#id have ruined it otherwise goddamn

[art-o-gant]

[spnshameblog]

Honestly its probably for the best that im not in showbiz lol. The amount of shit you have to put up with......

If my boss treated me like the cw treated misha id probably go "haha ok fuck all yall" and walk, taking the entire thing down with me. And if customers trested me they way some fans do w him? Hoo boy. I would have ruined any career i could have had in its infancy bc i just dont have the self restraint necessary lmao.

I know that you cant just turn down a job opportunity like that esp if you have a family and he probably also did it for the fans, but they would have deserved it if misha had just straight up said no to coming back in s7. The fact that they had to bring him back in more than just a guest role is the proof i need to know that they themselves knew they wouldnt be able to keep the show going. Otherwise they would have never brought him back or would have had him appear as a guest in a handful of eps like jim beaver. They couldnt fire him, but clearly hated him and made that as clear as possible. Ppl like Mark s have confirmed that they treated him like shit. Stuff like not letting him take a trenchcoat? For no reason other than being able to say no to him? The entire goddamn debacle around maisons birth. What the fuck.

So yeah, i think misha should be allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants. He can milk his fame from playing cas till it runs dry for all i care (and lets not forget that much of the 'casbaiting' ppl accuse him of is for charity, which imho is a good reason).

[jj-bxby]

take a chance ~ jj maybank imagine

prompt request ~ angst ~ 1) you can’t do this, you owe me 2) how much did you drink? 3) i don’t need your pity

summary - you meet the boy of your dreams at a party, but your parents disapprove of your relationship. what happens when a phone call from them sends you into self destruct mode?

word count - 1.9k

trigger warnings ~ swearing, drinking/smoking, verbal ab*se from family member, happy ending

Kooks loved parties. Or, at least you were supposed to. 

For whatever reason, the thoughts of the crowded house and cheap booze never was appealing to you, no matter how many times you pushed yourself into the scene. Eventually, you resigned from the parties at frats and packed mansions within Figure Eight, opting instead for the ones thrown on The Cut. The Boneyard made the perfect spot for summer parties, logs acting as benches, fires to keep warm, and no police caring enough to show up to kill the vibe. And of course, that was how you ended up meeting him. The boy with the sea glass-blue eyes, wavy blonde locks, and salty lips. He was the one who had found you resting in the sand with music playing softly from your little speaker as your eyes closed. You were a good distance away from your Kook friends and the rest of the party. He’d tapped your leg with the toe of his sneaker, giggling as you glared at him.

“Not much of a partier, aye?”

You sat up, annoyed. “No, I’m not. I’m not one much for having my quiet time interrupted, either.” 

He sank to your level, sitting in the sand with his arm thrown over one knee with a joint in his hand. He twirled it for a few seconds before looking up to see you staring at him, a scowl having settled across your mouth. He laughed to himself as he looked in your eyes. “Well, I’m sorry about that. But do you mind if I lay here for a bit too? I’m I bit too faded to deal with anyone else right now.”

You thought for a second, before nodding slowly. “Alright, you can stay. On one condition, though. You share the weed.” JJ raised his brow at you. “I don’t like the taste of booze and I’m too jittery to calm myself down right now.”

“Alright. Say, your name is Y/N, right?” He asked as you took a drag of the blunt he’d just handed over. You nodded. “I’m JJ.”

You laughed a little bit. “You think I don’t know who you are? Really?” 

He grinned, the dimple on one of his cheeks showing. “Ah, I figured. I just thought it would be a better story to tell people when they ask how we got together if I introduced myself first.” You rolled your eyes, taking another puff from the joint before laying back down against the sand. You tilted your head to look at him, watching as he turned up the volume on the speaker before following your actions, his head turned to meet your eyes. 

“So I didn’t hear you disagree with me. About getting together eventually?” he smirked. 

You sighed at him. “Maybe because I’d be dumb not to take a chance.”

JJ arched his eyebrows and let out a heavy breath, clearly thrown by your candor. “I don’t know that I’d be a good boyfriend to you. At least not the kind of good you’d deserve.”

You shrugged, “Me neither.” You were smiling as you turned your face back to the sky and closed your eyes. Your fingertips eventually finding their way to each other, twining your fingers with JJ’s as you were wrapped in the starlight and music.

After that night, the two of you had hardly been seen apart for the coming months. The relationship had blossomed quickly. Both of you had eventually moved into John B’s house to get away from your families, as your parents were none too happy that you were dating a Pogue. To your family, JJ was nothing but a throwaway delinquent. 

“Why couldn’t you have stayed together with Kelce? Or go out with one of Sarah’s friends? Why did you have to pick the addict’s klepto kid?”

After that screaming match, you had shown up at John B’s in tears. He took you in without hesitation; since meeting him you two had formed something of a sibling bond. You had only gone back to your house once to grab your belongings with the Pogues escorting you. JJ never went back to his dad’s house. He always kept clothes in his knapsack, and he practically had an entire closet already set up at the chateau. There was no need to keep in touch with your families when you had each other.

Tonight was another one of the usual Pogue parties, them having taken hours to grab all of the kegs, cups, and matches they’d need for the night. Even though your boyfriend had invited you to come, you decided to stay in for the night. After he promised not to stay too late, you settled in with your Switch and some extra cozy blankets. 

After hours of doing side quests and avoiding the Greybeards, you heard your phone ring. Grabbing it, you see the Caller ID. It was the one you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to block yet.

Dad.

Your hands shook as you swiped on the green circle, and you raised the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N.”

You took a deep breath. “Why are you calling me? I thought you didn’t want a daughter who chose a Pogue?”

“I’m calling to tell you that you need to come home. You’re fucking up your entire life for some boy that won’t even care about you once the lust fades. I’m saying this because I love you, Y/N. You’re my daughter, and I want what’s best for you.” You felt a small boil of rage in the pit of your stomach as you listened to his words. His tone was the same one he’d used back when you were living at home. It was the tone of honey-sweet words that dripped with threatening undertones, the one he’d use to get you to do whatever he wanted. What he wanted was to make himself look good to outsiders; Nothing he asked of you was for your happiness. 

“You don’t care about what’s right for me, dad, and you never did. If you did, you would accept me being with JJ, but you don’t. You don’t want me to be with him because you’re so goddamned worried about what the other families will think of you. I can’t believe you had the audacity to say you love me.” You felt hot tears slip from your eyes as you spoke and choked back the sobs trying to escape your throat.

“Listen, bitch. You’re lucky you’re eighteen, otherwise, I would have had you dragged back to the house the moment you left. You are the one who wrecked our family. You ruined my life, too, and I wish I would have left as soon as you were born, Y/N. This is all your fault. The locks are being changed tomorrow, got it? So don’t step a foot on my property, because you will be treated as a trespasser and you will be arrested. If you don’t come back tonight, you won’t have anyone who loves you anymore.” 

“Fine. Don’t fucking call me again, bastard,” you spat as you hung up. You ran a hand through your hair while you let the sobs shake your body, letting all of your previously trapped emotions out. After a good forty-five minutes of nothing but crying, you had finally worn yourself out and slipped into sleep. 

JJ walked into the Chateau as quietly as he could, only to find you asleep on the couch. He grinned as he walked over to where you were lying, moved your Switch and phone so they wouldn’t fall when you got up, and gently woke you. “Hey, baby.”

You groaned as you woke up, looking at the clock that read 3 am. “JJ, I thought you said you weren’t going to stay out late? And why do you smell like a distillery? How fucking much did you drink?” You were angry, and you were standing up now, face to face with your boyfriend. You felt the simmer in your stomach again, left over from earlier. 

You’re not gonna have anyone who loves you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I just lost track of time. I tried to text you to tell you I was going to be late, but it wouldn’t send. And I only had one beer, I’m not even buzzed.” He looked at you with a grimace on his face. “What is going on with you?” He could just see the exhaustion rimming your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks. “Are you okay, love? You look like you do when you’ve been crying.”

You shook your head, still furious from your conversation earlier. “No, I’m not okay. My dad called tonight to tell me I ruined his life and the family, and that no one will love me, including you,” you said bitterly. JJ reached to grab your hand as he opened his mouth to speak. 

You pushed him away. “No. I don’t need your pity, JJ.” You turned on your heel to walk to your bedroom. “I needed you, and you weren’t here. You can’t do this, you fucking owed me that, JJ.” You knew you were being irrational, but you couldn’t help it. You were so hurt that you just wanted to hurt everyone around you.

He caught hold of your arm to turn you around with ease. You crossed your arms and glared daggers at the boy standing in front of you. “Y/N,” JJ sighed, “you’ve gotta meet me halfway here so I can help you. Stop fighting with me when I’m not the one you’re angry with. I know this sucks, and it hurts like hell, but you can’t just push me away. It doesn’t work like that when I’m here to stay. So tell me what’s actually going on.”

JJ watched you as the harsh expression decorating your face softened and tears welled in your eyes. “He said–he said that you would get bored of me. That you would only want me for a little while before the fascination faded,” you croaked. You let him wrap his arms around you, and rested your head against his chest. The hug was so warm and comforting, something you had never received from your family. After a minute of him holding you and murmuring comforting things, he pulled back so he could look you in the eyes.

“Baby, I hope you realize that I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you for the rest of time. And as long as I’m here with you, I’m not going to back down when you try to build those walls, okay? You’re the love of my life that I never thought I would find. It’s not something as little as lust, Y/N,” JJ promised you. “I’d be dumb not to take a chance on you, remember?”

JJ tilted his head to rest your foreheads together. “I’m sorry I was being so horrible to you, J. You’re more than I could have ever asked for, and I love you so incredibly much,” you whispered. JJ pressed a soft kiss to your lips, as he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Apology accepted, baby. No more trying to hurt each other just because we’re hurting, though, okay?” You nodded to him, a small smile taking its place on your lips. “Good. Let’s go get some rest now, huh?”

tags and moots ~ @jjsredhat @jjsbxtch @jjmayybank @pink-meringues @midnightmagicmusingsmain @maybanksbaby @kookkyra @aesthetic-lyss @soemthingsparkly @softstarkey @shawnssongs @drewswannabegirl @starlightstarkey @starksweasleymain @joshy-obx @jjmaybnks @obxjj @hmspxgue @uwubonebabie @jiaraendgame @poguestyle17 @topperthornton @obx-direction-sos

[fonulyn]

I need to scream about RE ID bc like. Did I enjoy it? Yeah, I did. Was it. Just wrapped up way too nicely and quickly? Also yeah. I was a little disappointed by it tho, like the length, and the flashback scenes weren't as clear as I think they should have been? Like I understood what was happening, but it took me a little too much brain power to like keep up with what was and wasn't a flashback lmao

Also I wanna say, I get wanting to keep Jun See alive but god, that did not look fun. Just let him die, dude, no one wants to live like that, smh.

Thank god they kept Leon's one liners tho, like thank you for that at least lol also Claire, my GIRL, I love her holy shit. Honestly she was amazing, like, just perfect. Not sure why she has a gun in the promotional poster, bc she just. Never has a gun throughout the entire show, I don't think? Also can we talk about how she took that guy down with that lamp, and then hopped on top of him just fucking ready to continue to beat the shit out of him? Chris would be so proud 🥲

Okay also, I saw what you said with that flirting scene, and I agree that it seemed like Leon was trying to lighten the mood, but it so didn't need to be put in there at all @ the writers. Like this show could have gotten away with no romance, or just that one moment near the end with Claire and Leon (which, I don't ship them much, and that moment at the v end where she was like "are you ever gonna stop treating me like a kid?" And he responded with "probably not" or whatever kind of ruined whatever was shown earlier? Like it feels like she's had that convo with Chris before too, so I'm like hm no don't imply romance and then imply that he treats her like a little kid every time they run into each other, now it's weird lol) and been fine. None of the story was contingent on any kind of romance between anyone.

Now with that said, can I just say Patrick absolutely wanted to suck Leon's dick? Like he was smitten, and I bet you they at least fuck after all this is said and done, if not date for a short period of time. I thought they were gonna kill Patrick off, I'm glad they didn't tho, he was v wholesome lol.

Also I wanna mention that every serious moment (save a small handful) I just. I couldn't take it seriously, it was too over the top. Acid? Really? That's the self destruct measure? Slowly rising acid? I dunno, that doesn't seem quite right to me, I don't think that's how it works lol

Honestly they should have just made this into a new movie, bc making it a series implies more to follow and in general a longer narrative, but these eps were barely 20 minutes each, so there's almost no point splitting it like that. Did I enjoy myself? Yeah, I always do when Leon is involved, but it could have been so much better.

Also the silly little shipper in me is kind of desperate for more interaction between Chris and Leon, bc as far as I'm aware it's just RE6, RE vendetta, and RE ID (and I think the person who told Chris to save Claire in either code x or Veronica was Leon? Not 100% about that tho lol) where they actually interact with each other, and considering that they're the two main characters of the franchise, they should probably meet up more? Idk, that's just my gay ass hoping for more Chreon content lmao but still.

ANYWAYS yeah, I would rate the show like a 7.5/10? It wasn't amazing but it wasn't garbage, either. Probably my least favorite of the four animated movies tbh, but I will take the Leon content, thank you Capcom. Also it was interesting to see Leon around the time following/around RE4 and RE degeneration, I thought, I dunno.

oh boy I agree 100% it was wrapped up way too quickly in the end. like killing Jason? by just dropping him in the acid? it was way too simple and easy if you ask me. and like, why didn't he yeet Leon into the acid when he had him by the throat? him not killing Leon makes zero sense to me??

asdfg yeah I get they weren't ready to let Jun See go, but I bet Jun See really would've preferred to go...

I am so happy that they kept the one liners!! Leon felt very, very in character which I loved so much. I was afraid they'd tone it down or make him super serious or so, and it was such a relief they didn't. he was so eager to help and so goddamn kind to everyone I don't know if my heart can even handle it ;;;;;

also Claire!! so badass!! I loved the part where she attacked the guy with the lamp (yes Chris would be super proud haha) and THE HEADBUTT seriously, one of the top highlights of the entire series :'D

(but honestly this is gonna get long i'mma gonna hit that read more here)

and the flirting scene, I do think they could've left it out entirely and it felt a little strong-armed in. but I'm trying to look at the silver lining? Leon was super goddamn adorable in it, like, so cute it hurts :'D and Shen May didn't seem bothered really, it was more this joking thing between them. so while yes, it was unnecessary, i'm focusing on the joking feel of it and choosing to interpret it as such :'D

also, can I just say, the "romantic moment" with Claire and Leon near the end didn't feel very romantic to me? I know it's a romcom cliché (or at least a fanfic cliché lmao) how they ended up in a pile after the rescue but ...it didn't scream romance to me? although I do kind of like the pairing! (not a top fave but a cute one)

and yes, the whole "when are you gonna stop treating me like a kid?" "probably never" felt SO much like a sibling moment!! such big brother energy from Leon, and I don't know, that made me super duper happy?? I want them to be friends. I neeeed them to be friends gdi. which is why I am unhappy with how mad Claire seemed to be at Leon in the end and how they left it off like they did. I am hoping that it sets things up for a second season? and they for whatever reason need them on kind of the opposing sides at first? because otherwise it makes no sense to me for her to be that disappointed in him. in Degeneration they already establish they work in different ways towards the same goal, and for that to do a 180 now feels... like a disservice to the characters? idk?

lmaooooo but yes Patrick 100% wanted to suck Leon's dick he didn't even try to be subtle about it :'D idk I would've wanted Patrick to have more depth and screentime too, i so wish they would've made it a longer series and given the characters more development. because I liked pretty much all of the new characters they introduced! but it feels none of them reached their actual potential!

then again that is kind of the whole deal with resident evil in general, they set up awesome characters and end up wasting them half of the time :'D guess i shouldn't be surprised.

THE SLOWLY RISING ACID PISSED ME OFF lmaooo c'mon!! it doesn't seem like a good self destruct measure. especially since ...you'd need different acid to dissolve organic matter and to dissolve inorganic matter if we're being nitpicky. and how would it be plausible for them to store enough of it safely to even do this?? they should've just detonated the whole place and blown it to smithereens or something, the acid was. stupid.

i agree, it feels like a movie. but I think @tirsynni is probably right when saying that it was sort of a test run to see if they should make more? which I am so hoping for. because even with the complaints I have of this, I DID enjoy it, a lot!! and I do want more! and maybe this time we get Claire and Leon actually working together for more than fifteen seconds! :'D

also I definitely would not say no to more Chris and Leon interactions. (yes it was Leon who told Chris to save Claire :) at least that) it... in general makes no sense to me how capcom seems to think friendships work? like how Sherry is all "Leon and Claire are my best friends" and then they imply they haven't met in years? if not more? idek it's. weird. it's like their characters go into storage containers in between their missions to be stored away so they can't even accidentally have personal lives or friendships or anything. weird.

(what I said about having amazing characters and ending up wasting their potential? yeah)

for me, personally, it's... well, my score for the show would depend on whether I just focus on the characterizations and what I liked, or if I try to actually take the plot and all into account too :'D but I did like this more than Degeneration! already the fact that Leon has actual facial expressions is enough to put it way above that one. (and for the record, I don't hate Degeneration either, I do like it, but... Leon is such a cardboard cutout with zero personality in it, it's super frustrating)

idk I think I need to still process this a bit to see how I will like it in the end :'D there are things i'm super hyped about in it, and things i'm disappointed in, let's see how they'll weigh in the overall experience eventually.

[mizuritamanami]

What Goes Unseen

Linked Universe Time Warriors and Legend angst to sort of fluff?

They all have secrets. That much is a given, and sort of hard to miss, given the way Four clams up when asked about his moods, how often Wild has to just... stop and leave and come back to himself when they pass ruins sometimes, or the way Twilight vanishes without a trace to go off doing Hylia only knew what. 

And that wasn't even touching on the walking enigmas Time and Legend could be, so sure. They all have their secrets. Even bubbly Wind and soft spoken Sky. Secrets, secrets everywhere, in plain view or otherwise. 

But something about Wild’s Hyrule has been eating away at Warriors for weeks. Enough that Legend has even noticed his change in mood, his disinterest in most of the things he normally jumped at. 

Enough that the veteran adventurer surprises him by pulling him aside to talk in the guise of a patrol, enough that he wears Warriors down with enough pointless questions that the knight just explodes to ask him what the hell it is he wants.

"Somethings been on your mind for almost a month. You're starting to scare the old man," Legend says bluntly, "I didn't think you could top that "launch tree into bokoblin camp and rain fire from above" heart attack you gave him, but here we are. What gives?" 

For a moment, Warriors just stares at him, because firstly, how dare he insinuate that that plan hadn't worked perfectly outside of the landing, and secondly, since when did you pay that much attention to me?

He huffs. 

"I'm fine."

"Uh. No." 

Worth a try, anyway, Warriors thinks, turning away from the scrutinizing eyes of the young man across from him. 

Legend notes the way his fingers dig into the blue cloth around his neck, and sighs, gesturing to a fallen log. 

"Sit," he says, "tell me whats bothering you. If its got you like this, it warrants a serious talk, without pretense."

"Didn't know you knew such fancy words."

"Don't make me take it back and kick you in the shins."

Warriors has to laugh at that at least a little, so he sits, as instructed, and watches Legend plop unceremoniously into the mix of leaflitter, pine nettles, and flower petals on the forest floor. 

He's still fidgeting with the scarf, and the words come slowly at first, then frantic and almost angry. 

"My mother used to tell me, you know.... that there are stories, in the absences. In what we don't see. And- the more I look around, the more I see you- all of you- in Wild's Hyrule. Goddess, you're all everywhere.... but-.... out of the nine of us, there are only eight call backs. Even Wild's got his own legends already. So I can't help but wonder--..."

"Where you are."

"Where I went! What happened? Did- did I fail, somehow? Did I do something wrong? There's nothing left that says I ever even existed!"

"You existed to us. To Wild, to me, and Time, and Twi and the others. Between all of us, there's no denying that you were here."

Legend realizes belatedly that he's only just barely fended off a fit of sobs from the knight, and counts himself lucky and also gives himself a brownie point or three for the save, just before he recognizes the familiar thwacking and tramping of bronze armor against offending tree branches and leather boots on forest floor somewhere behind him.

He feels the heat come through his voice before he can stop the words from coming out of his mouth. 

"Besides, you didn't completely fuck a timeline, then leave another to Ganon for seven whole years, now did you? Too busy cleaning up other people's messes."

Time froze as his foot settled on the line of the clearing they were in, and the pregnant silence in the moment it took him to school his voice into something normal made Warrior's skin crawl it was so uncomfortable. 

"..... T-There you boys are.... Twilight was--.... he was getting worried. I'll tell him you just .... stopped for a break."

He turned on his heel in a perfect about face that made Warriors knight-side a little jealous, but the rest of him looked to Legend, who was avoiding the direction Time had gone entirely. Realization dawned a moment after.

"......... that was cruel, Legend..... I didn't want you to make me feel better if you were just going to tear him down. Or tell his secrets."

"...... if I'm honest Wars? That last jab was more for my sake than yours."

"What?"

"Whose timeline do you think his failure ruined?"

The sharp intake of breath on Warriors part told Legend he'd picked up on all the appropriate cues. 

".... that's one of my secrets, for spilling his to you, I guess. I don't know if I'm ever gonna be able to forgive him. But hey, since when has Hylia ever cared what we thought? Probably hasn't since Sky...... the point is, you aren't a failure for having to pick up after everyone else, and then not getting thanked for it. You're like that with all of us, too. Constantly doing things hoping someone will at the least notice. I noticed. All of us have. You're a goddamn hero, same as the rest of us, and the only reason your scarf isn't locked up in a chest out here somewhere is probably because you wouldn't part with that thing if it cost you your freaking soul or something. Duh."

Its quiet for a moment, and Warriors takes the time to look down at the blue around his neck a moment before smiling.  

"..... you should apologize to Old Father Time.... but you're right.  I guess its still all in the things you don't see at first glance- I never would have thought you a confidant. You might find out some interesting things about him if you sat like you did with me."

"Id rather eat one of Wild's disgusting potions made out of butterflies and lizalfos."

"Don't jinx yourself, Vet." 

