#Robin. I am seducing your son. Say something about it!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Since Miraculous Ladybug is becoming for more mature audiences it should split povs between Marinette and Adrien. Its upsetting how Adrien has such a main character backstory yet he's not apart of it or a major character in the show even though he feels like it. It feels like he should be Marinette's costar but he's treated as some guy most of the time. I get that Marinette's the main character but still Adrien feels so wasted on. Honestly he kinda reminds me of Steven Universe. Dead mom, complex with not being entirely human, well meaning but absent dad(Gabriel's hearts was in the right place but just went down hill). Like when Adrien finds out about the whole sentimonster thing imagine the identity crisis he's gonna have. I also wonder what they're gonna do with Emilie. She's not dead anymore and she was the driving force for why Gabriel did what he did. I wonder if she's gonna be a good mom or if the fan theories are right and she's just as bad if not worse then Gabriel. Rose haunted the narrative because she was so important if it wasn't for her and her actions we probably wouldn't even have Steven Universe or the many momswap aus. But after Gabriel got all the Miraculouses Emilie felt kinda of forgotten and last minute when she was talked about.

Are there any other shows that you sometimes compare Miraculous too?

I don't think that Miraculous is aiming at more mature audiences now unless there was some announcement that I missed? If anything, I'm expecting season six to tone things back down because I'm guessing that it's going to be a soft reboot. New main villain, new animation style, new school, the signs are all there.

Shows rarely ever change their target audience like that. It's just too risky a move. You have to redo the marketing and somehow convey to parents that the show is no longer safe for their child as it's aimed at teens now. But anyone who wants a more serious show for teens isn't going to want to sit through the first five seasons which were not written like a serious show for teens, so the audience for this would be the small subsection of viewers who want to watch their childhood favorite get more serious.

While that's certainly a demographic, it's not the massive one you get when you stick to anyone ages five-and-up. Since five-and-up is also where the toy sales are and Miraculous has a lot of tie-in toys, it would be pretty wild if they abandoned that demographic at this point. I dug up an old tweet that I remembered seeing to give my warning some extra backing. For full context, this was in reply to a tweet asking if the writers consider the teen audience when writing the show:

[Image description: a tweet from the show's head writer reading "they are not the primary audience. The main target is kids 5 to 12 max. It doesn't mean we don't consider older audiences. But it means that whatever we write must not leave the kids behind."]

This tweet is admittedly over two years old and anything is technically possible, but I would strongly caution you against having expectations for more serious content unless you know something that I don't. The show was originally sold to investors, distributors, and so on as a kids show and, unless they were able to renegotiate those agreements, it's going to stay a kids show.

I'd also caution you against assuming that Emilie is alive. I thought that was where the show went, too, but statements from the writers have made it pretty clear that Emilie is well and truly dead, which further supports my soft reboot theory. Bringing her back means a stronger tie to the previous seasons and you don't want that for a soft reboot.

Please don't read this as me praising that writing choice! I think it was stupid as hell to magically bring back Nathalie while killing off Emilie. They were both dying and only one of them is a domestic terrorist who actively chose death by knowingly using the broken Miraculous. The other is a Good And Pure Soul Who Was Too Perfect For This Cruel World (or, at least, that's what the show seems to want us to think). Plus, if you're going to use the wish, do something big! Change the status quo! But that's not how formula shows work so they probably couldn't do that.

Quick side note: this is my best guess as to why the leaked scripts indicated that Emilie was going to come back when season five ended the show. Series finales are usually allowed include elements that would ruin the formula if the show continued because the show isn't continuing. Season finales are not allowed to do that because the next season needs to stick to the same formula. When season five went from end-of-show to a mere end-of-season, that probably signed Emilie's death warrant. Sorry Adrien, no happy ending for you! Hope you like being an orphan!

Moving on!

In my opinion, it feels like they only used the wish to let Gabriel die and get rid of Emilie without it being too traumatic for the indented audience, but it's still basically a murder suicide being treated as a happy ending which is wild! At least it was a pretty one where the murderer and his victim ascended into the light?

We admittedly might see larger impacts from the wish next season as we don't explicitly know what the wish was, but have they ever let a season finale lead to something interesting? Not really, so I don't see why that would change now. I'm not even sure if Adrien's sentistatus is going to come up again. It should, but it may also just fizzle out because the writers don't know how to deal with it. The sentimonster thing is not the kind of plot point that you can handle in 20 minutes, especially when you have to include some sort of akuma fight, too. Bringing up the sentistuff would also complicate a soft reboot so, yeah, I have no idea if they're ever going to touch it again.

As far as recs for shows like Miraculous go, I'm afraid that you'll have to be a little more specific about what you're looking for because Miraculous is trying and failing to be a lot of things. If you want a duo show with a lot of banter, a badass female lead, and a goofy-but-narratively-important male lead, then I'd point to Kim Possible. If you want a team show with romantic undertones, then Teen Titans is a good pick. If you want identity shenanigans, magic, and romance, then American Dragon Jake Long might be worth checking out in spite of the very dated slang, though fair warning that one is enemies to lovers. It's done in a very fun way, but it's not a partner show like Miraculous kind of is and the romance is also not the main focus.

Part of the reason I was drawn to Miraculous is that shows about superheroes don't tend to have a strong romance element to them, so there aren't a ton of options for me to give you when it come to shows that fill a similar niche. However, if you're willing to go into the realms of fanfic, then you've got a wealth of options. Pretty much any property with secret identities will have fics about identity shenanigan romances. Love squares are nothing new. I've been reading them for years! I basically watched Twelfth Night when I was about eight and never looked back. Identity shenanigans or bust!

People will even bring them into fandoms that don't have any secret identities because identity shenanigans are really fun to play with! They make for some of the best romances. I'm sure that you can also find them in novels, but it's not something I've seen a lot of, so I mostly stick to fanfic for my identity shenanigan needs. That's where almost all my recs are from.

Should I do a fanfic plug to demonstrate what I mean? Yeah, why not. This baby deserves more readers and, if you like Miraculous, then you'll probably love this. (Seriously, if you read it, feel free to come talk to me about it. It's so good and also proof that I really am drawn to very specific tropes. What can I say other than I know what I like?)

We Didn't Start The Fire by ohhgingersnaps

Ava is all burned out, literally— she’s an exhausted JojaCo employee by daylight, and pyrokinetic superhero The Phoenix by moonlight, until she accidentally starts a fire at work and has to blame it on her superpowered alter-ego to avoid being discovered. The Phoenix is forced into early retirement, and with nothing else to lose, Ava moves to her grandfather’s old farm for a new start. Between restoring the farm, resolutely bottling all of her feelings, and trying to keep her powers under wraps, Ava has a lot on her plate. She’ll figure it out. Eventually. She hopes. Meanwhile, the hacker Memento, Phoenix’s good friend and confidant, is left to pick up the pieces alone after her sudden disappearance. He’s fully convinced that she didn’t start the fire, and he’s determined to discover the truth and clear her name... As long as he doesn’t fall for the pretty new farmer down the road, first. Part superhero AU, part mental health recovery arc, and part rom-com, topped with a generous serving of secret identity love square shenanigans, hurt/comfort, shameless flirting and banter, and dramatic irony.

I've mentioned before that I don't like OC main characters. Video games are the one exception to that rule. I'm really not big on reader inserts (no judgement, just personal preference), so when I read fanfic for a video game with a self-insert type main character, I'm looking to read about people's fully developed OCs, but I also want a good deal of the focus to be on the game's characters as they're the only reason I'm looking for stuff to read. That's what this fic is and I love it!

I also wouldn't normally rec fanfic for properties outside of Miraculous since this is specifically a Miraculous blog, but this is Stardew Valley fanfic, which is why I picked it over fic from other, more complex properties. If you don't know that game, it's a farming sim whose cast is developed enough for you to get attached to them, but who don't have a ton of depth, so you can read this sucker without having touched the game because there's no deep lore here. The game dev is apparently pretty open about the fact that he kept lots of things about the characters ambiguous so you could read things like their relationships and ages in whatever way makes you happy. Only prep work I might recommend is reading the character summaries from the game's wiki and you'd only need to do that for the named characters.

As I said above, fics like this are where I get my more-serious-story-with-identity-shenanigan-included itch scratched and are what I'd recommend looking for in either fanfic or original fiction form if that's what you like as TV shows just don't seem to have this kind of content, probably because TV shows often draw plot lines out to maximize views while novel-style stories generally have a clear end goal, which is why it can be hard for TV romances to feel satisfying. However, there are certainly a ton of TV shows that I haven't watched, so if anyone has recs for anon, then feel free to drop a comment or give this a reblog with your rec list.

[thatsnotmygunflash]

WIP Title Tag Game

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thank you @incorrectcoldflashblog for the tag!! I have a ridiculous amount of WIPs, and this was a great way to finally sit down and make a list of all 92 of them 😅  I didn’t add my Sterek WIPs, mostly because there are 75 of them and I don’t have the time right now, but maybe I’ll do that at a different time. 

ColdFlash

A Brighter Future

An I’ll Use You As A Warning Sign 

Burn Notice

Cause Maybe You're That Thing I Need To Save Me

For Better Or Worse 

I Love to Hate Who I Was Because It Means I Could Change

I'd Cross Galaxies to Find You

I'll Tell You All About It When I See You Again 

I've Got Decades On You

It's The Second Glance That Ties Your Hands

Life Worth Fighting For

Love Me Silently 

Make Me Feel Seventeen Again

Maybe You Don't Know What's Lost Till You Find It

More Then What We Seem

No More Bad Boys

Romance Isn't Dead 

Side Effects May Include 

The Horrors I've Endured 

We Could Be Enough

Well Shit, If It Isn't The Consequences of My Actions 

What Are Friends For 

You Bring Stars To My Eyes

You Give Me Headaches 

You Got This Heaven In Your Eyes

You Know In Your Soul

You Need To Allow Me To Help 

You Should Be Here

Hannigram

A Day In The Life Of Someone Else

A Flight For The Fallen, Flies the Crow

I Dance With Demons On A High Wire 

I Won't Find A Way Out Looking Inside  

Batfamily

General 

409 In Your Coffeemaker

I Wish I Wasn't All Talk

I'm Your Mother Now

Never Gon' Get Away

One Of The Epics 

Robins Sanctuary

The Bat Academy 

The Nest

Waiting For Never

Tim/Jason

The Sparrows Tend To Fall Asleep

Dedicated To You

Everything Blurry Looks The Same

I'll Be A Better Man Today

Maybe If We Went Another Way

Product of Our Upbringings

Silent Protector 

Sit Back And Watch The Beauty In The Fall

The Robin To My Hood

You Are My Dream Come True

Your Name Has Echoed In My Mind

Slade/Dick

Falling Back Into You

Only One Place To Run To

Operation Osprey 

Relief 

Tim/Kon

Family Vacation 

Growing Pains

Wash Me With Your Water

Wayward Waynes

Buddie

Breakfast With Buck

Couches Make Great Metephors 

Call Me Anything But My Name  

Cowboy Like Me

The Other Mr. Diaz 

Am I Too Late

Ana vs. Buck

You Never Have To Pretend With Me

Who Gave You So Much Power?

MCU

Turn Back The Clock

Uncle Frank

Spideypool

How NOT To Seduce a Mercenary by Peter Parker

I'll Be Your Reason 

Same Side Of The Tracks

Spider Behavior 

Spideypool's First Couple's Retreat 

The Definition Of Insanity 

The Years Start Coming and They Don't Stop Coming

Yoda You Be My

People Say That's Love's a Game

Destiel 

73rd Hunger Games 

Cassie

Everything Went Right 

Family Engagement

Free Will Orphanage

The Rebels 

Weyler

A Little Bit Of Sugar, But Lots Of Poison Too

Courting an Addams

Love Drunk On Your Blood Till Sunrise

Percy Jackson

The Age of Prophecies

The Favored Son 

Trending Water in the Wishing Well

I'm tagging @thefastestqueeralive @simpledontmeanpeachy @vexic929 @nytephox @tiger-in-the-flightdeck @tiacat11 @whaaaaaaaalllle6 and who ever else wants to do it!

[zawazawanightmares]

Starfire & Nick Wilde

You, Trans!Starfire, are connected to Nick Wilde Your partner selected the Roleplay server. Please keep the chat clean.

Nick Wilde: (FTM or MTF? Want to make sure I get pronouns right.

Trans!Starfire: Hello, small orange bipedal creature!

Trans!Starfire: (MTF. Thanks for asking.)

Nick Wilde: "Hello m'lady." The fox replied politely "I assume you're part of that 'teenage heroes' group I've heard about? You're certainly an interesting bunch, from what I've seen."

Trans!Starfire: "I am! We are fairly into our late teens but we are indeed the Teen Titans!" The orange-skinned alien happily agreed. "We appreciate being called interesting. I will make sure to share the sentiment with the others."

Nick Wilde: "That's good to know, maybe you can help me out a bit? Our force has been asked to help track down a shady guy..." he got his notepad out, looking up at the other "...and considering your guys' career, you might be able to help us out a bit, hm?"

Trans!Starfire: "Of course! We are always willing to assist in enforcing the nebulous concept of justice!" She smiled. "Who do you need help in tracking down?"

Nick Wilde: "Uhhh, this creepy guy with a mask, apparently he's named 'Slade', and if we find the fuck he's gonna be found guilty for a lloooooooooooooooooot of murders. Would you happen to have seen him in recent memory? "

Trans!Starfire: "Slade...you wouldn't happen to mean "Slade Wilson"?"

Nick Wilde: "I mean...sure? All we got on here is the name 'Slade'. But hey, any info you can give me is good info. So go ahead, spill it out when you're ready!" he started to write down a few details.

