#me- let's make happy endings for our characters for the campaign that crashed!

[breezy-cheezy]

So school drawing has taken alot outta me. It’s GOOD, I like the classes, but when I get to for fun art, things get sketchy coz I have little time and less patience to make finished works :V So have....a bunch of dnd sketches...we got sibling designs for Twilight Sky (FINALLY), Owen with his black footed cat daemon (name?? idk yet), and various scene sketches. Woo! 

Ok back to homework lol.

[the-last-kenobi]

With anyone from the disaster trio or duo! (sorry I realized I didn’t say characters in the last ask!)

@badthingshappenbingo

Tripwire

(TW for panic attacks and minor and unintentional emotional abuse. This is emotional crisis in the middle of a war. Nobody in this story is at their best.)

••

Ahsoka sometimes thought that her Master never had rough days.

Oh, he had days when his temper was high - and those days were more frequent as the war went on and on and on - and days when he was more tired, more sad.

But he never seemed to have days where he just wanted to sit in a small, dark space like the far corner of his room or the dusty storage cabinet near the engines and hold himself together with his own two hands and just cry himself to exhaustion.

She tried to ask him, once, on a day when he seemed brighter and calmer.

“Master?” she began.

Then she stopped. Tilted her head to one side, listening with her montrals to the happy rhythm of his heart.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Snips?”

He was glowing with happiness, so excited just from his phone call home. She wasn’t stupid. Like the rest of the 501st - and 212th - and hells, maybe even the entire Order - she knew that her Master and Senator Amidala were... a thing.

Whatever that was, exactly.

Maybe, she contemplated, not noticing that she had begun to hunch in on herself a little, shoulders drawing in, maybe that’s what Anakin had that was different. Rex had Cody and the rest of his brothers, Anakin had Senator Amidala.

Ahsoka was just by herself.

“Hey,” Anakin said, sounding a little concerned. “Ahsoka? What’s up?”

The togruta shrugged, casually sliding back into her normal relaxed and confident self, the bravado she’d created years ago when she first began to suspect that nobody would choose her as a Padawan, and then built up again when she was assigned and dropped into the middle of open warfare.

And now again, struggling always with that urge to flee somewhere warm and small and safe.

“Nothing, Master. Sheesh. I was just wondering about the next class rotation. I really don’t want to retake Galactic History level 240 just yet...”

They moved on to other subjects.

••

She tried again, a few months later, shaken after a crushing campaign that stripped the 501st of some of their best and very, very many of their newest. The shiniest shinies.

Ahsoka searched the encampment they had pitched on the darkened moor, but she could sense Anakin from a mile off.

It was just harder for her, the closer she got to that epicenter of muted rage she could sense coming off him like heatwaves off sand.

But... they could help each other.

He didn’t have Padmé Amidala here today.

Today, right now, they had each other.

Ahsoka crept up to the dimming fire, set several meters away from the outer circle of tents, and saw the dark silhouette of Anakin Skywalker sitting on a low outcropping of rock, gazing into the flames. The red glow outlined him in faintest fire, sharpening the edges that darkness had softened into shadow.

“...Master?”

He didn’t seem to hear.

“Master... Anakin?” Ahsoka stepped a little nearer.

His head turned very slightly.

She froze, suddenly a little frightened, suddenly wishing she’d found her own warm safe place to be — because the ember-lit outline of Anakin’s face were neither safe nor warm.

He looked enraged.

“Anakin?” she whispered.

“Now isn’t the best time, Ahsoka,” he said slowly. Holding back. For her.

Giving her a chance to run.

From him.

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not Anakin. “But, Anakin... I think...” she took a deep breath and closed the distance between them, crouching down to place one of her hands gently on his arm. He trembled. “I think we should be together right now. Help each other.”

He shook.

There was a long pause.

Then: “Go away, Ahsoka.”

Her heart fell like a stone.

What was she supposed to do? Fleeing to a dark corner felt so wrong, so un-Jedi like, so weak — and now, to abandon her Master when he was so hurt? It felt like a double sin. She couldn’t do it. It would be wrong (but it was so tempting—)

“Master...”

“Go, Padawan! Now!” He turned to face her fully, his teeth bared in a predatory sneer that made her own sharpened fangs and hunters blood quail. A wall of blunt rage slammed into her like a blast of hot wind and Ahsoka fell back, catching herself on her palms in the cold grass.

A flash of something like guilt crossed his face, not much older than her own, but then hardened again.

“Jedi do not feel these things, Ahsoka,” he lectured. “Much less act on them. Go eat your meal and then get some sleep. Wallowing won’t help.”

Do as I say and not as I do?

Ahsoka sprang to her feet and gave in to the wild pounding of her heart and the icy fear clawing at her lungs — and she fled.

••

Ahsoka felt like she was falling.

She could feel her feet thudding against the dewy ground, could feel her montrals trembling as they picked up noises all around her, but all she could see was darkness and it felt like she was running in midair, held up by nothing.

Shadows rushed past her and her breaths came rapid and out of control.

She was dying.

She had to be.

This felt awful, terrible, there was no control —

She was just going to lose her breath and lose her senses until she died here - wherever here was -

Was she crying?

Maybe.

She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find her way in the dark.

Ahsoka crashed.

Blindly she crawled her way into what she could sense was some sort of corner.

It was warm here.

Dark.

Safe.

The feeling of walls and a floor and some sort of low ceiling pressing in all around her small form made her feel better, not worse. She could feel where she began and the shadows ended.

Slowly... slowly... slowly, Ahsoka Tano felt her soul begin to settle back in her flesh.

She could understand her surroundings better now.

She had shoved herself under cot in somebody’s tent. It really was warm here. Soft. It smelled familiar, the smell of the armor-polish-stale-soap-homemade-brew-standard-woolen-blankets and that something other that was just their men. Their boys.

Ahsoka could feel now how tightly she was curled up, how hard she was gripping her own limbs, still shaking.

Her throat felt raw.

Had she screamed? Cried? Or just gasped too much for air that hadn’t been coming?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know a lot right now.

Does this make me a bad Jedi?

Or just a bad solider?

Which one am I, anyway?

“Padawan?”

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t —

“Ahsoka?”

She took a shuddering gasp, then another.

She just wanted some answers.

For once, some answers.

No “do or do not,” no cultural languages she couldn’t understand, no envy of what Anakin had in his Senator, the forbidden things she didn’t understand and didn’t know she really even wanted.

She just wanted to know if she was wrong for this.

She had to be.

No real Jedi cried in a corner because someone reminded them they needed to be strong.

“Ahsoka.”

Finally she looked up.

“Master?”

It was Anakin she longed to see - the Master who hadn’t wanted her but had taken her anyways, the friend she’d always needed, the teacher she could never have dreamed of.

But it wasn’t Anakin.

It was Obi-Wan.

He looked down at her, and his eyes were so compassionate that she felt her own begin to well with tears again and her throat close up painfully.

Angrily, she swiped away a tear and hid her face in her arms.

There were soft sounds that told her that Obi-Wan was kneeling in front of her now.

He didn’t do anything.

Didn’t encroach, didn’t speak.

He just breathed.

And breathed.

And breathed.

Steadily in and out, and unconsciously Ahsoka began to mirror him, taking calm and even breaths.

Eventually it was just the two of them breathing together, the Master kneeling, the Padawan still hiding from the world.

“...Master Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka asked in a small voice. She lifted her head, and was struck again by how sad and tender her grandmaster’s blue eyes were. He looked so soft and comfortable, contrasted in her head with the memory of Anakin and his fiery outline and clenched jaw.

“Anakin...” she struggled to say. “I thought he... I hoped... why...” her voice broke again.

Unable to help it, Ahsoka pitched forward, sobbing again. She had already cried so much that her throat burned in protest, but cry she did, and this time she found herself wrapped in Obi-Wan’s arms.

She had never pictured this. He had always seemed so... aloof. What Jedi were meant to be. What she was not. What Anakin was not.

“I know,” he said slowly, his voice rumbling against her striped montrals. “Our teachers are not always what we want or need them to be. But we love them anyway, Ahsoka. Don’t we.”

She nodded as she cried, letting him hold her.

“I — thought — I — how am — does — d-does this — am I a — am...” it was utter nonsense coming out, but somehow he seemed to understand.

“You,” he said, “are a student. A very young student, despite how tall you may feel some days. War is hard on everyone, Ahsoka. You deserve better. It’s all right to have times like these.”

“You... you don’t,” she sobbed.

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Oh. Yes I do. Of course I do. I work my way through with meditation and tea. Anakin needs to be alone, and then he needs to vent. Normally he vents to me, or to — others. But it’s not your job to handle his outbursts. When you’re hurting, you go where you need to go.”

“Even if it’s a dark corner?” Ahsoka mumbled into his tunics.

She felt him chuckle slightly. “Even then. Especially then. We’re all dealing, Padawan. I’m sorry we didn’t talk to you about this, before this happened.”

“It’s okay,” Ahsoka muttered.

What she meant was: isn’t it my Master’s job to guide me? Isn’t it Anakin’s job? Am I too weak for him?

“We’ll do better,” Obi-Wan promised.

She had a feeling he meant: I’ll try to make Anakin do better. And when he doesn’t, I will.

And there was an overwhelming flood of emotions with that.

Thank the Force for Obi-Wan. But why not Anakin? Was this forever? Was this why her Master and Master Kenobi didn’t always get along? Because they were emotionally different? Would they shun her eventually too, if she turned out different from them both?

...But for the moment, Ahsoka took comfort.

Anakin would be back to normal in the morning.

And Obi-Wan’s arms were warm, and dark, and safe.

fin

[flyingupward]

critical role - vox machina chapter 4 - attack of the conclave

all sentences taken from episodes 39-56 of the first campaign of critical role. feel free to change pronouns, phrasing etc. to fit your needs!

“All this time, you’ve been trying to kick my teeth in and your true enemy was right over there.”

“That’s good. Moving is not my forte.”

“We’re in a hentai. Make it go away.”

“Not all short people look alike.”

“God, I wish I was not made of farts.”

“We live in a cold, cold world. No one deserves anything.”

“You chose so poorly. It is truly impressive how poorly you chose.”

“Stay away from all men. Forever.”

“I’m glad I came in handy for that field trip.”

“I hate your friends!”

“Little do they know I shop for everything at Home Goods so joke’s on them.”

“It’s just radioactive material in the basement. It’s fine.”

“Somehow the coffee has not been poured on your head. That’s the greatest magic trick I’ve seen all morning.”

“Everything else was dragons. Why wouldn’t it be dragons?”

“Sorry, I was so caught up in the fact that I’m literally going up against death incarnate.”

“You’re a magnificent handsome bastard. Don’t die.”

“Do not go far from me.”

“He’s just a sociopath, that’s all.”

“There are dragons outside and we’re playing rugby with a fucking skull!”

“A simple mind is looking for a simple solution to a complex problem.”

“I’m a firm believer that there’s always a way to victory if we’re smart about it and we’re quick about it.”

“We either stand now or we might as well be dead.”

“We try, we mostly fail, but occasionally we get it right.”

“It was such a bad deal I said no. Can you imagine how bad of a deal it must have been?”

“No offense darling, but you look like shit.”

“If we’re going to be roaming about the streets, I’d like you to not fall open like a can of baked beans if you don’t mind.”

“Let’s not get overexcited about the sudden realization that some of us can be a bit iffy.”

“Thank you for that smattering of applause.”

“I have one of those terrible ideas I get on occasion.”

“This is politics. You’re not supposed to like them.”

“You can talk my fucking ear off in a moment. Shut up for a second.”

“If the parasite hasn’t a host to feed on, the parasite dies.”

“I never forget that when I rule, I rule these people as well.”

“One day, you’re going to stop being afraid of me and I hope that day comes soon.”

“There’s no swinging by, that’s a caper.”

“It will be built back better than before. That’s what we do.”

“We have a lot of Pop Tarts, but not very many gold pieces.”

“This is where I live. What are you doing here?”

“I’m cold and I still haven’t been paid.”

“We’re not trying to score points. We are trying to do right.”

“This is fucking happy fun bunch over here. They bring death with them everywhere they go.”

“And to think I might have briefly missed you.”

“You have to find the no name guy who’s going to help you find the stuff that’s hidden that nobody knows where it is or what it is.”

“What do you want to do? Do you want to stay here while the world burns?”

“World’s always ending, baby.”

“It would be wondrous, after we complete this transaction, that we never meet again.”

“Oh my God, I just buy healing to save my life, what a waste.”

“I’m going to stand over here and fail to stay in character, okay?”

“Let’s all have a toast to the inevitability of the universe.”

“My God, I love other people’s problems.”

“Are we sober yet?”

“I think her foolish impulses are exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Better to die a fool for something than live in regret for doing nothing.”

“I think we want her to do her stupidest.”

“You’re… brooding.”

“I tend to glaze over when he’s talking.”

“Lead the way, shitkicker.”

“A lot of your friends are very weird.”

“I would just like to point out that I’m mostly sober.”

“That’s okay because remember, I’m me.”

“I’d like to stand up, please.”

“I’m scared to death which is why the math is so bad.”

“I’ve met few as unremarkable as you in my travels.”

“Well then, we’re in trouble. I have an attitude about everything.”

“Yeah, there’s like 37 things we have to do before tomorrow so… ”

“She’s not really gonna care about court so much as ripping the bones from your back.”

“I thought you were gonna tell me a dirty joke or something. When you say, ‘Come here,’ that’s usually what that means.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s going to be daylight if we’re underground.”

“I’m really hoping that it’s the worst decision we make because then everything’s uphill.”

“I like who we are together and I think that that’s important.”

“Dying in slow motion over here.”

“Oh good, more darkness.”

“Oh my God, you’re going into a special section of your book. That’s never good.”

“I’m very aware that my greed killed me.”

“Oh, I must have missed it because I was dead. That’s right.”

“Do you have feelings and did that hurt them?”

“I’m pretty tired after dying.”

“I think I love you too. I’m just terrified to allow myself to.”

“We are a city of seasonal affective disorder.”

“So I heard a rumor that you sort of saved my life in a really creepy sort of way.”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you my Pokemon.”

“Your secret is safe with my indifference.”

“I always fucking hear you in my mind. It’s very quiet in there these days.”

“If it becomes a problem, just raise your hand and scream.”

“Our lives are so bizarre now.”

“Why is my brain tingling? Is someone noodling around up there?”

“You know what? It’s just fire. I will be on fire.”

“Did someone lose an orb?”

“Are we really about to pretend to do CrossFit?”

“Not enough spit takes in the world for this moment in time.”

“Beyond it being an engineering issue, it might be a greed issue first.”

"She's an adult. Deep levels of arrested development, but an adult nonetheless."

“Retroactively, you’ve never been seen in your entire lives.”

“You take everything good away from all of us.”

“It’s not one problem, it’s a very large problem and a massive problem.”

“Those that give a fuck, speak up.”

“We’ve lived half our life in the shadows. You’ve made them your home.”

“I love my reckless brother as much as he hurts my heart.”

“Duck hunt’s a bitch.”

“This is so dumb. Why am I doing this?”

“Congratulations, you’re creepy as fuck.”

“Give me this you fucking hoarder. What’s the matter with you?”

“I will smite you.”

“I was born to shove things in holes.”

“Knowledge is power, for reals!”

“Are we time bandits now? Is that what’s happening?”

“I hate time travel. I hate time travel so much.”

“No worries. I didn’t need to live anyway.”

“Perhaps it’s time to be a better badass.”

“It’s been a traumatic five minutes.”

“Like any good plan, everything will go wrong.”

“Oh well, I’m fucked then.”

“Oh, tiny dancer, you are fucked.”

“He died as he lived: Deeply unimpressed.”

“Don’t you dare die happy.”

“I like that we managed to make solving problems with violence into an ABC afternoon special.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say, ‘At dawn, we plan.’”

“I genuinely don’t understand the place you come from.”

“That is the weirdest coping mechanism I’ve ever heard of.”

“Maybe we should just sleep together and see what happens.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth after you sort of lied to me.”

“Yeah keep twitching, twitchy.”

“We totally planned at dawn!”

“Everything is terrible. Our lives are terrible. They are way worse than they were six months ago.”

“You are a fucking madman, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m fucked. I understand I’m fucked. It’s fine.”

“This was all part of the plan, the hastily smushed together plan.”

“He’s a liar and a bringer of death and he’s smiling at you while he does it.”

“Bravery means nothing. Survival and victory mean everything.”

“Oh shut up, you flying suitcase.”

“You don’t need inspiration, you’re fine!”

“If I move, he’ll kill me. So I won’t.”

“Cursed Lizard! We’re going to give all your gold to the poor!”

“Don’t be so glum you old fool! This is a day of glory!”

“We will all die. It just depends on cost.”

“Oh, wow. You just said a lot of things in a very short amount of time.”

“You are the worst of us.”

“If there’s a dare involved, that’s completely different.”

“I don’t like wanting things.”

“Is it the people or is it the fact that you have finally realized how pointless it all is?”

“I feel like I’ve been lied to my entire goddam life and it’s all crashing down upon me right now.”

“The thing is you’re not wrong and you’re not crazy, but it’s not hopeless either.”

“Even surrounded by friends, I often feel so alone.”

“Thank you for being a friend even though we just met.”

“The terrible woman may have a point.”

“Woo! Good leadership!”

“The awkward woman makes a fine point.”

“It is not about idolizing ourselves, it is about a very long story which we are a very small part of.”

“I’m doing something very stupid now with my friends. We’re going to try to save the world.”

“I admire everyone in our band of misfit toys, but you most of all.”

“You are all kinds of fucked up all the time and that’s why we love you.”

“We’re all all kinds of fucked up and that’s why we all are together.”

“That’s all we can be is ish.”

[fantastic-rambles]

Shades of Love [2]

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Shindo Ainosuke (Adam), Sakurayashiki Kaoru (Cherry Blossom), Nanjo Kojiro (Joe), Kikuchi Tadashi (Snake), Ainosuke's aunts, Ainosuke’s fiancee

Warnings: Minor language

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: In which Ainosuke gets married, and his friends crash the party.  [This is mostly a crackfic. I'm sorry. But not really.] [Adam Appreciation Week 2021 | Day 2: love / first date / arranged marriage]

As the priest droned on, Ainosuke's soft smile remained fixed to his face as he gazed at his bride-to-be. He couldn't see her expression with the veil between them, but she was probably doing the same thing, looking up at her groom with respect and adoration, the picture-perfect couple. Even though they'd only had their omiai a few months ago, the process had been a formality more than anything else: both of their families had carefully vetted the two of them long before they'd even met, and their meetings since then had mostly been to ensure that there wouldn't be major incompatibilities.

Even so, Ainosuke felt that they would be able to get along well. Hitomi was a clever young woman, one who could play the role of a traditional, dutiful wife and who understood the importance of maintaining a public image. And yet, in the few conversations they'd had alone, she'd also demonstrated a sharp mind and was able to converse intelligently with him on a number of topics. In time, perhaps they would develop a true affection for each other and maybe even fall in love, but even if that never happened, she would at least be a partner who he could trust. And perhaps that was more important.

"... if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Inwardly, Ainosuke sighed. They were finally nearing the end of this tedious ceremony. He personally would have been fine with just signing the registration papers, but the wedding was a show for the public. The analysts on his campaign had determined that the image of Ainosuke Shindo as a family man who could be swept off his feet by passionate love would boost his approval ratings by at least seven points among the general population, and at least ten in the female demographic. But as the ring bearers approached, a voice rang out.

"I object to this marriage!"

Instantly, all eyes in the room turned to the man who had stood up among the spectators. For a moment, Ainosuke didn't recognize him, despite his distinctive pink hair. Instead of his usual yukata, Kaoru was dressed in a Western-style suit, but the man who stood up next to him was far more recognizable with his strong build and bright green hair.

He could only stare as Kaoru and Kojiro edged their way into the aisle, with some sort of document held in Kaoru's hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Ainosuke saw his aunts gathered by one of the security guards who had been hired for the event, twittering as they pointed at the interruption, probably asking for them to be removed.

The priest himself also seemed flustered as he tried to say something.

"Ah, well... that's a ceremonial statement. All of the paperwork was in order, so there's no reason why this marriage cannot occur..."

"There is if it involves bigamy!" By now, Kaoru had made his way to the stage, spinning around to face the crowd and flourishing whatever he was holding. Murmurs were starting to ripple through the crowd, and Hitomi's hands had tensed in Ainosuke's own. Even though security guards were advancing from both sides, he needed to get this situation under control before anything serious happened that could malign both of their honors.

"Please excuse my friend," he apologized with a chuckle, stepping forward to place a hand on Kaoru's shoulder. "It seems he may have had too much to drink before these celebrations."

"Friend?" Kaoru repeated, his expression aghast. Before Ainosuke could react, or even realize what was happening, Kaoru had spun around and caught his face in his hands, pressing their lips together in a kiss. Dumbfounded, Adam stared back into those golden eyes before Kaoru released him and turned around again, brandishing the paper in his hand.

"This is a marriage certificate from four years ago! At that time, I married this man in America: Shindo Ainosuke!"

What. The. Fuck.

As a confused babble broke out, Ainosuke snatched the paper from Kaoru's hand, unrolling it to reveal an official-looking document. Both his and Kaoru's names were on it, as well as information that identified the marriage as having been carried out and witnessed in Clark County, Nevada. Except that at the time the wedding had allegedly occurred, Ainosuke had been in Japan without a doubt, preparing for his political campaign.

"Very funny, Kaoru. What is this?" Ainosuke demanded in an undertone. Hitomi had also stepped forward to stand beside her intended husband, with one hand resting on his arm. Deliberately, he placed his hand over her own, painfully aware of the flashing cameras that were probably eager to splash this scandal all over the newspapers the next day. Not even he could have imagined his friend pulling off something like this... whatever this was.

"It's exactly what it looks like, Ai-no-su-ke," Kaoru replied, grinning. "Incidentally, did you know that in America, you can fill out marriage registrations with a false name? It's technically illegal, but just doing so doesn't invalidate a marriage."

The pieces were finally starting to fall together, and Adam sighed. "So Kojiro married you under my name. Just so you could do this at my wedding."

It didn't really matter legally, since gay marriages weren't acknowledged in Japan, but even so, his team would need to work overtime on damage control, even if they managed to pass it off as a joke.

"If you really wanted me to pay attention to you, there were better ways of doing so," Ainosuke pointed out dryly, raising his hand to forestall the security guards who had almost reached them, but Kaoru just shrugged.

"Less fun, though. Besides, this is just a little revenge for everything you put us through. I'm sure it's nothing that you can't handle, though." Kaoru stepped back, and Kojiro draped his arm around the calligrapher's shoulders as Kaoru added, more loudly, "Congratulations to the happy couple!"

After they'd left on their own, it took some time to restore order, but the rest of the ceremony passed without further incident. As soon as he and Hitomi had retired out of the public eye, though, Tadashi fell in step behind them.

"Ainosuke-sama. I have already contacted all of the major publishers to ensure that they will not publish any stories on the incident, though it is inevitable that rumors will still spread from the attendees. Your publicity team is already coming up with ideas for how to best frame it--"

"Why hide it?" Hitomi interrupted. "You must have a few stories ready to go on environmentalism or political corruption, right? Give them the green light, and this little drama can be used to let Ainosuke stand in the spotlight. He's still young, so a little off-color humor is perfectly acceptable and may even make him more likeable, so if we put it out in the open, nobody will take it seriously. Especially since the other party is Sakurayashiki-shi. What?"

Both men were staring at Hitomi, and she stared back at them steadily. After a moment, Ainosuke shook his head, smiling.

"You're right, of course. As expected of my wife." Ainosuke leaned over to kiss Hitomi, who tilted her face up toward him. Their lips brushed together lightly, and then Ainosuke placed his hands on her shoulders before looking back at his secretary.

"Go ahead and do what she suggested. We need to put more pressure on the construction lobby anyways, and we can pass off this incident as a publicity stunt. In the meantime, my dear, we can't keep our guests waiting."

After Tadashi had left them, the new couple continued heading toward the reception, stepping out into applause with bright smiles on their faces.

[kerikaaria]

Adventurer

Seokjin x Hoseok (2seok) drabble

Genre: (PG) Fluff

Warnings: None

WC: 740

This little drabble is a gift written for @eternalseokjin​ with @thebtswritersclub​ in celebration of his birthday today! Those who chose to participate were given a mini bingo card and required to fill as many spots as they could to write fics for him, focusing mostly around things that he likes! I was hoping to write a couple of fics to get all the spots filled, but unfortunately didn’t end up having the time to :( But, I still got 6 in one go so I’d say that’s a great attempt!

Here’s my card:

And now, without further ado, here’s the little fluffy drabble I wrote! I hope you like it! 

-----

“What do you mean I can’t use Sleep?” Seokjin argued with Taehyung.

“I mean, you can and did use it but it literally did nothing,” Taehyung shrugged. “You literally can’t roll high enough for the spell to be effective against the monster.”

Rolling his eyes, Seokjin sighed noisily. “This is so stupid. It doesn’t work like that. If I wanted to put someone to sleep, I don’t need to calculate how much life force they have and roll some dice. I could make a dinosaur fall asleep if I wanted to.”

“This is a game, Jin,” Tae said, closing his eyes and taking in a breath. “It’s not supposed to reflect reality.”

“Well, it’s still stupid.”

Hoseok felt their increasingly exasperated Dungeon Master’s eyes on him as he pretended to be busy reading through his elf’s spell list.

“Hoseok, why did you think it was a good idea to invite your boyfriend to our Dungeons and Dragons campaign?” Taehyung asked.

“I just thought it would be fun,” Hoseok mumbled. “And wanted to share something that I enjoyed with him.”

“Maybe that would have been a good idea if he couldn’t literally do magic,” Jimin chimed in.

“He should have picked a non-magical class,” Jungkook said, voice muffled from his head resting on the table.

“Well, what’s the fun in playing a character that can’t do magic when I can?” Seokjin huffed, crossing his arms, his almost-childish temper getting the best of him.

“Alright, well Jin wasted his turn again, so let’s keep going,” Taehyung reeled them back in. “You’re turn, Jimin.”

Somehow the group of five made it through the rest of the day’s campaign without taking all day, despite Seokjin’s constant insistence that he should be able to do things that broke the game rules.  It was a unanimous decision in the end that maybe Dungeons and Dragons wasn’t really Jin’s thing and he wasn’t going to be playing with them again. Hoseok loved him, he really did. But even he had to admit that his boyfriend could be a huge handful at times.

After walking back home, Hoseok dragged Seokjin to the couch and engulfed him with his arms, forcing him to cuddle.

The older laughed at his boyfriend’s clinginess. “You’re not even going to let me change into something more comfortable first?” Seokjin teased.

“You could literally wave your hand to change,” Hoseok countered as Jin did just that. “I’m allowed to demand cuddles from my boyfriend today.”

Smiling, Seokjin placed a soft kiss on Hoseok’s forehead. “You’re allowed to demand cuddles any day, baby. You know I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“But especially today,” Hoseok said, snuggling further into the other’s chest.

“Even though I kept ruining your game?”

“You didn’t ruin it. You just didn’t really understand but that’s okay. Not everyone does. And now we know that D&D isn’t really your thing.”

“I really don’t get why you guys think that thing is fun,” Seokjin said, pulling Hoseok fully into his lap since the man was practically there already.

“Well, of course someone who can do magic doesn’t understand why we like to roleplay as really cool characters who can do magic and go on adventures.”

“Do you want to go on an adventure? We could take a vacation or something.”

Hoseok laughed as he lifted his head to look at Jin. “Where would we even go? And with what money?”

Humming, Seokjin wrapped his arms tighter around his boyfriend. “Maybe I’ve been saving up.”

Hoseok pulled away a little bit, eyebrows furrowing. “What are you trying to say?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes before making an envelope appear in his hand and handing it to the other. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened as he looked at the plane tickets inside of the envelope. “Are you serious?!”

A smile engulfed Seokjin’s face as he could practically feel the joy and excitement emitting from his sunshine of a boyfriend. “Of course I am. You’ve been saying how we’ve both been so busy and need to try to spend a bit more time together. So now, you’ll have a whole entire week where you won’t be able to get rid of me even if you want to.”

Hoseok crashed their lips together. Just a short, but strong kiss to try to tell Jin how grateful and happy he was, and how much he absolutely loved him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Jin smirked. “I know.”

[winchest09]

Our Virtual Lockdown - Lowdown

Hey everyone!

Our lockdown livestream was once again one fulled of fun, laughter, fic recs, games and...one unplanned round of charades! Ahaha!

6 hours we were talking...SIX and again, I loved every single second. It was so nice to see so many gorgeous faces, and I’m so happy that so many of you joined us! We had 18 in our party at one point! I just hope that all of you had a blast and enjoyed yourselves.

Me and @katehuntington​ love holding these events and we are already planning the next live stream (date to be announced) but it will be in this month (May).

This is the lowdown for the third lockdown party!

Below you will find:

Everyone who joined - their tags, what’s coming up fic wise and their masterlist.