"Shut up."

~~~~~

Legend was going to murder Warriors.

Don't jinx yourself my ass, you set this up, you sorry-- he cut his own thoughts off to hiss under his breath.

Not only was Legend laid up with Time looking out for him as first watch, but he'd had to drain four of those nasty freaking potions. 

"I hate. Lightning. So much."

Normally, that would have earned him a chuckle, or at least a sympathetic hum.

But Time just turned his head towards a darker section of the underbrush that Legend knew for sure he absolutely could not see anything in. 

Was it the being ignored or the uncertainty and hurt in Time's expression that made his stomach twist? 

"I said--" 

"I heard you, Legend. I'm sorry, I didn't think you wanted to speak to me." 

"...... oh..." 

The simple acceptance of Legend's earlier ire pulled all of the heat right out from under him, and he deflated some into his bedroll. 

"........ I am sorry.... I know it doesn't mean much to you, but... I am. Even the sword didn't think I was good enough, and judging by your reaction, it was probably right."

Legend winced. 

"What kind of bullshit cop-out is that? The sword doesn't make you a damn hero, it just points and grabs like a stupid claw game."

"Success, does, then. And that is a baton I clearly didn't pass to you, that I missed out on passing down peace..... it eats at me, some nights when I can't sleep, that I still managed to grasp at straws and hold so tight to so much good that I got to keep it. And I doomed you. I have everything and you were left wanting." 

Legend stared at his back, the way he bent around the biggoron sword leaning into his right shoulder to be drawn if need be by his left hand. 

"Im afraid I'm going to lose it all one day because I failed you so badly."

"I'm not that pitiful."

"Legend-"

"Look, I'm fine--"

"What was her name, Legend?" 

The air left Legends lungs in a sudden, sharp breath. 

"..... That's what I thought..."

"...... you were ten, if that..... yes, it sucks, and time travel is a pain, but you were fucking ten. Hylia sent a ten year old, let his tree mentor die right in front of him, and then continued to traumatize- REPEATEDLY traumatize- a child. Yes, I'm angry. Bitter and jaded, even. But don't you dare get so self important that you start thinking the blame fits on your shoulders. You're an old fucking man, not a god."

"Interesting choice of words...."

"No. No, because you're just gonna start unloading more trauma. If this is about that creepy mask, then no. That doesn't count either!"

"You're awfully concerned about this particular issue.... alright, I'll let it drop--"

"No, you ten year old little brat in a mentally fifty year olds achy jointed body, you're gonna go the fuck to sleep and stop moping. Its my turn to take watch and I'll be damned if I have to sit up watching you get all weepy into your pillow and trying to snitch Wild's slate to call your wife at two in the goddamn morning. Go to bed!"

Time stared at him in surprise, (the ten year old in him in question seriously debating biting the finger wagging in front of his nose) before Legends phrasing hit him. 

"Oh, I’m going to absolutely kill Warriors for telling you about how I was when we met."

"Brat! Bed! Bounce to it, bunny hat kid!"

"You are the last person--"

"Bed!"

"Alright! Alright! Fine! You're lucky I don't fit those masks anymore," Time muttered, picking himself up off the stump to go peel off his armor and crawl into his bedroll. He was silent as Legend pulled himself into the space he'd emptied, then sighed and smiled. 

"..... thank you, Vet." 

"Yeah yeah yeah. Go to sleep before you wake up Twilight. He has ears like a fucking wolfhou---....... oh my goddess you're kidding me."

"Shhh."

"Goddess I hate you sometimes." 

Warriors, apparently woken by the hissing through Legends teeth, chuckled to himself. 

Its all in the things you don't see, I guess, he thinks.

Secrets secrets, everywhere, but.... together, we're all still here for each other. I can live with that. 

"Good night bratty bunny and feral bunny."

Two furious choruses of "HEY!" were the perfect lullaby for Warriors to drop right back off to sleep. 

Yeah...

He could definitely live with that.

[ronnytherandom]

Media n Stuff

2/1/2021: American Psycho

Excellent, truly. Has a lot to say about those on the top of our social hierarchy, the wealthy and influential and how our modern system facilitates them at the expense of everyone else. A very stylish film, well edited and directed. Rests upon a truly magnificent performance in the case of Christian Bale’s Patrick Bateman, who does a fantastic job of playing something pretending to be human. Soundtrack is a bop.

3/1/2021: Se7en

All right, not my kind of thing ultimately. There are some thoughts about legacy and what doing good means here but I feel its slightly obscure and could be more clearly stated; perhaps I wasn’t paying close enough attention. Directing is top notch. The acting also is good but nothing truly incredible. The suspense is very effective but on occasion can be defeated by pacing, excess time creating boredom. Further it was partially predictable, which harmed the effectiveness of the piece. Though the point of the state of the victims is to inspire disgust this especially did not fit the remit of entertainment for me.

4/1/2021: The Martian

Highly Enjoyable. As usual, weaker than the novel but not to a Golden Compass level. Any work that bends heaven and earth to save a single life is good in my books. Retains the wit and the scientific backbone to good effect to offset the bleakness. Likewise, the back-and-forth structure between Mars and other locations helps to make the survival scenario less overbearing. Star-studded cast, and I think rightfully so here as the performances are generally very good. Matt Damon as Mark Watney has many moments of excellence. Mars is beautiful and I’m glad Ridley Scott captured that well, on top of doing a job that lives up to his reputation.

5/1/2021: Dredd

Good. Though I worry about the implications of a “Not All Cops Bad” message, it could be interpreted elsewise and is decidedly sympathetic to civilians which works in its favour. There is the aspect of portraying Police and Criminals as two sides of the same coin, with Dredd and Anderson existing outside of said dichotomy to some degree, but ultimately implying that the existing system just needs the right people in it without severe reform, though again that’s up for debate. Otherwise, good spectacle and very nice presentation; the film can be beautiful at times and when it isn’t it has excellent action. Something I appreciate is a clear view of the action, rather than the choppy action of modern superhero films, and an unflinching approach to the depiction of gore even if I was flinching at times. Though I’m unfamiliar with the original work I find this an interesting dystopia, even if Dredd himself can be a little cliché. Performances haven’t left much of an impression though.

6/1/2021: The Wolf of Wall Street

Meh? It’s well made don’t get me wrong, everything looks and feels high quality. Of course, Scorsese is a good director. Of course, DiCaprio’s acting is fantastic, as is the rest of the acting to be frank, but it just doesn’t come together for me. I don’t feel like there was a compelling reason to sit through that for three whole hours. I can see meaning in the depiction of excess; of Belfort’s alienation, losing everything that should be dear to him; of the animal nature of people who just want to make money. I can appreciate the powerful performances and the craftwork on display. I just didn’t enjoy it.

7/1/2021: Enola Holmes

Enjoyable. Has a more juvenile tone than I like, that’s to be expected from a coming-of-age story, but it certainly does a far better job with the gifted sister idea than the BBC Sherlock series did. At times this film was truly joyous and inspiring and I would attribute that to a cast of endearing characters and a strong thematic core which is carried throughout the story. However, from a more radical perspective I cannot endorse a seeming admonishment of direct action, as much as I appreciate the idea that getting new blood in politics is a progressive step forward. Performances are good, Millie Bobby Brown does well in the lead, though I am not so keen on her 4th wall asides, and I always appreciate the sight of Henry Cavill. Also, proud to see Burn Gorman portray the most accurate Normal Englishman I’ve ever seen. I also wanted to make note of what id consider good editing, felt very snappy and effective.

8/1/2021: Shaun of the Dead

Very good, but maybe doesn’t quite live up to its reputation. Very put off by the use of F and N slurs even if the prior is in context with English slang at the time. Id say this is the lesser of the Cornetto trilogy films but with such competition it’d be hard to come out on top. Quite dry humour, I don’t think all the jokes land, but there are a few true laugh out loud moments. Similarly, it works emotionally only some of the time but at moments, especially in Philips last words, there’s some genuine power. I do feel like the pace lulls slightly too much at moments but is generally very good and saves itself for a fun final sprint. The Zombies themselves are true to Romero’s style of zombie and though the satire is light in comparison to character-zombie parallels it is still effective. Performances are good, and serve well in demonstrating the range of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost in comparison with the later Cornetto films and Bill Nighy is always a treat. I only ever have praise for Edgar Wright as a fan of all his later works, so I’m glad to see even his first feature demonstrates his ability well, stylish young man is our Edgar.

8/1/2021: Avatar: Legend of Korra: Series 1

Not by any stretch a worthy successor but good by its own merit. Has powerful emotional moments and excellent action, I cannot get enough of any kind of bending in this universe. Some characters are likeable; Korra is a good lead, Tenzin is my personal favourite and I want to hug Naga. Bolin, however, can get shafted. his particular brand of comic relief inspires in me an absolute hatred I cannot fully fathom. I have many little gripes though. I find the love “square” (?) plot annoying and do not understand what purpose it serves. Just be honest with each other goddamn! In universe I wonder at the limits of metal bending, but the police are content simply to launch cables with it. Why are the Chi Fighters such an obstacle in the first half and yet become cannon fodder by the end? I also feel like a lot of the “powerful moments” I feel are dependent on nostalgia for The Last Airbender, such as any moment where the original theme is played, or when General Iroh appears etc. This is particularly egregious with the feature of cabbage corp. Really? It is frustrating to me that Korra spends the entire series past the second episode tell-not-showing us she can’t airbend before having it essentially gifted to her, similarly with the avatar state. As much as she does endure hardship, I feel like the series would be improved even slightly if Korra’s bending is taken away completely and she uses the avatar state to rescue Mako from Amon, when she is actually at her definitive low point. I find with most episodes there are moments which I’m absolutely invested in and really enjoying but then a gripe or two will pop up and marginally ruin the experience for me. But again, these are minor and as much as I fuss over these details the ultimate product is enjoyable and watchable. The setting is certainly interesting but (probably by design) New Republic City clashes too harshly with the magic system, and I think it harms the series. The animators and artists however should be lauded, as the spectacle here is magnificent.

9/1/2021: Ex Machina

Magnificent piece of work. This is what I imagine is actual good cinematography, rather than the usual “pretty stills equals good cinematography” take. Every frame a painting indeed, aided in that way by fantastically beautiful set work. Each actor deserves applause but I feel especially Alicia Vikander. As Ava she does brilliant work and at times uses an alien affectation which is an impressive highlight of attention to detail here. The director knows exactly what they’re doing, the whole thing has a kind of spotless professionalism. Special Effects are minimalist but used so very well, especially the work of making Ava and the other AI look so real. I love that this is a film which doesn’t stoop to explaining every little thing and treats the audience as an equal, and how the tension is reflected in all aspects of the piece and builds to such a mighty crescendo, though I was quite put off by the self-harm scene and would rather that were not a thing. Not only all of that but its deeply meaningful with a lot to say about our own minds (I don’t think Nathan passes Turing test) with a decidedly feminist angle too. It really is a treat.

10/1/2021: Sourcery (unfinished)

Even as a fan of early Pratchett, this ain’t it chief. I don’t like it. The jokes don’t land, the only character I like is The Librarian and the whole thing just kind of bores me, so I’ve stopped somewhere just past halfway as I can’t be fussed for the rest. I don’t care about Coin, or the wizards, or Rincewind, even the Luggage has lost that pariah charisma it usually has. Conina feels weird? I feel like there this constant unnecessary sexualisation of her and Rincewind’s affections seem more than mildly inappropriate. I’ve been reading it a week and I’ve barely been able to drag myself to it these past couple of days so I feel its time for something a little fresher.

10/1/2021: The Two Popes

Very good. There is excellence in all aspects of this films craft. Johnathan Pryce gives an endearing performance; Anthony Hopkins is likewise very good as you’d expect. I think this is a film to listen to through a good sound system, the sound work struck me as exceptional in its attention to detail while the soundtrack is good fun. Direction is dynamic and effective most evidently in the camera work which tends to feel Just Right. Dialogue is very well written and feels very organic. I enjoy the themes of change and reconciliation and feel contrasting the character of the two popes expresses this very effectively, however I would much rather see evidence of genuine change that surely must’ve occurred rather than a simple implication of change as we see. There is the argument to be made that fully reconciling the old and the new without altering material reality, beyond giving speeches encouraging others to do so, represents the will to change being co-opted and perverted by the conservative establishment. But its still a nice sentiment and a well made film regardless.

[thisstableground]

did you ever revisit the trio's first time but with Usnavi's pov? because id love to read that!

i mean i did write the whole bit leading up to it which i guess you might’ve read? but not the sex itself, because it’s really difficult to rewrite a sex scene in a way that still feels interesting. but i’m still glad you asked this because i have had manythoughts about it, so here’s a half-fic half-headcanon post instead! not actually all that NSFW but i’m putting it under a cut just bc it’s long.

**

The thing that is important to remember is that at this time yes, Usnaviis bigtime heart-eyes tripping over himself crushing on Ruben because look at him, who the hell wouldn’t? But Usnaviis also still and always will be bigtime heart-full soul-shatteringly in love with Vanessa (because look at her who the hell wouldn’t) anddoesn’t intend to take any step of this wild little trip they’re going onwithout knowing she’s 100% on board. Andhe knows Ruben, who doesn’t so much have emotional baggage re: touching as he does a whole emotional moving van full of boxes that are full of other boxes that are full of panic attacks.

 So he has no expectations with this, has no intention of putting any pressure on. Kissing is already great, anyway, there’s so many tongues involved and whatever cologne Ruben uses smells outrageously sexy right now and Vanessa keeps nudging Usnavi like hey hope you’re paying attention to how good I look with him, so it’s happy times all around even if all they get done tonight is making out in Usnavi’s living room.

But Vanessa – of course Vanessa, why is anyone surprisedthat Vanessa – says, “bedroom?” and Usnavi wants to be like oh my god you can’t just say that to the guy he’ll run for the hills, but then to his eternal surprise Ruben nods, so now Usnavi mostly just freaks out internally and a little bit externally too because he’s fantasizedabout this but he never quite fantasized it ever actually happening in actual real life.

Then they’re in the bedroom and  things kind of come to a screeching halt,because Ruben’s just taken his shirt off. Usnavi has no idea what he actually imaginedwhen Ruben said that he had scars, but he’s pretty sure he didn’t imagine that.he couldn’t have imagined that. Vanessa at his side says “Jesus Christ” and Usnavi elbows her to shuther up, but to be fair, Jesus Christ.

He gets used to the scars, later.He never loves that they’re there, because of what they mean had to havehappened. but he thinks Ruben is gorgeous, and that’s not because of them or inspite of them, they’re part of him and there’s other things to thinkabout. 

But for now, this first time, thefirst few times, the word he’d use to describe them is ugly. Ruben isn’t ugly, Ruben is a solid twenty out of ten, but like, there’s Ruben who comes into the bodega and jumpsup onto the counter like he knows that spot is his, and smiles at Vanessa andgiggles at Usnavi’s jokes. There’s the smaller, sadder Ruben who wandersinto the store like he’s lost his way and sits in the backroom with his head onhis knees for hours or who’ll be holding a cup of coffee and zone out soaggressively that he drops it on the floor.

And then there’s Ruben here, who is still shirtless but looking like he’s about to make a break for it, looking likehe knows exactly what word is in their heads. Usnavi never quite connected thathorrifying story Ruben told him all those months ago to reality, and here’sreality: taken to pieces and hurt, standing right in front of him. He can’tsay anything because the only word he can find for it is ugly and he knows how Ruben will take it if he says that, but that isn’t what Usnavi means by it. It’sugly that someone could be so cruel, it’s ugly that someone could take a personand do that to them, and especially to thisperson.

And then Vanessa (of course Vanessa, always his grouchy, sweet, unsubtle Vanessa) breaks the awkwardness by grabbing Ruben in a hug that looks like itis crushing every one of his ribs and she says, “it’s just that it’s not fair.”

Unfair is a better word for it than ugly. It isn’t fair at all, and it isn’t fair that Usnavi knows nothing he does is gonna change that it happened, or stop what’s still happening afterwards. Especially not in one night. Like, Usnavi ain’t too bad in the sheets after all the practice him and Vanessa have put in but he’s pretty sure he can’t just undo trauma with dick magic and determination, more’s the pity. But they can maybe work on rightingthe balance in Ruben’s life just a little, couldn’t they?

So he holds both of them andthen, well, okay, Usnavi has toadmit, he doesn’t actually remember most of the sex that takes place after. He’s so busy having toomany feelings in his heart and also too many feelings in Other Places that heforgets to turn on the part of his brain that records memories. When hethinks back on it he can’t really picture anything clearly, he can just hear the loud happy AAAAAAAAA noise his inner monologue was making the whole time, and vaguely recallsthe Holy Shit Vanessa Are You Seeing This Too face he inadvertently made everytime he caught her eye over the top of Ruben’s head while Ruben was, y’know,otherwise occupied. 

But he remembers Ruben being there, and Vanessa beingthere, and that there was nothing ugly about any of it. So he remembers the most important part.

***

“Vanessa,” Usnavi says, leaninground the door as she’s getting out of the shower late the next afternoon when Ruben’s finally gone home to process. “Vanessa, I had sex with a boy!”

“Yes, I was there,” she says, holding out her hand for a towel.

He passes it over and leansagainst the basin while she dries off. “I’m glad you were there too,” he says. Is that a strange thing to think, to be happy that your girlfriend got to watch your first time with a guy? But Vanessa’s giving him a soft look now and he can’t imagine doing something so new and awesome and not sharing it with her, he shares everything with her. Everything including shy, silly, nerdy, naked dudes, it seems.

“So how was it? Your first time?” Vanessa wants to know.

“Dick tastes weird,” Usnavi says. “I liked it, though. Did you?”

“It was hot,” Vanessa says, a neutral no feelings voice but Usnavi isn’t fooled: Ruben went in for a cheek kiss then tentatively turned it into a last-moment kiss onVanessa’s mouth before he left today, and Usnavi watched her smiling at the door for atleast four full seconds after it closed behind him. She likes him. Confirmed when she says, “hereally is somethin’ else, ain’t he? You wouldn’t think it to look at him.”

He knows she doesn’t just mean he’sa good fuck, her voice halfway between awed and sad,  but Usnavi doesn’t wanna ruin the high he’s stillriding by thinking about those parts of it. “He’sdefinitely something. Cute as heck, too!”

“Very cute,” she nods. “And… we’restill alright, yeah? Like, you didn’t change your mind on anything about us?

“Querida, I adore you and we are fantastic,” he says firmly, kissing her hard toprove it, because he doesn’t like it when Vanessa is unsure of herself and especially not when Vanessa is unsure that he’s anything less than head-over-heels for her. “Also, perfect sex team, much? We blew that boy’s goddamn mind last night.”

“I feel like we’re almost too good,” she agrees, grinning, confidence restored. “He’ll bewalkin’ wrong for days.”

“Like, frighteningly good.” 

“We should be illegal,” she says, and they do acelebratory high-to-low five for being so awesome at sex things.

[letstalksymphogear]

Symphogear, EP. 3 (Cont.)

“aight fellas im here for the fortnite session where we droppin boys”

Hibiki shows up, ready to participate in this four player game of sociological tension.

“hope hibiki’s doing okay. im worried about her. ryoko, stop resting your arm on my head.”

“ryoko does as ryoko pleases baby”

Vibrates angstily.

“im missing my wife for this guys please lets just do this”

“wish i had a wife too instead of this vase filled with fucking ashes” SLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORP

The squad analyzes the statistics of all Noise outbreaks over the last month to see if there’s a pattern somewhere. Somehow, Hibiki is regarded as an authority on this, despite being just a normal girl.

This is not the face of someone who has a degree in Noisology, let alone even listened to a Noisia album.

“looking photogenic while this girl describes how these horrible, lovecraftian entities butcher entire populations will look great on my acting resume”

Strained sounds of holding back laughter at this absolute clownery.

*coughs quietly*

Exposition goes on about the UN acknowledging the existence of Noise, but them existing for far longer, existing in myths as demons and monsters of long ago. This makes little sense, but fuck it, just roll with it. They also say the Noise is rare, but this being Symphogear, the Noise will be here forever, until the end of time.

“its like the noise are a metaphor........................”

Hibiki, looking dead inside as the average overnight studying student would, muses whether someone is behind the noise. She also asks if you can hear the sound of one hand clapping.

Tsubasa makes a very relevant observation that the school is smack dab at the center of all these outbreaks. In retrospect, you probably should have asked her first. She points out it may be because someone wants their get their hands on the almost complete relic hidden away in the 2nd Division: Durandal. Why anyone wants an old ass french sword is beyond me.

“yeah i can do exposition too, fuck you”

Finished relics are extremely rare and as a result extremely powerful. Incomplete ones are pretty powerful, but need to be rebuilt a bit.

“i discovered all this, conveniently, as the only person left to do so! totally not suspicious at all.”

“anime plot hurting brain. bullshit levels make think no good.”

“wish i got hired for a macross anime instead, they get to go to space”

“being meguca is suf- wait, im confusing my roles”

The exposition goes on to note that America wants the relic. This is one of the few shows that depicts America in a very serious and antagonistic light. America never cooperates in any useful way except once.

“it should would suck if someone was sending us them noise monster all on purpose-like”

“yeah............! suuuuuure would suck.... mmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmm...”

Tsubasa and Ogawa quietly plan idol ruminations. This animation used to be far, far worse.

This is the moment where Tsubasa becomes sword-kin. From here on out, she will always refer to herself as a sword. This is law. Literally every single season has this same deal. She believes she is a sword. I know it’s not literal, but I like pretending it is.

Succ Intensifies

“gonna get her number later after the season is over, damn”

Hibiki muses on the nature of war.

“why we gotta fight”

“cause yall suck”

Ryoko then says some very not nice things that we’re just going to walk right around because Ryoko is a little bit of a weirdo and should probably keep her flirting to the short haired lady working on the bridge.

“i will call the cops, lady”

Hibiki starts her next day at school as she spots Tsubasa during her choir class.

“forget my nintendo switch with the latest smash bros game in the classroom goddamnit”

“hibiki please tone down the gay for five seconds while we try to get through this dumb singing class in one piece”

“i smell a homewrecker”

“THE GAY CAN NEVER BE TONED DOWN, IT CAN ONLY BE TONED”

Hibiki is then fed by multiple classmates for this statement.

The Anime Janai crew is fond of Hibiki, much like a group of Lords being fond of the royal court jester. Hibiki clowns it up by working on a report she procrastinated until the very last minute. “Your life sure is an anime!”, one of them says. Hibiki then says, “I wish!”. They smile in unison at the irony.

Look at how they mock the threads of reality. Absolute monsters.

Hibiki nails the report at the skin of her teeth, Miku’s gonna get ready for the meteor shower, everyone’s real fucking happy, the evening looks peaceful, all is well.

“i cant wait to do all these fun things we promised several times over!”

Unfortunately, the worst case scenario happens.

Her tiddies start ringing.

“no.... fuck.... my tiddies... they’re ringing...”

She knows now she cannot go.

In retrospect, she probably could’ve blown them off. I mean, what are they gonna do? Fire her? She’s practically irreplaceable. Alas, her conscience is too strong. The ringing from her tiddies too loud to ignore.

“okay im back for the thing you promised we’d do repeatedly that we planned for a good amount of weeks now”

“...”

“i got fucking ghosted didnt i”

“cannot fucking believe i got ditched on my hot date with hibiki. bet its because her tiddies rang, isnt it. always her and her... GODDAMN tiddies ringing ALL THE TIME. LET ME BE WITH HER... god...”

“bae. im sorry. the tiddies rang. i have no choice.”

Miku tries to keep it together. Neither of them are happy about this state of affairs, and rightfully so, because it’s fucking stupid. Hell, it would have made more sense of Miku knew but still got jealous anyway, because she feels her job is establishing too much distance! And they talk those problems out instead of issues that only arise if everyone’s a goddamn moron about communication!

“but thats the point of the pl-”

NO! IT’S NOT CLEVER! IT’S FRUSTRATING! THERE ARE CLEVER WAYS TO SHOW A LACK OF COMMUNICATION BESIDES A CHAIN OF OBSTACLES TOO STUPID TO EXIST!

Miku takes the whole thing with grace even though I’m absolutely certain she threw her phone at the wall in raw, gay frustration.

Hibiki, understandably, is pretty fucking pissed.

“im gay. im angry, and im gonna fuck yall up for RUINING MY DATE AFTER HAVING FINISHED MY DAMN REPORT”

Hibiki fights the Noise. She’s gotten slightly better at fighting, but for now she’s still sorta trash at it. A grape themed Noise throws bombs and crushed her under rocks from a ceiling.

You’re a student. You’re the lone survivor of a concert that you got flak about for years. You go to an institution for singing with your best friend and basically get shoved into a life of crime fighting unwittingly. Your only teammate hates you and tried to kill you. You don’t get to hang out with your best friend anymore. Your teachers hate you. And you’re losing against the abominations that may have potentially warped your life negatively, forever.

This is probably the pivotal moment where Hibiki fucking snaps and decides she ain’t taking shit anymore. She’s not at her strongest yet, but mentally? She has decided to tell the world to go fuck itself.