Trans!Starfire: She gave him a serious expression. "His name is Slade Wilson but his codename is Deathstroke The Terminator. He has possessed a notable enmity towards our team since the death of his son and our former teammate, Jericho, which he holds us responsible for. He especially is obsessed with conquering our leader, Robin. He possesses peak human fitness, an extensive amount of expertise with different weapons and martial arts and an accelerated healing factor that makes him significantly harder to kill than the average human."

Nick Wilde: "...Oh. Great. Auto-healing." the cop sounded disappointed at that. This guy sounded like he was gonna be a fighter. Not a good sign. "Alright, well he's specifically after you guys. How much trouble has he caused you? Is there a specific way he's attacked? Do you know if he has weaknesses of any kind?"

Trans!Starfire: Starfire frowned. "The thing about that man...he doesn't just rely on his physical gifts. He is quite the manipulative tactician. He once seduced a young woman so that she could enter the team and expose to him our identities. He has also performed calculated attacks on other heroes by analyzing their weaknesses before hunting them. If I would to say he has a weakness, the major one would be his pride. He sees himself as a professional and anything that threatens that image will result in him flying into a frothing, if predictable, rage. He also may have a healing factor but enough damage he will need to slow down to recover from, especially outright mortal wounds. In particular, he seems to be protective of his remaining eye.

Nick Wilde: Nick's ears perked up a bit as she talked, a smile growing on his face. It was clear some gears were turning in his head "Manipulative? A way with words? I ^^think^^ that's something I might be able to work with." he explained as he started to give a rather aggressive underline in his notes. "If he wants to play a mental battle, trust me, I'm up to bat. This wouldn't be my first rodeo with something like that. Surely if this guy is as mentally cocky as you say he is, a little verbal sparring should be a slam dunk with this guy." he put his notebook away, having an attack method. He could manipulate when he really wanted to. Though luckily he rarely if ever wanted to.

Trans!Starfire: "Yes, keeping one's wits about them is the best method to dealing with Slade. He's devious but he is wide open to counterattacks when he's not expecting them." Starfire nodded.

Nick Wilde: "Alright. You're being very helpful...One more question..." he asked as he cracked his knuckles a bit "Would you happen to have an approximate location of where he was last? I think I'd like to have a little 'meeting' with this fellow." the idea of a mental battle was exciting him a bit. Maybe too much, but hey, he wanted to see how this would pan out.

Trans!Starfire: "Hmm...the last time we heard a report about him, he was said to be staying in the general location of a certain...Mr. Big?" Starfire tapped her lips. "We did not recognize the name but I believe he is involved in the local mafia?"

Nick Wilde: His expression changed...quite a bit at that. Mr. Big betrayed him?? How could he? But silver lining; at least that'd make hunting him down easier. He remained calm visually, politely asking "Oh. Deary. Would you happen to know why he's involved with them? They're two individuals that I wouldn't really expect to be connected."

Trans!Starfire: "Apparently, the small rodent sir hired him in order to tie up "two furry loose ends". We're still pouring through his list of former associates to discover who they are so that they can be protected."

Nick Wilde: That couldn't be him, could it? They were friends with his daughter! He would never...would he...? "Well, do you know what these 'loose ends' did that would provoke him to commit such an action? Maybe I could help with that. He certainly hasn't talked to me about it recently..."

Trans!Starfire: "Excuse me, are you associated with him?" She asked. "If so, you are in serious danger. Mr. Big is looking into expanding his territory which involves making allies in higher places. One of those allies is Bruno Mannheim of Intergang. He is the one who told him to cut ties with anyone associated with law enforcement."

Nick Wilde: "WHAT/!?!?!?" he started to internally panic. Bigs couldn't be talking about him. He couldn't. He wouldn't...would he? "I'll just have to talk to Big about it on a one-to-one level. Talking to them separately would probably be my safest bet. Can't talk to both at once. I assume this Bruno guy hates the cops?"

Trans!Starfire: "Um...his Intergang follows something called The Crime Bible...and he is rumored to eat subordinates who fail him. Oh wait, you asked for how he felt about cops. Um...surely not moreso than other criminals?"

Nick Wilde: "...Did you say 'eat' them?" he seemed confused. "You're telling me he threatened to eat Mr. Big?"

Trans!Starfire: "No, just those who work underneath him. And fail him. And taste good with spiced meatballs."

Nick Wilde: "So wait, wait, backup...What creature would you say Bruno is? I need a little context here if you're saying he literally eats other people..." he seemed very confused at this point. Now his plans seemed just a bit thrown off.

Trans!Starfire: "Ah, he is completely human. A mad cannibal but a human nonetheless."

Nick Wilde:  He took a minute to collect himself and absorb the information. He put together everything piece by piece. "Okay, so, let's back up once more; forgive me for being redundant. But I'm assuming Bruno is threatening to eat Mr. Big if he doesn't comply with the 'cutting out cops' thing, would you say that's correct?"

Trans!Starfire: "Oh, I do not know...I do believe Mr. Big has partaken in the consumption of lower levels of the mafia with Bruno, if some reports are to be correct."

Nick Wilde: "Bullshit! How would an animal that small eat other creatures like that?" he was trying to figure the other out. Was she lying to him? Was this a sick joke of hers? "Okay, look, you're saying the Slade guy is after me, or at least implying it. So: my best bet is to wait. I'll walk around town, maybe get myself a coffee. When this Slade guy is ready for a mental battle, I'm more than happy to meet him..."

Trans!Starfire: "Wait...is Mr. Big not a possum? Not taking size into account, does he not eat carrion or other dead things?"

Nick Wilde: He gave the other a glance that could only be read as 'are you kidding me?' "You found out all this info on Slade's connections and you don't know who the boss is? Mr. Big is a r a t. Nowhere near a possum."

Trans!Starfire: "Ah...the coloration made him resemble a possum. That is entirely my mistake. Still, are rats not omnivorous?"

Nick Wilde: "I think they are? But still, he's...miniscule? Tiny? All those other synonyms? I doubt he'd be eating people like that..."

Trans!Starfire: "Sure, not whole...but maybe he nibbles on the offerings? None of it is nutritional, it's all a display of power."

Nick Wilde: "It still really doesn't seem like something he'd do. Usually he just ices people when they piss him off enough. He doesn't really do the whole 'crime-brag' thing."

Trans!Starfire: "That is a good point. However, he is expanding his territory. He most likely the reputation to deal with the larger gangs."

Nick Wilde: "I don't see why he'd be needing to expand like this in the first place. His gang was perfectly...happy....?" he wasn't really sure how to aesthetically describe a gang. "I don't get the guy sometimes, really."

Trans!Starfire: "Evil is rather obtuse at times. If it makes you feel any better, I believe his intentions aren't personal in nature."

Nick Wilde: "How can attempting to plan a murder a specific target not be personal?!?!"

Trans!Starfire: "It's difficult to explain...when I asked Robin, he revealed that most crime bosses tend to consider pre-meditated murder, especially in your case where it's an attempt to gather a reputation, "business"."

Nick Wilde: "...I just don't get it..." he seemed somewhat disappointed "Why of all people I'd be the one considered a loose end is beyond me. I thought we trusted eachother."

Trans!Starfire: "This is very hard information to take in, sir." Starfire placed a sympathetic hand on Nick's shoulder. "Sadly, trust is easy to drop with people like that. If you are not in his immediate circle, and sometimes even then, you'll always be another asset to him. Someone to use regardless of how friendly you two act towards each other."

Nick Wilde: "I was in his immediate circle! We literally saved his daughters life! Is that not good enough for him?!?! I just...wh...I..." he stammered, so confused."

Trans!Starfire: "That's how men in his position are. I'm sorry, officer. If this was a fair universe, this would not be happening to you."

Nick Wilde: "Well..." he sighed, though he was still willing to take on the battle "You've been in this situation before, feel free to tell me some advice for how I should go about this.." he felt like he could still try and manipulate Slade. It wasn't impossible...was it?

Trans!Starfire: "Hm...Slade isn't expecting a fight. So maybe you should work with that? You and your partner should "welcome" him to your assassination. The courtesy will confuse him...and maybe give you an opening."

Nick Wilde: "Oh...don't worry, she's on other missions around here. I'm not sure I'd want her too involved in the Slade situation..." he explained, conveniently hiding the silver ring on his left hand "Though speaking of; did you happen to see a gray rabbit anywhere around here?"

Trans!Starfire: "A couple...although one in a police uniform was helping an old goat cross the street earlier."

Nick Wilde: "...That sounds like her..." he said with a small smile. He sounded proud with that sentence. "Well, I appreciate all the help you gave with this situation. If you'll excuse me there's a certain individual I need to have a 'talk' with. It was very nice meeting you!" he insisted with a smile, starting to walk away.

Trans!Starfire: "It was nice meeting you too, Mister...I apologize, I never got your name!" She called out.

Nick Wilde: "Officer Wilde, or Nick, whichever's your favorite." he turned back around, offering the nice lady a hand to shake.

Trans!Starfire: "I am Koriand'r, or Kory as my friends call me." Starfire smiled, shaking his hand. "I am also known by the name Starfire."

Nick Wilde: "Well, it was lovely meeting you, Ms. Fire." he even gave a polite bow. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have important business matters to attend to." he gave a nod, before turning back around, his expression much more serious. He was ready for a battle.

Trans!Starfire: "Godspeed, Mr. Wilde!" Starfire smiled. It would do Deathstroke good to experience defeat from an unlikely source...

You left the chat

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Mama Claudia AU, In Comes Steve

"So when were you going to tell me that your stepbrother's trying to seduce my mom?" Dustin slammed his hands on the table Max and the rest of his friends were sat at inside Scoops Ahoy. The redhead choked on her milkshake at the accusation. Coughing and hacking as Lucas pat her on the back in an attempt to help her breath again.

"Excuse me? What?" Max asked incredulously, watching Dustin wedge himself in the booth on the other side next to Mike.

"Your brother. I came home to find him at my house with my mom doting on him!"

"Oh." The girl rolled her eyes. "For a minute I thought you actually saw them kissing or something."

"They might as well have! She was feeding him casserole!"

"She's been doing that for a couple of weeks dude." Mike said, semi annoyed as he grabbed some napkins out of the dispenser to wipe off the mess caused by Dustin shoving him.

"Weeks?" Dustin gaped.

"Yeah he keeps bringing leftovers in Tupperware home." Max added.

"Don't know why you're surprised." Lucas shrugged at his friend. "She's been doing it since you went to camp. You know how she gets."

Mrs. Henderson was famously overprotective. Mike's mom always mentioned something about Mr. Henderson being the reason she was like that but none of the kids understood what that meant. She drove Dustin, and subsequently them, everywhere. Joining the PTA, crossguard and almost anything else that involved her son. It was smothering sometimes but Dustin still loved her.

"Face it Dustin." Mike gave up on wiping the ice cream off as he turned to his friend. "You've been replaced."

"Shut your damn mouth." Dustin snapped and Mike defensively threw his hands up. "I have not been replaced. She was just lonely. But now I'm back and he can stop showing up."

"Nah little dude, I don't think it works that way." The group turned to see Steve leaning on the front counter, head on his palm. "Couldn't help but listen in and I kind of agree with Debbie Downer over there. Your mom is really attached to Billy. I saw her going through the JC Penny's clearance rack to buy some clothes for him. Asked her about and she said she wanted him to have something nice to wear for o-er, a date he was going on."

"Are you shitting me?"

"Can't say I am. Now are you going to actually buy anything or are you going to stick around all day and take up space like the rest of the shit birds?"

"Hey, we bought ice cream!" Mike protested as a timer on the counter behind Steve began to ring.

"And that's my break. Robin! Your turn to man the front counter." Steve called out as a girl came out from the back and the kids turned to each other when Dustin asked.

"Since when did Steve start to use the term 'shit bird'?"

~~

"Hey! No running!" Billy blew his whistle from where he was perched atop the lifeguard chair. God he hated Saturdays. Too many people thought the public pool was a free babysitting service, parents dropping their kids off and fucking off to wherever they wanted to go. They didn't even get paid to do it like with swim lessons.

"Hey blondie," a knock on his chair made the teen look down to see Heather leaning against the wooden tower, "your shift's over. Boyfriend's waiting for you outside."

"He's not my boyfriend." Billy said as he climbed down. Despite the oversized sunglasses, the blonde knew she was giving him a disbelieving look.

"Okay well your sugar daddy is parked in his BMW outside and still wearing his little sailor uniform so have fun with that. Meanwhile I'm going to be dealing with little Willy Horowitz who, despite having almost drowned twice this week, has yet again been abandoned by his father who is currently hitting on single moms at the pool side."

"Yeah, sucks to be you." Billy smirked as she flipped him off. Plus side of taking morning shifts was getting off just before shit started hitting the fan. Heading into the locker room, the boy punched in the time clock and he was officially off. Shrugging on his red jacket, Billy made his way out to the parking lot where Steve was indeed sitting in his new, white BMW. Waving to the blonde as he got in the passenger seat. "You're early." Billy glanced around to make sure there was no one else in the parking lot before leaning in for a kiss.

"Yeah, managed to convince Robin to let me take a longer break if I did all the closing duties."

"Really? Well I'll have to give her a personal thank you. How's she feel about tater tot casserole? Mrs. Henderson has once again given me far too many leftovers to actually eat." Steve snorted extremely loudly at this. "What?"

"Dustin stormed into Scoops Ahoy, shouting about how you were seducing his mom and getting her to make you food."

"Yeah. I know. He freaked out when he saw me yesterday." Billy revealed. Pulling out a cigarette and trying to light it before Steve snatched it out of his hand. "Hey!"