A Challenge to join

Blogs who want to help with your writing

Fic Recs

Supernatural DnD

Announcements

Q + A’s with the writers.

So without further ado… *cracks fingers*

To everyone that joined...

You are the guys that make it the live stream what it is.  So below is a list of everyone who was on the chat last night accompanied by their masterlist and what they have coming up soon! In no particular order…

@katehuntington​​: Kate is currently working on the next instalment of Ride With Me, All I Want and a two part commission. We will see this on her blog soon!

Her masterlist can be found HERE

@flamencodiva​​​: This babe is currently working on Call of the Ocean, A revoluntionary war fiction, an ABO Greek Goddess fic AND an untitled angst filled fic including Dean, a girlfriend and secrets! She is also rewriting Underworld and Legend of Van Helsing.

She’s one busy gal and we LOVE IT. <3

Check out her masterlist HERE

@whatareyousearchingfordean​​​: Alex is currently writing the ending to her Jensen fiction Et Cetera and she already has a sequel in mind! At the moment she’s trying to decide her next move...Firefighter Dean OR Secret Service Dean? Head over there and let her know!

Her masterlist can be found HERE

@talesmaniac89​​​:  This beaut also has a lot that she’s working on at the moment. The next instalments of The Man in Apartment 43. The next chapters of Lost (which is a little darker), a fluffy Dean oneshot and a Castiel comfort fic.

Behind the scenes, she’s also working on a Heist AU, Another ‘Choose your own adventure’ fic and a Ghost Writer AU.

Check her out guys, her masterlist is HERE

@superfanficnatural​​​:  This babe is currently working on the next chapters of The Bringer of balance as well as the next chapters of The Choice! He’s posted a few oneshots in the past two weeks and is writing Male!Reader fics!

Behind the scenes he’s currently working on an RPF called Matchmaker, A reader knight of hell/demon dean fic which is a love hate relationship as WELL as a Marvel SPN crossover. OOFFT.

A new writer that is nailing it! Go and give him some love, his masterlist can be found HERE

@emoryhemsworth​​​: This beaut is currently working on a series which is based off of an album called ‘Losing Sleep’ Each song will be a chapter and we’ve already been treated to some of her plans! She also has some other goodies on her masterlist.

Check our her masterlist HERE:

@anathewierdo​​​: Is yet to create a masterlist but she is currently working on Call of the Ocean with Flamencodiva. Not only that, she’s also working on a Princess Diaries AU, a Serial Killer AU and after the livestream...a gunshow fic!

By gunshow we do mean The Winchester’s muscles.

*drools*

@girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​: This wonderful lady joined us briefly on the live stream and although she left before we could find out what she has coming up!

Check our her masterlist HERE:

Me: I’m currently working on two series, Life for Rent and Man’s Best Friend! I also have a couple of Dean series being worked on in the background as well as a couple of oneshots…watch this space!

To the new writers...

These guys were all new to the live stream this week and were welcomed with open, loving, spn fam arms! After speaking to these babes, we know that they are fairly new to writing to the supernatural fandom. They all have AMAZING idea’s when we played our prompt game and hopefully all of them will bite that bullet and post their ideas soon.

Remember guys - we’re all here to love and support you! My inbox is always open if you want to talk fics, want me to look over one etc.

Go and follow and give them some love!

@janicho88​​ @queenbeesback​​ @imjustadrummer​​ @malfoysqueen14​​

and to the readers that joined…

@leissa1287​​​ @waywardbeanie​​​ @dawnie1988​​

We love you, we thank you for reading and we thank you for all the support and love you give us constantly. Thank you for joining the chat and we hope you had an amazing time <3

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

CHALLENGE TIME

Ohhhh yes! One of our amazing writers, the darling @flamencodiva​​ is holding a celebration in regards to reaching 1700 followers!

Congrats babe!

Not only is she hosting a character take over on her blog she’s also posted a writing challenge for all us writers out there!

Check it out HERE

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Need Help with a fic?

We’ve got you covered!

Need to has out a plot with someone?

The lovely @malfoysqueen14​​ has offered herself up to be a plot buddy to anyone that needs it. Stuck on a plot point, want to talk through a story line with someone? Give her a message! She’s here to help <3

Need help writing those all important fight scenes?

Give our babe @imjustadrummer​​ a message! They are filled with knowledge and even give us a demonstration on how to punch correctly on the livestream! Definitely one to have on your contacts list! <3

Need help with research for a fiction?

The most wonderful @waywardbeanie​​​ has offered herself up to be a researcher for anyone who wants help with their fiction. She has been a die hard SPN fan forever and she’s like the Ellen of our live stream.

Need a researching buddy? Give her a message! She’s a doll <3

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Fic & blog Recs!

In our live stream, we want to highlight what we’ve been reading and the amazing authors behind the words. So below is a list of all the fics that we recommend for some good ol fic binging!

@deansdirtylittlesecretsblog​​: We were told of this lovely little gold mine by Alex and we just have to include it on here! This writer has so many fics on her masterlist...you’re gonna be there for a while!

Check them all out HERE

When You Least Expect It by @coffee-obsessed-writer​​

Summary: After a hard breakup, Jensen decides to throw himself into organizing a Music Festival in Austin that is meant to raise money for a few of his most cherished charities and organizations. As he throws himself into planning it, he stumbles upon a spirited, undiscovered performer, who he convinces to come aboard to help plan and coordinate the event with him.

What transpires after that takes both Jensen and his new friend, by surprise. But when their respective pasts come back just before the event kicks off in Austin, they will both have to decide if the unexpected feelings are worth perusing, or if they should just walk away and go on with their lives.

Dear Dean by @smol-and-grumpy​​

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Almost Paradise by @amanda-teaches​​

Summary: Dean finds himself looking at pictures of old loves. Will he ever be able to find that paradise again?

Turned Sideways by @crashdevlin​​​

Summary: (Rockstar AU)  When Y/n gets an opportunity to meet her favorite band backstage at their concert, she assumes they won’t even ask her name. But when she impresses the front man, Dean, with her voice and knowledge of their entire catalog of songs, it launches a chain of events that is sure to change her entire life.

Crash Into Me by @crashdevlin​​

Summary:  Dean meets and befriends a witch in NW Florida. This is their interactions over the course of season 8 through season 14.

Midwife Crisis by @ellewritesfix05​​

Summary: (Elle hasn’t written one it appears but in my words) - You were heavily pregnant with Dean’s child, hormones raging and Dean was receiving the brutal end of it. Needing a break, he fakes a case to get away. When your good friend Gabriel hears of this...he decides he needs to teach Dean a lesson with a little help from is prankster ways...

PHEW! I definitely think we have enough fics on here to last us for a few days…don’t you? ;) Please guys don’t forget to give these writers some love when reading their fics, comments, reblogs, asks. It means the world.

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

Interested in roleplaying & DnD?

@imjustadrummer​​ is setting up a Dungeons and Dragons campaign set in the Supernatural (main) universe!

If you’re into role playing, fancy bringing one of your OFC’s to life or just wanna be badass yourself...why not consider joining?!

All the information you need on this is HERE

Make some new friends, live out your dreams of being a hunter, angel or demon and HAVE FUN!

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

ANNOUNCEMENTS!

We have three wonderful announcements to make this time! We have THREE blogs celebrating followers!

A massive congratulations to:

@flamencodiva​​: This beautiful mama has reached 1700!

@whatareyousearchingfordean​​: This absolute babe has reached 1000!

@superfanficnatural​​: This beaut has reached 200!

WOOHOO!

*pops the party poppers*

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

Q & A With The Writers!

During this live stream, we asked everyone to join in and ask questions to the writers you want to know more about...the write up is below :)

- If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? Alex ( @whatareyousearchingfordean​​) : @superfanficnatural​  because of the male reader aspect/sides of things! 

Emory (@emoryhemsworth​) : I’d like to collab with @winchest09​ (Tabby)

- Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

@talesmaniac89​ : This did happen once and what was once a fluffy ending got turned into a bad ending because it was guessed. It happened once that they managed to get it so i changed it. 

- What was the last line you wrote?

@katehuntington​ :  “The cowgirl smirks and gently pushes him into the tack box in order for them both to be out of sight. Once they are safe from Bobby’s eyes, she kisses him, short and sweetly, but it’s enough to make Dean’s head spin”

- Have you ever cried whilst writing a fic?

@superfanficnatural​ : I cried to one last time, the angsty fic i wrote. I  was trying to get into the mood, i was mad, so went fuck it i’m gonna break peoples hearts. And then i cried haha.

- Can you tell us what writers you really admire?

@emoryhemsworth​ :   All of you are included in this live stream, that’s a given but I am going to talk about people who aren’t in here.  @impala-dreamer​, @kittenofdoomage​, @supernatural-jackles​, @ravengirl94​ are just a few. In regards to Rhi (Kittenofdoomage), everything she writes is just gold. She’s not written anything that’s bad! For Beka (impala dreamer) I just love her as a person. Oh and @bringmesomepie56​, her fics are just amazing.  

- Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

@flamencodiva​ : No, not really. My stories tend to evolve in the writing process. Underworld princess and Call of the Ocean were meant to be super different than what they are now. We realised we had changed certain plot points as we were writing but that was before we started to post it. 

- Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

@winchest09​ :  Yes and no. I’ve had stories which were originally meant to end a certain way and they changed over time. Sometimes I do wonder what the reactions would have been like if i had gone with the original ending for Shatter Me and if hadn’t have gone down the angsty road for Yesterday but then I think fics choose their own path as you write them. It felt right at the time. 

- What is your favourite genre to write for?

@malfoysqueen14​ :  Angst. Never mind the fluff, the smut, the crack, it’s all about the angst. The angst is my ultimate goal. 

- Where do you get your inspiration from?

@imjustadrummer​ : A daily situation, or films. If the kids I worked with have said something weird i’d be like…”oh yeah, hey that can be a fic!”  A lot of different places really!

- Funniest story you’ve written?

@queenbeesback​ : It was an online thing, where they met online and it took a while for them to meet up. That was quite light hearted. 

- What is everyone's favourite ships?

Everyone: Dean and Donna. Benny and Dean. Sam and Eileen. Dean and Jo. Charlie and Alex. Sam and Gabriel

- What’s your favourite trope to write?

@anathewierdo​ : Friends to lovers and enemies to lovers

- Which part of your upcoming fic was the hardest to write?

@imjustadrummer​ : Trying to work out all the clues and cleverness to it. Like codes and things, working out how to put in all the easter eggs in my upcoming fic. It’s like a treasure hunt so I need to ensure there is cleverness in there.

- If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

@superfanficnatural​ : Oh that’s...ok...most definitely...Smuuuuttttt (pretty much how he announced it)

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

I think that’s it!

Thank you so much once again to everyone who joined the chat, we had 6 hours of laughs and i cannot wait to do it again. I’d appreciate it if you could share this to spread the love of the fics and authors on here!

Keep an eye out for the next date for our next livestream! It will be in a couple of weeks, date to be announced. If you guys have any idea’s or want something included, let us know. If you want to be tagged when we announce, let us know!

@deanwanddamons​ - tagging you babe as you asked so you can catch up on what we talked about <3 

THANK YOU.

xox

[mobius-prime]

285. Sonic Universe #12

Knuckles: The Return (Part 4 of 4): Echoes of the Past (Part Four)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Things are certainly dire, as both teams of heroes (minus Julie-Su and Ray, still up on Angel Island) have been captured by Finitevus and the local Dark Egg Legion chapter. Finitevus gloats about how well his plan has gone, that he found the Legion when he was investigating the very same ruins that had Knuckles so confused, and from there orchestrated an alliance between himself and them, so they could capture Angel Island for Eggman/the Iron Queen's regime and Finitevus could study the Master Emerald at his leisure. After monologuing a bit at the furious Knuckles, he takes his leave to go oversee Angel Island being reeled back into the Great Crater, something which… really should be more stunning to everyone involved, if you ask me. I mean, literally the past several centuries of echidna history have been irrevocably shaped by exactly this concept, returning the island to the planet's surface. Dimitri did his whole godhood insanity thing entirely because people didn't agree with his plan to set this in motion, and perhaps even more importantly, his plan was shown to have failed in an alternate timeline, causing the island to crash into the earth and kill everyone on it. Apparently, this entire time they shoulda just been using regular ol' chains to do the job! Imagine after so many hundreds of years of this being an issue, Finitevus really did just accomplish the task with some random chains. But anyway, Finitevus leaves the prisoners to the overwatch of Bill, who so far hasn't said a word during Finitevus' speech despite his former friends being among the imprisoned.

Oh no! Whatever horrible tortures are about to befall our heroes? The torture of having their shackles fall off harmlessly, as it turns out. Yeah, of course Bill didn't just turn evil for no reason! Though he does appear to have some beef with Vector, remarking angrily that he'd have preferred if Vector stayed chained up. Man, what in the world did Vector do in the past that pissed off so many people? Barby demands an explanation, with her dialogue vaguely hinting that she and Bill were possibly involved romantically, so Bill explains that several months ago when Eggman began pushing in this region, the other platypuses decided they wanted a little taste of that power and began demanding to join up. Bill couldn't talk them down, so instead, he went to Eggman and voluntarily joined his cause, becoming outfitted with cybernetics along with the other platypuses, hoping to manage the situation from within. Apparently he never found a chance to tell his former teammates that he wasn't actually evil after all, but he's been doing his best to mismanage the campaign in Downunda without seeming too suspicious. Everyone is pleased and relieved, and he urges them to quickly make their escape so he can play it off as having been overpowered while separated from his backup. Thrash happily obliges, and reveals his own special power - yelling so loudly that it can break down doors. The fight against the Legion in the crater quickly commences, but Walt encourages Knuckles to head back to his island while they carry on the fight here on the ground. Vector can't see a way to get back up without their warp ring, but Mighty apparently has an idea of his own.

I just need everyone here to remember that according to canon measurements, this island floats forty-three miles (69 km) in the sky. Yes, I realize that's only the case because Penders didn't create his units of measurements with sanity in mind. No, that does not mean I'm ever letting this fact go. It's also worth noting that this entire arc portrays the crater as not looking much bigger than like, a mile across at the most, but the island is forty-seven miles (75 km) across at its narrowest. I mean, we already knew that no one pays attention to matters of scale in these comics, but still, I notice, and it bugs me to no end. Consistency, people!

Anyway, Mighty tosses Knuckles alllll the way up to the island, as the fight continues to rage on the ground, and he hops up over the edge just as Finitevus is about to put his grubby hands on the Master Emerald. No sign of Julie-Su or Ray anywhere, huh? Knuckles is immediately ready for a fight, but Finitevus tries to talk him down, actually apologizing for forcing him into the role of Enerjak before. Knuckles still isn't buying it, but then Finitevus hits him with the bug guns - Dimitri actually wasn't the first Enerjak. Finitevus claims to know everything about the echidnas' history, the fact that Enerjak goes back much further in their history, the true history of Albion, the origins of the mysterious ruins in the desert, even some secret about Aurora and how she may not even be a real goddess. Knuckles is clearly torn for a split second, because damn are those some juicy-sounding secrets, but he's shaken back to reality when Finitevus tries to pull the "We're two of a kind, you and I" trick and promises, if he joins him, to give him "anything he wants." And what does Knuckles want?

Finitevus is not amused by Knuckles' defiance, and turns the fight around on him while mocking his childish desires. Hilariously, he actually does the cool-guy thing of catching Knuckles' punch in his own hand, which seems badass until you realize we're talking about the guy with spikes on his fists. I can only assume Ian forgot this little detail, or else the rest of this issue would just be Finitevus yelling in agony at the two brand-new holes that had been punched into the palm of his hand. Knuckles powers up with the energy of the nearby Master Emerald, while Finitevus summons his… I dunno, dark black evil-guy energy or whatever, and they go head to head, Knuckles reciting Tikal's prayer for strength, while Finitevus puts a new twist on the same chant.

I actually don't get Ian's fascination with Tikal's prayer at all. It's always recited verbatim from the version of it in Sonic Adventure, but personally, I always felt like it was strangely translated in that game, not really making a ton of grammatical sense, or any real sense at all, really. I mean, the chant was originally just supposed to describe the relationship between the Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds, but that's not relevant at all in this universe given the vastly different origins of both - the Master Emerald in the comics isn't a direct counter to the Chaos Emeralds like in the games, but one giant Chaos Emerald itself. I dunno, maybe this is just a nitpick, but it still confuses me.

Finitevus is impressed by Knuckles' display of raw power, but decides to end the fight quickly, and pulls out one of his warp rings, encircling it around Knuckles midsection and happily threatening to close it while Knuckles is still only halfway through. However, at that moment Julie-Su finally makes her entrance and shoots Finitevus in the shoulder, distracting him long enough for Knuckles to grab him and make good on his promise to throw him off his island. That doesn't seem like a proper solution to this threat at all, but eh, whatever, Knux is happy with it I guess. He, Julie-Su, and Ray all head back down to the crater, where the Downunda Freedom Fighters have finished running the Legion off for now, and say their goodbyes. Barby makes a remark that her father would have been proud of Vector, hinting at yet more unexplored history between him and the others, but he still refuses to explain further when Ray tries to pry. Thrash leaves through a warp ring of his own, making some odd comments about how it would be such a shame if the rest of the echidnas were to be wiped out - this guy really doesn't like echidnas for whatever reason - and with the threat settled, Knuckles and his friends finally head back onto Angel Island for some peaceful rest.

Yeah, gee Vector, I wonder why no one found a body? I mean, it's not like Finitevus has demonstrated that he can warp himself to safety mid-fall during literally the previous big battle against him or anything. Of course, he's safe and sound, and heads back to the crater once it's clear to watch the island's departure and muse to himself how his plans aren't through yet and he's ready to kill Knuckles when he next gets the chance - anything to put him closer to the Master Emerald. Let us know how your quest to off one of the comic's most popular characters goes, buddy!

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Quid Pro Quo

Summary: While everyone's healing after their first fight against Haggar's super powered Mech, Coran brings up the perfect way for them to relax and pass the time: a fun game of Monsters & Mana! While Shiro argues the value of (once again) playing a paladin, Keith goes for a more unexpected role.

Also posted on Archive of our Own - under the username Kishirokitsune

-

Quid Pro Quo

Quid pro quo - a favor or advantage granted or expected in return for something.

The aftermath of their battle against the Komar Mech found the paladins of Voltron in a rough state. While the lions protected them from harm to the best of their ability, there were still injuries and each of them had spent two long weeks confined to their beds in the med-bay so they would have proper time to heal from their ordeal. And even after that, they were released under the condition that they take it easy for another week.

After being active for so long, it was hard for any of them to patiently sit around and do nothing, especially when there was so much that needed done.

It was Coran who came up with a solution to their boredom.

He rounded up everyone and giddily took them down to the common room, where he had commandeered a round table for their use. There was a hand-drawn, gridded map spread across the surface, a handful of dice, and a set of five familiar figures.

“You save the game pieces?” Lance asked, sounding delighted. He swooped in and picked up the model of Pike, cradling it in his hands.

Allura smiled as she stepped up next to him, reaching for Valayun. “This is brilliant, Coran! But are you sure you have time for this? You and Shiro are perfectly able to go out and help with reconstruction.”

“Sam said that if he sees me working for the next twenty-four hours he's going to tie me down and make sure I get some rest,” Shiro said. “This sounds like the better choice.”

Pidge snorted in amusement, but didn't comment on it. She looked delighted to hold her figure of Meklavar once again.

Only Hunk looked a little concern, though it was quickly revealed that it wasn't over the game itself. “But Keith didn't play with us last time and he doesn't have a model.”

Coran twirled his mustache, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Don't you worry about that, my young friend! I found a machine here that prints models in 3D and have already made new ones for our adventure today. They will all be revealed when the time is right. Now sit! And we shall resume our journey through the magical realm of Aurita!”

It didn't take them too long to get settled in around the table. Coran chose a spot at the top of the map, with Keith and Shiro to his left and right. Pidge was on the other side of Keith, followed by Hunk, then Lance, and finally Allura, bringing the circle back to Shiro. Each of them picked up a game pad and found their character, reviewing theirs stats and refreshing their memory of how the game worked.

“Before we begin, does anyone want to create a new character?” Coran asked, looking pointedly at Shiro.

Shiro crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm happy playing as Gyro. I don't see what I'd want to change characters.”

The other paladins – minus Keith – groaned in exasperation.

Coran hummed as he booted up his game pad. “I thought you might want a backup in case anything...unfortunate should happen?”

There was a moment of silence in which Keith looked up from his game pad to raise an eyebrow. When no one chose to elaborate on that, he went back to creating his own character, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

“Coran, is something going to happen to Gyro?” Shiro asked.

“Only the dice know,” Coran replied mysteriously.

Shiro sighed as he selected the character creation screen. “I don't understand what you have against me playing as a paladin. I like being a paladin.”

“Can we make a rule that he can't make another one?” Lance asked.

“Now, now, far be it for me to stymie Shiro's creativity. If he wants to rewrite his backstory so that there is a third brother, then that's up to him,” Coran said. “Let's see... we've had Shiro and Gyro. What shall be the third brother's name? Hiro?”

“I hate all of you except for Keith,” Shiro said, prodding at his screen.

Coran gave them all a few more minutes while he searched for the storyline he wanted to use. It was bound to be a fun one, especially after his talk with Keith the day before. He had been sure that the others would be interested in another quest, but Keith hadn't been part of the original game and he wanted to include the current Black Paladin in their fun.

As it turned out, Keith had an interesting idea, and Coran had the perfect plot to go along with it.

He glanced up, smiling softly as he watched Allura lean over to Lance to ask him about something. Hunk appeared to be mumbling spells under his breath and then checking his game pad to make sure he got them right. Keith had his pad turned so Pidge couldn't sneak a peak at what he was doing, no matter how hard she tried.

It warmed Coran's heart to see them all having fun after everything they had been through.

He cleared his throat to get their attention and begin the game. “Tales of your miraculous defeat of the mighty and powerful wizard known as Dakin have spread far and wide across Aurita. Townspeople rejoice wherever you go and you no longer want for food and drink. Today we begin in the wilds of the Mysterious Forest, on a quest for a king of a distant land. It appears his daughter, Princess Mora, has been kidnapped and it is up to you all to save her!”

“A princess?” Lance's eyes lit up.

Hunk groaned. “Oh no... Coran, does it have to be a princess?”

“Yeah, can't we rescue a handsome prince instead? It doesn't always have to be a damsel in distress,” Pidge complained.

“But rescuing a princess is a staple of all classic stories! C'mon, guys, don't take this from me!” Lance begged.

Allura rolled her eyes.

Coran looked at them peevishly for interrupting his storytelling. “Are you going to let me continue, or would you like to run this campaign on your own?”

No one spoke again.

“As I was saying...”

-

If not for the haunting sounds of wildlife, the Mysterious Forest would be a beautiful place to explore. Trees towered overhead, their branches reaching out to cast shade over the ground, while still allowing in enough light for the underbrush to thrive. A single main path, comprised of dirt compacted under heavy travel, wound through the forest.

A sheer mountainside rose to the right of the path. It looked as though the rock had been carved away some time ago, though by what, no one knew.

Valayun led the way down the path, her bow knocked in preparation for trouble. She had heard tales of bandits and thieves who lurked within the woods and knew it was best to be ready to anything. Her blue eyes wearily scanned the underbrush, watching out for any movement.

Behind her was Pike and Block, who quietly talked to pass the time. Pike was particularly excited about their current quest to find a kidnapped princess, and was disappointed that no one else seemed to share his enthusiasm.

Meklavar traveled behind them, her ax at the ready. Her stonesense screamed that something wasn't right, and she was easily the jumpiest of the party.

Bringing up the rear was Gyro, who looked around with a sense of wide-eyed wonder at the beauty of the wilderness around them. He was particularly taken with the brightly colored flora and the pleasant smells they emitted. He felt like nothing could possibly go wrong. After all, the weather was pleasant and their quest had only just begun!

What could possibly go wrong?

-

“Shiro, roll for perception,” Coran instructed.

Shiro frowned. “I thought I already did that.”

“You did. Now I need you to roll a second time,” Coran said.

Everyone leaned forward to watch Shiro roll the die, eager to see what it would stop on. There was a collective groan when it tipped over one final time to end on “two”.

“Tough luck, Shiro,” Keith said sympathetically.

Coran's delight was obvious to everyone and he toned down his cackle to a snicker, hiding his face behind his game pad. “Suddenly, there is a loud crashing sound from the cliffside! Something has knocked into the precariously perched boulders up at the top, jarring them loose. They fall, picking up speed as they go, and while they make a great deal of noise, Gyro is too busy admiring the flowers to pay attention. Will anyone warn our poor paladin of the danger he faces?”

“How do you not hear a landslide?” Pidge asked with a shake of her head. “Nevermind. I'm the closest to him, so I shout out to try and warn him.”

“Shiro, another roll, if you will?”

Shiro sighed and rolled again, not at all surprised to see another roll number. Even the dice gods were working against him. “Am I dead?”

“Oh, I'm afraid so. You hear Meklavar's warning, but aren't able to move in time and are crushed by a landslide,” Coran rattles off as though commenting on the weather.

Shiro gave the Altean a petulant look as he sent over the data for his new character without being asked.

Keith watched the exchange with a furrowed brow. “Should I make a second character now, or...”

“You don't need to. Shiro just has really bad luck,” Pidge reassured him.

Coran took a moment to scan through the new data before jumping back in. “Our heroes take a few hours to mourn their fallen friend and construct a small monument in his honor.”

-

The loss of Gyro the Paladin dampened even Pike's spirits. The four heroes continued on their way, searching for the entrance to the caves where it was rumored that Princess Mora was being held.

“Does anyone else think it's weird that we haven't seen any bandits yet? You'd think they would at least have traps laid for us,” Meklavar said.

“Are you trying to jinx us?” Pike demanded. His eyes scanned the foliage critically, as though he expected something to immediately jump out and attack them.

Valayun uneasily slowed, closing the distance between her and Pike by a few paces. “Maybe we've gone the wrong way?”

“Can't be. This is the only path,” Block said. “Unless they didn't take the path?”

Meklavar shook her head. “No, you're right. They must have taken the path, especially since they have a captive with them. We would be able to see if they went another way, wouldn't we? There would be broken branches and stuff.”

They looked to Valayun in the hope that she had some skill in tracking, but she was just as confused as the rest of them.

The four of them stopped walking as a debate broke out over whether they should keep going or if it was best to go back and look for tracks. Pike and Valayun were for staying on the path, while Block and Meklavar wanted to go back.

And that was when things went from bad, to worse.

A howl pierced the air just before a massive wolf sprang out of the underbrush, taking all of them off guard. It used its advantage to pin Meklavar to the ground and opened its mouth to reveal a row of sharp, white teeth.

Meklavar closed her eyes, praying that someone would save her, or else that death would be swift and painless.

-

Pidge laughed as Kosmo licked across her cheek before he lowered his paws and padded over to the do the same to Keith.

“It's nice to see you too,” Keith said with a chuckle. He patted the cosmic wolf on the head, and once Kosmo was satisfied with the attention he received, he crawled under the table to take a nap near his favorite people.

“A new encounter has begun and it's time to figure out attacking order! Everyone, go ahead and roll your dice,” Coran instructed. “And just for fun... Shiro and Keith, the two of you can roll as well.”

Shiro trepidatiously reached for his die.

-

The sparkling light of Block's magic formed a barrier between Meklavar and certain death, which gave Valayun the opportunity to lay into the beast with her arrows. It reared back, releasing Meklavar from its grasp, and that was when Pike rushed in to pull her to safety.

“Are you alright?” Block shouted as he began charging up his next spell.

“I'm okay!” Meklavar quickly called back. She took a moment to reorient herself and then unhooked her ax so she could jump into the fight.

Arrows flew and spells were slung. A gleaming ax swung against the side of the beast. Pike's sharp blades danced as he flitted about.

None of it appeared to do more than anger the wolf.

“Should we run?” Block asked.

“Do you really think we can outrun that?” Pike asked in disbelief.

Block ducked behind a tree for a little extra cover. “Maybe if Valayun summons one of her magical steeds and I enchant my staff to fly, we might stand a chance at getting away.”

“And what would that solve?” Meklavar demanded. “We run and leave the princess with those bandits? Even if we get away, we still need to come back this way and there's no guarantee that this creature will be gone.”

“Meklavar is right. We have to deal with this now,” Valayun agreed.

Pike loudly shrieked as he barely dodged a swipe from one massive paw. His voice went high as he asked: “Does anyone have a plan for that?!”

Meklavar thought for a moment. “Maybe if we all attack it at once and hit it from different angles. That might confuse it enough that it won't know who to go after.”

“It's worth a try,” Valayun said. She selected a summoning arrow and fired it into the air. A moment later, a flying horse swooped down and allowed Valayun onto their back. She took to the skies to distract the beast, giving her allies enough time to get into place.

And then their assault began anew.

The beast snarled in rage. Just as they had hoped, it didn't know who to go after first. It turned to look at each of them, but each time it tried to attack, someone would hit it from another angle.

A horn trumpeted.

From within the forest, a man with dark hair came riding in on a magnificent black steed. He lifted his sword high and joined the battle.