“MY WIFE THINKS IM CHEAAAAAATING, MY TEAMMATE THINKS I SUUUUUUUUUCK, AND I’M SICK AND TIRED OF IT”

My, Hibiki, what big fangs you have. All the more to grit your teeth and beat the shit out of things with, I assure you.

Needless to say, even without having the skill, she’s starting to understand and get more comfortable with the full extent of the power her suit provides her.

She’s gotten so mad that even the illustrators are afraid of her.

To note: this isn’t just anime drama silhouette stylization. She is actually physically turning into a red eyed shadow. You’ll know why later down the road.

“YOU WANNA FUCKIN FIGHT ME NOW TSUBASA? HUH? HUH? YOU WANNA FUCKIN’ FIGHT ME?!”

Needless to say, her rampage goes on for a while.

She manages to dispatch all the Noise except for the Grape themed one. Up in the hole it made, she sees the meteor fall from the sky...

Wait, look closer. Is it a bird?

A plane?!

No, it’s...!

“i aint gonna tell her i just did a wish on her”

Sword!

“why the fuck does SHE get jetpacks?!”

Hibiki randomly yells out she wants to protect things too, for absolutely no real reason. Who would even break the ice with that. Hibiki, please.

They sorta stare each other down in a field awkwardly, like a bad high school reunion. But, a mysterious voice breaks out of literally fucking nowhere.

“didnt know they legalized gay marriage in japan already, otherwise id be showing up to this joke of a marriage sooner, you absolute buffoons”

“did this bitch just insinuate id waste my time getting married to this complete idiot, let alone even contemplate getting married in a public park as opposed to having a customized karaoke based marriage in the FUCKING HILTON?!”

“hey time out dont say that shit im already married and my wife already feels enough like im cheating so please keep those comments to yourself okay please”

“eat my ass, nerds. id tell you to come to the park in 15 minutes for an ass kicking...

but we’re already here, now aren’t we?”

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots Reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 12 - Candy Page 18

==>

Time to see what all the fuss was about Page 18.  We’re with Jane... that might not be good.  Especially given Lollipop proximity.

Jane scoffing at troll genocide again.  :(

Gamzee seems more woke than Jane here.

GAMZEE: sO yOu SaYiN yOu NeEd DiFfErEnT sHoEs FoR yOuR hUmAn DiCkS aNd WhAt NoT?

Pfffff

Jane narrows her eyes at the disingenuous buffoon.

I dunno, he sounds like he’s being pretty goddamn ingenuous right now.

It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation?  Are they black with each other or something??

What’s more likely is he’s attempting to get a rise from her. To get her a little hotter under the collar. To put her in a certain mood.

Oh my gosh she’s genuinely black for him, hahahahah

GAMZEE: AnD AlL I EvEr bEeN TrYiN To dO Is gEt yOu rIgHt tOo, WiTh mOrAlS AnD GoOdNeSs, AlL fIlLeD uP iNsIdE yOu As TiGhT aS yOuR tAsTy HoE bAlLoOnS aRe WiTh HuMaN mOo JuIcE.

Jesus christ that’s not the kind of metaphor i want to be hearing from canon

or anyone for that matter

JANE: No! I’d rather die than touch your disgusting clown baton ever again.

....yyyeah, context is showing she’s PROBABLY super Black into this.  Still, pretty jarring to see a clear consensual “NO” right in the middle of things.

Quit calling her a dairy queen!!! D: D: D:

Oh god they named the baby Tavros.

Alright, there’s some grade A discomfort in this scene, which I’m enjoying, really.  I can see why they singled out page 18.  I could traumatize some people with some of these paragraphs out of context.

HOO HOO HOO, THIS LITTLE PIGGY WENT TO THE DARK CARNIVAL!!!

Eeeeuugh

JAKE: Anyway whats up with you? Hows life with davekat going? JADE: oh its great! im really glad i just went for it JADE: all of us together... it really is the best of every world

God damnit Jade why are you obliviously torturing them????????

You could’ve been REALLY GOOD for them both if you just FUCKING LISTENED TO THEM AND RESPECTED THEM INSTEAD OF SITTING ON THEM.

JADE: theres no way me and dave could have a regular baby together because im... JAKE: Whats wrong? JADE: well lets just say that after all the sburb stuff its done some things to my body JADE: like merging with bec mostly

Oh my FUCKING GOD please don’t canonize this.  This didn’t need to be spelled out so-- D:

jesus

D: D: D:

This... is actually making my stomach roil again????

like

not because id object to-- i mean, it’s one thing to deal with

FAN SCENARIOS

ISOLATED divergences from canon where she has to deal with that and its kind of hilarious, but can be safely ignored when it comes to her character arc as a whole

but once its CANON????????   D: D: D:

suddenly you can’t IGNORE the full import when you’re done with, like, an RP or something, of the psychological struggle she would be forced to deal with given an abnormal biological situation.  Instead of thinking “Oh, that could be pretty painful to deal with! Let’s explore it temporarily for fun” it becomes “Oh, that would be painful to deal with and you have to think about her having to deal with all the complications of that whenever you hear about her LITERALLY FOREVER.”  D:

andrew i know you couldnt resist because of how funny and practically-xenoprogressive it was but whyyyyyyyyy did you have to canonize that WHYYYY

Now instead of a fun joke thought it also has to be SAD FOREVER

AAAAAAAA  D’:

i dont know why this would be the line thats crossed to upset me

Rose surrogate?

JADE: no jake, dave wouldnt be the father in this scenario!

Pffffff.  Andrew’s just diving RIGHT into the, er, doggy fanfics here.  I should... TRY to lighten up about this.  Try.  D:

(...wait, shit.  Knowing my friend, THIS whole bit is why they alluded to this page.  God damnit.)

[[ EDIT:  askshenhibiki said:

Now that you read Candy 18, flash back to Meat when Roxy is talking about gender... and look at Jade's reaction looking at "where her hands rest on her lap". Yes, Meat hinted at that "mix" too.

Ah, let’s see...

ROXY: and so i got to thinking ROXY: what even is gender ROXY: amirite lol? JADE: oh yeah JADE: that makes sense i guess........

Jade looks at where her hands are folded in her lap. Bites her lip. She has her own concerns about this, her own thoughts. Reasonable thoughts, I’d say. But I’ll refrain from any further comment. I’m staying away from this subject, from now on.

...yeah, guess Dirk at least had the decency not to spring all that on us before Jade got the opportunity to do it honestly. ]]

Guh, back to Jake suffering in his sad, trapped scenario.  I hope THAT gets at least resolved by the end of this.  Someone save Jake from this, because it looks like he’s not really that capable of saving himself?

==>

Dammit, Jade, I’m cringing at these descriptions of your intrusion.

Oh wow, John went for the mustache.  Guess we knew that from, like, his stuffed statue oldself?

Jade doesn’t pick up on the obvious subtext in the conversation, however, because she’s been willfully undermining the subtext in her own personal life for nearly a year now.

D:  D:  D:

Seriously, Jade, how is what YOU’RE doing any better than what you were frustrated at seeing THEM doing, avoiding the real feelings and truth of anything even if it was conspicuously on body-language display?

KARKAT: THE NEW ADMINISTRATION IS CRACKING DOWN ON CERTAIN KINDS OF INTERSPECIES ADOPTION LAWS.

It’s like Andrew wants us deprived of even a happy imagined future for Earth C on top of everything else!!!  What the hell! >:(

Is this about politics?  Is Andrew just venting his anger that the Orange Guy is going to get away with ruining everything forever??  Because as understandable as that is, he could at least give us some imaginary happyfutures to look forward to.

Reading on... Hm, yet another intentionally-misused fridging reference.

KARKAT: HIS RELATIONSHIP IS A FLAMING WRECK OF AN INTERSTELLAR WARSHIP HURTLING TOWARDS THE PLANET AT TERMINAL VELOCITY WITH THE ENTIRE CREW BRUTALLY SLAUGHTERED UPON REENTRY, SHOVED STRAIGHT DOWN THE CHAGRIN TUNNEL AND THEN IMMEDIATELY SHAT OUT THE OTHER SIDE, THUS FLOODING THE ENTIRE FUCKING NEIGHBORHOOD WHEN IT CLOGS UP THE LOAD GAPER.

Yep, that triangle’s fucked.  Wonder if the conversation’s going to transition to the CURRENT triangle’s problems...

...yeah, John using the R word there isn’t far from the fucking truth from the looks of things.

JADE: maybe that would work for a few days, but one thing i learned from dating around a lot in my youth is that no ones going to leave a bad relationship until its THEIR idea to leave

She takes in a shaky breath and shuts her eyes. Her hair spills around her face when she leans forward to put her chin on her knees. Dave and Karkat exchange a look that is equal parts confused, miserable, and desperate.

Oh SHIT.  Is JADE going to be the one to finally vocalize about the problems here???

Something else comes hurtling out of the hole in the sky, too fast for Jade to catch. It hits the ground with a clap of green lightning. The collision sends a geyser of dirt, rock, and vapor into the air. Dave flash-steps to shield Karkat. Jade doesn’t move, taking the brunt of the explosion face on, using her abilities to warp the energy around her so that she’s a mote at the center of the storm. When the dust clears, she’s the first to jump in the crater, trailing smoke behind her.

There’s a body at the center of it. The torso is bloody, tangled, and curled into a fetal position. Its shoes are missing, but otherwise the outfit is quite familiar to her: it’s a dead ringer for her old Witch of Space uniform. Jade touches the body with the toe of her shoe, and then gasps when it rolls over to reveal its face.

JADE: its... JADE: ME???

Okay what the FUCK.  It sounds like there’s going to be some context for that postscript after all.  Something to bridge the gap between when that 16-yo Jade falls into the singularity and when Aradia goes off with her through a wormhole

I’m going to guess up front that this happens BEFORE the postscript... this younger version of Jade fell into the black hole and came out in THIS alternate timeline, possibly rather changed by the experience.  But then again, the way the sky opened up... actually, couldn’t that be just a “natural” manifestation of the black hole abilities encouraged by Calliope or done by the singularity alone, followed by later in the Postscript this Jade actually getting control of it??

And... reading on, from the sound of it, her eyes aren’t black yet, either.  Sounds like that’s to come, before the postscript.  Question being, is it alt!Callie black eyes, or some black-hole-powers visual manifestation?  Wait, never mind, I misread; this teenage Jade-corpse has NOT opened their eyes yet, so they couldn’t possibly tell, and the stuff about them “shaking” was about the adult Jade standing over her.  Never mind.  Let’s see which timeframe this Jade came from.

Also STOP TRAUMATIZING ADULT JADE ON SCREEN ITS NOT OKAY IM SICK OF IT ANDREW

==>

Page 20...

Stop letting babby not!Vriska bully babby not!Tavros.

Hm... same stupid tooth poison?  No, Jade didn’t get hit with a tooth... so it’s more getting hit with shards of spacetime and spiraling down a black hole.  Also whatever alt!Callie did to just barely keep her alive.

Hm, so the Heart stuff falls apart if you’re too separated from the mass-whole at Light’s center?  That’s certainly a hypothesis at least.

ROXY: sounds like its time for another funeral lmao

ROXY WAKE THE FUCK UP AND STOP BEING A VAGUELY ROXY-LOOKING LMAO-ZOMBIE.  WHERE THE FUCK DID REAL ROXY GO.

And where the fuck is Calliope anyway, she’s just being left in the dust and nobody’s even talked to her from the looks of it.

Hm, cut apart by political differences, this group...?

ROXY: woah ok karkat i get ur all fired up about politics and stuff but lay off gamz ok

ROXY WHO REPLACED YOUR FUCKING BRAIN WITH A BLOCK OF CHEESE

ROXY YOU’RE MY FAVORITE CHARACTER PLEASE GIVE US AN EXPLANATION FOR WHY YOU’RE ACTING NOTHING LIKE THE COOL SMART PERSON WE READ ABOUT.

JADE: dave what the FUCK did you say to him downstairs?

Oh my god you asshole don’t blame DAVE for this >:(

ROXY: this time next week well corpse party like its the end of the world!

I don’t want to think this has anything to do with Aradia, but we DID see her in that postscript bit...  And, I mean, what the hell could she even do??  It’s not like this Roxy is just Aradia in really convincing cosplay or something.

==>

She leads John and Jake into the building and down the center of the nave, humming happily to herself the entire time. An equally effusive Calliope trails behind her, carrying a bouquet of purple flowers.

Well there’s Callie. What is WITH these hypnotized motherfuckers.  I need a revelation on these shenanigans STAT.

What is with people being bathed in light here?

each time we witness death, we fall in love in with the important people in oUr lives all over again.

Calliope is gazing at Roxy with glassy eyes. She sniffs as she plucks the last petal from her rose. A breeze washes through the cathedral from the crack in the door at the end of the room, brushing the petal off-course and causing it to get stuck in Roxy’s over-sprayed hair. Calliope reaches out with a visibly shaking hand to remove the plant offal, but she does not draw back. Instead, she lets her hand graze down the side of Roxy’s face and cup her cheek. Roxy puts her own hand over Callie’s and holds it.

Uhhh.... huh.

So.

If Roxy was just lying to herself, then............ WHY??????

John tilts his head and squints at the image in front of him. Hmm.

Is John realizing he’s in some sort of fanfic drawn by another character, hence all the people in serene lightbeams at tender but unjustified moments?

Everyone whips their heads around to see, of all people, Aradia hovering in the foyer

Pff

(...I hope Aradia didn’t come here, like, from the postscript.  Where the “action” she talked about might have just been this corpse party.  Because that would be pretty fucking lame.)

KARKAT: MAYBE FUCKING NEPETA IS ABOUT TO POUNCE FROM BEHIND THAT GROTESQUE STATUE OF THE HUMAN SUFFERER T-POSING OVER THERE.

Pfffffffffff

The description of Human Jesus we all had in our hearts, but were too afraid to voice.

Alright, now we see the body we took our eyes off of.  Is it going to get back up, or did it escape earlier?

since nobody was willing to dislodge the huge, otherworldly shard from her chest

My damn god, people.

...alright finally, everyone’s talking.

JANE: Agreed. I’ve always felt that Kanaya has done an exemplary job of providing a model for compassionate, empathetic behavior, which others of her kind would do well to follow.

JANE STOP BEING A XENOPHOBIC BASTARD

CALLIOPE: please. roxy gathered yoU all here for a reason. CALLIOPE: at least listen Until the end. CALLIOPE: after that yoU can argUe all you want.

...Huh.  Huuuuhh.  What the fuck is all this for.  Are you saying ROXY caused this? Or...?

Okay I like this reinforcement she’s making in her speech about how different changes can influence how all of this unfolds, gives me hope that maybe these two cliffhangers aren’t all we’re going to be left with and we’ll be able to at least think of an IMPLIED future different from them if we wanted to like we thought about the seemingly-infinite-possibility original ending of Homestuck that I’d rather have been stuck with than this oh god breathe boots

okay there’s the labor going into good distraction

alright corpse get back up

JADE: i am not jade.

Right, so like the black eyes in the postscript suggested this is more just a... vessel for alt!Calliope now?  To give HER a future beyond the one she sacrificed for that black hole business?  And between alt!Callie’s became-the-black-hole nature and Jade’s Spacey Green Sun connection that’s been singularified, she has access to cool Black Hole powers?  And is gonna do cool shit with them in implied future adventures we won’t see while Aradia gleefully watches the carnage?  Huh.

The congregation watches her go, but no one moves to help her, or even looks in her direction. In her wake, she leaves a primal, echoing wail.

Oh my god why wouldn’t they have just a brief discussion or something IT’S NOT THAT BAD  D:

JADE: and while i cannot say the same thing for the rest of you, JADE: i, at least, am exactly where i am meant to be.

Well fuck.  So she just disconfirmed this timeline as... something.  Relevant, possible, I dunno.

JADE: and i have entered this body to protect your world.

Okay that’s good.  So thanks to alt!Calliope these side timelines where things unfolded differently MAY be preserved.  Pretty fitting given alt!Callie’s origins.

.......unless there’s some other stupid interspecies civil war threat that she’s going to be fighting too, here, when the political situation falls apart.  Dammit.

==>

Terezi talk Terezi talk

-- JOHN EGBERT sent TEREZI PYROPE the photo “ghostrain.jpg” --

TEREZI: WH4T TH3 4CTU4L FUCK JOHN: it started a few days ago. the sky above the capital of the troll kingdom just cracked open and ghosts began raining down everywhere.

Oh my GOD.  So alt!Callie kind of “saved” all the doomed ghosts that got swallowed up in the black hole by redirecting them all to THIS UNIVERSE and timeline???????

That’s pretty interesting!  Heck my stomach’s even calming down!

they can’t even be judges! TEREZI: G4SP

Yeah that’s pretty terrible!

...yep, the resistance WOULD put him in charge.  I had a feeling it may have ended up in that direction in Candy since it wasn’t in Meat.

--oh FUCK YOU Jade for splitting up what he had with Karkat before they could sort it out!!! You did the OPPOSITE OF HELP and neither of them are going to end up happy thanks to you! D:<

PFFF wow, John’s so concerned about babby not!Tavros’s living situation that he’s considering legit kidnapping.  That means things must be pretty fucking bad.

--okay Calliope’s still out and about with Roxy instead of being cooped up in her room like in the other timeline, that’s good.

Pff, trying to redeem Ghost Eridan in front of Ghost Feferi.  Yep, that’s Gamzee.

GAMZEE: fIrSt, A LiTtLe RiGhTeOuS sPlAsH oF tHe NaNnA nEcTaR tO cLeAnSe ThAt DaNkNeSs FrOm YoUr SoUlS...

Gamzee takes out a baby bottle and flicks it, covering them both with little drops of milk, as clergy does with holy water. He then takes a swig from the bottle himself before returning it to his codpiece.

Jesus.  Fucking.  Christ.

I don’t want to believe that what’s in that bottle is what he’s making it sound like it is, but OF COURSE it is.  Why would it be anything else.  I bet there’s not even any Lifey hypnosis going on, it’s just the literal stuff.

The crowd falls silent as they raise their heads to watch a drone ship pass by overhead.

Jegus fuck stop going whole hog condesce janey

ROXY: lmao you worry too much ROXY: janeys got her head on straight shell show you yet

ROXY.  WHERE DID YOUR BRAIN GO.  I MISS IT.  YOUR BRAIN WAS THE BEST FUCKING PART OF YOU.

Touching photo.

Alright lemme post split.  I haven’t gotten as far as the last post plowed through since I’ve been typing so much... ah well.

[lenin-it-to-win-it]

just gonna rant about my health issues to no one in particular for a bit under the cut sooo

im just so fucking tired of being sick all the time like. its been almost 2 years now of actively Going To Doctors And Having Tests Done And Trying To Get A Diagnosis and fucking!!! nothing works!!! and i only have until the end of this coming school year to get it figured out before my insurance runs out otherwise im just fucked!!! because im sure as hell not gonna be able to afford a fucking mri every six months making 10 bucks an hour at some retail shithole but so far ive seen SIX different fucking doctors (not counting 2 ER visits) because they all just keep shuffling me back and forth like “idk maybe have someone else deal with this? weird lol” or like “have you considered that maybe you might have anxiety :) you seem stressed :)” 

like yeah its a fucking stressful situation getting progressively fucking sicker for two goddamn years wasting thousands of dollars and reaching the end of a fucking ticking clock because almost every doctor ive seen is an incompetent jackass who does NOTHING but waste my time and money and then fucking condescend to me about anxiety like!!! yeah i probably DO have anxiety and depression and autism and what the fuck ever else but this isnt THAT 

and the literal ONE TIME i had ANY treatment that worked AT ALL helping with my eye spasms (literally One of Many Symptoms that i deal with on a fucking daily basis that still manages to completely fuck up my life) is something i cant take anymore because it damaged my fucking eyes!!! possibly permanently!!! i already HAD issues wtih light sensitivity that this medicine made WAYYY fucking worse and guess whats one of the WORST things at setting off my eye spasms??? anything to do with fucking light so YEAH thANKS for that @ the opthalmologist who had me take those damn eye drops for two months straight, which other neuro opthalmologist said was bullshit when i saw her again, not that im letting HER off the hook either since she REFERRED me to that incompetent bitch in the first place and then had NO solution other than “hm well you definitely shouldnt take that medicine again, but theres literally No Other Treatment, maybe blow another $400 in a few months to come see me again so i can continue to Not Help You In Any Way”

and its getting wORSE ALL THE TIME!!! and the best thing doctors can think of is “hm well maybe wait a bit to see if it gets worse? and maybe then we’ll know what it is?” well its getting worse!!!! but they still dont seem to know what it is!!! like at first it was just my vision going out of focus for a few seconds at a time, then it was a few minutes, then i was having visual distortion (or maybe hallucinations? who knows! certainly not any of the fucking doctors ive seen!), then awful fucking eye strain headaches, then spasms in my neck, then my jaw, then my arms, then my legs, now all fucking over, and now i get sick and dizzy just by moving my HEAD too far or too suddenly and like at work earlier today i was just stumbling around for two hours bc there was too much pressure in my head and everything felt tilted and i was just grabbing at every surface trying not to fall with my head like on my shoulder bc keeping my neck straight was too fucking hard and i swear to fuckign god a couple nights ago there was this weird buzzing on the side of my face??? and like it felt like my mouth was moving slower than it should??? but i dont even KNOW if thats a Real SymptomTM or if i was just freaked out and tired and imagining things or if i really am just getting to be a paranoid delusional nutcase about my health because every little thing terrifies me at this point, like ive been coughing for a couple weeks and instead of being like “oh its a bad cold” im like “maybe now my immune systems fucked up too maybe this is A New Symptom” i literally cant tell anymore i have no fucking idea 

and i dont WANT to think about all this All The Fucking Time but i do!!!!! i literally HAVE to bc it affects my life in every fucking possible way and i cant escape it like even rn the light from the fuckign computer is hurting my eyes and i cant even see what im typing half the time bc my eyes keep going out of focus and my teeth keep chattering and my head hurts or ill go to get a drink of water but then just Stand there for a few minutes bc i dont trust myself to hold a cup full of water and not spill it bc im having spasms or ill have to wear sunglasses at the dinner table bc my fucking idiot asshole dad got the BRIGHTEST possible lightbulbs for the dining room and i physically cant stand them 

or like im already dreading having to explain all this shit to my professors this semester about how like “oh so i probably wont be able to keep up with daily readings, especialyl not if theyre on physical paper and i cant scale up the text because my eyes just spontaneously stop working and i cant read..... and ill need a computer to take notes, i can Usually hold a pencil but one time i had a spasm in class and flung it across the room and it was super embarrassing and i ltierally skipped that class for weeks because of it so id really rather not deal with that again.... and even though im a fuckign AMAZING public speaker like, state champion debate level public speaking, ill still probably get super fucking nervous and suck at any kind of in class presentation bc ill just be thinking about my spasms the whole time and wont be able to focus....... and ill have to wear sunglasses all the time too so hopefully thats not an issue........ and also ill probably miss a lot of class bc whether or not i can handle walking half a mile Varies Wildly from day to day and also i have a lot of doctors appointments and sometimes im on medicine that completely ruins my sleep schedule so you know... looking forward to a great semester, hope i dont completely fail your class” 

and i have fuckign work tomorrow where ill have to deal with trying to pretend like even the most minor tasks arent painful and difficult and deal with awful btichy entitled customers complaining that im not SMILEY enough for you like the motherfucker who asked me how i was and i said fine and he was like “jUuUUuuuST fINE” like shut the everlasting FUCK UP with that ive met my obligation leave me ALONE my day isnt FINE im in awful pain and i HATE you and everyone like you or ill have to deal with my coworkers giving me weird looks while im having spasms or outright MOCKING me for them like the asshole that called me TWITCH (and a whore, but thats Another Fucking Story) or just not knowing how to deal and making bad taste jokes like when my teeth are chattering bc I Physically Cant Make It Stop like “haha are you chewing an invisible piece of gum lol” like no bitch im a neurological nightmare and my brain doesnt work and im Barely Holding Together would you PLEASE shut the fuck up 

and most of the time i just feel like everyone thinks im a fucking freak like even just sitting in the waiting room to see the neurologist or opthalmologist or whatever and everyone else there is Old and im the only person even remotely close to my age there and even the doctors dont seem to take me that seriously bc of it like “oh shes young, cant be that bad, all these old people out here are gonna die like tomorrow so why worry about this girl, its probably just anxiety from being on her period or having a test to study for lol” like straight up when the movement disorder neurologist was examining me she was like “im not used to seeing anyone this young or healthy’ and i know she meant it relatively speaking but like!!! clearly im NOT healthy or i wouldnt BE here like obviously something is wrong with me and its ruining my life and its serious and id like it fixed thanks!!!!! 

and i feel like No One Gets It like, obviously there are people wayyyy sicker than i am who suffer a lot more or people in similar situations but like. i dont Personally Know someone like that i can just talk to and like, of course i have friends who can Listen but.................................. theres a difference from being able to listen and being able to actually Understand and sometimes you just cant Get It unless youve gone through it like i really dont think ANYONE in my life has any idea how serious this is or how much it affects me and i know i cant expect everyone to just Always Think Of My IssuesTM but little things!!! like maybe NOT having the brighest possible lightbulbs in the dining room!!!! my brother NOT having his birthday party at dave and busters, which i had TONS of spasms at last time i went (and im even worse now!) AND the staff gave me shit about wearing sunglasses so now im nervous about That too or just! idk! people respecting and listening to me when i tell them that i Cant Do Something or that Doing That Thing Hurts and not just brushing me off or telling me im overreacting and then getting all shocked pikachu face when their dumbassery actually physically HURTS me and i get pissed with them for it!!!!

i dont think anyone gets how much it scares me all the time or how its Always on my mind and i literally cant think about anything else like. this could be the rest of my life. this could end my life. i dont know what i have. i might get diagnosed in the next month and have it completely cured, i might get a diagnosis and still be sick forever, i might not find out until its too late and i have LITERALLY NO FUCKING IDEA WHICH ONE!!!! ITS GREAT!!!!!!!! WELCOME TO MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sceptilemasterr]

MW Act 1, Scene 3 - The Marshal

Title: Most Wanted: The Hollywood Killer (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Dave x Sam

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: Sam Massey: here to get the job done, with no time for nonsense.

Previous Scene: Link

Masterlist: Link

EXT. CORDILLERA TOWERS - ROOFTOP - NIGHT

Dave emerges from the stairwell onto the rooftop. Yellow police tape cordons off the scene surrounding Logan’s body, but the area is otherwise untouched. Two police officers, OFFICER BARTON and OFFICER SANCHEZ, stand near the bar, conversing in low voices. Just outside the police tape, OTIS KHOURI paces nervously, wringing his hands. When he spots Dave, his eyes light up and he immediately crosses over to him.