"What did I tell you about smoking in my car?" Steve asked as he put the car in gear before beginning to drive. "Besides that shit is bad for you. Gonna die early if you keep that up."

"Who says I don't want that?"

"Me, asshole." Billy laughed at how serious Steve sounded. "I'm serious, could you at least try the nicotine gum I gave you? Or...I could tell Mrs. Henderson about your nasty little habit."

"You wouldn't."

"I would. Come on, for me." Billy knew if Steve wasn't driving he'd be giving him the signature Harrington look. Big hazel doe eyes pleadingly looking up at his not so secret boyfriend. Even imagining it made Billy seemingly relent.

"Fine. I'll try it. But next date night? You'll have to do something special to convince me."

"Don't worry, I've got a few things planned."

[adarkgreensoul]

Ok then, just binge listened to EOS 10 and gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting the feels there. Nope, I did not see that one coming. Under the cut, you’ll see how my mind went from “this is the closest thing to comedy in space I could find” to “remember when all our problems were about a non-stopping boner?” in four seasons. Spoilers, obviously.

Season 1

- After Wolf 359, I need more space related stuff. Please let this be light-hearted space stuff.

- Ryan is a piece of sunshine that must be protected, just saying.

- Levi? Like Attack on Titan cool badass Levi? *5 seconds later when he asks if he should take off his pants* Nope, this aint that type of Levi.

- Urvidian is not having a good time.

- The way I see it Ryan spends a week finding the alcohol Urvidian hid in the weirdest places.

- This podcast has some good soundtrack.

- Ryan just called Jane a bitch and I'm living for it. It surprised me so much I cackled in the middle of a very silent bus ride.

- “Your penis almost exploded.” and "My eyes are up here." are the running gags of this show.

- "That one's penis hurts and that one's very old." Good quote.

- *Hears Akmazian speak* Do you smell that? That smells like some romance.

- Urvidian and Ryan are gonna have a Father/son thing and I’m ok with it. 

- That is a huge jump from "explosion in the archives" to "I'm going to my father's funeral." You can’t just fricking put a transtion song in there!

Season 2

- Ryan's mom is not wasting any time, but did it have to be THIS doctor? *Ten minutes later* They had a thing and she married his best friend. Uff.

- That's a lot of kissing asmr.

- That awkward moment when you find out this little huge-foreheaded doctor is your son. When I said Father/son thing I didn’t mean literally father/son thing.

- If Levi ends up being a bad guy or something I'm gonna lose it.

- Nothing better that a sentient Ai that wants everyone dead but you.

- Doctor Who reference = chef's kiss.

- Levi and Jane trying to seduce Akmazian is the best.

- Feral cries and unedulterated profanities only on Thursdays.

Season 3

- I know I should be panicking about Akmazian not being remembered but Uber Gay is *cheff's kiss*.

- Wait, his dad is alive?! Ok, this is getting too timey wimey.

- In episode 303, I swear, when I heard Levi screaming in the background I though it was a fly.

- From cafe to gay bar. Nice.

- Levi and Jane are such a duo.

- Who is this Ben? I'm so confu- Ooooohhh. Wait, the accent! Noooo!

- Wow, learning about Jane’s past was like that one episode of How I Met Your Mother when we found out about Robin’s Canadian pop star days.

- Man with a cat. I haven’t seen any fanart of this and I am very disappointed.

- His dad?! Uff. From that one timeline? Double uff.

Season 4

- This is a strange way to start a season. Not complaining.

- Wait, David and Ryan? Nice. I miss the accent, but nice.

- David and Ryan are so adorab- sorry, Silent what?! 

- He's going full conspiracy mode. 

- Another Doctor Who reference! *intense cheff’s kiss*

- Morpheus anime cat boy confirmed.

- If Morpheus turns out to be the bad guy. *Ten minutes later* He's just a sassy naked man, never mind.

- When your sentient Ai friend is stuck inside your head. You know, the usual.

- Excuse me? Did she say evil?

- Damn. That escalated quickly. *Ryan turns full evil* THIS IS ESCALATING WAY TOO QUICKLY.

- "See the pink hair? I'm out of my mind." That's a quote.

- Jane, when did this become Avengers: Endgame?!

- All this evil is confusing.

- (During the season finale) This is a lot of feelings, man. I was promised no feelings. The golden scares thing was one thing, but this? This?! *points at sad feelings* Unacceptable.

- (After the post-credits scene) This is the Avengers. Also, damn right you are bringing him back.

Well, those 4 seasons were a hell of a ride. So, season 5? Anyone?

[lumiereswig]

Do you have any crossovers with/AUs inspired by "Moulin Rouge!"? I know there's a fics list page but my wifi is so stupid slow it never loads so I can never tell.

nope! srry

since u can’t load the fics page im gonna give it all to you right here boo <3

Lumiere discovers something new, post-curse: Matches

Plumette/Lumiere, pre-curse. Plumette growing up and Lumiere growing close. Lit By The Sun

Plumette/Lumiere, immediately after being cursed: Fire and Feathers

Lumiere meets the prince for the first time: A Showman Through and Through

Plumette/Lumiere as college kids: Modern AU that is not super great but eh i tried

plumiere in love: it’s right here for now (at least until I edit it and make it better)

here’s Scotland

“a maid that has a crush on Lumiere faking being Plumette and trying to seduce him”: hahaha this one still makes me laugh

abandoned ‘kidnapped’ fic—here

lumiere finding out plumette is pregnant: Here.

lumiere sees the baby for the first time:  Here. Aww.

“a one shot in which plumette and lumiere go on a romantic tryst about the castle in the days following their wedding 💕”:  poor cogsworth

Lumiere is the sexiest sandwich in the palace. Here.

Plumette gets sick, it’s really sad: Right over here, pal.

More plumiere falling in love here.

Tale as old as time, older than that guy, Beauty and Maurice.

garderenza backstory? here it is

So, like: what if Mulan showed up.

“can i please have a crack-shippy fic where everybody is in love with the wrong people.” Here.

figuring out how to be human again. here

lumiere/plumette body swap HERE.

“Movie night at the castle!” As you wish.

a bunch of other maids have a crush on lumiere and try to get his attention: a short fic about trapezes

“A group of poor motherless ducklings imprint on Plumette” QUACK QUACK.

“please expand on that night when Plumette and co. got drunk because of Chapeau’s brandy + wine idea…” I don’t know why I like writing drunk!staff so much but i DO

1991, MEET 2017!

What happened to Gaston? The only Gaston fic I’ll ever write, probably. Here.

He is nineteen. She is younger. Lumiere tells Plumette a fairytale. Lit by the Moon.

“How about a fic were the staff play light as a feather stiff as a board with Plumette as the board.“ what the fuck even is this game i am still confused but on y va, i guess

ATTRACTIVE FARMER MAN AND HIS TWO WIVES

Plumette’s last seconds before the curse takes hold. Laughing Still.

Forgotten. [Ongoing]

Plumiere in the rain. Quick mini-fic. I’ve Seen Fire and Rain

“quick question : how often does lumiere get sick?” Here.

“What if the day the curse was broken the staff go batshit crazy over being able to eat again so they eat until their stomachs hurt. Then Chip starts a food fight by throwing a bread roll at Cogsworth.” THIS HAPPENED?

“A dragon comes to try and eat Plumette” Lumiere is a fire-bender

“crack fic where they somehow discover theyre fictional” this one was so fun to write, lumiere picks up ewan’s scottish accent and hates it

“What about a really cute fic were Lumiere and Plumette fake being sick so they don’t have to work and get to spend the whole day together” poor cogsworth part 2  

“Who gets the weird nightmares and who consoles the other at two in the morning because they’re in tears.” Me, because I just want my OTP to have nice things. Here.

”coffeeshop au but its still set in the 18th century“ BUT WHAT DO YOU THINK OF ROUSSEAU, THO??            

“Can you write about Lumiere throwing Plumette a surprise birthday party for her?”  hey

“Chip wants to be maître d’ someday and follows Lumière around the castle as his little protégé” he’s going to be a better one than lumiere here

“don’t think about how painful the transformation must have been for the servants" do i ever think of anything else. [the answer is no]                

“*Whispers in your ear* AMNESIAC LUMIERE”   FUCK. HOW’D YOU KNOW I LOVE AMNESIA FICS?? FUCK. ultimately one of my favorite fics. holy fuck

“*Whispers in your ear* AMNESIAC LUMIERE” part TWO, motherfuckers

“Maybe one during the curse where they can suddenly hear the soundtrack around them?“ poor cadenza

“What if somebody after the curse was broken just out of nowhere started playing the Aria. I NEED FEELS” have you thought about horrible things yet today  

“The castle has to order in pizza” adam would like to register a complaint.

“Ewan McGregor and Lumiere switching universes" here

”A water balloon fight that gets out of hand?“ SPLASH.    

Les Miserabeauty and the Beast. Here.

“Can you do where everyone is turn into a baby” ANGST

STANFOU ROMANCE

“Nutcracker AU?!” aw fuck here

“I Never Really Knew You”—Cadenza & Adam

“He Must Loathe Me”—Chapeau & Plumette

“The Sound of Her Weeping”—Garderobe & Lumiere

“Her Little Satin Slippers”—Cogsworth & Plumette

“Home”—Mrs. Potts & Plumette

“Chapeau’s Charade”—Belle & Chapeau

“Lullaby”—Garderobe & Plumette

“Cake in the Sun”—Lumiere & Stanley

“Like You Used To”—Adam & Garderobe

“Why The Beast Eats Like….That”—Chip & The Beast

“The Boy’s Hand”—Chip & Adam

“The Pink Vest”—Garderobe & Cogsworth

“Draw”—Maurice & Adam

“They’ll Never Meet Again”—Plumette & Garderobe.

“Her Beautiful Maman”—Garderobe & Plumette, in the parents AU. Also: Lumiere & Frou-Frou. Woof.

“have Belle and Adam watch batb 2017?” sure.  

“I would love to see their reaction to singing in the rain! It’s my all time favorite movies!! ❤️❤️"  🌧🌧🌧🌧SAME 🌧🌧🌧🌧

“consider the coconut” MOANA CRACK.

“Plumiere goes to Paris?” Prequel fic! [oh là là]

“thy crackest crack of all - batb but adam/belle and lumiere/plumette swap places” lumiere turns into a dragon

“so. um. amnesiac adam?“ FUCK. FUCK.FUCK.              

”Mary Poppins would be practically perfect in every way!” Feed the fucking birds

“I should have told you a long time ago.” Plumette wakes up, after their first night together. Fits into the “Lit by the Sun” story.

“This is why we can’t have nice things/you don’t see me”—right after the curse, Plumiere cope with their new forms. Angst?

“Prove It/You’re Drunk.” Lumiere had….a night of it. Poor Cogsworth, the Continuing Saga

“great comet” fic: the candle in the mirror

“I’ve been waiting a long time.” finally a happy!cogsworth fic. Tic toc.

“Batb and Frozen crossover pls“—it’s garbage                          

The whole palace body swaps. here

“What happens when Lumiere’s family wakes up and realizes they have a son at the palace?” well SHIT ! there’s a prompt

“Chapeau having to relearn and figure out how to play the violin once he’s turned into a coatrack.” Shh.

a cuisinier fic! this fandom doesn’t deserve him

“Batb and Robin Hood crossover!!!!!” fuck

“how about the castle residents plays a giant game of live clue.” Adam would like to register another complaint

Lit by the Stars. Plumette and Lumiere meet for the first time.

“belle catches a cold?” i’m allergic to fluff

“how about amnesiac belle this time?” FUCK

w o w this one’s about plumette & belle sharing plague stories

“Can you do where Lumiere and Plumette babysit Chip while Mrs. Potts is working”  cute? ??

Wedding Cake: it’s huge

“lightly read fanfiction.” RIGHT?!

“You should let them watch the classic movie Beauty and the Beast” here

“ plumette x lumière modern spies AU” here.

“cogsworth angst” YOU GOT IT dude

“Hi, could you do some fluff and angst headcanons for Madame de Garderobe and Cadenza please xx” the honeymooners

“Shalalalalala my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy, ain’t gonna kiss the girl” has lumiere ever been shy in his life ?

“Would you care to write a drabble of the castle redoing Mrs. and Mr. Potts’s wedding because Chip found his mother’s wedding dress and was bummed that he missed it?“ oh hey unrelated: i never dated a christmas ornament  

“imagine plumiere first met AFTER they were turned into objects” um: FUCK YES.

“Batb characters in the titanic” too soon, people. too soon.

“Plumiere prompt: A whole new world! new fantastic point of view. No one to tell us no. Or where to go. Or say we’re only dreaming.” ok    

“a touring theatre group comes to perform at the castle” this is more like a headcanon but it’s long as fuck so it ended up here              

“cogsworth discovers he can fly” this is so wrong, this is so right              

“Card Tricks”—Lumiere & Chip

“Coffee & Tea”—Lefou & Mrs. Potts

“Lion’s Mane”—Cuisiner & Plumette & Adam

“the characters read some of your fics and their reactions” o fuck. crack.

“Ok, but what about someone slipping Lumiere a love potion meant for Plumette??” kisses

Plumette stargazes; Lumiere dates someone else. Veronique

“ding dong we need more cogsworth- can we have something with him and mrs. potts bonding over all of their dumb kids” ding dong yes yes yes we do!

the villagers get cursed. a trash fic!!!![[[[ongoing]]]

Seating Arrangementsare! important! here.