The beast didn't last long after that, and as it lay dying on the forest floor, the adventurers approached the newcomer. One-by-one, they introduced themselves, until all that was left was for the stranger to speak his name.

“I am but a simple ranger, traveling with my fearless companion,” he said, fondly patting his horse's neck. “My name is Paladin.”

-

In that moment, anyone in or near the common room was treated to the sound of the Paladins of Voltron losing their minds over a single sentence, while Shiro sat back and looked very pleased with himself. Coran was laughing so hard that he was crying.

Once Coran calmed enough that he could speak clearly, he wiped away his tears and coaxed them back into playing their game.

With the addition of Shiro's ranger, they discovered that they had missed a second path and it was only thanks to his tracking skill that they were able to find it. The new path was a shortcut, leading directly to the caves, while the main path would have eventually branched out, with one trail leading up to the top of the mountain and the other leading out of the forest. Coran was the only one disappointed that they no longer needed to fight their way down through the mountain.

They charged ahead into the caves with their spirits renewed, and Lance happily showed off that Pike held torches in his inventory, after buying them during his and Shiro's mini-session with Coran.

“So is Keith actually playing, or is he just here to watch?” Lance asked as he rolled to dismantle a trap that Hunk nearly triggered.

“I've been playing!” Keith protested. “You've seen me roll!”

“Oh yeah? Then where's your character?” Lance challenged with the air of someone who knew they had already won.

Coran stepped in before things could escalate to shouting. “Keith and I discussed his role before we began, and I have sent him messages to determine where he currently is and what he's doing. Be patient; he'll join you soon.”

“I didn't know these things could send messages,” Pidge said, looking at her game pad with renewed interest.

“My bandmates and I always used them to enrich our experience with the game. Not only can it be used to send messages between the Lore Master and one of the players, players can also send group messages. Depending on the race you've picked, you can choose to send messages in that language, and it will only translate for anyone who has knowledge of that language,” Coran said. “Though it's more like gibberish than an actual language. Now, where were we? Ah, yes...”

-

The team of eager adventurers continued on their way, dismantling traps and using their wide range of skills to avoid trouble. They only got lost once and that was when they encountered a small party of bandits, who kept dropping their weapons and were incompetent in general.

Pike pilfered anything useful before they moved on.

“This is way less interesting than Dakin's lair,” Meklavar said, sounding disappointed. “Where's all of the treasure? The interesting weaponry?”

“Well that's why they kidnapped the princess, isn't it? They're holding her for ransom so that then they'll have treasures,” Block suggested.

“I don't know why you keep saying things like that when you know it's just going to bring us more trouble.” Pike directed his words to Meklavar, who ignored him. “Besides, just because you haven't found anything, doesn't mean there's nothing here.” He grinned and jingled his coin purse in front of her face.

Paladin frowned at the blatant theivery that was being flaunted in front of him. There was no point in saying anything. Pike had only laughed the first time he scolded him for it.

“Meklavar, can you read anything with your stonesense?” Valayun asked.

Meklavar placed her hand on the wall and frowned. “There is... something. I can feel it more strongly now. I think there's another dwarf here!”

“That's good, right?” Valayun asked.

Meklavar shrugged. “Not if they're one of the bandits. Then we might be in trouble, since they'll be able to tell we're coming.”

“I don't like this,” Block said nervously.

“All we can do is keep moving forward. If we stop to worry about what could be, we'll be here all day,” Paladin said. He took the lead down the hall, not waiting for anyone to respond, and the others hurried to fall in line behind him.

They all kept their weapons drawn. There was every chance that they were walking deeper into an ambush and none of them wanted to be caught unaware.

Every now and then, Meklavar reached out to touch the stone walls, trying to get a feel for what was going on. Just before a turn, she hissed out “wait!”

Paladin brought up his sword in time to block a strike from another blade. The clang of steel-on-steel rang out in the tunnel, impossibly loud. Paladin grit his teeth and bore down, refusing to let the assailant take an inch.

“Who are you? What are you doing in this place?” demanded the stranger.

“We're here to beat you and rescue the princess!” Pike exclaimed from the back of their line.

The stranger frowned. “They kidnapped someone else as well?”

Paladin let up a little, puzzled by that statement. “What do you mean 'someone else'? We only know about Princess Mora.”

There was something very strange going on, but no one could feel that more than Meklavar. Her stonesense sang, but not in a way that indicated danger. “Paladin, I don't think he's one of the bandits.”

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a bandit to you?”

Behind Meklavar, the others made sounds of protest - “Of course he does!” - but Paladin evidently agreed with Meklavar and slowly lowered his sword. He kept it at the ready, just in case.

Valayun refused to lower her arrow and kept it trained on the stranger. “Who are you? How do we know you're someone we can trust?”

“Because I believe I'm the one you were sent to rescue,” he told them. “My name is Mizerik, son of Princess Mora.”

-

“Nope.” Lance shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “No way.”

Pidge appeared utterly delighted by the twist. She turned to Keith with a grin and raised her hand, palm facing him. He looked puzzle for a moment and then held up his hand the same way.

“High five?” Pidge asked.

Understanding dawned on Keith's face and he gently clapped his hand to hers. “What are we doing this for?”

“Because we're dwarf pals! This is going to be so much fun!” Pidge said. She picked up her gamepad and began to intently type something.

“You two planned this?” Allura asked, looking to Coran.

He beamed at her. “Keith had the idea after I explained a bit about how the game works. It's all part of an even bigger story I have in mind. I figured that since you all could use something to do, I could do a bigger campaign than the last time. This is only the beginning!”

“I think we'll be able to find time for that,” Shiro said, sounding amused.

“Still worried that my dad might make good on his threat?” Pidge asked.

“You think he won't?”

Pidge wasn't going to argue with him on that.

Coran let them talk for a moment while he took a drink of water. They'd been going for a while and could probably wrap things up soon, or at least take a break before heading into the next part of the campaign.

He scrolled through his chosen story and decided that he'd wait to see what they wanted to do about the remaining bandits first. There wasn't any treasure to find, but the odds were that they would press on until they found something interesting, and he had a misleading side-plot involving a mysterious key if they really wanted to go that route. He almost hoped Keith would convince them that it was unnecessary, but the thought of getting to send them on a wild floklop chase was highly amusing.

It was all dependent on whether or not they took Keith's deal. There was something his character was after, and in exchange for helping him, he would grant a favor.

What was it the humans said again?

Quid pro quo?

[abigailnussbaum]

The Boys - Good & Bad

Being an itemized list of the strengths and weaknesses of the first season Amazon’s superhero show The Boys, based on the comic run of the same name by Garth Ennis, which I haven’t read.

GOOD:

The show looks good.  It’s not tremendously visually inventive on the level of, say, Legion or Doom Patrol, but it’s got a definite style, and not just in the action scenes.  The stagings pop, the street scenes look crisp and interesting, the boardroom scenes take advantage of the set designers’ inventiveness.  There’s the requisite loss of saturation once our two main characters lose their respective love interests, but it’s not color-graded out of existence, the way a lot of other shows trying to evoke masculine despondency do.  A “gritty”, laddish superhero show conjures up certain expectations where visuals are concerned, and The Boys exceeds them at almost every turn.

There are actual episodes!  With beginnings and endings and common themes!  I had no idea streaming shows could still do that, but The Boys is really good at finding mini-stories within its overarching plot and structuring its episodes around them (which should be a basic implement in a TV writer’s toolkit and instead has all-but disappeared).  Episode 2 is about the Boys realizing how screwed they are by having captured a nearly-unkillable superhero who has seen their faces, and trying to figure out a way to kill him.  Episode 5 is structured around Annie and Hughie’s visit to a superhero-themed Christian revivalist festival.  It gives the entire season a more engaging structure, and pulls you along with the story in a way that most streaming shows don’t even attempt.

There are some genuinely clever worldbuilding choices that emerge from the “what if superheroes, but awful” premise.  The fact that superheroes star in their own movies, for example, or that their power competitions become major sporting events, is hilarious, and perfectly conveys the sense of moral bankruptcy that I think the show is going for.  And the crossover the show posits between superhero worship and white Evangelicalism is an obvious and perfect fit, tying into the latter’s barely-concealed love of power and authoritarianism.  Also, there are some inventive demonstrations of how combining superpowers, limited intelligence, and corporate greed can lead to horrifying results, some funny - The Deep trying to rescue a dolphin from captivity - and some genuinely gutting - the plane crash scene in episode 4 is the queasy highlight of the season, as the viewer realizes just a few seconds before the characters do just how badly they’ve screwed up, and how horrible their future choices are going to have to be.

The cast is uniformly excellent, and pretty much everyone gets a lot of different layers to play.  The highlights are Elisabeth Shue, Erin Moriarty, Jessie T. Usher, and Tomer Capon (bit of hometown pride here, but it’s easy to see why he’s such a well-regarded young actor in Israel), but pretty much everyone is good and interesting to watch.  Even Karl Urban, who gets the show’s most thankless task - he has to carry most of the story while playing its least nuanced character - manages to infuse some humor and complexity into Billy.

There are a lot of interesting, complex relationships, the top one being Homelander and Madeline Stillwell.  As a character says near the end of the season, it’s a relationship that is “hard to quantify” - does he want to fuck her, or kill her, or be her child?  Does she want to control him or does she genuinely get off on his desire for her?  Other relationships are less fraught - Frenchie and Kimiko are incredibly sweet together - but still a lot of fun to watch.

The show seems to understand that at the root of almost every villain, and certainly privileged ones, is childishness.  You see this in the way The Deep sinks into self-pity after experiencing the consequences of his sexual assault on Annie, or the way A-Train becomes obsessed with blaming Hughie for his girlfriend’s death, even though he’s the one who killed her.  You see it most of all in Homelander’s resentment of Madeline’s baby and the attention she lavishes on it.  It’s simply stunning how openly envious this grown man is of a months-old infant, and it makes every scene the two share almost unbearably tense, because you’re just waiting for Homelander to snap and kill the baby.  Which ends up much more effectively conveying the point the show is trying to make than the sudden shock of him actually doing it would have - the fact that this character would clearly feel themselves justified in killing an infant, and is only holding back because he knows there’ll be a fuss, is the sum total of the show’s criticism of absolute power.

(This emphasis also justifies the show’s insistence that Hughie is redeemable, because though he starts out quite immature, he does grow, unlike the superpowered villains.  He starts the season killing a super who hasn’t really done anything to him, just for the rush of it, and ends it saving the life of the super whose selfishness destroyed his world, because he’s actually realized that his are not the only problems that matter.)

Someone seems to have realized that having a female (Asian) character whose name is simply The Female is an absolutely terrible idea, and the show gives her a name as soon as possible.  There’s also hints that she may be regaining the power of speech.

BAD:

The use of violence - and particularly sexual violence - against women ends up privileging men, even when those men are the perpetrators.  Both Hughie and Billy are motivated by the loss of the women they loved, and in both cases the show plumps for the classic approach of single scene featuring the love interest being angelic, and doesn’t bother to shade either of them in or give them a personality or a chance to speak on their own behalf.  And even when the victim is a main character, as when The Deep assaults Annie, the focus is much more on him than on her.  Annie processes her trauma in a scene and a half, and it ends up being folded into her overall dilemma over how to be a superhero.  Whereas the Deep spends the rest of the season coping with the consequences of his actions and folding them into his general lack of self-esteem.  While there’s the germ of an important point there - just because this guy has problems of his own doesn’t justify his assault on another person or make him particularly tragic or compelling - the show’s insistence on going back to that well, even as the season approaches its climax, is simply baffling.

This feels, in fact, like a smaller component of the show’s broader problem with sexual ethics, the fact that it seems to have no way of distinguishing between sexual behavior is depraved, and sexual behavior that is just weird or maybe a bit kinky.  Like, the fact that the Deep has consensual sex with dolphins is not worse than, or even equivalent to, the fact that he assaulted Annie.  The fact that Homelander prematurely ejaculates when he and Madeline have sex isn’t a worse reflection on his character than the fact that he may have raped Billy’s wife.  And yet those cases are treated as equivalent by the narrative.  It ends up feeling profoundly anti-sex, rather than anti-sexual-violence, an impression that is only intensified when Annie and Hughie - the show’s sole “good”, loving couple - have sex that is completely vanilla (and despite Hughie’s earlier assurances that he isn’t intimidated by Annie’s strength, he still ends up being the dominant one in bed, and she even lets him be on top).  It also prevents the show from any serious discussion of the one aspect of sexuality that is unique to its setting, the possibility of supers inadvertently hurting their human partners.  The scene in which Popclaw crushes a man’s head between her thighs is the nadir of the season precisely because it’s played for laughs, for that “aren’t we outrageous” vibe that everyone told me the comic was suffused with.  When actually you could do something interesting and character-based with it, if the show actually cared to.

(Having said all this, I do think that the show is a lot better on the subject of sexual violence than it could have been, and a lot better than the source material might have dictated.  It feels significant that - with the exception of the aforementioned Popclaw scene - we never see any act of sexual assault on screen.  We see Homelander and the Deep scoping out their victims, Rebecca Butcher and Annie, and maneuvering them into a position of vulnerability.  And we see the aftermath of the assault for both victims.  But we don’t see the act itself, in a series that is otherwise perfectly happy to depict consensual sex, even if it judges anything resembling kink.  I also thought the handling of Queen Maeve, as a woman who has lived for years under a sustained campaign of sexual harassment, was extremely powerful - again, the focus is on how the abuse twists the victim up and makes them feel powerless and alone, not on any overt act of violence.)

I really don’t get why I’m meant to care about Billy Butcher.  It’s not even that I don’t like him - I just find him completely uninteresting.  He works as an engine of plot and a way to inject chaos into the other characters’ lives (the repeated device in which he authoritatively promises to solve the team’s problems, only for the show to cut away to him alone, wearing an expression that makes it clear that he has no idea what to do and is about to make everything worse, is pretty funny and effective).  But as a character in his own right and with his own story, he just feels too one-note and monomaniacal for me to care about.  I care what happens to MM and Frenchie and Kimiku and Annie and Maeve.  I even care a little what happens to Hughie.  I simply can’t bring myself to give a fuck about Billy.

I don’t see why I should be rooting for Hughie and Annie to make it work.  It’s great that he feels she helped him rediscover his moral compass, but in the meantime he lied to her, used her, and concealed the fact that he had murdered one of her teammates from her.  Annie has the right of it when she hears his confession and replies “the thing is, I don’t care”.  It would be one thing if their reconciliation at the end of the season was more of an ethical one, a case of Annie choosing to rescue Hughie and the Boys because she knows they don’t deserve to die, not because she forgives him.  But I got the impression that we were meant to read it as a romantic reconciliation too, which Hughie hasn’t even come close to earning.

If you must have interchangeable Middle Eastern terrorists as your go-to, killable background villains, doesn’t it seem obvious that there should be at least a few positive, named Middle Eastern characters in the foreground?  (I suppose Frenchie might count?  But given Capon’s heritage, he could just as easily be a Sepharadic Jew, which doesn’t really avoid the problem of Islamophobia that the show cheerfully blunders into.)

The plot kind of loses the thread towards the end of the season, partly, I suspect, because of the need to set up characters and plot points for season 2.  It’s a particular shame because the plotting had been so strong in the first half of the season.

The sound mix is terrible.  It should tell you something that I even noticed this and worked out the right term to use for it, because I’m usually completely illiterate on these matters.  But after the millionth time you’ve had to raise the volume during a dialogue scene, then immediately lower it during an action scene, you start to wonder if there isn’t something wrong.

Overall, this is a much smarter, more interesting, and more entertaining show than discussions of the comic had led me to expect, but I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t benefitting from the fact that we’re so saturated with superhero stories right now.  There’s less pressure to be the one subversive superhero story, which leaves The Boys room to be more character-focused, and to use superheroes as more of a metaphor for the corrupting influence of power and the evil of corporate overreach.  Its supers feel a lot more like generic celebrities - A-Train is an anxiety-ridden athlete; Annie is a pageant kid; Maeve is an aging movie star whose career and soul have been blighted by ubiquitous sexual harassment.  Characters who are genuinely set apart by their superpowers, like Homelander, are in the minority (and even in Homelander’s case it turns out his psychopathy has more to do with having been raised in a lab).  

Basically it feels like the people who adapted the comic saved it by telling a story that is much more generic than the original, which may be entirely to the good.  But I do wonder whether the second season won’t veer further into exactly those parts of the show that I find least interesting.  The final scene seems to suggest much more of an emphasis on Billy’s manpain and his conflict with Homelander, and the introduction of superpowered terrorists threatens to move the show away from the criticism of power that made the first season work.

[profoundnet]

Profound Member Post - November/December 2019

Header by @cryptomoon​ and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2019!

Masterpost below the cut.

JessJessTheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJessTheBest

Forgot all prayers (of joining you)

Dean had forgotten how real and close emotions were when he was here. When he was this close to Cas. When there was nothing between them but time. He wasn’t saying any of this right. His words weren’t working. He couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. But maybe… Or Dean prays to Cas in purgatory. (s15 e08 coda)

Tags: s15 e08 coda, Dean Winchester prays to Castiel, Mild hurt/comfort

SFW

One Hell of a Pilot

He leaned again to get close to the pilot. “This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape.” He took a deep breath, letting it sink in for just a moment that he said those words. That he was doing this. There was no going back. Or Cas is a reformed Stormtrooper, Dean is a rebel pilot, and this is the story of their escape.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, It's literally just the first 36 minutes of TFA, Poe!Dean, Finn!Cas

SFW

The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat - @the-madness-linked-to-a-hat - The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat

Happy Holidays Cas

Where Dean and Cas follow a seasonal tradition.

Tags: Mistletoe, first kiss, happy holidays SFW

Isangelousdenim - @isangelousdenim - Isangelousdenim

Wishful Drinking

It started with Dean drinking on a case. It escalated to Dean drinking everywhere.

Tags: TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts & Alcohol Abuse Character Study, Season 15, Heavy Angst

NSFW

Co-written by: Bumocusal

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Head Down, Walk with Reason

As an omega, Castiel is ineligible for the throne after his father dies. When his uncle takes the crown, Metatron's first order of business is to arrange a betrothal with King John for the hand of his firstborn son, the Crown Prince of Terra.

So Castiel flees. His first night on the run, Castiel stumbles into a band of outlaws just at the border. Injured and wary, he has no choice to stay with them. And although he had planned to return to his own kingdom once it was safe, home might not be the place he left, but instead with Dean, their alpha leader that took him in.

Tags: a/b/o, medieval au, royalty au, omega cas, alpha dean, secret identities, angst with a happy ending, castiel and meg friendship NSFW

MaggieMaybe160 - @maggiemaybe160 - MaggieMaybe160

A Thanksgiving Feast

Dean Winchester's dirty prayer before Thanksgiving dinner leads to some shenanigans under the table. Tags: Food Kink. Top Cas/Bottom Dean.

NSFW

One Night

An accidental one night stand between Castiel and Dean leads to whispered confessions and miscommunications.

Tags: Internalized Homophobia. John Winchester's A+ Parenting. Angst with a happy ending. NSFW

followyourenergy - followyourenergy

Christmas in July

When Dean Winchester follows a service dog who won’t leave him alone, he finds Cas Novak, passed out in a stairwell with a Christmas tree on top of him. A Christmas tree? In July? Who does that? Turns out that Cas does that. And once he gets to know the snarky, independent, handsome man, Dean can’t help but fall for him. A story about being seen.

Tags: Christmas, fluff and angst, pining, blind Castiel, service dogs, snarky Castiel, sweet Dean, falling in love

NSFW

Nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep Pillowfort

Talk to Me Now

It started off simple. An ad on Craig's List: Looking for a Roommate, 700/mo, Utilities included...

Tags: AU - Roommates, idiots to lovers, pranks and practical jokes, misunderstandings, comfortably bisexual dean, queer castiel

NSFW

Stuck in the Middle With You

"Fine." Cas slid his right pointer finger into the trap and almost instantly felt the trap snap around their fingers. "That's not right." Dean looked up at Cas. "What did you do?" Cas attempted to pull his finger out of the trap. "I didn't do anything."

Tags: canonverse, cursed object, idiots to lovers, homophobic language, everyone ships dean/cas, love confessions

NSFW

What I Thought I Knew

Dean rolls his eyes and turns to go back to the kitchen when his eyes lock on a guy across the room. He has dark, messy hair and eyes that cannot possibly be so blue. He stares for a moment, ripping his eyes away only when he realizes the other guy has caught him staring. Dean blushes and rushes back into the kitchen. Tags: AU - Modern, Strangers to Lovers, One-sided Enemies to Lovers, Objectification, Miscommunication, Dub-con Kiss

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Slice of Your Pie

He pulled up the Casual Encounters section of Craig's List and was surprised to find out how right Gabe was. Many people were offering their services for Thanksgiving company. As he scrolled through the ads, one with an interesting title caught his attention. Alone on Thanksgiving? Want to stop the ‘Why are you still single?’ questions?

Tags: AU - Modern, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Crush at first sight, pre-Dean/Cas, Homophobic Language, Sexism

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Shiver

"I wouldn't leave it there. I grabbed the most important things and left." Dean shook his head vehemently. "Are you sure?" Sam's face started to crinkle up in an 'I told you so' expression. "Did you really get everything before you ran and asked to crash with your baby brother and his wife?" Dean glared at Sam. "I don't want to go back. It can't be there."

Tags: AU - Modern with Magic, Witch!Cas, Witch!Dean, Blizzards, Car Accident, Getting Back Together, Angst with a Happy Ending

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Angel

Overcome by a moment of whimsy, Dean walked down the stairs and stepped into the middle of the yard. He looked towards the sky and closed his eyes, letting the snowflakes gently kiss his skin. Tags: Canon Compliant, Fallen!Cas, Snow Angels, Marriage Proposal, Established Dean/Cas, Short and Sweet

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Chandeliers of Hope

"You seriously Christmas themed our D&D game?" Dean rolled his eyes in disbelief. Charlie walked over and patted Dean on the cheek before taking some of the candlesticks out of Cas' arms. "Of course, I did. You said to write what I wanted, I wrote tonight's campaign. It's a one-shot, and it's going to be a lot of fun, I promise." "Gonna hold you to that, Red." Dean pointed at her accusingly before looking and smiling at Cas. "And I'm going to hold you as an accomplice."

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Party, Characters playing D&D, Recreational Marijuana Use, Alcohol Use, Mistletoe Kiss, Cas/Dean First Kiss, Idiots to Lovers

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A Cold, Dark Winter’s Night

Charlie pulled out a small gift bag and handed it out to everyone. "Secret Santa!" Cas rolled his eyes as Charlie came to stand in front of him, gently shaking the bag. He reached in and pulled out a slip of paper, waiting until Charlie moved to the next person. He flipped it open, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Dean.

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Fluff, Idiots in Love, Secret Santa, Everyone Ships Dean/Cas

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Twas The Night

“It’s Christmas Eve!” “Uh, yeah.” Dean got up from his bed and walked down the hallway to Emma’s room and leaned against her doorframe. “You gonna tell me something I don’t know, Kiddo?” “We need to get started!” Emma was sitting on her floor with her back to the door. “It’s Cas’ first Christmas with us, and I want to make sure he enjoys it.”

Tags: AU - Modern, Timestamp, Domestic Dean/Cas, Established Dean/Cas, Christmas Fluff, KidFic, Marriage Proposal

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You Make it Feel Like Christmas

"Well, considering I haven't had a chance to go Christmas shopping. How about you?" Sam zipped up his bag and did a second check around the hotel room. "I already took your bag out to the car." Sam crossed the room to the motel door and headed outside. Dean stood in silence for a moment as Sam closed the door behind him. Shopping, on Christmas Eve?

Tags: Canonverse, Last Minute Christmas Shopping, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Happy Ending

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Auld Lang Syne

"She's cute. You ask her out yet?" Dean stabbed his pie with his fork and shoved another bite into his mouth. "Uh, no. Why?" Dean winked. "Means she's available, right?" "No offense Dean, but you don't have a chance. She has standards." Cas took a sip of his tea and looked at his roommate. "Ouch. You wound me, Cas." Dean rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his knuckles. "Bet you I can get Meg to go to the New Year's Ball with me."

Tags: AU - Modern, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Oblivious Castiel, Eventual Dean/Cas, Dean/Cas First Kiss

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Leafzelindor - @leafzelindor

Artwork for On The Road Again

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "On the Road again" Tags: destiel, fluff, au

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For On The Road Again by @hekate1308​

Artwork for Life is But A Dream

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "Life is but a Dream" Tags: Destiel, AU

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For Life is But A Dream by @crowleyhasfeels​

Jdragon122 - @jdragon122 - Jdragon122 Pillowfort

from stardust to stardust

~ from stardust to stardust ~ The art prize for the lovely gii-heylittleangel ;) who won the Destiel Artists United 500 follower giveaway! They asked for Castiel and wings XD my favorite lol. I was happy to comply <3

Tags: N/A

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Jemariel - @jemariel - jemariel

Human Error

Cas is human now, and things aren't going to plan. (Not that Dean had a plan. Nope. No plans of any kind.) Anyway, what's a Winchester to do when everything he tries seems to blow up in his face? Go hunting. Obviously.

Tags: Human!Castiel, Alternate season 9, Casefic, Only One Bed, Mutual pining, Miscommunication, Sex under the influence of alcohol, Canon-typical violence, Wendigo, Injured Cas

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Sarasaurussex - @sarasaurussex - sarasaurussex

Don’t Mess with Dean’s Alpha

Dean and Castiel are enjoying a relaxing night out, until Cas gets hit on by another Omega.

Tags: Omega Dean x Alpha Cas, Possessive Omega, BAMF Dean, Jealousy, Fluff

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The Wendigo

Dean has a lot of baggage from his childhood. Castiel wants to help, if Dean will let him.

Tags: PTSD trauma, parental abuse trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Healing, First Kiss, Confessions

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Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part I

I had some funny Christmas sweater ideas and couldn't resist dressing up the boys. Dean is not amused. Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

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Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part II

More ugly Christmas sweaters for the boys ;D Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

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Miracle on Lebanon Street

The bunker gets an unexpected visitor on Christmas morning, and it’s not Santa! (Contains Destiel and Sabriel)

Tags: Ugly Christmas Sweaters, White Christmas, Gift Giving, Christmas Feast (it’s pie), Mistletoe, Fluff SFW

vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin Pillowfort

of mundane things

“You never told us,” Dean hisses, during a muted conversation carried in the protective depths of the kitchen. “You got hitched to a djinn? Since when?” “I did tell you,” Cas growls back. He slams on the faucet, filling the glass with vigor. “It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.”

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 14, dream walking, Dean in Castiel's Dream, Getting Together

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a tale that can’t be told

Black leather and oil scent the air around him, a welcome change from antiseptics. Impala, Castiel thinks. Baby. Except he’s not allowed to call her that. A flash of brown panelling slides through his memory, rattling on a rusted truck bed with wood for bed rails. Outside the car, the brothers are quietly arguing. Castiel cranes to listen, but he only picks out a partial phrase from Sam: Since when was he losing his powers? The snippet from Dean is even more troubling: Is Chuck fucking with us by giving him a factory reset?

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 15, Castiel Losing His Powers, Human Castiel, Memory Loss, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Castiel's Missing Brown Truck, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Hopeful Ending

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low voices in the library (are appreciated)

Sam moved, though in which direction Dean couldn’t yet tell. Not the library, Dean mentally begged. He didn’t want to deal with the scene Sam was about to stumble into, let alone its know-it-all aftermath. Tags: Library Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex

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a handful of seeds

Dean paused in his chopping. He swiped the green pepper chunks into a neat pile on the cutting board. He was running out of excuses to make. Weakly, he asked, “Where would I even keep a garden?” Cas, sensing victory, rose up in height. “Behind the bunker entrance, in the patch of earth lined by mulberry bushes.” Dean cursed, caught out. “Why’d you even bother to ask, if you already knew?” Softening, Cas gave a small smile. “I’d like to add to it, if that’s okay.”

Tags: Mary Winchester Feels, Gardens & Gardening, Domestic Fluff

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LanaSerra - @lanaserra​ - LanaSerra  &  Spandwiches  - @spandwiches - spandwiches

300cc

300 Complementary Characters: a forum on Kansas City University’s student website. You can write whatever you want, but it has to be 300 characters or less. Dean is crushing hard on Sam’s TA, but it feels different than it has before; it feels like he needs to do it properly, to have a grand declaration and to prove that romance isn’t dead. What better way to profess his feelings than posting a poem on 300cc? Castiel is torn. There’s no mistaking the poem is for him, but who could be posting them? Despite being very tempted by the very attractive new light and sound engineer that will be working on the play he has written, Castiel can’t ignore the feeling that he and the anonymous Poet are meant to be together. A comedy of errors, mutual pining, and erotic poetry.

