. He would sling an arm around her shoulders, nustling close to her as they would exit the graveyard, never coming back until the inevitable day they both had lived their happiest and fullest lives together.

He would say “You know you love me.” And without a doubt, every time, she would say “Yeah, I do.”

But not this time.

This time, she would let her eyes wander to a tall tree just over the hill, slimming her puffy eyes. She rubbed them and did a double take, and swore that for a moment she had seen what looked like his figure next to one of someone she had never seen before.

And that’s when she left.

She let out an ugly sob, running as fast as her feet could take her to wherever that wasn’t there, the sound of her shoes against the cold ground muted, but the sound of her uneven breathing was anything but.

As for all she knew, it was her mind playing a cruel, cruel, trick on her. Or even her mind trying to give her some sort of closure to move on.

Whatever it was, though, was simply too much for her to process, too much to handle. So she had left, given up on what she didn’t know was her only chance to give a proper goodbye.

“You think she saw you?”

“I hope so.”

🌃🌃🌃

we vibing w this?? i hope so hehe. WAIT PUN NOT INTENDED LMFAO I DID THAT PERIODT! anyway, have a wonderful day/night, and go drink water and eat protein, it’s all abt intention!! i love u! also if u have any questions abt this fic pls do lmk bc ik some of it was kinda weird! 

p.s., pls pls pls reblog this! this is my first ben related fic and ik when it’s ur first fic for a fandom they can flop so it would be very cool if y’all could help me out a lil bit :) either way ily, thank u! kk bye

xx hj

[whumpbby]

1/2 I feel like a bad fan sometimes because I can't bring myself to like Stephanie. Even the tug war between cannon and fandom stuff can endear me to her. Canon wise she comes off as a shitty person, selfish and the way she treats the bats except for Cass sometimes it's some of the worse the only good thing I can say it's that it's realistic. Some people be like that (And I see a lot of my old self in her and I HAD to change so much to be better. Cuz it's not quirky being mean, it's just mean)

2/2 But then fandom has this pedestal to her, she does no wrong or it's always justify, she's perfect! And that makes me dislike her even more (It's movie!Hermione all over again). I read one fic where I liked her portrail, one fic where the author wasn't trying to make her more competent then everyone else (minus Cass I guess). Guess I don't get what is the big deal when batman has so many more interesting and dimensional characters, her and some of the latest Jokers just lack originality to me

***************************

Anon, on one hand I get you. I am a fan of some characters and not others. The issue you have with Stephanie, I have with Cass - can’t like her, see nothing there to interest me, every time I see her described as ‘virtually perfect’ I walk away.

I think that crux of the matter is that canon Steph isn’t a person. No character is a person in DC or Marvel or anything that have been running for so long. No one is a character or a person, there is just a compilation of traits that many different writers invented for their stories. At this point getting to know a character in that fandom is like basing your knowledge of a them on fanfic alone - which is pretty accurate, canon at this point is just fanfic that someone gets paid for. 

So, in that light, there’s no ‘real’ Steph you can like or dislike. There are iterations of her. And when the fans like a character, they pick the best iteration of them and run with it.

On another hand, anon, every character you like is only a perfect version of them that have been chosen and cultivated by you in the same way Steph’s fans cultivate her ‘perfect’ image. So are these perfect Cass’ iterations. So is the whole ‘Duke is flawless’. So are Tim’s stans. So are Dick’s stans. Barb’s stans. So am I, a Jason stan. 

I chose the best version of Jason I could build using the blocks that canon offered me, ignoring the ones that didn’t fit, and this is the version I will stick to. I don’t know all about Jason. I am not 100% critical of his character. I made him to respond to my needs entertainment-wise and I am closing my ears to all and any critique of him coming from people who find it annoying. I don’t care for another opinion, I am not here to have my likes questioned.

Steph, objectively, is not suffering from an unoriginal backstory or a lack of interesting plot potential. She has a splendid origin and more going on in personal life than, say, Tim ever had (calm down Tim stans, I am speaking of plot points to explore, not personal merit). That she’s badly written more often than not is an issue in her characterisation. 

That she is written as being ‘rude’ to the characters you personally may like is a bigger issue in your perception of her, because that’s what it usually comes down to. Personal bias.

For example, it took me personally a LONG time to warm up to Damian, because as much as his story was worth telling, he was written as caustic shit to characters I already liked and I had no patience for him because of that. Had he been a caustic shit to the ones I didn’t care about? He’d be fine. (’s like I only ever find Slade palatable when he’s away from the Batfam, when he deals with characters I have no emotional stock in).

Look, it took me retooling Damian in his entirety to write him with any amount of sympathy. The Damian in my stories? Has almost nothing in common with canon kid. My Jason? Again, a mirage I’ve created to suit my tastes. My Bruce? Barely reflecting his canon self.

And some people are here for these iterations I’ve made up - and I am following certain people for their iterations. And some of them I don’t like and won’t accept, and that’s fine. 

It doesn’t make you a bad fan to not like ALL OF CHARACTERS EQUALLY, it’s a ridiculous and unrealistic demand to be made of a fan of anything, really. You like what you like. It’s like the time I was accused of being anti-feminist because I personally can’t stomach Harley Quinn - a known abuse survivor, so of course my dislike had to be a mark of a bigger issue I had with women in general (I do have an issue with many female characters in general, but that’s another matter entirely lol) because a person can’t just dislike a character others like.  

Rest assured, no moral high-ground here, I am side-eyeing Jason-haters too;] Every time I hear someone praise Joker I have to stop myself from going ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?! and sometime it works, sometimes it doesn’t>> I am working on keeping my dislike to my personal blog. 

You are not a bad fan if you steer clear of a character that’s a firm no to you for whatever reason. A fan is only ever bad when they intentionally get into others’ faces with their issues and cause dissent, because they need to change their minds. 

But the ting to understand here is that rarely ever the fault lays in the character alone. Most of it lays on the shoulders of our personal biases and likes, so the opinion we are expressing should come with that caveat.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Hollow III

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Gordon Tracy, Jeff Tracy, Virgil Tracy

Part 3 of my contribution @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Sixth Sense. Part 1 | Part 2

So far there’s been very little sixth sense going on in this fic, despite the challenge.  Time for that to change, with one of my absolute favourite things to write!

The ocean lapped against the rocks far below them, but in the silence of the night it was easily audible even at the upper layers of the villa.  The gentle sound of water nudging the island was a peaceful one, calm and serene under a blanket of stars and the slightest rustle of wind through the trees. Gordon should have been relaxed, lulled into deep security and slumber by the song of his favourite thing on the planet.

He wasn’t.  A dream he didn’t remember had been cut off abruptly by a sensation of dread, and amber eyes had snapped open to stare at the ceiling in something bordering on fright.  There was no reason for his sudden fear – the shadows in his room, while not yet fully familiar, were still and unmoving.  He’d never been afraid of the dark.  The sounds of the world assured him that everything was fine.  Lapping waves and whispering leaves spoke of peace and harmony.  Everything was right with the world.

Everything except the tingling of his spine, a ghostly brush of something against the back of his neck.  They were barely there, a touch too light to be real, but Gordon curled up under his covers and clenched his eyes shut, begging the strangeness to stop.

It didn’t.  No matter how much he willed the strange feelings away, told them to leave him alone and let him sleep, they didn’t. Burrowing down under blankets, using them like a towel to rub his back, was equally futile and with a small whine he made a controlled tumble out of bed.  He didn’t know what time it was, only that it was dark and too early to be allowed in the pool, but all thoughts of attempting to get back to sleep were chased away by the persistent prickling.

Gordon was a big boy, now. He wasn’t Alan, who ran crying to the nearest big brother at the slightest provocation – and sometimes not even that – for protection and gentle reassurances.  He’d grown out of that years ago.  It was for that reason that when he crept out of his own bedroom, vainly hoping the prickling would stay in it and therefore get left behind, he didn’t immediately make a beeline for the closest door.

Virgil was his go-to brother.  Sure, he had Scott and John, but John wasn’t one for comforting and Scott was too likely to mother him.  Virgil would be ready with a big warm hug and a smile, and then everything was fine again. He should go to Virgil.

He passed Virgil’s door without even slowing.  He was a big boy now, he didn’t need smothering, but his feet took him straight past John’s room and came to a stop outside Scott’s.  Sometimes, something was sufficiently weird enough to need the big guns, in this case an overprotective big brother.  Besides, it was the middle of the night.  Virgil would be asleep; Gordon wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Scott sleep.  He’d always been awake, no matter what time of day or night.

A light sleeper, like Gordon himself.  One of the things they had in common – the almost silent sound of his door opening would always rouse Scott, and it was with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be alone with this creepy crawling on his back that he nudged it open, slipping through the crack and heading straight for Scott’s bed.

Scott wasn’t there.

The tingling of his spine increased, now a ghostly version of pins and needles.  Why wasn’t Scott in bed?  It was the middle of the night, he should be in bed!  He padded over to the ensuite, just in case Scott was in there, and knocked lightly on the door.  Slightly ajar, it opened wider at the slight pressure and he flinched back, waiting for Scott to chew him out for invasion of privacy.

He didn’t.  The ensuite was as empty as the bedroom, and Gordon hopped from foot to foot, looking around for a clue as to his big brother’s location.  In the night time gloom, he didn’t see anything, but the thought occurred to him that maybe Scott had gone for a drink – or a midnight snack.

He should probably wait for him in his room, but the prickling in his back was still there and Gordon wanted it to go away sooner rather than later.  Scott had to be in the kitchen, so Gordon would go to the kitchen. Satisfied with his logic, he padded out of Scott’s room, only to collide with a tall figure.

“Oof!” the tall figure said. “Sco- Gordon, is that you?”

“Dad?” Gordon asked, peering up at him.  “Why are you up?”

“I should be asking you that, young man,” his Dad said.  “What are you doing out of bed and coming out of Scott’s room in the early hours of the morning?”

Gordon shuffled from foot to foot again.

“Was looking for Scott,” he admitted, looking at the floor.  “But he’s not here.”

“What do you mean, he’s not here?” his Dad demanded, stepping past Gordon to push Scott’s door wide open again.

“I thought maybe he was getting a drink,” Gordon hurried to add, but Dad shook his head and he wilted.

“I’ve just come from the kitchen, Gordon,” he said.  “Your brother isn’t there.”  Gordon frowned.

“Then where is he?” he asked, shuddering a little as the ghostly pins and needles got worse.

“Go back to bed,” his Dad told him.  “I’ll see if John knows.”  Gordon didn’t want to go to bed.  Not when Scott wasn’t in his room or downstairs in the kitchen, and definitely not while his spine was being jabbed with imaginary thistles.  He peered around his Dad as the man pushed John’s door open, and his eyes widened when he realised John wasn’t in his bed either.

His Dad made a noise that sounded very angry – the same grumble under his breath when Gordon got another detention that meant he was going to be grounded for a week.

“Dad?” he asked quietly, and the man looked at him.

“Go back to bed, Gordon,” he ordered.  “It seems that your older brothers have decided to disobey me.”  Gordon knew when to push and when to leave well enough alone. Dad was not happy and if he didn’t do as he was told, he’d get in trouble, too.

But what had Scott and John done?

He slunk back to his own room, but his back was still prickly and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep so he stood by the door and listened.  As soon as he heard Dad’s footsteps recede, going back down the stairs he slipped out of his room again and into the room next door, where he should have gone all along, even if Virgil would be grumpy about being woken.

Bizarrely, Virgil was already awake, standing by his window and looking out at the stars.  Caught by surprise, Gordon stumbled and Virgil was there, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him over to his bed.

“Bad dream?” he asked sympathetically.  Gordon shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t sleep.”  He couldn’t find a way to say that his back had pins and needles without actually having pins and needles, but Virgil didn’t ask questions, just pulled him into a hug.

“Me neither,” Virgil told him.  “Something feels… off.  I don’t know what, but I don’t like it.”

“Scott and John aren’t in their rooms,” Gordon volunteered.  “Dad’s angry about it.  Said they disobeyed him.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, furrowing his brow as he thought.  “They must have gone stargazing,” he concluded after a moment.  “Dad said John couldn’t but Scott probably took him anyway.”  He sighed and pulled Gordon into a tight bear hug, which he snuggled into gratefully.  “I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”  His voice was tight and his grip on Gordon even tighter.

Gordon was eleven, not stupid.

“We should look for them,” he said.  Virgil shook his head.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said, even though it was clear he wanted to go.  “Dad told us not to leave the complex.”  Gordon squinted up at him.

“You’re worried,” he pointed out and Virgil sighed.

“Of course I am,” he said. “But Scott and John can look after themselves and until they get back I’ve got to look after you, squirt.”

“Alan’s the squirt,” Gordon huffed, but despite his protest he curled up even closer to Virgil.  “We’ll wait up,” he decided.  “Then once Dad’s finished yelling we can yell, too.”

Virgil’s chuckle was dry and weak, but it was still a chuckle.

“That sounds like a plan,” he agreed.

Part IV

[mchalowitz]

the process by which time passes

REPOST. you guys. @lilydalexf is the true mvp of this saga. she happened to have the story still open and was kind enough to send it to me. i owe her so much gratitude (as well as the other amazing xf bloggers that reached out to me). although i don’t interact much socially around here, it is amazing to be a part of a fandom that is so kind and supportive! writing xf fic is a creative outlet i enjoy so much and i love sharing it. now back to our regularly scheduled reading. (also if you guys wouldn’t mind boosting this new version so i can see the feedback, i would be so grateful.)

this is something i’ve been writing (at this point) for probably almost a year, which is one reason i’ve been pretty quiet on the fic-posting front. i’m so excited for everyone to finally see it but terrified at the idea that it’s not just an idea that only i know about anymore. it was originally the back half of a wip i abandoned but i couldn’t let this part go. enjoy!!

Mulder gives her a tight hug on the side of a desert highway. Scully presses her forehead to his chest, hoping her thoughts might leave her mind, reach his heart, and convince him to stay. He still gets in the SUV and she never sees him again.

In true Fox Mulder fashion, his physical presence isn’t needed to be a constant reminder. Government officials that she once exchanged pleasantries with at the coffee machine bang down her door and rip apart the life he abandoned.

“Have you heard anything?”

Skinner rifles through papers until the door clicks shut. Her badge feels heavy on her lapel. It feels wrong to be here.

“Only the official warrant,” Skinner answers. That was weeks ago. She has to frequently remind herself that he is doing the best he can. He can’t make it too obvious he’s interested in the hunt. She certainly can’t go digging herself.

“They’re closing the X-files,” he informs her. “There is an appeal process…”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully interrupts. “My assignment was to assess the validity of Mulder’s investigations. There is nothing to assess.”

“You believe in the work.”

“I’m a scientist,” she reminds him, offering nothing else.

Her final report is a jumble of words that states, no matter what she believed, the X-Files should never be reopened.

–

Scully spends idle days breathing in wet air on her mother’s porch. She hopes the sea might soothe her.

A week later, as she plans her return to Washington, she decides emphatically that it did not.

She discovers heart medication in her mother’s bathroom cabinet. Maggie attempts to downplay the circumstances, “It was a blip on a screen, Dana. The doctor said it was just precautionary,” but to Scully, it’s a call to action.

It isn’t difficult to resign. It seemed like it should, after giving the FBI almost a decade of herself, and much, much more than that.

She cries silently in her car after handing over the keys to her dream apartment and saying goodbye to her meticulously curated life.

She reminds herself starting over is the only way to move on. But she isn’t sure she believes it.

–

Scully is a seasoned Special Agent of the FBI, an instructor of pathology, but she struggles to call herself a doctor. After an onslaught of rejected resumes, she begins to believe the medical community of Maryland agrees.

A small hospital outside Baltimore is wowed by her determination alone. At the bottom of the ladder, no one knows the reputation of Agent Scully. She showed promise and expertise in her role, even if her partner was a kook. Dr. Scully has never formally practiced medicine and her bedside manner leaves something to be desired.

Scully hopes for an opening in pathology, where she might be more understood. John From Human Resources hums along with her plight. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he promises.

She begins noticing him behind her in the cafeteria line. On a fall day, she is trying to decide on the best fruit cup when he sides up to her. He is whisper-quiet, conspiratorial in tone when he says, “I wanted to give you a heads up that Dr. Harris may be retiring at the end of the year.”

The may sounds more like an is. A weight inside her lifts.

John assures her she is the first choice when the position officially becomes available. When he leads her to her new office in January, he asks her out to drinks to celebrate, and Scully is surprised, because she forgot people could see her that way.

John is completely unlike anyone else she’s been with. He is endlessly dependable. She never has to worry about where he is because he calls when he’ll be late. He thrives on a fastidious routine and makes safe, informed decisions.

Scully finally moves out of her mother’s house and into a modern three-bedroom she purchases with John. She leads an entirely new life. She climbs the ranks in pathology and is still able to go on real dates, and eat home cooked meals while they’re still hot, and sit in the pew every Sunday. She goes on weekend hikes and uninterrupted trips to the coast and has fine, but not life changing, sex. She accepts John’s proposal on the beach with a beautiful ring.

They have a small wedding. She doesn’t take his last name.

John tries so hard, never asks about her time in the FBI, even tries to adopt a child with her. When it falls through at the last minute, they decide on a dog instead. They get divorced after two years.

In her office one late morning, the phone on her desk lights up. “Dr. Scully, there’s a man on line one asking for you.”

“Thank you,” she says into the speaker. She picks up the receiver with the assumption of a request for a consult. “This is Dr. Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

She drops the phone.

–

Scully’s stomach is in knots. She is too nervous to order any food. Mulder sits across from her at a diner, looking older and scruffier, and she wonders if this is all a cruel hallucination.

“Where have you been?”

His fingers tap nervously on the table. “Farrs Corner.”

After exploring little towns in the far reaches of nowhere, she remembers that’s Virginia. When she presses for how long, she discovers he’s been within driving distance almost this entire time. Her fingers clench. She wants to strangle him.

“It’s been six years, Mulder. Why now?”

“The FBI dropped the charges against me. I helped them with a case, they wiped the slate clean. I can start my life again, Scully, come back.”

Forget strangle, Scully wants to kill him. He thinks he can just come back? His ignorance to the domino effect of his actions has to be purposeful.