“cogsworth sharing plumette’s first dance with her at her wedding, and…” I don’t dance.

poly garderenza/belle. i love this bullshit. i ship this

“Bonjour you wrote a fic about Luimere taking care of Plumette when she’s sick, can you write one about Plumette taking care of Lumiere? 💛💛” cough!

The First Untethered Hot Air Balloon Flight: oh, fuck.

garderenza content FEELS

“amnesiac belle?” COMPLETED, BITCHES. fucking ga w w d

“Can we have cogsworth headcanons?? Pretty please mon ami??” Dulce et decorum est.  

“Eclipse”—Lumiere & Chip

what if the servants came awake again, in modern days? Here

‘do you remember when we were human?’ Plumiere shit.

A history lesson w/Cogs and Lums. Beware the dust. Album.

 GARDERENZA HIGH SCHOOL AU !!!

“Woof”— Belle & Frou-Frou

“Fireworks”—Adam & Plumette

“Amnesiac Mrs. Potts?” Eh.

“a midsummer night’s dream au?” welcome to CRACK CITY [x]

“Plumette has a tragic, existential moment.” Pouf-pouf.

“a touring theatre group comes to perform at the castle. like some kind of magic, they can perform shows that don’t even exist yet” [x]

“I would ​ love if you wrote when Plumette and Lumiere came up with Be Our Guest” BE! OUR! GUEST

“The castle adopts a pet? but not like a cat or anything, like they get a pet komodo dragon or something” welcome to the zoo

garderenza’s glory [x]

“Flicker In, Flicker Out.” The curse takes its toll.

“Who would be into divination? the Supernatural? Spooky Shit™?” HEY THERE DEMONS, IT’S YA BOI.

“If each of the servants could write a book, what would they be about?” The Villeneuve Catalog of Literature, fresh off the presses.  [x]

“Cogsworth + Lumiere switch personalities?”  i fuckin love a good crack prompt. showgirls!

“Socks”—Pere Robert & Mrs. Potts

adam and belle meet as tiny kids

COLLEGE FACULTY AU FIC 

sad maurice fic: :)))))))))

“What do the servants do when they can’t sleep?” Shhhh.

Chip being in town when the curse strikes, here [ongoing!]

Belle gets used to the staff being, well.….human again. “New.”

“Have you ever done a role-swap where Belle was the princess and Adam was the boy from the village?“ CHIP. DON’T FUCK WITH THE TIME TRAVEL. Here.

The useless energy of haunted things. “Freaks of Furniture.” Thanks, JSTOR.

@batbobsession​ collab w/me called “One Moment”—their part is here, my part is there. The servants and the staff take a minute, right before the battle, to face what they’ve become.

“spooky prompt: What If the castle was haunted the year after belle breaks the spell…sadder prompt: What If the ghost was Adams mom…Worse prompt: or his father” THIS IS NOT THE FUN GHOST-HUNTING I ASKED FOR.

“Everyone says that Adam was under the spell ages, so what if the spell went on for 300+ years or whatever, and a woman hiking through the woods kind of went through what Maurice did with the tree being knocked over…” Fucking!!!! Granola bars!!!!!!!!!!!![x] [Ongoing.]  

How desperate I became. To erase. To unmake my mouth, my pulse. / To unlive. “The Writing-Desk.”

“So Very Different”—Cuisinier & Garderobe

“how would the staff and Belle and Adam react to some little kids from the village showing up trick-or-treating?“ Something like this, I imagine.

“Amnesiac Cadenza?” i do fucking love an amnesia ask

“During the curse, Adam begins to see ghostly apparitions of the servants’ human forms.” Dead men walking.

“Spooky prompt: A haunted house in Villeneuve.” i just want to talk to the demons!

“These Two Need More Love”—Chapeau & Cuisinier

“A piece inspired by the song, “A Shoulder to Cry On,” aka, ‘80S MUSIC FICS

“Adam, Belle + staff go to pick out/chop down their own Christmas tree……” Yule fic by me + other people! ho ho ho.

way down in hadestown

The fandom-spanning fic, involving Star Wars, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Doctor Who, and Tulio and Miguel.

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said.” Evermore. Thanks Ray Bradbury.

“idk how she got there but Garderobe rules the world.” ❤️

“Oh! How about a story or headcannons of Shane and Ryan doing a Buzzfeed Unsolved Video at the enchanted castle in BatB?” [wheeze] (a FAVE)

“Words”—Garderobe & LeFou.

“what if someone confused the servants with the royals, cuz they dress better than adam and belle?” This happens regularly.

“Pere Robert somehow comes across a Time Turner” ⏳tick-tock⌛️

“Crackfic prompt: Belle is messing around with magic books (AGAIN) and somehow summons dinosaurs.” that’s , uh, that’s chaos theory

plumiere SNUGGLING FOR WARMTH TROPE????

“The BATB characters stumble into The Great Comet” EVERYBODY RAISE A GLASS

“So I’m reading the Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater…..” Here.

“Please give me more singing hair brush!” the fucking hairbrush. Here.

“Please can I have a bunch of adorable hcs where Garderenza are prepping Bassette for their first concert with her singing in it too” that is a hairbrush

arrrrGGHHHH, mateys, that thar be a magical pirates fic, shiver me timbers

“lumiere gets a sunburn” ouCh

“for adelle: maybe the Official Proposal?” Here.

“ what if. an amnesia fic. where they. ALL. Got. A m n e s I a“ —MY BRAND~

“Headcanons for Belle and Adam being the world’s greatest grandparents?” also known as “be a bear, grandpa!”

“Garderenza prompt: ‘You saved my life!’” oh how divine

belle keeps playing with magic and getting everybody fucked

this collab fic with @theteaisaddictive​ is done! “agathe gets amnesia”

“Whisky and Red Wine”—Lumiere and Belle have a night in.

“AU idea: As belle is leaving the second time, something stops her and she turns and whispers ‘I love you’ before running off.” Can you say “two idiots”?

“ have you ever done any asks about what you think maurice/belle’s mum’s life was like before they had belle???” I AM ALWAYS HERE FOR THE MAURICE SAD!FICS [x]

“something sweet with adam and the plumiere child.” sweet as stolen breakfasts.

“Belle messing with magic again finds one that puts the universe into reverse” this one is straight crack i hope you like it

chip is the middle man for some major lumiworth action

“A traveller stops by for directions […] by coincidence, he’s one of Belle’s *very favorite* authors.” Wow I wonder if the world’s biggest book nerd is going to handle this in a responsible manner [x]

“a man attending a ball at the palace spots plumette, and falls in love with her beauty. she receives an anonymous present of heart-shaped chocolates on her bedside the next day, and assuming they are a present from her dear lover, eats them without a thought. moments later…..” Not exactly this trope but uhhhh it’s a love potion fic babyyyyyyy

[backtothestart02]

25 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 21 - Before the Hood [2/6]

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Synopsis: AU - Before he donned the name Robin Hood, his name was Barry Allen, and all he wanted was to be with his love, Iris West.

...

Chapter 2 -

Slowing his horse’s gallop to a trot, Julian brought the animal to a stop in front of its stall in the stables and swung one leg over the side to drop down onto the ground, while his stable hand held his grand horse steady.

“Thank you, Felix.”

The boy nodded and guided the horse into its stall.

Julian moved almost immediately after that, heading straight into his residence. His tutor would be in the library, no doubt ready to teach him more Latin. He abhorred Latin. It had no purpose, given few people could read and only the friar and other clergymen could understand and speak it in turn. Julian had no interest in spending long hours inside the house of God, dedicating his life to blind servitude, sacrifice and celibacy. While his knighthood had been forced upon him by his father, one of the highest-ranking guards of the King, he enjoyed the respect it granted him. And training in the arts of jousting, archery and sword fighting certainly beat any other job he could’ve been pushed into.

Women fawned over him. Men looked to him as a promise for the future. He would go to the Crusades soon, and when he returned, he would obtain everything he wished for. Separation from his father, a marriage to the woman Barry Allen loved, and all the gold and jewels he desired.

Maid Iris was a pretty little thing. Her dark hair and skin were always accentuated by her light-colored dresses, pinks and purples and yellows, all made from satin ever since she’d become Sheriff DeVoe’s charge. Julian went to visit her often, trying to make a good impression. She appeared to be uninterested. But he’d impressed Sheriff DeVoe with his knighthood and manners and shared knowledge of Latin – ironically. Julian knew before he left Collin Woods for the battlefield, he could convince the man to sign a contract in Iris’ place, so they would be wed immediately on his return.

Julian wasn’t blind to Iris’ lack of affection towards him. He knew she’d been closed-minded from the start, unwilling to even consider him an option, because her heart still lay with the foolish boy who’d swept her off her feet before her father and brother had abandoned her. As pretty as she was, and as admirably stubborn, Julian had no problem admitting that he wanted her for himself solely so Barry Allen couldn’t have her.

The odds were already against Barry, with the scandal of his father taking on a peasant girl as his pupil in the practice of medicine. Her only place should be that of cooking and cleaning before marrying another peasant at her own level. The fact that another knight, Sir Ronald, had promised himself to her baffled Julian. But he supposed it was not his place. He was even more uninterested in Caitlin Snow than Maid Iris on her own merit. All he cared about was hurting Barry Allen, who had more to live for than he could have dreamed. And he deserved none of it. He took all of it for granted.

Barry not only was able to get by without a real job that would add to the income of his household, but he spent most afternoons shooting off arrows in the middle of the forest. Reckless, if you asked Julian. Especially since he knew for a fact the arrogant boy had no intention of ever fighting in the great war of their time, alongside their King, who he claimed to miss dearly given that the idiotic Prince John was in his place.

Henry Allen might’ve preferred his son practice medicine, but he did not disown him when he refused to do so. If Julian had refused knighthood, his father would have done exactly that. Thrown him to the streets, because how dare he not want something that came with so much honor, so much nobility, that promised him victory in his life and all that he desired. Despite Julian warming to the idea, he would always be bitter and hold resentment against his father for the pressure he’d put him under. When Julian had announced he was pursuing Iris, his father had just barely approved, and only because her station had been lifted after Joseph and Wallace West’s departure. He supposed he should be grateful for that. But he wasn’t. It was only another instance in which Sir David Albert reigned supreme.

His father had never mourned his wife or his daughter’s passing. He beat Julian when he caught him in tears over their deaths. Women were not meant for one to grow attached to, he would say. They were meant for cooking and cleaning and bearing children. In his wife’s absence, Sir David Albert had hired a maid, Louise. Only five at the time, Julian had spent the next eight years being raised by her until he was forced into knighthood by his father. He’d thought it would bring them closer, but it only made him all too aware of what a villain his father could be. It benefitted him that he and Sheriff DeVoe were of the same nature, but Julian swore he would never be like him. He would obtain Iris for himself, but he would never lay a harmful finger on her – something that could not be said of his father’s actions towards his mother.

 If Iris did not wish to clean and cook and sew, Julian would find a maid who would do those things. And he would make her fall in love with him so that she would never want to leave, never cry in the dark when she thought he was unaware. He would overcome his father in that way and also leave Barry Allen a destroyed mess without the woman he loved. Would he come to hate his father? Would he turn on his mother for never trying to stop Henry Allen from tutoring a peasant girl? Whatever happened, the key would be in seducing Maid Iris.

That was the most difficult task. If he couldn’t do it before they were wed, he would be sure to do it afterwards. Either by turning her against Barry or by making him disappear. The idea of killing the young Allen, or hiring someone to do it, appealed to him for only a moment before he realized that would be worse than what his father had done. He would not become worse. He would be better.

But Barry still needed to be poison in Iris’ eyes or he needed to leave. Julian just didn’t know how to go about choosing.

“You’re lost in thought,” his tutor said as he walked into the large, quiet room.

Julian came to a halt and nodded once.

“I am ready for my lesson,” he said.

His tutor gestured to a comfortable chair in front of him, beside which sat a table and piles of books for him to learn from.

“Something troubles you,” his tutor said, looking at him contemplatively.

“When does it not?” Julian asked rhetorically on a sigh, selecting a book and flipping through it to find where they’d last left off.

“Let’s talk about it.”

Julian paused and looked up at the inquisitive, wise older man and wondered how best to get out of this particular conversation.

“I won’t tell your father,” he said, setting aside his own book. “Your welfare is my top priority.”

Reluctantly, Julian closed his.

“That’s not what we pay you for.”

“Consider it charity then.”

“I don’t need your charity,” he spat, harsher than he’d meant to.

“But do you need someone to listen? To really hear you, Sir Julian?”

His lips thinned.

“Is it Bartholomew Allen?” he questioned. “Do you want what he has?”

“I am not envious of him if that is what you are asking. I have almost everything I desire, and soon I will have the final piece.”

“The affections of Maid Iris.”

“Her promise to marry.”

“She is willing?” his tutor asked, surprised.

Julian’s brows narrowed. “In time.”

His tutor analyzed him most uncomfortably, until Julian nearly stood to his feet and walked out of there.

“You want something else.” His eyes widened. “To destroy young Bartholomew and all he has.” He paused. “To kill?”

Julian was unnerved by how his tutor could appear to know so much about what he was thinking. There had been rumors of him being a wizard in another land long before he arrived in Collin Woods. Julian had not believed it. But at times like this he wondered.

“You presume too much. You should keep to your studies, and to teaching me mine.”

“Perhaps.”

Julian shook his head and opened his book again.

“Let us get on with the lesson. I will forget this talk, and you should too.”

“As you wish.”

When the two had found their place in the accurate book, Julian met his tutor’s eyes to wait for his direction.

“Tell me what is on your mind, my pupil.”

Julian licked his lips, hardly daring to ask. Once it was out, it was out. If his tutor had truly once been a wizard, it was possible he could grant his request.

