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skrltwtch · 3 years

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Graveyard Shift

Prompt: I know the sign says, "No shoes, no shirt, no service", but I just had the WEIRDEST night and your shop is the only building with lights on this early, and I'm really, really hoping you have some spare clothes behind the counter. Help? (Source in master list)

Word count: 4,255 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, smut, supernatural

Warnings: Smut

References: 1 Inglourious Basterds

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Graveyard shift is the fucking best — and the fucking worst.

For one, the shop is able to achieve that fine balance between having enough customers to justify its opening hours and keep me on its payroll, and having enough customers to not make me regret my choice of employment while I attempt to sort out my life. The silence that falls over the shop at two o’clock — without fail every night, like the general public know they have better places to be at two o’clock than a corner shop — grants it the perfect atmosphere for self-introspection and self-improvement. Have I learnt anything useful? Let’s … not talk about that.

Now, what’s the downside to this job, you ask? The customers, of course. There are fewer of them in the dead of the night, but God, the ones that do come in … Being situated on one of London’s busiest corners means a colourful clientele at all times of the day. Drunkards and yobs make up a sizeable number of the demographic that contribute to the shop’s cash drawer while I’m on duty. It’s both sickening and fascinating to deal with them. In my nine months of working here, I’ve seen it all — or I thought I have, until my attention is drawn to the naked man at the door.

It’s less than half an hour after sunrise. He doesn’t look like he’s knocked back a drink too many. (Can coffee make me see things I’m not supposed to be seeing at this hour?) He looks to be of sound mind, his franticness to be let inside aside. He’s handsome: his brown waves, wiry physique, and elegant features lend him a startling resemblance to an ancient Greek sculpture. Strangely, there is an abundance of scars all over his body, and not in a manner that’d signal self-harm. They look more consistent with animal scratches. I’m speaking from experience here: I have a cat, though it’s nigh impossible a cat did this to him.

Nonetheless, this ranks in the lower half of the top ten weirdest shit I’ve seen while on the clock.

‘Hello? Hello!’ That ought to be what he’s saying; I don’t proclaim myself to be an expert at lip reading. It’s encouraging that he’s aware of the sign preventing his entry and doesn’t think he’s above it, at least.

I shake my head at him. Rules are rules, mate. They apply even to hot, naked men.

‘Come on! Please?’ — I think.

‘Sorry!’ I shout, and I point at the camera above me. Colin, my manager, is a cool bloke. It’s about as likely that I’d lose my job for letting Mr Naked and Afraid grace the inside of the shop with his presence and providing him with service as it is that Mr Naked and Afraid is on something that isn’t obvious to my innocent eyes. Why tempt fate? There are other corner shops with less draconian policies down the street. I turn away and continue looking at my phone to spare us both our blushes. It is nippy outside …

Fuck it.

I motion for him to come in. I can explain this to Colin, should he decide to review this morning’s security footage on a whim. He’s a Cool Bloke™.

‘Thank you,’ says Mr Naked and Afraid. Fuck, the shop lighting is doing him more favours than he needs. ‘You won’t get in any trouble for this?’

‘Nah. I might get chewed out1 for this, but that’ll be the worst of it.’

‘Sorry. But thank you. Thank you. I’m George.’

Good. Mr Naked and Afraid is becoming a mouthful.

‘I’m Eva. How can I help, George?’

‘Do you have any spare clothes?’

‘It’s just me here, mate.’

‘I know. Can’t hurt to ask.’

Can I say, ‘You have balls’? Is that appropriate at a time like this? I exhale audibly. ‘Give me a second.’ I retreat into the staffroom behind the counter. Colin deserves a better staffroom than a lad hangout. I’ll clean up when there isn’t a naked man waiting on me outside — or not. I’m not their helper. I sort through the coat rack for something suitable. Andrew is the closest to George in stature, I think. Operating on that approximation, I grab Andrew’s jacket and trousers. I don’t want to have to think too hard about what my co-workers look like underneath their clothes. Besides, Andrew’s clothes have been here for ages. He won’t miss them.

‘Try these,’ I say.

‘Thank you. I’ll clean and return them, I promise.’ He reaches over the counter for the clothes.

‘Not so fast. Give me the craziest reason you’re butt naked, and if I like it, you get the clothes.’

‘Really?’

‘I have to tell my manager something. Might as well be something weird so I don’t get chewed out too hard.’

‘Fine.’ He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the shop — in search of inspiration, perhaps. I’d love to hear what he comes up with. He looks like someone with a good sense of humour. If we’d met elsewhere, I’d have thought about asking for his number and then chickening out at the last minute, because women like me don’t get anywhere with men like him. I keep a lookout on the entrance for any customers or co-workers, mostly because I don’t want to share this moment with anyone else.

‘Clock’s ticking, George.’

‘You didn’t say there’s a time limit.’

‘I’m not the one with my arse out in public.’

‘Alright. I’m a werewolf. I must’ve messed something up, because I got out of my flat last night and woke up in Trafalgar Square. I live in Hampstead. See these scars? It’s all me.’

I stare at him. He’s staring back at me, expecting a response. He looks serious. I — I can’t. I burst out laughing. Of all the things I thought I’d hear, that isn’t one of them.

‘That’s one I haven’t heard before. I love it.’

‘Yeah? Can I then —’

‘Not before you answer one more question, wolf boy.’ I mean that nickname with utmost sincerity.

‘Seriously …?’ Red blotches his cheeks. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘Were you born a werewolf or were you bitten?’

‘How is that relevant?’

‘Humour me.’

He rakes his hair with his fingers, and holds his inhalation and blink long enough for it to mean ‘I should’ve gone to the next corner shop’. Little does he know that his exasperation is making him look more attractive. I’ll treasure this moment forever. ‘Born. You don’t see any bite marks, do you?’

‘Touché. Here.’ I pass him the clothes.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘No, thank you for the laugh,’ I say, looking away from him as he tries Andrew’s trousers on for size. Andrew’s fashion sense is being wasted on us corner shop plebeians. ‘I love horror and supernatural shit. That was perfect.’

‘Cool.’ For fuck’s sake, he can also pull off the loud, brash prints Andrew favours? This is unfair. ‘I’ll pop these in the washer when I get home, and I’ll return them to you …’

‘I’m working tonight. I’ll be here at ten.’ Technically, I start work at midnight. Andrew’s scheduled for the evening shift today, and I’d love to see his face when George returns with his clothes. I can’t remember how long these specific items have been in the staffroom. Plus, like, ten o’clock is an acceptable time to meet someone who lives in Hampstead and probably has standard working hours, isn’t it? ‘If that’s not too late for you.’

‘That’s fine. Thanks again, Eva.’ He’s said the T word so many times, it’s starting to sound weird to my ears. Semantic satiation — that’s what the phenomenon is called. I learnt this from the 3,722nd post I read on Reddit some nights ago.

‘You’re welcome, wolf boy. See you tonight.’

He grins. ‘See you.’

Just as he turns to leave, I swear, I swear on my copy of The Killing Joke with a frayed spine because I put it in the same bag as my water tumbler with a loose cap, I see a flash of fangs.

✦✧✦✧

‘You’re here early,’ says Andrew.

‘It’s midnight somewhere in the world.’ I don’t join him behind the counter. I’m scheduled to start work at midnight, and that is exactly what I’ll do. Overtime means nothing to me. (I say that like it’s applicable in this instance.) ‘Did a guy come in to look for me?’

‘Nope. Hey, do you know what happened to my trousers and jacket? First one’s floral; second one’s mustard.’ Doesn’t it just sound like a ghastly combination? Andrew can pull it off. So can George — both items at the same time. I’ve only seen Andrew in one or the other.