There was a life they wanted to live together that never had the chance to become a reality. She has spent six years trying to fill her life with meaning. Her marriage failed, her career path faltered. They have a child that is no longer theirs.

Scully stands from the booth. She stares down at him, asserts her power.

“I thought you were dead.”

He just nods. He suggests she give him a call, now that she has his number.

She doesn’t.

–

Scully always forgave Mulder too quickly; it was their fatal flaw. She frequently ignored this piece of common knowledge by justifying his more unsavory behavior as residual childhood trauma, or a severe lack of social skills, or plainly being obtuse.

She never found a way to justify him leaving her when she needed him without looking like an emotionally manipulated moron. How could she possibly forgive the embarrassment and isolation she felt after giving up her own child for ostensibly no reason?

Scully bared her soul to him, her body, and gave him everything she had, and she still took a backseat to his quest. There was a brief time where she thought something finally switched in him and the quest would take a backseat to her. In the earliest days of the millenium, working their way up from something undefined to something real.

A month passes. She speaks to no one about her meeting with Mulder, but when she has idle moments, it fills her mind. She tries to remain hot when she begins wondering what Mulder’s life is like now. She attempts to imagine how he filled six years worth of time, because he was never a picture of duality, never able to separate his life from his work, and what can he do after leaving it behind?

It’s a slow burning curiosity. Weeks long. She begins to think he didn’t push during their last meeting because he knew it would happen like this.

She scrolls through recent calls to find the number he left on her office phone. Scully hears the hello in that familiar voice and doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Mulder, it’s me.”

–

Scully sees a dream realized when she pulls up to a little house with a spacious porch on sprawling land. Mulder never liked the city.

He is clearly thrilled to finally present his vegetable garden and his paintings while giving her the grand tour. He recounts putting in the new water heater himself and his plans to replace the roof next spring.

Mulder makes her pasta and gives her the “good chair.” When her stomach is full, they talk about old times. She hasn’t talked about these things in years because she knew there was no one else that can laugh about what she saw instead of instantly recoiling except for the man sitting across from her.

“I have to get back,” she realizes when she sees the sun beginning to set out the window. They spent almost the whole day together. He nods in understanding.

“You see I’m not living in squalor,” he jokes as he walks her to her car.

“It certainly wasn’t the dilapidated hut I was expecting,” she teases. Her tone shifts from silly to serious. “You know, Mulder, after our last meeting, I really didn’t want to come here. I thought…I think you know what I thought. But I’m glad I came.”

“I appreciate any chance you’ll give me, Scully,” he replies.

–

Farrs Corner becomes a regular destination.

Mulder easily becomes the companion she was lacking, the return of the best friend she lost. Even with the passage of time, he still knows her better than anyone else.

She stops offering up her free Friday nights for on-call autopsies and tox screens to watch movies with take-out picked up just before civilization ends.

Without a Saturday shift to spoil their fun, they indulge in the full six pack of their favorite beer. His feet are propped on the coffee table next to their abandoned pizza box, as she folds her legs underneath her on the cushion beside him. She is full-bellied and warm.

“I can’t believe you were married,” he says in disbelief, taking a swig from his bottle. “Considering how many of my proposals you turned down.”

“Maybe I would’ve accepted if any of them had been serious.”

“So you’re saying there was a chance?”

She laughs and nudges his shoulder with the side of her bottle.

When she catches his eye, she sees a person that, yes, she thought she might marry someday. When she was younger, less hard, and had never seen the face of a child that was half him, half her.

She leans forward and presses her lips to his, jerking back as soon as he begins to respond. She tries to find something to say, a reasoning, but she finds his curious gaze, and can’t think of anything to say.

He closes the distance between them and starts where she left off. His kiss is wonderful. It’s hopeful and sexy as all hell.

He nudges her jaw aside with his chin, his mouth seeking out her neck. Her fingers tangle in his hair. “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggests.

–

Standing at the foot of his bed, Scully realizes she’s never been in Mulder’s bedroom before. He has simple furnishings; dark wood and soft blues. His belt clunks when it hits the floor. His bare chest warms her back.

She remembers his warmth, his proclivity to be so tender and gentle, and to let her lead the way. She turns and guides him onto the bed.

Modest kisses quickly turn unrestrained. He breaths in long pants as he shoves her panties down her thighs, letting her kick them over her ankle before hooking them over his hips.

He slips in so easily. Scully explores his changed body; the shifting muscles in his back, his thinner, sweat dampened hair against her hands, his ass clenching as he rocks into her.

Electricity runs through her when his fingers drift to her clit, taking her right to the edge. “Fuck,” he groans, his lips at her ear. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

She moans in utter bliss, deliriously overtaken. When she comes, she shatters. Mulder thrusts two, three times more, before following behind. He spurts hotly into her with growls of satisfaction.

Breathing heavily, they lay bonelessly on their backs. She feels the sweat cooling at her hairline. Her lips break into a big smile and a laugh leaves her lips. His follows and he raises her hand to his lips, feeling his joyous puffs of air against her skin.

“We are still very good at that,” she decides, turning her head toward him.

“You did always bring out the best in me,” he agrees.

Scully finds his boyish nerves when he mentions spending the night charmingly endearing. She wordlessly moves to press herself into his side, clinging to him in answer.

–

Mulder calls their connection cosmic, though Scully doesn’t believe in cosmicity. An otherworldly connect would trivialize their effort so far in their new era.

She worried how they would assimilate into each other’s worlds without the commonality of what easily linked them before. While their forced separation may never be seen as a positive in her eyes, it did allow for the growth to be content in domesticity.

Scully adores the version of Mulder she met over two decades ago. With his unwavering desire for truth and his absolutely brilliant mind. The hours they can spend talking remind her of that man often. They spar as they always did, laugh like no time has passed.

She delights in the side of him that is at peace with the mundane. He likes filling her drawers with clean scrubs, and working in the yard until he returns smelling like freshly cut grass, and giving her drafts of his paranormal mystery novel.

Uncensored honesty is their biggest challenge. It would be so easy to never discuss what plagued them in the past. They finally get to air their fear, their guilt, and their grief. Scully thinks she and Mulder come out better on the other side.

Mulder leads her to the quiet corners of the world, using his freedom to finally venture off his little property. They luxuriate in the Bahamas shortly after their first night together and they start stopping at all the roadside attractions they used to skip. He plans to finally take her to England and show her all the off beaten paths from his youth. She would go anywhere with him.

A beach house in Maine is this weekend’s activity. Scully accidentally leaves her stack of reading on the desk in her office. “I’ll grab them quick and we’ll go,” she promises him, hanging onto the open passenger side window.

“Don’t leave the coast waiting too long,” he teases. “I’m starting to lose my island glow.” She rolls her eyes at him and pushes up on her toes to kiss him briefly.

Though she promises to be quick, Scully still signs into her computer. She printed out the newest articles hastily before an autopsy and notices now that the first ten pages of the article on top are missing. She finds herself drawn to begin reading when she goes to reprint. She pulls out her chair with blind arms, sitting down absently.

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been gone until she sees Mulder enter. “I was starting to think you’d fallen in,” he jokes.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. He brushes off her apology with a wave of his hand, rounding the desk to brace his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you reading?” he asks.

Case 43-2009. 8-year-old with Brain Scan Abnormalities Presents Potentially Unseen Neurological Disorder.

She breaks her gaze at the screen to bring her eyes up to Mulder.

“We need to find our son.”

[heartless-error]

Broken, not perfect, but together. - Chapter 4

Fandom: DC comics, Batman

Pairings: Jonathan Kent x Damian Wayne (JonDami) & Jason Todd x Timothy Drake (JayTim)

Rating: General, family feels, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, running away

Other(s) links: AO3

Broken.

The Batfamily was broken.

It was six years ago, and they had barely stood together since then, trying to stand up despite guilt and regret.

Damian was sure there was nothing to save, not after losing something that he didn’t know he cared about. But when a new opportunity to get back what they had lost appeared, he cannot help to doubt as his past decisions haunt him again.

If you love somebody, set them free. But you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Chapter 4

 6 years ago

 “Damian?” Jon asked quietly. “Are you there?”

 No answer.

 He didn’t expect it either, but the vague concern and suspicion that had led him fly away on a Tuesday evening to go to Gotham and see his partner increased in the back of his mind, along with his patience beginning to wear thin.

 He held on the window frame and peered silently into the room. The place seemed tidy and same as ever, Damian’s things were in their right place as he liked, and drawings materials with his current notebook were placed on the table, but as if they had not been used recently. That was weird, along with the fact that everything was where it had to be except the owner of the room, who was the person he had come looking for and could not see anywhere.

 This made Jon snort in exasperation. He knew Damian was here, he heard him, he felt him. He couldn’t see him, but that wasn’t necessary to find him. Robin couldn’t hide from him, not for long, and that was precisely what he had come to tell him. Because Damian had been avoiding him and thinks it’s for good reason.

 Yes. These past two days he had been ignoring him, and it might not be anything, but his instincts told him otherwise, so he fly away and now is upset in front of his window, debating whether to enter or not. But he knew that if he didn’t decide quickly Batman would probably catch him and scold him again for sneaking around Gotham without permission, or worse, Alfred would.

 Jon didn’t want to confront Alfred and had flown there for a reason, so taking a decision was very easy.

 “I’m going in.” He warned as he entered the room and closed the window and the curtains behind him, just in case.

 It was when he was inside and looking around that Jon was increasingly aware that he was here because of a very small and insignificant hunch. It had only been two days since Damian didn’t reply any texts, or calls, or give any signs of life in general. It wasn’t that long, it wasn’t even that much, he might be busy or on some mission, who knows?

But Jon was still irritated and worried. To be fair, that’s how he felt most of the time lately, because he was 13, Ktyptonian puberty was weird and he knew that wanting to talk to Damian and hear from him with such intensity wasn’t common. But he was already there, suspected something was wrong, warned before got in, had certain privileges for being his best friend and he only wanted answers. There was no turning back now.

 “Damian?” He asked again as he walked into the room, searching for him and being careful not to touch anything.

 As he flew there, he had been wondering how to ask him why hadn’t texted him these days, what his reasons might be, and why he cared so much. But now that Jon was there, those questions along with that part of him that had been worried and screaming in the background intensified as he confirmed part of his suspicions, realizing the unusual silence surrounding the manor, the sad atmosphere dominating the room and where Damian might actually be hiding.

 Something’s happened.

 He doesn’t know what, or if it’s very serious, but it’s enough for Bruce and his father to be on the phone for hours, for Clark being thoughtful and shocked after that, for break the fragile balance of the manor and for Damian to go to his usual hiding place when something went wrong.

And confirming it, makes the need to see him intensify.

 Sighing and approaching the bed, he felt how the unease began to dominate him, as well as the curiosity of wanting to know what happened, how could he help and why it had affected his partner so much. It had to be bad, because it meant Damian hadn’t contacted him because of whatever had happened in Gotham.

At least it hadn’t been because of he’d been dreading internally in silence, that thing about Damian meeting a pretty, wealthy girl of his same age and status in Gotham High, more interesting and adequate than Jon and the one who Damian could end up falling in love, going to prom, marrying and running into the sunset with their countless children to live together forever as he completely forget about him and the special and unique bond they share and… Enough.

 C’mon Jon, you’re not doing yourself any favor. And now it’s not the right moment, Jonathan, you have to help Damian.

 So, crouching down on the side of the mattress, he grabbed the sheet and lifted it up as he peeked under it.

There were two pairs of green eyes in the darkness under the bed, and only one of them looked at him while the other remained fixed on nothing.

 “Dami.” He called him softly.

 Whatever has happened has to be big or emotionally conflictive, because Damian only chooses to take refuge under his bed when he has big breakdowns. And right now, seeing how the current Robin is lying on his back on the ground, in silence, without any expression, looking at nothing in the dark and holding his cat on his chest without strength, it was clear that he was fighting with himself more than usual.

 “I’m going down there with you, okay?” He said kindly as before.

 If he didn’t want it that way, didn’t show any of it. He just stayed just quiet and still as Jon slid under the mattress and lay down, enough close to him so their shoulders brushed.

He wondered if his lack of reaction was because he was too deep in his own head to deny him the entry or because his best friend privileges allowed him to be there. Whatever, he knew Damian was well aware of his presence no matter how much he didn’t show it.

 The floor was clean, not cozy but this particular hideaway was always kept pretty decent. Damian never told him in detail, but he knew the reason he tended to hide here or in other tight places when was sad is because made him feel safe in a certain way. During his time in the league, he might have been treated like a prince, but should always be on guard, watching for his surroundings and ready to fight. But if he locked himself in a small place where no one could reach him, he had a moment of solitude and peace, because nobody could attack behind his back nor take him by surprise, he had the control and the security of being vulnerable for a single moment.

It’s also because once, after arguing with Tim over any nonsense that would affect him too much, he hid there. When the third Robin went looking for him he pretended not to find him, and Damian ended up sleeping. When he woke up a while later, he was in bed, tucked up and Tim sleeping next to him. They didn’t speak about it or apologize later, but they didn’t need to.

 However, unlike them, Jon need to speak with him now. To know what happened and why of his reaction. As much as the silent support he was used to give him was there, he feared that this time it wouldn’t be enough.

 He always feared not to be enough for Damian.

 After a few minutes of silence between them, Jon slowly raised his hand to caress Alfred the cat, who had not moved from his place or taken his eyes off him since he joined them, as if wondering what he was doing there, despite being used to his presence.

 However, while he was debating how to start the conversation -or whether to start it-, like a good cat he was, Alfred sniffed his hand, allowed him to pet him twice and then got tired, meowed in protest and quickly get off from Damian’s chest to ran away.

 Jon didn’t know if apologize to the cat for bothering him or to apologize to Damian for taking away the comfort his pet gave him. But instead he said nothing and lowered his hand again in disappointment, still unsure what to do.

 Damian still didn’t react, didn’t even seem sad for the cat’s disappearance, and his concern increased. But when he lowered his hand Jon could feel the touch of his, warm and close, so close, and easy to grab for comfort and to show him that he was still by his side. Would it be okay? How far he could press his luck today?

He was doubting again, almost panicking, when Damian’s voice finally broke the silence, revealing the cause of the entire disaster.

 “Todd and Drake are dating.”

 He said it in a monotonous and indifferent tone, which was clearly feigned. And at the revelation of that information, Jon tilted his head to stare at him, frowning but not saying anything now that Damian had begun to speak.

 “We found out two nights ago, nobody liked it.” He continued, still in that cold and analytical tone. “Grayson and Father argued with them in the cave. Drake ended up crying.”

 Jon frowned further and felt Damian’s hand shake lightly, as if he was holding back to clench his fist. He couldn’t blame him, Tim tends a lot to hold back his emotional responses and hide them carefully, everyone knows he has to be very affected and shaken to break like that. He doesn’t want to know what kinds of things could have been said in that fight to make Tim reach that limit, but the expectation causes him an agonizing and alarming discomfort.

 “They want them to break up.” Damian said. “Because it’s dangerous, risky and irresponsible.”

 This time was Jon who clenched his fist, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

 It was common knowledge that bats were very competent as detectives, they could catch rapist, drug dealers or killers with four clues or less. But when it comes to feelings, emotions, or relationships… Well, they had too many secrets, too many risks, and they are too compromised to the crusade to risk anything. They could even saw close friendships as dangerous in punctual moments.

 However, Tim and Jason were an even bigger complication, and now he was starting to understand Damian’s conflicts and why he was like this. Because not only was Tim’s civil identity as CEO of WE added to the above, if not also the fact that both had strayed too far from the family -or at least from Bruce- in recent years. The relationship was tense and although he didn’t know the details, resentment was palpable in their interactions, you could tell Batman didn’t like the “Red team” and even Jon was aware that the only reason they put a feet on the manor were Damian, Alfred and Batcow.

 Damian, who knew everything now, who had heard the fight and the same cruel words as them, who loved Tim and Jason as brothers more than ever since he started growing up by their side.

 Damian, who couldn’t be agreed with those statements because, with him, he knew how happy Tim and Jason could be together.

 “They can’t do that.” Jon answered, sighing uneasily. “They’ve been dating for three years already.”

 Finally, that was what made Damian look away from the mattress to him, their faces too close, but his eyes sparkling with curiosity and reproach. Silently asking how he knew such detail.

Jon hesitated, not knowing how to answer properly. It had been obvious to him, with the flirting, the looks, the stolen sweatshirts, the shared safe houses, and the close and angry surveillance Kon kept on Hood sometimes. But he chose to say the more obvious and important reason to him.

 “I know how a heart in love sounds like.” He replied, looking at the other intently.

 Yes, he knew it. Learning to control his super-hearing had helped him to identify those kinds of things over time. And he learned to say what was behind the hearts that skipped a beat when seeing that person, behind those that beat fast when being too close or those who rumbled with strength and vigor just by being together.

 He knew it because it was how his and Damian’s had always sounded.

 And for a moment they said nothing, they were quiet again, looking at each other in the dim darkness, in their hiding place. Too much to say, too much to feel, too much to talk about. Jon swallowed hard and Damian shuddered in his position.

 “They said it’s dangerous… Because Todd tried to kill Drake.” Damian ended up saying, lowering his voice and showing more uncertainty in his tone this time. “Because he was a killer, he was a criminal. And they can’t trust him.”

 And there, there, there was the real problem.

 The real reason Damian was in that state, hiding under his bed and not wanting to see anyone, not wanting to see him.

 Because Jason was a killer, he was a criminal and he tried to kill Tim, just like Damian. And Tim was the youngest prodigy son, estranged, but good at what he does and seen as vulnerable by the other, just like him.

And if Bruce, Dick, and even his own father comforting Bruce on the phone, all those who Damian admired and believed couldn’t trust Jason, couldn’t give him a chance despite knowing he had reformed, he had changed, he had grown up and he loved Tim…

 What will they say about them?

 Jon immediately moved his hand to grab Damian’s tightly, forgetting his previous doubts and fears, even those of weeks ago, and feeling the discomfort sink his chest.