Tags: college-au, two person love triangle, explicit poetry, fluff, the boys fail to use their words while using ALL of their words, consent is sexy, POV switching, explicit, minor Sam/Eileen

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MittensMorgul - @mittensmorgul​ - MittensWraith

This Must Be The Place

Seven years after their profound meeting, Cas knows he's exactly where he was always meant to be. (a sequel to Lifetime Piling Up, but can be read as a standalone)

Tags: Doctor Castiel/Tattoo Artist Dean, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Fluff

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On This Night

Something goes terribly wrong while hunting a djinn. Newly-human Cas had never considered what the effects of djinn poison could be for a human, and struggles to remember why everything seems just so slightly off when he wakes up back at the cabin he and Dean had been staying in during the hunt. The cabin has been transformed with holiday decorations, and Cas wonders just how long he'd been unconscious. Only when he tries to get answers from Dean, reality comes crashing back in on them both, in the best of all possible ways. Tags: Canon case fic, Christmas Fluff, snowed in, first kiss, POV Castiel, djinn dreams

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firefly124 - @firefly124-writing​ - firefly124

Making It Up as We Go

Dean’s not entirely sure what he’s looking at, but he’s almost sure it’s a message from Chuck.

Tags: mentions of past (temporary) MCD, spoilers through SPN 15x06

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Something Bright to Dispel the Gloom

A road trip to Salina had sounded like a good idea when Dean had suggested it. Cas hadn’t been back for long, though, and this was shaping up to be the world’s most awkward road trip ever.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

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Crumblin’ Down

Dean’s feeling nostalgic. Cas is mystified. Sam is oblivious.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

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Overdue Explanations are Overdue

If Dean thought this day had been a rollercoaster ride before, he didn’t know what to compare it to now.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to past (temporary) MCD

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Faith, Hope, and Maybe Something Else

Castiel figured he’d probably just ensured that the Empty would never come for him.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to canon character deaths

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The Choices We Make

Castiel takes a moment to reflect on the choices he has made as well as those others have made, and is presented with a new one to consider.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

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Wargurl - @wargurl83​ - wargurl83

Christmas in the Bunker

Join TFW as they discover a little bit of the magic of the season. Tags: Cannon-Divergent, holiday shenanigans

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[raywritesthings]

Just Be Close at Hand

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Thea Queen, John Diggle Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Tags: Pre-Relationship, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Episode: s04e17 Beacon of Hope, Metahuman OC, Sad Ending Summary: Some months after Oliver's broken engagement, Laurel is forced to reveal something long kept secret. *Can also be read on my AO3*

Laurel looked up as her door opened, and a smile spread over her face. “Mayor Queen. Here for business?”

“Not exactly. You catch the time?”

She looked at the bottom of her computer screen as he walked in and took the seat on the other side of her desk.

“Afraid not.”

“Thought so. Well, lucky for you, I make enough for two.” Oliver placed two tupperware containers on her desk and cracked his open. “Take a half hour for lunch with me, ADA Lance?”

Laurel pulled her own container closer and took the lid off. Apparently Ollie was in a soup mood; this was the second one of the week, and it smelled just as divine. “You’re spoiling me, you know that?”

“Someone has to make sure you eat. Can’t count on Thea for that, unfortunately.”

“We do order a lot of takeout when left to our own devices,” Laurel freely admitted. “She get any of this?”

“She’s at a lunch meeting. So that’s the both of you taken care of,” Oliver answered. He started to dig into his food and Laurel followed suit.

They’d fallen into this habit after he was sworn in. Either he’d swing by with something homemade or Laurel would knock on his office door to invite him out. It was a nice way to unwind outside of their busy schedules, and it made Oliver feel better about the lack of promotion he’d been able to give her.

Laurel and her father had both had to talk him out of appointing her DA considering how that would look to an ethics committee. It was no secret she and Oliver were friends and that she’d openly supported his campaign, after all. So a part of these frequent meetups were an attempt at an apology, she had to guess.

The other part likely was that he was simply lonely. Felicity was still maintaining their separation and had even expressed interest in trying out the dating scene again the last time Laurel had spoken to her when they’d met up for coffee.

“I’m kind of glad things crashed and burned with Oliver before we tied the knot, cause that would have been a nightmare to untangle,” the other woman had told her. She’d raised her cup as if it were a wine glass. “So here’s to us, the lucky ones who realized the error of our ways.”

“Right,” Laurel had agreed without meeting Felicity’s eyes, and then had gulped down a large portion of her latte.

As the mayor, Oliver was fortunately no longer stuck living in the base, but she had no doubt his new residence felt empty with no one to share it with. Thea stayed late there sometimes, but she’d seemingly decided Laurel’s apartment was home even when her brother was no longer living in the loft where she’d been attacked.

It was nice to have him around City Hall, at least. They talked about the various initiatives and programs he wanted to promote, and Laurel talked about the reforms their justice system could really use. She had a partner in improving the city both in and out of the field.

“You know, Daggett sent his people to try and see me again? Never mind one of my campaign promises was to stop letting corporate lobbyists have a controlling interest in local government,” Oliver said. “Makes me wonder why I stopped targeting billionaires.”

“Ollie!” She hissed.

He motioned back to her closed door. “I’m not admitting to anything.” Oliver turned back to her. “Anyway, you’re a lawyer. Confidentiality.”

She had to fight hard against a smile. “Well, we might want to hold off on Daggett for at least a few weeks. The timing would be suspicious.”

“If you say so. I’m thinking maybe we sneak in, grab some files of questionable content, and drop them on a certain ADA’s desk. Classic move, works every time.”

“A certain ADA, huh?”

“I know just the one.”

She couldn’t stop a small giggle that time, and Oliver’s face lit up with a smile. These lunch dates were one of the highlights of her day, and part of her wondered if they were for him as well — but of course, they weren’t dates.

It was wrong of her. So wrong. Oliver was looking to her as a friend while he went through the process of a relationship ending, and here she was fantasizing.

It wasn’t as if she’d wanted them to break up. Oliver and Felicity were both her friends, and she’d been happy for them. The best thing would be for the two of them to settle things; that’s what everyone else wanted. No one else was ever happy when she and Oliver were together. It was just a hopeless dream long past, and she only had herself to blame for being unable to move on.

“Laurel?”

She blinked.

“You okay?” Oliver asked.

“Um, yeah. Just thinking about a case,” she lied.

“Save it for after lunch,” he recommended. “You can’t always be working.”

“I can try,” she replied, only half-joking. But she returned her attentions to her soup.

His phone buzzed, and Oliver’s brow creased as he took it out and skimmed the message.

“What’s wrong?”

“Barry. He says he’s got a head’s up for the team. How quick do you think you can finish up here?”

“Probably about as quickly as you.” Laurel started clearing the remains of lunch off her desk. “You should get back to your office.”

“Right.” Oliver stood and gathered his things, but instead of leaving he caught himself with one hand on the door frame. “You know, here I am the mayor, and you’re still bossing me around.”

“Well, the mayor is a public servant,” Laurel reasoned. “And seeing as I am a constituent, that does make me one of your many bosses.”

“Uh-huh,” Oliver replied, though he was grinning as he added, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

He left and Laurel dropped back into her seat, one hand combing through her hair as she let out a sigh. She really needed to give this up.

—-

“There’s a metahuman named Evan Piers that Cisco found on CCTV boarding a high-speed train to Star City this morning.”

Barry wasn’t in the base; they had him and the STAR Labs team on speaker just as they had them on speaker back in Central.

“He can project some kind of field that compels people to tell the truth.”

“We think he must be able to affect the frontal lobe, which is what usually suppresses the truth when people lie or keep secrets,” Caitlin elaborated.

“Yeah, so we’re calling him Lie Detector, okay?” Cisco told them.

“So how does this make him so effective?” John asked.

“Any time the police attempted to arrest him, they ended up getting into altercations with each other instead,” Barry replied. “Which allowed him to get away with the thefts. Plus he’s armed himself with guns and ammo.”

“He hit up Central while we were busy with another Weather Wizard blizzard,” Cisco added. “And we’ve still got Trickster junior to catch, or we’d just come up ourselves. Sorry guys.”

“That’s fine. We can handle it,” said Oliver.

“Yeah, guns are kind of more out thing anyway,” Thea remarked with a smirk.

“Alright, well just give us a call if you need backup.”

“We will. Thanks for the heads up, guys,” Laurel said. They hung up and got to work on trying to locate their newly arrived meta. It was slower going without Felicity, but a police report about a shootout in the warehouse district proved helpful. Laurel, Oliver, and Thea all suited up with John remaining behind to man the comms. They were taking turns on it these days.

When they arrived, the police had set up a perimeter around the warehouse Piers had holed himself up in. They’d have to come in from above to get around it.

Thea shot a grappling arrow into the roof of a nearby building, and Oliver followed suit. He reached out an arm without even looking, and Laurel stepped into a quasi-embrace.

It was hard to ignore the little jump her heart did when his arm wrapped securely around her waist, but Laurel did her best as they rose together up to the roof; and again when they repeated the process to swing over to the warehouse Piers was in.

“Spartan, you there?” Laurel asked as she backed out of Oliver’s hold. Focusing on the mission was the best way to ground herself.

“Yeah. You three should be right on top of him. I’d watch out for his powers, cause judging by the police report he’s definitely using them.”

“Thanks for the update,” Oliver said. “Okay, I’m going to get this skylight open and grapple down. Should be able to catch him by surprise without too much trouble.”

“What about us?”

“You and Speedy will hang back.”

Thea frowned. “Why would we do that?”

“Because I’m worried about you, and I don’t like to seem weak in front of you two,” Oliver stated bluntly. Then he winced. “That was not how that was supposed to come out.”

“Probably the truth field,” Laurel muttered.

Beside her, Thea crossed her arms. “Well, since it has come out, can I say that the whole point of a team is to be strong together? You always try to do this!”

“She’s got a point,” Laurel added before he could try to protest. “You say you’re grateful for our help one minute, but in the next fight you want to go it alone anyway. And I don’t know why you’d be worried about us seeing you in a vulnerable position.”

“Because I care about you!”

“And you think we don’t?”

“How about everybody take a deep breath,” John suggested over the comm. “We need to be focused on catching Piers.”

It was only then that Laurel thought they all realized how tensed they’d gotten.

Oliver lowered his voice. “Flash and the others said this is exactly how Piers operates. He waits for somebody to blurt something to the rest of the group and get them fighting each other. We can’t fall into that trap. Trying this one-on-one is the option I want to go with.” Oliver frowned. “I meant—”

“We know what you meant.” Laurel shook her head. He’d no doubt wanted to convince them that this was the best option objectively, not just the one he liked.

He got into a crouch and began working on the lock to the skylight. “Okay, well then can we just do this?” It was impossible not to miss the irritation in his voice. An Oliver forced to tell the truth was an unhappy Oliver indeed.

“Yeah, sure. Black Canary and I will wait out here since you think we’re so useless,” Thea grumbled as she started to stalk away.

“I don’t think you’re useless.”

“No, just that you’re fine on your own,” Laurel finished for him. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t love you.”

Her breath caught as her entire body froze. Horror swept over her as Oliver looked up sharply, eyes wide behind his mask. Thea had whirled around and was gaping.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Laurel blurted. “I mean I — it was — wasn’t—” Her teeth grit together trying to force the desperately needed lie past her lips. Why, of all things, was it a truth field?

The sudden staccato of gunfire shattered through the skylight, only narrowly missing Oliver.

“Focus, team!” John commanded.

“Sure thing. Cover’s blown!” Thea had attached a grapple and jumped down through the opening, firing off an arrow. Laurel rushed to follow her lead, unable to remain on the roof with Oliver alone.

She’d ruined it. She’d ruined everything. Why had she said it?

Well, she’d said it because a metahuman criminal had the ability to force the truth to spill out of people. As Piers staggered back from his dropped gun, one of Thea’s arrows in his arm, Laurel rushed him with her baton, delivering a pair of quick hits that had him dropping like a stone. She was left breathing harshly in the otherwise silence of the warehouse.

“Piers is down,” Thea said into the comm. Oliver stood only a few feet behind his sister, and it was impossible to make out his features in the lack of light. She had no idea what he was thinking.

Laurel turned and walked back to where the two grapple lines were still hanging down, taking hold of Thea’s and beginning to climb. It was much harder work than just hanging on while Oliver rode up, but she couldn’t even bare the idea of being that near to him in light of what he now knew.

Thea was up on the roof only a couple short minutes after her. “Green Arrow is securing Piers for the cops. We’ll head back to the bikes.” She placed a hand over her comm and continued in a softer voice, “Laurel, I’m so sorry.”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she replied, eyes on the ground. Thea followed her back to the bikes and got on behind her.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

She wanted to believe that, but she couldn’t see how it would be. Laurel waited until Oliver came into view and then gunned the engine of her bike, turning them around and driving back towards the base. She shut off her comm for good measure on the chance that somebody was going to try and start a conversation that way.

John avoided her eyes when they got back, which Laurel did her best not to notice as she went straight back to change. If she was lucky, she’d finish that and be out of there before Oliver even parked.

She breezed past her friend once again and jabbed the button for the elevator, door tapping as she waited. It dinged, and Laurel stepped forward as the doors opened—

“Oh!”

Right into Oliver.

“Sorry!” Laurel backed up immediately, hands raised in the air.

“It’s okay. Laurel—”

She dodged around him. “I’m gonna be in the car. Somebody tell Thea?”

“Sure,” John answered.

“Thank you.” She entered the elevator and held the close door button, her stomach doing a weird flip as Oliver turned on his heel to watch her. His mouth was open with no sound coming out, and his eyes—

The doors closed. Laurel leaned back against the far wall and let her head thunk against it.

What had she done?

—-

The night was an uncomfortably quiet one. Thea hovered nearby as she heated up their microwave dinners, never quite saying anything but clearly wanting to. What was there to say, though? She was in love with a man who didn’t love her, and now they all knew it.

At least they hadn’t run into Piers until after Felicity left the team. Laurel couldn’t imagine the look of betrayal on her friend’s face.

She left early the next morning for the office thanks to her inability to really fall asleep that night, and she gratefully sank back into the familiar refuge that was work. Laurel didn’t know how long she’d been at it until there was a knock on her door frame.

She looked up, her typical greeting dying in her throat. Oliver stood there, watching her with sadness in his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she echoed, not ready to try for anything more.

He closed the door, walked in, and placed a wrap on her desk. “You have breakfast?”

Laurel gave a slow shake of the head. She reached out and took one corner of the paper protecting the wrap between thumb and forefinger, dragging it closer to her.

Oliver sat down. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but it wasn’t right.” He studied his hands where they rested on his lap for a while. “I did some thinking last night, about all of it, and—”

“Ollie, please don’t.”

He glanced up, surprised.

Laurel drew in a shaky breath. “Whatever you’re gonna say, you wouldn’t be saying if last night hadn’t happened. I don’t want you to force yourself to say something or believe something just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I care about you, Laurel. That’s not something anyone would have to force me to say.”

“But I’m not the woman you love.”

Oliver hesitated. “I’m not sure if you’re not.”

She looked down for a moment. Then she stood up and came around the side of her desk. “What I said because of Piers, it didn’t surprise me. I’ve known it for years. I love you, Ollie — but I would never ask you to pretend for my sake. Even if you aren’t sure. Don’t say anything. Not now.”

Her pride couldn’t take it if he tried in this instant to convince her. He’d been ready to be married only months ago — he couldn’t know if he loved her anymore than he could know if he truly was over Felicity. And she refused to get her hopes up for uncertainty.

He stood as well. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. I have a team, my family, a job that I love, and a city to fight for.”

She wasn’t expecting him to move, but he did, and before she knew it he was hugging her tight. Laurel’s hands landed just below his shoulder blades. “Oliver?”

“Sorry. It’s just — I tell myself the same thing every day.”

Laurel stood there, a terrible mix of sadness and longing stirring deep in her gut, and she closed her eyes as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”

“So will you.” Eventually, his arms lowered, and they both slowly took their steps backward into thee own spaces. Laurel readjusted her blazer, and Oliver smoothed down his tie. He nodded once to the wrap. “Please eat.”

“Okay.” Laurel gave a small wave as he exited the office, and then returned to the chair behind her desk. With slow, noncommittal movements, she unwrapped the food and took a bite.

Crunchy tuna. Her favorite. She took the napkin he’d packed and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

She really did wish sometimes that she didn’t love him. It would make everything so much easier.

[grandmasterofwangxiancultivation]

MDZS ch.86

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVE.

i knew it would come out soon, I KNEW IT, esr loves us like that! this is good, I’m fuul of questions, now let the other woman speak i’m curious.

okay, here we go.

Wei WuXian, “Then is there any proof to your words?”

boy, he is just too clever for anyone.

EDIT:

“[...] Madam had always cared for Maiden Su, but around the time when Maiden Su was about to marry, Madam was in an extremely bad mood. She had nightmares when she slept and sometimes cried too when she was awake. I thought that she was only finding it hard to let go of Maiden Su, since Maiden Su was about to marry. I kept on comforting her by saying that the man she was marrying, LianFang-Zun Jin GuangYao, was not only accomplished but also caring and devoted. Maiden Su would lead a very good life. [...]”

(cArInG aNd DeVoTeD- ahahah is she talking about jgy- yes she is, of course. poor women.)

EDIT 2:

“[...] After we arrived, however, Madam told me to wait outside and not go in, which was why I didn’t hear anything and I don’t know what exactly she said to Jin GuangYao. I only knew that a few days later, when the date of Maiden Su’s marriage was set, Madam fainted as soon as she saw the invitation letter. [...]”

what the hell- okay, did qin su’s mom know about jgy’s true self? it’d be logic for her to react like this, but why not simply talking to her daughter-

EDIT 3:

Bicao said as she cried, “LianFang-Zun Jin GuangYao and our maiden, they never were wife and husband—they were brother and sister…”

EXCUSE ME? THE FUCK WHAT????? THEY ARE WHAT????

BUT- HOW THE HELL??? WHAT’S THE CONNECTION???? IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE-

wait jgy is jgs’ son. it makes sense.

so qin su’s mom probably went to talk to jgy about this (?)

BUT WHY DID JGY MARRY HIS OWN SISTER?!?!?!?!?

EDIT 4:

“For Jin GuangYao to gain a strong foothold within the LanlingJin Sect, he had to have the help of his father-in-law Qin CangYe as his backbone. How could he have chosen not to marry her?”

“He really is the most immoral person of all the world!”

Wei WuXian whispered to Lan WangJi, “So that’s why in the secret chamber he said to Qin Su, ‘A-Song had to die.’”

things are starting to make  s o  m u c h  sense it actually hurts my head guys jin guangyao is the worst scum on heart -no, wait, that’s xue yang- and also BEST EVIL CHARACTER EVER WRITTEN IN HISTORY, i feel bad to actually admire him. he had it all planned and figured out!

EDIT 5:

Wei WuXian, “Now there’s quite a lot of them. For example, with how cruel Jin GuangYao is, why would he spare Sisi after having killed more than twenty people? Now we have the witnesses, but what about the material proof?”

wwx is just too cunning, nothing goes past him. and as i said for the previous chapter, this whole thing is kinda fishy. how did these two appear here together? i feel like someone sent them, someone with money.

but it couldn’t be jgy, it wouldn’t make sense, unless the two of them are telling lies -which i don’t actually believe it’s the case here.

also,

He looked down to see a bracelet of jade and gold worn on Bicao’s wrist. The quality was extremely high. It was definitely not something that a maid would be able to wear. He smiled, “Nice bracelet.”

bless wwx noticing details. someone paid them? encouraged them? and a jade bracelet? LXC IS THAT YOU PLS ARE YOU HELPING THEM FROM WITHIN THE SNAKE’S DEN- I’M SO ANXIOUS FOR HIM, but it could actually be lxc helping them... or maybe not. maybe that’s just me wanting to know about lxc soifjpowrfr

EDIT 6:

Wei WuXian immediately felt a bit speechless. The last time others praised him like this was during the Sunshot Campaign more than ten years ago. Although somebody finally inherited his position as being the enemy of the entire cultivation world, Wei WuXian didn’t feel happiness at such an end, much less any warmth from finally being accepted by everyone.

He only doubted in silence, Back then, could it have been just like today? A group of people gathered up in a place, began a secret discussion, cursed everything, and finally decided to have a siege on Burial Mound?

oKaY HOW DO THEY FREAKING D A R E

IS THIS HOW IT WORKS? OF COURSE IT IS, WE’VE SEEN IT THROUGH THE ENTIRE NOVEL, how people just spat shit over someone and the person suddenly became a public enemy. but they know absolutely nothing and just talk according to rumors, which is absurd and incredibly irresponsable and yes, i know it worked like that in the past, but THEY DID THE SAME TO WWX AND IT MAKES ME SO HUNGRY.

MY BEAUTIFUL BOY YOU’RE TOO PURE FOR THIS WORLD, human beings can be a bunch of idiotic breathing things. i actually feel a bit of pity for jgy.

EDIT 7:

After the discussion ended, preparations finished in the YunmengJiang Sect’s banquet hall as well. However, after the banquet started, two figures were missing.

One of the sect leaders mused, “Why are Wei… Patriarch YiLing and HanGuang-Jun missing?”

Sitting at the foremost seat, Jiang Cheng asked the guest cultivator beside him, “Where are they?”

The guest cultivator, “The two went to change after they left the inner hall. They said that they wouldn’t be taking part in the banquet—that they wanted to walk around a bit and would come back later.”

Jiang Cheng sneered, “The same as before, without any manners.”

HUSBAND AND HUSBAND SNEAKING AWAY TO ENJOY A ROMANTIC STROLL AROUND LOTUS PIER?

JC SMIRKING SCORNFULLY AT WWX’S ANTICS?

i’m giddy and curious and terrified and I’m totally loving the turn this chapter is taking

EDIT 8: OKAY I WOULDN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO QUOTE HERE BECAUSE LWJ AND WWX TAKING A WALK THROUGH THE CITY IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING BESIDE WWX CUDDLING HIM OR THEM KISSING, IT FEELS LIKE THEY ARE ON A DATE and it’s actually so nostalgic my heart is clenching in my chest.

i think i’ll just paste this-

He really wanted to show Lan WangJi all the places where he grew up at, played at, and fooled around at, tell him about the troubles he stirred up, the fights he fought, the pheasants he caught, and then examine the slight changes in Lan WangJi’s expression, eagerly expecting his every reaction.

as i said, PURE, BEAUTIFUL HEART.

EDIT 9:

Wei WuXian, “Lan Zhan! Look at me, look at the tree.”

MXTX HOW DARE YOU CRASH MY HEART LIKE THIS-

[cookiefonster666]

Thoughts on the Homestuck Epilogues (Tumblr Edition)

I predicted the future!

Might as well adapt this Blogspot post I made about a week ago into Tumblr form, why not. With a few minor changes. I don’t like using Tumblr but I figure it’s a good additional platform to share my surprisingly positive views on the Homestuck Epilogues.

The epilogues have a lot of controversial content, most of which I avoid talking about here.

BRIEF SUMMARY

4/20, read through Meat: epilogues pretty good

4/20, started Candy: what the fuck

4/21, stopped: aaaaaaaaughhhhh bluh i hate everything

4/24-ish, continued Candy: epilogues alright i guess also i am sad now

4/27-ish, finished: I LOVE HOMESTUCK

BRIEF-ISH SUMMARY

Meat was a wild ride that started as cool plot stuff and things that make you go "OH FUCK", continued as basically chapters 7-9 of Detective Pony (which I naturally enjoyed a lot), and ended as a mess of sheer chaos and destruction. My thought process ended as, "oh duh, this is the bad ending, candy must be the good ending". I was in for quite the nasty surprise.

I quit reading Candy just a few pages in. It didn't take long for it to suddenly become the weirdest fanfiction ever. Frustrated, I started skipping and searching through later parts and got rather salty when it turned out both sides were the "bad ending". I saw firsthand what vfromhomestuck meant by "clear your whole week": this is not something most people can just read in one sitting. Then I recovered a few days and read Candy in earnest, in a somewhat anachronous order and with many parts read multiple times. Slowly, I started to hope that the epilogues would be followed up with a true happy ending for real this time. I may or may not have written a snippet of some form of fanfiction paving the way for a happy ending.

Once I finally accomplished the equivalent of reading Candy as intended, I got hit HARD with feels. I accepted that the epilogues have many issues but as a whole (not just the sum of parts) are an absolute masterwork, sometimes because of those issues. It didn't take me long to realize the brilliant duality either. Meat is a side-splitting metafictional farce that (for me at least) is impossible to treat as anything resembling a story of people doing things. Candy is a tale of FEELS, and I don't use the word FEELS lightly. FEELS means I almost cried, like I did when I watched the Futurama episode Luck of the Fryrish.

DETECTIVE PONY AND METAFICTION

Before I move on and talk about the CHARACTERS, I'm going to discuss the meat epilogue's resemblance to sonnetstuck's Detective Pony. I love everything about Detective Pony, more than almost anything else in existence. My abnormal love for that godlike fanwork probably skewed my perception of Meat a bit. Starting from page 17, Dirk takes over the narration then fights over it with god tier Calliope; both do rather questionable deeds and Dirk was hit hard by fans as a result. Seeing other fans react towards that character with such hostility gave me a very distinct feeling of "what, am I missing something?" Dirk's takeover felt like a lengthy work of comedy to me; a story that never strips away from the fact that it's fiction, in a vein near identical to that of Detective Pony. I like to think I am in the right for perceiving that arc this way, because I think everyone who has read Homestuck should read Detective Pony. One of the epilogue authors read Detective Pony after writing the epilogues and was struck by it; I take this accidental mirroring of (post-)canon as proof that sonnetstuck understands Hussie's ways through and through. I like to think I have a solid understanding of Hussie's ways by now, but this guy is on a whole new level.

That said, the meat epilogue gets a bit carried away with metafiction to the point of making me think, "god when will things go back to normal". Towards the end of Detective Pony, Dirk goes through an existential crisis followed by a powerful revelation, and then resolves to do whatever it takes to erase his abominable creation. But the meat epilogue ends with (both figurative and literal) crashing and burning; no ultimate redemption for our poor Strider. Homestuck doesn't usually have much of a problem with getting carried away with stupid nonsense; maybe a few rare occasions in cases like Hussie's self-insert scenes. But getting carried away is a major criticism I have with cool and new web comic. I love that comic to death, but the parts that take a long time to dwell on the cool and new characters being creepy or weird are a chore to go through. o (the author of CaNWC) seems to have improved in that regard; the cool and new trolls' arc is much more to-the-point with such nonsense.

Meat getting carried away with metafiction is a major cause of my initial burnout shortly after starting Candy. I was sick of this mass dump of metafiction and expected Candy to be a refreshing change of pace. Haha, if only. My fault for reading Meat first. At night I sometimes ponder in envy of the parallel universe me that started with Candy. Actually I don't do that, I just thought it was a funny thing to say. Though I have on more than a few occasions sat in bed fantasizing about how awesome my life probably is in some parallel universe. What point was I making again? Oh whatever, it doesn't matter. I guess I should write a similar overview of Candy's narrative nature. Here goes:

LUCK OF THE FRYRISH AND SADSTUCK

Sad things are sad.

^ There, that's my candy overview. How hard was that?

With the two summaries out of the way, I figure the best way to dump out my residual thoughts on the epilogues is going character by character. I won't do every character, mostly just the ones who played large roles and were already characters in Homestuck proper. I'm sorting these characters in tiers of how well I think the epilogues handle them, mostly from worst to best.

N-TIER

N is not the lowest tier; it's the tier that cannot be ranked. N stands for two things here: "Not Applicable" and "Narrators". Naturally enough, two characters fit into that tier.

Dirk Strider: I've already talked about this guy quite a bit. I have a fondness for Dirk's character and I think his dialogue and narration in meat do a good job portraying some ascended, ultimate version of his character without straying from his voice, the tone that makes him Dirk. That said, I'm a bit peeved that "normal Dirk", the one iteration of Dirk Strider that isn't total bonkers and just wants his friends to be happy, doesn't exist in this story. In Candy, Rose suddenly loses the memories of her alternate selves, but for some reason Dirk keeps those memories and soon after commits suicide; he's left out of the picture until Candy's postscript, which I guess is a reasonable balance considering his indulgence throughout Meat. But why is only one of the succulently verbose Strilondes let off the hook? Some readers imagine Dave as the comic's protagonist and Dirk as the antagonist; I've toyed with that idea myself and can see it symbolized, but it just feels so wrong to me. Maybe the authors did too good a job writing Dirk for me to be complacent with such a shift in role. His conversations with Rose were just as delightful as I had hoped and they aren't weighed down too much in light of his shift in role, at least not for me.

Alt Calliope: The narrative rival to Dirk, as I mentioned previously. I'm not totally sure what to say about her, other than that one could see her as a counterpart to let's say Anna Harley; a necessary piece in the Detective Pony analogy. Alt Calliope's narrative arguments with Dirk were hilarious and that's all there is to say on the matter.

G-TIER

I'm lucky Gamzee's name starts with a G, because this means I can give him a tier of his own worse than F. As an individual arc that is; he'd get a much higher rating when taken as part of a whole.