‘Funny story, that.’

‘Share.’

‘Okay, picture this: It’s fuck o’clock in the wee hours of the morning. Sun’s coming up. I’m on my second tumbler of coffee and running out of things to keep myself entertained. Suddenly, a naked bloke is asking to be let in; he’s begging. He doesn’t look drunk or high. I let him in because I’m a bleeding heart at heart. He asks me for spare clothes. Thank God you treat this place like your second closet. I ask him to hit me with the craziest reason he’s naked to help me decide if I should help him. He says he’s a werewolf.’ I am fighting to hold in my laughter. ‘And he says it with the straightest face you can imagine.’

‘Eva, this bloke was hot, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but —’

‘You’d have given him the clothes no matter what he said.’

‘I didn’t tell you this story for you to call me out like that.’

‘You’re welcome. Does Colin know you breached one of the shop’s sacred creeds?’

‘Does he have to know?’

‘No comment. It’s not my arse on the line.’

‘Colin won’t do me dirty like that. I did a good deed.’

‘… No comment. Am I going to get my stuff back?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Bollocks, I thought it’s because you like my company.’

‘Why not both?’

The bell above the door jangles, cutting our conversation short. It’s none other than the man of the hour himself. Never have I been this ecstatic to see someone enter the shop. He has no business filling out his grey shirt as well as he is.

‘George! Hi!’ I drown out Andrew’s snicker. Can’t I be excited about speaking with an attractive, charming man who isn’t drunk or in need of goods and services a corner shop can provide in the shop at this time of night? I might also never see him again after this, so as far as I’m concerned, I deserve every second of this.

‘Hello, Eva,’ says George. ‘Got the clothes cleaned like I said I would.’ He shows me the paper bag in his hand. McDonald’s. I can hear Andrew’s heart giving out. ‘Thank you again.’

I take the bag from him and place it on the counter, the golden arches staring Andrew in the face. ‘You’re welcome. You should thank him, too.’ I jerk my thumb at my near-apoplectic co-worker. ‘This is Andrew. The clothes are his.’

‘Thank you,’ George says to the other man, who responds with a tight-lipped nod, still in the midst of computing what he did in a past life to deserve having his clothes returned to him in a McDonald’s paper bag. ‘I followed the instructions on the labels as best I could. If I ruined something, I’d be happy to pay you back for it.’

‘Thanks, mate.’ Andrew takes the clothes out of the bag and gives them a quick once-over. ‘Looks good. You can have the bag back.’ He pushes it toward George with his finger.

‘Okay …’ George takes the bag, flattens and folds it into a neat square, and holds it under his arm. ‘Eva, I can’t — I can’t thank you enough for this morning. Last night was … weird.’ He swallowed.

‘Yeah, sure …’ I wink at him. ‘… wolf boy.’

‘Are you working now?’

‘No, but I will be in’ — I consult my watch — ‘an hour and a half’s time. I came in early because I know I don’t have the same concept of day and night as most people.’

‘Graveyard shift: fun as shit’ is Andrew’s sterling contribution to this part of the conversation. I like that, actually.

‘You didn’t have to — I’m more of a night owl,’ says George. Is that because he has a closer affinity to the night because of what he is? I convince myself it is. ‘Do you want to go get some coffee nearby? It’s the least I can do. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. I should talk to Colin about this soon. ‘Sure, I’d love some coffee. Be a dear and watch the shop for me, will you, Andrew?’

✦✧✦✧

George leads me into his flat. Our bellies are full from dinner. I love and hate eating with him sometimes. I love his company, obviously; I hate that he can put away so much without any of it showing on him. Earlier, he had pork chops, lamb meatball stew, and a fudge brownie with ice cream. I get that he needs all that protein to maintain his figure, and I’d love and support him all the same if he were, but he’s not an Olympics athlete like Michael Phelps. Nonetheless, all that food’s imbued him with oodles of energy, the kind that’s seen us seek to end the night on a more gratifying note at someone’s place. (Mine’s out of the question tonight because my flatmate’s working toward the same goal with her latest squeeze.)

The farthest we make it before the urge to eat each other’s faces overpowers us is the sofa. I’m on top of him, just showering him with gentle kisses on his lips, and sometimes his cheeks and nose. I’m content with savouring his taste for now. His breathing is heavy. He’s warm to the touch. His kisses are more insistent. I yield to his desperate, almost plaintive moans and allow our tongues the pleasure of getting to know each other better. His hand is feverishly fondling my thigh and hip; the latter has developed a mind of its own, grinding up against him. Deciding our mouths couldn’t have all the fun, I move on to his neck, which he kindly bares for me. His throat is thrumming with — growls?

I look up at him and say, ‘Do you hear that?’

‘Hm?’ His eyelids flutter open. I gasp.

Staring back at me are yellow eyes, brilliant and wild.

Oh, my God.

‘George — your —’

‘Why?’ He puts his hand to his mouth. ‘Shit.’ I get off him. I see the fangs I thought I saw the first time we met. ‘What’s today’s date?’

‘It’s the eighth.’

‘Fuck!’ The force with which he cursed propels him out of his seat. ‘You have to go. I’m sorry,’ he says, taking off his shirt. His chest sheens with sweat. ‘I forgot.’

I don’t need to ask him what it is he forgot: I know the answer on a primeval level. I know I should leave. I stand transfixed by what’s happening before me. His flesh twists and ripples. The growls get louder. The proportions of the hand on his chest — hairier than I’ve ever known it to be — are all wrong. Poking — pushing out from underneath his fingernails are claws. He turns away from me. The sight of protruding knobs of bone under the skin along his spine causes chills to run down mine. My poor George. My poor wolf boy.

‘I’ll go,’ I say, as much as I want to stay with him. ‘Will you be okay?’ I shake my head. Stupid question. He’s in agony.

‘I’ll be fine.’ There is greater conviction in the violent gurgle that follows than his words. ‘Now go. Please.’ His back arches and expands with muscle. He cries out in pain.

I do as he says. I hear the locks rattle and turn behind me. Though his strained growls and yips are horrible to hear, I stick around outside his door. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I don’t quite feel afraid either of what I saw in there or of what I now know. Instead, I feel … I press my legs together and bite my lip. Not the time. After what feels like an eternity of guttural noises that have no right coming from a human throat, a howl, long, almost melodious, pierces the air. It’s almost … reassuring. So much about him makes sense now.

I take my phone from my bag, and I send him the following: ’Text me when you see this. Love you.’

✦✧✦✧

I shift on my feet as I wait for George to answer the door. I’m worried about him. Does he not want to see me anymore after last night? No, it’s an insult to the both of us for me to think that he thinks I’d be narrow-minded enough to stop wanting to be with him because of what he is. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The food I brought for him is getting cold. Can he smell it from inside his flat? I press the doorbell again. I wish he had a neighbour to tell me what I can do in times like this.

The door opens. He looks a mess: he’s in boxers, and his hair is sticking out every which way. His eyes go wide. The memory of his yellow eyes resurfaces. I feel a little weak in my knees.

‘Good morning, love. I came to see if everything is okay,’ I say, ‘and I brought breakfast.’ I show him the paper bag. The food inside still smells good.

‘I thought —’ He doesn’t need to complete his sentence for me to know what he means. It’s written plainly in the furrow of his brow, the sadness in his eyes. Damn it. I didn’t want to be proven right about that.

‘Of course not. You didn’t see my message?’

‘I haven’t checked my messages. Sorry.’

‘Oh.’

‘Please, come in. Are you off work today?’

I nod.