OTIS: Dave! Dave, thank God. About time you showed up.

Dave attempts to brush past him to join Barton and Sanchez, but Otis blocks his path again.

OTIS: I asked those two to call you the second they showed. It’s a nightmare. Literal nightmare. Can you imagine what this will do to my property values?! Not to mention the-

DAVE: Alright, alright, Otis, calm down. I’m here, I’ll solve this. Just breathe.

OTIS: Look, I need this wrapped up quick. I’d really rather the media not get a hold of this-

Dave holds up a hand, interrupting him.

DAVE: Yep, okay. If you want this done quick, that means you’d better help me out. First things first, do you know if anyone got a video or picture of the attacker?

OTIS (shakes head): What? No, of course not, it all happened too quickly.

DAVE: Alright. I’m gonna take a look around. Let me do my thing, stay out of my way, and I’ll have this wrapped up before you know it. Deal?

OTIS (nervously): ...Deal.

He finally backs off, and Dave joins Barton and Sanchez near the bar.

BARTON: Reyes! There you are. Finally. That guy wouldn’t shut up about you. He says he’s a friend of yours?

DAVE: In the Facebook sense, anyway. So what does he need me for?

Dave walks over to examine Logan’s body.

SANCHEZ (shrugs): Beats me. He didn’t seem to think we could “handle it.” Didn’t wanna give us anything.

The three of them gaze for a moment at Logan’s bloodied body.

SANCHEZ: Hell of a case, though. Poor kid.

Dave nods before stepping gingerly around the body and over to the railing, leaning over the edge to gaze at the spot where Gavin had fallen.

DAVE (muttering): We’ll get the bastard who did this.

He stares down at the spot for a long moment, then turns back to look around the scene once again.

DAVE: So, what have you found so far? Witnesses, evidence, anything?

BARTON: McKenzie’s downstairs talking with a “Theresa something” who was at the scene. Poor girl seemed pretty shook up.

SANCHEZ: Also, found this.

He holds up a clear evidence bag, inside which is a bright red shotgun shell.

SANCHEZ: It was in the ice bucket, right there near the bar.

He points to a spot on the bar very close to where Gavin had fallen. Dave whistles softly.

DAVE: Point-blank. Damn. Who the hell was this guy?

OTIS: Some goon of Li’s, it’s gotta be, right? I mean, she hates people like me!

DAVE (under his breath): Can’t say I blame her.

OTIS: Wait, what was that?

Dave shakes his head, continuing to examine the crime scene as he speaks.

DAVE: Public, cold-blooded murder really ain’t her style. I’ve definitely gone after her enough times by now to know that. This was too premediated, too public for her. She’s more of a shadow thief.

OTIS: What, you know any other big-time lawbreakers runnin’ around here with a grudge against honest money like me?

Dave frowns.

DAVE: Well, not at the moment, no, but give me ten minutes at the precincts and I could come up with a few names-

SAM: ...Or I could give you one name. Right now.

Dave, Barton, Sanchez, and Otis all turn to see a blonde woman, wearing a black leather jacket over a red shirt, standing at the entrance to the stairwell. This is SAM MASSEY, U.S. Marshal. She scowls at the four men as she approaches Dave.

SAM: Let me guess. Shotgun shell, hit from point-blank range, done by the kinda creep who wants to watch his victims die. Ballistics report is gonna tell you it was a sawed-off shotgun too.

Everyone stares, stunned, at her analysis.

DAVE: I’m sorry, ma’am... but... who are you, and why are you at my crime scene?

SAM: Sam Massey. Deputy U.S. Marshal. And I’m here to catch the bastard who did this.

She holds out a hand. Dave hesitates before shaking it, each of them gripping the other’s hand a bit more tightly than strictly necessary.

DAVE: David Reyes. L.A.P.D. Major Crimes Division.

There is a palpable silence as each of them sizes up the other. Tension fills the air.

DAVE: And if I understand this right, you’re chasing a killer, and you think it’s your guy who did this?

SAM: Got it in one. John Tull. Murdering psychopath from somewhere up in the Cascades, escaped from our custody a few days ago. This whole scene is exactly his M.O.

OTIS: Wait, wait, you’re tellin’ me some psychotic jackass jus’ up and decided to shoot up my party for, what, no reason? You sure you ain’t tryin’ to pull a fast one on me? You want my money, don’t you?

SAM: ...What?! No! I’m a goddamn U.S. Marshal. Weren’t you even listening?

She pulls out her badge. Otis steps back and puts his hands up in surrender.

OTIS: Okay, okay, take it easy. Can’t be too careful these days, right?

Dave peers at the badge, looking puzzled.

DAVE: You’re West Texas branch?

SAM: That’s right.

DAVE: Now, my geography might not be the best, but I’m pretty sure L.A. isn’t in West Texas. Nor are the Cascades, for that matter.

SAM: Don’t ask me what the hell Tull was doing in my turf, or what he’s doing here for that matter. He ended up in Texas, we got the tip from Interpol, we locked Tull up, he escaped, he came here, I followed him. Got it?

DAVE: Alright, alright, just asking. Look, as much as I appreciate the Marshals stepping in to lend a hand-

Sam crosses her arms and steps closer to Dave, getting in his face.

SAM: Look. Reyes, was it? I get it, you think I’m gonna upset the little “boys’ club” you’ve got going on in the force here-

DAVE: What?! That’s not it at all-

SAM: -but I’ve got a job to do. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ve come a long way to get this guy, so from now on... stay out of my way.

Dave takes several deep, calming breaths.

DAVE: Listen. Right now, we can’t say for sure whether this is your guy’s doing or not. So either you wait until we get some proof, in which case you’ll be my first call, or if you’ve got a problem with that, you can talk to my captain at the precinct. Okay?

He flashes her a dazzling smile. She scowls back.

SAM: ...No.

For what is probably the first time in his life, Dave is utterly at a loss for words.

BARTON: Look, Dave, maybe you should back off a little, she seems serious.

Sam fixes him with a glare. Barton goes silent.

SAM: Alright, Reyes, you want proof? Let’s go to the tape.

OTIS (frantically): What tape? There’s no tape! I already told him, nobody filmed anything!

SAM: Then what the hell do you think that is?

She points to a small, dark CCTV camera lens mounted on one of the lampposts near the pool.

OTIS: Oh. That? It’s, uh, broken! Yeah! It was broken-

Sam suddenly grabs Otis and wrenches his arms behind his back, shoving him up against the bar.

SANCHEZ: Hey! You can’t-

BARTON (simultaneously): What the hell d’you think you’re-

SAM: “Broken,” my ass! This looks to me like a little obstruction of justice, don’t you think? Maybe we’ll book you for homicide too, while you’re at it. Ever been to jail?

DAVE: Marshal, I think you’d better-

OTIS: Hey! You can’t do this! You don’t even have a warrant! I could have fifty lawyers on your ass so fast-

SAM: Think they’ll help you if you’re in prison?

OTIS: ‘Course they will! There’s gonna be hell to pay! I swear, I am gonna-

Dave steps in between Sam and Otis, pushing them apart. Sam stares at Dave angrily.

SAM: Reyes, what are you-

DAVE: Sorry about that, Otis. Look, this camera thing, you said it was broken, right?

OTIS: Y-yeah! Of course! That’s right!

Sam frowns, shaking her head in disbelief as Dave continues.

DAVE: That’s a real shame. I know you said you wanted to keep all this quiet, but to ID our shooter, we’re gonna need more witnesses. For that, we’ll have to go to the press. Hate to do that to you, but you know how it is.

OTIS (suddenly terrified): No! You wouldn’t... You can’t do that to me! I’d be ruined!

DAVE: There’s no getting around it now. Sorry to break it to you, but the story about the grisly, terrifying murder is gonna end up playing every few minutes on every TV in the state.

Otis steps backward, shaking his head, clearly starting to panic.

DAVE: ...Of course, if we had some other way of identifying this guy, like, say, security camera footage... none of that would be necessary-

OTIS: Okay! Okay, you got me. The camera works just fine. You have to understand, I got that one set up for security purposes, I’m very wealthy-

DAVE: Don’t need to hear it. Just get us the footage, okay?

OTIS: Absolutely! Definitely! Can do! Right away!

He heads toward the stairwell. Sam and Dave follow, with Barton and Sanchez bringing up the rear. Dave shoots Sam a knowing look, and she huffs and looks away.

Next Scene: The Journalist

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0

MW Tag List: @griselda1121

[welllpthisishappening]

Caught in Your Light (1/4)

Forever. It's been forever. Or, possibly, longer.

It might honestly be longer.

Killian can't remember a moment when he wasn't hopelessly, head over heels in love with Emma. And it's kind of becoming a problem. Because it's been forever and they've always been friends, but now things are changing and traditions are ending and there's just one more weekend.

This is it. So it's time to do something about it. In Boston. With all their friends watching. It'll be fine.

Rating: Mature. Swearing. Kissing. Rinse and repeat. Word Count: Way too many, but just under 9K this chapter. AN: Hi, hello, hey there! It’s me again with more words. This is my @csficformal​ story for @idristardis​. It has been an absolute delight getting to know you over the last few weeks and I hope you enjoy all the words and the pining an (eventual) bed sharing. A major thank you to @distant-rose​ & @awkwardnessandbaseball​ for organizing this event and just being generally fabulous. And I’m not saying that my friends and I also called the last weekend of spring semester Final Jam, but I’m not, not saying that, y’know?  Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam (of the final variety or otherwise) with future updates on Tuesday and Friday. 

He can’t stop moving.

If he stops moving, he’ll probably start thinking and the last thing Killian wants to be doing in the middle of Logan Airport is think. So he keeps bobbing on his feet instead, bouncing up and down like an over-excited kid and it’s a pretty apt description because, much like the kid standing next to him, he too is also holding a hand-made sign.

And waiting.

Her flight is late.

He refuses to believe that is a sign. He’s got already one, anyway, and it’s, technically, a sheet of computer paper with a drawing that one of the art teachers promised looked great the day before, but it’s still a sign and Killian will not think about how the FAA is, apparently trying to ruin his weekend.

The kid next to him keeps sending Killian furtive glances, confusion obvious in the pinch between his eyebrows and that’s fair – Killian probably looks like a crazy person, but he can’t stop moving and it’s getting increasingly more difficult to breathe and Emma’s flight is late.

“Are you ok?” the kid asks and Killian freezes in his tracks, the forty-second time he’s traced out that particular semicircle on the floor of the JetBlue arrivals gate. His eyes widen slightly, brows jumping up his forehead and he bites back the immediate retort of you shouldn’t be talking to strangers sitting on his tongue.

He nods instead, slow and a little awkward and his arm is starting to ache from holding this sign up for so long.

The kid does not look convinced.

That’s fair too. The entire Boston area probably knows that Killian is not fine. He’s nervous and anxious and excited and nervous – an adjective that deserves mentioning twice because it’s the weekend in some kind of bolded and underlined and supremely italicized way.

Only that’s not what they’re calling it.

They’re calling The FINAL Final Jam and it’s not a very creative title, but they’re not a very creative group and this would have been easier if Emma’s flight was on goddamn time.

He’s started thinking.

Damnit.

“Ok,” the kid mutters, averting his eyes because Killian might actually be glaring at him, but he’s kind of lost control of his face and, like, his entire life.

He takes a deep breath, or, at least, tries, pulling in oxygen through his nose and it’s all repurposed air anyway because he’s been standing in the airport for the last forty-five minutes and he’s going to have to pay so much money to get out of that parking garage.

“I’m really fine,” Killian promises and it doesn’t even sound like his own voice.

It is, he reasons, because of Final Jam.

He hates that name.

That’s a lie too.

It’s a vaguely hysterical name that they all came up with, exactly, a decade ago – slightly overworked and vaguely exhausted freshman with finals ahead of them and a first year of college, almost, behind them and Mary Margaret had been going through some strange Disney Channel Original Movie phase at the time.

“It’s a perfect name,” she’d promised and she sounded so sincere and so enthusiastic that none of them objected. Ever again.

And Final Jam was born – the last weekend of the year before finals or, as they got older, the first weekend in May and they all made a list and came up with one incredibly tourist-type activity they each wanted to do and there was always a considerable amount of alcohol and far too much laughing and Jonas Brothers references and it might have been Killian’s favorite weekend of the year.

It was definitely Killian’s favorite weekend of the year.

Only now, it’s ten years later and it’s the final Final Jam because they’re all adults and Mary Margaret and David are going to have a kid and things have to end some time.

This is exactly what he didn’t want to be thinking about.

The kid is still staring apprehensively at him, mouth twisted and Killian wonders where his parent or guardian is, but that only lasts as long as the relative silence and then there’s a PA announcement and a flash on one of the boards and--

“Killian!” His head snaps around at the sound and the voice, any worry about the end of everything forgotten, and he nearly drops the goddamn sign.

She’s smiling as soon as he moves, a bag slung over her shoulder and it hits him in the thigh when she all but leaps towards him, arms flung around his neck and laughter ringing in his ears and he doesn’t exactly breathe her in because that would weird, but he doesn’t not do it either and his arms fit around Emma Swan’s waist perfectly.

“Am I not on the ground anymore?” she asks, but the words get jumbled a bit where she’s pressed into his shoulder and the sign is a lost cause at this point.

Emma leans back slightly, feet absolutely not on the ground and that’s not doing Killian’s forearms any favors, but he can’t consider a possibility where he moves, which is only slightly ironic considering everything else that’s happened in the last hour or so.

“Are you not impressed with my feats of strength, Swan?” he asks and he’s smiling too, but that might be because he’s fairly convinced he can feel every single inch of her.

“Oh no, no, totally impressed. But what are you doing here? Don’t you have to impart wisdom to several dozen teenagers?” “I get days off.” “You work at the same school as Mary Margaret and I know for a fact that you did not have today off.” “Well I get to request days off.” He’s momentarily concerned about the state of her back when she arches away even more, but he’s also a bit preoccupied by whatever her fingers are doing to the hair at the nape of his neck and the way her shoulders kind of sag when she exhales.

Like it’s the single most surprising thing in the world.

“You took today off?” Emma asks softly.

“How else were you going to get into the city?” “On public transportation like everyone else.” “Ah, but you’re not everyone else, are you, Swan?”

The words are out of his mouth before he’s had half a second to consider them and Killian’s vaguely certain even the kid behind him gasps, but it might be the most honest thing he’s said...ever.

That’s only kind of alarming.

He really does try to impart historical knowledge to severals dozen teenagers regularly and it feels like breaking some kind of teaching code to suggest that he’s lying to them.

Even so.

It is the truest truth Killian Jones has ever said and that sentence structure would make Mary Margaret groan.

He met Mary Margaret first. Well, technically he met David first – forced together on a group project in a freshman science class that neither one of them were particularly good at – but it only takes a few days to meet Mary Margaret after that. They’re a picture-perfect couple that is only kind of nauseating, but also kind of adorable if you’re into that whole true love is great thing and Killian is sitting in David’s dorm when Mary Margaret shows up with a slightly disgruntled human being trailing along behind her that she introduces as her roommate.

Emma Swan does not appear to be particularly impressed by much of anything at the time, but Killian notices the way she smiles when she glances at David and Mary Margaret and something in the back corner of his brain seems to short-circuit as soon as she meets his gaze.

They’re not really friends, at least not at first, more like Mary Margaret and David’s orphans that they adopt, but Killian keeps noticing things about Emma.

She mixes hot chocolate in her coffee, but only in the afternoon, like she’s afraid she’ll dilute the caffeine if she does it in the morning. She keeps her student ID in her phone when she flips it closed. She hates the top bunk she sleeps on, but agreed to let Mary Margaret take the bottom because Mary Margaret has some kind of deep and lingering fear of heights.

They spend time together. They make vaguely snarky comments around each other. They actually acknowledge that they might be friends.

And the group keeps growing.

Mary Margaret meets Ruby at the gym – a sentence that makes Emma laugh uproariously, falling into Killian’s side and he probably doesn’t think about that for several weeks – and Killian meets Mulan while they’re both working a shift at the Student Union together, swiping ID cards that at least half of the students forget.

Mulan brings in Merida in the spring semester of freshman year, both of them running on the same student government ballot and while they don’t win that year, they do win eventually, and Emma is actually pretty good at making signs for their campaign.

That might be why Killian brought a sign to Logan several years later.

They become some kind of seven-headed monster of friendship and feeling and generic support and Killian resolutely ignores whatever his brain does whenever Emma moves into his line of vision for the first three years, nine months and six days of his undergraduate career.

But then Final Jam happens.

And things happen.

And they both, resolutely, ignore them.

Completely and totally and, maybe, a little immaturely, but he absolutely refuses to risk anything more than what he already has and Emma’s smile is far too close to tremulous when they flip their tassels at graduation.

“You really took today off?” Emma asks, jerking Killian out of memories and a string of thoughts that don’t belong in some kind of epic, slightly touristy weekend. She’s still moving her fingers, feet dangling above the floor and he’s not sure he’s ever seen that look on her face.

It’s something that feels a bit like hope and looks a bit like want and he’s smiling before he realizes his brain has decided that’s something he wants to do.

That’s mostly his default setting whenever he’s around Emma, though, so it doesn’t really matter.  

“Swan, we just went over this,” Killian grins. “It would have taken forever to get to my apartment anyway. I’m just streamlining the schedule.”

“That would impress Mary Margaret a lot.” “Well if you want to brag to Mary Margaret about my schedule-making abilities later, then feel free to. Make sure you use lots of adjectives and remind David that I’m better at driving than he is.” “It’s weird that you guys are still so questionably competitive about that.” He can’t really shrug when he’s still supporting most of her body weight, but he makes a valiant effort – and an even more valiant effort not to groan loudly when Emma’s hips cant into his. Killian is, apparently, very fond of torturing himself.

“And,” she adds, scrunching her nose when his breath catches as soon as her fingers card through his hair. “I really don’t have to stay with you. That was...it’s nice of you to offer, I mean.”

Killian resists the urge to tell her she can stay forever if she wants, fairly certain that would just send Emma running towards the next departing flight out of Logan to anywhere, but that’s another truth and he has to lick his lips before he responds.

He doesn’t notice the way Emma’s eyes widen slightly at that.

“Cheaper than a hotel,” Killian says. “And you can’t back out of accepting the offer now. You’re already here.” “Ok, that’s just fundamentally untrue. I know how to book a hotel.” “And I am telling you that you don’t have to. Or didn’t have to. Both tenses.”

“There are more than two tenses in the English language, how do you not know that? You’re molding the minds of the youth.” “Swan, you can’t keep using my job as an insult.”

She rolls her eyes, sticking her tongue out and that is step three in the Emma Swan and Killian Jones banter schedule. It’s not as intense as the schedule for Final Jam, which Killian is almost certain Mary Margaret laminated during her free period earlier this week, but that’s a point he wants to bring up in front of the entire group for maximum joke-landing potential.

“But it’s so easy,” she whines, twisting and turning and none of this is going according to plan. He should have come up with a better plan.

They really should have talked about that Final Jam from senior year.

“Who are you going to ask about major moments in American history?” Killian asks. “Because you keep making jokes and throwing insults and I’m going to refuse to answer anymore of your questions about the accuracy of Hamilton.” “The internet exists. Also they literally wrote a book about that. David got it for me for Christmas two years ago. Also also--” “--How do you have more points to this?” “I would if you let me finish,” Emma hisses, but it lacks any real sense of frustration or animosity and maybe step four of the schedule is just thinly veiled flirting. Killian widens his eyes, an unspoken go on that earns him a quiet growl and the smirk is, like, step four and a half and only started working recently.

“Also also,” Emma repeats. “Hamilton is a dated reference now. You need to keep up with the times. Don’t the kids know better things you can reference?” “Strangely enough, Swan, the students I’m teaching aren’t spending a lot of time keeping me up to date on the memes.”

It’s difficult to hold onto her when her laugh drifts closer to a cackle, hair, somehow, hitting him in the face when she shakes her head in disbelief of what he’s just said. And, well, that’s understandable – but he was mostly doing it to get her to laugh and that’s, like, at least ninety-two percent of the reason he does anything when it comes to Emma. That might be the most sentimental thing he’s ever thought.

It’s probably from hanging out with Mary Margaret so much.

“I can’t believe you just used the word meme in normal conversation,” Emma says, laughter still clinging to her voice and Killian wonders if she realizes her fingers are still moving.

He hopes not.

He’s a disaster.

“If you mention that I said that in front of Lucas, I’m going to kick you out of my apartment,” Killian warns. Emma laughs even more. “I’m almost entirely serious, Swan.”

“I know you are, but that was honestly the funniest thing that has happened to me in the last few months. And Ruby would never let you live that down.”

“This is exactly why I’m making pointed threats upon your person.” “You’d actually kick me out? Like physically?” “Not physically,” he says and he can’t shake his head either. Emma’s fingers are still in his hair. “I’d probably show off my incredible upper-body strength again and lift you out of the apartment. You’d be very impressed.” “You’re awfully confident,” she points out.

“Cautiously optimistic.” “Ah, well, that’s more acceptable.”

Emma takes a deep breath, like she’s trying to preserve the moment, but that may just be more slightly cautious optimism on Killian’s part. She hisses when he tries to reposition her weight, thighs bumping together and he knew she caught that skip a few days before, but she’d failed to mention anything about a bruise that would cause an audible outcry of pain in the middle of a very crowded airport.

“Swan,” he says sharply and suddenly she’s very interested in the ceiling. “What was that?”

She doesn’t respond, just keeps staring several feet above them and maybe step whatever of the schedule is them absolutely refusing to admit to things that mean several different worlds to them. Or, at least, Killian.

He hopes it’s not just hm.

He’s cautiously optimistic it’s not just him.

He needs to stop hanging out with Mary Margaret.

“How did you even know what time my flight was?” Emma asks instead, redirecting the conversation and Killian arches an eyebrow. “I really did think we agreed that I was going to take a cab and then meet you at Mary Margaret and David’s for opening ceremonies and then I’d go back with you when everyone was incredibly drunk.” “Except Mary Margaret.” “Yes, except Mary Margaret,” Emma agrees, but it sounds a little patronizing and this is the single best arm workout he’s ever had. “That’s also not an answer to the question.” “Ah, well, you know how much I enjoy bantering with you, Swan.” She narrows her eyes, huffing slightly and trying to work her way back onto the floor, but Killian’s got a pretty good grip on the back of her jacket and he’s fairly positive his arms have frozen anyway. “The question, Jones,” Emma mutters, tugging on the front of his shirt like that’ll get him to answer and not just add fuel to several different day-dream fires.

“You told me nearly two weeks ago. It pains me that you don’t remember that.” “Well that’s probably because you won’t let me stand up on my own.” “Hysterical.” “That was funny,” Emma argues, voice rising slightly. They’re starting to draw a crowd. The kid with the other, presumably less-ruined sign, is gone.

“My aforementioned promise of hysterical was only slightly sarcastic.” She rolls her eyes, letting her bag fall to the floor and it only just barely misses his right foot. “You really remembered me mentioning a flight time two weeks ago?”

The question is barely that, a mumbled string of letters and words and hope that seems to ricochet in between the minimal amount of space between them and Killian’s nodding before Emma even closes her mouth.

“Of course I do,” Killian says, another truth that’s a bit more important than anything else.

It had been late – it always seemed to be late when his phone rang and Emma called him an overprotective weirdo, but he liked to know when she got home and there wasn’t really anyone else in Chicago to make sure that she did. Neither one of them ever mentioned that.

She’d gotten the skip and a few days off and he could practically see her trudging through her apartment, toeing out of her boots and the mattress creaked when she landed on top of it.

“Don’t say anything about the mattress,” Emma had mumbled, words slurred and she cursed him to several different hells when he chuckled into the phone. “I’m going to sleep for days.” “I think you can do that, love.” It was another ancient nickname – even before Swan – and it had started as a slightly sarcastic jab before evolving into something potentially life-altering and neither one of them ever talked about that either. They were perpetually and incredibly bad at that.

They talked about everything else instead and he kept asking if she had any bruises or lacerations, because she always had bruises or lacerations after she caught another criminal, and Emma mumbled several increasingly creative insults about his blood pressure under her breath.

She mentioned Final Jam at some indeterminate point in the conversation, muttering about tickets and prices and it would be easier if I could just teleport there. It was enough to wake him up, blinking quickly and nearly falling off his couch and he invited her as soon as the thought landed in the front lobe of his brain.

Or wherever thoughts originated from.

“Yeah, ok,” Emma muttered and they’d both fallen asleep before they hung up the phone.

“Swan, did you honestly think I forgot that I told you to come stay with me?” Killian asks, wincing when he hears the sheet of paper in between them rip. “Ah, damnit. This whole thing is less impressive now.”

She’s biting her lip – teeth digging down like she does when she gets nervous and that’s ridiculous because they’re them and it’s Final Jam, but it’s been six years since that Final Jam and they need to come up with another word for final because it’s really just starting to sound fake and slightly abrasive.

Emma blinks, opening her mouth only to close it again and surprise isn’t an emotion that usually makes his stomach twist, but she looks genuinely stunned and that’s not really what Killian was going for.

“What was that?” she asks. “Did I just rip your coat because, agreed, that makes all of this less impressive and kind of depressing.”