Gamzee Makara: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I despised reading every word that came out of this guy's mouth as soon as his """redemption arc""" started. But I can clearly tell that was the point and that the suffering that is reading his words has a much greater purpose. Before you deem me a masochist or the kind that insists everything is "bad on purpose", know that I am neither of those things but really do mean what I say here. Gamzee's role in Candy draws tension between individuality and the whole. Reading this guy's hogwash is suffering in and of itself, but ultimately it serves a role of showing us how fucked up the world of Candy is and helps the reader experience John's existential crisis with him.

F-TIER

As before, these tiers are strictly about character arcs in isolation and not the big picture. This tier is home to none other than the legendary...

Jane Crocker: Boy did I predict the future on that one. A bit like Dirk, I would've liked it more if in only one epilogue did sweet innocent little Jane become such a monster. No way in hell am I going to run through the asshole things she does; it's a load of sensitive topics I'm not comfortable discussing in any capacity. Instead, I'll say that if I had to choose only one epilogue where Jane ran through her crazy presidential campaign it would be Candy; as with Gamzee's arc, this campaign serves well as a part of John's existential crisis. What's weird here is that in Candy she originally cancelled all this, but later ended up basically doing it anyway with Dirk gone. I can imagine Jane going back to normal in Meat, maybe? Or in the hypothetical "true ending" I discussed prior.

D-TIER

Better known as "meh" tier. Mostly the characters that don't do much and I wished did more.

Meenah Peixes: Needed more screen time, god damn it. She survives the Furthest Ring apocalypse, nabs the Ring of Life, then makes her way to Candy Earth and joins Karkat in the rebellion. Maybe it makes sense that her and Karkat teaming up in war is relegated to the background, to show how far the shouty guy has come in comparison to everyone else. I'll come back to this point when I talked about Karkat.

Roxy Lalonde: Doesn't do too much in either side, but does go through some touchy topics I'm not sure what to think about; I'm most certainly not ready to talk about those topics now. And regardless, Roxy's role in the epilogues is better discussed when I talk about John and Terezi a few tiers up.

Calliope: Doesn't do all that much either, full circle to being the exposition alien with mysterious morality. I'm actually pretty OK with that. Certainly beats out the slog of endless "ur pretty" conversations. Calliope pretty much fades into the background on both sides, which is sad but fitting.

(About pronouns: I'll keep referring to Roxy and Calliope as "she" unless I find reason to talk about the little those two do in Meat. I just avoided using pronouns in those paragraphs above.)

C-TIER

Better known as "meh" tier, but with a more positive "meh" than before. It's the "meh" that indicates lukewarm satisfaction rather than annoyance at mediocrity.

Jade Harley: Really should be on a lower tier, because she did dick squat other than being horny and painfully oblivious to all the nonsense going on. But I'm a sucker for Jade being "Jade" and was happy to see even a trace of that early in Meat. As before, I'll avoid the controversial topics surrounding Jade in the epilogues, aside from pointing out that this post reads very different now.

Karkat Vantas: This guy's a bit of an odd spot. His leadership role is addressed in the absolute last way I expected. Could've gotten more attention from the story I suppose, but damn if his character arc didn't get the most triumphant return imaginable.

Kanaya Maryam: I touched upon Rose and Kanaya's relationship when I discussed the "buddy system" in my first epilogues post and I still stand by what I said there. Her strong attachment to Rose is integrated well into Meat without seeming like fluff or defining her entire character, because she actually does other things there too. In Candy they remain a stable happy relationship and I guess I'm cool with that.

Aradia Megido: Role is the same as ever and I'm fine with that. Death fangirl who works for predestination and has ambiguous morality. Her arc with alt Calliope ends with a cliffhanger that is easily the biggest reason to hope for a follow-up to the epilogues; if such a follow-up were to happen, I really look forward to hearing more from Aradia.

Sollux Captor: Sollux is by nature the other guy, that's an immutable fact of life. He doesn't do much other than snarking at whoever's nearby and I can't imagine it any other way.

Jake English: If not for a scene near the end of Candy, I'd put Jake at D-tier. Through all of Meat and most of Candy, Jake's role is one of the oddest spots of all and it's pretty hard to pinpoint what the authors were going for, lest I dabble in controversial topics some more. But Jake's scene with John near the end of Candy is uniquely touching and makes the most out of his role as a second John. He moves in with John, bringing his son Tavros with him, and encourages John to reconcile with his former wife and make amends of sorts, ultimately giving a small portion of the cast a pseudo-happy ending. That whole part of Candy made me tear up.

Talking about the really GOOD parts is a perfect point for me to move on to...

B-TIER

Stuff that didn't make it into A-Tier, which I've reserved for what struck me HARD.

Dave Strider: In both epilogues, Dave's behavior generally seems based on how he acted in Act 6 Act 6 Intermission 5, which is actually a LOT better than it sounds and hell if I know why that is. Dave's rants about politics and sexuality now have a charm I can't quite describe. His absurd fixation specifically on the economy matches shockingly well with the nature of Homestuck. The three-way romance between him, Karkat, and Jade goes in very different directions on either side, which I'll discuss a bit later. The epilogues even made Dave x Karkat an actually decent ship, how crazy is that??? The writers deserve a big badge of honor for doing that. Not sure what to say about specific things, but Dave was really well-written in an unexpected way.

Rose Lalonde: Again not sure what to say about anything in specific. Just really enjoyed reading Rose on both sides of the story. Shoutout to the heartwarming moment with John near the end.

A-TIER

Oh boy. Oh boy. Time for the big guns.

Vriska Serket: My mind hurts to process just how good Vriska's appearance in Candy was, after leaving the Furthest Ring and landing on Earth. First she talks with John rather aggravated, then she brutally murders Gamzee, then she sits down and has an honest talk with her ectobiological clone raised by Rose and Kanaya, and in the end gets in touch with Terezi which leads to a cliffhanger. The story somehow created the PERFECT balance of sincere reflections and typical Vriska flavor, which was deeply lacking in A6A6I5 with its horrific polar opposite versions of Vriska. Two Vriskas converse once again late in Candy and this time it's incredibly endearing and almost feels like an apology for the controversial Vriska/Vriska encounter back then. I accept the apology with open arms. Why is everything always so wonderful?

John Egbert: <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3. WHY IS EVERYTHING ALWAYS SO WONDERFUL? John gets a deep meaningful existential crisis arc in both epilogues; both cases I easily latched onto and found a bit of myself in. I absolutely loved seeing him and Terezi interact as a duo of people with some perception of canonicity; I'll get back to that point soon enough. John's marriage to Roxy not working out is a testament to both his issues with canon and Roxy's issues dealing with harsh situations. Roxy latches onto John and their son as a huge carefree pushover and he doesn't like that at all. And that's actually cool with me because John x Terezi is better in every way, as the epilogues made me realize. If that wasn't enough, the end of Candy spoils our little hearts by having John reconcile with Roxy anyway and give hope for a better future. Though a part of me does want to see a true happy ending where John and Roxy date with their delightful dynamic from their first interactions, I'm beyond pleased with the epilogues' handling of John either way. Swaying deep into some rather sad territory while remaining 100% faithful to his character that I've always loved so much.

Terezi Pyrope: FUCK YES FUCK YES FUCK YES FUCK YES FUCK YES. Every scene with Terezi in the epilogues was so goddamn awesome. Her interactions with John were such a blast to read, with exactly the mix of humor and touching aspects that make both of the big John/girl ships what they are. How did the authors pull it off, making deeply emotional scenes without ever sacrificing that goofy Terezi flavor???

S-TIER

S in rating systems these days is way misused in my eyes. Normally A is meant to be the highest rating and S is used for the very rare absolutely exceptional case A doesn't do justice. But now you see shit like SS, SSS, SSSS everywhere like one S isn't the ultimate badge of honor? S is a rating I'd gladly give Detective Pony and may or may not give cool and new web comic. Same goes for my very favorite Futurama episodes. I'd give a few of Neil Cicierega's works that rating if I'm feeling up to it. In this post, I've reserved the S rating for:

Barack Obama: THE BEST PART OF THE EPILOGUES, HANDS DOWN. His conversation with Dave near the end of Candy is perfect in every way, it really transcends words. Humor, emotional touching, plot revelations, and straight up "Homestuck feel" are blended into the most delicious melting pot imaginable. When Dave confesses that he might be gay and explains troubles in his three-way romance, Obama responds with a truly inspiring speech about identity that raises an excellent point about the differences between the epilogues involving aspects of people that may seem immutable to some. I think Obama's speech leaves a powerful message I never expected Homestuck of all things to convey so well. I hope readers take that speech's message into account, though I know many will probably be a bit naive about it.

If you refuse to read the epilogues at all costs, then I implore you to read Dave and Obama's conversation anyway. You won't be disappointed.

CONCLUSION

epilogues good

that’s all there is to say on the matter

though if you don’t like them that’s also fine

[powerwordsleep]

naruto!DnD au

the team 7!DnD verse that nobody @baasama asked for

and because there’s already some stuff out there that’s completely terrible not only for team 7, but also DnD, so i felt the need to do right by both.

Three travelers stand alone on a vast cliff, a smoke-darkened sky above and an endless drop to death below. Blood, dirt, and weeks worth of grime litters their skin and clothes. Their journey has been long, perilous, unrelenting, but they finally made it to the end. Victory beckons them. The promise of peace, happiness, and a not ungenerous sum of gold is only one more fight away. One more dance of kill or be killed.

The horizon dances red with the flames of the nearby villages burning below them. They had managed to evacuate most of the civilians before the attack began, but they had passed by more than a few charred, burned beyond recognition bodies on their trek up the mountain. Each fallen they passed only hardened their resolve.

The sound of an earth-shaking roar escapes from the mouth of the cave in front of them. The ground quakes as the footsteps of something giant stalks forward to meet its challengers. A large red snout appears first, shining like the blood running in the streets below, and the lips spread in a bloodthirsty grimace, revealing a row of sharp, glistening fangs. The creature growls in what is meant to be a chuckle, a plume of smoke shooting out of its nostrils and into the faces of the three tiny figures before it.

“So, you’ve arrived at last.”

One figure steps forward, seemingly unafraid even in the face a would-be god. “Yeah, we’ve come to put an end to your stupid reign of violence and bloodshed and… stupidness!” The man puffs out his chest in bravado. “Believe it!”

“Idiot,” his companion scoffs from behind. “It’s not a great idea to threaten a dragon right to its face.”

“Shut up, Lucien!” the first man whips around to glare. “What are you, scared of some lizard action?”

The man called Lucien seethes. “No, Markus, I just don’t have a death wish!”

Markus turns to face Lucien completely, the large, foreboding, capable of ending the world as they know it enemy front of them forgotten.

“How many times do I have to tell you, my name is Markus Ultimate!”

“As if I would use that ridiculous name -”

“Do you wanna fucking go? Do you wanna fucking brawl right here Lucien because I swear to god-”

“Will the two of you shut up!” the third member of the party interrupts. “We do not have time for petty squabbles when there’s a dragon to fight!”

“Aww, but Nila, Lucien is being a dick again!” Markus Ultimate whines.

The woman called Nila sighs, having heard this song many times before. “Sorry, Markus Ultimate, but Lucien kind of has a point. We should have gone with his idea and tried to find a back entrance and sneak in, rather than face this thing head on.”

Lucien raises his chin in triumph and Markus Ultimate, eyes daring him to make another snarky remark. Markus Ultimate pouts and mutters, “You’re just siding with Lucien because you’re sleeping with him in real life.”

A cacophony of groans, sighs, and indignant shouts ruin whatever slim illusion of in-game fantasy they had managed to immerse themselves in. Kakashi sighs and rubs at his exposed eyebrow, his headache sure to make a reappearance.

“Naruto, that was completely uncalled for! You know what we said about breaking character like that, and besides, I do not give special preference to Sasuke just because-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Naruto cuts of Sakura’s rant. “You boning Sasuke on the regular isn’t affecting Nila and Lucien’s relationship at all.”

“Why are you so fixated on our sex life, deadlast?” Sasuke accuses, one eyebrow twitching in both anger and disgust. “Stay out of our business.”

Naruto turns red and ignores Sasuke’s comment in favor of shouting at Kakashi, as if all of this was somehow his fault, “Let’s get back to the game already, Kakashi-sensei! We got a dragon to fight!”

“Everyone roll initiative,” Kakashi says before the argument can get any worse. Like addressing whatever weird tension that last comment had triggered.

Kakashi is getting too old for this.

“14,” Sakura says.

“Aww, man, I got a 12,” Naruto groans.

“It’s not a competition, Naruto,” Kakashi reminds him. For the 100th time.

“But if it was I would kick your ass. 21.” Sasuke just has to so unhelpfully egg him on.

Naruto predictably takes the bait. “Hey that’s unfair! Sasuke is cheating!”

Sakura rolls her eyes and gestures to the dice. “No, he’s not. He rolled an 17 and gets a +4 to initiative because he has high Dex as a Rogue.”

Sasuke smirks across the table. “Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen to be a Bard if you’re so upset about it.”

“Alright, Sasuke you’re up first.”

Sasuke peers over the map set up on the table and considers his position. “Do I have enough movement to get to those clusters of rocks over there?”

“Yes, but if you want to try and hide you have to roll with disadvantage because the dragon is right there -”

“23.”

Kakashi sighs. “Alright, you’ve somehow successfully hidden behind the rocks, because the dragon was distracted by Markus Ultimate making a scene.”

Naruto slaps the table in glee. “Ha! You’re welcome, Lucien.”

Kakashi politely coughs to reign in their attention. “Next is the dragon’s turn.”

His three former students lean in, eager to see what the first move will be. “The dragon steps fully out of the cave, his full height towering 20 feet above you. He makes two claw attacks at you, Markus Ultimate, and swipes his tail at you, Nila.”

Kakashi rolls his die behind the privacy screen. “18 and 16 to hit for you Markus -”

“It’s Markus Ultimate!”

“- and 21 for you, Nila.”

Sakura grimaces as she checks her character sheet. “Hits.”

“You take 14 points of slashing damage as the dragon swings his tail over the cliff and slams into your torso.”

Sakura marks down the damage on her sheet and Kakashi looks expectantly at Naruto.

He’s smirking. Never a good sign.

“I cast Vicious Mockery on the dragon and say, ‘Get wrecked, you gecko!’”

Kakashi rolls his D20 and audibly groans when the dice comes to a stop.

“The dragon fails the save.” Naruto whoops in celebration. “As his claws race towards you, you say your, um, chant, and it disturbs the dragon enough that you are able to evade and reduce some of the damage.”

“Your turn, Nila.”

Sakura grins and rubs her hands together in anticipation. “Watch how it’s done, boys! I move to the dragon and take two swipes at it with my sword.”

“Roll for both attacks.”

They watch as Sakura rolls the die. “10 and 17!” Sakura says, and in sync all three head turn towards the DM, eagerly awaiting the result.

“The first one misses,” he begins and they nod, having expected that,”and the second one…” Kakashi swears they’re about to fall out of their seats. “Hits.”

“Yes!” Sakura pumps her fist up in the air. “And I cast Divine Smite!”

“Roll the extra d8s of damage.”

Sasuke passes her the extra die and Naruto gives a, “Hell yeah, Nila!” of encouragement.

After the damage is calculated Kakashi addresses Naruto. “Your turn, Markus Ultimate.”

Naruto is silent for a few moments, which is probably a new record for him. When he speaks, is low and serious.

“I walk forward in front of the dragon.”

“Don’t you dare, Naruto,” Sasuke warns. An impending sense of doom begins to overtake Kakashi.

“I say, ‘Hey dude, this here, this thing you’re doing, it’s like not very cool. In fact, it sucks. Cause people are cool, you know? You could be friends with people, instead of burning them and shit. It’s actually a lot more fun! Do you have any friends? I could be your friend! I understand the pain of loneliness. You’re just like me -’”

“You can’t be serious.” Sasuke says.

“Naruto, please,” Sakura begs.

Naruto doesn’t take his eyes off Kakashi.

“Roll a persuasion check.”

Naruto grabs his dice. Sasuke turns aways, muttering, “I can’t freaking watch this,” while Sakura holds his hand in a deathgrip. Kakashi can feel his hairline receding.

He dice leaves Naruto’s hand, falls to the table, bounces, once, twice, then rolls, swaying on one of its edges, before it falls to one side and comes to a stop.

Their eyes lock onto the number displayed.

“No, it can’t be,” Sakura whispers, horrified.

“I’m fucking done,” Sasuke says and leaves his seat.

“HELL YEAH!” Naruto yells, jumping out of his seat.

Kakashi blinks, rubs are his eye, and leans forward. Just to check. To really make sure this is happening.

20.

Naruto managed to roll a natural 20.

“Add your Charisma modifier.” Kakashi reminds Naruto mid victory dance.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Naruto grabs his crumpled and ripped character sheet and scans for the correct number. “Umm so the total is a 25!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sakura plops her head on the table, defeated.

“I haven’t even made an attack!” Sasuke yells from the other room.

Kakashi can’t blame them for their reactions. After all the weeks of careful planning he had done, after all the character building and development of the story, leading up to the final, epic battle and…

Naruto talks their way out of it.

Again.

“The dragon is… touched by your eloquent speech. He decides he’d like to be friends even though he was trying to destroy you and your world a second ago. I guess.”

“Whoooo!” Naruto cheers. “Great fight guys, yeah? That was so much fun.”

Sakura glares at Naruto. There’s a crash from the other room, presumably from Sasuke throwing a fit.

Kakashi gathers his myriad of campaign note papers in front of him, then in a blur of hand signs sets them ablaze in a quick fire jutsu.

Time to start preparing for the next campaign.

[hopoo]

DEADBOLT Q&A

I tried to answer every question as honestly as I could, so I hope this is a good read. If your question isn’t there, it’s either identical to another one asked or joined together with another question. Cheers!

Q: In total, how much time does the campaign of Deadbolt span? It’s hard to tell, what with it being infinite nighttime and all.

A: I would imagine a month-ish. It is implied that the Candles are doing some sort of investigative work between missions, which would surely take some time. Q: Did you have any major inspirations for the visual design of DEADBOLT? A: John Wick is obviously the biggest one! Q: What would hopoo do if someone made a game completely based and inspired from Deadbolt and its… Concept? (with permission and not) A: There’s no way DEADBOLT is that unique in settings or thematics – ultimately, you know what’s right and what’s wrong when you’re inspired by a work, and so will everyone else! If you feel obligated to ask for permission, maybe you’re not exploring enough original ideas? Q: When will we get modding? if so could we get a simplified modding kit? Any plans for updating dedbort, even just the map editor? Feature for adding custom sprites, rotation tool, copypasta tool, just to name a few… A: So the thing with that is that the map editor is only half the equation – while the map editor may be writing stuff to files, it also has to be interpreted on the end by the DEADBOLT game itself. Therefore, adding features that aren’t supported in engine simply won’t work – it won’t know what youre talking about. While rotation is supported in the engine, it doesn’t know how to read that from the files, etc. I also am trying to avoid any legacy issues where old maps are required for old versions of DEADBOLT, or vice versa. Q: When is deadbolt 2 coming with werewolves and mummies A: Werewolves aren’t undead you dingus. But mummies could be cool.

Q: Will the stuff that came with the release of Deadbolt on Play Station, will be added on PC? A: Nope, that was sorta our deal-sweetener for getting on the Sony consoles. Q: Will we ever see expansion levels for Deadbolt or would we get Deadbolt 2 instead? A: DEADBOLT 2 maybe sometime

Q: Does Ibzan is gay? A: I haven’t really thought of the sexual orientation of any of the characters, and I definitely don’t want to pull a JK Rowling and retroactively assign them. So in terms of canon, that just hasn’t been explored.

Q: Would you prefer deadbolt 2 to be in 3d and 2d? Would you do a sequel? A: DEADBOLT is probably the narrowest design space I’ve worked with – there’s no dodging, insta death, insta travel attacks. By the end I felt very stretched out in terms of enemy design, and for that alone I’d think 3D. But hey, I may also just hate 3D by the end of RoR2 so who knows :^). I’d love to do a sequel one day, most likely from the perspective of Ibzan. But who knows! Q: Did Ibzan want to kill the Fire, or just try to reconcile with it? A: He just wanted to talk – but who knows what would’ve happened after the Fireplace rejected him? Q: Would you be interested in going back to the world of deadbolt sometime in the future? I remember hearing somewhere a 3D concept would be interesting to work on. A: I wish I was talented or driven enough to write comics for it – I think DEADBOLT is more about the stories of individuals, compared to RoR who is a story of the universe. I wrote the Cassette Tapes to reflect that. Q: Looking back, is there anything you’d change about Deadbolt? A: Hmmm… I just wish I somehow could expand more on the lore and gangs, and what their goals were. Gameplay-wise, it was a tad too short. I liked doing a few standard stages, and then a mix-up stage (sniper, trap, boss, etc) – maybe we could’ve fit in a few more rotations. Q: What’s your favourite loadout? A: Death/Taxes and Flashbang, like a scrub. Q: Would you ever be interested in restarting the asset suggestion thread A: I consider DEADBOLT to be done – as a 2 (now 3!) man team, we financially can’t do the games-as-a-service thing like most big companies can for smaller games like DEADBOLT. I also intended DEADBOLT to be a one-and-done thing as a contrast for Risk of Rain, which we updated for years after release.

=CONTROVERSIAL OPINION ALERT= I personally also think that EVERY game getting a bunch of DLCS and updates and patches for a long time is, in a way, exhausting as a player. I think it makes it hard to feel satisfied when you finished a game and it’s over and you feel completed in the journey, knowing it’s not ~technically~ over until the devs stop patching. I think it’s great for some games (mostly multiplayer-based ones), but some games you just gotta let… finish, on a good note. Semi-open ended endings are always unsatisfying, in my opinion, and so recently it just feels like you don’t ever complete a game. …On the flip side, we are planning on doing lots of post-launch support for RoR2 because it’s actually inline with our design goals, so don’t fret! Q: Will bugs like Scythe not having a cover sprite or some enemies not having a falling sprite (which causes the game to crash) be fixed? A: Which enemies have been missing a falling sprite? They should be resorting to idle, not crashing. Bosses? Q: Just wanted to say, you guys are my favorite games studio, hands down. Now for the question: Now that the Reaper has completed his task and is allowed to rest, what’s next? Is the Fireplace going to keep him resting for a while? Does our MC have another task to accomplish? A: The Fireplace has never let a reaper “rest” before - the reason he is allowed to rest is because Ibzan never got to, and the Fireplace is trying something different with you. This is unexplored territory for the both of them – presumably he just pets his cat and gets bored before getting back to work. Q: What happens to everyone else in the afterlife? A: People who aren’t in the Place? Who knows, and who cares about boring happy afterlife 😊 Q: I had a question about the lore. There’s mentions of places outside the city, across the river Styx. What are they and what are they like? A: The Styx connects the other realms together, including (presumably) wherever the demons came from. This is explored lightly in one of the demon cassette tapes. Q: Will you ever expand more on the world of deadbolt or are you 100% done with it at this point? A: Nope definitely not done, really wanna explore more one day Q: What’s your office address? For post and stuff, maybe I want to send you a box full of A4 sheets of paper with a thousand hoopters on each. A: Maybe this is the paranoia in me but I’m not comfortable posting my address online – you can just tweet it at me a thousand times instead Q: Did Ibzan think the flames would give warmth to the Dredged or was he just lying to them and using them for his own gain? A: He was lying to himself, but he did truly believe that this was going to work, because this (at the time, anyways) seemed like the only way out. Metaphor woawoawo Q: Could you add some sorta DEADBOLT reference into RoR2?  Will the Reaper be playable in Risk of Rain 2 as a bonus? A: Definitely references happening in some form, but playable might be stretchin’ it a bit, especially since it’d be taking up the slot of some more in-universe secret character. Q: How excited are for RoR2? A: Honestly very nervous for the reception, with very big shoes to fill as a sequel for RoR. I just hope people like it, and that we don’t get burnt on 3D because there’s so many possibilities in the future for our games in 3D. Q: How are the Demons born? We know they’re made in birthing chambers, but then is it just like humans or is there anything specific needed for a demon to be born f.e. skeletons>suicide, zombies>overdose, etc. A: Demons aren’t undead and don’t naturally exist in the Place, which is why they have to be smuggled over – they exist in whatever version of hell is in the DEADBOLT universe, and are natural denizens of the underworld. Q: was izban hot before he died? A: The hottest Q: do all the nightclubs canonically have chris c. as the dj A: Yes Q: I love Deadbolt very dearly and i’ve listened to its soundtrack (particularly “Now I Am Become Death”) more times than i can remember. What’s your favourite tune from Deadbolt ? A: Defunktorum or The Proverbial Dust Biters Q: In the Hardmode Cassette Tape it talked about a Reaper that wasn`t the current Reaper that we play as in the Game. Was this Reaper Izban? Since in the tape, he talked about the fireplace as his friend and that could be why he wanted to go back to the fireplace through the portal at the end of the game, to revisit his friend. A: Yes yes and yes. This was most heavily implied in Ibzan’s “home”, which parallel yours. Q: Will RoR2 still have opportunities to create silly messy builds like covering the screen in missiles or releasing an endless stream of Thqwibs? If so, how are you working to mitigate the performance impact of those crazy builds? A: Yep! Currently we have a system that detects the average particle count in a scene and slowly adds a chance non-important effects (like hitsparks or impacts) don’t ever spawn. This will at some point also involve turning off expensive effects and reducing particle LODs. Q: I really love the attention to detail to the characters, environment, aesthetics and gameplay mechanics. Its themes on the criminal underworld and the supernatural give a unique identity in a high-octane/stealth pixel action game I have not seen before. Additionally what prompted or inspired you to make DEADBOLT in the first place? A: DEADBOLT in its entirety was supposed to be not-Risk of Rain. It’s a gorey, violent, moody singleplayer puzzle-stealth game. We were just burnt out from the Risk of Rain experience, and we also wanted to flex our design muscles a bit and show that hey, we’re not just a one-trick pony of gamedevelopment :^) Q: I just played through this game on PS4/Vita over the weekend. Huge fan of Risk of Rain. Even bought it through Limited Run Games. So I had to pick up Deadbolt (Didn’t previously know you had made it either.) and I love it. Its a super solid experience. I’m not sure I have any questions about it. I guess I was curious if co-op multiplayer was ever considered in development? Keep up the great work. Can’t wait to see what you guys make next. A: Nope, because of the reasons above – we wanted a single player game, since RoR was a multiplayer one. Q: First of all, congratulations!! I really loved the game since came out, I bought it for my birthday, since risk of rain made me fell in love with all the pixel art in it, deadbolt didn’t disappointed me!! Everything in it I love it! Thanks for the game!! Now the question You already answered about how the skeletons or vampires came to be in that Place, how the vampires are killed by their lovers, but, how a reaper, becomes to be a reaper? I mean a candle said “I’ve never been so close to one” A: Originally, the reapers were actually supposed to be from suicides – if I remember right, the reaper when going down the stairs to the docks still has the hole in the back of his head in his sprite. Currently, it’s not explored how a reaper is made – I think a bit of mystery is always needed in making a believable universe J Q: Lorewise how many reapers are there total? Why are they incredibly fragile compared to the undead? What makes the reapers not undead? A: IIRC there were 4 fireplaces in the final stage, which was supposed to represent the way the fireplace was communicating to all reapers in the field. Q: Do you like turtles? How about corgis? A: Yes, and yes (although there’s way too many in Seattle now). Q: Did you have any idea Chris would break out a whole band’s worth of musicians for the soundtrack? His work was superb and the OST remains my absolute favorite to this day. A: DEADBOLT OST was actually done with many people – it must be in the credits somewhere! If I remember right, there is at least a drummer and a musician.

Thanks for all the questions, and happy hunting :)

hopoo

[captainfile]

Oh What It Is

Words: 19037

Ao3 link

Peter Pan/OC, warnings for major character death, not-super-graphic torture, and Pan being as fucked up as he is in OUAT. 

Summary: Owen Flynn doesn't operate alone. He's got a teenager in tow when he hits Captain Hook with his car outside Storybrooke; his daughter. Both Owen and his daughter think they have an idea of what's going on, but many others are pulling the strings on their lives. Pan's grab for the Heart of The Truest Believer has grander consequences than the family that'll be left behind if he succeeds- the Home Office is very real, and very dangerous.

“Dare to explain what you’re leaving for this time?” 

I look up from my phone and frown at the school’s receptionist. She’s frowning, too, the kind of frown that says she thinks I’m the one orchestrating these absences. Fuck, I wish. Skipping school is way better than being dragged off to who knows where and missing it. So I don’t answer, to her annoyance; instead I look pointedly at the note in her hand stating clearly that there’s a family emergency and I’ll be back by tomorrow. 

I’m never back by tomorrow. Something always happens. In China, stalking one guy ended up including a couple train rides and a typhoon- not to mention the plane there and back. In Mexico, we were trapped in the rubble of an ancient temple for thirty hours. And don’t get me started on Manhattan. No matter the excuse, something always seems to go wrong- I don’t expect to be back for any of my quizzes this week, but I always end up studying anyways, because what else am I supposed to do on a six hour stakeout? When Dad interrogates someone for three days because there was more intel than he thought he’d find? 