His flat, too, is in disarray. It looks just as if an animal went wild in here. Pillows and books are all over the floor; some of the former have been ripped apart. Sunlight shines through the gaping holes in the curtains. Nothing’s broken, at least. George’s head hangs low. ‘I haven’t had the time to clean up … nor was I expecting visitors. I called in sick to work and went back to sleep. I forget what happens when I don’t take my meds before I transform.’

‘Let me guess — the last time that happened was a year ago?’

‘Yeah, probably. I don’t know. That was — that was different. I guess I was too excited about our date that I forgot what yesterday was.’

I walk him to the sofa, and we sit down. The food is left to sit out on the coffee table. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, stroking his arm lovingly. ‘I wasn’t … I’m not freaked out or anything. I love horror and supernatural shit after all.’ I chuckle nervously, more so because I hate my tendency to resort to awful humour in an attempt to defuse tense situations. ‘So, um … I owe you an apology for laughing at you when you first told me.’

‘Don’t. I could’ve said something else. I didn’t. I wanted the clothes fast, and after the night I’d had, that was the most out-there thing I could think of in a snap.’

‘Yeah, then I made it into a thing between us! I call you “wolf boy”! You never asked me to stop! And I told everyone how we met! Everyone knows you’re a werewolf!’ I gasp. So. Many. Exclamation. Marks.

‘This is our thing. Only you know for certain. I feel like I can breathe now.’

I lay my head on his chest. ‘You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to hide.’

‘That first sentence sounds like something I’m supposed to say.’

‘So, George … about last night … was that because you were about to — or …’

His words come out almost in a snarl: ‘I wanted you. I want you.’ His lips are centimetres away from my neck. His breath is hot on my skin.

‘Are we like … mates now, then?’ I giggle as I draw an indiscriminate shape on his chest with my finger. I may or may not have spent a considerable amount of time last night reading up on wolf behaviour. The thought of what lies in store for me is a little exhilarating, an observation I had a mild developmental crisis over when I felt that first pang of passion from applying what I read to our relationship.

‘Yes.’

He licks my neck. My core tingles with excitement at the ramifications of his declaration — for the record, I meant it as a light-hearted question — and at what’s about to come next, based on my research. Then he pushes me down onto my back, and I see his eyes, still blue, flicker with the same intensity as last night. He hikes up my dress and gets straight to nuzzling my mound. He laps his tongue over my underwear and inner thighs, the strokes long, soft. I hum impatiently. My underwear is getting soaked. He slides it off my pelvis, and he promptly buries his face in my folds. Fingers come into the picture soon after. I writhe in his grasp, desiring release.

And Lord, does it come.

I don’t get to wait for my legs to stop quivering, as he rises from between them and says, ‘On all fours, love’, his voice a lusty rasp. I scramble to my hands and knees. He’s never asked for this before. I’m liking this greater sense of freedom he now has around me. How much had he been holding back? I spread myself for him. He pushes his cock up against my slit. I let out a small, startled ‘Oh’ when he enters me. I feel pinpricks where his fingertips are. Each thrust is deep and brutal. It hurts a little, but it hurts so good. I press the side of my face into the couch and close my eyes. Stars crash into each other in the blackness behind my eyelids.

Though he’s the werewolf here, I’m the one whimpering and moaning like an animal, too, while he huffs and growls with each movement. The sounds encourage him. ‘Please, don’t stop, don’t stop …’ I breathe. My walls convulse around his girth and fill up with an unbearable heat and wetness. Come drips out of me and trickles down my thighs. Then his thrusts become shallower and rough, his fingertips threaten to leave bruises on my skin, and he empties himself inside me. He lets out a strangled howl; my lip almost bleeds from how hard I’m biting down.

I feel so empty, almost a little sad, when he pulls out. I settle into a lounging position on the sofa. He wedges himself behind me. I gently fondle his business, still hard. He resumes licking my neck, sometimes rubbing his face on my skin.

‘I’m sorry if that was … weird. It’s the first time I fucked like that — and the first time I fucked after the full moon.’

I turn around and kiss him. ‘You were amazing.’ His ears turn pink. ‘Am I your first girlfriend who knows?’

‘Yes. About being mates …’ He pulls me closer to him. ‘I can do something about that. If you want. No pressure. It’s a huge decision.’

I won’t lie and say I didn’t consider the idea at least once last night. The dream I had about transforming and running alongside him on all fours can attest to that. But I tell him, ‘I need to think about it first.’ I don’t want him to think I’m rushing headlong into something I have little to no knowledge about. (Tabbing back and forth between pages about wolf behaviour for at least two hours doesn’t make me an expert. I’m not even sure if it’s relevant.) I also wasn’t expecting this question to come up so soon, considering he thought I’d leave him. I sweep my thumb across his lips, then his nose. ‘Maybe if I see you in your wolf form first …’

‘Fair enough. Promise me you’ll still love me the same after you’ve seen him. He’s more fun than I am, even when hopped up on industrial-strength bear tranquiliser.’

‘It’s going to take a lot to top what I’ve seen in the last year — and the last hour.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m in trouble.’

I spend the day at his place. (What? I’m taking a mental health day, and being with my boyfriend does wonders for my mood.) We fuck several more times, unable to get enough of each other; we’re like lovesick puppies. He lets shades of his true self slip through on occasion. He assures me it’s not because of the full moon. I assure him I know. Until today, I didn’t think it’d been possible for him to become more alluring. I give him my answer to his offer before sunset, which he happily accepts. At the end of the day, I lie in my wolf boy’s arms, waxing gratitude for the graveyard shift at the corner shop a year ago.

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine

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taeyongdoyoung · 3 years

Photo

summary: you are a mermaid and you save a handsome man from drowning but little do you know it’s not his first rodeo when dealing with mermaids. seonghwa, a former prince, is currently hongjoong’s first mate and boyfriend. hongjoong is the captain, the pirate king of the most savage crew across the seas. and you want nothing to do with them. not because they’re pirates, but because they’re humans…

ship: mermaid!reader x prince/pirate!seonghwa x pirate!hongjoong

genre: little mermaid!au, pirate!au, angst, fluff, romance

author’s note: stay tuned for demon!jongho hehe

warnings: insecurities, confessions, some swearing (like twice?), another secret being revealed, af-i can’t even say it af-ffection 🤢🤢

word count: 1.9k

chapter one ☠️ chapter two ☠️ chapter three ☠️ chapter four ☠️ chapter five ☠️chapter six ☠️ chapter seven ☠️ chapter eight ☠️ chapter ten ☠️ chapter eleven ☠️ chapter twelve ☠️ chapter thirteen ☠️ spotify playlist

Hongjoong's POV

Surprisingly, building a pool in the ship for Y/N and Soojin to use didn't take much time. Seonghwa, Yeosang, Wooyoung, San and I all worked together because during the past weeks we'd grown closer to the mermaids. And even though I probably wouldn't admit it out loud...they had grown on me.

Looking back at my previous actions, I felt like such an asshole. Doing this, small as it was, was my way of apologizing. I just hoped it would be enough. And yet again, if Y/N managed to forgive me, then maybe, I deserved to forgive myself.

"What are you moping about?" my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Seonghwa.

"Uh...nothing."

"Come on, don't you think I deserve the truth?" he sat down next to me, casually leaning on one side. I was taken aback by his proximity. It's been a while since...I felt so close to him.

"I was thinking about Y/N," I confessed.

"In a murderous kind of way or...?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Of course not. In a...I can't believe she forgave me kind of way."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Seonghwa looked confused. "Why the long face, Joongie?"

I almost jumped away as if struck. It's been far too long since he'd addressed me so affectionately. I missed that. I missed him.

"Because I don't know if I deserve it."