“I’m incredibly confused by this line of questioning, love,” Killian admits, meeting Emma’s wide-eyed gaze with one of his own. “You’ve got answer one of mine before I answer one of yours. Those are the rules.” “Whose rules?” “Swan!” She flashes him a smile, some of the nerves forgotten in the name of, possibly, witty banter and Killian’s eyes threaten to fall out of his own goddamn face when Emma works her way back onto the ground. “I can’t believe you showed up here,” she mumbles, but there’s a note of absolute belief in it. “That’s nice. You know that’s stupid nice?” “Stupid nice is absolutely what was I was going for.” “Yeah, well, mission accomplished. I really didn’t rip your jacket?”

“You really didn’t rip my jacket,” Killian promises, bending down to grab the slightly worse-for-wear sign off the ground. “This, however, is a totally different story.”

Emma doesn’t gasp, but it sounds awfully close and her hand moves impossibly slow when she reaches out, fingers brushing over the side of the paper like it’s made of gold.

“You brought a sign too?” she whispers. “That is… God, that’s stupid.” “Stupid?” “Yes, stupid. And nice. Incredibly nice and I can’t believe you took the day off because you remembered when my flight was going to be.”

“I really only did it so you can brag about how great my driving skills are to David.”

She laughs – loud and easy and it does something absurd to Killian’s ability to keep breathing and not thinking about very specific things. “Yeah, I figured,” Emma smiles and, just like that, it’s normal and simple and them in the kind of way that it’s always been. “Does it count when your driving skills are only better because you’re breaking, like, seventy-two different laws?”

“It is nowhere near seventy-two.” “It’s way too close to seventy-two for comfort. And David drives like he’s eighty-six because he feels like he has to set an example for the city.”

“And because Mary Margaret’s pregnant and he drives even slower now.” “How is that possible?”

“Trust me, Swan,” Killian says, grabbing her bag and he didn’t notice she tugged her sign out of his hand. “It’s definitely possible. Even Mary Margaret was getting frustrated the other day.”

“You are lying straight to my face right now!” “Ask her later.” “She’ll lie in front of David.” “Ah, but you’ll be able to tell won’t you?” Emma blinks, tongue darting in between her lips and that’s only slightly distracting. They need to get away from the JetBlue arrivals gate. It’s clearly messing with Killian’s head. “Yeah, probably,” she admits. “Why were you in David and Mary Margaret’s car?” “If I say the words Final Jam prep out loud are you going to laugh uproariously?” “Yes.” “Then think of other words that also mean those words and that’s why.” Emma’s laugh seems to shake through her, smile wide and eyes bright and maybe it’s just everything about that weekend, but Killian should really stop lying to himself. He stumbles slightly when he feels arms around his middle, Emma’s head back on his shoulder – more like crashing into his collarbone, but he’s not going to be specific about the details.

She’s folded up the sign, he can see the bit of paper sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans and the whole thing does something absurd to his entire state of being and several different plans for his future and maybe this Final Jam will be the perfect Final Jam.

Or something that doesn’t sound nearly as absurd as that.

“I’m really glad I’m here,” Emma mutters and it sounds a bit like an admission of guilt or several different misdemeanors.

“That makes two of us, Swan.”

“And it really will be easier to stay at your apartment. Cheaper than a hotel.” “You can’t throw my own reasoning back at me. That’s cheating.” “Ah, I wasn’t aware of the rules of the conversation.” She rolls her eyes again, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face and people are starting to glance questioningly at them because they’ve been standing there for far too long.

He’s going to have to offer tutoring services to pay for parking.

“Plus,” Emma continues. “You’ve got super fancy coffee in your apartment. Way better than anything I could get a hotel. Because you’re a snob.” “Just because I refuse to dump half a packet of hot chocolate mix into my coffee every other hour does not make a snob.” “There are several things wrong with that sentence, but I am starving and this airport air is starting to give me a headache, so I will wait to explain all the reasons you are wrong until we get home.”

They both freeze as soon as that word sinks into their bloodstream – which is not the right way to phrase it, but Killian’s trying not to pass out or kiss Emma again, so, really, he’s not all that worried about the appropriate syntax.

He blinks instead, swallowing back the not-so-small sea of emotional and slightly romantic thoughts he’s been trying to avoid, smiling when he brushes his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “There’s plenty of coffee at home, love,” he says, hitching her bag up his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around her until he can practically feel the tension melt off her.

“Coffee snob,” she mumbles and it’s another truth and another thing and Final Jam has never felt more important.

Mary Margaret and David’s apartment is confusing. And not just because they’re definitely breaking some kind of fire code with all seven of them packed in the living room.

It’s like some kind of time capsule in there – for the past and the future. There are frames dotting every wall and a few shelves because Mary Margaret and David are the kind of people who decorate their bookcase shelves, moments captured in time and imitation wood.

Killian remembers most of them – and those he doesn’t entirely remember might be the most fun of all of them, but they’re adults now – and every single Final Jam memory is in one extra-large frame on the far wall.

He tries not to stare at it, but that works as well as ignoring Emma’s weight against his side, a head on his shoulder and she can’t complain about jet lag when she was only one time zone behind, but she’s done it six times already and they might have fallen asleep for twenty minutes on his couch that afternoon.

He’s like ninety-six percent positive David wants to ask about that. And only, like, forty-seven percent positive that he won’t.

There’s more than just frames, though – Mary Margaret’s got a Boston College blanket wrapped around her shoulders, announcing pregnancy does weird things to your body temperature when Ruby asked about it and there’s a sign touting a baseball game that Merida definitely stole when they were sophomores hanging on the wall. It’s a strange counterbalance to the, frankly, ridiculous amount of baby stuff everywhere, packages of diapers and containers full of bottles and whatever the proper name for the top of a bottle is and Emma sounded like she nearly choked when she walked into the kitchen to find a sonogram hanging on the refrigerator door.

“We were going to tell you,” Mary Margaret says, not for the first time and her voice is starting to shake a little bit.

She’s having a difficult time holding onto her blanket.

Emma nods  – or tries, at least, – but it just serves to brush her cheek over Killian’s shoulder and he’s not sure he entirely appreciates whatever look Ruby and David share.

Mulan keeps tapping on her knee, like she’s getting more restless by the moment and, possibly, looking for escape options.

Killian understands the feeling.

He wasn’t entirely prepared for the sonogram and all that that entails either. And he’s not entirely pleased to realize that his dominant reaction is one very specific and less-than-supportive emotion – jealousy.

It sits in the back of his mind and the pit of his stomach, making every inch of him ache, but, again, that may just be most of Emma’s weight leaning against his right side and his arm is kind of twisted awkwardly underneath her.

Killian shifts, both of them moving in the process, and Ruby’s attempt to control whatever noise she makes as soon as his lips brush over Emma’s hair fails woefully short. He glares at her.

“Do not look at me like that, Jones,” Ruby seethes, sitting up a bit straighter and they’ve always been very good at vaguely antagonistic banter.

Mulan sighs.

“I literally glanced your direction because you were making a questionable amount of noise, Lucas,” Killian argues. “Your throat doing alright after whatever it was that just happened?”

Her eyes, somehow, get more narrow, lips pursed and one very particular finger rising quickly – she hides her hand behind her back when Mary Margaret gasps. Killian grins.

“I think you’re about to get grounded,” he says, drawing a quiet laugh out of Emma and he doesn’t object when she swings her legs over his.

As if he’d ever.  

“That was actually kind of funny,” Merida mutters. She glances up from the phone that hasn’t stopped making noise since she knocked on the front door a few hours before and they’re incredibly behind schedule.

That may be half the reason for the look on Mary Margaret’s face.

“It happens occasionally,” Killian reasons. “You know, sometimes.”

Ruby doesn’t try to mask her laughter that time. “Yeah, you’re really selling it there. So, uh, what time did you land, Em? You look a little exhausted.” “Rude,” Emma mumbles at the same time Mary Margaret clicks her tongue in reproach and maybe the grounded joke wasn’t really a joke at all. “And I have this thing called a job--” “--I have a job!” “Eh.”

“Oh my God, look who’s being rude now. Mary Margaret, tell Emma I have a job.” “Do not call Mary Margaret to your defense,” Emma says, but her words still sound a little exhausted and Killian is still only slightly concerned about the bruise on her thigh. “And you have a job with vaguely normal hours that does not require manual labor.” “You don’t have to punch every skip you catch, Em,” Ruby grins.

Emma sighs, but Ruby’s got a point and the entire apartment knows it. The baby in that sonogram picture probably knows it. “Yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” Emma grumbles. “But I am only agreeing with you because I know we’re behind schedule and Mary Margaret looks like she’s close to tears because I freaked out about the baby.”

“I am not close to tears,” Mary Margaret argues, which is an oxymoron because Mary Margaret is incapable of arguing, particularly when her hands are resting on the slight swell of her stomach and Killian can’t think of a moment in the last five months when she hasn’t been absolutely beaming.

He’s so jealous he’s positive he reeks with it.

“Eh,” Emma repeats, Ruby snickering slightly and Merida takes a picture on her phone.

“It’s for Mac,” she explains. “Because you guys are weird about the Magnificent Seven rules.” “We’ve never once called ourselves that.” “Really? Why not? We definitely should be.”

“It’s not even clever,” Killian says, groaning when Emma uses her left elbow to push herself back up. Ruby glances at David again. “And the Magnificent Seven is historically inaccurate.”

The whole room groans collectively, Emma’s eyes bright when she turns to roll them at him and he has to blink to remind himself of all the reasons making out on Mary Margaret and David’s couch is fundamentally and completely wrong.

There’s like...two reasons.

“You are the most annoying person in all of history,” Emma says, like she’s reciting it from a script and the familiarity of it all is as easy and comfortable as it was to fall asleep on his couch.

They need to find somewhere else to sit than couches, apparently.

“Nailed it,” Mulan and Ruby call in tandem, Emma’s smile widening when she flicks her finger against Killian’s shoulder. He catches her around the wrist before she can do it fifty-four more times and Merida’s phone camera clicks again.

“What?” she challenges. “I’m going to call us the Magnificent Seven from now on. I don’t care about the history of it.” “Oh now you’ve done it,” Merida warns, but the phone makes another noise before Killian can even begin to describe all the reasons she is absolutely wrong.

“And,” Ruby adds pointedly. “It’s not like you aren’t going to see a shit ton of Mac from now on. That’s how living together works.” Killian blinks. “Wait, what?”

Merida blanches, mouth twisting into something that looks like a grimace and they’re never going to get to the location and event reveal portion of the night. “Oh, shit,” Ruby mumbles. “Did we not...I thought that was just general knowledge!”

“Not until this very moment,” Merida says and she is, thankfully, laughing, shaking her head in disbelief as Mulan mutters quiet apologies on behalf of Ruby. “And why exactly do you know? I’m fairly certain I only told Mulan about it because I was asking for suggestions about up and coming neighborhoods in the city.” Mulan clicks her tongue, another apology and Merida’s whole body shifts when she laughs again. “Well, whatever, we signed a lease on Monday,” she says. “It’s not big so none of you are ever invited over, but there are plenty of Airbnb options in New York anyway. This is my official announcement and reason number one through thirty-seven why Mac should have been allowed to come to Final Jam.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were looking for a place together?” Mary Margaret asks.

“Not that we would have let Mac come because we’re super cliquey,” Ruby mutters, a flash of a smile that boasts an almost wolf-like quality and Killian’s going to do something drastic if she doesn’t stop staring at David.

“Secret-keeping is apparently catching this Final Jam,” Emma says. She’s twisted so she’s, presumably, a bit more comfortable, but it’s also ended with her arm somehow around Killian’s shoulders and her fingers moving absently in his hair and if he dies right there on Mary Margaret and David’s couch he won’t be able to find a single thing to complain about.

Except maybe the lack of making out.

But that seems kind of selfish.

“We just wanted to do it all in person,” David continues and he sounds like a dad, a fact Killian mumbles under his breath in some misplaced effort to get Emma to laugh again.

She does.

It feels like a victory.

“More official that way,” Mary Margaret says softly. There are tears in her eyes. Emma looks slightly scandalized. “Because, uh…” Emma sits up straighter. “You’ve got to finish the sentence, M’s. And if you guys give us bad news during the opening ceremonies of the last Final Jam ever, I’m never going to forgive you or your inevitably adorable kid.” “Got your priorities straight, for sure,” Ruby mutters. Emma flips her off. They’re all a picture of mature and complete adulthood.

“Oh my God,” David sighs, but he stands up and it really does feel a little bit more official. Emma’s fingers might have a mind of their own. Or their own power source. They don’t stop moving, tracing over patterns that don’t really exist, but then they’re brushing over Killian’s actually neck and the collar of his shirt and he’s having trouble breathing.

David is still talking.

“It’s a girl,” he says, loudly and proudly and several other adverbs that Mary Margaret could probably recite in her sleep.

She’s clearly too busy trying not to cry though and, well, Killian understands. He exhales loudly, a burst of oxygen he’s sure his lungs would have appreciated holding onto a little while longer and Emma’s fingers still, everything about her going tense as soon as the words process.

Ruby gasps and Mulan mutters a genuine-sounding congratulations under her breath. Merida keeps taking pictures.

And David’s eyes haven’t left his couch – or away from Emma and Killian.

Emma moves first – of course she does, she’s a far better person than Killian and that’s only a slightly melodramatic thought, but it seems like that kind of day and he hopes it’s not a sign for the entire weekend. She stands slowly, like her muscles are having a difficult time obeying what her brain wants them to do, and he’s slightly surprised when her hand reaches back behind her.

She’s waiting for him.

Or, more to the point, she wants him to move with her.

And they’ve all been friends forever – even without the classic Hollywood nickname – but Emma’s the only one he has scheduled FaceTimes with and he’s seriously worried about her leg and she reads his lesson plans while she’s on stakeouts to make sure they’re not as boring as he’s constantly worried they are.

Playing Hamilton in his classroom two years ago had totally been Emma’s idea.

It’s different with them, always has been, because Mary Margaret and David were picture perfect before there were photos to put in picture frames and that one corner of Killian’s brain that seems to be reserved solely for thoughts about Emma Swan is working overdrive in the few seconds he spends staring at her outstretched hand.

He squeezes her fingers as soon he moves, thumb tapping lightly on the back of her wrist and Mary Margaret is practically sobbing.

“These are hormones,” she mumbles, dragging the back her hand on her cheeks.

Emma hums in understanding. “Of course they are. You keep using that excuse all weekend though and we’re going to make fun of you mercilessly for it. Just, you know, FYI.” “Shut up.”

“Of course, M’s, of course.”

There are more tears – Ruby and Merida both sniffling and resolutely denying it as soon as Killian’s eyebrows shift slightly – and Emma spends a few moments longer in David’s embrace, her forehead buried in his chest with his hand cupping the back of her head. And they all stare at the sonogram for nearly twenty minutes, passing around the piece of photo paper with careful hands and fingers that try not to leave smudges, coming up with name suggestions that grow increasingly more and more ridiculous the more alcohol they all consume.

Mary Margaret keeps refilling everyone’s glasses.

“Ok we are not naming her Eowyn,” she says, putting the now-empty Sangria bottle down on the coffee table next to the other three. That particular tradition started senior year – and might have been at least an eighth of the reason the rest of those moments during that Final Jam happened – all of them far too poor to buy anything except jugs of off-brand wine from the liquor store up the block from Emma and Mary Margaret’s apartment.

“That’s unreasonable, M’s,” Ruby says. “It’s pretty kick ass, not totally normal and everyone would fear your kid. Especially if there were any Witchkings of Angmar wandering around.”

“Oh my God.” “It’s better than Galadriel,” Merida laughs. “Or....what was the other one you were talking about, Jones?”

“Luthien,” he answers. “Of the epic poem Beren and Luthien.” “Yeah, no one knows who that is.” “She’s mentioned in the histories,” Emma mumbles and his widen enough that Killian hopes he hasn’t done permanent damage to his retinas. David chokes on his Sangria. “What?” she asks pointedly, but there’s a smile on her face and, possibly, a glint in her eye and Killian’s not sure if he’s drunk or just having some kind of life-changing moment.

It might be both.

“I listen,” Emma shouts and she’s moved at some point, half sitting on his thigh and half on the couch, fingers no longer in his hair. They’re tugging on the front of his BC alumni shirt instead.

“They don’t go into much detail on the histories in the movies, love,” Killian says. He ignores whatever his pulse his doing. And Ruby’s expression, like she’s taking inventory of every little hitch in his body whenever Emma moves. That’s not helping his pulse.

“That’s not true at all! Aragorn sings about them.” “What?”

“In the extended edition of the Fellowship,” David says, something that might be actual wonder his voice. “She’s right. On the way to Rivendell. Aragorn tells Frodo.” “I’m sitting right here,” Emma hisses. “Also I read. Sometimes.”

Killian’s having some kind of medical episode. He's certain. And, in the grand scheme of things, Emma knowing about a scene in the extended edition of Fellowship of the Ring should not be this surprising – but she’s also admitted to, maybe, reading the Silmarillion and maybe he isn't upset about the lack of making out if he just dies right now.

This is such a strange night.

“We’re not naming her Luthien either,” Mary Margaret says, seemingly picking up on whatever mental breakdown Killian is staging a few feet away from her. Ruby actually writes something down. “But! This is almost a good segue.”

“Into?” Ruby asks.

“Is this not the opening ceremonies?” “I honestly have no idea what’s happening right now if we’re being perfectly honest.”

“So this is me changing that,” Mary Margaret announces, swatting at David’s hand when he tries to help her out of her chair. She pulls a binder off the top of one of the questionable number of bookcases in the living room – papers perfectly piled and Killian’s not surprised to see there are dividers sticking out of the edge. Emma’s laughing against him. “Happy Final Final Jam,” Mary Margaret says, brandishing the binder like anyone has any idea what the hell she’s talking about.

“Are we supposed to know what’s in there?” Mulan asks.

“Oh my God, isn’t it obvious?” Five of them shake their head. David looks amused. That’s probably because he had to buy the dividers. “This is our official binder of plans and ideas and, aw c’mon, you guys all answered the e-mail!” “I thought that was just a joke,” Emma mutters and Killian doesn’t understand why she sounds slightly terrified. “You sent that to all of us?” “Of course I did. We decided this was probably going to be the Final Final Jam for, you know..” “The rest of our waking days?” “Don’t be dramatic,” Mary Margaret sighs, Ruby mumbling yes mom and Emma’s smile doesn’t quite shake, but it doesn’t look quite confident either. “For at least a little while. We’re pausing it and because of that, plus the ten-year anniversary of the original Final Jam, we are going to do as many fun things as we possibly can.” “Within reason,” David adds.

“At least I wasn’t that overprotective,” Killian mutters in Emma’s ear and he sees her smile widen out of the corner of his eye. It isn’t until about five minutes later that he realizes what he’s said or implied and he wonders if it’s possible for a heart to explode.

“Killian are you listening?” Mulan asks, Mary Margaret not able to reprimand him properly while she’s still monologuing.

“No,” he answers honestly. “Is there more Sangria?” David pushes another bottle towards him. “Don’t insult my ability to follow my wife’s schedule like that. And don’t drive to Fenway tomorrow. You’re never going to find anywhere park.” “You’re the one who doesn’t know how to parallel park.” “I do, too!” “Please, David, rehash for the class who got the ticket and caused the accident that one winter when we were juniors and you wanted to go to the North End for cannoli.”

“That was your fault! You said I had plenty of room.” “You were the one driving though.” “And listening to you. Plus there was a shit ton of snow everywhere. That shouldn’t count.” “Ok, ok,” Killian says, waving the one arm that isn’t wrapped around Emma through the air. “What about two years ago when we were trying to get to Beacon Hill because you wanted to go to that fancy restaurant with a Michelin star?” “Oh yeah, that’s true,” Mary Margaret agrees. “That was totally your fault, babe.” Killian laughs loudly, appreciating the slightly stunned look on David’s face. “Game, set, match.” “You do not get to shout antiquated clichés at me, Jones,” David yells, grabbing the Sangria back and taking a particularly long swig. “That is rude. And that guy way overreacted. I barely even nicked his car.” “God, remind me never to get in a vehicle with you, Detective,” Ruby says. “Do they know about your record at the precinct?”

“They’re required by law to know,” Emma laughs. “I do have a follow-up though. Why are all these incidents revolving around food?”

They spend a little more time walking down several different memory lanes, reading through Mary Margaret’s rather impressive and incredibly laminated schedule before her eyelids start to flutter and Merida’s curled up in the corner of the couch with a pillow under her head, Ruby taking photos of it on her own phone to send to Mac.

Emma’s eyes are looking a little heavy by the time Killian tugs her up, keeping an arm around her waist and muttering c’mon, love, let’s go home. He refuses to look at David before closing the door behind him.

And it’s not really that far back to his own apartment, but he didn’t drive and Killian is acutely aware of how close Emma is the entire time they’re on the T, head back on his shoulder and shoulders moving with the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

It’s easy. It’s comfortable. It is so goddamn normal it feels like he’s going to snap in half with the way his whole being wants it to be like this forever.

Or longer.

He’s not going to be picky.

It’s several different kinds of miracles that he’s able to get his key in the door while he’s supporting most of Emma’s weight at the same time, both of them stumbling into the apartment and nearly tripping over the bag she never actually moved into his room.

“You don’t have nearly as much stuff,” Emma mutters, catching him by surprise. He was half convinced she’d fallen asleep standing up.

“Were those the words you were looking for in that order, Swan?”

She levels him with a very particular type of stare – usually the final step in the Emma Swan and Killian Jones banter schedule and it’s taken them some time to get to that point, but it’s nice to finally reach some kind of destination – resting her hands on his shoulders and shaking her hair onto her back and maybe her eyes are getting greener.

He clearly should have taught biology. He’d probably know if that was possible then.

“Don’t try and tease me because you know I'm tired, it’s not nearly as cute as you think it is,” she says. Killian blinks. “I meant M’s and David. Your apartment’s looking a little sparse by comparison.” “Well I’m not preparing for the arrival of my first child, so…” “Why not?” “Excuse me?” Emma shrugs, like it’s not an impossibly large question or one they’ve ever actually had. There have been boyfriends and girlfriends on both sides, people they’d both complained about and talked about and some who they were certain were it in some kind of everything type of way, only to be wrong.

His ended with Emma flying to Boston and sleeping on his couch while he watched all three extended editions of Lord of the Rings in succession. She ordered him food from the Chinese place that had known their order by heart during undergrad.

And then they went to the swan boats and stared at the water and she promised it’d be alright.

Hers ended with Killian buying her a ticket and telling her to get to O’Hare and he picked her up at Logan then too, letting her fall asleep with her head on his thigh and several horrible 80s movies in the background. They ordered from a different Chinese place. It was better. They lamented all the time wasted.

And then they went to the swan boats and stared at the water and he promised it’d be alright.

They’ve never once talked about the hazy thing that is the future and Killian’s mind is quick to point out it’s because he’s been waiting, maybe a little desperately, for her to bring it up.

“I mean it’s a fair question, right?” Emma asks, but that feels like an even bigger question and Killian can’t remember any word in the entire English language. “I mean...you’re you and Mary Margaret’s probably tried to be Mary Margaret at some point, right?” He nods dumbly, only vaguely aware of what she’s suggesting. And he’s certainly tired of the set-up attempts because Mary Margaret’s intentions are good, but they’re also a little heavy-handed and Killian is definitely the third wheel on a cart that will soon also house a baby.

Or however that sentence goes.

“It’s not exactly something you rush into, Swan,” he says, another miracle that might be more impressive than unlocking the door was.

“No, no, I know that. I’m not saying go out and start having twenty-seven kids.” “Twenty-seven?” “Oh my God.”

Killian grins, some of the oxygen returning to his lungs and his brain and Emma rolls her eyes. He taps his thumb on the side of her jaw. “They’re going to get stuck that way, love,” he mutters, the endearment falling out of him without his explicit permission.

“You’re making that up,” Emma challenges, but she doesn’t question anything else in the sentence and Killian feels himself hoping against his will.

Cautiously optimistic.

“That is pure and complete scientific fact,” Killian says, pressing another kiss to her forehead and maybe that’s what Ruby was keeping track of. It’s definitely what he’s keeping track of. “And I’m perfectly fine as is, Swan. All that clutter would drive me nuts anyway.” “Can I please tell Mary Margaret that you called all her stuff clutter tomorrow?” “Why are you trying to antagonize me?” “I’m not, honestly,” she promises, moving to rest her palms flat on his chest. This is like some great, big giant test, he’s positive. With a Scantron. And he’s only got a mechanical pencil. It’s a very complicated metaphor.

“Please do not tell Mary Margaret that I called her stuff clutter while we’re trying to watch a Red Sox game tomorrow.” “I can’t believe David picked that.” “Can you not?”