“Hey,” Dad greets me when I find him waiting in front of the school. The car’s already packed, but I don't ask where we’re going. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and I dig through my book of riddles and the road just keeps going. “Tamara, do you copy?” He turns the radio on after hours of silence, switching it to one of his secure channels. We never listen to music. Sometimes I wonder why he brings me. 

“Hey, Knight’s in the bathroom, make it quick.” 

“You have him, then?” Knight is a familiar term. Tamara made it up as a code. He's one of Dad’s biggest targets, also known as Neal Cassidy, Baelfire, Benjamin Darling. There's little traces of him dating back two hundred years, and when Dad’s partner Tamara seduced him, he admitted to knowledge of magic. When is a mind like a fairytale? When it’s made up. Following my dad around all the time in search of it, I’ve seen some pretty strange things, and I know that my grandpa somehow died from it, but I’m not sure I fully get it. “We’re four hours away.” Oh, no. I groan at this update, and get a sharp look, but Tamara's laugh crackles over the radio. 

“I think you’ll enjoy this one finally, Robin, we’re meeting the son.” 

“Okay, I’m cutting you off there, how close are you?” Dad interrupts. I roll my eyes and go back to my book. What can’t talk but will reply when spoken to? “Any other updates?” 

He isn't a cop. He's like a vigilante or something, working for an organization called the Home Office, trying to seek and destroy magic. He wants me to follow in his footsteps, too, but. He doesn’t know the numbers I’ve memorized. 

That would change things a bit. “Storybrooke?” I read off a sign when four hours have passed and the sun has set. Dad hands me his wallet, and I swap his driver’s license. Owen Flynn becomes Greg Mendell, the cheesiest name I could think of when he asked my opinion. My name changes to Robin Mendell, though I did campaign for keeping my real name to make the pun louder and clearer. Dad said it would make his disguise too easily broken through. Our real licenses, I tuck into an old envelope from Sears. Even if our car was searched, it would probably be ignored, treated as trash. Our car has never been searched. We continue driving along the road when suddenly there’s a figure in the headlights- 

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” 

“My dad just crashed his car, oh fuck,” I gasp, blinking against the darkness and finding smoke in front of me. the hood is crumpled, a branch has gone through the window. “We’re um- we just passed this sign, for Storybrooke?” 

“I’m sending responders your way, there’s a hospital in Storybrooke; can you describe the scene for me?” 

“I don’t know,” I sob, and then turn to my dad and sob again at the sight of him. “He’s unconscious, and bleeding everywhere, and the airbags-” 

“Ma’am, please breathe; what does the car look like?” 

“Like it’s about to catch fire,” I decide, and try to wrench my door open. There's broken glass everywhere, and I start to hear sirens as I fight with my seatbelt. My phone, dropped in my lap, makes some noise, but I stay focused on escaping. Is Dad even breathing? There’s too much smoke to really tell. Next thing I know, I’m wrapped in a shock blanket in the back of an ambulance and Dad is still bleeding. They make me sit in a curtained off area of the emergency room, alone. 

“Hi,” a blonde woman quietly greets me after nearly an hour. “I’m Emma Swan, the sheriff,” she continues, “what’s your name?” 

I go to answer honestly, but isn’t Tamara going to be here soon? “Robin.” The only way I know how to contact her is with the radio in the car. 

“Robin, you and your dad were pretty hurt,” she tells me. Like I don’t already know. “Is there anything you can tell me about what happened, or about your health insurance, or anything?” I tell her we don’t have health insurance, and that I saw a figure and a bright light before we crashed. The headlights, obviously, reflecting off whoever we hit. Wait- we hit someone, didn’t we? “He’ll be okay, and your dad will, too.” How? we must have been going over forty. I don’t ask, but there’s no way someone could have survived being hit by a car at that speed. The sheriff thanks me and leaves me to sit for another eternity. I wish I had even my books, or homework. I sleep in the emergency room, and when I wake up, I’m allowed to visit Dad while he sleeps before I’m escorted to an inn and diner. The car is wrecked, but I’m allowed to dig through it and bag up all our belongings, which sit in my hotel room with me, and while I’m still alone and scared, I’m not bored anymore. 

“Robin, you said?” A waitress at the diner smiles at me. She can’t be much older than I am, still filling her features in young adulthood. “I’m Ruby.” 

I just nod, avoiding conversation for a list full of reasons. Thankfully, Tamara calls my dad’s phone before the waitress can continue trying to talk to me. Her name in his phone is just “Her” for maximum strangeness. “Finally, what’s going on?” she asks. 

“It’s Robin,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “He’s in the hospital.” 

“What?” she shrills, “I’ll be there in a couple hours-” 

“He’s fine, I know you two have a plan with the Knight,” I tell her, though it crushes my heart to say. I’m allowed to complain, allowed to moan and groan and gripe until the day’s out- but I can’t mess with their business. I did, once, when I was younger, and, well. It didn’t end too nicely. Not that many things do, of course. “We got into a car accident, and they’re keeping him for a couple weeks,” I report. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Tamara admits, which sends my heart right into my throat. “They won’t be happy.” 

“I-” I gasp. I don’t know what to say, really. “Wait, maybe-” 

“You shouldn’t have told me,” she deadpans, and hangs up. I stand quickly, too quickly, and rush towards the exit. Ruby asks me what the hell I’m doing, I still have my computer open on the counter, but it’s the last of my worries. The air bags did some damage, as did the crash in the first place, but I go as quick as I can to the hospital and collapse at Dad’s beside, apologising profusely. 

“Hey, hey, hey, talk to me,” Dad suddenly whispers, awake but clearly drugged to hell. I hand him his phone and just cry. Everything in the last twenty four hours, I just let out. It’s horrible. The fear, the pain, the dread of what I know will come next. Dad said, when he sent me, that he only spoke with the Home Office through code, and Tamara was one of the only two members he’d ever met in person at that point. The other didn’t have a name, his recruiter and boss. He never got to know the mysterious man like I did, and insisted as he took me away that I’d be fine once they briefed me on the importance of the mission. I was briefed, yes, but I don’t want Dad to be briefed. Because it isn’t some meeting with a man in sunglasses explaining how horrible magic is. I was young, strong. What if they kill him? 

Dad doesn’t listen to me, and I stay by his side as much as he tolerates in his recovery. Weeks pass- my school moves me to online classes, finally tired of all the odd absences and now this. Ruby hovers and asks about what I'm learning like she’s never taken calculus before. 

It seems like forever before they let Dad come to the diner and stay with me. He seems fine, though, like the Home Office didn’t actually care about his slip up. I check often and annoyingly about how he’s doing. Finally, Tamara arrives and sneaks into our room to talk and give me a hug. It’s weird, I’ll admit, to be close with my insane dad’s insane girlfriend. Still, she’s nice. Nicer than the rest of the Home Office. I’m often lookout on their missions, so I place myself around town to do homework, making it normal for me to be somewhere strange and alone. They talk business and magic and overanalyze photos and videos and the car crash, finally asking me to camp outside a building near the bay. I'm fine with that, sitting on a dock and filling out sudokus, trying to pretend like I don't hear someone screaming inside, or gunshots. Tamara runs up to me and drags me away with Dad to a clearing in the forest before excusing herself. 

“What’s this?” I try, unnerved by her behavior. Dad frowns, head tipped down, and kneels on the ground. “Dad?” 

“Your grandfather,” he finally says. “My father, he’s buried here.” 

I swallow nervously, and hazard, “why?” 

He gestures, so I sit on the ground next to him. “When I was really young, we used to camp, my dad and I; we had so much fun, seeing all these beautiful forests and mountains everywhere we went. 

“One trip up here in Maine, a storm comes through and our truck is damaged, so we try and hike to find help, and suddenly there’s this town that we both swore wasn’t there before, Storybrooke. We were welcomed, but it was a strange town, it seemed like the same thing happened every day we stayed there. We were in Granny’s Diner, the same one we’re in now, and one evening the mayor had us over for dinner. I had just lost my mom, your grandma, and the mayor for some reason- she wanted to adopt me. Dad said we should leave, that it was the last straw of how strange the town was, but suddenly we were stopped, and he was arrested. He told me to run, and I never saw him again. 

“I ran from the mayor telling me to stay and be her son, and was able to contact the police. They escorted me back here to search for my father; strangely enough, though, the whole town was gone, as quickly as it had appeared. Coming back here now, I was sure of the magic; Regina, Granny, they haven’t aged a day. But Regina insisted that he left.” He rests a hand on the ground under his knees. “But here he is: she killed him.” Why? How? Who could be so desperate for a son that they would abduct him and kill his father? I swipe at my tears, and noticing them, Dad pulls me into a hug. 

“I’m sorry about your father,” Tamara speaks into the quiet, and my dad looks up at her but I don't. 

“Me too,” he replies with voice lower than usual. It rumbles through my shoulders and calms me, so I duck my head lower into his chest. “Did the folks back at the Home Office know anything about that thing?” 

“Yeah, they did,” Tamara whispers, “and you’re never gonna believe what it does.” 

Storybrooke’s mines are dark from my perspective, keeping watch from a bush while my dad, Tamara, and a man who doesn’t introduce himself step in. Something explodes, shaking the ground and my head, but they step out intact before I can panic and run in. The stranger splits, but the rest of us keep watch over the mines for a while longer. 

“That’s Regina, with the dark hair,” Dad mutters when Sheriff Swan and another woman duck into the mines. The sheriff leaves and comes back with a group, trailed by Knight’s prepubescent son. “Okay; stay with Tamara, I'll be right back,” Dad tells me, though Tamara is the one who nods in understanding. They seem more tense than usual, and her gaze is a little unfocused while we wait behind a building. Another explosion sounds, but she seems unworried about it, so I just keep waiting until Dad comes around the corner with Knight’s son in tow. Tamara stands but I balk- this isn’t right- 

Tamara grasps my arm tightly and helps my dad drag the kid towards the dock while I stutter, “Dad, what the fuck are you doing?” When I should have asked that question a long time ago. We approach the water with shouts for Henry, the kid, coming up behind us, but then Dad throws something in the water and a vortex appears out of thin air and threatens to swallow the dock. The water takes on a greenish glow, spinning dangerously, and I’m tugged by my arm into it, and huge alarms are ringing in my head; my dad has kidnapped a child, and now physics is breaking, and stupid Tamara pulled me into it, and I can’t see, and we are going to die. 

I was fourteen. and tired. For so many years, I had followed my dad blindly around the world, telling him when there was someone walking towards him on the street, approaching strangers and pointing them towards my disguised father asking for help. In that time my interest in what he swore could never be a coincidence had waned. His only grew, and it wasn’t contagious. it was my birthday, and I was supposed to bring candy to school for my friends to celebrate, but Dad was called in the morning, and we had to go. Only a short flight later, we were in San Diego. I swapped my dad’s license- since I didn’t have one yet- and sat in the blistering heat all day with him, watching a back road from the roof of a warehouse. We were nowhere near the beach, and though there was a view, all the roofs around reflected the sun too well. Instead I kept my head down and tried to nap to conserve energy. But I was so tired in every way that I couldn’t sleep; I was dehydrated, hungry, frustrated that I had to celebrate my birthday with my dad on an ugly old roof away from my friends. The sun continued to beat down on us, but Dad didn’t say anything. He could be so patient with the outings. Missions. Sometimes I could too, but it was my birthday- goodie bags assembled with care sat in the back of my mind and at home on the kitchen counter. My stomach growled for the millionth time and I decided that was the last straw, that I at least had to do something. Move. So I called a bathroom break, slipped out a broken window on the first floor, and ran in the opposite direction of his lookout. 

There weren’t many houses nearby- I had to run quite some distance, hoping my dad wouldn’t notice, before I spotted a group of kids playing with some adults watching on. Gasping for air in the dry heat, I went up to the adults and begged for some water. It was beyond exhilarating- I felt free, in control, for the first time in my life. They called the police, of course, who came and brought me to a dim station. They asked me so many questions, and I was finally able to voice some of my anger. My dad kept travelling, I told them, pulling me out of school to sit in places for hours at a time. They asked me about my mom, but I didn't know anything. That phone call changed my view of the world more than magic ever could, I think. 

“Penelope?” The voice on the other end asked. I said yes, wary but excited- everyone I knew always had two parents, even if they were divorced. Some of my classmates had fathers in jail, but at least they could visit. “Oh, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have let him keep you, but you can’t stay with me.” Crying, because what if it really was my mom and she didn’t want me, I asked her what she meant. “I’m in jail, Penelope, or I would run to you with open arms; I'll be released in about five years, earlier if I work extra hard, and I’ll come get you, I sweat.” I told her no, I couldn’t keep running around with Dad for another second. “You don’t have to, Sweet Pea,” she insisted, “and I’ll be here for you whenever I can.” It wasn’t fun but I sobbed on a bench until Dad arrived, shouting at the officers for dragging me off. In the end I went back with him. Always the same. 

We went home, my dad and I. Just a little place with a good enough school nearby. Dad told me again about the Home Office, about magic, to convince me to care about his missions as much as he did. The damage was done, though: I had already taken control, even though I had no clue what the woman who called me Sweet Pea was in jail for. It was so relieving and exciting to see a chance at another life, different from how boring and unpredictable mine was. He got a call from the Home Office that night and led me to the front door despite my protests. 

The Boss was a tall man from my perspective then, imposing, and dressed smartly. He wore sunglasses despite the time of day and easily forced me into the back of his dark car. A scratchy bundle of fabric fell across my face, and there was a sharp pain in my thigh, just as I passed out. 

The water breaks, and I can breathe again. There’s salt where it shouldn't be that blinds and chokes me. Dad helps me to a beach- the dock is gone, so I don't know where we are- and then pulls away to stop the boy from running off. 

“Slow down, pal, you got nowhere to go.” 

Tamara sighs and stands beside me, smiling at Dad. “Mission accomplished,” she declares. I look around and take everything in to keep myself from doing something rash like before. For one, it’s nighttime. For another, we’re on a beach with a jungle in front of us. For yet another, what the hell is the mission? Henry’s a kid, and we just almost died. I turn to ask my dad when Henry pipes up. 

“Are you sure about that? Because soon, my mom’s coming to get me; both of them.” 

Dad steps forward and crouches to his level. “You might want to take a look around, kid; you see any clock towers?” The smile on his face is tense, unfamiliar to me. “We’re a long way from Storybrooke.” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Henry quickly yelps, “my family’s been to the Enchanted Forest before, and they can get here again.” Enchanted Forest? I open my mouth to start making some long overdue demands, but a howl cuts through the night, chilling my bones. Pins and needles spread from my sandy palms to the back of my neck. It reminds me of something, I just don’t know- 

“Well, we’re not in the Enchanted Forest, either.” 

“Passing along the favor, then?” 

Tamara whirls on me for speaking. Dad catches my drift and his smile turns to a cold scowl before he snaps, “this is different.” 

“This is mimicry,” I snarl and Tamara grabs my arm again. 

“This is Neverland.” Henry asks if she’s certain of that, too, and she continues, “it’s the mother lode of magic, of course we’re here to destroy it.” How could my dad do this? What happened in Storybrooke? Why isn’t this just stalk somebody and then report them to the Home Office? Dad’s not a fighter. I’m sure of it. “Owen, the communicator, to contact the Home Office?” 

Dad doesn’t flinch at either name drop the way I do. He just reaches into his pocket and hands her a large phone. He doesn’t look at me. “An office, in a jungle, huh?” Henry remarks. “Who works there?” 

“Who we work for is not your concern, kid,” Dad tells him, “just know that they take care of us.” Henry asks how we’re getting home after they destroy magic, and Dad just says, “we don’t ask questions; we just believe in our cause,” and hysteria begins to invade my steely anger. Finally, Dad looks at me, dread in his frown. He opens his mouth to reprimand me. 

“I should have told them everything,” I bite out, “back in San Diego, I covered for you, did you know that? Even though I ran, I couldn’t go through with it when they really started asking?” Tamara punches the phone next to me, unconcerned. “And you,” I laugh at my memory of the Boss, freely, terrified and lost and so tired of this way of life, “You never apologized, and now you’ve kidnapped this kid for no reason!” I don’t realize I'm yelling until Henry flinches. “Dad, they’re going to kill him.” I don’t say how I know, don’t expressly reference the Boss, but Dad rushes towards me and grips my shoulder roughly. I lose sight of Henry and when all I find is my dad’s grimace I remember who wrapped those bags of candy for my friends. I remember who raised me; quietly, enthusiastically, as he does anything else. 

“Fix the communicator,” he snaps and turns me to his partner. Silently, I take the phone and open the battery compartment. 

Sand falls out. 

“Good thing you don’t ask any questions,” Henry says, his voice trembling a bit; he glances between the three of us with sudden nerves. He’s justified, I know, for a million reasons, the most recent of which being my naming of his death sentence. Or maybe he’s scared we’ll be stranded. Dad turns and shoves him towards the jungle. 

They had me tied down to a metal table, one light in the room hanging right over my head and blinding me. I tried to call for help, but the man that came in was armed and stood by the door. The Boss entered next; when he was done, I swore I'd never leave my father’s side again. I swore on life and limb and only stretched my promise once in the time since, when he was in the hospital. 

Dad lights a fire while Henry reminds me of myself- piping up with shaky insults every once in a while because it’s all he has. Defeated, terrified, and guilty from my outburst and the memories, I sit on a log with my head in my hands and don’t look up when there’s rustling leaves and footsteps. 

“Who are you?” 

“Oh, we’re the Home Office,” says a moderately young voice. My head jerks up and I find a group of boys in cloaks with sticks and messy hair gathered at the edge of the clearing. “Welcome to Neverland,” the boy at the front, tall and carrying not just a branch but a club, continues. his teeth bare in a smirk. 

“The Home Office is a bunch of teenagers?” Tamara asks, and Dad frowns at her and shakes his head, Because we both know it isn’t. I mutter so but thankfully, no one seems to hear- especially the impostors. 

“They’re not teenagers,” Henry disagrees, though it isn’t the most important thing. “They’re the Lost Boys.” 

“Look at that,” the leader pronounces, tilting his head so his ratty blonde hair falls over his eyes. Henry asks why they want to destroy magic. “Who said we’re going to destroy magic?” Tamara argues that it was the mission, but the leader doesn’t react visibly except to look at her through his lashes. “So you were told, yes, now; the boy, hand him over.” 

I’d be lying if I pretended to expect her reaction. Whatever I know about her, it’s mostly that she’s insane and tolerable. Tamara steps in front of Henry and declares, “Not until you tell us the plan- for magic, for getting home.” The leader’s lips twitch whlie I watch him, tense and confused. 

“You’re not getting home.” 

Fuck. 

“Then you’re not getting the boy.” 

“Of course we are.” 

The leader chuckles, and suddenly the wind picks up and a- a dark- shadow? A cloud? It engulfs my father, and he screams, suddenly collapsing, right in front of me. My feet rush towards him of their own shocked accord as Tamara tells Henry to run, but sound goes a bit far away. It's like I’m underwater again, apologizing for everything I've ever done, but Dad doesn’t answer me. He just lays there, and when I set my shaking hand on his neck, I find no pulse. He's pale, cold, stiff. dead. I blink, but my vision narrows, and all I can do is cry over my father’s corpse. 

Tamara’s gasps wake me. She's across the clearing, slapping the ground for my attention, but I don't go to her, shocked by the cold still under my hands and the arrow sticking out of her shoulder. A figure approaches her, one I saw only briefly around Storybrooke, but he’s dressed in leather now. 

“So where is he?” Mr. Gold asks her, either ignoring or not noticing me. She gasps. “There, there, I'll help you speak,” he whispers, and waves his hand, and then the arrow disappears into thin air. She thanks him, again acting against what goals she’s voiced before. Magic. It’s real, and it just saved her life, and selfishly, suddenly, she doesn’t seem to mind it anymore. Even if Dad is my only point of reference for such a subject- and I trust him far too much- I still find my fingers curling with old anger. “Where is Henry?” Mr. Gold asks. “They killed him?” 

Tamara looks around, at me again, and answers, “I don't know; I told him to run, and he did.” He asks where. “The jungle. Pan wants him, he’s behind all of this; look, Mr. Gold, I didn't know who I was working for, I'm sorry about Neal, I'm so sorry.” she sobs as the man kneels in front of her and mutters something I can’t overhear. “Can you forgive me?” She asks, but he shakes his head and then- and then just as quickly as he saved her life, he ends it, reaches into her chest like she’s made of nothing but mist and pulls out something glowing and red and crushes it to dust in his hands as she collapses. Tamara is dead. My dad- my dad is dead, still under my tense grip. I know I'm next. 

Mr. Gold steps over to me and I close my eyes, continue to hold onto my dad’s sleeve. “Did you- love him?” 

Surprised, I answer quickly, honestly, “yes, yes.” 

“He did horrible things, hurt people, and you loved him?” 

I tried to ignore it, the gunshots and screaming. When it did happen. Dad’s not- he wasn’t a fighter. “He’s my dad,” I say, throat tight, and let out a sob, bending over him farther, burying my tears in his cold back. Mr. Gold seems satisfied to listen for now. “I just wanted everything to be normal, no magic, no Home Office,” the words come out with a bite, like a curse. With a shiver, I continue, “I just wanted to go to school and go home and be with my mom and dad, not run around and get trapped underground and-” he crouches, and I stop myself from running as I want to. “Are you going to kill me?” I ask. He shakes his head. “You killed Tamara.” 

“And she killed my son,” he mutters. “Death is contagious.” slowly he reaches out, and I lean away, afraid that he lied and is going to kill me like he very obviously can. But instead, he reaches past me and lays his hand on Dad’s shoulder and then stands. “You can come with me and survive, or be taken by Pan.” 

“I don’t want to leave him yet, he should- they should be buried.” 

“Taken by Pan, then,” Mr. Gold nods, and walks into the forest. Before he’s fully past the treeline, though, he calls back, “would you have left him, given the chance?” I pick up a stick and start digging. 

“I was given the chance. I couldn’t, not in a way that stuck.” 

The sun doesn’t rise. I work for what must be hours, hacking at the earth and hoping I'm really in Neverland where there probably aren’t any gas lines, and occasionally feed the fire for warmth and light. I don’t know who Pan is other than Peter Pan, but it doesn’t seem too farfetched based on what I’ve seen today. or, tonight. In Neverland. Besides, I am my father’s daughter, despite my misgivings about it. Finally there’s enough room for two in the grave, so I lay them down facing each other because she wasn’t my mom, wasn’t maternal at all, but they loved each other. Dad always loved talking to her. As I cover them with dirt, I sob, and as I mark out the grave, I lay down next to it and cry with dirt on my face and in my clothes and under my nails. For long hours I just cry. If I get back to Storybrooke, or to America at all, I’ll be put in a group home for the next few months, and then tossed out on the street. Even when Mom is released from prison, she has nothing. At least I have her. Again- if I get back. 

“What’s your real name?” The voice comes from above, sharp and low and accented, and when I look up at the trees, there sits a figure that I can't see because the fire has died in my anguish. I don't answer. “The Home Office, they had records of you under Robin Mendell, but your father’s name wasn’t his, so I can’t imagine that’s yours.” 

“Who are you?” I ask with a voice much more raw and weak and it usually is. The figure shuffles a bit and then falls, and I scoot away but the young man suddenly visible in the moonlight lands on his feet. 

“I asked you first,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. He's dressed strangely like the boys earlier, loose, torn clothing and moccasins. A leather belt hangs from his shoulder. For the life of me I don’t know how he got into the tree above me and I won’t begin to parse how he landed so easily in the dirt. The very air around him seems thin. Off. 

“That is my name.” 

In a way. “Pretty.” I bristle, and he cuts a dangerous smile like the curl of a knife. Whether or not he meant it as an insult is entirely too vague. “But that isn’t what I asked.” 

“It’s Penelope,” I yield in the face of the threat. “Penelope Flynn.” 

He sways a bit from foot to foot before leaning forward and telling me, “I’m Peter Pan.” Right. Fucking knew it. Barely, I don't let out any more sobs or run or really do anything as he stalks towards me, Looking over the dirt on my face with a gaze I can feel more than watch. The closer he gets, the clearer his features are; shadowed eyes, harsh brows, smart and bony all around but with the stance of someone like the Boss. Someone who might shove me in the back of a car and not take an extra breath. “Do like games, Penelope?” I try to keep my own shoulders straight and don’t answer. Taken by Pan, then? 

“What happened to the Home Office?” 

Pan- and I suppose I’ve never noticed that my name is similar to that of a book character without a pig nose- shrugs and steps away. “That doesn’t matter,” he says, “unless, of course...” frustratingly enough he trails off. As he walks out of the clearing, he calls, “come on, Penelope, there’s food waiting.” I swore I would never leave my dad, but my vow has likely expired with him. Nothing more can be done. So I crouch and draw a flower in the dirt beside my other basic grave markings before following the strange young man into the jungle. 

Food is meat off a spit. There's a pile of knives, and I’ve eaten stranger things in arguably less strange places, so I carve a bite for myself and stare at the fire for a while. My hands long for a pen and paper. If this were a riddle, maybe I might have solved it by now. Peter Pan either is or isn’t working with the Home Office; I can’t discern which is worse. Without knowing what he wants and why, I remember Henry. If Pan is working for the Home Office then Henry is dead. If he isn’t, then what? Without that piece of information I can’t move forward. It’s why I asked him such a thing. The Home Office to me begs caution, and I won’t offend my own experience by ignoring it. 

“Girls are kind of rare here.” Someone sits beside me. “I’m Bee.” 

“Robin,” I answer without thinking. A code name is useless here. Bee, ten at the oldest, grins with crooked teeth and cuts himself some meat. “It’s kind of in the name, Lost Boys.” 

“Oh, there’s been girls, just not many.” I narrow my eyes at the fire- that doesn’t make any sense, for one thing to follow the stories if nothing else does. Neverland is dark, Peter Pan a murderer, Lost Boys not so limited. “Adults are kind of rare, too.” At least that still applies. Trix are for kids, I know. “But now there’s like, six?” He laughs. “Seven, I don’t know.” This catches my attention even more. Mr. Gold- how could I be so stupid? 

“I’ve only seen one, a man named Mr. Gold.” The grave flashes behind my eyes and the log beneath me seems to roll forward, the very ground stolen away. 

“Rumplestiltskin,” I’m brought back quickly enough and look away from the fire. Bee nods, and takes a large bite, but continues to speak through it, pieces of meat flying everywhere. “Yeah, he’s here with all those other adults, trying to get Pan, but they don’t know.” He laughs again. “Pan never fails!” 

“Be quiet,” snaps the boy from earlier, the tall one. He stands from his log on the other side of the spit and bares his teeth at Bee, who yelps and scrambles up and away. I watch him clamber up a tree and hear laughter, and something in the back of my mind connects the command with his name. “Hey,” the boy continues, and I turn to find him much closer and bearing a wooden cup. “Take this,” he orders, handing it to me. Water. He sits where Bee did and rests his club over his knees. “You’ll get a name soon enough.” 

“I already have a small collection,” I remark, but frown once the water is gone. Some webcomic about proliferating standards comes to mind. “Penelope, Robin, thank goodness I don’t have a middle name. What a mess.” The boy chuckles, but it’s lighter than before. Fuck, my heart goes to my throat at the memory, and I nearly vomit. 

“I also have two names: Felix and Slightly,” he admits. I just watch the fire and try to breathe as his voice returns to focus. I ask which I’m supposed to use; he answers Slightly, and I nod. Slightly it is. Fuck. I close my eyes and rub at my brow with dirty, meaty fingertips, my head pounding with grief and terror. What does taken by Pan even mean? I still have a living mother to return to, even if I can’t go to her yet. As far as I know, she’s nice. Yeah, she abandoned me as a child, and yeah, she did something awful enough to end up in prison, but I do need something to hold on to. 

Pan makes his presence known somehow, catching everyone’s attention by the fire. Slightly only watches the spit while almost everyone else’s head turns, but his lips twitch visibly. The paradoxically silent and obvious footsteps pause for a second directly behind the two of us. “Making a friend?” 

“No,” Slightly answers, nearly interrupting him. Pan huffs and sits on my other side. “Don’t you-“ 

“Maybe I want to know what’s so interesting about Penelope here.” He knocks his knuckle against the wooden cup and it fills with water before my eyes. “You might be clever, but that could have just as easily been a misstep.” 

“It’s very difficult to interest Pan,” Slightly murmurs. They speak so strangely, like they’re jumping between narration and dialogue instead of really just talking. “Like a goldfish.” 

Pan grips the log next to my hip and leans over me to bare his teeth at Slightly, who bares his teeth right back which only prompts Pan forward, so I’m caught under the pressure of Pan’s shoulder dragging against my collarbone. He doesn’t lean back until Slightly does, but he doesn’t lean back entirely, remaining damn near. “I'm waiting, then,” he declares, face only inches from my own. I gulp, and his gaze flies to my throat, or what he can see of it from his perspective. If he’s speaking to me, it isn’t immediately obvious, his expression trancelike for a minute. 