Seonghwa laughed. I was telling him about feeling like shit and he was laughing. The nerve! I stared at him expectantly. Soon enough, he started explaining himself.

"Do you think I deserve her forgiveness?" he chuckled bitterly. "Ariel is gone because of me and I kept that a secret from Y/N. And she forgave me anyway."

I shook my head.

"Your parents and the sea witch are the real villains, Hwa," I insisted. "There's nothing to forgive."

Seonghwa laughed once again, in total contrast with my sombre expression.

"You know...you and Y/N are not so different after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The first thing...that's exactly what she said after we rescued her from Mingi’s fishnets. There's nothing to forgive. You two are quite similar, actually."

"You know...I think I'll take that as a compliment," I grinned despite myself.

"It is a compliment," Seonghwa assured me.

"And the second thing?"

"Hm?" Seonghwa tried to pretend he had forgotten but I could see right through him.

"You said the first similarity was us saying the exact same sentence. What's the second thing?"

"The second thing...is I'm completely enamoured by the two of you."

I couldn't even begin to process what he was saying. After all my cruelty...he still...It seemed too unimaginable to be actually happening. And yet...

I had to make a joke or else I would break into tears, fall apart and never recover from it.

"Well, that's your own problem, not necessarily a similarity between–"

"Can't you say something normal for once?" Seonghwa groaned.

"What do you want me to say?" I sighed desperately.

"Something honest. Something real."

I smiled sadly.

"I don't deserve you as much as I don't deserve Y/N's forgiveness."

"That's not for you to decide," Seonghwa argued. "And it's not real. Not to me. And I'm certain Y/N will agree."

"Shall we ask her?"

🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

Reader's POV

You and Soojin were enjoying the water inside the pool. It allowed you to be close to Seonghwa and Soojin – to Yeosang. And you had Hongjoong to be grateful to. Honestly, he wasn't so bad, after all. He could actually be quite considerate when he wanted to. And he had somehow overcome his jealousy, or at least it seemed that way. So, when he and Seonghwa showed up, almost running, you couldn't help but beam with happiness upon seeing their pretty faces.

"Well, if it isn't my two favourite pirates across the seas," you did your best to sound confident and a bit teasing.

"Don't tell that to Yeosang," Soojin warned, joking. You waved her off and she swam away to the other edge of the pool, to give the three of you some sense of privacy.

"What brings you here?" you asked nonchalantly.

"This is literally my ship, Y/N," Hongjoong reminded you. "You're my guest."

"Semantics," you giggled, not at all taking offense.

"Hongjoong and I have a question for you," Seonghwa explained.

"May I hear it?"

Hongjoong suddenly started playing with his nails, refusing to look into your eyes. Was he nervous? You couldn't believe it. The once terrifying captain now seemed like a good little boy to you.

"What's wrong?" you asked in a soft voice.

"N-nothing," he lied.

"Hongjoong said he doesn't deserve my affections as much as he doesn't deserve your forgiveness!" Seonghwa ratted him out.

"Seonghwa!" Hongjoong complained.

"What? You're the one who suggested asking her."

"I was going to but..."

"Hongjoong, that's nonsense!" you exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"Not about your intentions," you hurried to explain. "I'm certain that you would have said it yourself if Seonghwa had given you a couple more moments to collect your thoughts."

Seonghwa shrugged in a "guilty as charged" sort of way.

"What's nonsense," you continued, "is you believing you don't deserve love or forgiveness. Everyone deserves that!"

"Even me?" Hongjoong inquired sheepishly.

"Especially you! You've been trying so hard to change. You saved me and Soojin from the fishnets and now you built this pool to make me and my sister feel comfortable. If that's not reason enough to be deserving of forgiveness, I don't know what is."

"Do you really mean that?" Hongjoong asked self-consciously.

"Would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

"She has a point. Y/N's super honest about everything," Soojin yelled from the other side of the pool.

"Soojin! You're not supposed to be eavesdropping!" you scolded her.

"Can't help it, you guys are not exactly keeping your voices down."

You shook your head in disbelief.

"Do you believe me now?" you said quiet enough for only Hongjoong and Seonghwa to hear.

"I do," Hongjoong whispered, visibly relieved.

"Told you so," Seonghwa muttered under his breath.

"Oh, give me a break."

"Not a chance," Seonghwa smirked and kissed Hongjoong's cheek quickly. Then, he leaned down over the pool's edge to kiss your lips. No sooner had he done that than Hongjoong pushed him inside the water. That was followed by Seonghwa's loud protests.

"Hey! That was exactly how I met Y/N!" he exclaimed a bit later.

"Yeah?" Hongjoong scratched the back his head, as if to search his memory.

"I mean, if you hadn't thrown me overboard, I wouldn't have ended up in a whirlpool and Y/N wouldn't have saved me."

"So, what you're saying is I'm responsible for whatever the two of you have got going on?" Hongjoong joked.

"Don't exclude yourself from the narrative!" you started tickling Hongjoong's legs. Not expecting the attacks, he lost his balance for a moment. But that moment was long enough for you to pull him inside the pool, as well.

"Ugh, no way!" he bemoaned his defeat.

"Who's making all these waves?" Soojin complained. "For a second, I thought I was back in the sea."

The three of you laughed simultaneously, exchanging conspiratorial glances.

☠️☠️☠️

Seonghwa's POV

As I looked at Hongjoong and Y/N laughing in unison, I couldn't help but wonder why we had wasted so much time. I would give anything to have had this perfect peace between the two of them from the very beginning. And yet, this was our journey. Flawed, full of fears and frustrations, but it was ours. And no one could take that away. Or so I thought...

That night, I returned to Hongjoong's room. I was determined to do right by him. And the only way to achieve that was to swallow my pride and talk to him honestly. I didn't want anything standing in the way of our happiness, least of all, our own foolishness. So, I took the first step.

"You still have free space for me?" I asked, a bit nervously, after he opened the door.

"You'll always have a home with me, Hwa," Hongjoong replied sweetly.

"Fuck, I missed you," I admitted. "I know we're literally a few doors apart, but still."

"I get it. You have no idea how badly I've missed you, too," he confessed.

"I want to kiss you," I said suddenly. "Not like earlier," I added, referring to the quick peck on his cheek. "Like before."

"Then, what are you waiting for?" Hongjoong panted desperately.

"I need to tell you something first. I just...want to be completely honest with you. You've probably figured it out already but...I love you. And I love Y/N. Please don't ask me to choose. I can't."

Hongjoong nodded in understanding.

"I wouldn't. I've learned my lesson already. And since we're being honest, I don't want you to choose. I was wrongfully prejudiced against mermaids. But now that I've gotten to know her...I like Y/N and I think I might even grow to love her one day."

I smiled fondly, proud of Hongjoong's change of heart.

"There's nothing that would make me happier, Joongie," I told him and was just about to close the distance between us with a kiss when Hongjoong placed his hand on my chest as if to stop me. I looked at him utterly confused. "Didn't you want this?"

"I did. I do," he corrected himself. "But I have to tell you something. Before it's too late. I would hate to see another secret destroy what we have."

"What's wrong?" I immediately sensed it must have been something really difficult to talk about, judging by Hongjoong's miserable expression.

"Remember that time Yeosang was in Mingi's territory and my ship caught up with his at a suspiciously fast pace?"

I nodded, already hating the direction in which this was going.

"And remember you confronted me about it but I refused to tell you the truth?"

He was stalling. It was beyond obvious and a bit aggravating.

"What did you do?" I asked directly.

"I kinda made a deal with a demon and sold my soul," Hongjoong blurted out.

What. The. Fuck?!?!