Emma sags, a disgruntled sigh that might actually be the single most endearing noise he’s ever heard falling out of her. “Well, yeah, I can,” she says. “But he’s going to yell ridiculous things and everyone around us is going to hate him.” “Ah, but it’ll be a common bond between all of us. That’s fandom unity. And I bet we can come up with some pretty scathing insults about the Sox in the next few hours. As long as you promise not to fall asleep on me.”

“You don’t have to worry about my sleeping habits, you know.”

“If I don’t, who will?” At some point, it would be great if his brain would stop providing his mouth with sentiment and words he doesn’t want to give voice to yet – or, maybe, ever, he hasn’t entirely decided – but that does not appear possible and Emma’s eyes widen before she can school her features entirely. She licks her lips, a muscle in her jaw jumping when she clenches it and Killian tries not to scream apologies in her face, barely hearing her when she starts talking again.

“Probably anyone in that apartment before,” she whispers. “But you’re kind of at the top of the list. Leader of the pack or whatever.” “Are you quoting pop songs from the 50s to me?” “You’re the history genius, you tell me. You’ve got the leather jacket thing down. It felt like an appropriate reference.”

Killian hums, something that feels like warmth seeping down his spine, but that same, slightly problematic corner of his brain knows it’s something entirely different and, at some point, his hand has landed on Emma’s hips.

They’re far closer than he remembers being a few minutes before.

And it would be easy – that word losing some of its meaning because things weren’t always always easy with them, but they’ve grown up and evolved and he wants, so much he practically shakes with it. He could duck his head and kiss her or she could press up on her toes and kiss him and they could just keep doing that on some kind indefinite basis forever and ever for the rest of eternity.

So naturally both of them take a step back, shaky smiles and slightly obvious nerves and Emma’s shoulders shift when she takes a deep breath.

“I’d really like to come up with some scathing insults about the entire game of baseball,” she says, moving back towards his couch and Killian nods despite the voice in the back of his brain demanding he do the opposite.

“Sure, love.”

They fall asleep on the couch together, a notebook tossed on the table with two dozen increasingly absurd insults and the cast commentary of the Two Towers playing in the background.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Coronavirus Advice: How to Work From Home Without Losing Your Mind

As a parent, working from home is the best, except for the many times when it’s a goddamn nightmare. These competing situations exist in equal measure; the price of making your own pace, work environment, and slipper decisions is how you’re automatically on the hook whenever there’s a snow day. Or when someone wakes up at 4:30 a.m. chorking all over his Last Jedi bedspreads, hypothetically. It may not be equitable but it’s logical: Person in the house gets the short straw on sick days.

Now, with the threat of the coronavirus, many parents will find themselves working remotely. The good news is it’s certainly possible to work from home with the kids around, if you don’t mind smooshing your work and home life together like some mashed-up PBJ sandwich. If you think it sounds easy, it’s harder than you think. If you think it sounds hard, it’s also harder than you think. But it’s certainly possible. Here, then, are a few humble tips to help you work from home without losing your mind.

READ MORE: The Fatherly Guide to Stay-At-Home Parenting

Build a Wi-Fi-equipped subterranean shipping-container cavern in your backyard.

Holy shit, that sounds amazing, doesn’t it?

But Seriously: Try to Set Boundaries 

The work-from-home people whom I know (and am) deploy all manner of strategies to get through their days, but those strategies all share a common thread: dedicated space. Designate place for work, then guard it jealously. If you can spin a spare room into an office with a lockable door, do it. If you can carve out a desk in the kitchen, do it. If you have to hide in a half-sized cubby in a back corner of the garage, it’s a little weird, and you should keep ant-killer on hand, but do it.

The key is to establish functional, dedicated real estate that your brain equates with “work time,” so you can lock into a work mindset. Otherwise, you’ll be pulled by not only the children in the other rooms, but the unfinished projects as well, and that will blur the work/home more than you already are.

Get Dressed. In Proper Clothes.

Fight the urge to stay in your pajamas. Getting dressed (head to toe) allows your mind to transition from sleepy relaxation mode to get-shit-done mode. If you stay in your PJs you may just be fighting a drowsy fog all day long.

Try to Make Your Workspace a Kid-Free Zone

This is to say, make sure your kids don’t have any claims on the space. A mighty order, naturally, but also easier than you might think. In keeping with the concept of a dedicated workspace, do your best to make sure the kids don’t claim your workspace for any variation of playing, that they know that this space is Dad’s  “office”. This sounds more dickish than it is, especially in a house teeming with small children, but you’re doing it already: You already don’t let kids play in the garage, or near the oven, or in the fireplace. Set a rule early that your space is a Lego-free zone, and enjoy fewer boundary-related discussions later.

Break Up Time If You Have To

While you can easily buy yourself 90 minutes with The Emoji Movie, that’s 90 minutes you have to deal with the low, sick sensation in your stomach. The solution here is an only slightly impractical one: Break up the time into little pieces. Of course you’d be more productive if you worked in one shot, but this simply might not be possible. If that’s the case, have your ids watch a show for 30 minutes, then break for a game, then watch a show for 30 minutes, then break for lunch. Micromanaging your day in this manner will be frenetic, even obnoxious, but it’ll also feel better than flicking on four solid hours of Netflix. Which, hey, might be the only

Eat Lunch On Time

Working from home can sometimes cause hyper-focus. When you’re removed from the rhythms of the office you might forget you need to get up and eat. Set an alarm. Have lunch away from your laptop while looking out the window or something.

Make a Detailed To-Do List

And make it hyper specific. This helps you focus and keeps you from drifting between tabs on his browser. Stick to it.

Respond to Messages at a Set Time

There are a lot of ways to communicate with team members when working remotely. Email. Slack. Text. Set times to respond. If you respond to every Slack notification that appears, it’s like starting a conversation with every person that pauses at your desk. Check your messages once an hour or so. Popping over to the Slack window every time it pings can be a concentration killer.

Set Hard Log on and Log Off Parameters

When you work from home you don’t have a commute to buffer you from your work life. Because of that, it’s super easy for work to creep into the evening hours. Set temporal boundaries that work for you and shut your computer when your workday is done. Otherwise, your brain will melt like sweet, sweet ice cream.

Realize This One Horrible Fact: You’ve Been Mixing Up Work and Home Already

In addition to all the other things its ruined (politics, movie endings, the ability to form meaningful connections with your family), your phone has already done a bang-up job of murdering the former line between your work and home life. No one with WiFi clocks out at 5 p.m. So, think of it this way: in working from home, you’ve just leveled-up a little bit.

Give Yourself Breaks

On this work-from-home day, and many others, you will neither accomplish as much as you like, nor be the parent you wish. Much like rip currents, Chinese finger traps, and genetic hair loss, fighting this will only make it desperately worse, and the sprint will only wear you down and make you act like a dick at dinner. So, then, take some time off. A half hour to clear your head might seem like a lot but it’s saving you far more than that in space-out time. Besides, you’re not going to get all your stuff done today, and it’s not going to work as well as you want it to. But like other parenting compromises that briefly postpone something great, it still leaves room for pretty good.

Related Articles:

The Best Indoor Games for Quarantined Kids and Families

Keeping Up With the Kids: Entirely Reasonable Fitness Goals for Dads

This Is the Way to Perfect Baby Yoda Pajamas

Surprise! Netflix Is Destroying Disney Plus

The post Coronavirus Advice: How to Work From Home Without Losing Your Mind appeared first on Fatherly.

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/coronavirus-advice-how-to-work-from-home-without-losing-your-mind

[oldraaphael]

Unimaginable Loss

Yo! This is my gift to @aerefyr for the @starwarsminiexchange! 

It’s basically a lil fic about Kit Fisto after Order 66. It’s also complete shit, and for that I’m really fucking sorry oops. But yeah, without further ago, here you go! (note: it might be easier to read on AO3)

Aaron flew through the doors of the bar, crashing unceremoniously to the ground. Grimacing, he spat behind him and wrapped a hand around his ribs delicately. “Bastards,” he hissed, withdrawing his hands. Those dipshits had broken a rib, maybe two. He winced as he drew himself up, brushing at the mud on his cloak absentmindedly.

He looked back at the filthy bar. He supposed he shouldn’t be so judgmental, considering the street was covered with at least an inch of sewage sludge in even the cleanest parts of the Coruscant Underworld, but he wasn’t feeling very congenial at the moment. The flickering purple lights above the doors advertising the entrance weren’t doing such a stellar job; the sign blended in with the usual unnatural lights radiating the lower levels, poisoning its citizens with the synthetic replacement for sunlight they weren’t given access to- even if the lights weren’t doing a goddamn thing to illuminate the dark abyss. Aaron brushed off the thought, knowing he’d need another drink if he kept thinking about the people who lived their entire lives without seeing the surface. And right now the closest available drinks were on the other side of three particularly burly Besalisk.

Aaron huffed and rubbed his sore arms where they’d inevitably left bruises grabbing him with their sausage fingers. Fuck. That. Shit, he thought as he turned away and started down the street.

-

The maze of the Underworld was not something to be taken lightly. It was some kind of running joke that the reason so many never saw the surface again after entering the Underworld was because they simply couldn’t find their way back. Aaron didn’t find it very funny- both because he pitied the lost souls if the joke was true and he didn’t like the implication of the fate if it wasn’t.

Nonetheless, the point was still taken. While locals had a fairly good idea of where they were within a good fifty mile radius of their home (horizontally, that is- most people didn’t go more than four floors up or down of their residence) and people who’d been born down there could easily navigate 100 miles and survive long enough to make it home no more than 200 miles, most off-worlders or surface dwellers couldn’t so much as leave a trail of breadcrumbs and make it back to where they started. And not just because you’d have a swarming herd of kids picking up your scraps or some seven-foot thug find you and kill you for the bread.

For all of the quote unquote progress that Coruscant represented for the galaxy, there was no order to be found even in the foundation of the Underworld. Aaron couldn’t even blame the Empire for the hellhole he lived in. The winding, unorganized ruins of whatever ecumenopolis preceded modern Coruscant was now nothing short of a deadly labyrinth infested with starving families, two-penny crime lords, and other vermin. The first dozen levels had become nothing more than an entire layer of uninhabitable garbage-ridden marsh full of shit and trash from the upper levels. Aaron dreaded to think what would happen when that filthy soup crawled it’s way up to the industrial levels, where generators working constantly to run whatever machines were needed on the surface made the entire Underworld feel alive with constant noise, warmth, and steady movement.

The streets became more crowded as he approached the station. He pulled his hood tighter over his head instinctively, covering his face from passersby. As if his face wasn’t automatically recognizable, the tattoos would certainly draw attention. Still, he pressed through the crowd that was steadily growing as he approached the train. Aaron knew taking the public line was a risk- the cars were brightly lit, allowing more chance for recognition. Truthfully, he didn’t really care any more. He just wanted to get home and he didn’t feel like walking half a dozen miles with broken ribs.

He stumbled into the car, thankful that it wasn’t as crowded as usual. He didn’t think he could handle being stuffed with dozens of other people like a bunch of animals waiting to be slaughtered without at least six more drinks. Despite the array of open seats he decided to stand. He winced as he raised his arm to hold onto the overhead bar; the movement had bothered his ribs. He ignored the pain and glanced around the car, assessing his surroundings out of habit.

A twi’lek woman and her child caught his eye. The boy was no more than six and he seemed to be content playing with his stuffed animal. His joyful cries were hushed by the mother, who ran her hands over his head tails lovingly. She looked tired. The bags under her eyes were dark and she was too thin- he’d seen slaves that were better fed. Likely she gave all the food she managed to scrape up to her son and whatever other mouths she had to feed.

With something resembling curiousity (he knew better than to fool himself into thinking he really cared about anything anymore), he noticed her clothing. The tunic, while certainly dirty and mended many times over, was made of valuable cloth and the intricate designs on the side were similar to the markings frequently worn by the ensemble of diplomats sent by the citizens of Ryloth. They’d been “disbanded” after the anti-alien prejudice had made its way to the depths of the senate, effectively razing any sort of committee focused on the betterment and better treatment of off-worlders on Coruscant. With vague interest he wondered how this woman had managed to escape- with a child, no less. Assuming she hadn’t just stolen the tunic from a rotting corpse, which was definitely more likely.

Before he could even decide to start thinking about it, a small squadron of stormtroopers boarded the car and began walking the aisles, shoving passengers and demanding IDs. Cursing under his breath, Aaron pulled his hood closer over him and tried to cover his face. He didn’t feel like encountering a group of armed soldiers today. He slowly worked his way through the crowd, pushing to the other end of the train, hoping they wouldn’t see him.

Of course, with his luck…

“You! ID, now!” The barked order was broken coming through the filtered speaker. Aaron didn’t look up or so much as acknowledge the command. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” The stormtrooper gripped his arm.

So much for getting home quietly, he thought. He brought his elbow down in the crook of armor on the assailant’s arm, bending it unnaturally. The trooper howled, alerting the other guards, before Aaron twisted his leg around him, bringing the soldier to his knees. Aaron brought the trooper’s head to his knee before grabbing the unconscious soldier’s gun and thrusting himself through the crowd, shoveling people out of the way.

The crowd parted and clung to the walls, but otherwise showed no indication of the tussle. It was a common enough occurrence. No one tried to stop the stormtroopers, but no one tried to stop Aaron either.

Another guard had grabbed Aaron’s arm, apparently not learning from the former’s mistake. He repeated the motion, but this one leaped back after the wounding, yanking off Aaron’s cloak as he did so. Aaron cursed. “Clone!” the trooper shouted to the others. He stepped further back, speaking into his communicator. “We’ve got another renegade clone on level 337, line RT3 heading-“

Aaron grunted as he slammed the butt of the stolen gun into the soldier’s helmet, knocking him unconscious. The other soldiers were pushing their way through the crowd, but the passengers were, if anything, shoving them forward. Aaron looked around widely. People were huddled against the wall, clinging to each other and looking at the clone in fear. They all remembered what had happened. What he had done. Aaron winced.

This wasn’t the time to be thinking of that, though. He had a much easier time maneuvering the crowd now that everyone shrank from him like he was diseased. Aaron made his way to the door, though the train wouldn’t make its next stop for another ninety seconds. A quick glance behind him at the guards told him he didn’t have that kind of time.

Grimacing, he flicked off the safety and shot at the doors, blasting them open. People screamed and covered their ears- as used to gunfire as they were, no civilian is used to gunfire in an enclosed space like that. Aaron’s own ears were ringing. He couldn’t hear the train hurdling forward, but he could certainly feel the gusts of wind through the now doorless exit. Luckily everyone else on the train, including the stormtroopers, were still recovering from the burst of noise. Aaron stepped towards his exit, gripping both edges of the doorframe tightly. He looked out- they were going over a platform any second now.

Aaron flinched as a hand grabbed his arm. He turned towards his assailant, ready to attack. “Don’t,” the twi’lek woman urged in a heavy accent. She thought he was committing suicide. Oh, blessed soul, he thought to her fondly, I don’t have the bravery for a stunt like that. Instead he said nothing, giving a comical two-finger salute before falling out of the train.

Aaron fell hard on his shoulder, but he threw himself forward so he’d keep rolling on his side until he finally came to a stop. He crawled to a wall, using it as support to draw himself to a stand. He touched his shoulder lightly. Dislocated. Angrily, he slammed the palm of his hand into his shoulder, forcing it back in the socket painfully. He looked back to the tracks and spat, watching the glimmer of the train continue in the distance.

With a sense of disgust, for himself, his situation, and those around him, he continued on. He’d never been to this particular station before, but thankfully he still knew the way home. He limped forward. His knee wasn’t too bad- but the soldier’s armor was thicker than he remembered. Then again, he wasn’t really dealing with much more than bar fights and street brawls nowadays.

-

As he approached his second hour wandering the streets, he came across another dead end. Sighing, he collapsed against the wall and slid down, not really caring what kind of grime got on his cloak. Two fights ending with him getting tossed into the street and two hours of failed memory later and he was fucking exhausted. He might as well just sleep on the street. If anyone wanted to mug him, let them the take the six credits he hadn’t spent at the bar. If anyone wanted to kill him, they’d be doing him a favor. He shut his eyes.

“My my, it looks like I’ve finally got company.”

If anyone wanted to bother him, they’d be in for it. Just slit my throat or be done with it, he thought.

“I’ve got nothing to slit your throat with, I’m afraid. Nor do I have any mind to mug you. Six credits would be a lousy reward anyway, for the extent of my troubles.”

Aaron frowned. Had he really said those things out loud? Well, he supposed going completely bonkers wasn’t out of the picture.

“No, you’re quite sane, as far as I can tell.”

Aaron opened his eyes at last, with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. He sat up, but didn’t come to a full stand. It took him a moment to notice the raggedy figure sitting on a rotted box. He couldn’t make out anything beyond the badly weathered cloak- it had certainly seen better days, that’s for sure, if it was even a cloak at all. He didn’t see any weapons, but there could be a small gun or knife concealed somewhere.

The creature moved its head. “Come now, do I really seem like much of a threat to you?” The voice seemed aged and hoarse, but somehow Aaron could just tell the man was grinning. Aaron doubted he wanted to see the state of this guy’s teeth.

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

The figure laughed. Aaron was caught off guard by the sudden outburst. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I was a general in the Clone Wars, after all.”

Great, this fucking dumbass thinks he’s a Jedi. Just what I need right now. Another crazy. Aaron leaned back against the wall, too tired to argue. “Right, right. I’m sure you were in all sorts of battles.”

“Oh yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I was in all sorts of battles. But the battles weren’t the good parts.”

“Oh, there were good parts, were there?” Aaron closed his eyes, trying not to think about why he was appeasing the crazy old man.

“Well, you wouldn’t remember. You’re a clone- you never knew us before the war.”

“’Us’ being the Jedi?”

“Why, yes!”

Aaron huffed. “Tell me, if you’re a Jedi, how come you haven’t killed me yet?”

“I should be asking that question. After all, you were the ones who started the massacre.” Aaron tensed. He didn’t like thinking about that time. “I mean in a fight between the two of us, you’re more likely to win considering the historical aspects.”

“Would you like to try and prove your theory?”

“Ah, you spent time with Master Plo, I see.”

Aaron’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you think that?”

“Am I wrong?” The figure took his silence as affirmation. “He was a good friend of mine. But you are no wolf.”

The man might be crazy, but he knew at least something about the war. Aaron shrugged to himself. No harm in humoring an old man. “I was once. An injury turned me into a dog.”

“Ah, a Coruscant guard. Strange to see a lost pup all the way down here.”

Aaron snorted at the ‘lost pup’ comment. While a little humiliating, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “I could say the same thing for a Jedi.” As insane as the man was, he was entertaining and he hadn’t killed him yet and Aaron was tired and didn’t mind the company. With a start he realized this was probably the longest conversation he’d had with a sentient being in maybe years.

“If you want to know how I got down here, I’m afraid it’s a rather long, sad story.”

The two sat in silence for a moment.

“I thought you were just going to get into it.”

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“You’ve practically dragged me into this conversation. I figured you were more than happy to continue doing so.”

“Do you want me to tell the story or not?”

“By all means, continue.”

The figure turned to him and for the first time Aaron noticed he hadn’t even been looking at the clone. “What is your name, child?”

Child? Though he supposed in standard years he’d only be in his twenties. “Aaron,” he answered quietly.

The figure bowed its head respectfully. “Very well, Aaron. If it a story you want, I will tell it. But it is not my own.”

Aaron huffed, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Kit’s eyes shot open. The first thing he noticed was the searing pain in his side. The second was that he was being pulled through the hallway by clones, thought they were not any clones he recognized. These were not the compassionate, valiant men he’d come to know the past five years; they were cold, impassive, and distant in a way that frightened the disoriented Jedi.

Yet he knew he couldn’t allow his fear to compound him. He drew in the Force and shoved the imposters into the distant wall, rendering them unconscious. Blearily, the Nautolan quickly assessed his surroundings. He was in the red hall connecting the Supreme Chancellor’s private study to his formal meeting office. The windows had been shattered and glass littered the far end of the room. In the distance the Jedi Temple was in flames.

In flames? It was then that Kit noticed the pain, not in his body, but in the air around him. It was suffocating, the screams of Jedi pouring into his lungs and drowning him. His world, so full of life and color, was suddenly empty. Nothing but fire remained. His heart wrenched as he felt desperately for someone, anyone. Looking back he could see the dark colors of the Chancellor’s study as well as too motionless robbed figures.

He brought his hand to his head, trying to shake away the darkness that clouded his mind. He could faintly remember going to confront Palpatine with Mace, Agen, and Saesee. Mournfully, Kit gazed at the bodies of what could only be his two friends, wondering if Mace had escaped. Clearly he hadn’t been successful, but Kit knew his friend better than to think Mace wouldn’t give his life before fleeing. Prodding gently with the Force, he could tell neither Master Kolar nor Master Tinn were alive. He dropped his head, despair washing over him. Just how many Jedi had fallen?

He shook his head. Now was not the time to grieve. He needed to focus on the present with the all the energy he could muster if he were to survive. He looked to the heaps of armored men. He’d need to be extra cautious if these were not the only imposters. It was unlikely they were.

He crawled out of the hall and into the lift, dragging himself up until he was limping heavily. The gash in his left side had cauterized, thankfully, but he sensed there was something darker within the core of the wound and he wouldn’t last long on his feet. Black spots had clouded his vision since he’d risen to a stand. Nonetheless, the stubborn Jedi refused to submit to his fate so easily. Not when he didn’t know who else was out there.

The elevator halted and the doors slid open. The hall of the Senate was absolute chaos. Essentially the lobby of the Senate building, the large “hall” was a giant room that took up the entire floor of the building, meant as a holding area for concerned citizens come to express their grievances to their designated representative. Though, due to both the extensive reach of the Galactic Senate, most systems had separate representatives to meet with the people. Of course, once the war started, it soon became impossible to not have at least one secondary representative. Even with the thousands that came pouring in everyday, the room was so massive that it was never completely filled.

Until now. The crowd was enormous. Kit had seen battalions smaller than this. Everyone- from senators to guards to servants to citizens to droids- all clamored about, scurrying in every direction, bumping into people. There were at least three separate fights as people knocked each other over in the hectic environment, growing violent in the bustling room. People were screaming in fear, getting trampled, exchanging what little information they had with others and demanding explanations from clones who were supposedly standing guard, though remaining stoic and eerily silent, not bothering to help the fallen or the injured, transfixed by some unknown presence within their own minds. Kit shuddered as he ducked past one, fortunate that the crowd managed to hide him from their sight. Luckily no one paid heed to the Jedi groping his way past them towards one of the lesser-known routes to a worker’s hangar.

The hangar was surprisingly empty considering the tumultuous circumstances. Kit hauled himself into a nondescript ship of average size, hoping to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He quickly made his way to the cockpit and collapsed in the pilot seat. With a start he realized he had no idea where to go.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t go to the temple. His very instincts were fighting against the desire to investigate the burning building that represented the center of the Jedi, but something even deeper within warned him of the dangers. If he went now, he would surely be going to his death. For all the despair dwelling in his heart, Kit thought mournfully, he wouldn’t mind death about now.

No. He shook the darkness away. He needed to stay alive- he didn’t know how many Jedi were remaining. If all the clones had indeed turned on them, Kit doubted many survived. With his list of enemies increasing drastically, he realized he wouldn’t be able to go to any Republic outposts, which severely limited his options. He cursed- as friendly as he was, he hadn’t exactly made many acquaintances outside the Republic.

Grimly, he set his course. He wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed, but he was at least halfway certain they wouldn’t kill him on sight.

He was headed home.

-