“Okay,” I say, which doesn’t make any sense but his eyes clear and his slow frown says he has no clue what I’m talking about but I don’t, either. Up close, with the fire, his eyes are still dark and his brows are still sharp, face so defined. He quirks a brow, and then nods. As if that was answer enough. I suppose it could be. Something must call his attention away because he stands and leaves an eerie vacuum beside me when he disappears into the night without a step taken. In the wake of him I struggle to breathe and Slightly, the asshole, seems to be holding in another laugh. 

I settle into the deep hollow of a tree and don’t sleep, but it feels safer than out in the open. My body shouts at me in exhaustion. Something’s missing, though, my heart just healed enough from losing my dad that I’m between passing out and settling down. He never told me outright that his line of work could be dangerous. The only threat I witnessed was the Home Office, though I doubt he saw it that way. It hurts even to remember the things that frustrated me about my dad; surrounded by sniffling from around the camp, I feel trapped. Like I’ll never get to see my mother. Slightly, Pan, and Bee all made it seem normal. Like it’s just the way of things. But Pan is clearly the one who got us here, and I'm certain he can get me back. If he so wishes. 

The sun still doesn’t rise. 

I step out of the tree when someone restarts the fire and begins to cook. It’s as good an opportunity as any to warm my own frozen joints to the tune of fat spitting in the licks of flame. The ghostly pale boy cooking introduces himself tersely as Nibs and lets me try turning the spit. I'm not very good at it, and my arms waver more with physical weakness than with grief and nerves and chill. Nibs laughs with the right hush of early morning and then stops, expression carefully blank, looking behind me even with his just-unfocused eyes. 

“This looks brilliant,” Pan says, coming up next to me and nodding to the spit. His voice is almost as identifiable as his atmosphere; my hands begin to twitch with shivers even though I’ve already warmed them up. “Where’d you get it?” 

“The eastern lake,” Nibs answers, his buck-toothed smile returning. Pan congratulates him and flicks his hands; suddenly a length of fabric appears in his grip, billowing dangerously close to the flames. If he offers, I take too long to respond, so he tosses it over my shoulder and the ties of the evident cloak twist together on their own. Okay. At the very least, I won't freeze to death. It’s yet to be determined if he’ll kill me some other way or if I’ll simply suffocate in the odd space around him. Nibs and I watch as he disappears into the jungle. “You alright?” 

“I-“ what a question! My dad died in front of me, on this island, because of Peter Pan and his Lost Boys, yesterday, or a couple hours ago, or when is the sun gonna rise? I sit and bury my head in my hands, rubbing at my eyes. Nibs continues to turn the spit. “I have no way to tell if anyone’s about to kill me. Are you?” It’s a dumb question. Nibs doesn’t answer, and Slightly appears as I sigh and open my eyes. Or swaggers, more than appears, between two trees and bearing his club. 

“He likes you,” he says vaguely, and sets the club down to help with the fire. 

“Who?” I ask even though it couldn’t be anyone but Pan; Slightly just looks at me for a moment, so I shake my head. “I’m going to die, aren’t I.”

“Pan isn’t going to hurt you.” 

“Because I have a cloak.” Both lost boys nod. Great. 

“Robin?” My head spins so quick I pull a muscle; there Henry stands half out of a tent, and I hurry over to him. “What’s going on? Did Pan trick you, too?” 

“I don’t know yet.” When he shivers, guilt and hot shame wash over me- my own father is responsible for this. Maybe it’s better I’m still here, and I should try to make up for his mistakes. “Are you okay?” 

Henry shivers again, “I’m fine.” He looks around at the tents, the fire with Slightly and Nibs staring at us, the jungle, my new cloak. “Have you really been working for Peter Pan this whole time, while Tamara manipulated my dad?” 

My face runs suddenly warm but given the Lost Boys’ careful gazes, it’s probably best that I didn’t immediately hand over Pan’s gift. Who knows what kind of consequences that would’ve had. We walk to the other side of the fire. “The Home Office is real,” I tell him quietly, “it’s an organization that tries to find and destroy magic whenever possible.” He frowns, and points out what Slightly said when we first met him, but I shake my head. “I don’t know anything about Peter Pan, but I know the Home Office all too well. I’ve been to their headquarters.” 

“Are they- would they do what you said, if they took me there instead of here?” 

“Probably, but I also don’t know if this is any better,” I answer honestly. “Peter Pan arranged for us to come here, not the Home Office.” Henry nods. “They do have their eye on Storybrooke, though, especially after the last few weeks.” 

“My moms can take ‘em,” Henry decides, and because he’s eleven or something, I agree quietly and leave it there. Slightly gives me a look I can’t read through the flames; Nibs just makes Henry help with the spit. 

“Did you not like my gift, Penelope?” A vacuum that’s beginning to get familiar forms when I lean in to the flames to rub my hands together. “Poor Henry’s shivering and you didn’t think it was good enough to give him.” Pan stands with his moccasins almost buried in old ash from past fires, the light turning his bare ankles brown and red. 

“I didn’t think,” I excuse, and go to unfasten the ties when they bind further under my hands, nearly swallowing my fingers. My mouth goes dry and I worry it’ll keep going, grip my throat, so I jam my hands above the collar. Pan doesn’t laugh when the ties stop, but his eyes do when I look up in panic and shame. Like he would have kept going if I hadn’t reacted. 

“No, Henry, you need a cloak of your own, yes?” He suggests, stepping between us and sending a bolt of fear down my spine. It’s an innocent enough idea but my heart pounds. “We can make you a new one.” I nod and decide to never make such a mistake again. Or at least try. It seemed wise- but maybe that’s the problem. Didn’t he ask if I like games? He leads me and Henry into another clearing with tools laid around in the dirt. “In fact,” he continues, “why don’t you make it together, so Penelope can approve of it.” 

I feel the obligation to apologize, but don’t say anything. Henry is quiet when Pan leaves. “I thought your name was Robin.”

“It is.” 

“Oh.” Neither of us know how to sew, but we begin to figure something out among the fabric scraps and sticks and twisted stems. The other Lost Boys begin to wake for breakfast but neither of us move to get any. “How much does the Home Office know about magic?” He asks after a while. 

“I was the lookout,” I admit, and take a deep breath to stop the tears. “My dad never told me anything except that stuff like this exists. I was gonna get out.” Since that doesn’t seem possible anymore, if it ever did with how powerful the Home Office seems to be, I try to imagine what could have been. “My mom’s in prison. He didn’t know I knew her, but I kept track of her, wrote stuff down so I wouldn't forget.” 

“My mom went to prison too. I was born there.” I'm starting to think Henry's family is incredibly strange. “What did they do to you?” Henry surprises me, but thankfully we’re interrupted by the Lost Boys rushing out of the camp with whoops and hollers. The kid runs after them, but it becomes quickly evident that the Lost Boys know where they’re going and Henry doesn’t. I make sure to keep both the kid and the camp in sight so he can’t get turned around. “What do you think’s going on?” 

“Pirates, aliens,” I throw out weakly. Best to pretend he didn’t ask the other question. “Maybe they act on a hive mind, and Peter Pan just called them all to look at a cool rock.” 

“Maybe my family’s here.” 

This I already figured out. Slightly didn’t seem happy about Bee telling me, but Henry seems overjoyed at the idea, so I don't reject it. Don’t remind him what happened yesterday when adults came to visit. We walk back to the camp and Henry happily occupies himself with the cloak, but I lose focus. Only a Lost Boy jumping down from his half-finished hammock snaps me back to attention. “So, you’re the kid Pan’s been looking for all this time,” he directs at Henry. 

“Ask him,” Henry grumbles, and a few other Lost Boys approach to poke and prod at him. They get my best glare when I try to step into the middle of it. “Robin, it’s fine.” 

The first boy scoffs. “If you can’t take some teasing without your big sister, how are you going to handle what Pan has in store for you?” He picks up a stick and encourages Henry to pick up his own while I'm overpowered by Nibs and another child. I shake them off, but stay put while the pair dance around the tools on the ground and fight. 

“Not bad,” Pan decides, from behind me; immediately, as is apparently usual, the crowd falls silent and stops moving like the vacuum around Pan is greedy for time itself. Henry flushes and looks down at the stick in his hand. “But wouldn’t it be more fun if you had real swords?” 

“I’ve never used a real sword,” Henry says, and Pan steps past me to whisper something in his ear. Henry's branch becomes metal within a shallow breath, and he suddenly charges at the Lost Boy while I struggle against Nibs and the other kid’s renewed grips. He’s a child, for fucks sake, and not a feral one like the Lost Boys all seem to be- but that very nature of the ones holding on to me puts me at a disadvantage. The Lost Boys cheer and yell and whoop and holler and bang sticks together with renewed vigor as Henry sets a series of blows upon the other boy. The one defending himself still only has a stick, and Henry ends up drawing blood. As if he’s the one hurt, he freezes and blurts, “I'm so sorry, it was an accident!” 

Pan laughs, though, and asks him, “don’t you know the best part about being a Lost Boy?” He rests a hand on Henry's shoulder. “You never apologize.” Then he raises Henry's hand, and the Lost Boys continue to shout and cheer, and the kid smiles. 

I’m feeding the fire when Nibs comes up and tells me I'm relieved. “You did this earlier,” I point out, and he shakes his head. 

“I earned my name. Just go.” 

He doesn’t say where, but with such a dismissal, it must be at least twenty feet away. I haven’t gone much farther than that from the fire except when Henry chased the Lost Boys out of the camp, but in all honesty it’s all I can do to feel safe. If I can’t extend the favor to Henry with his newfound comraderie, I’ll keep it for myself. So I wander the edge of my self-imposed border until the damp woodsy air shifts and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. No one else around the camp reacts. I pick up my feet and duck against a thick tree, hoping to ground myself with the bark. It feels like I’m being misted- drowned, really- and my hands don’t find any purchase. My gaze wanders and I find someone looking back at me from the far side of the camp, amidst the tents and, deeper in the jungle, a couple of hammocks. 

Slightly doesn’t move from where he’s in a similar position to me, an unbothered mirror image. I can barely identify him from so far away. And yet. My mind registers when the eye contact breaks and he looks at something beside me. 

A shiver runs down my spine even though I’m overheating. Slightly doesn’t look back at me; instead, he glides smoothly from view without breaking his own line of sight until he’s entirely gone. And he doesn’t appear on the other side of the trunk, either. I look frantically around the camp for Slightly, or Henry, or Nibs or even Pan but I can’t find anything or anyone that I can really label. The breaths I yank in are unfulfilling and wet. 

The light burned at my eyes and the cold metal table bit at my thighs and shoulders even through my clothes. My bindings were some kind of fabric or leather that scratched the thin insides of my wrists and my neck, made my calves itch. Every detail demanded attention, even the pressure inside my shoes where they perched at the edge of the table. There were no movies or puzzles or memories I could call upon; everything was new, everything was threatening. I pushed against the restraints and they gave only enough to itch further. The Boss checked each one and seemed satisfied enough to keep me where I was. He turned away to speak, or it sounded like he did, because my eyes wouldn’t adjust to the stark difference between the lighting on the table and the lighting in the room. He said something about carbon and a mask was pushed around my nose and mouth that almost seemed to push air into my lungs. Metallic, plastic, pure air. My eyes began to flutter and I couldn’t hold my squint. Everything was so cold. 

It didn’t hurt then. The pain came much later, but I couldn’t tell my dad, so I went to school and blocked out nearly three weeks of material. No, during, it was like coming in from the cold and wrapping my stuff fingers around a steaming mug of cocoa. Some kind of assistant moved my shirt away from my stomach and stuffed other fabric in its place beneath my back. It was cold and hot, and I had goosebumps that didn’t fade. Like an icicle beneath my skin, where it shouldn’t be, finding all the warmth of my blood and scaring it away. The roof was hot and I ran from it; the room was cold and I could do nothing. My lungs and throat dried with that steady flow of air but I didn’t scream once. 

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true…”

A murmured lullaby wakes me to the rhythm of fingers carding through my hair. I blink and there’s Peter Pan kneeling over me, something plush at my back and soft words falling from his mouth. He keeps singing as I try to relax. His ministrations are nice; beyond neat, I feel clean. Again I wonder what carries from the snippets of fairytales I heard at school. 

“What-“ I croak and my throat seizes in a cough. Pan bends further and guides me upright with little difficulty.  

“The mermaids bathed you,” he mutters and continues to comb my hair. I’ve never known it to be all that silken, especially when wet- even more especially when wet with salt water- but his hand glides through. “You might taste salt for a while; Henry chewed their ears off when he saw them mistake your gasping for that of a fish on land.” I roll my tongue against my teeth and find what he means as he stops to hum more of the lullaby. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t funny. He could be so much more powerful, you know, if he wasn’t so tense.” 

There’s nothing for me to say, so I don’t speak. Fortunately this doesn’t seem to be a problem. 

“A dream is a wish your heart makes...”

Henry ignores Pan entirely when we return to the camp through winding paths that I couldn’t recount given a lifetime. Instead he damn near tackles me in a hug, made heavier by his loosely finished cloak. He only reaches my shoulders but makes up for it with enthusiasm. All I’m left to do is watch Pan walk away; he turns just before entering the largest tent and I swear delicate fingertips kiss my eyelids until they close. He’s gone with them. 

“Tootles brought you to the mermaids, and I told them to keep your clothes on, but then they started drowning you-“ 

“Henry.” It’s true, my clothes are starchy with dried seawater. Henry looks up from where he’s been practically shoving his face into my armpit. I’m honestly not sure what to say, but I thank him for his help and he nods. 

Then says, “I have a therapist. You can go see him when we get back.” 

Oh. Wow. 

Something of my dread and offense must show on my face because he scrambles to insist that therapy is an important thing for everyone no matter how supposedly healthy, but I worried him when I was hyperventilating and unresponsive. A nearby Lost Boy snorts. Blah blah, I think, do I look like some kind of orphan with PTSD or something? 

“Whatever,” I grumble and remove the kid from my person. A dry ache invades as if I was actually in that room again, but it fades when I stand nearer to the bonfire. Bee claims Henry’s attention. 

Nibs claims mine. “Music’s starting soon.” If that means anything, I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem important. “Slightly and me are gonna hunt early tomorrow. You should sleep through the festivities and come with us.” He isn’t cooking, but his hands weave between licks of flame and I wonder if the roughness to his skin is a consequence. 

“I don’t know how.” 

“You know some.” 

My stomach turns over again, but Nibs even doesn’t look at me, let alone apologize. Our conversation is cut short by an earthquake, or what feels like one, though, so I leave him and look around for somewhere safe when it dawns on me that I’m the only thing shaking. It’s a pleasant hum, though, after a moment. One I can and do settle into. Like drumming. Like a heart. Low tones filter through the air around me like fog and birdsong and crowded school hallways. I yearn for the idea as suddenly as it clears further into a melody, then further into Peter Pan and his flute at the center of everyone’s attention. Nibs mentioned festivities- they begin as Pan shifts the song without a break and the Lost Boys begin to chant, dance, sing along. They gather instruments and not-instruments alike to join the performance. Henry, eyes closed, cloak tangling with the buttons of his shirt, moves from Pan’s side and the attention moves with him. 

Peter Pan transforms from ringleader to puppet master before my eyes; neither is likely true, but I don’t much care. Instead I retreat towards the tents and the jungle until my head pounds a little quieter. The music- Pan’s heartbeat, if he has one- lulls me to sleep soon after I find another hollow tangle of roots. 

Slightly and Nibs are having a silent conversation above me when I wake up. There’s no noise in the entire camp, in fact; even the jungle sleeps. My stomach alerts them I’ve woken up and Nibs hands me a waterskin to tide me over. Slightly offers me a spear that I’m not sure I can refuse. My socks and shoes were lost to the mermaids, so we set out as quiet as can be through the trees with Nibs’ skin the only thing I can really see. When he ducks and his cloak falls over him, I’m as good as blind, simply trusting that he hasn’t taken any sudden turns and left me to wander. We’ve been up and about for a while when Slightly’s hand lands on my shoulder and the wind picks up. 

“This way,” he whispers, before darting between broad leaves. I follow the subtle sounds of greenery shifting, spear as ready as I can make it; I’m not a fighter, I tell myself, my dad wasn’t a fighter, and I’m not a fighter. The wind picks up further and Slightly moves too far ahead for me to listen to his trail, but the trees above sway and a sliver of moonlight catches on Nibs’ hand against a tree trunk ahead of me. We regroup in a tunnel between bare trees and salted rock, sea air soaring through, and Slightly motions for me to wait where the trees thicken again and the gusts are filtered by ferns and thorns. “We don’t have time right now for you to prick yourself with Nightshade, so resist the temptation,” he mutters right against the shell of my ear with a chilly puff of air and such a deep-baked stench to him that I hold my own breath. Finally, he adjusts my grip on the spear and disappears almost as quickly as Pan. I lean away from the thorns. I’m not left waiting for too long, but the moments stretch with how my eyes burn. 

A harsh gust of wind carries something my body is aware of but can’t identify- something in the sky. It drops, then soars away, leaving its load to fall into the branches and then to the rock. I step forward with the spear out- this must be what we’re hunting- and then the Knight lifts his head and looks directly at me where I’ve placed myself in a moonbeam. 

“What-” 

Slightly and Nibs sneak up on him from behind. “Welcome home, Baelfire,” Slightly greets him. “Pan will be so happy to see you.” They knock him dizzy and bind his arms while I sputter. 

“I- he-” it makes sense that Henry’s father would come to rescue him, but Henry didn’t mention it. Only his mothers, the sheriff and the mayor. “How many of them are here now?” 

“Seven now. Bee can’t count.” Or keep a secret. Without Mr. Gold or Knight, there are five adults on the island. I figure Slightly isn’t factoring my dad or Tamara, so I assume the sheriff and the mayor are two, leaving three that I don’t know. Nibs directs me to help him lift Knight to his feet and we start along the path of salt-poisoned trees. 

Nibs turns his head to me, eyes still lazily wandering ahead of us, and murmurs, “you lied.” This doesn’t bode well for my safety or sanity. “And I was wrong. You don’t just know some; could’a done this on your own.” Does he know that’s worse? I stare down at the spear, visibility better with fewer trees around. Not good enough, however, for me to catch through my horror that Knight has worked himself free and knocked Slightly out cold. It only comes to my attention when Nibs starts running and gets a half-rotted branch thrown at him. 

“Slightly,” I gasp, and rush over to the limp Lost Boy as Nibs soldiers on. “Hey, wake up, asshole,” I tell him without really thinking. He blinks and groans, then jumps up with my help and we follow the bootprint trail until we find Nibs standing over three Lost Boys. 

“Fast for such an old man,” Nibs huffs. 

“He had help.” Slightly decides and limps forward, cradling his head, to examine one of the kids. “Magic. Let’s get them back to camp.” 

Pan notices us immediately as we shuffle into view of the camp. In a blink he goes from forty to two feet away, eyes blazing even in the dark. “What happened.” 

“Baelfire got away.” 

He takes a glance at the kids slumbering on despite how rocky the trip back was and grins. “The Dark One. So father and son have been reunited.” 

“We should move the boy.” 

“Now, Felix, where’s your sense of adventure? The fun’s about to begin.” My exhausted lungs empty when Pan’s attention shifts to me. “Tamsin and the twins can go to the healing tent.” He steps forward until we’re face to face in the dark and those dancing fingertips brush some of my hair away from my neck. “Looks like you picked up more from the Home Office than you think you did.” 

Indignant, I sniff. His nearness isn’t as offending as Slightly’s- he might even be freshly washed- but his words cut much deeper. “I’m not-“ 

“-your father, yes, note the glaring difference between you now.” 

My stomach twists and I taste bile, all of my body straining under Tootles’ weight and my own grief and disgust. This- this asshole- “Pan,” I growl, and his grin is visible in shadow. 

“You really are fun,” he muses, and pinches the side of my neck, his fingernails digging in like teeth. “Penelope.” 

In a moment he’s gone, so I don’t wonder why he said my name so quietly. I just take Tootles to the tent that Slightly and Nibs reach a few minutes before me given their established lifestyles. With food in my hands and the spear put away I notice all the splinters and scrapes building up from wandering the jungle barefoot and bare-handed. Scabs from dry vines and the several tree trunks I’ve cling to litter my arms where my sleeves dried shorter than they’re meant to. Dirt piles up beneath all my nails and in the shallow lines of my knuckles. My feet are caked with mud and debris. The food is ashy and it’s validating to see Nibs drop his serving into the fire with a scowl. 

“You need to clean up, and the vernal pool has a patch of berries,” he says, and nothing else, so I follow him out of the camp again. Tootles and the twins join us with only slight breaks to their steps, but they make it a little less awkward to strip down to my underwear and get to washing. Nibs reclines half-submerged at one edge of the water and picks the berries he can reach, tossing them to each of us in turn. 

“Robin,” Tootles starts after a splash war with the twins dies down and she wades over to join Nibs in gathering fruit. “Why did you dig that hole?” 

For a moment I don’t understand. And then I remember throwing myself to the earth. “It’s what people do when they- when,” I tell her, but don’t really finish my sentence, the word choking itself out of my throat. “They return to the earth, and you can sit with them.” 

“You haven’t gone back.” 

“An opportunity, not a commitment. It’s tradition.” 

Tootles hums around a berry. “No one’s ever done that, here. They get dragged into the water sooner or later, either by their traveling companions or by the mermaids.” 

The thought disgusts me. I scrub harshly at my knuckles until the scabs open. “Well, I did it.” Nibs throws me a berry and it begins to sink a bit in the muddied, bloodied water, but I catch it and eat it anyways. “My mom might make us headstones, but I doubt she’ll be able to afford it for a while.” 

“Headstones?” 

“She can’t afford rocks?” 

“They’re carved,” I specify, “and she’s in prison, so she can’t afford anything.” 

“What did she do?” 

I make a face. I still don’t know, and I’ll never find out. Nibs throws another berry. I sit on a mossy rock so the water reaches my shoulders and I can rinse my hair of sweat. When I don’t answer, they move on. We wash and eat for a while waiting for our clothes to dry by a small fire the twins set up. We only head back when Tootles gets bored and starts smearing mud on her face; it’s all in all a nice afternoon, or evening, or whatever time it is. No sun is starting to fuck with my head. Only the first and slowest mind game of Pan’s, I’m sure, and he provides another when we reach the camp. 

“Took you long enough,” he calls, posed as if checking a watch. But he doesn’t move, and after a moment the twins rush over to him and ask what’s wrong. “It’s our move. See who you can wake up with some of the reserve water,” he tells them lowly and then turns his head just barely when they scurry off. “Tamsin, if you don’t mind, I’ve got ink on my hand. Be careful, or you won’t move for days.” 

The camp is back in motion, dozing Lost Boys rejuvenated, within minutes. Or, a few of them are. Whatever the twins are using is a limited resource. Weapons are amassed and limp bodies are dragged into their tents to recover. I’m just tucking in Curly- nicknamed aptly- when I notice. 

“Where’s Henry?” 

Pan doesn’t tell me, which is as good an answer as any, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m rooting for. “There is a thing that nothing is, and yet it has a name. It's sometimes tall and sometimes short, joins our talks, joins our sport, and plays at every game.” But he leaves before I can begin to guess. The tie of my cloak that I only just managed to loosen back at the pool binds itself in his wake. 

Does it even matter who came for Henry? I doubt it makes a difference. Mr. Gold destroyed Tamara without losing any breath himself. Whoever is here, they can’t be more powerful than that, and if they are? Pan’s fucked. His theatrics and manipulation pale in comparison. Yes, of course, any old human like Tamara or my dad could die anytime to a blown tire or a sinkhole or a particularly determined Canadian goose. But to be murdered- I shiver- and so easily means that any skill my father may have passed on to me is useless. My chances are slim. Curly stumbles out of his tent and throws me a salute. 

“Do you know the fairytale?” 

How Bee manages to sneak up on anyone given his talkative nature is beyond me. “Which fairytale?” I ask. 

“The one with Peter Pan, Captain Hook, the Lost Boys, and Never Never Land.” 

“I thought I did.” 

“Not the truth, Robin, the story.” When is a mind like a fairytale? When it’s made up. I prompt him to tell me. “There once was a boy who lived in a land of dreams, and he didn’t want to grow up, so he didn’t. One day he lost his shadow. You need a shadow, right, to walk in the sun and dance around a fire! So he left his home in search of it. Wendy Darling, who had imagined him up and taken him on so many adventures in Never Never Land and told of his duels against the pirate Captain Hook, found his shadow and caught it. When the boy showed up, she sewed his shadow back onto his feet and he brought her and her brothers to Never Never Land with him. They wanted to stay, and the Lost Boys there were ever grateful that she gave them life and a home, but to stay, she would have to never grow up. That was the rule, you know, but she wasn’t so sure about it. They asked her to stay, to be their mother, and they asked her to tell them all the stories she had told her brothers. But she gathered her brothers and, in exchange for a thimble and a promise, Peter Pan returned them to their house. She grew up and couldn’t return, but she passed the story on.” 

“I don’t think I’ve heard that version,” I admit. “It’s usually just a kiss.” 

“What’s usually a kiss?” 

“The thimble and the promise.” Thinking back, though, they may have called it a thimble. “There was something about a bird, too, but,” Bee quiets as I think. “We watched Fantasia when I was in fourth grade, and then my teacher found out I’d never seen any Disney movies. I didn’t understand Fantasia at all, I mean, no Disney in my household.” That teacher tried so hard to fill me in on what I had missed. The TV cart is a clearer memory than any math I learned that year. 

“I don’t know what knees or a fan have anything to do with it, but the story will always be different. It isn’t true, so there’s no one version.” 

The Lost Boys march into camp and deposit Henry on a rotten log as I nudge Bee in thanks. “I think I can see that.” He laughs loudly, as he is still Bee, and nudges me back. 

“I just wanted to help with your riddle.” 

Oh. I tilt my head at Bee, stiff and surprised, but he gets up and scampers off to bother someone else. Of course Pan’s riddle has something to do with him. One way or another, it has to. Sometimes tall and sometimes short- maybe the Lost Boys? Joining every game? I run through the riddle a few times in my mind. 

Pan crouches over Henry as soon as I do. We watch him slumber on as the other Lost Boys around the camp start to drag themselves awake. On a whim, and on the subject, I decide to recite a riddle of my own. 

“It goes through the door without pinching. It sits on the stove without burning. It rests on the table, unashamed.” 

He’s utterly still. “You could answer mine just as easily.” 

“How about we trade hints?” It’s a gamble that doesn’t feel even remotely necessary, but he nods, so I say, “I miss it.” 

“I don’t.” 

Henry shifts and groans a bit as I take in the new information. It can’t be the Lost Boys, then, or I suppose it could- he doesn’t have to miss them, since he’s always with them. 

“What happened?” Henry brings my attention back to him. Pan’s brow twitches. 

“You fell asleep.” When Henry stiffens, he continues, “oh, don’t worry, it was just a little catnap. Night’s still young.” 

Something about the sentence makes me hold back nervous laughter while I settle in the dirt. “Wait, I- I remember something. My dad, when I was asleep, I-“ he looks at me with more pity than a ten year old should have. “I could’ve sworn I heard him calling for me.” 

“Really?” Pan says quickly, just stretched out enough that it seems like the flick of his eyes to me is anything but a warning. I suppose that settles where Henry was when the Lost Boys all fell asleep. Father and son reunited, indeed. 

“It must’ve been a dream.” 

“Well, how can you be sure?” 

“Because.” Henry throws me another pitying frown. A guilty frown. A pained- I can’t read the kid, really, but he says, “cause my dad’s dead.” 

I blurt “no” before my head catches up and starts piecing things together that I don’t want to make sense of. “He was with… Tamara…” shit. Didn’t Mr. Gold already tell me this? That Tamara killed Neal Cassidy, that death is contagious? Oh, shitting hell… Henry sets a light hand on my shoulder as if I’m the one in need to comfort here. As if! “Henry, I’m so sorry,” I beg of the kid, guilt building upon guilt; it was expressly my job to make sure they could do theirs, and while I didn’t do it enthusiastically, being an accomplice to murder is a new line to me. Or whatever it is that makes Henry and Tamara and Mr. Gold so sure Knight is dead when I just saw him a few hours ago. 

Pan shifts in the dirt. I bite my tongue. “I’m sorry too, Henry; it makes sense for us to dream about the things we’ve lost and the things we hoped for, like your father being alive and your mother coming to find you. But eventually, you’ll find new things to dream about- and when you do, they’ll start to come true.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because that’s what I did,” Pan answers easily, mirth lighting his expression, “and now you’re here. Neverland used to be a place where new dreams were born. You can bring that magic back, Henry, and we can be your family.” As if moving through mud, he reaches between us and combs his fingers through my hair, smooth as anything. He says something more to Henry that I don’t catch, lost to a thumping in my stomach when the only thing of Pan’s attention that remains on me is his wrist, limp on my shoulder. The vacuum is starting to take my flesh the way black holes eat anything they can reach. Greedy. Hungry. If it’s intentional, I can’t tell. I’m not even sure I care. “Penelope.” 