"Kinda? You can't just kinda summon a demon! Hongjoong, what the hell were you thinking?"

"We could have lost Yeosang!" he argued. "It was the only way."

"There's always another way! I can't believe you would do something so reckless..."

"I would do it again if it means Yeosang gets to live."

I sighed, unable to find the energy to scold him any further. He probably felt like shit already, considering he'd been keeping it a secret.

"How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much time do you have left until the demon comes to collect? A month? A year?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "The demon didn't specify. He just said he'll take my soul when I've achieved true happiness. Whatever that means. But the fact that you and Y/N forgave me has made me believe true happiness is not too far around the corner."

"We'll figure out a way to stop the demon. I don't know how but we will. I just got you back again. I won't give you up. Never again," I promised and wrapped my hands around his face, kissing him. He quickly let me in and ran his hands through my hair, moaning into my mouth. I smirked against his lips. It was nice to see I still had that effect on him.

"Together?" Hongjoong murmured once I broke the kiss.

"Always," I confirmed and stroked his cheeks.

To be continued...

#ateez #hongjoong #seonghwa #seongjoong #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez x reader #pirate au #mermaid au #writing

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Ducktales: Terror of the Terra-Firmians! (Lena Retrospective) (Commission by WeirdKev27): Launchpad Looses his Last Brain Cell and I Loose My Patience

Welcome back Weblena Warriors to the second part of my look at everyone’s favorite Emo Teen Shadow Lesbian Duck... and probably the only one but hey, semantics, Shadow Into Light, which was made possible by viewers like you, the ultra humanite and a commission from WeirdKev27. Picking up where we left off, we have our first episode that has a different intended order than airing order.

As most of you probably remember, but some of you who joined later might not be aware of the broadcast order for the first half of season one is, in the academic sense, pretty fucked. It’s not Darkwing Duck’s entirely fucked by a web of badger spiders and a queen snake on top to make it some sort of train situation, but by just sorta airing whatever episodes they wanted to, Disney messed with the character balance so Huey got less focus, not that he got a ton of focus this season but still, as well as leaning into the episodes focusing more on the kids with less involvement from the adults which gave the wrong impression about the series. While it IS very focused on the triplets and webby, the show isn’t entirely about them, but as Frank has mentioned a few times, Disney Channel apparently has this WEIRD thing where they assume kids won’t like stories starring the adult characters.

Yeah I’ve been wanting to talk about this for a while. Mostly how it’s so dumb I could swear Pauly Shore was an exec at Disney Channel. And he might be I don’t know what he’s doing these days and i’d like to keep it that way. For starters, the Scooge comics, while barely published in the US these days, are still popular globally and have appealed to kids and adults for generations and are mostly focused on him, with the kids in a supporting role and Ducktales, you know the thing your directly remaking here, was also mostly about him with the triplets supporting, if a bit less than the comics. Most of the Disney Afternoon was about adult characters, with any kids in side roles in the main cast. And it comes off entirely hypocritical of them to say this when the MCU is easily marvel’s biggest cash cow at the moment, and marvel properties have appealed to both kids and adults, like the duck comics, for decades. And if it’s because the marvel cartoons weren’t doing well , I’ll let you in on a little secret: Those didn’t do well because they looked bland and from what I’ve seen of them felt kind of bland, though I haven’t seen enough to fully judge. Kids LIKE adult characters as much as kid characters, and also like teen characters despite not being teens. Focusing on either is valid and while I LIKED Disney’s youth starring shows I also want another X-Men cartoon before I turn 50, and I bet kids would like that too, with the last one only failing because you bailed on it because you were throwing a hissy fit over fox having the movie rights, and do not get me started on that. Point is this argument is horse shit and should stay in the stables.

So yeah I do think this episode came too soon and it’s placement effected it at the time and as such it dosen’t have the best rep with the fandom aside from the Lena bits and that includes me. The fact it was very early in the series and the characterizations hadn’t yet sunk in really hurt this episode in places but is it really that bad? Join me under the cut to find out

We open at the movies! Which scrooge apparently hasn’t been too since the 1930′s or seen any on video despite Della existing and being really stubborn.

A rant for another episode. But the kids just got out of a Mole Monster movie, along with Lena, Beakly and Launchpad. Their reactions are as follows: Lena, Webby and Dewey really enjoyed it, Huey found it unrealistic... says the boy whose uncle fought a dragon made of gold a month or two back but we’ll get to that, and Louie was bored and felt it didn’t have enough of the ultra violence, kids these days it’s not about the gore it’s about the tension. And Beakly.. is just pissed Lena tricked them into seeing this and said it was educational. And the more I think about it the more this sounds like BEAKLYS fault than Lena’s. BEAKLY is the one who likely bought the tickets, who saw it was likely an r or pg-13 and who as we’ve seen HAS A PHONE, and ulnike scrooge probably isn’t so stingy she wouldn’t spring for a smart phone, so she could’ve just googled it, or whatever bird related pun is in this version.. gandered it.. yeah let’s go with that, gandered it, and SEEEN it wasn’t appropriate or walked htem out of the theater and ate the cost if she was that bothered by it. Sitting through a Horror Movie you didn’t research, didn’t pull the kids out of and dind’t bother to even check the poster for or use basic common sense is YOUR fault. And this could’ve worked fine, had Lena talk the kids into begging for it or had launchpad take them and have Beakly find out after, having driven to pick them up as she didn’t trust launchpad to take them home. Instead it makes the former super spy look REALLY stupid and feels really out of character for a SPY to not to do research. And it wasn’t like they decided on this later, Bentina being a spy was part of the character’s backstory from day one and its made clear as early as episode 2 in both airing orders. This is just lazy writing to justify the episode and I expect better from this crew.

But an argument errupts between Huey and Webby over the Terra-Firmians, a hidden race of rock people living in Duckburg’s discontinued sewer system, allegedlys. So Lena suggest simply going down which gets a disapproving look from Beakly, despite you know this being their bread and butter, and the fact that if she had a problem with Scrooge not being involved.. she could just call him. Exploring fabled rock people is something he’d be into. I mean there’s a low profit margin but it also costs him almost nothing to walk to the theater or have launchpad swing around and pick him up. Just gas which given how much he pays for jet fuel isn’t a big ask. But Beakly soon gets distracted by Launchpad whose convinced the film is real and is attacking the poster a grim sign of things to come as while Beakly annoyed me in this one on rewatch, especially after realizing the above... Launchpad annoyed me both times and for VERY good reason we’ll get into. This provides a distraction and allows the trio to escape. Cue titles.

After the title sequence, our heroes head deeper underground, there’s too much panic in this town... I mean props to Donald for trying something new but he really needs to rethink his cologne choices. Sex Panther is just.. not a good smell on.. anyone.

So our heroes journey through the depths of the subway system, and we find out part of why Huey’s so skeptical, as he finds anything that isn’t in the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook to not exist, though the cracks in this already show as he’s added anything that does. We’ll get back to this later but as you can tell the basic dynamic for 24 minutes is Webby being a wholehearted True Believer and Huey being a Skeptical Sally. And Lena is just sorta “Eh gives me an excuse for shenanigans” about it. We also get a peak into webby’s mind as we see her notes .. which really just come off as Terra-Firmian fanfiction involving a war of succession between two sides, the terra’s and the firmies, something based on previous media, and also some doodles of a fictional candy called webby-dings and herself as a superhero, both things I want to see.

But yeah the first third of the episode is pretty simple, just them journeying, the occasional shift in the firmament, and it’s not bad, and there are a few great bits: Huey nerds out about rocks, and finds them way more interesting than a possible rock monster.