“Something…other than murder, something…equally devastating.”

“Betrayal, you think,” his tutor said, then thought again when Julian looked to interrupt him. “The appearance of betrayal.”

“A farce.”

“Within the Allen family. A façade that destroys.”

“Mmm.” Julian nodded. “Yes.”

His tutor’s eyes locked on his, Julian felt for the first time not unnerved, but powerful.

Will you do it?

“Twelve lines down at the beginning,” he directed, and Julian lowered his eyes to the book.

He began to read the Latin words, aware all the time of his tutor’s eyes on him. An agreement had been made. He felt it in every fiber of his bones. Something dangerous was about to happen, and he was responsible for what would unravel, all by the workings of his presumably loyal yet mysterious tutor, Eobard Thawne.

…

Snuggled close to her love, his jacket spread over her shoulders to keep her warm, Iris relished the feeling of contentment that came with being in the presence of and so near to her darling Barry Allen. He was everything to her. He was security and love and happiness and everything she could have ever dreamed. Growing up, she resented the fact that women were forced into the servitude of their husbands, but as she fell deeper in love with Barry Allen, she knew she wouldn’t mind that one bit. She would make him new jackets and hats. She would cook him tasty soup and roast a nice, hot chicken. She would kiss his worries away and bear him many children. She would do everything and anything expected of her as a woman without complaint if it could be solely directed at her love, Barry Allen.

What’s more she knew if she did decide to toe outside the line and do something for herself, that her Barry would let her. Even more so, he would encourage it. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and both his parents were warm and welcoming and loyal to any cause they took up. After all, Henry Allen had taken on a peasant girl as his pupil. Not to spite his son, but because he saw a yearning in Caitlin Snow to learn the knowledge he had to give. He did not see what society bestowed on her but what she wanted for herself. Barry was every bit like his father, though he undoubtedly had a soft spot for his mother. Even if they were the poorest of the poor, Iris would want for nothing as long as she lived with Barry by her side.

But she knew the possibility of their happily ever after was a far and distant dream. She was kept under lock and key in the DeVoe household. Clifford was a resentful, greedy, arrogant man she detested. He did not beat her, nor his wife that Iris was aware of, but he spoke harshly and had an assuming air about him. In fact the only visitor that he allowed into the house as long as she’d been there was Sir Julian Albert.

Julian’s disdain of Barry and vice versa was more than enough of a reason for Iris to dislike him, but his eagerness to impress her in a clear effort to win her affections disgusted her. He knew she loved Barry, and maybe that was why he had developed a sudden desire to see her. She knew it could only possibly be to win her hand and steal her away from Barry. But she would not be stolen away so easily, or at all. Even if she and Barry could never be together, her heart would never belong to another. Especially since Julian appeared to get on so well with Sheriff DeVoe. Never in her life would she consent to marrying him. He would have to take her by force, and she would not go quietly.

But she preferred to push those awful circumstances to the wayside when she was with Barry. When she was with him it was only them. She could pretend they were really together for everyone to see, that they weren’t worrying about who might catch them, that everyone was happy for their union and they were soon to be married.

But as light started to trickle across the sky in shades of purple, pink, red, and orange, Iris was forced back into the reality they lived in. And that reality was that they’d stayed out far too long. And if they were caught, the results would be devastating.

“Barry!” she whispered in a gasp, his jacket falling off of her as she sat up abruptly. “Barry! Wake up!” She shook him fiercely and finally his eyes opened.

“What…What’s going on, Iris?” He rubbed his eyes. “Why are you so-”

“It’s dawn!” she said, stumbling to her feet. “It’s not night anymore. It’s daybreak. If I don’t get back before the DeVoes wake up, I may never be able to see you again!”

The gravity of the situation made Barry spring up and take her hand. They ran through the forest, near the sounds of the birds so their running feet could be stifled by other morning noises. When they reached the fortress Iris was meant to be locked up in, Barry started to lift her up so she could find her footing and climb over the other side.

“Barry, wait.” She gripped his arms.

“Iris, we don’t have time. I can’t- I’m not going to be the reason I never see you again.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t want to be the reason either,” she said, clutching his shirt tighter.

“Then don’t be,” he whispered, cupping her face to reassure her. “Climb over that wall, go to your bed, and sleep a few hours more. Pretend you’ve been there the whole night, as you always do, and tomorrow night we will meet at the lake again.”

“Even if it’s cloudy?” she asked on bated breath.

“Even if the earth is shaking and the heavens pour forth water from a thousand seas and everyone is watching, I will meet you at our place, and I will wait as long as it takes for you to come to me.”

“Oh, Barry.”

He kissed her. There in the wakening day, he kissed her hard, pulling her flush up against him, willing this to not be the last moment they shared. When they broke apart, he locked his eyes on hers, begging her to listen to him and follow through with what he asked.

“Go,” he said.

Iris swallowed and nodded, letting him help her up the stone wall. When her legs swung over to the other side, she looked down at him and he smiled up at her – a little one, to congratulate her on her little victory.

‘I love you’ on the tip of her tongue, she decided against it, choosing to believe they would see each other again. She used the vines and protruding stones to climb her way down until her feet touched the grass again. Then she turned around, quietly crossed the yard until she was inside. But when she opened the door to her room, she was stopped dead in her tracks. For there in the chair beside her window sat Marlize DeVoe.

“Good morning, Iris,” she said.

Iris didn’t move a muscle.

“I thought we should talk,” she continued, gesturing to a wooden chair across from hers.

“And if I don’t want to?” she said, indignant in a way she couldn’t be with Clifford.

Marlize smiled sardonically at her young charge.

“I really think you do.”

…

Barry’s heart was racing the whole way back to his house. The sound was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t even hear his own feet on the ground, which he no longer tried to conceal from any early morning risers.

They’d never gotten that close to being caught. Never.

They’d always been so careful. Meet up at the lake, spend some time getting lost in each other eyes and telling each other how in love they were, and then get back to their homes before anyone suspected a thing.

But this time, he couldn’t recall whose decision it was, but they had ended up lying on the grass in the warm summer air, and before either of them knew it, they had fallen asleep. It was probably the best sleep Barry had in a while if he was being honest. Even the sun stretching across the sky wouldn’t have been enough to wake him up with Iris cuddled in his arms.

So, in truth, they’d been lucky that Iris was a little more likely to startle herself awake when danger was imminent.

And it had been imminent. Barry just hoped it was a close call only and not the last time he’d see her. He didn’t want something terrible to happen to her in that house if she’d been caught. He never asked her about her experience there, not in the six months she’d been living there, but she didn’t volunteer information either, so he figured it either wasn’t that bad or it was bad enough that she didn’t want to talk about it.

He’d let it pass from his mind without a second thought before, but now he worried for her. He’d be going out of his mind with worry until nightfall when they would meet up again. If she met him at their spot, he could ask her what had happened, and hopefully she could soothe his worries. But if she didn’t…

Well, he didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Maybe he’d pester Cisco later in the day. He’d reassure him, right? It wasn’t as if he could go to anyone else. Cisco was the only one who knew about his late-night meetings with Iris, and he preferred it to stay that way.

Finally approaching his home and grateful to see his bedroom window still cracked open, he moved toward it, hoping to get inside unnoticed and a few more hours of sleep before he went in town to distract himself with repairs and babysitting.

The window squeaked a little, but his slim frame allowed him to slip inside and shut the window without alerting his parents who he assumed were still asleep in their bed. Kicking his shoes off quietly, he walked over to his bed and pulled back the covers, intending to will himself to sleep despite the sound of birds and the adrenaline from his taking Iris back to her residence energizing his mind.

But after he slipped into his bed and pulled the covers over him, yanking the drapes shut so he’d be able to shut out some of the light from outdoors, Barry realized he couldn’t hear the gentle snoring typical of his parents when they slept. Instead he heard murmuring from a nearby conversation. He held his breath, his first thought being if his parents knew too. What a thing it would be for both him and Iris to get caught because they’d foolishly fallen asleep in each other’s arms. He certainly wouldn’t be in physical danger from his parents. They’d likely just be worried for him and Iris. Still, it was something he’d been hoping to avoid.

Instead, when he went to his bedroom door and opened it a crack, Barry saw his parents in the living room talking. They were clearly tense, and he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he leaned out a little into the hall – lucky to still be in the shadows – and focused his listening on the whispers coming from the distant room.

“Henry, are you sure?” Nora asked, wrapping a shawl around herself as she moved to shut the open front window.

“Yes,” he said, then nodded. “I know why you’re hesitant, why you worry. But I think we have enough saved up to keep us going.”

“For a while maybe, but-”

“These people need our care,” he persisted when she turned back to him. “And they can’t afford it. Those damn taxes are raised higher and higher every day.” One of his hands curled into a fist. “And that good-for-nothing sheriff of ours collects twice a week now.”

“I know,” Nora said on a soft sigh, placing her hand on her husband’s and slowly uncurling the tight fist, making him relax.

“Just a couple weeks,” he said, leaning his forehead against his wife’s. “With that much money still in their pocket, I can go back to charging a little so we can stay afloat.”

Nora swallowed hard. “And if not? What if the sheriff raises the taxes so the money they would’ve paid you still ends up in his pocket?”

Henry sighed. “Then Barry will have to get a job.” Nora opened her mouth to object, but he continued. “A real job, Nora. Not…babysitting and nailing some broken panels back on.”

“Henry.” She frowned, her brows narrowed in her son’s defense. “He does more than that, and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he does!” Henry’s voice rose, and Nora placed her fingers across his lips, making a deliberate nod towards the hall.

“The boy is still asleep,” she said in a hushed whisper.

Barry was grateful his mother hadn’t actually looked down the hall and therefore hadn’t noticed him. Or if she had, she hadn’t let on, much to his deep gratitude.

“He needs to get paid, Nora. Helping out the townspeople is all well and good, but he’s taking for granted the fact that I can support us and isn’t pulling his weight. He needs an income to contribute to the household. He doesn’t have one. There’s no back-up plan until he does. I won’t turn my patients away.”

Nora nodded, the end of the conversation in sight.

“Perhaps it’s good he didn’t want to go into medicine then,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “If you were both in the clinic giving free services, there’d be no back-up plan at all.”

Henry sighed.

“He just needs your approval,” she said softly, rubbing his back. “Tell him you love him and that you’re proud of him, and he’ll find a job that pays a wage.”

Henry groaned. “He’s too good, Nora.” He lifted his head to press a kiss to her lips. “Just like you.”

She smiled slowly. “You don’t think he’ll take a fair wage?”

“I think he has a heart of gold that loves to make people happy. And what makes people happier than free labor?”

Nora chuckled and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“Just have a talk with him, my love. He may be more willing than you think.”

Barry’s mind spinning, he stepped back into his room and shut the door. He should’ve known this might happen, what with the raising of taxes and his father’s gentle heart, his unwillingness to turn people away who truly needed him. In a way he was doing the same thing with the townsfolk who needed assistance with their daily tasks. But his father was right in that they both couldn’t be servicing people for free. A doctor’s income was higher than most, but what they’d saved up wouldn’t sustain them for long if the taxes kept rising.

Barry would have to find a job – a real one – as much as he despised the idea. And he knew people wouldn’t be a fan of him asking for a wage when he’d gone around offering his services for free. But maybe they would understand. Everyone except the corrupt sheriff and prince, as well as the Ramons, appeared to have a decent opinion of him. Perhaps someone could offer him work with pay.

At any rate, it would be best to go around asking before his father broached the subject with him. Things would start harmonizing a lot quicker between the two of them if he was one step ahead of his worried father.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[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. 

[mintcrash]

ok so I haven’t written anything in many mnay years, but procrastination and too Many Comics can do strange things.

Just some drabble which forms some coherent one-shot I guess.

Damian never liked Tim,but after this, he will never forgive him.

Basically Tim has to monior Damian in some ‘mandatory dress training’. Damian is cute and angry, Tim is a good brother, and Dick is less so.

~1800 words, literally don’t know what I’m doing, mindless fluff and poofy dresses.

—

Damian doesn’t know what to do. Damian Al Ghul: Robin, son of Batman, heir to the League of Assassins is absolutely stunned. He’s faced assassins, demons, beasts of unfathomable proportions. He has come so far in his few short years that immortals would be seething with jealousy. He came back from the dead, and he doesn’t know what to do. Trained by the world’s greatest, and here he stands, Tim Drake having frozen him in his tracks.

“You want…I’m sorry Drake, but what?”

“You heard me.”

“Drake, of all thi- this is ridiculous-“

“Yeah, well it’s a compulsory part of the training, and now you’ll fit into it, so get over here and put this on right now or I’m calling Dick.”

“-Tt-,” he scowled as he eyed Tim, glancing between his brother’s innocent, amused expression and the object of questionable origins in his arms, “You would enjoy this, you-“

Tim’s hands went up defensively, a film of glitter gracing his forearms. “Nuh-uh you stop looking at me like that right now demon child. This was definitely not my idea and I just want to get back to my case so if you wouldn’t mind-”

Damian snatched the pile of hoops and fabric from him. Honestly. What kind of family is this. “Well then, whose idea was it?” He struggled to turn the pale pink mess over in his arms, barely catching glimpses of the layers of tulle sticking out from what was presumably the bottom.

“Nobodys! I swear, this is actually a part of training,” Tim grimaced, ignoring the laugh building in response to Damian’s disgusted face, “Bruce makes all of us do it, but seeing as he’s overseas, Dick’s busy, and Jason’s who-knows-where, I’m in charge of…this.”

Damian wasn’t convinced. He could see Tim’s mouth twitching in that insufferable face he made whenever he had something to do with something unpleasant. He’s lying. It had to be some kind of sick Tim Drake joke. After all this time, he should be forced to wear, well, this. Despicable.