From space, Glee Anslem looked rather similar to the mineral chrysocolla, found on carbon based planets. The crystal blue water was luminescent even in the depths of the darkness of space, speckled with the occasional stretch of green land. Although it didn’t look inhabited, much less industrialized, the population of Nautolans were located mainly in underwater cities that served as focal points for trade and commerce throughout the Jalor sector. Yet their increased involvement with the Namadii Corridor had recently sprouted several minor cities and towns on land, causing territorial disputes with the Anselmi, who had problems of their own well before the intrusion of the amphibious species. The Jedi were likely to become involved, despite the mutual disdain for off-worlders held by both species, but the Clone Wars had taken up time usually meant for actually keeping the peace.

Nonetheless, Kit was able to easily locate one of the Nautolan cities and headed for the nearest dock, where the guards had already come to greet the unexpected arrival. Kit stumbled out of the ship, his arm pressing against his crudely wrapped bandages. He’d feared sleeping on the ship, not sure he would wake up, so he’d busied himself attempting to clean his wound. Unfortunately, Kit was far from a medic and all he seemed to be doing was making it hurt more by moving, so he stuck to trying to reach out with the Force to any Jedi stragglers. He grimaced. He knew he’d already pushed himself past his limits- the brief respite from action on the journey hadn’t done much to replenish his vigor. He was draining himself of the Force just trying to keep himself conscious, using more energy to push himself onwards in the past few hours than he’d probably used in the past month of the Clone Wars, and he was definitely feeling the impact.

The injured Jedi all but collapsed into one of the guard’s arms. The Nautolan discarded his spear, shooting his partner a wary look. “Are you alright?” he asked, returning to the stranger and pressing a hand gently yet firmly against his back to hold him steady. Kit took a moment to assess the two before him. The first guard’s amphibious skin was a light green, not dissimilar to the Jedi’s own color, while the second was a pale blue. Both were in Glee Anselm soldier garb, a uniform Kit had only before seen in pictures as he studied the culture of his homeworld from the distant Coruscant. Their torsos were bare and they had plain knee length shorts, since the ability to move freely was more necessary to a Nautolan warrior than protection, though they had armored tassets hooked to their belts and lightweight arm guards.

Kit flashed his teeth in a pearly grin. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Though if you were on your way to stopping by a medic, please don’t hold back on my account.”

The first guard huffed, amused by the stranger’s bitter humor. Yet the second nodded slightly to the stranger’s ruined robes and easily distinguishable weapon. “Who are you?” the blue one asked gruffly.

Kit’s dulled senses hadn’t picked up on the subtle communication between the two. Though thirty years of isolation granted him an excuse as to not being able to recognize the Nautolan’s meaningful eye contact, which was capable of conveying warnings and tidings much faster than verbally. “I’m Jedi Master Kit Fisto. I come from Glee Anselm. This is my home.”

The blue one stiffened. “You haven’t been able to call this home since you left for the temple, Jedi,” he spat.

“Drex!” the other snapped, instinctively tightening his grip protectively around the injured man, who tried not to wince at the pressure.

“Lerel, you heard what they did to the Jedi,” Drex hissed. “If the Republic finds out one of them is with us, they will crush us. It’s not like we need more enemies right now.”

Lerel looked at the man in his arms, who’d gone completely silent, his eyes distant. Lerel could sense the emotion radiating off the Jedi in waves. He didn’t need pheromone-sensing headtails to know he was thinking about the massacre. He frowned resolutely. “He was one of us before he was one of them. We’re taking him to Aki’s.”

Drex grimaced before helping his friend carry the man to the local medic.

-

Kit Fisto, like the others in his species, was more than accustomed to being underwater. Their gill-like structures on the sides of their heads paired with their humanoid lungs made for a distinguished class of amphibians highly evolved to accommodate the bodily needs to survive on both land and water. No amount of time spent on land could change that. Kit Fisto was a Nautolan through and through.

That didn’t mean it was any less of a shock when he woke up several hundred feet underwater. The Jedi’s eyes shot open and he seized out of bed, floating up a few inches, subconsciously gasping for breath. The sudden movement sent a searing pain running up his side and he cursed admittedly loudly.

Before he could bring his hand to the offending area, a strong grip quickly grabbed his wrist. Kit didn’t have a chance to register what was happening before he flung the assailant across the room. Physics didn’t work quite the same underwater, but it still worked. Kit jolted up, flailing his limbs in a failed attempt to escape, still not accustomed to the sudden adjustment of moving underwater.

Suddenly more hands wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him to the bed. “Get him down! Get him down!” He didn’t register the panicked shouts. “Be careful! Sedate him if you have to!” Kit thrashed against the clutches of the restrainers, his hands curled into fists and kicking wildly. There was only one part of his mind that was awake and aware: escape.

“Don’t antagonize him!” the command was sharp and clear from across the room. Instantly the grasp relaxed on his limbs, though still firm. Kit blinked, the dreary haze clearing from his mind as he began taking in his surroundings. The two guards from before were holding him down gently, as well as three others. When he looked up at them, they seemed to sense his lucidity that his moment of madness had passed. The one he remembered as Lerel looked down at him and smiled comfortingly. Kit looked towards the Nautolan he’d thrown to the side- the one who’d ordered the men to stand down. Her skin was a pale orange and she was in medic garb. The standard Nautolan base clothing was paired with what resembled what could only be a lab coat or something to that effect.

She grabbed her tablet and came to his bedside, looking down with large, prodding eyes. “Do you know where you are?” Her voice was low and somehow soothing despite its detached clarity.

He opened his mouth to speak. He had a general idea of where he was, but he didn’t know exactly where-

“Nod your head yes or no,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He blinked before shaking his head no. She raised an eyebrow and tapped her screen.

“Do you remember coming here?” A hesitant nod.

“Do you remember what happened before coming here?” He grimaced before shaking his head.

Her gaze softened. She nodded curtly to the guards, who backed off. Kit noticed they were still within arms reach should the Jedi try anything. “You’re Kit Fisto?” He nodded warily. “You’ve been here three weeks. After your unanticipated appearance on the docks, Drex and Lerel brought you to me and you’ve been in a sort of coma ever since. I’m Doctor Aki. I’ve cleaned and bandaged your wounds. You’ve already begun the healing process, which is amplified by your Force-sensitivity. Er, so I’ve read. Anyway, the cut, which is presumably by a lightsaber, didn’t cut through any major arteries or organs, but I’m afraid we’ll need fibronetting to secure some of the areas around the wound just to be safe. It’s the nerve damage that concerns me. We’ll be doing routine tests for the next four to six months to make sure your left leg isn’t experiencing any problems. We need to be careful; any strenuous activity could lead to further disruption of connection between synapses, which we wouldn’t be able to fix. In the meantime, I’d suggest-“

“Are there others?” Kit had always prided himself on being patient in hospitals, especially compared to his fellow Jedi who generally detested med bays as a rule, but he found the doctor’s astute prognosis to be taking a rather long time.

Dr. Aki frowned and checked her charts. “There weren’t any other wounds that I���m aware of, other than some superficial bruises and scratching-“

“Are there other Jedi? Did any others survive?” He chided himself for being so harsh. The medic’s shoulders seemed to slump ever so slightly and none of the guards would meet his eyes. He looked at her desperately. “Did any others survive?” he repeated.

“Not that I know of,” she spoke softly. He rested his head against the pillow and shut his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry. The Jedi have been deemed traitors by Chancellor-“

“Emperor,” a guard coughed.

“-Palpatine. The senate is putting up a reward for all remaining Jedi who survived Order 66.”

“Then why haven’t you killed me yet?” Kit asked through gritted teeth. No one survived? He was painfully aware of the guards’ stares. He hated mourning in front of an audience.

Before the doctor would respond, Lerel spoke up. “You’re a Nautolan. You’re one of us. You always have been and you always will be. We protect our own.”

Kit felt his emotions bubbling to the surface. Grief, that he was the only survivor. Relief, that at least he was safe for now. Guilt, he should have died alongside his family instead of leaving them to die. Shock, as he realized for perhaps the first time that he’d never see his loved ones again. Shame, for being so selfish as to feel such pain for their deaths instead of rejoicing their reunion with the Force.

Anger, at everyone responsible for this.

“But it’s not up to us what to do with you,” Dr. Aki broke his disturbing chain of thoughts. “The elders will decide whether to keep you here. But they don’t want to risk the wrath of the Empire.” Kit winced. He realized coming here endangered whoever housed him, but he had nowhere else to go. The medic began unwrapping his bandages and checking his wound. He was in no state to leave on his own. But how could he accept the Nautolans’ kindness knowing what would happen should the Jedi be discovered?

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

-

The Council of Elders had been a form of authority long before the Republic had decreed mandatory senatorial representation from its territories. Each notable region would elect and send their most well-respected elder, who either achieved such esteemed recognition through wisdom or battle, where they would debate the needs of the people with the morals of the land in order to create various treaties, legislative decrees, and other major decisions involving the wellbeing of the underwater inhabitants of Glee Anselm.

The reappearance of Kit Fisto was certainly a point of interest among the elders. With the bounty out on all Jedi, harboring the fugitive was certainly dangerous, but the tightly bound nature of Nautolans refused to accept discarding the friendless man. Nautolans were cautious around outsiders as a rule, so an offworld entity demanding the exile of one of their own was not something the elders would normally consider. However, the looming threat of the Intergalactic Senate was not something to be taken lightly. If Master Fisto was discovered, the Empire would not be forgiving to the secretive species. With increased aggression from the Anslemi, the last thing the Nautolans needed was another war.

The heated arguments weighing the consequences of either action would continue for quite some time, though they’d at last come to one decision: they would not kill the Jedi. Which Kit supposed he should be grateful for.

The Jedi’s arrival had been kept a secret for precautionary reasons, but, as is the norm with close-knit communities, everyone in the city quickly knew. Information was limited, but spread like wildfire on the Jedi’s circumstances. Some said it was just the remains of the Jedi smuggled from the massacre on Coruscant. It was also rumored the Jedi was secretly training others to fight against the Empire. It was even claimed that the Jedi had bewitched the medic and was holding her hostage until he got what he wanted. Nonetheless, people found themselves paying close attention to Dr. Aki’s for the next few months.

Kit was restless. Even after over two weeks of being fully conscious, Aki wouldn’t let him do anything requiring any physical exertion whatsoever. The most he could get away with was swimming aimlessly around his room. It wasn’t until the elders finally made their decision that he was allowed to go to other parts of the hospital. It was when Kit was allowed visitors that he finally realized why Aki was so desperate to keep him separated.

Eventually, after the initial swath of curious citizens got their first look at the real-life Jedi, the guards decided to filter out the majority of the adoringly pestilent visitors and well-wishers. Kit was surprised at the sheer amount of cards and flowers he was sent. Although he’d had his fair share of admirers, he hadn’t had such direct gestures of veneration. Nonetheless, he was more than appreciative of the guards preventing the avid enthusiasts from harassing him constantly.

However, he’d rather face one hundred zealous supporters than the far less cheerful visitors the guards allowed inside. Two families had come to see the Jedi to ask about their sons, who had been taken to the temple as well. Kit knew they just wanted a little information- nothing any parent wouldn’t want from their child. After all, the temple rarely reconnected with the parents, even to inform them of death. But that left the Master woefully unprepared to deliver the frightful news.

Knox’s family came first. The father and mother were clinging to each other with a desperation that made Kit’s heart long for something akin to that kind of companionship- the sort of craving a Jedi only gets after seeing what kind of life they could have led. The family’s remaining child shadowed them closely, though he could no longer be considered a child. He was at least a foot taller than his father and his defined features and odd birthmarks reminded Kit painfully of Knox. His news was undeniably easier to handle, since Kit actually knew with absolute certainty the poor Padawan’s fate.

Kit stood up at the sight of the family huddled together. “Ex-excuse me,” the mother choked back her sob. “Master Fisto?”

Kit nodded solemnly. Easier or not, this would still be difficult.

“I’m Jerra and this is my husband, Reynar, and our eldest son, Oden. Our boy Knox was taken to the temple nineteen years ago. Tell me, have you seen our son?” she asked. She laughed softly, though he suspected it was only to keep herself from crying. “I’m sorry. I know we can’t expect you to know every Jedi in the temple, but I figured since he was a Nautolan-“

“It’s alright, ma’am.” Kit raised his hand. “I knew your son.”

The mother stared at him, her wide eyes filled with hope Kit couldn’t bare to see. Her husband’s grip on her waist grew tighter. Oden scowled darkly at his parents. “See, he’s dead, just like we thought.”

Reynar glanced back at his son, sputtering, “We don’t know that.”

“He said he knew Knox. There’s no point in false hope, father.”

Kit tentatively reached out with the Force, calming the eldest son. His pheromone sensing was heightened underwater, but he found it cruel to practice his untrained skills on the grieving family. Either way, he could sense the Oden was just taking out his sorrows on his parents. “I’m so sorry,” he affirmed. “But your son died a few years before the Empire.”

Jerra gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “What?” she managed, her breathing coming in rapid pants. Her husband’s knuckled paled where he clutched her, his lip quivering.

“He was on a mission defending a temple on Deveron during the Clone Wars. A manic Zabrak attacked. His body was burned at the temple and he was given many honors-“

“Who cares what honors he was given in death? He’s dead!” Reynar snapped. “Where was his master? Where was his master to protect him from that?”

“Master Halsey died defending your son, on that I can assure you.” He reached for the family, attempting to comfort them.

They flinched away from the Jedi, the two parents retreating back into the hallway, sobbing at the loss of their son. Oden didn’t look up from his feet, but he stayed in the room. “What was he like?” he asked at last.

Kit smiled softly. “He was a sweet boy. He was very protective of others- more so than the other Padawans. And he loved to learn. I don’t think he was tardy to a single class, not even astro-chart readings.”

“How do you know?” he asked quietly.

“I spoke to him every so often. It can be difficult for the less humanoid younglings in the crèche, so I’ve been sort of looking out for him.”

Oden nodded slowly, a sad smile forming from his tired features. “You know, I always wanted a little brother.” His confession was little more than a whisper. Kit found himself at a loss for words as the child- even if he was twenty, he was still a child- followed his parents out the door.

Kit returned to his bed, emotionally exhausted by the encounter. The Jedi had taken away their child without any attempt to ease their pain. Kit had always assumed the parents gladly gave up their children, not stopping to consider the repercussions of losing a child. Even if they were still alive, the children were lost to the parents; they had no way of contacting their family and were shunned from asking too many questions. What kind of cult would rip away a baby from its mother’s arms?

Before he’d never questioned the sanctity of the Jedi. They were right, and that was that. But lately he found himself evaluating the decisions that led to their downfall. The Jedi took children from all over the galaxy and raised them to be peaceful warriors destined to die on some distant planet far from anything they’d had a chance to call home. They fought fights that weren’t theirs, even long before the events of the Clone Wars.

Kit had always been told that the purpose of the Jedi was to establish order and maintain peace in a galaxy ravaged by chaos and other elements of the dark- the tendrils of lust and greed and wrath and gluttony had twisted itself into the minds of susceptible being everywhere, calling for the aid of the Jedi just by showing weakness to such evil. Yet none of these sins were lost upon the so-called purity of the Jedi. By claiming moral superiority over all living things, what else could the Council be but arrogant?

His troubling thoughts were interrupted as the doctor came in to check on him.

A few days later, he received a visit from another anxious family. Zatt’s family was admittedly large, which only seemed to make the news worse, as so many more ears had to hear it. Other than the mother and the father, there were four other children; the oldest seemed to be about seventeen and the youngest couldn’t have been older than twelve.

“I’m Berut,” the woman introduced herself, her arms wrapped protectively around her children. She was much calmer than Jerra, presumably for her kids’ sakes.

“I’m Knin,” the father seemed like he was going to shake hands, but thought better of it. He pointed to his children from shortest to tallest. “This is Fip, Rhirru, Yat, and Fresseh.”

“But we came to ask you about our other child. Zatt? He would’ve been a year younger than Fip, here,” Berut asked. Although her demeanor was serene than the disorderly sorrow from Jerra, the same desperation was still in her eyes. Kit found that eyes were another means of communication that came naturally to Nautolans, but he had yet to refine his skill.

“Yes, I remember him. He was sweet and charming. He loved those datapads of his,” Kit chuckled lightly, remembering numerous separate occasions where the little Nautolan would run into walls or other people in the halls with his nose stuck to his screen and wrist-deep in mechanical grime. “He was smart, that one.”

Berut nodded. “So he’s gone, then?”

Kit grimaced. “In all likelihood. He was in the temple when the clones attacked.”

“Is there any chance he could have escaped?” the father asked despairingly. He was less successful at keeping up appearances.

“I- I do not want to give you hope where there is none.”

The parents nodded in unison, quietly containing their devastation. One of the children, Rhirru, piped up. “Was he happy?”

The Jedi was caught off guard by the question. “Yes,” he reasoned. “He had friends and a family. He was happy.”

“I thought we were his family,” Fip looked up at his mother. Berut hushed the child and ushered them out of the room, turning back to give Kit one final nod of thanks.

Was he happy? Were any of them happy? Kit struggled with the query. Of course they were happy. They led very satisfying lives; they dedicated everything to helping others. They lived surrounded by their friends and people who could sympathize and empathize with them. Due to their strict moral code, nothing controversial was accepted, so there was no possibility of real opposition. They had what were essentially superpowers. They lived ultimately peacefully, defined by the way their lives affected those around them. That was surely happiness.

But were they given a choice otherwise? Their entire lives were dictated by a creed dating back before even the eldest could remember; anything beyond that was forbidden. For all the glory or humility in the world, they had to keep vigil and watch as people outside their little bubble led their lives and truly, truly lived. They suffered through love and loss and failure and favor. Yet the Jedi weren’t allowed any of that. They were told, under no exceptions, to completely bind themselves to their duty until the line between idea and man had become blurred beyond perception.

The most alive Kit had ever felt was with Nahdar  and the secret love he’d harbored for the boy. Not every master felt such patriarchal affection for their padawan, but Kit knew he certainly did. And until Nahdar ’s death, Kit hadn’t known true pain. Certainly he’d gone through physical suffering, but that was nothing compared to the agonizing loss of what he considered to be his child. Yet, for all that despair and wretchedness, Kit wouldn’t trade all of those moments of bliss and serenity for anything in the galaxy. Perhaps what he’d been told was happiness all this time was nothing but ignorance. Perhaps true happiness lie in the forbidden- in love.

Kit was once again roused from his thoughts by the medic. Dr. Akri poked and prodded at the oddly silent Jedi. Over the past few weeks, Akri had grown rather accustomed to the patient’s near constant chatter. She frowned down at the man as she changed his bandages. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

The Jedi took a moment before responding, running a hand over his face and blinking rapidly. “Why are all the Jedi the youngest children?”

Dr. Akri looked down at him. “I imagine giving a child away and never seeing it again is no different than losing one. There’s rarely a recovery for that.”

Kit shut his eyes for a moment before gazing back up at the doctor, whose brow had furrowed. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, returning to her datapad. “It’s just curious how you blink. Nautolans don’t usually blink. In some parts of the galaxy it’s debated that we even have eyelids. But I suppose it’s a cultural habit you picked up on Coruscant.”

Kit exhaled. “It’s ridiculous that I’m estranged from my own people. I have to relearn my own culture, my own identity. I hadn’t even noticed that’s why people have been looking at me funny until now.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she chuckled. “That’s not the only reason people are looking at you funny.”

He shot her a look, which only made her look even more smug. He rolled his eyes.

-

The doctor was accompanied by Lerel and Drex on her next visit. Kit frowned and sat up, sensing something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”

Dr. Akri sighed. “The elders haven’t been able to come to a decision. Senator Darsana won’t hear any more arguments. He’s coming from Coruscant to assess the situation himself and hopefully spur the elders into a more authoritative roll.”

“So he’s coming to kick me out?”

“No,” Lerel said, his comforting grin firmly in place. With a start, Kit realized he used to grin just like that not so long ago. “He’s just coming to put more pressure on the elders.”

“That being said,” Drex added with a friendly smirk, “try not to get on his bad side. It wouldn’t hurt for him to like you. It’d make our job a lot easier.”

“And what’s your job?”

“To protect you.” Drex stated confidently.

The Jedi blinked, causing Dr. Akri to laugh. A knock on the door disrupted the four and another guard swam into the room. “You have a visitor, Master Fisto.”

Dr. Akri nodded to Kit as they left the room, passing a woman holding a curious bundle in her arms. The female Nautolan was petite- smaller than most women he’d seen here. Her robes were weathered and cheap, clearly from years of wear. “Master Fisto?” Her voice was high and nearly shaking. He could sense the anxiety coming off of her in waves.

“What is it?”

“My name is Arcaena. I need your help.” He hadn’t even recognized the third life form in the room until a split second before she revealed the contents of the blanket.

It was a baby. A beautiful baby boy with almost iridescent blue skin. Kit sensed something different about the boy and, with a start, realized the child was Force sensitive. He looked at the woman in astonishment. Did she know the risks of bringing the child here?

Of course she did, he realized, that’s why she’s here.

“Please, I need your help. You need to take this baby.”

Kit was startled. “What?”

“Please, I can’t take care of him. You need to protect him.” Her eyes were watering. “Please. The father is gone and I don’t know what else to do. They’ll find him and they’ll hurt him, I know this in my heart. He’s too strong for me. They’re too strong for me. Please. You’re a Jedi; he’s one of you!

He found himself at a loss. Her emotional tirade seemed genuine, as did her helplessness. “I- I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Take him,” she urged, thrusting the baby towards him.

-

Kit had turned away, saying he needed time to think about it. The woman had given him on last desperate look before leaving him alone. How could she want to give away her own child? He swept a hand over his face. She had never even referred to the child by his name. He couldn’t believe that a mother could really hate her child, but he believed that a mother could fear him.

It occurred to him that Arcaena must love her child immensely to be willing to give him up for his own safety. She viewed herself as weak and incapable of handling such a responsibility. Then again, it was rare for a Force sensitive child grew up outside the realm of the Jedi temple. She had every right to be scared, especially with the rumored Jedi hunters relentlessly searching the galaxy for any stragglers. The news of the hunters came as both a blessing and a curse: there were enough survivors to warrant special operatives, but these hunters were likely highly trained and ruthless unlike anything they’d ever seen before. It takes more than strength to kill a Jedi- it takes cunning. Kit’s own experiences with sadistic bounty hunters led him to believe it wouldn’t be long before the Jedi’s already painfully low numbers dwindled down to nothing.

Kit shuddered to think what would happen to a child that was found- likely something far worse than death. Force sensitive children had always been coveted, especially for slavers and other traffickers. But he doubted the Empire would be so merciful. His thoughts dwelled on Maul, who he knew spent his adolescence tortured beyond all imagining to keep him firmly in the clutches of evil. For all the wrongs the Jedi had done, at least they had not tormented children, he thought. Manipulated and sent off to war? Yes. But not this.

Kit’s musings were cut short by a curt knock on the door. Kit rose as guards lined the room, eyeing them cautiously- these were not the guards he had grown accustomed to and he couldn’t see Lerel or Drex anywhere. No, these were more than just your average soldiers. Unlike the regular city guards, these had chest plates and helms, designed for maximum protection. It didn’t take Kit long to figure out that this wasn’t for fighting- it was for defense. Should the object under their care come under fire, it was these men who would throw themselves at the danger, sacrificing themselves. It didn’t take a Jedi to figure out what kind of rank would be deserving of such dedication.

“Senator Darsana,” the Jedi bowed respectfully, risking a glance up at his new visitor.

A far cry from the rags that clung to the begging mother, the Anselmi was adorned with fanciful clothing. Despite the uncomfortable material needed to make the outfit waterproof and pressurized, the suit had a discreet elegance fitting for a royal senator. The only thing that really threw off the look was the rather large helmet allowing the much more human-like humanoid to breath underwater, though he supposed that couldn’t be helped. Through the glass, Kit could see the Anselmi features: large dark spots peppering the edges of the face in an almost reptilian pattern, the sporadic patches of muted feathers indicative of a stressful daily process, the dark small eyes bereft of the emotion that was so blatantly obvious in the Nautolans’, the nose slits humming dutifully and the thin mouth pursed into something not quite resembling a frown. Kit grimaced when he realized the whole Jedi situation was probably doing a little to dampen his mood.