None of that indicated that they were going to react in the same way to them, it’s different but at the same time there were similarities, the words that were spoken in the cave had to be harsh and the thought of Clark talking to Bruce on the phone as if someone had dead instead Tim and Jason dating made him want to throw up.

 “They think he’s going to hurt him.” Damian didn’t grab his hand back, he just said that looking at him still unsure and worried. “That he’s not appropriate, that they are better apart.”

 Jon wanted to scream. Because he knew Damian wasn’t just talking about Jason, and people thinking that about him, just like Damian believing that about himself, made him angry, it hurts.

 “Do you think that too?” He asked with a lump in his throat.

 Damian’s hand trembled in his, indecisively. They still hadn’t taken their eyes off each other.

 “No.” He answered then, completely sure. As if he didn’t have to ask anyone to find out the answer, and he didn’t. “I know he would rather die again than hurt him, and I know he will fight whatever it takes to be by his side, whether he’s worthy or not.”

 The grip on his hand was returned, much stronger and secure than ever. His green eyes shining with determination and courage, saying things that couldn’t yet in words, their hearts beating strongly together again.

 “That’s love.” Jon said, almost without breath.

 “It is.” Damian replied, lacing their fingers.

 Needless to say, they weren’t just talking about Tim and Jason.

[irresistiibles]

Was that [ROBERT SHEEHAN]? Oh no no, that was just [GERARD 'GERRY' KEAY], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [THE MAGNUS ARCVHIES]. They are [THIRTY TWO] years old and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

semi spoilers for the magnus archives up through episode 117 but mostly episode 111 since i’ll talk about gerry’s life as well as his mother mary. tws for death, cancer, and very lightly implied abuse. i mark out where that is in the intro since it’s mostly his backstory so you can skip that by just going to the second section of bullet points which is more personality and about him in washington

gerry, my beautiful disaster goth. would consider himself the avatar for entities ‘common sense,’ and ‘fuck around and find out.’ he is another character on my on going list of characters i play that could desperately benefit from a good therapist

how long has your character been here

uuh i’m also bad at this question. like not brand new but new enough that he’s still like what the fuck. so like two to three weeks i guess?

what is your character’s job

he works at a small second hand book store

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom

some point after 117 just so gerry has the joy of waking up here and just yelling that the world will not let him stay dead

has any magic affected your character

beyond bringing him back to life nope

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know

so any tws are focused in this section!

his mom mary keay was just the absolute fucking worst. she was obsessed with these occult books that basically all had really awful powers. she was the worst, and murdered gerry’s dad and only cared about gerry in terms of giving him knowledge of the books and having him find the books. really wanted power to create like a legacy occult family sort of deal. it was all awful. gerry wanted to abandon her multiple times but couldn’t bring himself to do it

she died trying to seal herself to a book and gerry was nearly arrested for it. and she wasn’t fully dead since her ritual partially worked and se was bound to a book and could manifest and continued to haunt gerry for five more years.

then he brought the book to gertrude who was able to destroy it. he really liked gertrude and helped her with her work while also going out of his way to find and destroy whatever leitner novels he could. this is a book hater right here. would probably eat an entire novel if it would destroy it, and would not hesitate in doing so.

after helping gertrude for a little while before having a seizure and ultimately dying from a brain tumor

except!! he cannot catch a break even in death!! because turns out mary taught gertrude how to bind people to books when she destroyed her so gertrude bound gerry to a book and left it, and gerry now bound to it, alone in america

listen there are bits of gertrude that i like but running around literally pretending to be mother and son with this guy who really looked up to her and considered her his savior from his mother and maybe even considered her a mother figure for himself, only to bind him to a book in his death without a second though, what the fuck gertrude. i know why she was like that but absolutely not

not that gerry is sure how he feels about her because he had to process that after being bound and emotions are different and way weaker being bound to a book versus when you're alive so he can deal with that one now i guess

finally dies for real when jonathan finds his book, they chat, and jon burns the book page sealing him.

okay that’s all the background spoiler stuff here’s some other small good facts to know!

has eyes tattooed on all of his joints (which is particularly funny with context like truly just blowing a kiss to the eye: take a look baby)

a goth who dies his hair black and poorly. poorly enough that any time people see him they mention his bad dye job instead of the eye tattoos which feels telling. he absolutely shops at hot topic

really does want to do good and is pretty nice despite how he looks and how comfortable he is with arson. he’s a sarcastic little shit but is quick to apologize and wants to save people where he can

if anything he’s a people pleaser to the extreme and needs someone to tell him to chill out because he wants to be useful and wanted so badly he will let himself get fucked over for other people.

but also would also murder at least 1-3 specific old people on sight so you know what it fluctuates

although right now he’s pretty pissed about being alive right now and doesn’t think it could mean anything good. he is glad a ritual hasn’t seemed to happen yet though

working in a bookstore mostly looking for leitners to destroy still. probably could come across as a real intense book collector despite actively refusing to read.

he has a small ability for knowing. it’s not particularly strong but he will occasionally just know password codes or other things like that.

i’m probably gonna have him exclusively go by gerry. he’s barely called it in the podcast but he says he would always have wanted friends to call him gerry after befriending jon in like twenty minutes but he really just could have gotten along with so many people if he got the chance, and his dad calls him gerry. like i wrote gerard keay in the app cause it is his name but people who call him gerry delano are the light of my life. anyway fuck mary keay and fuck the name she gave him so it’s gonna be gerry

[damienthepious]

i’m going to instruct you, right now, bplease listen to the podcast Inn Between and then maybe read this fic lmao

the dragon had really good penmanship

[ao3]

Fandom: Inn Between

Relationship: n/a

Characters: Princess Marie, Lydda, Seri, Min

Additional Tags: Character Study, Canon Compliant, (wrote this because i'm obsessed with marie basically she's so INTERESTING as a CHARACTER), (Mentions of canon violence), (implications of marie still bein' a bit... dragon-y), Friendship 

Summary: Three little girls are in the dungeon. One little girl awaits the throne. None are free, just yet.

Notes: Title from the song Dragon, by Breathe Owl Breathe

~

Marie is thirteen, and she knows many things. She has been stolen, and cursed, and orphaned. She knows the taste of char, the feel of magic fire between her teeth. Her tutor says her skill for brewing poisons is remarkably promising, she knows two languages well besides her native tongue, and is studying a third. Her penmanship is impeccable. She knows what her own body looks like, with an ax embedded in her neck. She knows that Seri still wakes calling out for her father, most nights.

Marie is thirteen, and so is Lydda. Lydda, who knows many things of her own. Strange things, like how to predict the day’s weather by the sight of the clouds and the direction of the wind. Lydda, who is polite but speaks her mind regardless, who writes nearly as well in common as Marie does, who purses her lips and squints when she’s unsure, who can scoop her youngest sister into a piggyback without needing to look at her to do it.

Lydda, thrown into the dungeon with her sisters because Marie’s father is so steeped in fear that it is the only tool he still understands how to use. Marie knows that this is not her fault. The choices her father makes are not her own. She knows she has no true power, here. Marie knows, also, that guilt doesn't always follow logical paths.

There are some words, Marie now knows, that can only be passed in whispers, passed above hands clasped between the cold interruption of iron bars.

Lydda has freckles, a scattering of even darker skin across the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, her shoulders. Most of the nobles wear such thick layers of cosmetic that Marie isn’t sure she would even know if they had such marks. Marie has no freckles of her own. She does, on occasion, still feel markings on her skin, however. When the nights are dark, when she shakes with fury, she feels (or thinks she feels) the tightening of her skin, the rippling echo of scales, too familiar and too strange.

Lydda's freckles fade, the longer she and her sisters remain in the dark of the dungeons. Time shows its passing in strange ways. Lydda's freckles fade, and Marie imagines her former scales more and more often.

It isn’t that Marie is ungrateful, for having been twice-saved from her curse. The adventurers brought her home, and then they returned her to her own true form. She will remember that. She will never forget that debt, nor the debt that follows- her father’s knife-twist betrayal, the way he sent them away again-

Not Marie's fault, not Marie's mistakes. Guilt does not follow logical paths.

She does not think the adventurers know that they were never meant to win against the Bone King. She does not think they know that they were meant to be a distraction, the battering ram at the front gate to draw eyes away from the passages in the back, where her father’s own forces were meant to slip in like the fox into the coop.

(This is not a simile she would have been likely to use, before Lydda. It is not as if the castle is overwhelmed with foxes.)

It almost makes the betrayal worse, she thinks. Twice, the adventurers saved her. Twice they were betrayed. The false quest, and then-

The sisters. Stolen, held in trust. And then (as if merely keeping innocents as collateral were not cruel enough), then came the coup, and the dungeon.

It isn’t that Marie is ungrateful. It truly isn’t. But Marie thinks, perhaps, that if it just so happened that she were still under the curse- well.

No one would have dared attempt to behead the father of a dragon. She could have turned Lord Denetrah into nothing more than bone and ash.

Min always flinches from the rats that scramble along the edges of the cell, and Seri asks each day for news of their brother, her voice so very small and so very brave, and Lydda’s eyes are as tired as Marie feels, and Marie remembers what it was like to have claws. Remembers fire in her lungs. Remembers enormity, of both feelings and form. If she pulled the proper strings with the right degree of care, Marie could have Denetrah as dead as her father within the day, but it would not solve the true problem.

(It would not be as satisfying as the taste of the fire.)

Nor, Marie knows, would it guarantee the sisters' freedom.

They are as worthy as any princess, Marie thinks. She thinks this rather often. Lydda only ever stands like a rampart, noble and upright and still with the flash of humor in her eyes, despite the exhaustion, despite the weight of responsibility that Marie recognizes on her shoulders. Seri nearly thrums with excitement with each new book Marie smuggles in, her delight at the new stories nearly as vibrant as her relief at the distraction from her captivity. Min's laugh (rarer and rarer still) bounces and squeaks, echoing through the hollow stone chambers, far beneath Marie's home.

Marie knows they are her subjects, deserving of safety and freedom in her kingdom. Marie knows, in a way that feels much more urgent, that they are her friends, and she wants to see them safe, and free.

She burns with waiting, despising the way Lydda's freckles nearly disappear entirely in the gray of the dungeons, but Marie is patient. She knows which strings need plucking, and she knows when, exactly, the right time is to pluck.

The adventurers return, triumphant and bedraggled, and are turned summarily away, and in the dark of night Marie pulls on a too-large cloak, and pulls open the old servants' passageways.

Marie knows many things, and Lydda knows many things, and their areas of knowledge barely seem to overlap at all. Marie is fond of that fact, because it means that they always seem to have something to teach each other.

Marie teaches Lydda, Seri, and Min how to cross her city, silent and unseen.

Lydda, Seri, and Min teach Marie exactly what a reunion looks like, in a family built on love.

It is nearly dawn, when they finally part. Marie cannot afford to be discovered, of course, and it is only a small pain that she cannot say her goodbyes to the sisters in the daylight, or in anything but a furtive whisper.

Min, earnest and unselfconscious, throws her arms around Marie in the sort of hug she is unsure she has ever shared, before. Lydda laughs at Marie's surprise, not unpleasantly, and then she and Seri fold around her as well.

One last lesson, before they part.

It is better, wiser, that the sisters will be far from the city, now. It is unsafe, here. Marie stays because Marie has no choice. Because to abandon her throne is- unthinkable. Marie is thirteen, and she knows her duty, knows her responsibility. Helping Lydda and Min and Seri escape this place reminds her of that, in a way. Her father was always so afraid, and so angry. Lord Denetrah is worse.

Marie thinks that there is something, perhaps, to the idea of being afraid when one is a ruler, though not in the fashion of her predecessors. She is afraid often, though she is not the sort to dwell. Marie hopes that when it is her turn to rule, her fears will be noble. She hopes that she will still hold close to the fear of disappointing the people who rely on her. She hopes that her rage will be noble, too. Her own little dragon-fire, under her own control, this time. She hopes she will not rule like those who rule now, like those who ruled before.

It is safer for Lydda and her sisters to be far away, though Marie will miss them dearly.

Lydda will write, however. Lydda will write, and Marie still has people enough that she trusts in these walls. Lord Denetrah pays little attention to the servants and chefs and such help, but Marie knows them. Knows the servants passageways in all the castle, not only in her room, and she knows other secret places as well. She knows which of her handmaidens are loyal, which will help, and she knows her missives and the ones she receives in return will be passed without interference.

Marie writes the first of these letters by firelight, careful and precise with the familiarity of flames making her brave.

She does not write of her fears. She does not write of Lord Denetrah, except to mock him with all the attention of a roll of the eyes and away. She does not write of her guilt, for sending Lydda’s brother away from her again, of sending her family away to help restore her own. Lydda knows all of it already, regardless. It is better, to leave certain things unwritten.

Marie writes of small things. She writes of the way the city sounds from above. She asks if Seri has finished her latest book. She writes of the new inks her tutor gave her to practice with, and she sends some to share. She nearly asks if Lydda's freckles are returning in the sun, but this page she removes, and rewrites. She asks Lydda when the next rains will come, instead.

Marie’s penmanship is impeccable, but when she receives Lydda's first reply, Marie cannot help but think that Lydda’s quick and tidy scrawl is so, so much more beautiful.

She refolds the letter, careful as if holding a recently sharpened blade, and then she tucks the parchment in behind the false brick beside the hearth, in among all her most valuable secrets, the most coveted jewel in her hoard.

[trickstruth-a]

Rules

Short, sweet, and to the point. Follow these rules and we all have a great time.

1. Mutuals only. I must be following you and you must be following me.  Only those that I follow can like starter calls, send in character asks, and reply to posts.

1a. I will not interact with non-Mutuals, that includes asks, unless it’s done anonymously and it doesn’t have a url attached. Anyone who breaks this rule will get about a few pardons but after that will be blocked.

2. My time is limited here in what I can do. This means that I am very selective in what I reply to. Doesn’t necessary mean that I am ignoring anyone. Some days I reply to everything and everyone, others I am so burnt out from irl things or work that I just lurk and do the bare minimum. My mental health and well-being comes before anything else.

2a. Replies vary by length and time. I normally work eight to ten hours a day and experience a lot of exhaustion. Unless I don’t see a thread or an ask going anywhere and publicly make a post saying it’s been dropped, consider everything as pending / will do ASAP. Memes are okay to send in late unless it clearly states, not accepting. My timezone is Eastern Standard Time or EST. United States is where I am located at. I am usually online from 10 PM EST to 3 AM EST unless it’s a day off from work, which the online time will vary from 12 PM EST to 3 AM EST.

2b.  Role-playing is a hobby, not a job. Do not pester me for replies or asks to be answered. I am not obligated to owe anyone anything on this website. I am human and can’t cater to everyone’s needs.  Being persistent here is not going to make me answer yours faster than other people.

2c. Don’t follow, unfollow, and then refollow my blog. It’s not going to make me want to follow you back, ever. It’s annoying and no one is being crafty by doing that. If you continue to do this and it isn’t a tumblr glitch, I will be inclined to block and possibly report for spam.

3. If you do need to break mutuals with me, HARD BLOCK my blog. Don’t just UNFOLLOW or SOFT BLOCK because chances are that I could mistakenly follow you again. And that’s something we both don’t want since it would be quite awkward.

3a. I have the right to unfollow whoever I want to and so do you. Please don’t go on a hunt and try to guilt trip me into following you back again. Just don’t. I can and will tell you the reason why I unfollowed you but other than that, just let me leave in peace.

3b. Personal blogs and non RP blogs will be blocked on sight. Please, if you have a side blog let me know through asks so I don’t accidentally block you. IMs are not a good way to let me know since they are closed for non-mutuals.

4. Duplicates are welcomed to follow me. The more the merrier. I do not suffer from same muse anxiety and encourage any of the same muse to follow me. Only request is that you don’t steal my headcanons, edits or icons. Other than that, we should all be able to have a good time. I’m always up for twin verses or alternate universes shenanigans.

4a. Original Characters are allowed to follow me. However, they need to be a little flesh out before I make a decision to follow them back or not. Just a small backstory or biography is all that I need. Headcanons also work if there isn’t an about page but must have about one page worth for me to consider following.

4b. Crossover Characters from other shows are allowed to follow me but I must know about said muse or else I’ll have a hard time whether to follow or not. Few fandoms I won’t interact with because I have no interest in these series are: Avatar the Last Airbender, Avatar the Legend of Korra. ( more to be added ).

5. I am a multi-ship blog. All ships are separate in their own standings. Goro is 17 in the ORIGINAL game and ROYAL remake. I will only ship him romantically with muses that are in the ages between 15 years to 17 years of age ( for the ORIGINAL and ROYAL remake only ).

5a. I am open to all kinds of ships, not just romantic ones. I also enjoy platonic, rivalry, and familiar bonds. All ships are open to discussions through my IM(s) or otherwise known as Instant Messenger.  Chemistry is key. As long as we interact a little, there’s always the chance that both muses can be in a relationship.

5b.  Is there any ship that you do NOT want forced on you?: I personally don’t ship AkeShu / ShuAke ( the Protagonist x Goro Akechi ). Please don’t force this ship on me. I’ll only except a slow burn for both characters and only that when both the other mun and myself agree to do this.

6. Things for you to tag for me are: BIRDS, CHAIN LETTERS, ORGANS, DOGS. For the birds and dogs, just irl ones trigger me. I am fine with cartoon / art / video game ones as they are not real.

6a. This blog will contain sensitive themes from time to time. However, I will tag common things like those mentioned below. If you need anything tagged, please let me know through instant messaging / IMs. Things I’ll tag for you are but not limited to: BLOOD, GORE, DEATH, BODY HORROR, EYE HORROR, INSECTS, MAGGOTS, BRUISES, SCARS, GUNS, KNIVES, CLOWNS.  

7. I am over the age of eighteen. However, I refuse to write smut as I am not comfortable with that subject to begin with and Goro is a minor. Please never force me to write this with you and if you keep sending things to me in this type of nature, I will report you, no questions asked.

7a. If I see any form of hate and I find out it was you that sent it, I will immediately BLOCK you. No questions asked. Life is too short to send unwanted hate, anon or not. All anon hate and hate towards me and my characters ( s ) in general will be reported and then blocked, no questions asked.