“For what possible reason – “

“Hey - don’t get me started runt.” Tim sauntered past the table, grabbing his coffee before planting himself in the nearest armchair with great satisfaction, falling into what looked like the least comfortable position any human being could manage. “I had to learn how to walk in it. Dick had to learn how to dance in it.  And – holy cow- Jason­ knows how to seduce anyone in it, so I’m sure that you, with your mighty mind can master all of that and more. Hey, I have to say though, it is easier than sitting in a pencil skirt, but doesn’t make your butt look nearly as good.”

Damian stared as Tim serenely sipped his coffee. He’d been through heels, and the cursed pencil skirts, but this? He stared at the pile in his arms with distain.

“Why does it have to be pink.”

“Hm? What was that?”

“I hate you Drake.”

  ----

  Two hours, a torn underskirt, a snapped hoop, a broken zip and four fake bras later, Damian Wayne finally came into the lounge so that Tim could assess him.

“Finally, took you - woah”

Damian’s cheeks flushed. He was used to being critiqued and hunted by his insufferable brother, not flattered.

“Well? Stop staring you trout, do I pass?”

His mouth just hung open. What used to be his little demon brother actually looked, well, really good. His hair had been ruffled from wrestling with the dress, which somehow made him look even better. The dress managed to frame his lithe, false-breasted body exceptionally. Alfred was probably the only reason it was still in one piece, and the old, pristine fabric of the training gown caught the fading light perfectly. A river of fuchsia sequins rippled like a tail down the centre, framed by black velvet stripes. A black collar complemented dark sleeves, flowing from a high-waisted pale pink centrepiece, ending in a thick black ribbon. From this stemmed a pink hoop gown, the rich satin glistening in the fading light from the half-open curtains.

Dang, his brother looked better than he ever did in that thing.

Snapped out of his musings by a sharp -tt-, Tim hastily responded, “It, uh- the colour…really, brings out your eyes, I guess.”

“Really Drake? Am I that good that I don’t require any real critique?” Damian swished, hands falling in a naturally petite manner to his hips.

Tim had to hold back a snort. “Well, if you really want to know, you’re as ugly as ever, and need a wig. Your hair is shocking. And your shoulders – I can tell you’re a little self- “

“I am n – “

“Don’t interrupt me, princess. As I was saying, you’re self-conscious. You’ve got to hold your shoulders back, puff out your chest a little - no not like – agh wait, lemme, more like this, see?” Tim stood as close as he felt was a safe distance to the dinosaur in a dress, but pulled himself into a ballerina stance. “It’s like someone’s drawn a string up your spine, yeah that’s a little better, but don’t be so tense, relax your shoulders a little. Yes. Much better.”

Tim continued to give instruction and Damian let himself relax a little. The dress wasn’t all uncomfortable. Besides, there was no denying Drake thought he looked good. At least a little.

After learning to walk, especially up and down stairs holding the length of puffy fabric, Tim called for Alfred to bring in the shoes. Combining them with the dress proved to be…difficult, but he only stepped on the hem twice, and that was because he was trying to stand up and the dress just got everywhere once you sat down.

Dancing was a lot harder.

“You know-“

“Yes, of course I know the waltz, you dimwit. And I am not dancing with you, no matter how much ‘practice’ anybody insists I need.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Tim sat back into his observing station, nursing his third coffee of the day, taking note of his brother’s movements.

“You’re doing the girl’s part, remember.”

“Shut up”

“…Keep your back straight, you’re losing-“

“Mm”

“…Relax those shoulders princess.”

“-tt-“

  ----

  Asides from the occasional misstep in the heels, which left a few new holes in the first layer of the skirt, and his tense shoulders, Tim thought Damian was more of a natural in the dress than any of them had been, except maybe Dick.

“Are we done now?”

Turning his head from a fresh brew, he sighted the pile of fabric sprawled on the furthest armchair. The second pair of heels had been kicked off and a light sheen of glitter rested with them on the floor nearby.

“Sadly, no.”

“What?!” The pile twisted as Damian almost fell on the floor, “You said one more dance-“

“Until I’m done, you still have something else to do.”

Damian’s face could probably boil water, but Tim wasn’t finished. “After this, you can remove the beautiful dress and reclaim your natural demon state. Besides, a normal gala usually goes for at least another twenty minutes. Put on that one pair of heels which you actually liked, and I’ll give my final assessment.”

Damian tutted, pulling on his shoes and staring daggers at his brother before finally straightening up and twirling one more time.

“Fine. Just…hurry up.”

Then Dick walked in.

He froze. Damian stiffened. Tim grinned.

“You…little…”

“DAMI!”

Dick spread his arms wide, soggy hair from his after-work shower flicking drips behind him as he bounded up to his little brother. Damian braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Damian it…you…it’s perfect! You look amazing!” He turned to Tim, “How’d you-“

“With a lot of patience.”

Both smiled like maniacs as Damian suffered their compliments.

“Oh Darlene, your dress is stunning tonight.”

“Oh Diana I love your shoes!”

“Dmitri, that colour really brings out your flawless skin.”

“And your eyes!”

“Did he get the posture right?”

“Most of the time”

“Dami, relax your shoulders-“

“So.  I’ve.  Been. Told.”

“Oh you have to give me a walk. Come on, just one? I promise I will never talk of this –“

“Shut up. I will, only because I want this torment to end sooner.”

So, Damian did. He glided flawlessly up the room, twirled liked only the finest of socialites, then turned to see – Grayson’s Phone. Abandoning any hints of walking, Damian pulled up the dress, revealing a half-on shoe. With a quick and expert flick of his ankle, it flew off and landed violently on the camera. Tim snorted, sharing a quick smile with the youngest. Dick just looked hurt.

“Aww, come on Dami! It’s compulsory for everyone to have documented photos of all important training events. Besides, Bruce needs photographic evidence of this occasion.”

“Shut up, Grayson. I swear if you show those to anyone I will slice your hand off.”

“Well, I think that about covers everything now.” Tim interrupted before Damian actually attacked anyone. He stood, and with the straightest face and most serious voice he could muster, said, “You have my permission, as your supervisor for this training session, to get out of the dress, until such time comes that it is needed for mission purposes. Also, I’ll have to write all this down, but you really need to work on relaxing your shoulders.”

Damian’s sour expression turned to Tim, “Drake, if you mention this to anyone, I will have a good reason to cut off your coffee supply for a week.” He turned with great flair, radiating an attitude fitting for his outfit, and stormed into the next room.

“Oh, and Damian?” Dick called before he slammed the door behind him, “Just remember, with the whole relaxing your shoulders thing, think of it like swordplay – you only tense before you strike. And if you do ever have to wear one of those, at least you’ll be prepared. Plus, Bruce had to have this training too, so-“

“Wait, what?!? Father had to- “

“Ohohoho yes he did.” Dick’s phone was back up as he searched for the ‘compulsory photographic documentation’.

Damian stalked over as fast as he could, hoisting the dress.  Tim rolled off the couch too. He was not going to miss this.

“He thought he should try it out when he made me do it. Justified it as ‘needing practice’ and ‘learning from a woman’s perspective’, but I don’t think anybody his size needs to put themselves through something they obviously can’t pull off. Now where’s…ahah!”

The room fell silent. The air was concrete as Dick held in the fiery laugh building in his chest.

“Is that-“

“Yes.”

“Gets me every time.”

“In pink-“

“Oooohhh yeah.”

“You know it.”

Damian was disgraced. Tim was choking back his laughter. Dick was…well, Grayson was beaming in the background of the photo, wearing the same dress Damian had on now. It…complemented his Father’s.

“Oh he really cannot pull that off.” Tim commented.

“I KNOW, right?! He kept telling me it was for experience but honestly I think he was just enjoying himself.”

Damian snuffed, “-tt-, he needs to relax his shoulders.”

Tim and Dick shared stunned glances before Dick mumbled, “Guess it runs in the family.”

[thisisarealtagwhy]

What exactly do you mean by mecha docking system?

Hello anon! It’s been a while but i did finish the entire fic, (almost 3k words). 

I just put the other parts from the other asks in the fic as well, it’s available on AO3 here and fanfiction.net here

But for the rest of y’all, it’s based off the prompt, What would happen if Chopper multiplied infinitely?

The year is 1600, ourworld has been in perfect harmony for half a century, all thanks to the work ofTony Tony Chopper.

He is the reindeer whoate the hito hito no mi fruit, creating himself into a human-reindeer hybrid.

He was kidnapped by anevil scientist who we now know as Caesar Clown performed the miracle serum onthe reindeer.

The serum, a fullydeveloped medicine, designed to multiply an animal ad infinitum, was perfectedand used on the doctor.

It is only because ofthis that we can live in peace.

The Doctor heals allfor there are so many of the reindeer, the only thing he demands in payment iscotton candy and treats.

“Hi, I’m Tony Tony Chopper, look at me!”

“If you’re suffering you can come here!”

“No training while you have bandages on!”

“Saying that doesn’t make me happy you bastard!”

Needless to say, the world was made a better place.

Except…

Slowly there is a faction with the Tony Tony Chopper’s thatis rising up…

“We need a game plan.”

“Of course.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Not sure… you?”

“Why don’t we seduce him with cotton candy?”

“Good idea, where are we going to find some?”

“…”

“You can’t have mine!”

“Or mine!”

“Or-”

“It is established that we won’t be using cotton candy…”

“Why do we need to rise up anyway?”

“It’s because of the originalChopper that we all exist. Wehave to deal with the fact that we can’t save everyone.”

“This world is too cruel for us!”

Puffs of smoke arise from a lit bonfire.

“Is that..?”

“Hey! Marijuana has medicinal purposes too.”

“That is true… and seeing as we’re all past the age where itharms your mind…”

“We’ll be safe…”

“Even so, what if we do something crazy?”

“Relax.”

“I want some cotton candy…”

The human worldeventually decayed until the Earth reverted to one similar to that of a pre-manera. Foliage growing everywhere and animals running free…

Humans just… weren’tcut out to be within this world.

But everything isfine, because the Chopper’s know how to make cotton candy, and that is all thatmatters in life…

*

How many Tony Tony Chopper’s were created in this new newworld?

If you tied a knot into a piece of u shaped wood and placeda bee eating a leaf on top you would find your answer if you looked deepenough.

Not really, in all honestly, it is impossible to calculateexactly how many Tony Tony Chopper’s were created in this science experiment.

Although, one might consider that the small planet earthwould be overrun by Chopper’s one has to also factor into account that the moonis a viable option.

And, the only alive non-Chopper human happens to live there.

But Chopper grew strong, strong enough to defeat Enel anddid so, kicking his ass and using his supplies to create a cotton candyfactory.

And the original Chopper, well, he’s slowly adapting to newconditions as per planet.

So far, he has discovered three non-viable solutions and twosustainable planets.

One just has to get over the lack of oxygen on the moon andvoila, one can live on the moon.

The Chopper’s become so bored that they end up making a Confederation of Chopper’s withinthemselves.

Every day it is discussed new ways to create treats and howto destroy diseases.

All in all, it is quite productive.

One might argue that it would be beneficial if the original Chopper joined the Confederate,however, that Chopper has no interest in joining such a group.

He is content with his self-sustaining cotton candy factorylocated on the moon.

They still refer to him as King, for they are but sheep,tied to their original bonds, seeking some kind of order, some sort of truehierarchy instead of referring to each other as Chopper but with pronouns.

Tony Tony Chopper mostly mourns in his small place on themoon, he mourns the loss of his friends and nakama,but mostly, he just eats cotton candy and tries to remember the recipesthat had sustained him.

“Oh how I wish that Caesar had never performed such an awfulexperiment.” He wishes wistfully, there is no way to reverse the past but hecan try his damnest.

He couldn’t stand to be with all of himself, they were all clones from the moment Caesar Clown had experimented him, it was that moment thatthey were born.

But they were born with all of th-his memories.

It was weird and he didn’t like it. But he did admit thatthe Earth looked far cleaner now without the rest of humans and devil fruitspolluting the surface.

Luffy and the mugiwara kaizoku…

They had reacted in bursts of anger and had absolutely and utterly destroyed Caesar Clown.

“Choppers, you’re all going to be alright.” Franky reassuredthem, face grim, even as clones kept on popping from the original reindeer.

In the far off distance Chopper can hear Luffy giving thebeat down to Caesar, it sounds… reassuring, he’s also certain that how he feelsnow… exhausted. Will last for days.

Eventually after they leave the clones of Chopper on PunkHazard and escape from the insane island, Chopper just keeps multiplying.

Robin eventually ties a ribbon around his antlers to verifythat yes, he was the original.

It hadn’t mattered in a year, there were too many of him toexist in the crew so they found an island and dumped the excess clones andcontinued on their journey.

But, Chopper doesn’t like to think about the past, heprefers to look onward!

And if his hacking skills are as impeccable as ever, he’scertain that there’s a large object headed towards the Earth, perhaps even tohim.

“Mecha docking systemsengage.” He sighs in discontent, eating the fluffy cotton candy withfervour.

It would probably be beneficial to try and stop the Earth from being destroyed.

*

The Chopper’s of the Confederation of Chopper’s one daybroach the subject of docking, it’s a harmless thing, but it is also veryimportant for the alien destroyer of a planet that cannot be translated intoany Earthly language is travelling towards the humble Chopper Earth.

Naturally the Confederate is unaware of these developmentsand only bring it up because how coolwould it be to be a robot?

But they do become aware of the threat to Chopperity anddecide that a docking system is essentialto defeat it.

“Mecha!”

“Should we be inventing space suits now?”