Which leads to the best gag of the episode as when Huey tries to pick up a big sample Webby, annoyed at his hyperfixation on the JWG, asks him to ask his book for help.. which he does by reading it and actually manages to pick the large rock up. This is halted though when Lena screams.. though she really just did it to draw them to an abandoned subway car full of glomgold posters for glomgold products because of course a failed subway project has his name plastered over it. You can’t spell glomgold without failure.. the failure is silent. Glomgold is not.

The fun is interuptted though by a livid Beakly who had realized they were missing in an earlier scene, after telling the Manager that McDuck Industries would pay for the poster.. and then found out Launchpad also destroyed the toilets “They come up thorugh the sewers!”. Launchpad that’s CHUDS, Ninja Turtles and Rats who raised Ninja Turtles like their own sons, mole people dig or use old mineshafts. It’s basic mole science. Also Beakly really shouldn’t sweat it, I just assumed the city has had a runnig bill witht he company for “McDuck Family and Employee Related Accidents, Mayhem and Shenanigans”. I mean he’s had Gyro on his payroll for at least a decade and a half by the series start, Gyro has leveled whole sections of city in an afternoon more than most giant monsters. Of which several have destroyed Duckburg. It got better.

Point is she’s livid about them sneaking off with Lena pointing out their some sort of adventure family and Beakly.. saying she won’t see them again, or at least implying it hard. I’ll put a pin in this, as the train buckles and a bit of seismic, or rock men, activity means their stuck. So they divide into teams: Beakly will go try and unhook the train car from the busted cars so they can ride out, Launchpad will go try and fix it, and we get this lovely exxchange as a result

Launchpad: Cool never crashed a train before Beakly: Can’t you try driving it without crashing it? Launchpad: Wha?

His face in that scene is priceless. He takes Dewey along. More on that in a second. Webby, Huey and Louie are told to stay put with Beakly only bringing Lena along because she dosen’t trust her. So since we have three split plots for a second... let’s split up gang, starting with the most aggrivating, middling with what you all came here for and why this is part of the retrsopective, and ending with the plot that directly heads into the final part of the episode.

Launchpad and Dewey: GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Okay starting with the most infamous plot and easily the worst part of this episode, probably the worst plot in any Ducktales 2017 episode. That’s not hyperbole it’s really that bad and really pissed people off, as fans of the original launchpad felt they made him overly stupid. This is where the airing order’s a problem as putting an episode with a subplot where one of your characters is obnoxiously dumb right up front means they assume this is his charcter and not just one poorly written chapter in a very dumb but very loveable characters life, likely because the writers hadn’t figured out how to properly scale his stupidity with comptience.

So as a result we get a good 3-4 mintutes if not agonizingly more of Launchpad assuming something he saw in a fucking movie film was real. That.. that’s his actual plot. Need I remind you, he’s in his late 20′s early 30′s. He’s not much older than me. While other episodes have him as dim this one claims he CAN’T TELL FACT FROM FICTION.

There are lines you have to keep with your characters to keep the audience from hating them. They crossed it about 80 times with this plot and make Launchpad into a gibbering dunderhead who can’t do anything right versus a regular dunderhead whose good at one or two things and loveable enough for us to like him and not care about his numerous safey violations and child endagerment charges. Thankfully this is the ONLY episode that gets this bad and they clearly learned from this, but it dosen’t make it any less of a tough sit.

Dewey spends most of the subplot with a look on his face that just screams that he’s as done with this bullshit as we are, as Launchpad assumes he’s a mole person and brought along a pipe to presumibly bludgeon him, because wanting to cave his best friends skull in over stupidity is a GREAT look> Thankfuly he does not. And when the lights come back on Launchpad.. assumes he’s a monster because of bright light, GAH, and locks him out before they end up outside and the plto resolves itself by Dewey pointing out by Launchpad’s utterly baffling logic that he could be a mole monster, so Launchpad.. assumes he is.

The subplot’s later buttoned up as he claims “I love being a mole monster”, again diffrent subteranian creature launchpad, she says he’s not and my suffering is thankfully at an end. This plot just sucks, it’s bad, overly stupid and dosen’t work with an adult character. Someone like say Ed from Ed, Edd N Eddy, or someone who belivies in weird conspiracy stuff like Dale Gribble or Stan Pines. with either of them this plot would’ve been fucking great. I could buy it from Dale and it just comes off as his normal paranoid weirdness. With Launchpad it comes off like he seriously needs help because the episode frames it as if he can’t tell ficton from reality, and his splotlight episode later would directly contridct this and make this episode even more aggrivating, as he’s a fan of Darkwing Duck, and KNOWS it’s acted out by an actor, so why wouldn’t he get this? It’s just....

It sucks, it sucks and I thankfully get to move on to a better subplot

Beakly and Lena: What You Are in the Dark

Beakly tells Lena she’ll never see Webby again after this.. then chastises her when she won’t help despite you know having just said she’s going to force their friendship apart, which Lena points out. She then gets mad at Lena making a sarcastic comment at her. Okay she’s lived with Louie for at least a week in airing order and a month or two in actual order. She has to be used to this by now. She’s insolent.. because you show her no respect, blame her for something that while sure she talked you into, you should’ve known better, and top it off by saying you want to keep her from the kids because they have bright futures and come from good familes and asks who rasied her and her face.. well.

Yeah wheras Launchpad and Huey, more on that in a second, were hurt by this being some of their earliest big roles, Bentina wasn’t.. until later when we found out just HOW bad Magica is to Lena and how much she dosen’t care about her other than as a tool to use. At this point we didn’t know just how much Lena was playing webby, how much she was only manipulating her, and even with her heroic act here we didn’t know if she only saw Webby as her way to break free. The next episode makes it clear she dosen’t and genuinely does care, 100%, so in hindsight it makes Bentina come off as ghoulsih for horribly asssuming about a girl she dosen’t know, and even if she did know about Magica wouldn’t know the full story, just like us, and then BERATING her after already saying she’s going to rip her away from Webby, which itself is PRETTY bad as she’s the only friend the girl has and sh’es doing so on... talking them into a horror movie, which as I outlined was more Bentina’s fault than Lena’s, and leading the kids into a dangerous place whicha gain, Lena pointed out is something she lets Scrooge do. And trust me i know that she actually knows Scrooge, and we later find out, as we’ll cover next month, that she isn’t ware HOW dangerous things are with Scrooge. It dosen’t change the fact she knows they do dangerous stuff to a point and that Lena may just be acting out. It also dosen’t change the fact she drove three children, yes including launchpad, down here with her instead of sending them home with Launchpad.. granted that option isn’t the safest but it’s safer than taking her with them thena cting like it’s ALL lena’s fault when three of the children, again including launchpad, are down there because of HER. Not Lena, HER. I’m harder on her because she’s older, wiser and was “raised properly” apparently. Though given the way she treats a random teen off the street she again knows nothing about and dind’t bother to ask... it begs the question.