8. My pen name on here is SERE. Obliviously, that is not my real name but it’s what I go by. It’s short for ‘Serena’, the English name that DIC gave Usagi Tsukino in the Americanized version of Sailor Moon. It’s pronounced; SIR-REE.

9. I am not a meme source. If you need to reblog a meme from my blog and don’t plan to send me anything, reblog from the source. I hardly get asks as it is, and for you to just use me as a meme source puts a bad taste in my mouth and I feel like I’m being used, which isn’t a good feeling. If you wonder if you should send in a meme to me, please do. I love getting asks. I do hoard them from time to time like a dragon hoards treasure but I do get to them eventually. The more memes / asks, the merrier.

9a.  Feel free to turn inbox replies into threads. Just remember to make separate post when replying. Do not reblog threads not meant for you and don’t reblog my headcanons. It’s okay to reblog my asks though if you want them to be keepsakes on your own blog. Also, it’s alright to reblog musings and images from me.

10.  I usually am not considered spoiler free. However, I do tag recent released games, which is Persona 5 Scramble. All other games in the Persona 5 series ( original game, dancing in starlight, pq2, and royal ) will NOT be tagged. Follow at your own risk to avoid spoilers.

10a.  Knowledge in the Persona series is about ABOVE AVERAGE, please don’t keep pointing out mistakes. I know and will correct them due time.

10b. Please tag the popular ship AkeShu / ShuAke ( Goro Akechi x Persona 5 Protagonist ) / ( Persona 5 Protagonist x Goro Akechi ). I am not a fan of this ship at all and would request it to tagged at all times. Tags can be as simple as ‘akeshu’ and ‘shuake’.

11. I rather not be bothered by callout posts and any potential drama that might accumulate. I am just here to have fun and I hope everyone else can too. Life is too short to spend on certain things that don’t matter in the long run. If I see multiple call out posts from you in a single day or that’s all you post, I will quietly unfollow you.

12.  Out of character posts will be on here from time to time. Mostly talking about life in general or me venting once in a great while. If this annoys you, please remember that this is my blog, not yours. You are welcomed to unfollow / block at any time.

12a.  The best way to interact with me is to send memes / asks / inbox things. I am always up for unprompted things in my inbox. Also, my instant messenger is always open if someone needs to contact me out of character or to plot something. Don’t hesitate to talk to me. I will try my best to respond.

12b.  Not interacting after a month or two with me and my blog will make me silently unfollow you or result in a soft block. Or if you don’t interact with me at all, even out of character. Also, if you are gone for more than 6 months, I consider your blog inactive and will probably assume that you aren’t going to return.

13. I’m really laid-back in nature so don’t feel pressured to reply to anything I send to you. I understand that life happens and that sometimes you just need to unwind from the stress of daily life.

14. For pronouns; either SHE/HER or THEY/THEM is okay with me. My orientation is DEMIROMANTIC ASEXUAL. I love anime, manga, video games, music, drawing, and writing. If you read all of this, then thank you! I won’t ask for passcodes but please still try to remember these at some point. That’s all I ask. <3.

**DISCLAIMERS.

This revived blog has been established since May 23rd, 2020. Independent and not affiliated with any role play group. Written by SERE.

( rules may be updated from time to time so please check here once in awhile. I will also post when these are updated as well ).

[yep-another-fander]

To Walk in His Shoes - Chapter 1

Hey guys, so I’ve only posted two oneshots for this fandom and I’m kind of nervous to post this, but I figure I might as well considering it’s been sitting in my google docs for so freaking long. I hope people actually see and reblog it. Even though there isn’t much, I’m pretty proud of it. The fic idea, and generally the whole chapter one, were written before the others were a thing, so just a little context. I think after Accepting Anxiety Part 2....

Story Summary: I don't really have one yet... but it’s inspired by this song. Basically, Roman and Virgil challenge Roman to live Virgil’s life for a year. It’s not at all what Roman was expecting. He thought Virgil was just exaggerating. The dark sides are essentially the switch!au versions of Logan, Patton, and Roman.

Chapter Summary: Roman and Virgil make a bet. Roman finds out where Virgil lived

Word Count: 2,256 

It was one in the afternoon and both Roman and Virgil had been sitting on opposite sides of the couch, watching Tom and Jerry. It was originally going to be all four of the sides, but Thomas called Patton and Logan for some help when they were in the middle of choosing what to watch. It had taken a while, but after figuring out that they weren’t going to be able to agree on anything Disney, they turned to a cartoon classic.

Yet, somehow, around the sixth episode they were on, a fight began. It could’ve started when they tried to decide who was in the wrong- Tom or Jerry- or maybe it started when Virgil turned the tv off and threw the remote against the wall. It’s hard to tell. However it had started, here they were.

“Why do you have to be so negative all the darn time?” Roman shouted angrily, standing inches away from Virgil.

“At least I’m not an idiot like some of us!” Was the angry reply, Virgil’s hands making a frustrated gesture for emphasis.

Roman stepped back and did a small, humorless, laugh. “That’s better than being a self-deprecating outcast,” he said calmly, as he raised his hand in a sharp manner, seemingly wanting to strike the other.

Virgil flinched, stumbling back a few steps. “I thought we were done with this…. I’ve told you before that you don’t know what it was like,” he merely mumbled.

“And I’ve told you, many times, that I doubt it was as hard as you say it was.” Roman turned around, going to pick up the remote. “Logan has told us that you tend to, as he says, “magnify” situations. How can I believe you when it is near fact that you are almost always overreacting?” He questioned, picking up the remote and putting it back together.

Virgil had never been one to open up right away. Even if he wanted to, it was rare. Sure, he had let a few things slip in times of anger or frustration, but that was the most anyone had ever gotten out of him. Taking that into account, did Roman really expect him to explain why it really wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows before they had accepted him?

Looking up at Roman, Virgil spoke in a defensive voice. “How would you know? Everything seems to be perfect in the land of Princes. Like you would know anything about hardship.”

Roman slapped a flat hand to his chest in an offended manner. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I doubt you could last a day in my shoes.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Virgil shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure.”

“Then I shall take your metaphorical gauntlet!” Roman declared, holding his hand out to Virgil to seal the deal.

“Uh…” Virgil slowly reached his hand out and connected it with Roman’s. The grip was firm and all it took was an up-down jerk for them to release. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“Why, put myself through your life of course. I’m rather good at making realistic worlds within a dream realm.” Roman turned back to the couch for a second to put the remote down. “There are, obviously, going to be rules. In case you were in any sort of doubt.”

Virgil walked over to the couch and sat back in his spot, prompting Roman to do the same. They were now sitting comfortably as they talked.

“What… sort of rules?”

Roman bounced in his seat a bit. “Well, they’re rather simple. And they’re more based in your favour,” he began. “I- we- are going to be in the situation for a whole year. Three-hundred and sixty-five days exactly. Time will not change here, do not fret. No powers will be allowed from me, with the exception of the ones that you had previously possessed during that time frame. You will still have a right to yours. There will be occasional jumps in time, but not too excessive. I will have control of nothing in the world, except what I do as you, and how that affects it.”

Virgil blinked. “Won’t everyone be able to see me if I’m there?”

“That’s the exciting part. I’ll be the only one to see you. You’ll be non-existent to everyone else. Simple enough?”

“Simple as it gets, I guess,” Virgil agreed. “But how is this a challenge?”

Roman grinned and he jumped up from the couch. “If I stop before the time is up, then you were correct. If I make it, then I win.”

“Fair enough,” Virgil replied as he, too, stood up.

Roman smirked as he put his arms out. “Hope you enjoy this, Mister Gloom-Shroom.”

The next thing Roman knew, he was sitting against the backboard of Thomas’s junior high bed. It was strange to say the least. The room was dark and there seemed to be no way of letting any more light in.

He glanced around the room and took note of how it was. The metal queen-sized bed that Thomas shared with his one of his elder brothers seemed to be near the same. The only notable difference was the fact that in place of the grey and orange blanket that normally lay atop it there was a weighted-down, black and blue blanket.

“So your room has always been dark and gloomy,” Roman commented, making Virgil sigh. At the sound of the sigh, Roman jumped, having been caught up in his own thoughts and comments.

“You honestly forgot I was here?” Virgil sighed. “After making a comment at me? Um, how about you just give up now?” smirking, he hopped off the desk and pointed to the alarm clock.

Roman turned around. “Yes, I see. It’s a clock. What’s your point?” despite his tone, Virgil backed against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk still fit on his face. “If you’re not going to tell me, at least have the decency to-” he was cut off by a screeching sound that seemed to circle the room. Jumping onto the bed with a scream that was almost as loud, Roman hid under the covers. Virgil, who somehow only flinched, sighed as he walked over to the alarm clock and turned it off.

“It’s the alarm clock,” he explained, barely holding back a laugh after seeing Roman poke his head out. “It means you’re late. And by the look of the room, it’s the first day of school.”

Roman scurried out of the bed, standing in a dramatic pose. “A prince is never late. I’ll have to wake the others!” he declared, running out of the room.

Virgil watched him run out when he remembered a rather important detail. “Wait!” he called, chasing after him. Luckily, he caught up to the other before another door was opened. Virgil grabbed his wrist, earning a yell of protest. Knowing what would happen if he were too loud, he slapped a hand over Roman’s mouth. “We… aren’t exactly where you think we are. I need you to walk back to the room with me. Quietly. Okay?” he whispered out of habit, despite having been told that no one but Roman could hear him. Roman nodded with a sigh. Hesitantly, he released the other from his grip and turned to walk back.

Once back in the room, Roman shut the door and turned around to Virgil, wearing an annoyed expression. “What exactly did you mean out there?” he demanded, arms moving dramatically as ever, causing Virgil to snicker, his hand covering his mouth. “Why must you insist on laughing at me? This is serious. Thomas cannot be late for his first day!”

Smile falling from his face, Virgil’s hand fell. It was a habit that he did whenever laughing, not realising he did so half the time. Clearing his throat, he spoke. “You’re um,” pausing, he ran his hand through his hair, “you look like me when Thomas was twelve.” taking out his phone, he snapped a picture of the other, before handing it over.

Roman walked forward and grabbed the cellular device, turning it to see what he looked like. “Well, I can definitely tell you that you at least had a fashion sense,” he commented, pulling the phone further from his face. “I mean, no offense, but you have no fashion sense now.”

At that, Virgil slumped, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It’s better than running around in a Prince costume.”

“How dare… you know what? We’re getting off track.” he tossed the phone back to Virgil, who stumbled to catch it. “What were you referring to, out in the hall?”

Virgil shifted slightly, trying to find a way to phrase what he wanted to say. “We’re in… we’re not exactly in the part of the mind you think we are.”

This was ridiculous. If the Emo would just tell him, then he could get on with waking the others before they were late. Roman rolled his eyes and slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “Hurry up and tell me. It can’t possibly be that hard to utter a few sentences.”

Virgil didn’t respond. It was as if he was being silenced. That wasn’t possible though. Not anymore that is. No one could control him here since he technically didn’t exist. Sometimes he hated being anxiety. Such seemingly easy tasks were so difficult. He wished Roman was right, but just a few sentences seemed to be the hardest thing, even with the knowledge of why they shouldn’t go to the commons. Would Roman even believe him if he could explain?

“You’re taking too long. Feel free to follow me if you wish.” with that, Roman had teleported to the commons. He didn’t want to risk using the door and having Virgil pull him back in.

He appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. The place where Virgil would appear if Thomas were to call him up. Not that Thomas could even call any of them up at this age, let alone see them. It was a precaution, though. In the event that he got to the level of self-awareness that allowed him to. Roman let out a little laugh at the fact that he never believed his host would ever gain such an ability.

Looking around, he entered the kitchen and started a pot of hot chocolate. He thought about waking Morality up first, since he had the best influence on the others. Getting the packet that held the dark chocolate mix and grabbing the quickly-heated kettle, he poured them into a mug. Stirring it with a spoon, he tasted it and set down the hall.

He held the mug in one hand and went to knock with the other. As his hand went forward to pound on the door, another wrapped around his wrist, pulling him to turn around. He came face to face with Virgil. Groaning from the feeling of a hot drink spilling over his hand, he frowned.

Virgil only frowned as well and dropped his hand to his side, whispering: “Please don’t.” he looked down at the stain on the carpet, sighing, and ran toward the kitchen.

Roman dragged behind, carrying the mug and what was left of the drink inside. He set it in the sink as he watched Virgil collect some cleaning supplies. “What’s the rush?” he joked, licking the chocolate off his hand. “You realise it won’t work, right? Whatever you’re trying to do,” he said as he now ran his hand under water to rid of the sticky sensation.

The commentary seemed to only strike Virgil when he was halfway down the hall. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

“It’s simple,” Roman began to explain. “Anything you touch is only affected by our eyes. Since you basically don’t exist here, no one else notices anything. Well, unless I’m actively involved that is.” he approached Virgil and took the supplies from his hands. “Meaning: if you clean that drink up, it’ll look clean to us, but remain there for all other eyes.” taking a few more steps, he bent down and started cleaning the spilled drink.

Virgil leaned against the wall. “Never thought I’d see the day where you willingly clean.”

A few minutes later, Roman stood up and put everything away. “All done. Now will you please let me knock on the door? Thomas is late thanks to you.” he stood facing the door, waiting for Virgil’s approval. At the silent nod, he gave a few knocks and cracked the door open. “Morality?” he whispered. However, he was not greeted by the soft father figure he was expecting. Instead, a glass jar was chucked his way, causing him to slam the door shut. He winced as he heard it shatter. “What… Virgil, who was that? That was definitely not Patton,” Roman questioned, turning around to face the other.

“You could not have possibly chosen a worse time to start at,” Virgil muttered, his hands curling to fists in his jacket. Looking up, he answered the question: “We’re in the dark sides’ commons.”

Roman gave a weak laugh. “Surely you’re joking. Why would any reasonable persona choose to live here?”

“It’s not like I had a choice in the matter!” Virgil snapped. Did he seriously think that he would just accept an insult like that? He would have left without hesitation, if given the option. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he took a deep breath and whispered quietly, “You know how we’re sorted out.”

[paulisweeabootrash]

First Impression: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Get in your robots, audience, it's time for Paul is Weeaboo Trash!  And today, I'm finally watching a show it seems like everyone just... assumes I must've seen:

Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995)

Episodes watched: 8

Platform: Netflix

The idea of something being a "classic" may be in decline in the anime fandom, or at least be getting very specialized, since "anime" no longer implies a narrow interest in specific sci-fi and fantasy subgenres like it used to, but certain shows still manage to pervade the pop culture indirectly.  Neon Genesis Evangelion is one such show, enduring in the modern fandom and general internet culture because of its status as one of those old sci-fi anime classics.  It has contributed memes — not just as in image macros or running jokes, but as in units of culture in the form of iconic quotes or character designs or elements of the plot — to the point that you have certainly been in some way exposed to them without any knowledge of the source material.  But despite its reputation as a must-see cultural touchstone, it has been out of print in America for years.  Used copies of the DVDs sell for absurd prices, and I don't think I knew anyone who owned it when I was a young weeb in the mid-2000s.  I'm fairly sure my family did not have cable during the one specific season it was on Adult Swim, and there's no chance I would have been up at 12:30AM on Thursdays to watch it anyway.  I am not much of a fan of media piracy and wasn't even aware of that option when it was apparently everyone else's favorite pastime to ruin their computers with sketchy torrents.  So there was never a reasonable way for me to watch it, only for me to be dimly aware that this was An Important Show I Need To See.  Until now.  Because it's on Netflix.  As if I hadn't already been awaiting it, I was aggressively reminded of it, because social media and geeky news outlets were soon blowing up with retrospectives and Very Serious Analyses — and fans of the old ADV translation were offering hot takes on how Netflix's release compares.  So let me finally check this out for myself.

We start out in the distant future of... 2015, where UN forces are defending Tokyo-3 ("Old Tokyo" is mentioned and depicted later; no mention yet of Tokyo-2 unless I somehow already forgot it) against an attacking "angel", an immensely powerful alien with barely-comprehensible powers.  Meanwhile, an officer of a UN agency called NERV, Misato Katsuragi, brings our main character, 14-year-old Shinji Ikari, to an underground NERV base under Tokyo-3 on the instructions of Shinji's father Gendo, who runs a secret research project.  Shinji has been brought there to pilot an Evangelion, or Eva for short, a giant robot operated by some sort of neural interface.  In combat.  With no training.  He is, understandably, not happy about this.  After seeing how badly injured the other available pilot, Rei Ayanami, is, however, he agrees to do it — and it works far better than he or anyone else expected.  He apparently has an innately great ability to "sync" with however exactly the Eva's interface works.  But this only gets him as far as starting the thing up.  When he actually engages the angel, he has trouble just getting the Eva to walk, and he feels the pain of the Eva taking damage once attacked, a frankly horrifying feature of the interface.  We cut to him waking up in a hospital, but having surprisingly won because his Eva "went berserk", operating on its own.  A flashback later shows what happened when he lost control of the Eva: it fought the angel by itself, but also took heavy damage, and we see its visor? faceplate? sōmen? of the Eva's armor come off to reveal a fleshy-looking face and a very biological-looking eye.  At this point Shinji blacked out, which is really the only reasonable response to this situation.

Over the next several weeks (the time scale is vague, but since Rei apparently fully recovers from the injuries she had when we first saw her before the time she and Shinji are both deployed, it must be at least 3 weeks between eps. 1 and 5), more angels appear, to the surprise of civilians and UN forces alike.  The Evas continue to be excellent weapons against them (though Shinji himself is still, uh, not great at using them), but despite having now killed several angels, the Evas are considered a ridiculous boondoggle by personnel of other UN branches, and Gendo's sinister superiors seem to be losing patience with his project.  In the words of... uh... that UN navy guy in ep. 8, "Shit!  A bunch of kids are supposed to save the world?"  The alternatives are wildly ineffective conventional weapons and a remote-controlled nuclear-powered giant robot that almost had a literal Chernobyl-style meltdown, which was averted by Misato and Shinji.  Although repairs are expensive, injuries common, and pilots in short supply, Evas indeed seem to be the only effective weapon against the invading cosmic horror, the barely-comprehensible aliens that are impervious to ordinary human technology and also don't fit our concepts of life or... uh... possibly physics.  So, instead, in the words of Misato later in the same episode, "This plan may be insane, but I don't think it's impossible."