The Chopper Confederation has scientists already on thetopic, typing away at the few pieces of technology that they fondly fondle totry and stop the giant-ass earth destroying creature.

“I think it’s time to call him, sir.” One of the lead scientists, Chopper-senpai admits,pressing his glasses further to his furry face.

His superior sniffs in disdain, “We will do no such thing, he was the one who decided to abandonthe millions of beings that were created as a result of his mistakes.”

“But-”

“No, you will see to it that the Super Awesome Mecha Systemwill be prepared to face this threat antlers on.” The Chopper nodded insatisfaction. “I have to go deal with the court so as of now, I am leaving youin charge, Chopper-senpai.”

“Yessir.” The scientist saluted his superior, as soon assaid superior was out of sight he picked up the signal that was only to be used in emergencies.

Naturally, every Chopper had one of these signals, but onlyone was allowed per Chopper.

When the original Chopperhad been experimented on and spontaneously started spouting Chopper’s, it hadtaken a while, but eventually after he had amassed millions of followers, hestopped to produce the other Chopper’s.

They all referred to him as the King.

He didn’t rule them though, no, that job had been delegatedto other Choppers who used nothing but their name and their hooves to clawtheir way up to the top.

Naturally, normal Chopper’s still had to clean sewers andtend to harmed animals, but, they had maintained a semblance of normality afterChopper’s crew… perished.

They all felt the loss as sorely as each other which was whythere were monuments, one of the few structures allowed in this Utopia.

And every year, all Chopper’s would stop and mourn the loss of their crew.

But the King, he had moved to the moon saying that he didnot want to be amongst so many… commoners.

He would always send down cotton candy and bits of the moonwhen he could though, and word got around that he was secretly listening intotheir conversations like Big Mom or something.

It doesn’t matter, they will obey him if he does come down to Earth, into theparadise they have created.

The Superior Chopper – for that was his name – watches thecourt proceedings of yet another Chopperkilling another Chopper.

Who would have thought that they could become so violent? Hethought they all had the same goals in mind.

“Why did you do it?” The judge asks, fixing the cute whitecurls on his head.

The accused begins to shake in misery and the Superior feelsa tad of sympathy for him even though he will deserve whatever is coming forhim, “Because none of us are equal anymore! We claim that the Confederate ofChopper’s is for the greater good! To ensure that we all live like the Kings weare but the truth of the matter is that some of us are barely scraping by andsometimes have to resort to-” He gulps deeply “Cannibalism of other deer.”

The audience begin to murmur amongst themselves, writingdown the key points of the trial.

“That still doesn’t answer the question.” The judge Choppersays sternly.

“He stole my cotton candy.” The accused say and everybodygasps violently, it is a capital crime to steal cotton candy.

The judge seems appalled by the very notion, “Well, Isuppose you will manage to get off with only an hour of community service.”

“Sir yes sir, I’m so sorry for how this turned out.” Theaccused hangs their head.

“Son, you have no need to apologise, we all know the devastating effects of not being with cotton candy.”The prosecutor says, smiling gently to the innocent reindeer.

The Superior harrumphs, there’s other more important mattersfor him to attend to so he leaves the little court room and approaches thecandidacy cave, it’s full to the brim of Chopper spectators and four candidatesstand on podiums, waiting for their questions.

The first Chopper seems to be sporting longer fur than mostof them, he tries to appeal to the lower income peoples by declaring, “I willlower the taxes on cotton candy!”

There’s a loud round of applause for that, the secondChopper, sporting a beard and moustache fashioned out of his fur says, “My mainpurpose to help this great nation is to create more job opportunities forordinary citizens.

The third electorate is not a Chopper, he’s a bird from anisland long forgotten, the Chopper in charge of the questions asks, “Now,Birdlay, how do you propose we lower the divide between Chopper’s and usualanimals?”

They all understand what he says because they can understandany animal language, a gift from the King, “I don’t see a divide.” The birdsquawks, “I only see a divide between the Chopper’s and animals that want adivide. I see it in the Earth, in the watering holes, in the crops, I see it inschools where Chopper’s teach usual animals that we’re dumber than them, thatwe were born to be ruled.

“I see it in our streets, where us common folk are given theleftovers so we are too busy fighting each other to fight the injustices. I seeit in the cotton candy factories, where usual birds work for a fraction oftheir boss’s cotton candy ration even though we’re all the same. This world’sproblem isn’t a dive in cotton candy stocks, or the loss of humanity, it’sthose that are feeding the death of this Earth. But I’ve got a message from theones cultivating it, keeping it alive, a message from the usual animals andChopper’s that believe in this Earth to the ones that don’t, you’reoutnumbered.”

Birdlay receives a standing ovation and truly, it’s clearwho will pull clear in this race.

The Superior smiles grimly, he likes his job, he’s far lessemotional than his brethren so he can do what is needed to be done. He knowsthat the bird from their two years training will win.

So, he pulls the bird aside, shaking his wings, “Hello MrPresident, my name is Superior Chopper, I run the security of the planet.”

“I’m not president yet.” Birdlay squawks and Superiorchuckles.

“You and I both know that you’re going to win.”

“Nothing is set in stone.”

“Regardless, there is a threat approaching the Earth that weneed to address.” Superior says, guiding Birdlay from his campaign and far awayinto their high-tech domain. “Are we ready?” He barks at Chopper-senpai.

“Sir yes sir, I would have preferred to have a test flightbut-”

“Excellent.” Superior claps Birdlay on the shoulder andsays, “We’ll be defending the Earth with a Super Awesome Mecha Docking System.”

He can’t help it, he’s beginning to excite himself at theprospect, ahhh. There’s Chopper’s aplenty so it should go smoothly.

“I need you to do damage control, president.” Birdlay looksinto his eyes and nods.

“I will be in touch shortly.” Birdlay squawks and flies off.

And soon, the threat is visible to them all, it starts as amere speck of dust of cosmic sand on the horizon but eventually it is largeenough that Superior begins to call in Chopper’s for this ultimate defence.

“You will be serving your country well.” He says happily,showing them the diagram.

“Everyone in position!” Chopper-senpai yells over the soundof roaring fire.

It starts off with two base Chopper’s, clad in boots thatwill propel them into space. In the centre is the brainiest of the Chopper’snimble and quick.

They’re all wearing space suits, from the centre, to armsextend for the other Chopper’s to dock into.

And finally, the outer shell of the suit encases them.

“Super!” The Chopper guards yell in excitement, posing intheir freaking enormous shuttle.

The Superior wipes a tear from his eye, he never thoughtthat he would see the Super Mecha Docking System, but here he is, he canfinally die happily.

But, as the suit blasts for take off, all of their alarmsbegin blaring. “Senpai! What’s wrong?” Superior barks.

“Well sir, it seems that the threat has been… ensconced incotton candy.” Chopper-senpai says nervously.

“Goddammit!” He curses the King who stopped his one dreamfor becoming a reality.

There are other, more important things to deal with though,and when the results of the presidency come in, the Superior is brought alongto a meeting with the new president, Birdlay.

A hairdressing Chopper is carefully plucking out feathersoff the top of Birdlay’s head. He walks in to hear that the Chopper in chargeof the cotton candy franchise is kicking up a storm about not being in control.

Whatever, he doesn’t particularly care as long as he is ableto keep his own position.

“How many does he speak for?” Birdlay squawks calmly,holding up a mirror to see.

Half of the Chopper’s put their hands up and with a cluck ofhis tongue, they are shot with some kind of dart. “You see, that dart will makeyou allergic to cotton candy, is that all that have an issue with me?”

“Dear god no!” The rest plead, hooves out in front of them.

“Good.” Birdlay stands and approaches the glass window, “Thisseems like a good time for a drink, and a cold calculated speech with sinisterovertones. A speech about hierarchy and power, brethren, humanity and order.But speeches are for campaigns, now is the time for action.”

[eriseclipsenuiwitch]

The Outcasts- chapter 10

Since Adamai brought Lady Echo new allies/soldiers/prisoners/pets (delete what You want), it has been a week (and three days). Kira was quite fast in teaming up with Kalmia, Robin and Lucky. They frowned at the fact that their new acquaintance did not want to give up her religion, but Kira claimed that death was the only sure thing in life. Yaga, besides conducting the sparring with the demigods (apart from Echo, Adamai, the Iop and a small blue-eyed girl), was involved in the production of some sort of specifics that, as she claimed, kept her alive ("You have two options, my dear. You will agree and I will be a good, nasty reptile, or you will not agree, I'll end up drugs and I will die, and it's hard to find another shit of my species"). There was also suspicion that she was doing some mysterious rituals there (but for who?), but no one caught her during the act yet. And Qilby...

"AAAACHOOO!!!!" The Eliatrope sneezed with such force that the hood of the protective mantle slipped off his head, scarcely taking his hat down also, and the laboratory glass clattered on the shelves and tables.

"For God's sake, go to a medic or something!" roared Yaga with all her kindness while sitting in her new lab, right next to (of course) the Count's laboratory (now Qilby's).

"I can't!!!" Qilby screamed equaly kindly as he put his hood back "I've got a job to do!"

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important, Yaga sighed mentaly, and she said aloud:

"They don't acknowledge a sick notes here?!!!"

"Go back to your task, woman!"

"Go to a medic!"

And the show was going on, over and over again.

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

After the next three hours, Qilby was completely frozen and couldn't even tease with Yaga. Fortunately, it alarmed her, because it could have been much worse. With the force she entered to the lab (the Masqueraider guarding the scientist happened to disappear somewhere) and carried Qilby on her back to Robin's cave, where at least was warm.

Robin, Kalmia, Lucky, the "Nameless" Maskarad and (recently) Kira were one of the many Brotherhood's operating teams and, as one of the most effective ones, were given a small set of egg-shaped caves under the Cursed Citadel, which served as their sleeping quarters with large central grotto as a living room.

Yaga lifted Qilby on her shoulders to release one hand and knocked to the round wooden door.

"What?!" snarled Kalmia from other side.

"A bowl of broth, for a poor, unfortunate soul!" Yaga replied.

"Bleah" announced Qilby, who scorned a broth as an dishonor to the noble art of preaparing a meat.

"And a little water with soap, for the other, sweaty soul could wash herself..." Then the door opened wide and there was Robin smiling wide.

"Be our guest*," said cheerfully the dark-haired Cra.

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

In some places, magic is extremely anxious and sensitive to the emotions of beings able to contact with Her. It was therefore logical that by the presence of so many demigods and the burning anger of the one ivory dragon, the energy in the Cursed Citadel was... unstable. Lady Echo did her best to neutralize this 'hiccup'. She began to send some demigods to other hideouts or to the Tower of Dreams, something like the Brotherhood's headquarters. But the most pressing problem was Adamai. Whoever was his mother, this whole Goddess, gave her offspring a big, raw power that slipped out of control, mainly thanks to the young dragon's relative. Qilby and Adamai hated each other and any of them intended to give up. The wisest way out was to teach the ivory dragon greater self-control. Something that Grougarolagan and Balthazar apparently neglected. But who said that all dragons are reasonable?

"Focus, brother Adamai," whispered Lady Echo, while the multicolored ribbons of magic flowed between her and the young ivory dragon. They sat together on the floor of her office and tried to master the magic of the Eliatrope Goddess in body of one from her sons. "Calm your emotions, control anger. The key to full control over your power, yours and your sisters and brothers is serenity. Complete serenity..."

"Lady Echo!" A guard with a bandaged head came into the office (it was the same one Kira knocked out last week) with a scroll in his hand.

"What now?!!!!" the furious woman roared, spreading her unmatching wings, and her yellow eyes glowing scary.

"I'm-... I'm-... I'm sorry, my lady!" The unlucky soldier crouched before the daughter of the goddess Eniripsa. "But an important report from the South came and...!

"Which post?" Echo interrupted him, trying to calm herself down and hide her emotions, but a note of anxiety crept into her cool voice .

"Dragon Mausoleum," the man rasped and handed his Mistress a scroll sealed stamped with wax seal with the post symbol. The wax was black, which, according to the Brotherhood's findings, meant the highest priority information. The last time they used these markings in the news was when Master Joris set out to look for the six Eliatrope Dofus.

Lady Echo quickly opened the message and began to read. With every sentence her eyes grew wider and wider. No, that could not happen... Not now! But He warned her that something like that exists and might reveal itself sometime. And their spy in the Suffokatian research team just confirmed this. But why now? Now when Pandora's Box was almost complete?! That could change completly force arrangement!

"We are the closest," she whispered, then looked at the guard and worried Adamai, "Brother, I have to talk to you in private"

The guard quickly escaped, and Echo made sure no one was listening near her door.

"It has to stay between us, Adamai," the woman said softly. "It can be a very bad turn of events..."

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

"Bleah" snapped Qilby, sending a bowl of broth on his lap a particularly disgusted look.

"Eat, not complain" Yaga jagged washing her neck "Or I plug your nose like a little brat's and I pour this soup right into your throat"

"Just try it" the Eliatrope bared his incisors, but he reached for a spoon and began to eat slowly (of course, making faces). Yaga's face filled in with a triumphant smile.

"Tell me..." Robin sat down next to the dark haired "With Kira we explained the Thing... And I'd like to know... how is it with you and..."

"If you're wondering if I'm inclined to come in with you in a more intimate relationship that's likely to end up with some kind of party on your mattress..." Yaga sighed heavily like the person who had been in such a situation so many times that she could calmly guess what Robin wanted to say to her even before he will think about it "the answer is no."

"Damn, woman, are you refusing everyone?" now Robin was pissed when he suddenly remembered something "I'm too low in the hierarchy for You?"