IT’s a good question. I could see the classism coming from being raised in 40′s and 50′s britain, judging by the timeline.. but even then she’s seen the world, and while her nature is supscious, the classit bullshit makes no sense after presumibly working with, and later spymastering for, various agents of various backgrounds. How has she not dropped this in decades. Scrooge very clearly dropped the racisim and homophobia of his time, so it still stands on her for not dropping this. And Lena’s hurt shows under hte mask for the first time, that beneath the snark and secrecy.. is just an abused teenager with nowhere else to go and no way out being bullied by an older woman whose cutting off the only light at the end of the tunnel nto for good reason but out of classist, overprotective mallice. My issues, which to be fair probably were intentional in the episode but sitll are a bit overblown, aside we do get an absoluttley tremendous moment later as a car falls on top of Beakly.. and Magica, speaking once more urges Lena to leave her, let her die and let their plans progress. And while that iself is.. dumb, what if someone finds her or her corpse later, especially since Scrooge would likely perosnally want to retrive the body to give her a proper burial as she’s his only friend at this point, or the rest of the family questoin the story?, it fits Magica’s lack of foresight we see throughout the season. But Lena... saves her. While she later gives an explination, and a valid one at that, it’s clear from her expressoin, her actoins and how she does it... that this is her. Part of it is defiance, as she glares at Magica before doing it, her own stubborn nature mixed with her hatred of her “aunt”, meaning Magica just made it all too easy for her to do this. But the real reason is clear: It’s the right thing to do. While pissing off her aunt and getting away with it is the cherry on top.. the real reason is that unlike Magica.. Lena is not a killer, not a monster, and not a heartless vacum ofa person. Even if she doesn’t like Beakly, for good reason.. she can’t, she WON’T leave her to die and leave Webby an orphan again. She loves Webby too much to do that to her and while she may deny it.. she’s too good a person to leave someone to die for something so petty. Even if she never sees webby again and the plans ruined. It’s better than the weight of knowing she let someone who wasn’t trying to harm her and whose actions, while terrible, were out of misguided protection of her granddaughter, die like this. She saves her. And as we’ll see it pays off.. but before that.

Huey, Webby and Louie: Into the Unknown This plot’s a bit shorter, as Webby and Huey continue their argument, with Louie eventually making it clear, and not even hiding it when directly asked by Huey, that he’s playing both sides with a delighted expression on his face as the movie was boring but this, this is interesting. Which it is. But it’s interupted by dings on the roof and while Huey assumes i’ts just a regular rock, it moves while their not lookiung.. and soon red eyed, horrifying beasts look out at them and the kids flee back to the car. This dosen’t pan out as the car starts to shake and is clearly going to collapse.. and while Webby and Louie are prepared to flee, rock monsters or no, Huey, in an utterly heart shattering image.. stays in place, terrified of moving.

This is where this plot goes from mildly aggrivating, as Huey’s Skeptic shenanigans can get on the nerves.. to BRILLIANT. See at the time this was more annoying because it was assumed the skepticsim would be a part of Huey’s character and we’d get more episodes of him being annoying only to be proven wrong, as he semeingly dosen’t learn his lesson at this point, looging the terrafrimians in the guide book. But on rewatch.. this plot is amazing. For starters the plot subtly introduced the defening characteristic of Huey’s personality, one that’s become more prounounced in Season 3: His need for Order. He needs things to make sense: He solves stuff because he likes there to be order in the world and something he can understand, he can put in a box in his head. Like a lot of neurotypical people, myself included, he struggles horribly when the clearly defined boxes of his life and things he undestand have wrinkles or complexities he can’t get. I for instnace easily got it when I was introduced to the concept of trans people or being non binary.. they just make sense in hindsight: given how our brains are messya nd complicated it makes sense some people would be born in the wrong ones, and tht with all the science and medicine we have to correct that, should be allowed to transition if they so choose. It makes equal sense that some people just don’t have a gender or are gender fluid, being both or neither. Despite struggling with non binary prounouns due to force of habit.. I get the concept with no real difficulty. But when it comes to accepting I don’t have to apologize for everything and that everyone is not angry or that anger is natural and people sometimes get mad and you can’t and shouldnt’ fix it.. it’s something I STRUGGLE with even knowing it’s not right, because my brain is just wired that way.

That’s how Huey’s struggle comes off here.. he reveals he’s willing to stay and die.. because he’s SO scared of the unknown, that the idea of dying from something he at least knows what it is versus something he dosen’t.., so paralizyed by his own brain he can’t figure out the obvious.. it takes Webby reaching out to him figuratively and literally, to show him that sometimes you have to face the unknown. The unknown is fucking terrifying.. but it can be good and it’s better than sitting there, scared and unable to move. You have to try, to grow and take that risk that things may not go well to really LIVE.

So he does.. and they reunite with the rest of the group.. and soon find the terrafirmains.. who as it turns out once we get some light on them... are actually just goofy looking, brightly colored, each one matching one of the kids, kids themselves, and Huey reaches out and touches one, which by ET logic means their friends now, and the terrafirmians help them get out. And this lesson sticks. While sure Huey catalogues it and it seems it didn’t.. he’s never this skeptical again. This douchey skepticsim was only for one episode, his fear of the uknown replcaed with boundless curosity and from here on he’s CURIOUS about new stuff as long as it’s not trying to kill him. He loves taking in new experinces, maybe not to webby levels but he does actually try them and study them instead of just fearing them.

Before we wrap things up, obviously we need to talk about the JWG not having entries on a lot of stuff. This would be corrected next season as it returns to being a big book of everything, but dosen’t completely contridct this as Timephoon! shows there’s stillcgaps.. which i’m fine with. While it knowing EVERYTHING was fine for the original series here, with things being slightly more groudned, it’d just be an obvious plothole if Huey didn’t use it every single time they ran into something and that’d get boring. Instead it’s simply that it dosen’t know everything, and really in the comics at times it didn’t and the triplets found out new things. It knew almost everything mind you, but having some gaps for dramatic tnesion is fine with me and Seasons 2 and 3 decided on that instead of just having it being a scouting manual which wa sfor the best. And even by later in the season hit has guides to getting a small buisness loan, so they already course corrected.

So everything’s wrapped up and while Magica berates Lena for disobeying her.. Beakly interputps, thankfully not seeing magica and admits she was wrong and invites Lena for pancakes, even taking a crack about if their actually pancakes or english muffins with syrup, which sounds like my own living hell, in stride, having clearly grown. And Lena explains to Magica that this was the better approach: now she’s got the in theyw anted, and is above suspcison for now. Still not so much that an obvious act won’t be detected but enough that she dosen’t ahve to work actively around her anymore. Magica scoffs.. and while part of it is probably rage.. part of it is deep down both of them know she did it out of defiance.. and only Lena knows that she did it for the right reasons... she just dosen’t get why. She probably justifies it as playing the long game.. but deep down she knows something’s changing about her.. and she’s not sure if that’s a godo thing or not.

Final Thoughts: This episode is as you can tell a mixed bag. It’s 2/3 of a good episode, with the Lena plot, my issues aside, being excellent and the Terra-Firmian plot likewise fun, even if Huey can get grating the payoff is worth it, and the jokes are really high quality. It’s just bogged down by that fucking launchpad plot that just crushed my soul in it’s palms every time it came back. I went on at length why i hated that one but boy oh boy was the hate of that subplot warranted and I stand by calling it the worst plot of the series. It is: it’s not funny, it makes no goddamn sense, and it drags down what’s otherwise a pretty solid epsiode.

Next Time on Lena: Jaws the shark, lurking in the dark, in the depths of the bin one day of a lark decides to get rowdy, get real violent takes a vacay out to Duckburg er.. Island.. also Scrooge faces his greatest Nemesis.. a PR Tour to clean up his image after an unfortunate giant Beanstalk Incident. Be there and be hip to be square.

Next Time on This Blog: I Tackle a DCOM for the first time for another commissioned review as we take a look at racisim, specifically Apartheid and breaking indoctrination, with The Color of Friendship. See you next Rainbow.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #lena sabrewing #webby vanderquack #weblena #bentina beakly #launchpad mcquack #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #terror of the terra-firmians!#disney channel #disney xd #disney plus #disney #disney ducks #comissions

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

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jack gets alex a birthday gift that's a simple mug that says "I love you" and alex is like aw cute, fast forward to after dinner they're cuddling with hot chocolate or whatever and alex sees jack has a matching mug that says "I love you more"

disclaimer, this definitely happened

read it here on ao3

Jack offers up the box with a grandiose gesture, and Alex graciously takes it out of his hands. “Is it a basketball?”