While this is going on, Shinji has been adjusting to this new life poorly and slowly.  Despite being a pilot, he is still after all a 14-year-old, so he is enrolled into the same class as Rei at a local school whose student body has dwindled as more people evacuate over the initial angel attack.  He also needs somewhere to live, so Misato arranges for him to move into her apartment.  Some of Shinji's classmates think he's incredibly lucky to live with her, and spend a good deal of their screen time drooling over her, but Shinji is highly uncomfortable around her not just because Captain Katsuragi is his commanding officer, but also because she has a tendency to not wear much clothing around the house and is, er, a bit of a drunk and a slob.  Oh, and she has an inexplicable, clawed, beer-drinking penguin.  You know, all stuff that would make a nervous, lonely, scared 14-year-old completely at home.

Neither NERV training nor school guarantee a community, though, and Shinji, isolated and confused, could sure use one right about now.  He seems quite likely traumatized from the first battle.  He keeps ending up in situations that make him wildly uncomfortable while other characters take them in stride.  He repeatedly attempts to quit NERV or at least defy orders before backing out (or... backing back in?) at the last moment.  It would frankly be bizarre that they accept him doing this, except that (1) nobody really seems to take Shinji that seriously anyway, (2) he's the boss's kid, and (3) most importantly, it seems that only a small number of pilots, all the same age as Shinji and Rei, are even capable of using Evas.  (Wife and I are starting to suspect reasons why this might be, especially given the whole cyborgs with neural interfaces thing, but... uh... let's not embarrass ourselves with public speculations about the plot of a ridiculously famous show almost as old as we are.)  He only slowly gains any support or comfort from his new classmates and colleagues.  They don't reach out to him, and he certainly doesn't reach out to them, because who is he supposed to talk to?  His roommate/commanding officer who is twice his age?  His classmates who treat him as a celebrity, not a person, once they find out he's an Eva pilot?  Even if his default state since the very first episode hadn't been basically imploding into despair with no idea how to communicate that anything's wrong, there's nobody that really makes sense for him to try to communicate it to.  Except one person: Rei.  He notices that she's also isolated at school, and especially after seeing her dark, miserable, unmaintained apartment, he attempts to be friendly towards her.  I thought this might be a hint of growth indicating that he understands she is possibly the only person more isolated than him and the only one who might be able to relate to him, but then the next time he threatens to quit NERV after that conversation, he explicitly claims she doesn't know what he's going though, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ maybe he just has bad social skills.

Sigh.

Shinji does start to make friends with Aida and Suzuhara, two of his classmates, though.  And it's interesting because they contrast against him in their reactions to the conflict outside.  Aida roleplays being in the military and finds Shinji's role as an Eva pilot glorious and enviable.  Suzuhara is initially furious at Shinji because his sister was collateral damage — she was injured when Shinji fought the angel — and his mind is changed only after Shinji rescues him (and Aida) from an angel.  Shinji, though, having been thrust into a role he doesn't even understand and about which he is ambivalent and unstable, lacks Aida's optimistic admiration of his role and a full appreciation of either Suzuhara's resentment or gratitude.  He not only rejects their praise, he calls himself a coward during (sigh) one of his attempts to quit NERV.  It occurs to me that this could be seen as indicating different perspectives about the military (ask any American vet who's sick of being "thanked for their service"), or even different perspectives about adulthood itself — I'll bet any millennial who did not achieve their dreams can recognize Aida's "wow this is amazing I can't wait to be a grownup too" roleplaying vs. Shinji's "I am doomed and isolated by the responsibility that has been thrown at me" actual experience in NERV.

Also thanks to the school scenes, we start to learn some backstory, including the famous "Second Impact".  A catastrophic asteroid impact in 2000 melted Antarctica's glaciers, which led to unprecedentedly rapid sea level rise, leading to mass extinction, including that of half of humanity through not only direct climate change impacts like displaced populations and crop failures but also conflict stemming from it.  Or so the official story goes.  It is later revealed that the Second Impact actually involved somehow the previous arrival of angels on Earth, although this has yet to be explained in detail.  (Actually, I accidentally saw spoilers about more detail about this while revising this review, because I went to sanity-check myself about some other detail on one of the fan wikis, so I know part of where this is going, but only part.)

Over the first eight episodes, which must be several weeks at least after the start of the show given that Rei has recovered from her initial injuries (although the time scale is very vague), Shinji fights four angels total and gradually improves, but the biggest improvement comes not from him being an individual hero but from finally working well with others.  For example, the octahedral angel that drills into NERV's base has incredible abilities to detect and counter incoming attacks.  It kicks Shinji's ass on the first attempt, because duh.  But Misato devises a plan to test its abilities and concentrate the power of... uh... Japan's entire electrical grid(?!) at it from a safe distance, and the plan succeeds only because of Rei giving Shinji cover.  An angel attacks a UN ship convoy transporting the third pilot, Asuka Langley Soryu, and her Eva, and she and Shinji fight the angel together in a ludicrous fight that involves both cramming in to pilot the same Eva together (which, interestingly, requires them to give it the same, or maybe just compatible, instructions together in the same language for it to work... yay neural interfaces).  So maybe/hopefully the direction this is going is "the chosen one is a stupid idea and even talented people need both training and cooperation to not suck at things"?

Episode 8 leaves off with Asuka joining Shinji and Rei's school class, and with the dramatic and creepy reveal of an embryo encased in bakelite which is described by Gendo as "Adam, the first human"...  Well.  That comes off as the kind of thing that would drive the future plot, and hopefully all the Biblical imagery will finally start to converge into something coherent instead of just sort of serving to draw extra attention to the fact that the humans refer to the aliens as "angels".  I've been wondering about that since the beginning.  There's the title, of course, but also the sefirot in the opening and on Gendo's office ceiling, the first angel's attacks using what appears to be a directed energy weapon which invariably forms glowing crosses, and the fact that most of the angels themselves are wildly non-humanoid (a choice which echoes the rather... eldritch... classical depictions of angels — see also the seraph in the opening).  NERV's motto is even explicitly, well, monotheistic at least, if not sectarian: "God's in his heaven.  All's right with the world!", which is counterintuitive at best with the idea of calling the alien invaders "angels".

Well.  I'll find out, and I plan to write a followup like I did with Re:ZERO, going into the broad swaths of the rest of the plot and my overall impressions of how they handled things.  Especially given that this show has a famously-controversial ending.  I jumped into this determined to watch the whole series, so I'm not backing out.

I'll just threaten to quit repeatedly then almost immediately come back.

-----

W/A/S: 4 / 3 / I feel kinda bad about this but 4?

Weeb: I mean, anything with giant robots fighting giant monsters deserves a few points just for that, right?  I don't think this requires much by way of Japanese cultural references or assumptions to watch, though.

Ass: Nudity so far has been brief, partial, censored by convenient angles and object placement, and not remotely sexy.  Thanks to another contextless spoiler I happen to have picked up, I expect an infamous later scene that is clearly supposed to be sad and disturbing in context, which is, again, not the kind of thing this scale was originally designed to describe.

Shit (writing): Even though I tend to overall like their plots, I always sort of sigh and eyeroll at the "let's put children/teens in combat and/or experiment on and/or just plain torture them to force them to become powerful" storyline formula that’s been semi-popular for the last few decades, and Evangelion is definitely in that category.  Friends have said the story is confusing or poorly-paced, and I kind of agree but also think some of the confusion is warranted by the choice to enter the story in media res in order to reveal what's going on to the audience at about the same time it's revealed to Shinji.  As for the tendency to have some long shots where literally nothing happens, that does get annoying, and I suspect its primary motivation was to save money, but I think it also usually emphasizes how lonely the whole situation is, at least before Shinji starts to warm up to Misato and Rei to Shinji in the last couple of episodes I've watched so far (which have, appropriately, had much more action and interaction).  Mainly, my writing complaints are actually about translation, because there are some noticeable and consequential differences between translations for the sub and dub.  Yeah, yeah, I've heard of the love vs. like thing everyone on the internet is already upset about, but I haven't gotten to that episode yet.  I'm talking about things like Misato saying "it will work!" in the sub vs. just "okay!" in the dub when Shinji is first able to control his Eva, a choice which suggests very different things about both her level of knowledge of the project and why Shinji has been called on for it at all.  The new dub also feels... uh... too at home as a dub of a '90s anime, as it prioritizes matching lip flaps over flowing like believable speech.  Having not seen the old dub, of course, I can't make any kind of judgement about whether this is a step up, down, or sideways from how ADV did it.  And the sub has many on-screen captions in Japanese are left untranslated — not things like signs in the background, but actual captions the audience is meant to get information from.

Shit (other): Maybe we're spoiled in this age of computer-aided art, but i's surprising to see a show with such limited animation — speech conveyed only with lip flaps, obviously reused shots within the same episode, foreground objects gracelessly sliding against a background to indicate movement — and so I'm willing to give the show a pass on most of that, especially since the characters are distinctive and the setting and aliens and robots so interesting.  Much of the limited animation actually serves to show the vast scale of NERV's facilities and the Evas vs. the humans and/or to emphasize loneliness like the pacing.  But there really are some painful mistakes from time to time in the art: objects and faces that look utterly wrong, like the artists just did not successfully figure out how to draw that particular character or vehicle from that particular angle.  The legendary opening theme is certainly catchy — it’s been stuck in my head almost continuously for the past week — but I just don’t think I enjoy it as much as other people do.  Some of the immediate complaints that were apparently worthy of news media attention were about the replacement of Fly Me to the Moon with a piece from the show's soundtrack as the ending theme.  I understand why people would be upset by that kind of change, but I am willing to take the controversial stand that it's not a bad change.  The piece they chose as a replacement is haunting and tense, which fits in with the mood of most of the episodes so far, while Fly Me to the Moon feels to me like an inappropriate mood change from that.

Content: Actually among the least graphic of the various shows I've covered involving violent or horrifying elements.

-----

Stray observations:

- God it was weird to write this by constantly abbreviating “Evangelion” as “Eva”, considering that Wife's name is Eva.

- A lot of people seem to hate Shinji as a character, but I find him understandable in a way that probably implies uncomfortable things about my own sanity.  I just... I understand that sheer degree of doom and misery and indecision and inability to articulate any of those.  Man.  Ugh.

- I don't know if you've ever seen an undisguised angel, but trust me: they're horrifying.  (link NSFW)

[shireness-says]

The Prickly Witch’s Guide to Magic

Summary: Emma Swan tries to keep the witch thing on the down-low. But when a handsome stranger discovers her secret and begs her to teach him magic, Emma finds herself using her powers for good to try and save his brother. ~9.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

A/N: It’s finally here - my @cssns piece! I’m really pleased how this one turned out, and I hope you love it too.

The fantastic fic art up top was put together by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, and will also be posted on her page. Go give her some love - she deserves it! Thanks for the edit, darling, I love it!

Special thanks also go out to my beta, @snidgetsafan; @distant-rose and @winterbythesea, who helped me come up with titles at the last minute; and the great mods for this event, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, and @katie-dub. Thanks for making this such a great event, I’ve loved getting to know folks in the fandom!

Tagging the folks I think might be interested: @branlovesouat, @awkwardnessandbaseball, @searchingwardrobes, @courtorderedcake. If you ever want to be tagged in my stuff, sent me a message.

And a quick disclaimer: my knowledge of anything medical is completely non-existant.

Without further ado: Enjoy!

Emma tries to keep the whole witch thing on the down-low.

It’s not that she’s ashamed – she’s really not. It’s just that if someone’s going to put the whole witchcraft thing into the public eye, it should probably be one of the people who view it as a way of life or whatever, instead of Emma, who tends to treat it as a hobby at best.

The thing is, she wasn’t raised as a witch, and she didn’t really actively seek it out either. She just went into the second-hand bookstore looking for a birthday present for Mary Margaret, and the old, leather-bound tome had just seemed like it was calling to her – like it was there for her and her alone. Like it wanted her more than anyone (with the exception of her best friend) ever had. So she had bought it for nearly obscenely cheap and brought it home.

(She learns later it’s technically called a grimoire, but when she first found it on the shelf, it was just a weird looking old book with a lot of funny illustrations.)

It was just messing around at first. It was pretty obvious the book was about some sort of magic, filled with discussions about the pros and cons of using wands and short biographies of famous wizards (hello, Merlin and da Vinci) and the importance of using as fresh of snake scales as possible for maximum potion efficacity. Emma didn’t take it too seriously right away, but she was finally bored enough to look through it one day, and shocked to find most of the instructions actually worked. At first, it was just little things – seeing if she could turn on the lights (she could), make a grilled cheese appear (she couldn’t, but that’s apparently less about ability and more about obscure laws of witchcraft), clean her dishes (and oh fuck yes she could, this was the best book ever; her apartment would finally be clean and Mary Margaret would get off her back). So spells go pretty well.

And then she got into potions because her cramps were fucking awful one month and she never wanted to go through that again. So she looked through the book and found a potion for curing muscle aches and made up a batch to keep on hand. And the next month, when her uterus tried to kill her again, she tried it as practically a last resort, and it worked. It worked even better the next month when combined with the potion for “intestinal distress” that she found and thought might be good for the bloating (and hot damn, it was).

So Emma Swan, who can barely feed herself, is suddenly using her stove to cook up all kinds of potions – mostly the frivolous ones for, like, shiny hair or ‘an aura of confidence’ or whatever, but still. It counts. The massive soup pot Mary Margaret got her years ago has never seen so much use in its short, somewhat sad life.

And she kind of thought that’d be it – Emma Swan gains a weird hobby, keeps Mary Margaret stocked with all the aphrodisiacs she and David could ever hope to go through. But she’s out and about at a little café one day, and that same sixth sense that led her to the book starts going off again, and that’s how she meets Belle – librarian by day, witch and magical researcher by night.

And then Mary Margaret gets her a fish and calls it her familiar as a joke, and she and Belle keep meeting to try new spells, and it sneaks up on her, just like that, that oh my God she’s totally a witch. Even if Harold the goldfish doesn’t do much more than placidly putter about his bowl instead of helping Emma channel her magic, like she thinks a familiar is supposed to (that is the idea, right? The book wasn’t particularly helpful on that subject).

Things kind of spiral from there. It’s just her and Belle for a while, until Emma has to swing by the library to print stuff one day and finds a woman in there about to hyperventilate because she accidentally froze someone’s water bottle. And even if they haven’t noticed, the woman is still standing there shaking and muttering about this being why she can’t leave the house, and Emma can’t just let that go. So Emma manages to calm the woman down enough to get her into the Bug and back to her tiny apartment, and goes about plying her with hot chocolate made with magically operating equipment (à la Mrs. Weasley, if Emma’s being very honest about how this all looks) in an effort to show her that magic can be controlled and is actually a good thing. And that person is Elsa. Emma and Belle do a lot of research and invite Elsa to all their meetings, and are generally able to help Elsa get her powers under control – especially since so much of the problem was that Elsa thought she was the only person in the world who could do magic and everyone would hate her if they learned of her abilities. In time, Elsa becomes a regular member of their little social/research group.

(It’s especially nice when, after Elsa pulls her life together, she offers to let Emma live in one of the rooms of her old Tudor-style home and just pitch in on the utilities and groceries.)

(Anna still likes to periodically send Emma fruit baskets as a thank you for coaxing her older sister out of her shell, and Emma has never been one to turn down free food, even if the whole thing makes her somewhat uncomfortable. Emma Swan is not great at thanks, ok?)

Belle is the one who meets Regina at an old bookshop, when she actually has to fight her over an old spellbook (a fight that Regina wins because Belle is a total pushover, but what are you going to do). Regina is looking for a new circle after a whole debacle with her previous group – “My batshit crazy sister turned it into some sort of power-hungry coven, and I was not there for that” – and Belle is, again, too kind to say no.

(Never mind the fact that they’re practically becoming their own little coven after Belle moves in to one of the other rooms at Elsa’s, and shit, they really are becoming witches, aren’t they? Clichés and all.)

And they’re good, the four of them. Regina may want them to stretch their wings a bit, get out there and use their magic to effect small changes in the world, but Emma is more than happy with the way things are right now, searching out new texts and comparing notes with other local witches, and finding the perfect spell to extend their rooms to include an ensuite bathroom because that is a priority if Emma’s ever seen one.

But they’re not a coven. They’re just a group of mutual friends - or acquaintances, as the case may be with Regina - who all practice magic, and sometimes get together to do some research. That’s it. It’s like… a weird book club or something. And so what if they sometimes test out some of the more intriguing spells in the house or back yard? It’s not that unusual. And honestly, some of these spell names are so smudged they have to test them somewhere just to figure out what the hell they do.

(Oh fuck, they’re totally a coven.)

Honestly, Emma tries to keep her magic inside the house. That’s not everyone’s strategy; Elsa in particular uses hers out in the world, now that she’s opened an ice cream parlor, which makes sense given where her magical strengths lie. Belle sometimes uses her magic as a research tool at the library, Emma knows, especially when she needs that one specific book that has been reshelved in the wrong place (she’s actually fashioned this impressive computer application that will give her a map showing exactly where it is, which is hella impressive and something Emma thinks they could totally capitalize upon if the magic thing becomes common knowledge). Emma really doesn’t want to know if lawyer Regina is using magic in her profession because that seems pretty unethical. And Emma doesn’t want to be in the middle of it if it’s happening. Better for her to just… not know.

So she tries to keep the magic inside the house, but sometimes, exceptions have to be made. Like when she breaks a heel while chasing one of her skips and it just seems more efficient to create something magical for him to trip over than to keep chasing. Or when the horrible ancient computer in the bail bonds office freezes up again, and she sends a little spark into its ancient guts just to encourage any kind of action. Or any of the multiple things that go wrong with her Bug.

Like now. Standing on the street, staring at a dead battery.

And yes, eventually she will have to get that new battery, but it has been a Long Day, and Emma is tired, and she just wants to get home, dammit, without calling Belle or Elsa to come pick her up. And hey, she does have a way to fix this, doesn’t she?

So Emma metaphorically winds up and lets loose a little burst of magic, just enough to get the old girl running.