"That I was trying to seduce your boss-lady doesn't mean I was planning to go to bed with her!" Yaga snapped "That was a joke. When I see someone as rigid as an accountant in a gypsum I must mock! Loose the atmosphere! Otherwise I would go crazy. Now you follow?"

"Okay, good, you wanted to make a fun of Lady Echo... But what about me? What are your reasons to say no?"

"Put it that way... I have no problem with your appearance. You are also likable person, or at least I see you so... But I am temporarily resting from relationships. We understand each other?"

"Oh... Was he mean? Abusive?"

"First: it was she. And no, nobody hit anyone. It just... it didn't work out"

Robin may not have noticed this, but Qilby sensed a slight tremor in her voice. Contrary to what she said, her forward relationship didn't just 'work out'. Something went wrong, terribly damn wrong.

"Get up!" screamed, who suddenly appeared at the door. Everyone jumped up. "Robin, prepare your ship! Rest, pack up! You too, Traitor" here he looked with disgust at Qilby.

"Wait, what?!" Robin approached the young dragon with a sharp resentment on his face "What 'prepare the ship'?! This is my property and I will tell you when it can go on a cruise!"

"That's an order, not suggestion" that was the dragon's last word in this case and he walked away "You have one hour"

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

* Sorry, Guys, I couldn't stop myself! XD

Finally, a next chapter I promised You to add shortly after my return from Italy. Well, I hope I manage to do this before deadline, which Your patience gave me. Next one will be rather short. I will also try to add some parts focused on other characters, because I suck when I have to deal with too many characters and guess what I'm doing EVERY. F*CKING. TIME. When I'm writing something. I create more characters than I can handle.

I'm some kind of goddamnit masochist.

[mistermexico-blog]

Favorite Songs of 2016

21 tracks that moved me in 2016. 

Celebrate by Anderson .Paak

In my humble opinion, 2016 was the year of Anderson .Paak. Like many, .Paak (pronounced pok) first graced my ears on Dr. Dre’s Compton.  In early 2016 he dropped the soul/funk/hip-hop masterpiece Malibu, of which I could put almost every damn song on this list (and he did sneak his way onto this list multiple times). Celebrate literally brought a tear to my eye.  I was driving, and the song hit my face with a wave of emotion. This song wins with simplicity. Sometimes you have to remind yourself that simply being alive is a gift in itself-- so why not celebrate?

Favorite Lyric: It’d be a bad look talkin’ bout what could of been, so lets celebrate while we still can”

Also check out: The Bird

Celebrate VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SKpOW_o8Do

Forever’s Gone (ft. Na’el Shehade & Via Rosa) by Drama Duo

This song is beautiful. New age, bassy edm production laced with the voice of an angel.  You can kick back and chill with it, or get lifted and dance to it. That is something special, folks...to me at least. I’m excited to see where this duo out of The Windy City ventures next.

Favorite Lyric: “And I’ll love you far, after forever’s gone, and I’ll be here long, after forever’s won”

Also check out: Low Tide

Forever’s Gone VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZVZRKAGD-kw

Cash Machine by D.R.A.M.

After Drake’s Hotline Bling allegedly jacked Big Baby D.R.A.M.s Cha Cha (the production is strikingly similar), I was very happy to have discovered this guys catalogue. Cash Machine is that feel good Chicago style piano driven jam (prod. by Ricky Reed) that makes you want to celebrate success. I took the crew to see him in Seattle and had the pleasure of a spacious front row viewing in an iconic intimate venue (Neumos). Dude can really sing, too!

Favorite Lyric: “I'm in the sky like all the time and now it's no layover, my records all across the wave and there was no payola”

Also check out: Broccoli

Cash Machine VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rx0eqQl8wk

Stupid Rose by Kweku Collins

My brother & I brought back “ghostriding the whip” to Stupid Rose this summer in Lake Chelan, a short and sweet highlight of the summer for me. Not the traditional song for such an extremity, but if felt right. His rap/sing style seems to come from a very natural place; hippy vibes, educated, rides the rhythm like a joyride pilot? Is this the result of the legalization of pot? Either way, this killer D’Angelo flip is a hypnotic warped out bouncy son of a bitch.

Favorite Lyric: “’Til she sat across from me my curiosity coiled like a snake around a finger”

Also check out: Death of A Salesman

Stupid Rose VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nl6OW07A5q4

Show Me Love (Skrillex Remix) ft. Chance The Rapper, Moses Sumney, Robin Hannibal by Hundred Waters 

This song was hot, then I watched the video and for some reason fell in love. It gave me chills. I’m assuming it was shot in LA, but it’s a gloomy day and they’re just running around the city enjoying themselves. Chance the Rapper brings the best energy to every track he graces-- just anticipating his verse gets me hyped! Great message here too.

Favorite Lyrics: “Don’t let me show cruelty though I may make mistakes, don’t let me show ugliness though I know I can hate”

Also check out:

Show Me Love VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5bAVKzrBzI

Crazy Dream ft. Loyle Carner by Tom Misch

My guy Chase Decker threw this on a video he made and I HAD TO KNOW WHO THE FU$K IT WAS. I dug into the London prodigy’s Spotify/youtube accounts back in early Spring and continue to visit them on the regular. He plays guitar like a boss and sings like a swoon, bringing an incredibly sexy rock element to hip-hop. 

Favorite Lyric: “I had a dream about you last night, and we were listening to Pharcyde”

Also check out: Beautiful Escape

Crazy Dream VIDEO

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sa5HNkGrl8E

Real Friends (ft. Ty Dolla $ign) by Kanye West

This was one of the first songs I heard at the start of the Pablo run. I wish every song on the album was in this vein. This is as close as we’ve got to “old Kanye” to date. They snagged a sample from Couches by Frank Dukes and that just might be the kicker. Definitely a nostalgic, dreamy feel, Kayne getting a little vulnerable, Ty Dolla doing what he does, it’s nice.  

Favorite Lyric: “Who your real friends, we came from the bottom, I’m always blaming you but what’s sad you not the problem”

Also check out: 30 Hours

Real Friends VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUkV-U6_F_Q

Lingerie & Candlewax by Mayer Hawthorne

I’ve been hot on Mayer for almost a decade now, and the man continues to impress with every project he puts out. Definitely play Mayer’s Man About Town at the next function you host/DJ/highjack the aux at. This is some 213 meets Marvin Gaye, fighting temptation in the cadillac, smoking with the boo-thang music. 

Favorite Lyric: “Angel on my shoulder said, hold up, don't touch it, I'm so torn up, Latoya Luckett”

Also check out: Love Like That

Lingerie & Candlewax VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SuBlCRYE4rQ&list=PLykkJfCk9HuODiVwhic00RUlnF05jwnSU&index=18

Nights by Frank Ocean

Frank is such a unique artist. Nights, is nearly three songs in one. He delivers these incredibly intriguing lyrics over rather bare-bone guitar and drum. I can’t tell if he’s rapping or singing and it doesn’t matter because it sounds fantastic. The song starts off upbeat then slowly transforms, allowing Frank to change up his delivery accordingly. His content is mysterious; I want to know what he’s talking about but at the same time I get the feeling it’s personal and therefore don’t need to know everything. He coulples up a lot of his bars, allowing just a few lines to coincide together then he’s off to the next subject. It’s a borderline ADD stream of conscious and it’s beautiful.  

Favorite Lyric: “Why your eyes well up? Did you call me from a seance? You are from my past life, hope you doing well bruh”

Also check out: Solo

No audio sorry folks! (Frank’s a boss like that)

Dang! (ft. Anderson .Paak) by Mac Miller

Mac Miller dun grown up! He seduced this groovy Pomo production just right, smooth talking his feminine subject until his honesty pushes her away. In an interview I watched, Anderson .Paak was apparently talking about losing someone to the skies above. Mac decided kept it here on earth and I think it worked. 

Favorite Lyric: “Wait, we was just hangin', I guess I need to hold onto, dang, the people that know me best, the key that I won't forget, too soon”

Also check out: We ft. Cee-Lo Green

Dang! VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LR3GQfryp9M

Riot by Jon Waltz

Problems have never sounded so good.  Things aren’t picture perfect for Jon, yet I’m jealous of the picture he’s painting. I’d really like to see a video for this song; so much room for audio irony! The song itself is sonically untouchable, yet the lyrical contrast makes it super badass! 

Favorite Lyric:”We just wanna be loved, we need money and drugs, and a new place to stay”

Also check out: Bang

Riot VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNh34RlmE-A

Jusfayu (ft. No Wyld) by Kamau

While Andre 3000 was snoozing, Kamau must’ve crept in and inhaled Mr. Benjamin’s soul.  I first discovered him by his interpretation/cover of Hey Ya! by Outkast (well played) and instantly had to find out this guys story. He uses a decent amount of VOX throughout his tracks; beat-box elements with incredible harmonic layers. He sings, he raps, he dances, he’s fun as fu*k and despite drawing comparisons to Andre he brings a very unique flavor to the music industry.  

Favorite Lyric: “I’m not a bad guy, I ain’t all put together, but if you stick around you gon see I’m getting better”

Also check out: Gaims

Justfayu VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tim7MeDItPw

Lucy The Tease by Allan Rayman

I don’t have a lot of info on this guy, but he was a Spotify Discovery find and I’ve really enjoyed his raspy chilled out vocals over it’s dirty hip hop production.  Super sexy track. I can see it in some action/drama movie soundtrack in the near future. Waitress seduces badboy motorcycle dude in a cheap hotel? 

Favorite Lyric: “And don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Lucy The Tease VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o04LHGQwNf4

The Waters (ft. BJ the Chicago Kid) by Anderson .Paak 

The song is too smooth! .Paak rides the beat with such natural, genuine swag, telling his story so effortlessly. BJ lays it down like a young Usher meets D’Angelo. I had the pleasure of catching BJ open for Anderson in Portland in early 2016, and when they took the stage for this song I felt like I was witnessing the reason people make music. 

Favorite Lyric:”And I can do anything but move backwards, the hardest thing is to keep from being distracted”

Also check out: Am I Wrong

The Waters VIDEO: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2R2ticmolk

Caroline by Amine 

Young dude reppin’ Portland, Oregon! Another jam I found on Spotify’s “Discover Weekly” and instantly put in on repeat. So damn bouncy! Every component of this song is catchy. Amine played this like a savage too, being that this was his first release!  

Favorite lyric: “I love your bloopers, and perfects for the urgent, baby I want forever”

Also check out: Baba

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3j8ecF8Wt4E

Guru by Coast Modern

This is simply a chill-ass-feel-good-airy-summer song. Take it slow, cool out bruh. Reggae vibes with a hint of Glass Animals. Makes a man giddy for summer.   

Favorite Lyric: “Chillin’ on the sofa, I don’t want to yoga, I don’t want to life right now”

Also check out: Animals

Guru VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6XVrGv2W7Y

Wow by Beck

I recall thinking, “this is in response to Kanye West discrediting him after he won album of the year for Morning Phase” (he later admitted not even listening to the album).  Anywho, Beck’s Wow felt like old Odelay Beck was back in business.  Hints up hip-hop with modern cowboy vibes are you kidding me? This has to be Kanye approved, not that it matters. 

Favorite Lyric: “Standing on the lawn doin' jiu jitsu Girl in a bikini with the Lamborghini shih tzu”

Also check out: 

Wow VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyCkhPTU13w

Need to Know (ft. Chance the Rapper) by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis

I feel like Macklemore’s This Unruly Mess I’ve Made was overlooked. Lot of great songs that album. This song was a highlight for me; an honest song about telling lies. Or rather, leaving out the truth. Ryan orchestrated this bad boy to perfection, Mack put his heart on the horn and Chance was the perfect addition. 

Favorite Lyric: “I cry when she smile with her eyes closed”

Also check out: Bolo Tie

Need to Know VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqFztNcQ0KE

One Dance (ft. WizKid & Kyla) by Drake 

I Can’t not have a Drake song on here. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t vibe the f*ck out to Views all damn summer. He recruited an amazing team to collaborate here and the result is this worldly piece of perfection.   I’d like to the video shot at some sexy beach side hostel somewhere near the equator. 

Favorite Lyric:”I need one dance, got a hennesy in my hand, one more time for I go, higher powers taking a hold on me”

Also check out: I’m With You 

One Dance VIDEO: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcer12OFU2g

Dapper (ft. Anderson .Paak) by Domo Genesis

Like Dang!, this is another groove monster produced by Pomo and headed by Anderson .Paak. They shot the video in a roller rink and they were 100% correct in doing so. Just dance y’all. 

Favorite Lyric: “Now I can turn a pussy to a kiddy pool”

Dapper VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_9HNEyLa4U

Neighbors by J. Cole

My guy Jermaine’s flow is straight head bobbing call the fire truck fuego here.  And I think I can call him Jermaine because dammit, I feel like know the guy-- he’s one hell of a story teller!  Apparently the house they rented to record the album at in North Caroline was raided by SWAT while they were away because “the neighbors think I’m sellin’ dope”. All they found was a studio. I believe it’s J. Cole’s altered voice on the chorus and that matters because he’s suddenly two different dudes. This is the Cole I’ve wanted since Warm Up. He might even slip up in my top 5 with this song alone.  

Favorite Lyric:”I been buildin' me a house back home in the south Ma, won't believe what it's costin', and it's fit for a king, right? Or a nigga that could sing and explain all the pain that it cost him”

Also check out: Change

Neighbors VIDEO:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOPgg7qqlcA

COMPLETE YOUTUBE PLAYLIST: 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLykkJfCk9HuODiVwhic00RUlnF05jwnSU

ALSO, 

follow on Spotify @ Tyler Roberts “best of 2016″