Henry is long gone when I blink and find Pan. A tension has appeared in his expression, but it clears when I shake my head in a shudder. “What?” 

“It’s sunlight, isn’t it?” He surprises me by saying; it is. When I don’t answer quickly enough, he pulls my elbow until we’re both standing and mutters directly into my ear, breath cold, “close your eyes.” I do. “Neverland is a place where time stands still. The night suits me for now, but it doesn’t always. Magic, of course, always comes with a price.” 

My father hated it. “What really happened?” 

“That’s for another time. I’ve brought you to the day, Penelope, open your eyes and step into it.” 

And he’s right, I discover, wincing at the adjustment before rushing out from the treeline towards a rocky cliff over the water. Salt and sun dig into my skin and breathe life into me in a way I didn’t think necessary until it left me- at fourteen, I had enough of the sun. Now, I’m starved for it. Birds sing behind me and squawk before me, and creatures dance in the water that I can’t identify. Probably because of the distance. Mostly. Content absorbing energy and warmth from the light, I settle on my back despite the stone underfoot. It feels good. Pan’s words don’t escape me so soon, though. 

“What did the cloak cost?” 

Pan doesn’t answer for a moment, and I squint against the daylight to check if he’s done something awful or left. Instead he merely watches from the treeline. “Isn’t it obvious?” He wonders, as if that’s ever gotten anyone anywhere. I hold back a scowl despite how pinched my features probably already are. “You’re a Lost Boy.” 

I’m not a boy, I don’t say, though Tootles doesn’t seem to be, either. Hardly stops her. Instead I sit up and face the treeline so my face falls into shadow and I don’t have to squint. He doesn’t step forward. I’m still not sure who I’m really rooting for- Pan has taken over the Home Office in some capacity, which appeals to me, but with that power he organized all this, which doesn’t appeal to me at all. “What does this cost?” He waves his hand broadly, still keeping to the shade, and a wall of vines that I thought were covering a boulder brush themselves away from a natural looking archway. I stand and look past it to find a spring clearer than any water I’ve ever seen. 

“Have a drink, and enjoy yourself. Stay however long you like,” Pan murmurs, appearing behind my shoulder as soon as I move through the arch. I jump, but the vines have settled again. Hang on- why isn’t he stepping into the sunlight? Why does the night suit him right now? He looks like he’s about to turn and go when I speak. 

“Your shadow.” You need one to walk in the sun and dance around a fire, Bee said! Of course- he doesn’t miss it probably because he gave it up, tore it from his body the same way Dad had his stolen as he died. A predictable accompaniment for most creatures, but not Peter Pan. It works. 

We’re at an odd angle, looking at each other but too close. “What’s been around for eons, but is no more than a month old?” 

“The moon,” I answer easily, though it comes from one of my books. At least when I first read it, I worked for however long it took to come up with it myself. But now it’s just familiar. A beat passes with just the echo of running water in the not-quite-cave. “A man’s title, bread, a motion, cookware.” One of my friends- in those times when I was at school enough to gather any- came up with such a riddle after I tricked them with Einstein’s impossible one. But I cut out the item that would reveal the answer immediately to my audience: one boy. I never solved the riddle myself, though I intended to. My friend took pity on my hair pulling within just an hour. 

The one boy seems to read me, his gaze dancing from detail to detail that I couldn’t follow if I tried, even at this distance. Then he’s gone, and with his absence air rushes into the space he took up beside me and in my lungs. 

There seem to be few choices, with Peter Pan. No room for argument or suggestion. My cloak, which unwinds itself and floats delicately off my shoulders and onto the spring’s rocky edge, was a gift. I didn’t ask for it; Pan himself even called it a gift, from him to me, when I didn’t pass it on to Henry. In speaking about price he implied that I paid for the cloak by joining the Lost Boys. Maybe, though, he paid for a gift by letting me into the Lost Boys. Or maybe Dad paid for the cloak and Lost Boy title by dying. What does the sun cost, then? It cuts through the rock above as if the spring is in a stone vase and lights up the water until everything sparkles. The far wall bears the source of sound, a rapid spout. Again I only have implications- is drinking the spring water paying for the light? Again this wasn’t something I asked for, though. I’m not certain I’ve asked for a single thing since coming to Neverland. That doesn’t seem to matter with Peter Pan. 

He returns after I drink and don my cloak, though it doesn’t tie itself until he’s near. “Is that really all the sun you can take?” My mouth dries of words. Is that really all he’ll give me? It’s been all of an hour! 

“Humans are typically diurnal,” I say, but it comes out quiet and clumsy, “the body has- cycles-“ 

“Do you think I’m not human?” 

“You’re-“ I don’t know. Pan said- Pan said- “time stands still in Neverland, and yet it passes. There’s a past here, for me; not everything is happening together as I observe it. I walked, I spoke, I drank, and now I speak again. It would all be indistinguishable and full of paradoxes if time were truly still.” 

“Say what you mean.” 

Rich, coming from him. But I don’t know what I mean. “Time doesn’t really stand still here, does it? The Lost Boys sleep, the fire dies down, my stomach growls. It’s- it’s-“ I don’t fucking know! The front of my cloak is suddenly yanked forward and I stumble towards where Pan has settled in the available shade. I jerk my head up, keep an eye on him, in close quarters once again but this time the ties don’t loosen because he has one hand twisted in my collar. Even without his vacuum I would be choking. “It’s you.” 

“Seems we’re good at solving two riddles in one, Penelope.” My face heats even with my lungs working with the bare minimum. And his- his face- he’s murderous, gleeful, focused. His dark eyes sparkle but his frown is stiff. “For our next pair, remember what you said about the story of Never Never Land. If you break me I do not stop working; if you touch me I may be snared; if you lose me nothing will matter.” Pan looks below my eyes, then meets me again. “I claim the space beside you.” 

Mentally I divide his words into pieces like a puzzle: what’s usually a kiss, the new riddle, the matching pair. “Promise?” I ask, and he provides the thimble. I’ve never kissed anyone before, nor been kissed, not in ways that matter. But the delicate slant of Pan’s mouth to my cheek is significant enough to forget any similar experience. I find my breath again. 

What does this mean? Is it a good idea? Do I have a choice, can I reject whatever deal Pan has set on my soul? All questions not worth asking. 

“It’s been a long day for you,” he decides. “Go rest in the sun outside, and I’ll send Felix to wake you.” 

I dream of two brothers: the older a Captain, the younger a Lieutenant. They sail together on a Pegasus to a land of dreams. The sun is bright and soft, the sky bluer, water clearer than either of them could fathom. Perfect waves rock their boat as they release the anchor and paddle to shore with their best scouts. All through the journey they grin, honored to be given their mission and awestruck at the magic they’ve witnessed. The older walks just ahead, and they split from the scouts, all with scrolls stowed in their coats. By order of the King they’ll find their bounty. A medicinal plant. They begin their search, trusting the scouts to find and report or neutralize any threats, or to gather the plant themselves should they come upon it, when a boy makes himself known; he’s odd, doesn’t understand their mission, turns them against each other. The boy insists that the plant will decimate populations with a mere nick. That it is a poison without an antidote, even for those gifted with unusually long lives. His eyes sparkle oddly with youth that doesn’t match his words. Nervous, the younger brother turns to the Captain and wonders if he’s correct. They argue, pushing each other to be noble and compassionate in turn, when the older brother marches up to the bush they were led to and drags a thorn across his arm. He falls. The younger brother pays with currency he can’t comprehend just for a few more hours- and then he’s alone. He curses the King’s lie. 

Slightly nudges my arm with a mud-caked foot. “Don’t tell me you’re comfortable. What were you thinking?” Through pained grunts as I unstick my body from the rock, I tell him about the sunlight. He snorts. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“What?” 

No answer. He just shrugs and we make our way back to the camp without too many more words. 

In what is probably a good sign for me, Pan isn’t there when we arrive. Henry is, off to the side with the Lost Boy he fought. Slightly follows my steps when I make my way over and I hold back any protests. Henry jumps when he notices us and sends the boy away. I’m not about to make any assumptions based on his demeanor- I barely know the kid, and Pan is no doubt reserving his most intense psychological games for him. 

“Robin,” he greets me, and adds quieter, “Felix.” 

“What was that about?” I watch the Lost Boy wander off. 

“He was just congratulating me.” Huh? I look back at Henry, and he continues, “on becoming a Lost Boy, I mean.” His gaze keeps flicking between me and Slightly, but Slightly takes the opposite of the hint and grins slow, stepping up and leaning an elbow on my shoulder. 

“That mean you’ll come hunting with us?” 

“Not yet.” Pan interrupts by materializing at Henry’s shoulder, mirroring Slightly’s pose but with his elbow on Henry’s head, given their height difference. They stare at each other for a moment and then break off, prompting Henry to deflate. 

“Henry?” I ask him, herding him behind a tree so we can sit in relative solitude. But I don’t think for a moment that we have any privacy. “Are you alright?” 

Henry sighs. I’m surprised again by how much he seems to pack into his little head. “My family’s here,” he admits. It’s almost too quiet for me to hear. “They said they’re coming to get me, but, I just get the feeling that Pan’s in control of every little thing.” 

I would assume so, myself, but I don’t tell him that. He deserves comfort; I won’t change my mind after a few unsolicited gifts. I won’t even think about the thimble. “Remember what you said, before? When we first got here?” Before. It’s odd, that I can’t really say it, even though Dad’s absence rings incessantly in the space around me whenever I have half a mind to think. Even when I’ve grieved him and grieved who I wanted him to be and grieved Mom and the chance I could have gotten with her and grieved Tamara when she wasn’t Mom and grieved my friends and grieved my life and grieved and grieved and- I wonder if I’ll ever do anything else, suddenly. Pan’s advice for Henry was to forget the things he couldn’t have, and in close proximity to whatever Pan is it seems easy enough. Maybe the trick is he knows it, knows his presence is the only reprieve from the shit he himself is responsible for. 

“I said,” Henry hiccups with shining eyes, “I said they’d come for me.” Yes, he snarked Dad and Tamara, and I did, too; I wouldn’t take that back. But Henry seems to be drowning in guilt. “But-“ 

“Henry.” 

“No, I-“ 

“What changed?” 

“Everything,” he sighs. “Everything’s different, I don’t know. If they manage it, will you come, too?” 

My teeth grind together as I try not to grimace. “I was intending to meet up with my mom outside of prison, but sure, I’ll join her.” My eighteenth birthday is too soon for this. The sheriff and the mayor’s son kidnapped, I’m the only surviving perpetrator, Henry’s been gaslit to hell? When Henry starts arguing that he’d vouch for me, I shut him down. “Henry, I helped them. On purpose. That was my role, I wasn’t just tagging along for the road trip songs, okay?” It feels awful, but I explain. “Even if your mom doesn’t arrest me, I’m headed nowhere fast. I have to stay here for any shot at leading a fulfilling life.” 

“I don’t want to leave without you.” 

I won’t pretend I haven’t been manipulated. Like a marble on a plate, or clouds in a storm system: Pan is the point of lowest pressure, and he’s lifted the plate with his own hands, plucked me out of my general misery to entertain him. The tree we’re hiding behind scrapes my shoulder through the cloak when I start in a direction I can’t see the end of. I don’t know what to say, so I just let my feet go where they will and stop at Pan’s side. 

“I haven’t read much fantasy in my life,” I admit under my breath, “but magic rules are usually more specific than a price, right?” 

“You want to know what I can do and how?” 

Not really. Fire dances in his eyes even though Nibs and the spit he’s always turning are yards away. Fire, and stars. And the cold, stifling vacuum of being spun in Pan’s orbit. “Just tell me what I’m paying for shit I didn’t order,” I say, more than a little breathless. 

Peter Pan turns more fully towards me and tilts his head it what isn’t a nod. Then he steps forward, just off center so our temples knock together when I gasp; when I try to lean back, it’s with resistance from my cloak. My vision tunnels and the air only gets thinner when I dare look at him, so I close my eyes. It’s almost worse. Almost. Blood pounds in my ears loud enough to drown the camp out, but I can hear quiet puffs of air and the creak of every fine hair bent by our heads. An inch to one side and we’d be kissing, an inch forward and we’d be hugging. Or some undoubtably elusive version of such things. Pan moves in neither direction; he turns his head, knocking his jaw against mine until his cold breath draws between the top of my ear and my hairline again. Everything I thought before about him being the one comfort to all his horrors was wrong! Peter Pan is just so fucking overwhelming that it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I haven’t breathed in minutes, I don’t care to think, by the time he chooses to speak again. 

He says, “no.” 

In my mind the storm cloud has already broken, but when I open my eyes, it seems I have, too. There’s barely any sensation coming from my knuckles when I can clearly see myself trading hits with Peter Pan. My body has decided, for me, to break formation and leap from the plate. There’s other information to take in, I’m sure- I’ve only seen Pan breathe without an audience twice- but the glare of each point of contact is more powerful than anything. I don’t even feel it, not really, but seeing it happen is intoxicating. Is this torture? More mind games? It certainly feels like I’m being puppeted. I could very well just be going insane, which wouldn’t be all Pan’s fault. But for hours I rain and he enjoys it. The head rush takes forever to quiet down. 

When I wake, I feel more rested than I probably ever have in my life. I’m flat on my back, warm, my head supported, no biological needs calling for me yet. The ache in my muscles is comforting, in a way. Grounds me to the moment and helps me think of nothing. When I release my hands from the fists they seem stuck in, I find them bruised and cracked; my body and mind feel rejuvenated, but at the same time, I can’t really go lax. Something draws close to my brow, drifts from lash to lash until I turn away. A puff of air crosses my face. 

My first suspicion is a bug. Dad has never woken me up so slowly, preferring to nudge my arm until I shake him off. Most of the time, he just yells from the kitchen- 

A canvas roof greets my eyes. Dad is dead. 

“Fuck,” I hiss to myself, and “shit,” for good measure. My throat swells, my eyes burn, my ears shift with pressure. 

“Did you know,” Bee starts as he marches into the tent. I look around and find where we deposited the twins and Tootles, but no one is around. “Two brothers came to Neverland once, long ago. They sought Dreamshade, and believed it was a medicine. Pan thought it was funny. To prove him wrong, one brother cut himself with a thorn of Dreamshade and collapsed immediately.” Bee sits. “We Lost Boys watched the remaining brother beg Pan for help; it really was hilarious. Captain Hook, crying like a baby. Pan opened Neverland’s spring to him, which ties all who drink to the island, and Hook’s brother lived long enough to sail away and die.” 

“I think I did know,” I mutter, mostly to myself. But time is irrelevant, so I suppose it’s hardly surprising. That I drank water that has tied me to Neverland on pain of death is unsurprising, as well. 

The tent flap swings on a phantom wind. Any hope of gathering my composure disappears with the air, and I’m left crying without a sound, without reserve. Then he appears. “It’s time,” Pan says, and Bee pulls me to my feet. “The Dark One will die and be trapped in his vault, destroying Storybrooke in the process. I’ve looked forward to this since it was prophesized, as it’s so rare that I get to witness time.” An uncertain quip rises in my mind- he can witness time all he wants, where I’m from- but he seems to see it and flashes a grin. Equally unspoken: gutsy and clever, you lost one. If you lose me, nothing will matter. 

“Pan never fails!” Bee cheers, and shoves me forward, stumbling to avoid the figure in front of me at all costs. 

“That’s right,” Pan answers, and lifts one hand into view just to hold his fingertips a breath away from my mouth. He lowers it and pinches the column of my throat, hard. “Let’s go, then.” 

It’s becoming clear that Henry is woefully virtuous. His optimism knows no bounds, even if his mood isn’t always cheery; there’s a quality to him that says he’s seen the darkness life has to offer and chosen to deny it the satisfaction of breaking him. Can’t relate, but, I respect it. He’s still a kid, though. It grates on me but I am, too. Pan, in his ageless boyhood, has long since dug his hands into those qualities of Henry’s and convinced him there’s an evil afoot that pales in comparison to Tamara supposedly killing Knight. Henry would give anything to help resolve it. Pan all but guides my limbs to pose as if we’re the closest of friends. Did Henry see me, in my moment of fury? Somehow I doubt it: Pan has only encouraged a found family between me and Henry. 

As it is, Pan makes to appear caught up in a conversation with me and Latch when Henry storms up to us and says, “I know about your secret, I followed Felix.” 

Pan also makes to appear surprised by this, and subsequently guilty. “I didn’t want-“ 

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Henry turns to me for support. “The island’s magic is dying, and it’s taking Wendy Darling with it.” 

“It’s not your fault, Henry,” Pan interrupts, before my grimace is too obvious. 

“Wendy said I can help, you- you said I can help, with the heart of the truest believer, right?” 

Almost sounding hesitant, leaving just enough of a breath to send Henry careening for a goal that- by my calculations, at least, which could be equally brainwashed- doesn’t exist, “yes.” 

“Take me to Skull Rock,” Henry says. Neither of them look at me or Latch but I follow and Latch stays behind. 

The island does look like it’s dying as we walk. If I hadn’t just witnessed mind-breaking horrors, if I wasn’t so keenly aware of the moon peeking between those wilted treetops, I might question it. But I don’t, my feet catching as many stones and twigs as they do on every walk through the jungle. My cloak frays on low vegetation that I can’t quite see, but seems starved for attention nonetheless. We walk a messy path through dry undergrowth, sodden dirt and decay below that, until the trees go from upright to just tilted. Skull Rock- named so for good reason, but only just associating itself with a VHS-quality memory- is across only a lagoon, though. We don’t hit any sand approaching the little canoe that will evidently take us to whatever glows in the house-sized boulder standing untouched by the sea’s erosion. As if it were carved, but it couldn’t be, it looks entirely natural and anatomically correct. It looks to be both stone and bone at the same time. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Pan tells Henry lowly even as the canoe drifts unnaturally towards us. And Henry rises to the bait. 

“Yes, I do.” 

We leave the trees behind and the moon glares down at the boat, at Skull Rock when we reach it and it’s even larger than a house. Close to where the ear would be is an opening with stairs, and Henry and I forge ahead with Pan bringing up the rear after a moment. I don’t even try to guess why. 

“Your arrival here was foretold,” Pan murmurs as we climb. “You would have showed up sooner or later. Still, I’m glad you’re here.” 

“What exactly do I need to do?” 

The staircase curves and opens up, flattening to the open skull with stars and the moon faintly daring to crawl through the eye sockets. Seafaring paraphernalia clutters up the space, an overturned table here and a torn sail there. “This is where Neverland’s magic is weakest,” Pan explains. He doesn’t answer Henry’s question, but then begins giving him simple instruction. “Sit here,” he says, and we settle in a circle where the brain might be, knees locked like magnets. 

“I’m scared,” Henry admits, after a heavy few seconds. I grab his hand; whatever Pan’s making him do, I can’t let him endure it alone, and Pan has allowed me such a role. I’ll take full advantage of it. “Thank you, Robin,” he whispers. 

“Close your eyes,” Pan instructs, reaching for Henry’s other hand. And mine, useless as the idea seems to me. He guides Henry’s to the boy’s own shoulder, then down, pressing over his ribs. “Can you feel it? Your heart?” 

My own eyes have begun to drift shut when footsteps scratch and echo around the room, and then a voice, “stop.” 

Henry flinches. Pan lets go of his hand, but not entirely, as if willing to let them talk but only for a moment. They both twist to face Mr. Gold: like Pan, he has no shadow. It’s only obvious because of Skull Rock’s eerie untraceable light source. Weak magic, my ass. “Mr. Gold, I-“ 

“I know, laddie,” Mr. Gold tells Henry, “you just want to help. You’re a good kid.” His grimace is sour, his hair thin, his posture uneven, but he reaches out placatingly to the three of us. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” 

“I’m the only one who can do this.” 

“It’s his choice,” Pan shrugs, though his arms are spread to hold both our hands. Mr. Gold looks at him and something in his presence reminds me of the moment he tore Tamara’s heart out and crushed it in his hand. Or her lung, or whatever it was. Given the heart talk, I’m inclined to believe the former… 

What can be broken, touched, snared, lost? What can go through all manners of torture and, like Henry, swell again with love? It feels silly to think of the riddles in the middle of what is surely a battle between powerful magic users. But I do it anyways; putting all the answers together, each piece of this exact setting that Pan has been spelling out since I met him and probably for centuries and no time at all beforehand, still provides nothing but the small victory of sorting out a puzzle. I can’t help. I squeeze Henry’s hand a bit tighter. “Your heart,” I say, dumb. He nods. 

“Stop,” Mr. Gold says again, “Henry, this is between me and him. Whatever he’s told you, it’s a trick. I simply owe a debt.” 

“A life debt, that Wendy is supposed to pay.” The tale twists further, whatever it is. “Henry, it’s up to you.” 

“I can’t let that happen.” Mr. Gold decides to demonstrate by conjuring a small brown and red item in his hand, and he waves his other hand over it, but nothing happens. I assume that something is supposed to happen. 

“Pandora’s Box,” Pan names the item. “It can trap anything one wants it to, forever. Or it could, if it were real. See, I have to real one,” he says, and laughs a little. His hands linger but he approaches Mr. Gold with an identical conjured item of his own. In his absence, I’m unmoored, but in the way that I usually am when he’s near, which is all the more disorienting. “I’m hurt that you’d do such a thing, Rumple, I really am, so I won’t hurt you by trying the same.” Both boxes disappear. 

“I can do it,” Henry insists, standing as well and pulling me along. He reaches up again to his ribcage, where his heart must be. I wrench it away without thinking and he gasps, “Robin, I can do it-“ 

“Why, Henry?” I snap. My thoughts are almost as much of a fog as when I fought Pan. Why give up his actual heart? To prove he has one? Pan’s game is above him, and I don’t think he has to die for things to play out. “You said your moms are here, you said you heard your dad, you see Mr. Gold; why should everything rest on your shoulders?” He shouldn’t be here at all. 

“If I can do it, I should, Robin, it would be selfish not to.” 

“It would be selfish to make yourself a hero and a martyr.” 

The room darkens. More footsteps rush up the stairs, eventually revealing the sheriff and the mayor. But Henry seems unconvinced, or even annoyed, by my words, and drives his hand impossibly into his own torso in front of everyone. What he reveals is nothing like the thing Tamara died looking at. It’s a small sun, golden and gleaming, reflecting Skull Rock’s light and overpowering it. I’d be hard pressed to call it a heart. The new arrivals shout in alarm, scrambling forwards only to be stopped by something I don’t care to inspect. All I watch is Henry, and then Pan when he steps up beside me and holds out his hand. All of a sudden I stand on my own two feet again and an inkling of dread plants itself in the back of my mind. Henry surrenders the light. 

“What’ll it be, then, Rumple? His or yours?” Pan asks as Henry begins to wheeze. In a flash, though, wind bursts through the room and Mr. Gold is on Pan, capturing him from behind. 

“Yours,” Mr. Gold snarls, and in the inertia of his attack drives some dagger I just barely see into Pan’s chest. Between his ribs. Through, to his own heart, if the choked-off gasp is anything to go off. “Take-“ he breathes heavily, his final words directed behind him- “take my shadow.” When they collapse, I don’t move. The tangle of corpses by my feet seems hardly real, like the heart still in Pan’s lax grip. The mayor picks the latter up with care and surprising speed to return it. I feel like I know something I shouldn’t, watching Mr. Gold’s body turn to mist. Like Pan allowed his mouth to run the way Bee allows his. After only a moment of hugging and apologizing do the moms turn to me. 

“Gold’s shadow will get us back to Storybrooke,” Sheriff Swan tells me in the same light tone she used when we first met. I nod. 

“I’m fine,” Henry is scowling, brushing his mothers off. “You don’t know that this’ll solve anything.” 

“Honey, he was keeping the island captive. Without him, we can bring everyone to safety,” The mayor argues. The sheriff watches me closely for a few lingering moments. 

She has questions, obviously. I expected that much. Actually, I expected more, but she probably imagines me a grieving daughter more than an accomplice. Even if I did assist with her son’s kidnapping, she treats me the same as when Dad was in the hospital. But the facts catch up when the moment is over. “Gold said they didn’t know who they were working for.” 

“It’s not that simple,” I grimace. Henry will be able to warn them all of the Home Office once they return to Storybrooke. Or whatever remains. The idea of going with them rings through me like a tuning fork to my bones, chilling me; I very well can go, and finish high school in a group home, and find Mom in a few more years. My feet don’t move, however, and that pit of dread tells me I’ve already agreed to something else entirely. 

Neither mother suspects it, or if they do, they don’t say, and Henry says, “what about the Lost Boys?” 

“I’ve been in the system,” the sheriff admits suddenly. “I’ll make sure it’s a smooth ride for them.” With nothing keeping us in Skull Rock, they turn to go, giving me odd looks when I drag Pan’s body with an old hammock crusted with dead algae and left draped across an empty chest. His literal dead weight is almost too heavy to roll into the hammock, and I cringe each time he thumps down another step towards the boat, but I can’t leave him behind. It works. 

I don’t dare look at him as we make our way through the jungle back to camp. Given the beating my feet take on the journey, I don’t want to think about Pan. Carrying his extra weight makes my heels dig further into the mud and definitely gets me a cut or two on rocks that would have done nothing but pinch, before. Nobody helps me; I’m almost glad, I think, it’s better this way. When we arrive in sight of all the Lost Boys tied up and guarded by four adults I don’t know and Knight, however, the mayor uses magic to lift Pan’s body in the air and gloat. 

“What is it you kids like to say?” She waves her hand and grins. “Pan never fails?” Slightly shouts, getting to his feet with a fierce snarl, but he’s quickly shoved back down. The mayor only preens. “Yes, I think that’s it.” 

“Henry,” I murmur, “you should go.” But he glares at me. I remember what he said- that he doesn’t want to leave without me- but the beauty of the idea is intangible. 

“The shadow will fade soon,” the sheriff tells the other adults and Knight after explaining what happened. Knight brings Henry into a tight hug and they both seem to blink away tears after. “We need to go, and quickly.” Meanwhile, the mayor has grown tired of playing with Pan’s body. Slightly begs something with his eyes that I can’t decipher, but I get the sense that we’re on the same page, anyways. I’ll need a weapon: Henry created a sword from a stick, but somehow I doubt the same will happen for me, so I look around at Henry’s family for opportunity. Slightly jerks until I look back at him and follow his own emphatic glare to a man holding a hook. The same man who went with Dad and Tamara into the mines. Captain Hook, I assume, to whom the clutter in Skull Rock likely belonged. Beyond the hook, he’s littered with small shiny things that I can sort through mentally as I try to edge my way towards him without seeming too focused. His face becomes familiar as I get nearer. 

“You’re the younger brother,” I say, quiet enough that no other conversations are interrupted but loud enough for him to face me head on. 

Under the new beard, and the new lines set in his face, and under the wind-burn on his cheekbones and the scrutiny in his eyes, he is undeniably the younger brother. “What did you just say?” He asks me, reaching for one of his weapons himself as I pick the one I’ll take. But the question asks itself. 

“What happened? With the king?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Did he win his war?” I edge closer. “He didn’t get any nightshade, I assume.” Horror fills his expression. 

“Who told you of this?” 

The next words chill me. “Neverland is a place where time stands still.” Spoken with Slightly’s intonation, it catches me off guard, Pan’s voice echoing in my mind, but the chance is there and I can’t pass it up. Hook only flinches when I take the first knife, so I take another and leap away, out of range when he lunges with his namesake. My feet burn but I get the knife to Slightly, then run as fast as my body will allow past the other Lost Boys and back to Pan. They turn so I can cut them free as I go, and the last in line is Tootles. She takes the knife when I hand it to her. The Lost Boys won’t surrender, not twice. And it seems the magicians are out of juice or surprised enough to freeze. Maybe Pan- limp and definitely dead as he looks- is doing something. I don’t know two things about fairytales and this whole experience has only disproved whatever I thought I did know, but surely Peter Pan can’t die. And in Neverland, too? No. 

“Robin?” Henry yelps, dragged away by one of the people I don’t know. “Robin, come with us!” 

But I don’t move. Of all the ways this could end, I guess. The Lost Boys seem to be conjuring magic of their own, forcing the group back, away from the camp, and as soon as the sheriff is past the mermaids she releases Mr. Gold’s shadow so it can possess the sail of their pirate ship. The Lost Boys whoop and holler, sending magic over water that I swear wasn’t so close to camp before. They don’t have the time but Henry takes it anyways, sticking his hand out from the side of the ship as if to reach for me. I see it in the returned moonlight, small and frail and dirty. 

I slump over in the dirt. Pan doesn’t so much as twitch, let alone breathe, even after Henry’s family is gone. Wondering if I put my proverbial eggs on the wrong basket altogether leads me to wonder about that school receptionist. Will she hear that I’ve died? Will we be marked missing, Dad and I, or is this usual enough behavior for him that Mom will have to investigate on her own once she’s out? 

One question, though, I hope I can get an answer for. “Slightly,” I call, as he’s perched at the edge of the impromptu celebration. He crouches over Pan a moment before regarding me. “What happened to the Home Office?” 

Predictably, his smirk sharpens. He brushes some firelit honey hair from Pan’s cheek.