Unfortunately, when she steps back, satisfied with the now rumbling engine, she notices she has an audience.

Fuck.

She should have paid more attention, checked the area, but she was so damn tired, and now some dark-haired dude is staring at her with his mouth wide open. Which, granted, is warranted, since Emma just started her car with magic.

As Emma makes eye contact, his jaw snaps shut, and she throws him a look she hopes conveys “Don’t you dare tell anyone, idiot.” It must work, because he nods frantically with wide eyes. She’ll have to take his word for it; lord knows she’s not marching over there to demand a promise and even debating a memory spell feels far too Regina for Emma’s liking.

So with a final look, Emma gets into her car and drives away, trying to forget the whole debacle.

------

The problem is, she can’t just forget it, though not for lack of trying. After taking down her latest skip, Emma gets a few days off of work, finally getting the chance to replace her damn battery and even have a little downtime. But the afternoon of her first day back, when she’s just ready to get into her car and go back home to the creaky Tudor and maybe talk her roommates into takeout, he’s there, waiting for her to show up. The guy from the other day - the guy who saw her do magic, the guy who could probably expose her secret to the world if he felt like it - standing, just leaning against a streetlight right next to her car. And it’s fucking creepy, but Emma can handle herself. She’s got her gun at her hip and a switchblade in her boot and a whole encyclopedia in her head of ways to hit a man and make it hurt.

She’s just paging through her mental catalog for precisely which move she should use to get him to hit the road when he opens his mouth and shocks her.

“Can you teach me magic?” he demands, leaving Emma somewhat startled.

“Excuse me?”

“Magic,” the man repeats. “You have magic, right? Can you teach me?”

He may not actively be a threat, but he has now been reclassified as an annoyance in Emma’s book, which is almost worse. Threats? Emma can deal with threats: shoot them, punch them, kick them in the balls. An annoyance? Well, she still wants to do all that, but can’t find any justification to act on those impulses.

So again, Emma just rolls her eyes, climbs in her car, and drives away.

------

This continues for a week.

Emma will walk out of her building to find the dark-haired nuisance waiting and ready to beg. He always keeps his distance, never makes her feel unsafe, but is a near-constant irritation that she just can’t shake, dammit.

Her week goes something like this:

Monday: Tall, dark, and irritating flashes a grin he must think is flirtatious or disarming or something, starts to say “Excuse me, Miss, if I could just ask you a few questions…” and earns a car door slammed in his face for his trouble.

Tuesday: The annoying bastard comes with bribery this time in the form of a cup of coffee and that same charming smile. Emma gives him another look and drives away without words.

Wednesday: The persistent son of a bitch tries to get personal. “Hi there,” he starts, “my name is Killian Jones, and I was hoping we could talk -”

“Still nope!” Emma tosses over her shoulder before driving away.

Thursday: Emma doesn’t go in because she has an overnight stakeout that evening. It’s a nice break from Killian(noying) Jones.

Friday: He starts to seem a little desperate. He shows up with an honest-to-god hot chocolate and one of those packaged chocolate chip muffins she loves and tries to convince her (“The lady at the cafe said this is your order, and I was hoping to have a word with you…”).

Emma is not convinced, but she does take the muffin and tries to ignore the way his face falls in disappointment that her reaction hasn’t changed. (Even if she is starting to feel a bit bad, there’s no way in hell she’s taking an open beverage from a stranger. She’s not interested in becoming the next installment of Dateline, thank you very much.)

By the time the next Tuesday rolls around, he’s resorted to outright pleading.

“Please, Miss, I am begging you, teach me something about magic.”

Even Emma and her prickly heart are a little moved and intrigued by his desperation and persistence. A little. But the thing is, even if Emma wanted to teach him magic, she can’t. It’s not something he’d be able to just… pick up. You’re either born with the ability or you’re not, and Emma’s been able to tell which, ever since she first picked up the grimoire. It’s like a magic sixth sense or something, an itch under her skin that says all is not as it seems. It’s an itch she’s probably always had - come to think of it, that might have something to do with her lie detector and uncanny talent for tracking down people who don’t want to be found - but ever since she had found the book and delved into the study of magic, she’s suddenly and acutely been aware of that instinct. It’s how she met Belle, it’s how she met Elsa, it’s how she knows that her favorite waitress at the local diner isn’t just what she appears (and why Emma tries to tip extra well at the full moon, because if working with PMS is a bitch, working before you turn into a freaking wolf has to be equally awful). But this guy? This Killian Jones? Emma’s not getting any of her little mental alerts. There’s not a magic bone in his body. And Tuesday is the day she finally snaps and tells him as such.

“I can’t, alright?” she snaps. “Sorry to disappoint.”

But of course, a man as inexplicably desperate as he just has to push, to prod, to refuse to accept her damn answer.

“Well why not?” he demands. “Too busy? Just give me an hour, I’m sure we can figure something out - ”

“Because I can’t teach people who don’t already have magic, you idiot!”

His entire body practically collapses in on itself as he registers her words, and Emma almost feels bad. Almost. Except for the part where he’s been pestering her for a week now.

“You’re a muggle, Jones,” she chuckles humorlessly, before a thought catches her. “Why the hell is it so important that you learn magic, anyways?”

------

She feels like a total ass when he tells her.

Killian Jones, she learns, has an older brother, who is his entire world.

“He’s all I have left,” he chokes out through the tears. Because Liam Jones, beloved older brother of one Killian Jones, has been in the hospital ever since a drunk driver plowed into his car a month ago. There’d been a convenient bus stop nearby with a bench on which they could sit and talk, but Emma finds that he’s having trouble meeting her eye, as if fully facing the woman he’s begging for help means facing the reality of his brother’s situation. “The doctors were able to set the broken bones and fix the internal bleeding, but he won’t wake up. They’re saying things about brain damage…” the sad, dark-haired man in front of her trails off, running a hand through his hair. Emma can’t decide whether the gesture is more absent-minded or distressed. “He’s everything to me. And they’re saying it will take a miracle for him to ever be alright again.” His back straightens, as if with new resolve, and finally fully turns to face her. “Well, I don’t have a miracle. But you have magic, and I thought if you could teach me, that might be enough.” As the memory of her earlier words catches up, he slumps again. “But if you can’t teach me…”

“I can’t,” she interrupts, hating herself for the abruptness as new tears spring to his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I won’t help.”

For the first time, she sees a flicker of hope cross his face. “Yeah?”

Emma nods, once, definitively. “Yeah. Hop in.”

------

“Dinner will be ready soon!” Belle chirps as Killian and Emma walk through the front door of the old Tudor. “I found this mac and cheese recipe in one of the new cookbooks. It’ll probably be our cause of death, but hey, what a way to go - ”

“We’ve got company,” Emma finally cuts in, trying not to chuckle as Killian looks around the entryway with eyes comically wide, like he’s expecting a stack of broomsticks in a corner or something.

(To be fair, there is currently a broom in the corner where the stairs meet the wall, but it’s one of the plastic ones and there because Emma’s a bit of a slacker when it comes to cleaning.)

Belle rushes into the living room a moment later as Emma is still trying to motion to Killian to take off his shoes (technically, she could do it for him, but using magic on unsuspecting people who don’t deserve it is rude). She looks like some picture out of a misogynistic 1950’s Betty Crocker advertisement, with her heels and carefully coiffed hair and a damn apron, for fuck’s sake.

“Company?” she asks a little breathlessly - probably what running around in platform heels will do to you - “You didn’t mention company this morning.” And then, not nearly far enough under her breath to disguise the words, “You never have company.” It earns her a glare from Emma and an even more bewildered look from Killian.

“Yeah, well this wasn’t exactly planned.” Gesturing to the man in question, Emma continues into the introductions.  “Killian Jones, my roommate Belle. Belle French, Killian Jones. We’re helping him.”

Belle furrows her brow. “We? I’d love to help, Emma, but I’m not sure how much I can do to help find your skips -”

“No, not that. Magic. We’re helping him with magic.”

That catches Belle off guard, sending them into several moments of shocked silence, only broken when Killian quietly offers, “If that’s okay with you…”

Belle finally snaps back to attention. “Oh! Yes, of course! Oh Emma, this will be such a good opportunity to finally use these powers to make a difference…”

And they’re off.

------

Elsa reacts similarly to Emma’s sudden pronouncement, and Regina is practically giddy over the phone at the opportunity to finally fucking do something (and someone really needs to talk to her about interacting with people, because this is not the way to go about it). By the time Belle has the goopy macaroni spooned into bowls, they’ve brought down every spell book they own and spread them across the kitchen table.

Belle full-out cries when Killian tells the story again, and Emma knows she’ll do anything to help, what with her tender Disney Princess heart. Elsa’s already pulled out a legal pad to write down all their ideas, and Emma’s actually feeling really confident about this. Regina’s proved particularly good at locating sleeping curses and antidotes (which is, frankly, a little alarming), so that’s what they decide to try first. They all agree to meet at the hospital two days later to test their first batch of potential solutions.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” Killian tells Emma quietly before he leaves, standing by the door and trying clumsily to put his shoes back on while juggling the Tupperware containers of chocolate chip cookies and macaroni that Belle insisted on sending home with him.

It’s the wrong thing to say, at least if he wants a real answer, because Emma Swan has spent her life looking out for herself and never really learned how to react to others’ thanks. She thinks she manages to mutter out something along the lines of, “Yeah, whatever, no problem,” but honestly there’s no telling - she’s too busy shuffling her feet and not making eye contact to really pay attention. He must sense it, because his words change from sentimental to almost business-like.

“I’ll see you Thursday, then? The main lobby at City Hospital, 6pm?”

Emma nods, grateful for the change in subject. “We’ll be there.”

He almost manages a smile. “Wonderful.” And then he’s gone.

(It’s not quite relief that Emma feels at his departure, but Killian Jones just makes her feel off balance, so it’s not sorrow either.)

------

Liam Jones looks rough.

Emma isn’t quite sure what she expected—she is coming to see a comatose hospital patient, after all - but it’s shocking all the same. She can see such a strong resemblance between the two brothers, but his frame looks diminished from a month hooked up to wires and fed through tubes, cheeks hollow and frame slim with an unhealthy, sallow tint to his skin. She can see the hint of a curl in his sandy brown hair, but it’s lank and slicked back. Overall he has the look of a man barely clinging to life, a barely breathing corpse, and it brings what two days ago in the kitchen was a theoretical problem into horrifying reality.

Maybe it’s just the harsh fluorescent lighting inside the hospital, but Emma Swan can suddenly see how awful Killian looks too. There are faint shadows under his eyes, and his cheekbones stand out in stark relief, more gaunt than they ought to be (though Emma does suspect that he always has those handsome, defined cheekbones, but this seems excessive and unnatural). Clearly, the worry over his brother is taking its toll on him.

Killian still tries to stay cheerful, plumping the pillows of a man who can’t tell one way or another and chattering away about “all these lovely ladies come to see you, you lucky bastard!”, but Emma can tell his confidence is wavering.

It’s only now, here at the hospital, that Emma realizes exactly how out of their depth they all are, how out of place to boot. They’re all here at the behest of a man they barely know, trying to help a man they’ve never met. No matter how Emma looks at it, she feels like an imposter, and even worse, a bearer of false hope for a man they may already be too late to help. Killian is trying as hard as he can to bring normalcy to this situation by making one-sided introductions, but there’s an awkward and heavy cloud that hangs over the whole situation.

It’s Elsa who’s the ice breaker, surprisingly, walking up and taking Liam’s hand like he’s anyone else she’d greet  in a meeting or on the street. Emma may have helped Elsa out into the world, but she’s still a retiring sort, shy and nervous about meeting new people. But she’s the one able to take the human, compassionate approach where the rest of them have fallen into the mistake of looking at Liam as a problem to be solved.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Liam,” she says in her soft, matter-of-fact voice. “We’re going to do everything we can to help you.”

And that’s enough to focus their attention and get everyone started.

Emma’s the first up, which is nerve wracking, but she’s the best at healing spells (way too much practice on herself), and they collectively decided that would be the first theory to try. Maybe, if they’re very lucky, this can be an easy fix, and Emma can sort out whatever is wrong with Liam’s brain the same way she would deal with a sprained ankle or broken ribs. Emma isn’t particularly hopeful, but looking over and seeing the trusting look in Killian’s eyes helps.

So she holds her hand over Liam’s forehead, gathers every ounce of concentration she possesses to collect the necessary magic from that well deep inside her, and releases it all at once. And yeah, it creates a nice little glow, but Emma can tell right away that it’s not going to work. She can already feel with her magic that there’s nothing to fix. She’s sure there’s better medical terms the doctors would use, but the closest she can describe it as is a feeling that his brain is stalled, or hibernating. She can help with some of the swelling, but Emma just knows, in a way that she can’t describe, that she can’t make him wake up.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to tell Killian with words about how she’s just failed; one look at her face, and what must be an incredibly guilty look, and he nods resignedly. “Thank you for trying,” he tells her, and that hurts almost as bad as her failure itself - the way he isn’t blaming her.

“We’ve got other things to try,” she adds, whether to remind him or herself still unclear.

And they do. Regina is already stepping forward with a list of spells to reverse sleeping curses, and Emma willingly passes the proverbial baton to allow the other woman a chance to try her solutions. A concentrated blast like she had just attempted is a pure burst of energy, and Emma welcomes the chance to slump into the nearby chair, no matter how uncomfortable, and take a moment to recuperate.

Emma has to admit - Regina is good at these complex spells, where each and every word has to be pronounced just so or it all goes awry. She’s also surprisingly gentle with their patient, brushing his hair back where a gust of magic must have tousled it, and Emma is surprised and gratified to realize that Regina must actually have a heart underneath that terrifying shell.

But even her skilled spellwork doesn’t do it. Liam Jones is still resolutely unconscious.

Back to the drawing board.

------

“I know technically it’s not a sleeping curse, but it’s not like magic is the most exact thing in the world,” Regina says, pacing the front room and blatantly contradicting her many soapbox speeches about how exact you have to be in magic and spellwork. “I was so sure it would work.”

She’s disappointed. They’re all disappointed. It had been heartbreaking to leave Killian with what was still only a shell of his brother, but they’d filed out one by one, Emma the last to leave.

“We’ll find something else that will work,” she says as confidently as she can muster.

“I believe in you,” he says. It’s funny how just those four words warm her heart. “But even if you can’t, I just want to thank you for everything you’ve tried. It’s a lot more than most would have done.”

(And damn if that doesn’t make her all the more determined to find a way to fix this.)

So they’re paging through the books again.

“There’s one here for ‘opening the mind’…” Belle uncertainly offers.

Emma shrugs in return. “Worth a shot. Can’t be any worse than that thing Elsa found about reversing a soul being trapped in the wrong body.”

They’ve made it through the obvious options - healing magic, sleeping curses - so the evening has been taken up by more outlandish suggestions. Light magic used in the wrong context doesn’t backfire, thankfully, so even their more absurd ideas won’t negatively impact Liam.

Emma has just shut one book and is about to open another when there’s a knock on the door. It’s late, nearly 9:30, and as far as Emma’s aware, they’re not expecting anyone (she’d been counting on it, actually, when she’d pulled on her fleece Mario pajama pants and an old t-shirt). But none of them are in the habit of just ignoring the door, so she hauls herself up off the old couch to find out what the hell this mystery person wants.

And (of fucking course) it’s Killian, standing there on the front porch holding a collection of Granny’s takeout bags like some sort of fried food fairy. And of course he looks bashful and adorable, while Emma’s in sloppy clothes and the glasses she never lets anyone see if she can help it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I, uh…” She can see his hand moving like he wants to scratch behind his ear, but he’s got too many bags and a tray of drinks to actually manage the maneuver. “I thought I’d buy you all some dinner as thanks for what you’re doing.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. Very sweet, but unexpected. “That’s, uh.... thanks. That’s nice of you.” She moves to take some of his load, and he gratefully hands her one of the stuffed bags. Emma can already smell the fried goodness, and she is so ready to eat (she may have forgotten to do so in the middle of all this research, a fact Killian undoubtedly knows somehow). Holding half the haul, she stands there, confused and with raised eyebrow, as the man on her porch makes no move to hand over the other half, and then some, of her dinner.

Seeing her questioning look, he smiles sheepishly. “I was hoping to maybe come in? Eat with you? I picked up something for myself as well.”

And suddenly, it clicks. He’s lonely, just like Emma used to be before witchcraft brought so many people into her life. He’d already said it; Liam is his entire world. And without Liam, he’s probably wondering what to do with himself. So she steps aside and lets him in the door.

“I hope it’s alright,” he says, “but I just went to the place down the street. They seemed to know everyone’s orders, so there wasn’t any guesswork.”

It’s more than alright. In fact, Emma’s switched her opinion and he’s clearly some sort of food bearing angel. The other ladies are in similar states of surprise and gratefulness - Regina earns a particularly baleful look for saying “Why are you here?” instead of a proper greeting - but dinner is a welcome distraction from their hours of research, and Emma is even convinced to give up part of her sprawl on the couch so the bearer of diner food can actually sit down. And then Granny is the saint, because the bags contain everyone’s favorites - some sort of salad and an iced tea for grease-phobic Regina; lasagna and a Reese’s milkshake for Elsa; a burger, loaded fries, and strawberry milkshake for Belle; and Emma’s classic grilled cheese, onion rings, and butterscotch shake. It’s just what they need to refresh their depleted energy, and offers a chance to step away for a few minutes and come back looking at things from a new perspective.

“Can I help?” he asks, halfway through his own bacon cheeseburger, and Emma can’t find any reason to say no. Especially not after he adds, “I’m surprisingly good at research.” This is an all hands on deck type of situation; another pair of eyes would be more than welcome for wading through stacks of dense text and Regina’s weird internet research.

He actually is pretty good at it, they find out. Killian Jones may not have a lick of magic in his entire body, but he’s got a knack for recognizing when some of the weirder wording might be applicable to their goal, like the “cleansing of the mind spell” that’s probably meant as a forgetting tactic or the “jolt of wakefulness” potion they could probably feed into his IV (and that Emma definitely wants to try on some of her stakeouts).