“Master Jedi.” The Anselmi were known to have liquid voices. Kit would’ve thought liquid voices underwater wouldn’t sound as nice as it did, but the soothing drone was nearly enough to disarm the Jedi. “I’m pleased to finally meet you at last. I must admit we’ve been somewhat following your exploits since you left us all those years ago. We’re proud that such a mighty warrior has come from our world.”

Kit put on a nice smile, preparing himself for the tedium of politics. “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”

There was a glimmer in the Senator’s eye. “An honor to be a warrior, to be watched, or to hail from here?” Kit blinked stupidly. Darsana chuckled, bringing his elongated fingers to tap on his own shoulder, his elbow resting on his arm. “Tell me, Master Fisto, what brought you to our humble star system after the fall of the Jedi?”

Kit repressed a gulp, but still found himself appreciative of the man’s directness. “I had nowhere else to go,” he admitted. “Nowhere else to go but home.”

The Anselmi nodded thoughtfully and began pacing the room slowly. “You’ve brought a great danger to my people by coming here. It’s not a secret that relations between the Nautolans and the Anselmi are tense right now. The last thing we need is unwanted attention from the Empire.”

“So it is unwanted?”

“While we could easily agree that any attention from fascists is unwanted, I’m afraid the safety of the people is worth more than any petty personal vendetta I may have, don’t you agree?”

Kit flushed, embarrassed that his sorry excuse for a negotiating strategy had been found out so quickly. He’d hoped to rely on the senator’s well-known spite for the chancellor, now emperor, as a way to weasel his way into the senator’s good favor. He cursed himself for not listening more closely to Kenobi’s prattling on the intricacies of rhetoric. Instead he realized this meeting would be safer as a one-way conversation. “Yes,” he said stiffly.

“Should the Empire get word of your presence, they would no doubt bring a swift and destructive end to your residence, which would certainly end in collateral damage. The Republic has never been known for its discretion in such matters and I’m afraid the brutality has only increased with the transformation into a much more regimented regime.”

“Yes, sir,” Kit thought of the innocent casualties suffered at the hands of Republic troops, including his own, in the past five years. The cries of dying children echoed through his mind.

“As much as I pity your position, you must do well to understand ours. I’m afraid we can’t have you here without endangering the lives of our people.”

“I understand.” Kit understood more than the senator could ever know.

“My hands are tied. The fact is, I swore an oath to the Republic.”

“So did I.”

The senator paused and Kit noticed for the first time that he seemed genuinely concerned for him. “I’m sorry we can’t do more. Ultimately it is up to the elders to decide, but I will ensure that they at least allow you to remain until your wounds have fully healed.”

Kit subconsciously pressed his hand to his side. “And if they decided I would stay longer?”

Darsana sighed and reached to scratch his neck, startled when his hand thudded lightly against the glass helmet. “I’d present your case to the senate and, should it come to that, we’d gather our warriors and prepare for invasion.”

Kit was silent as the senator nodded respectfully and left the room, his entourage not two steps behind.

-

They would not survive a war, Kit thought, looking out his window at the glowing depths of the city. The fact that his staying was still a debate was proof enough that there were those willing to fight and die for him. At least one or more of the elders were adamant about him remaining and would give up Glee Anselm’s fairly pacifistic ideals in order to protect him.

Kit couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t just sit back and watch as these wonderful, colorful, benevolent people threw their lives away for him. Even beyond the code of the Jedi, that was just something that Kit wouldn’t consider from a moral standpoint. He’d grown up his entire life knowing he would die to protect those in need. What kind of hypocrite would he be if he allowed these people to sacrifice themselves for him?

Of course, Kit wasn’t so selfish as to think this was all about him. The authoritative totalitarian government the Republic turned into had cast doubts in the mind of every free star system. Whispers of a Rebel alliance growing to oppose the looming evil of the Empire were suddenly solidified as reports of increased attacks on trooper convoys and Imperial outposts trickled in from around the galaxy. Raids far too numerous for the standard pillaging of pirates could only mean the rise of some league of insurgencies to combat the toxic spread of the Emperor’s curling fingers. More and more star systems were secretly aligning themselves with the traitors, giving more validity to the defense of any remaining Jedi.

Of course, what were the Jedi? What were they other than reminders of a broken past? The Jedi, for all their esteem and regard, were nothing compared to the lengths of the mistakes they made. Over the weeks Kit had spent on Glee Anselm, observing real people and real places, he realized just how much had been taken from him. His chance at real life had been stripped, as had all the others who were so easily deceived by the cunning lies set up by the Jedi. Yet after generation upon generation of practitioners, was it even a lie anymore? The empty promises of peace and prosperity had their own merit merely by surviving for the centuries that it did. The vibrance and joy they had all sworn to uphold was nothing but a dull throbbing of mutilated abstention. How could Kit blame the Council for merely abiding by the only lie they’d ever known?

Did that allow Kit to continue the cycle? Kit was barely a knight himself before he’d taken on young Nahdar as his padawan. The headstrong little runt was so full of life and energy. He would’ve given anything to see what he would have become without the binding tenants of the Jedi. The Mon Calamari pupil was so eager to please; there was nothing he wanted more than to gratify his master. It was that determined altruism that led to his downfall.

Kit hadn’t been able to teach him how to deal with the pressure of concealing his emotions. Instead, Nahdar became an unstable deity susceptible to eruptions of anger stemming from his own inability to suppress his unimaginable powers. With so much pure vitality and no outlet, Nahdar became yet another victim of the Jedi’s cruel inadequacies.  He couldn’t do that to another child. He wouldn’t.

He thought of Arcaena and the boy she’d do anything but live for. As the baby grew into his powers, it would begin drawing more attention. Arcaena would live in fear of the day the Empire would find them and take her child away. Eventually the mother would grow wary of strangers’ glances, suspicious of everyone and everything that showed the merest hint of curiosity in the boy. At last, overwhelmed by the claustrophobic weight of eyes on her and her son, she’d leave. She’d gather up her minimalist resources and travel throughout the galaxy, slowly selling herself away to care for the pair. They’d be hunted relentlessly. The child, as he grew up, would live to see his mother’s misery and would blame himself for it, going so far as wishing death upon himself if it would ease her suffering. He’d do everything he could to help her, but she wouldn’t allow it. His exposure left too much up to chance; if he was found, she would lose everything. He was all she had left. She was all he ever knew. So she continued killing herself to keep them afloat and he would wait out his days in little more than a prison, hiding from the world. His capture would be inevitable. They would find him and rip him from his mother’s grasp. It wouldn’t matter if they killed her- she was dead anyway. In truth, she had died long ago. Only the love for her son was keeping her together, like a thin thread holding a ruined tapestry. His loss would devastate her beyond all imagining. Whether they killed him or forced him into becoming something far worse, she’d be left to suffer a fate worse than death.

Knowing all his, Kit couldn’t bring himself to take the child. He may be wrong by not accepting the responsibility, but he wouldn’t be making the same mistakes he’d made in the past. He wouldn’t ruin a child’s life by subjugating him to the one he had. Not anymore.

His decision was made. Late at night, he gathered up a few basic materials and snuck out of the hospital. He ran to one of the docking ports and boarded a ship, stealing away before anyone could know he was missing. Kit hesitated as he thought of Dr. Akri and Drex and Lerel and all the other friends he had made here. He shook his head and clasped the controls resolutely. He wouldn’t allow people to suffer because of him any longer. He wouldn’t give them that choice.

He didn’t know where he would go, but it would be far away from here.

Aaron opened his eyes at the man’s silence. “Is that it?” he asked, unwilling to admit that he’d wanted an ending with a little more closure than that.

The figure turned his head to face the clone. “No, I suppose not. But it’s getting late and you have regained your strength.”

Aaron stood up, grimacing and clutching his ribs. He contemplated for a moment. “Why did you tell me this?”

The figure shrugged. “You don’t seem that different from Kit, to me.” He chuckled as Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Come now, it’s just a story. Just a silly old story some poor sop on the street made up.”

Aaron scowled. “Why?”

“A man once said to me, ‘You don’t know real loss until you love something more than yourself.’ Neither of us knew at the time that I loved everything more than myself because I was undeserving of love. I grew up in a world where I meant nothing. That was all I knew. So when I lost my world, I lost everything that I thought had meaning. But in reality, I still had the most important thing in the galaxy: myself. The world doesn’t end just because you die. Why should you end just because the world dies? I had the ability to breathe love into a new reality, and, after many years of trying to remember how, I did. Oh, I did.” The hooded figure, despite the shadows concealing his face, still managed to stare directly at the clone. “We are not so different, you and I. We are so much more than what we were told. We are so much more than our maker.”

Aaron found himself getting frustrated at the man’s remarks. All his life he’d been told he was worth nothing, that he was just a number. If he lost the only thing that he’d ever known, the only thing he’d identified with, he was nothing. He may be a sorry excuse for an absconder, but at least he still had that much. Angrily, he spat at the ground beneath the tattered figure and stormed off, determined to find his way home.

He was nothing. He was nothing.

He’d never been told differently.

He’d always taken that mantra with a grain of salt. As he fought alongside his brothers defending the innocent and fighting for the righteous, he knew that, with them, he was more than a number. He was a part of something good and glorious, and that made him at least part good and glorious. He’d always thought that. But when he woke up from that horrible trance all those years ago to find the horrors he’d done, he finally believed them. He was a tool. A pathetic little manipulated pawn created for the sole purpose of being used in a millennia-old feud that had nothing to do with him. He was insignificant. None of anything he’d done in his entire life had any meaning or purpose. He believed that.

-

The next day the old Jedi woke up. Of course, it was impossible to tell what day it was so deep in the Underworld, but Kit liked to think he could tell when the sun rose. He smiled as a grimy little loth cat bounded up to him. He admired the undeterred vigor of the creature. No matter what traumas it had suffered through, it still managed to look up at him with those hopeful eyes. He smirked as the loth cat’s purrs as he began scratching its striped back.

Suddenly, it bounded away. The Nautolan grinned. “Back for another story?”

For the first time in years, Aaron smiled. “Maybe just one more.”

[igothxmewcrk-blog]

Matt pitches H*omecoming Sequel Post 1

so today and most of this week I’ve had Crackle on my P*S4 just to watch a sorta nostalgic cartoon based around my muse’s adventures in high school (not the one prefaced with U/ltima*ate). that series is titled Spectacular, much like a run of his comics between the 70′s and 80′s.

and there are some issues, things better left unsaid or never explored in it that just ended up happening, but it took itself as seriously as it had to. just, no more serious than the movie franchise that had just ended a year prior to the show’s premiere.

in this show, every episode is only a half hour long, and it ran for two seasons (it had a buildup for things to come in a possible third season and onward, but then D*sn/ey bought M/arv*el and S/ony still owned most of everything S/pider-M*an, other medium adaptations included, and i guess somehow the writers and studio just decided to can the series on some major cliffhangers). Roughly about 26-30 episodes. again, every episode gave its little precursors to the next one, or one to follow later on, usually in an ending scene, or midway thru every few episodes. this gave the show depth that superhero dramas like Smallville and its CW successors of today express in their stories, but to hell with that, S/pectac*ular S*pid/ey did it best!

this show grounded Peter in realism, showed you his high school. Midtown was a magnet high school, and was addressed on letterman wear as M^3 (Midtown Manhattan Magnet, or for a science pun, M to the third power, or cubed, tee-hee). that’s right, MCU was not the first to show you Peter’s class of supporting civilian characters at his school, this animated series was. 

some things to note:

L/iz Al*len was Latina

G/wen S*tacy was, for better or worse, represented as P/eter’s equal, a nerdy girl in glasses, but by S2′s finale (spoilers from this point on) she ditched the eyewear, and I think either grew out her hair in an impressively short time, or otherwise it had been in ponytails or partially in a bun Idk the show just ran with it to give the unexpected ending some images to relate it even more so to comics

M/ary J*ane existed but only ever was P*ete/r’s fall fling date, and a close friend, nothing more

Fe/licia H*ardy was simply B/la*ck C/at in this, but she’s connected to P/ete as her father was B*en’s killer, and when that’s revealed, she’s never seen again

Ed/di*e B/ro*ck was around for most of the show both as a college student who assists P/ete, G*wen, and the C*onn/ors family in an ESU biochem/engineering lab; he gives off a sorta play cousin vibe, like he and P/ete go back a long way, and it’s nice to not see him as the jerk who eats Pe/ter’s dust in the Bugle

with that being said, he does bond with V*en/om in a unique way different than he has from past adaptations, or the original comic origin. in fact, he was obsessed with knowing how it ticks the moment he’s given Dr. C/onn*ors’ approval to help observe and give reports on the alien life form’s behavior(s). when S/pidey returns the symbiote to containment, and thinks chilling it to a frozen state will stop it from tacking onto anyone else, Ed/war*d heats it back up to its normal temp, unlocks containment, and WHAM! time to exact revenge on the enemies he just found out are one and the same.

anyways, B/rock and P/arker parents were lab partners, but what they did exactly wasn’t given much explanation. they just hint at this so as to make people aware that M*ay and B/en are not to be confused as P/ete’s parents (y’know, in case anyone would be S*pidey inept)

H/arry Os*born was Goblin first, but N*orm reveals it was part of his plan, so you get a gripping O/bo*rn family soap opera in a tv-y7 rated program. hellz to da yesss!

while L*iz in MCU has a father who’s a villain, that isn’t canon anywhere else; however, her brother becomes Molten Man, a self-destructive decoy to keep S/pid*ey off of G/oblin’s trail as he tries to create a criminal empire in Manhattan

everything else isn’t too noteworthy, id say watch or buy it if you’re interested

also, this show was simply, during its short run, kept within the world of S/pider-M*an, so there were no S/H/I/E/L/D, F*4, or other M/arv*el crossovers.

now, why do I say this mumbo jumbo about a show when i title this my personal pitch for a H*omecoming sequel? bc the existence of Br*ock and the Os*borns is still a very crucial thing to be hopefully adapted by MCU somewhere down the line along with the real MJ and maybe even JJ J*ameson and an Un*cle B/en flashback scene.

my pitch is as follows:

perhaps introduce Br/ock in a similar manner as the aforementioned show, but def adapt a believable Os/born family for H*ome/coming 2.

I at first liked the inclusion of H*arry in the TASM franchise, but I quickly got pissed that he was made the villain so soon.

so simply make him the rich kid he is in the above mentioned series, but like, give him the common role Fl/ash Th*ompson has had in the past. jock with a heart of gold, and maybe stretching himself a bit thin in multiple extracurricular programs to give him this lovable sense of ‘i can do anything.’ also, to further his rich boy stats, give him a car that puts Fl/ash’s dad’s wrecked sports car to shame. and maybe not let H*arry carry the goblin mantle, but have him disagree with F/lash on S/pider-M*an???? idk...

write in Ed/ward Br*ock as childhood friend of Pe/ter, but have him be riddled with mental instability, a ruined childhood, abandonment issues, and a similar passion for science like his friend, or at least give him some harmless hobby or subject he excels in prior to his likely ascension into villainy.

with Pet/er likely going to space for In*finity W/ar, establish that he’ll unknowingly bring home the symbiotic substance on his person.

perhaps make this a subtle suspenseful thriller with both Symb*iote S/pidey and V*enom, give it PG-13 teen horror vibes and a fall 2019 release????

explore the existence of the c-list rogues, non-powered thug villains, perhaps give them motivations to steal from OS/CORP, which can be represented as a new rival to S/tark Ind*ustries. this could provide buildup for Nor*man to want to become Goblin in a possible third installment.

most importantly tho, give us Mary Goddamn Jane Watson

[hrhagnes-blog]

* good cop / bad cop (1).

           agnes’ personal phone lit up with a caller id that she hadn’t seen in over a year :                home .                   well ,      not    “ home “ ,    obviously .             GOOD COP      because that’s how she had written down her father’s number when she went off to college .                     her mother ?       bad cop .              but that was one number that wasn’t going to be popping up for a very long time .                  she did have communication with belgium ,    obviously ,     but not with anybody that was of any relevance to her parents .                  it didn’t matter ,       barely any of that mattered except that agnes was able to do what she had to do .                 that ,     despite all that had been going on ,      despite the scandal ,      despite her fallout with her parents ,       agnes was a    SOCIALITE      and knew her duties as such ,     and as princess of belgium .                people count on you ,     agnes !                    no ,     mother ,     no they don’t .                    they count on ilyas ,        but not on me .                     i’m part of the decor ,     i have to look pretty .                          that’s duty enough for you .                        and so she was always pretty ,        she was always on the dot ,      always pristine and smiling as her brother and her father talked ,       next to her mother who directed her with a simple look .

            belgium’s darling princess ,       the youngest of the royals ,       the family jewel ,     paraded around like a porcelain doll .              quiet ,      quiet and gorgeous ,     quiet and peaceful .       like their nation .                    right under their noses ,        agnes had done just about everything .                  gotten on trains and left in the dead of night ,     returning with the rise of the sun ,     sweat that wasn’t hers stuck to her body ,      several substances of dubious origins in her bloodstream ,      the hazed expression and yet the sharpness to know exactly how to make it all disappear ,      how to keep it all under wraps .

              her cellphone lights up ,          beethoven’s fifth symphony rings loud and clear .                she could let it go to voicemail ,      afterall she’s in the middle of sorting through her stash ,      doing the math of how much she can get and how much she has to sell ,       how much she already has sold for the upcoming night .                 the music stops short and she exhales ,      ignoring the way her heart had started racing .                her father had sworn he would never look at her again after her naked pictures had made it to the newspapers ,      physical and online .              tmz ,      e!news ,       what - the - fuck - ever ,      she’d never given a damn about it ,      even rejoiced in       the good angle     the pictures flattered her from .                belgium’s darling princess had been brutally murdered ,      by herself .                   the media had gone crazy ,     there had been paps following her more than usual for a few weeks ,     and as much as she would’ve wanted to stir the pot even further ,     some sort of duty to her parents hadn’t allowed her to do so .

             mindless chatter in her brain that leads nowhere .             keep counting .                  HER PHONE LIGHTS UP AGAIN ,        like her thoughts keep drifting back to the issue of her parents .               and why did they keep calling her ?            they’d made their feelings quite clear a year ago ,     and she didn’t need them .             if it hadn’t been a matter of speculation of her finances ,      agnes would be paying her college tuition and rent by then ,      along with all the earthly pleasures she so enjoyed ,     which weren’t those of riches considering she gave away a percentage of her money .            books ,      concert tickets ,       antiques to collect .               things that fascinated her went to her collection and that’s where her money leaked onto .                 her business could finance her everything she wanted ,      she needed ,      but that’d spark too many questions .                beethoven’s fifth kept ringing through the room ,      and she kept ignoring it .               her father could send her a fax ,     or text her ,     or speak to her through ilyas ,      she didn’t really care .              the music dies away only to return a couple of seconds after .                   exasperated ,     the royal picks up the phone and answers .

             ‘        what ?        ‘                      for a moment ,      the silence is deafening .                          ‘       if you want to know if your daughter’s still a     slut ,      the answer’s yes .       ‘                        more silence .                        ‘      so ?         was that it ?        i have things to do ,      i’m busy .        ‘                              in her free hand ,        a medium sized bag full of pills of varying colors and shapes .                              ‘        SPEAK !       ‘                         her father’s silence was always like that ,       a blade in her spine and a hand twisting it .                  he seems to snap out of some trance ,        and the thought that not having heard his daughter’s voice in a year could impact him doesn’t even     cross    agnes’ mind .                           we’ve finished the last details of your betrothal .                           agnes stops short in what she’s doing ,       leaves the bag aside and stands up .                                 ‘        OH .        so ...      who is it ?        ‘                              her voice remains even casual about the matter ,        she was long used to the idea that she’d be someone’s wife once the summit was there .               and hell ,     it was .                            christian meyer ,      of luxembourg .             you remember him ,    don’t you ?                        his father knew of agnes’ photographic memory ,       but leave it to him to underestimate her .                                 ‘       yeah ,        you’d send me away to luxembourg several times a year .           of course i r ---------     YOU’VE BEEN PLANNING THIS ?!       ‘                             she’d considered it as a possibility through those visits ,      otherwise why would she be sent away so often ?           but it just now landed on her the complexity of all her parents had been planning for her .                             ‘       he      is what you meant when you said my      NAKED PICTURES       would ruin my prospects for a    future ?!      ‘                                  

                 agnes .                     her father’s voice tried to soothe her ,      but it was to no avail .                                ‘       did the king say     shit ?           bet he    jerked off      before being worried ,       bet he jacked it to your        DAUGHTER ,       but trash me !        ‘                          agnes was seething and her father was still repeating her name like a goddamn curse over and over .                           ‘          oh quiet now ,       bloody hell .            quiet because i’ve heard     enough .                 was that all ?        ‘                            give me your word you’ll marry him ,    agnes .                       and she had to stiffle a sigh ,       though her eyes rolled so far back she thought they might just stay there .                        ‘         i give you my word i’ll marry him when the time comes .                done ?          ‘                           thank you .                there was a particular kind of devil in agnes’ father’s voice sometimes ,       and the princess could practically see his pleased smile ,       she could practically      see     his gesture done to his wife who was surely listening to all of this and putting a pin on every out of place thing agnes said .                     how’s co--                           ‘      you don’t care .      ‘                             and she hung up .

              immediately ,      the guilt .                  oh ,      the terrible guilt gnawing at her insides would kill her someday  ------  if she didn’t manage to kill it first .                    tossing her phone onto the bed ,          the princess stuffed the drugs back into their hiding spot ,       the money once again under the mattress ,       and reached for the pack of marlboros on the vanity ,      sticking one between her lips and watching it burn as she took a deep drag from it .

             the lighter ,       a zippo she’d had for years ,        engraved with her initials ,        kept shining that firey light that somehow comforted her .            the window ,     once open ,      let a cold as    fuck    breeze in but agnes ,       even though she barely had anything on ,       didn’t        feel       it .                        there were no tears ,        no ragefit ,      no longing to be sat on her father’s legs with the fireplace burning before them because that had     never happened .                    there was only the quiet of her room ,      the sound of the wind ,      distant voices that came from below somewhere in the gardens ,            and not much else .

             so she was to marry someone she’d known since she was ten ,      at least he wasn’t some asshole with no drive nor intelligence .                       thanks ,    dad .                 bounced in her head ,     though she had nothing to thank him .                   many ,       and that was        most of the other royals ,          had it worse than her .                         it wasn’t shocking ,      she’d been trained for this . 

             after a while ,     the princess began laughing .              it started small ,      like an afterthought ,     it grew to a giggle ,     then the bouts of laughter were escaping her undisclosedly ,    bending her over and shaking her through and through .                           ‘     fuck ,       i gotta tell bea i’m marrying her half - brother .      ‘                          the thought was just too good ,      too funny .