“Thank you for letting me be a part of something,” he tells her at the end of the night, his eyes hinting at meanings she’s not yet ready to understand. So she shrugs it off.

“We’re the ones who should be thanking you. You’re the one who brought us dinner, after all, and then stayed to keep looking at spellbooks. That’s not everyone’s idea of a good time.”

He smiles, a sad little thing. “Maybe not, but it’s an awful lot better than sitting at home, worrying about Liam and unable to do a damn thing.”

And she hates the confirmation that her suspicions were correct, that he’s lonely. But the good thing is, they can do something about the loneliness, because if Emma never had to be alone again after meeting her collection of witches, Killian won’t have to be either. Still, she tries to keep her words as nonchalant as possible. “Well, you’re welcome any time. Belle’s always looking for someone else to fuss over.”

He still smiles, like he can see right through her and knows Emma likes his presence too. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, in a final maneuver she thinks must be unplanned, if the way his ears turn bright red is anything to go by, he grabs her hand to press a kiss to its back. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone into the night, leaving Emma wondering what the hell just happened.

------

They’re back in the hospital again on Saturday, this time at a more decent hour. Liam Jones doesn’t look any better in the full light of day, and it’s with some alarm that Emma thinks he might be looking worse. She hopes it’s all in her head, that her eye has been prejudiced by the sight of all the hospital equipment, but she can’t help but remember what Killian had said - that the doctors decreed Liam would need a miracle. It’s absolutely crucial, imperative, that one of their attempts work.

Killian is still trying to keep the positive attitude on in front of Liam, but Emma can almost physically see the frayed edges of his optimism. “The lovely ladies are going to try a few more things, Liam,” he says, adjusting blankets. “So hold still, would you?”

There is some progress. The wakefulness potion is a dud, but the spell for opening the mind does increase brain activity, so Emma’s counting it as a slight victory. Even if Liam is still firmly unconscious, Killian is thrilled to see any change in his status. But unfortunately, they still end up having to leave again without finding a real solution.

It’s a pattern that continues over the next two and a half weeks. Emma, Elsa, Belle, and Regina spend every spare moment researching, and Killian will bring them food from various local restaurants or, on a few memorable nights, cook a meal (and Emma doesn’t even really like fish but damn if that baked whatever with the lemon sauce wasn’t the best thing she’s had all year). Schedule permitting, they visit Liam in the hospital every two or three days to test out new potential cures, some with more success than others - the potion for “opening one’s eyes” turned out to do literally that, which resulted in a still unconscious Liam staring at them with unseeing eyes until Killian carefully lowered his lids again.

Killian tries so hard to hold on to hope, but Emma can see the toll this has taken on him. He’s gotten progressively quieter, his shoulders more slumped, the determined fire in his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. The more she sees his optimism fade, the more her own determination grows, until she finds herself pushing to try some of the more risky solutions that the other women are hesitant about, because anything has got to be better than making Killian just watch his brother slip away.

“I don’t understand why you won’t try these things!” she argues one night.

“Well, we’re trying to cure Liam, not cause his demise,” Regina drawls, and somehow that only makes Emma’s anger burn hotter.

“And this is better?” she demands. “Sitting around, just hoping the right solution will fall into our laps? When it hasn’t in the past three weeks?”

Belle, as always, is a voice of reason. “I think if we end up moving into the riskier options, that’s a decision Killian should make, not you, Emma. If that’s what he wants, I’ll be more than happy to try.”

All eyes turn to Killian. He’s been especially quiet and downcast today, only picking at his sandwich and fries. That’s part of the reason Emma’s pushing especially hard for a change in tactics today - it hurts in a way she can’t explain to see Killian like this. But even with so many eyes on him, he just sits there quietly, rolling a French fry back and forth between his fingers and not responding.

“Well?” Emma prods. “What do you think?” If she can just sway him to give it a try, maybe they can make this better, and maybe she can put that smile back on his face, the one he gave her when they first started this endeavor and he was still excited and hopeful…

But something within Killian must break, as he stands up and mumbles something about needing fresh air before he stalks out of the room, the front door banging shut in the distance.

Regina offers her a disapproving look that is, honestly, probably deserved for her actions. “Great job, Emma. I’m sure it was absolutely helpful to piss off Jones when he’s the one whose favor you needed to win.”

Emma glares right back before exiting the room herself, following Killian out to the front stoop and sitting down at his side. He looks a mess, honestly; his hair is all mussed from running his hands through it, and she now finds him clutching his head like he’s trying to block out everything else that’s going on. They sit there for a few moments in silence - Emma gathering her thoughts, Killian seemingly suppressing them - before she finally finds her words.

“I’m sorry for pushing,” she says quietly into the night. “I know this is all your decision, and you shouldn’t do anything that you think isn’t what’s best for Liam -”

“It’s not that,” he says, flapping a hand to wave off her concerns. “I appreciate all you’re doing, really. It’s just…” He trails off, head dropping again before he finally turns back to her and completes his sentence, so quiet she has to strain to hear. “The doctors told me today that if Liam doesn’t show marked improvement by the two month mark, the middle of next week, that he probably won’t ever. And then, I’ll have to seriously consider letting him go.”

Killian’s quiet explanation leaves Emma feeling like there’s suddenly ice running through her veins instead of blood. It’s been obvious from day one how important this is, but now they will have to contend with the fact that they’re running out of time. There’s no words she can say to fix the situation; she can’t even begin to imagine what Killian is going through. All Emma can offer is to take his hand and squeeze it gently, simply offering the comfort of not being alone.

“I don’t know what to do, Swan,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose him, but if we don’t do anything, it’ll still happen.” There’s a heavy pause, as he once again stares off into the darkness, lost in his thoughts, before he finds the words to continue. “I trust you, Emma, and I trust your magic. Do you think the best chance to save Liam is in some of these riskier options?”

She’d suggested it out of desperation, but the truth is, she does. They’ve gone through all the obvious and safe answers, so if they’re going to save Killian’s brother, they’re going to have to step outside their comfort zone, try other options.

So she takes a deep breath, gathers all her courage, and replies in as confident a voice as she can muster:

“I do.”

------

Regina and the others take the new direction somewhat better when the marching orders are coming from the man any issues would most affect. There’s still quite a few mentions of “If you’re sure…” but that’s more or less expected, and they continue on all the same.

They’ve really had to get creative now. It’s not entirely unexpected that they start looking for spell combinations that might work in tandem where they’d be ineffective alone, but Belle also starts dabbling in writing new ones herself, taking the useful parts of several different incantations and somehow mashing them together. It takes a skill with languages that Emma frankly doesn’t possess, but she thinks the results ought to be effective, and Belle gets excited talking about the potential for publication if any of them work.

Each of their next several tries is still woefully ineffective. Liam is stubbornly unresponsive, and all the attempts just result in utter exhaustion on everyone’s part. Killian tells Emma over and over how much he appreciates their efforts, her efforts, that he’ll remember that regardless, but they’re all tired and desperate and it’s not working.

Until it does.

It works. It finally all works. Emma is so relieved, she doesn’t have the words to properly describe it. Killian’s belief in her may never have wavered, but Emma’s faith in herself certainly had, and the last days had been plagued with the panic that maybe she wouldn’t be able to save Liam Jones after all, that she’d be forced to disappoint Killian and his beautiful hope. But they succeed.

She’s right, too; solution that ultimately works is so far outside the box that it’s a miracle in itself that they were able to devise its steps. The easiest way Emma can think of it is as the human equivalent of turning the computer off and then back on again: Elsa freezes his brain in stasis for protection, Belle enacts a complicated spell for removing the soul from the body in a shining ball of light before reaffixing it as Regina shocks his heart with a burst of magic like defibrillator paddles. Then Emma’s left to send another glow of healing magic as Elsa removes the freeze, the whole thing topped by a kiss from Killian to his brother’s sleeping forehead - a True Love’s Kiss. It’s a cheesy measure, one that makes Regina roll her eyes, but Belle had argued that it couldn’t hurt.

And it hadn’t. There’s not some ridiculous blast of rainbow light or anything, but the moment Killian’s lips touch Liam’s brow, Emma feels the world settle in a way she can’t quite explain but attributes to magic, to things setting to rights again, to a sleeping soul breathing a sigh of relief.

It’s not like the movies. Liam doesn’t gasp and sit up in bed, eyes flying open in a cinematically dramatic moment. But he squeezes Killian’s hand where it clasps his, and that’s enough to signify drastic improvement.

“Liam?” he asks, so hopefully, and while the elder Jones may still be unconscious, they all watch as his hand tightens around Killian’s. It’s conscious movement at last, and with that realization, the room becomes jubilant, exploding in a chorus of cheers.

There’s hugging and smiling and they may all be tired but Elsa lets out a little joyful screech, and it’s probably a miracle they’re not all kicked out. Somehow, Emma finds herself in Killian’s arms, and he’s smiling that smile again and there are tears in both their eyes and his face is just so close—

—and she kisses him.

It’s not planned, not at all, but her lips meet his and he’s kissing her right back, and God, she could get lost in this if not for the fact—

—if not for the fact that he’s only doing this because she saved his brother.

It’s like a bucket of cold water, that realization, and Emma steps back with wide, horrified eyes to find Killian looking at her with an unfocused gaze.

“Swan—” he begins, but Emma’s not willing to hear where that sentence ends - hear the excuses and the apologies and the buts. Almost before she knows it, she’s backing away until she’s out the door and into the hallway.

And then, Emma Swan runs.

------

She knows she’s really fucked up when even Elsa comments about her desperate exit.

“I know I’m not one to comment on others’ love lives,” she says, “but that was quite harsh, Emma. We might know about all your… let’s say struggles with dating, but the poor boy was just left there in a daze without any idea why you had booked it out of there.”

Emma really hates the picture that puts in her head, of a sad Killian just standing there with that stunned look on his face melting into confusion and disappointment. There’s a shock of guilt that accompanies that vision, but she does her best to push it aside. It was a moment of weakness on both their parts; it didn’t actually mean anything. Killian was undoubtedly just so happy that something had finally worked, which led him to reciprocate… whatever Emma’s excuse is. She’s still not entirely sure. Anyways, it was surely just a one-time thing. Her usefulness to him is effectively over, now that Liam is firmly on the road to recovery; they likely won’t ever cross paths again, now that there’s not any real reason for them to.

Of course, that’s not strictly true. Emma may not be having anything to do with the Jones brothers, and Regina is not enough of a people person to willingly pursue any further friendship without measurable advantage to herself, but Elsa and Belle are much better people who still stop by the hospital with dinner and check up on how both men are doing. It’s how Emma gets updates on Liam’s condition - how he finally opened his eyes and properly woke up two days after their breakthrough, how he’s still tired and healing and a bit out of it, but how the doctors expect him to make a full recovery, against all odds. By all accounts, he’s starting to get antsy, and Emma hopes he’ll be allowed home soon for both men’s sake.

“He asks about you, you know,” Belle contributes, and Emma can’t even pretend to not know who she’s talking about. “Whenever we walk in the room, he perks up for a moment until he realizes you haven’t come with us. Really, Emma, you’re being ridiculous.”

And she probably is. She definitely is. But she can’t get over the fear that Killian isn’t really interested in her, just in what she can do.

The weeks pass by. Elsa and Belle keep inviting her to the hospital, insisting Liam wants to meet her and Killian would just love to see her, but Emma dodges and avoids and works more hours, just to have an excuse not to go.

(She’d tried Mary Margaret at first, who had relished spending more time with Emma until she realized it was an emotional avoidance ploy. And then she’d flatly refused to be a part of it.)

At the end of the month, Liam gets to go home to the apartment he and Killian apparently share, and Emma gets to hear all about it. Elsa and Liam have apparently taken a liking to one another, which has resulted in even more visits and even more updates on all things Jones Brothers and the promise of an actual date once Liam’s well enough to drive them both to a nice restaurant. Emma’s happy for her friend, she truly is - Elsa deserves the world, after everything she’s been through - but it really throws a wrench in Emma’s plans to just never see Killian Jones again. If his brother and her roommate start dating, it’s a little inevitable that their paths will cross eventually, for better or worse.

Their latest ploy - ok, it’s not a ploy, but each invite Emma has to dodge feels like an individual attack on her resolve in some larger evil plan, so she’s sticking with ploy - is a welcome home party for Liam. Emma declines, almost out of habit now - she’ll find work or something to occupy herself, give herself a plausible excuse. The thing is, if she was to show up, it probably wouldn’t be that big a deal. They’d all talk and laugh and have a good time. Elsa’s trying to figure out what flavors of ice cream she’ll bring, and there’s sure to be cake. But Emma’s a wuss, and she might have feelings for Jones, hesitant as she is to admit it. She’s not sure she could take it if she spends an entire night in his company where he treats her as nothing more than a friend or, even worse, some sort of business associate. So she’ll stay home instead, thank you very much.

And she does have plans. They just involve executing a honeytrap on the latest jumper instead of socializing at some party. The problem is, those plans don’t last nearly as long as she anticipates, and Emma finds herself back home at the Tudor much sooner than she planned, sporting a number of scrapes from where she had to tackle her man to the ground outside the coffee shop. She’s barely limped inside and taken off her shoes, flipping through the mail in the kitchen, before she hears the awful dramatic doorbell that some relative of Elsa’s had installed God-only-knows when. Groaning audibly, she hauls herself downstairs again and throws the door open much more forcibly than she really needs to. “Look, I’m really not in the mood for whatever pitch this is,” she begins, fully ready to give whatever door-to-door salesman is bothering her a piece of her mind—

—only to find one Killian Jones standing on her doorstep.

The guilt hits her immediately as his face shifts through sheepishness to shock and then on to anger.

“You are avoiding me!” he accuses, and it takes every bit of willpower Emma possesses not to physically flinch at the words. Even if they are true. “I thought I’d come check on you tonight when you didn’t show, and thought I’d find you sick or working, or any reasonable excuse, but you’re flat-out avoiding me!”

His anger hurts, somewhat, and makes her feel guilty, but at the same time, those are fighting words. And Emma Swan has never been one to back down from a fight. Defenses raised, she shoots back with all the vitriol she can muster, “So what if I am? Most people would get the hint, or figure there’s a reason.”

“Well, as the one being avoided, I think I have a right to know the reason!” he demands, before softening once again, seemingly suddenly aware of his tone. “Look, Emma, it’s just… we kissed. And I thought it was a pretty good kiss,” he adds bashfully, scratching behind his ear in that way Emma has always secretly found adorable. “But then you just… ran off. And have conveniently not shown hide nor hair ever since. Did I do something wrong?” By the end, he’s almost painfully earnest, and Emma feels that knife of guilt dig just that little bit deeper. She still needs to stand strong, to protect herself from heartbreak, but there’s no reason for her to hurt him in the process, so she finally shakes her head, all the while avoiding his eyes.

“What then?” he asks, as gently as the situation allows. “Because I’m observant, Swan, and this? This is avoiding me.”

There’s a pause. A great, big, heavy pause. How do you tell a person the fears of your heart, when the greatest fear in your heart is letting anyone in?

He plows on, nonetheless, in the face of her silence. “I like you, you know?” he says softly, scratching behind his ear again, a tell-tale nervous tic. “I don’t know if that kiss meant something to you, but it did to me. Because I think you’re brilliant and fierce and… I like you.”

“You just like the magic,” Emma mutters. She can tell the moment her words process in his mind because he suddenly stares at her like she’s grown a second head.

“You think I just like you because you can wield magic?” he asks incredulously. He almost looks insulted, oddly enough, and it takes Emma somewhat aback. “Emma, that’s… that’s ridiculous, really. You really thought I only valued your company for what you can do, and not who you are? I mean, maybe at first…” he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and she’d almost think it was cute, if she wasn’t anxiously waiting for his next words. “But then I got to know you, Swan, and you were much more than that. So brave, and determined, and… honestly, anyone who’s only interested in you for your magic is an idiot, love. You’re so much more than that. Well, and you treat it like some kind of bloody ridiculous hobby instead of the power it probably could be.” Killian laughs at his own joke, and Emma cracks into a slight smile too, unable to resist the sound. “But no, Swan, I find you fascinating for many, many reasons, and your magic is the very least of them.”

Tentatively, Emma meets his eyes, seeking confirmation. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t disappoint, smiling and nodding back at her with a chuckle. “Aye. You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.” His smile is so wide, so full of hope and truth, that try as she might, Emma can’t find a reason to doubt him.

She’s never been good at this part of relationships - making the first move when things are still so tentative and unsure. But she can sense that Killian’s nervous too, can practically feel it rolling off him in waves, and that gives her an unexpected boost of confidence. This doesn’t have to be like magic, be precise and exact or the whole thing will fall apart and your nose probably will turn green. It doesn’t matter how either one of them approaches this, just that they do.

So Emma gathers all the courage she can muster, and steps forward to catch his lips with hers, creating a different kind of magic altogether.

It’s a little bit fanciful (okay, a lot a bit fanciful), but Emma can’t help but feel like there’s an energy that flows between her body and his, between her soul and his, as their lips move together - at first softly and gently, but then deeper, stronger, more passionate as lips open and tongues caress and they both lose themselves in the special magic of a first kiss. Some might call it fate, or soulmates; Emma’s not quite ready to call it anything yet.

(But she very well might be some day, perhaps sooner than she thinks.)

They’re both breathing heavily when they finally separate, foreheads still touching as if connected by invisible threads.

“That was…” he begins, a smile creeping over his face.

Emma quickly interrupts. “If you say magical, I swear to God, I’ll smack you, don’t think I won’t.” She tries to look stern, but honestly, her kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair from where Killian had slipped his hand into her curls probably ruin that illusion.

“Of course not, darling,” he good-naturedly replies with a smile and what she suspects is a suppressed laugh. “Who am I to challenge a witch?”

------

Killian Jones has no magic to speak of.

But he’s a great cook and patient with all the chaos only a house full of witches can conjure up - not to mention, a damn good kisser - so Emma’s more than willing to overlook that fact.

Magic and Killian don’t always mix - he’s particularly not a fan of how Emma sets off the magical equivalent of firecrackers under their bed for April Fool’s Day - but overall, he’s so casual about the whole topic that Emma wants to laugh at herself for believing even for a second that he’d have a problem with any of it.

Things change, of course. Their relationship strengthens and solidifies and eventually relocates to their own place when Elsa decides they could all use a bit more privacy (especially since things have gotten serious between the elder Jones and herself), but their relationship is the constant. That little corner within Emma that hosts her magic simultaneously boils and settles every time she and Killian are together.

Killian Jones couldn’t perform a spell if he tried. But sometimes, curled into his side in bed and feeling her heart glow with happiness as he pulls her just that little bit closer, Emma Swan thinks he possesses his own magic all the same, one born of the feelings they share for one another.

And that’s a witchcraft more powerful than any spellbook.

[anderfels]

Uh oh, uh oh, looks like I’ve done Inq-as-a-Companion stuff. 

I’ve taken the general template from here. If you end up doing this too, please tag me because I love all of your Inquisitors. This is also uncomplete, I’m just posting it now... because... reasons... I’ll be filling out the rest later and also will be coming up with extras. 

I also have no knowledge on tarot or anything related to tarot so the image descriptions are just going to be image descriptions of what I think would fit, there is no tarot equivalent lol. I tried searching up meanings but all that gave me was confusion and I’d rather not throw out what I think might be compatible with tarot but it turns out to be Terribly Wrong. So, yeah. No tarot meanings, just pretty images (or what I think would be a pretty image). 

All of this is subject to be changed because I think something can be good one day and then look at it the next day and decide that it’s Cringe. 

Name: Davhalla Athdheani, but his friends sometimes call him “Dav” (”Dahv”) for short, a.k.a Yet Another Generic Pretty Boy Elf (As If The Dragon Age Fandom Doesn’t Have Enough Of Them Already) Race: Elf (of the Dalish variety)  Class: Rogue   Specialization: Ranger (I know this is from DA:O, but I don’t think the other specializations in DA:I fit him that well, lol. He can choose to summon a dog, elk, or a bear. Each summon lasts until they die. Throw in a passive or something where hawks will sometimes swoop down and do 300% weapon damage to an enemy. Fail miserably at attempting to adapt the Ranger specialization into something more modern.)  Varric’s Nickname For Them: Icing, due to the fact that he likes sweet rolls. More specifically, he licks the icing off of them. Yeah. Please don’t let him into the kitchen. 

...This might just be a placeholder. It depends on if I can think of something better (probably not). He also finds it incredibly embarrassing whenever Varric calls him this. He just thinks that the icing is sweet and tasty and he didn’t know Varric was standing there and he should probably be quiet now, shouldn’t he?  Short Bio: I’ll fill this in later once I can come up with something that isn’t complete nonsense.  

Companion Card: Him and a halla, facing the left. They’re in a verdant forest, the canopy preventing most sunlight except for a few golden rays, outlined with white, from peeking through. There’s a river flowing in front of them, and Davhalla has his hand on the back of the halla’s neck as it drinks. His head is facing away from the viewer, looking deeper into the forest. There’s a bow slung across his back along with a quiver containing a few arrows. It would look peaceful if not for the fact that his free hand is clenched into a fist.  If Loyal (All Personal Quests Completed): He’s shown picking up a flower, outlined in white, in a lush garden, kneeling on the ground. He’s wearing his default armor, while his bow and quiver lie on the ground next to him. This time, the viewer can see his profile. The flower’s petals rest underneath his nose, barely touching his upper lip as he takes in its fragrance. His eyes are closed. He seems serene.  If Romanced: He’s shown with his back to the viewer, pointing to the rising sun on the horizon, thin, golden lines emanating from it and spreading across the sky. He appears to be standing on a cliff, one foot resting on a rock. He doesn’t have on his bow or quiver, and a small, white flower is seen on the side of his head, looking like the one in his loyalty card. He is shown holding someone’s hand, but the only thing visible is their armored arm. 

Recruitment Mission: After meeting with the Chantry in Val Royeaux and going to a camp in the Hinterlands for the first time, an Inquisition messenger comes up to the Herald and talks about a Dalish elf who seemed very insistent that they meet them. If asked why the elf isn’t there, the messenger says that they left around half an hour before the Herald arrived, claiming that they needed to hunt their food for today but they said that they would be around the southeast, near that “weird... cult... people...” a.k.a near Winterwatch Tower. 

He is found a bit to the northeast of Winterwatch, near where you would find the cabin key for the Conscientious Objector sidequest. When approached, you find that he’s being attacked by outlaws. He’ll ask--well, yell at--the Herald for some help. He’s clearly outnumbered. 

After defeating the outlaws, he will dust off his armor and greet the Herald. If the Herald is also Dalish, he greets them with “Andaran atish’an,” and proclaim his surprise that they’re Dalish, as he wouldn’t have expected humans to follow an elf. The Herald can ask if he’s really never heard that they’re Dalish before, and he’ll sheepishly say that he assumed that it was a rumor made up to discredit the Inquisition. If they’re not, then he greets them with a simple “Hello,” and says that he’s pleased to finally meet them, along with thanking them profusely for getting him out of that situation. 

He’ll explain that he left his clan--but leave out the part where it was against his mother’s wishes--in order to join the Inquisition. If asked what he could bring the Inquisition, he’ll say that his clan, Athdheani, is well-established with some other clans and that the fledgling Inquisition could use all the help they could get, right? The Dalish have powerful mages, unparalleled trackers and navigators, people who have been using a bow, a sword, a dagger ever since they could hold one, healers who know of methods that others have forgotten, they’re the only people who can forge ironbark, etc. If it’s a Dalish Herald asking him this question, a line is added before in which he says, “I’m sure you know what we could provide, Herald, but just in case...” A Dalish Herald can also remark about how they could have heard of Davhalla’s clan before--their Keeper was pretty fussy at the last Arlathven. 

Davhalla laughs. “They can be like that.” 

If accepted into the Inquisition, Davhalla will thank the Herald with a polite bow and tell them that he’ll send word to the clans that he knows--you can notice that he never says he’ll get into contact with his own clan. The updated quest text will read Davhalla has joined the Inquisition. You now have the strength of the Dalish behind you. 

If denied, Davhalla will still politely bow to the Herald and say that he supposes they know best. “I pray that Mythal guides your path and Andruil allows your weapons to strike true,” he says before leaving the game permanently. The updated quest text will read Davhalla has returned to his own clan--and got quite the talking to by his Keeper.

Location in Haven: He can be found at the edge of the frozen lake, near Cassandra. He’ll be sitting, but if the Herald engages him in conversation, he’ll stand up.  Location in Skyhold: (before repairs) He can be found next to the main gate, leaning against the wall. (after repairs) He can be found in the gardens, to the left of the herb pots.  Location in the Winter Palace: In the gardens, next to the fountain.

Personal Quests: ...I’ll do this later.  Romance Quest: See above. 

How To Get His Approval: Like most other companions, simply being nice and doing everything you can to help innocents and civilians will gain his approval. He appreciates it when asked about his culture and his clan--in a respectful manner, of course. There is no approval gain for a Dalish elf for asking about his clan and their customs, but there is a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs gain for non-Dalish Heralds/Inquisitors. He also approves of being respectful towards mages, other elves, and recruiting others for the cause. 

More approval can be earned in the field by helping the Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains. Each completed quest for them grants a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs. 

Recruiting Loranil into the Inquisition grants an Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs (does not have to be in the party). 

Helping the refugees in the Hinterlands grants a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs each time as well. 

Recruiting Vale’s Irregulars grants an Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs (does not have to be in the party). 

Completing the “Flowers for Senna” sidequest in the Hinterlands grants Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs. 

If Davhalla is in the party and the Inquisitor (as the dialogue option is only available in Skyhold once he relocates to the gardens) has triggered the dialogue where he talks about pressing flowers for his best friend and his sister, the Inquisitor can find Gorgeous Flowers throughout Thedas. Most are in the Emerald Graves, while places like the Hissing Wastes and Emprise du Lion have none. If a Gorgeous Flower is found (the mini-map pings when near one), it grants an Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs. He thanks the Inquisitor in either Common or Elvish--it’s random which language he uses. 

How To Get His Disapproval: Again, like most other companions, he disapproves of a rude, malevolent Herald/Inquisitor. He dislikes it if the Herald/Inquisitor dismisses Dalish beliefs (doubly so if it’s a fellow Dalish) or if they ask why he can’t worship the Maker as well (available for a faithful, Andrastian Herald/Inquisitor only). Disapproval can also be earned by siding with the Templars (unless they disband them), allowing the Grey Wardens to stay, and by executing prisoners. 

More disapproval can be earned in the field by opening the graves in Var Bellanaris or opening Unadin Grotto. Each grants a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs. 

Killing the nugs in the Flooded Caves in Crestwood grants a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs.  

Killing a halla with him in the party and not “looting” it grants a Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs the first time it is done. (They can continue around the map, but if they zone out/fast travel without "looting” the halla corpse, that’s when the Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs pops up.)

Bringing him along to the Winter Palace hits the Inquisitor with a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs the first time they speak with him. 

Approval/Disapproval Gains From Major Events:

Giving the mages an alliance: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Conscripting the mages: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs  

Giving the Templars an alliance: Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Convince Templars to disband: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs

Say that “an elf will stand for us all” during the ceremony after In Your Heart Shall Burn: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Say that you’re doing it “because it’s right”: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Say that “Corypheus must be stopped”: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Say that you will “lead them to vengeance”: Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Say that you will do it “for [my] own power”: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs

Have Wardens join Inquisition: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Exile the Wardens: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs

Publicly expose the Grand Duchess: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Turn the Grand Duchess over to the guards: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Allow Celene to be assassinated: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Reconcile Celene and Briala: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Force all three to work together: Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Make Gaspard emperor: Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Make Gaspard puppet for Briala: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs

Skipping Elven rituals: Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Completing Elven rituals (doesn’t have to be in party): Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Ally with Sentinels: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Reject alliance with Sentinels: Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs Drink from Well of Sorrows: Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs OR Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs if the Inquisitor is in a romance with him. Let Morrigan drink from Well of Sorrows: Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs OR Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs if Inquisitor is in romance with him. 

Romanceable?: Yes, by any gender and any race.  If Not Romanced, Does He Start A Relationship With Another Inquisition Member?: No, but if asked about his opinions on companions, he will sometimes comment that he finds Cassandra’s scar to be attractive. He will also comment on Blackwall’s beard. 

Who Are They Friendly With?: He’s quite friendly with Cole and Josephine, saying that he considers the both of them the closest friends he has in the Inquisition (if the Inquisitor has completed all of his personal quests and his approval is 75+, he adds on “including you, of course!”). He starts off distrusting Dorian, but ends up warming up to him through party banter (this also changes what he says about Dorian when asked). Like Dorian, he is also distrusting of Iron Bull at first. If the Inquisitor saves the Chargers, he warms up to Iron Bull, but if the Inquisitor saves the dreadnought, he continues to distrust him. 

Who Do They Dislike?: He tries his best to get along with everyone, but he does butt heads with Solas on occasion due to some differing opinions in regards to *gestures vaguely at Dalish stuff*. This can be heard through party banter. He dislikes Sera at first also due to differing opinions--but he does deserve any pushback he gets as he keeps poking at her for not believing in the Elven gods and “trying to distance herself from her heritage” as he claims. He does manage to stop pestering her about it and apologizes, saying that he never meant to make her upset. The Herald/Inquisitor also has the chance to interject and tell him to knock it off, after which he will acquiesce. After Blackwall is found out to not really have been Blackwall, he expresses contempt at what he has done. He only starts liking Blackwall again after a series of banter.  Opinions On Mages/Templars/The Whole World Going To Shit: He says that society could learn a thing or two from how the Dalish treat their mages (ignoring what Minaeve said lol). He won’t deny that there is danger, but that Templars aren’t an answer. He says that mages should have the choice between being free or studying in a Circle. He’ll even offer up the information that his mother and his best friend are both mages and they’re two of the best people he’s ever known. 

On the topic of Templars, he finds them to be corrupt and beyond salvation. If the Inquisitor points out that he’s never had a first-hand experience with Templars, he’ll respond that he may not have, but he’s heard the stories from those who have suffered at their hands. A human mage Herald/Inquisitor can say that they’ve never had troubles with Templars before and he’ll simply huff, saying that even if the Inquisitor never had a problem, there are others who have. He’ll also say that there are probably good Templars out there, but they didn’t exactly stop the bad ones, did they? 

The Herald/Inquisitor can mention that Cullen used to be a Templar. Davhalla simply replies that he knows. After a second of silence, he asks the Herald/Inquisitor if they expected him to say anything else. 

Yeah. He’s kind of got a black and white view of the whole thing with just the slightest shades of grey in there. 

But what he wants more than anything is to close the hole in the sky. I think that’s an opinion that everyone can agree on. 

Something Guaranteed To Make Him Leave The Party: As with most companions, getting his approval below -30 will cause his “crisis” cutscene. It requires the Inquisitor to actually talk to him for it to trigger so, honestly, they could keep him at the lowest approval possible and still keep him as long as they don’t actually talk to him lmao. 

He criticizes the way that the Inquisitor has been handling things, saying that perhaps their ideals do not match and he would not be suited to continue travelling with them. Any major events that the Inquisitor has done that grants disapproval will be mentioned during the cutscene (e.g. “You reined the mages in with fear knowing well that they were taken advantage of. (if Inquisitor is a non-mage) Would you enjoy being constantly scrutinized and kept under lock and key? / (if Inquisitor is a mage) I cannot believe that you would turn on your own so easily,” if the mages were conscripted.) 

If the Inquisitor says that they’ll change, he Gʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs and will stay, but if his approval goes back under -30, he will leave and not give the Inquisitor a chance to convince him otherwise. The Inquisitor can also tell him to leave as they didn’t have much use for him anyway, to which he will reply, “(If Inquisitor is Dalish) Fen'Harel ma ghilana. / (If Inquisitor is not Dalish) Farewell, Inquisitor. I will wish you luck. You will need it.” There’s also a... politer? option in which the Inquisitor tells him he can leave if it bothers him, to which he will bow his head and leave in silence. 

(Do you think Solas’ ears tingle if Davhalla says the Fen’Harel line? Idk it’s hilarious to me thinking about how he’s like. Argued with Fen’Harel before.) 

I also had another idea but honestly it felt like... a nightmare from a logical standpoint but I also liked it but I also had no idea how to implement it lmaoooo.

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: 

He can be found in the same cell that Sera would occupy--if Sera is in the party, then he occupies the same cell that Cassandra would occupy. If Cassandra and Sera are in the party, he occupies the same cell that Iron Bull would occupy. When found, he’s sitting cross-legged, facing the wall, praying to the Pantheon. When talked to, he expresses disbelief that the Herald is alive, saying that he thought Falon’din had guided them to the afterlife a long time ago. When Dorian explains that they were simply sent to the future, he looks both relieved and bitter. Relieved because that means this could all be avoided... but the Herald and Dorian didn’t have to live what they’ve been through. “Reverse this. Please.” He says after a moment’s pause, looking hopefully at the Herald and Dorian. “What they have done... it was monstrous. You cannot let this happen.”  If he is the first companion to be saved, he informs the duo that Alexius was simply a puppet for the Elder One. “He assassinated the Orlesian Empress. He brought with him an army of demons. No one could stand against them. Elgar’nan knows we could not, hard as we may have tried.” He looks at the Herald. “It was... hard, without you. We had no time to mourn, but I prayed that you found peace.” If he is the second companion to be saved, he tells the Inquisitor that the guards have been talking about how Alexius never leaves the throne room--not even to eat. “He would have starved to death if not for his servants.”

The Party at the Winter Palace: 

Oh, boy. As said before, the Inquisitor is hit with a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Dɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs the second they talk to him. He’s not enjoying himself at all, saying that he’s been mistaken for a servant thrice despite him wearing the uniform of the Inquisition.  If he is romanced, he’ll say that he’s glad the Inquisitor is around, though. “It gives me peace knowing that you are close.” He will also tell the Inquisitor to be careful, saying that it feels like they are being observed like a hawk watches their prey. He’ll also whisper something about being uncomfortable with how much scrutiny they are under. This happens regardless of romance.   A romanced Inquisitor can ask him if he would like to dance, but he declines, saying that he does not want the Inquisitor’s reputation to take a hit for dancing with an elf. If the Inquisitor is also an elf, he’ll say that the court can barely take one elf, what more with two?  His disapproval can be offset by asking him if he wants something to eat. Embarrassed, he will say that he saw some sweet rolls on a table somewhere and that they looked rather enticing. You get a Sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs just for asking and a full Aᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇs if you actually do it.  While exploring the Palace, Davhalla will express his desire to keep a halla statue for himself. 

In The Fade:

I’ll think of his reaction to actually being in the Fade later lol. His gravestone reads “Loneliness.”  The demon taunts him about how everyone he loves is going to leave him sooner or later, and nothing he can do will stop that. He responds with a small huff. 

Greetings:

Cold/Hostile (-30 to -5):

“I assume this is important.”

“May I be of assistance?” (said in a crisp tone)

“What is it you require?” (said in a crisp tone)

“I am surprised to see you here.” 

 He will bid the Inquisitor farewell with “Indeed.” 

Neutral (-4 to 34): 

“Hello.”

“Am I needed?” 

“I am listening.” 

He will bid the Inquisitor farewell with “Goodbye.” 

Warm (35 to 74):

“May I be of assistance?” (said in a warmer, excited tone) 

“What is it you require?” (said in a warmer, excited tone) 

“I am here to help.” 

He will bid the Inquisitor farewell with “See you soon” or “As you were.” 

Friendly (75 to 125):

He will also use his “warm” greetings, but is more likely to say these:

“On dhea’him.”/”Good afternoon.”

“At your service.” 

“Whatever you need, my friend.” 

He will bid the Inquisitor farewell with “See you soon” or “I hope we talk again” or “I will be here.” 

Romanced:

“Ma vhenan.” (My heart.)

“Ma lath.” (My love.)

“What do you wish of me?”

He will bid the Inquisitor farewell with his “friendly” greetings or “Dareth shiral” or “Come back soon, ma vhenan.” 

I’ll come back to this later. Or never. It depends. I’ll probably... revise the recruitment quest too or something. I’m not a game developer so naturally... not the best ksdjfgkfdslajf