“Of course not,” Jack says. “You don’t even play basketball. It’s a baseball bat.”

“Duh,” Alex says, facepalming. Jack giggles.

“Open it,” he prompts, leaning his elbows on the table, face in his hands. It pushes up his cheeks and pulls his lips into a pseudo-smile. Alex takes a moment to appreciate his boyfriend, who is the most adorable person on the planet. As birthday boy, he thinks it’s his right to take as many moments as he wants. “Alex! Open it.”

“Okay, okay,” Alex says. Clearly he is not as entitled to boyfriend-appreciating moments as he’d thought. He pulls at the taped-down flaps of the wrapping paper, tearing it off to reveal an unmarked cardboard box. Tossing the wrapping paper aside, Alex opens the box.

“Oh, I fucking love this,” he says, freeing the mug from its container, and that’s when he sees the writing. The sheer fondness must immediately appear in his face. “Jack…”

Love you, says the mug, in big, golden cursive. Its golden handle matches; set against the white base of the mug, the whole thing feels decidedly sophisticated. “This is so cute,” Alex says, smiling so hard he knows his cheeks will soon hurt. He turns the mug around so Jack can see the front. “It says ‘love you’!”

“Yeah, because I love you,” Jack says, gazing at Alex with a megawatt smile of his own. “You like it?”

“Yeah, I fucking love it,” Alex says, beaming. “It’s so chic, I’ll feel like a king drinking my herbal tea every morning. And thinking of you.”

“That’s the goal,” Jack says. “I’m just gonna integrate myself into every part of your life until one day you wake up and realize I’m everywhere and you’ll never escape.”

“That,” Alex says, leaning over the table to kiss Jack, “sounds like a dream.”

—

“Hey, Alex, you want hot chocolate?” Jack calls from the kitchen.

Alex deliberates, then calls back, “Yeah, sure.”

Jack is responsible for the refreshments; meanwhile, Alex pries open the DVD for A New Hope. Real birthday privilege is getting to pick the movie, although in complete honesty, Star Wars is more tradition at this point. They watch this on Alex’s birthday and Home Alone on Jack’s. At this point Alex is pretty sure he has both movies memorized almost as well as his own lyrics.

The list of movies they intend to watch together is forever getting longer, but Alex is a sucker for a tradition. Especially when said tradition involves watching his favorite movie with his favorite boy on his favorite day. It's the full package.

A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the kitchen, a steaming mug in each hand and a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on the crook of his arm. Alex grabs the bowl as Jack sets both mugs on the coffee table in front of them.

“Be right back,” he says, and bustles back into the kitchen.

Alex reaches for the mug closest to him. It’s the one Jack had gotten him, and the gilded words gleam in the low light of the living room. Next to it on the table, though, is an identical mug, the same white ceramic and golden handle. Alex can even see gold lettering curling around the edges. He frowns and reaches for it, turning it on the tabletop. Did Jack get them matching love you mugs?

Except they’re not identical. Not quite.

Alex makes an offended noise as Jack returns, leaping over the back of the couch to settle in. “‘Love you more’? What the fuck is this?”

Jack sets their pint of chocolate ice cream on the table alongside two spoons. “Oh,” he says, poorly concealing a smirk, “that’s my matching mug.”

“It says ‘love you more’!” Alex says indignantly. “Which is categorically untrue!”

“Is it?” Jack wrinkles his nose in mockery. “Really, is it?”

“Fuck you, it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever seen in my life,” Alex says. “I can’t believe your birthday present to me was, like, a backhanded compliment at best!”

“First of all, it was only one of my birthday presents to you,” Jack says. “And second of all, giving you a mug that said ‘love you more’ wouldn’t have made any sense unless you had seen the first one. If you wanted the ‘love you more’ mug you should’ve thought of this first.”

“I’m a year older than you, my birthday is before yours, you dick,” Alex says, not that he would ever have thought to buy matching mugs, but it’s the principle of the thing. “This is slander and I won’t stand for it.”

“Uh, wrong,” Jack says. “If anything it’s libel.”

“Okay, fuck your semantics,” Alex grouses, crossing his arms.

“Al-ex,” Jack wheedles, leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It was just a joke. Don’t be mad. We’ll share the mugs anyway, so we can trade who loves who more.”

Alex laughs despite himself. He’s not sure why he’s bothering to pretend; even in real arguments, he can’t hold a grudge against Jack, and over something like this there’s no hope. “You do not understand how relationships work.”

“Au contraire, mon frère,” says Jack. “I understand perfectly.”

“Did you just call me brother?”

“I meant it in like a bro way. Look, it’s not important.” Jack waves away Alex’s chortling laugh. “What’s important is that you already told me you love me infinity, and I love you infinity, so I couldn’t love you more anyway because nothing is more anything than infinity.”

Somehow, Alex has managed to follow this sentence. Now he huffs a laugh. “Well, you know, some infinities are bigger than other infinities.”

Jack scrunches up his face in surrender. “I know that’s a fucking reference to something and I don’t fucking know what.”

“I can’t tell you, I’ll lose all my street cred,” Alex says seriously. He kisses Jack, and when he pulls away Jack smiles, eyes still closed, content. “I’m not actually mad. I actually think it’s really cute.”

Jack opens his eyes, but his smile doesn’t waver. “Yeah, you love me.”

Alex shakes his head slightly. His lips curl up and there’s a warm feeling in his chest. “Hmm, I don’t see any mugs that say that?”

Jack laughs. “Never mind, I take it back. I hate you. Would you play the movie already?”

Alex acquiesces and hits play on the remote. He snuggles closer to Jack, drawing his legs up onto the couch and leaning his head on Jack’s shoulder. “Okay, you got me. I do love you.”

Jack presses a kiss into his hair. “I know.”

“That’s not ‘til next movie,” Alex whispers, and Jack laughs.

“Fine, try again.”

“I love you,” Alex says, failing to keep the smile out of his voice.

“Love you more,” Jack says, innocent as anything.

Alex sighs happily. He’s got his favorite movie on the TV, the love of his life curled up next to him, and a pint of chocolate ice cream that’s just calling his name, all courtesy of Jack.

Just this once, Alex decides to let it slide. Jack has earned his right to the ‘love you more.’

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #to be fair this is a dumb silly prompt #so i think it's okay that it became a dumb silly fic #thank you meghna as usual your contribution is invaluable #your ideas literally just vibe in my inbox for months #i've had this for FOUR months #four.#the passage of time.........who tf is she #reveriesofawriter #ask #answered

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kinsbin · 3 years

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Meditator Mediator

Title: Meditator Mediator Word Count: 1550 Pairing: Kelsey/Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi Wan/Anakin/Kai [Platonic Family]

Summary: Meditating with family is hard sometimes. Luckily Qui-Gon knows how to keep everyone in check. He’s proud of his daughter for following him, though.

A/N: A piece for @soulnottainted! I loved writing this, family is so good and I appreciate it so much sobs-

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“Relax… focus…”

“Your breathing is the force. You inhale it with every breath that you take. When you exhale, you exhale knowledge back into the world. This is the balance that the force requires. A perfect center to all things, no matter your emotions. You cast them aside in favor of a pure understanding of the universe. Starlight fills your veins and your eyes are suns as you-”

“Suns and stars are the same thing.”

Kelsey couldn’t stop the small bout of laughter that bubbled up in her lips at Kai’s deadpan comment. Obi Wan opened his own eye from his meditative stance and sent a sharp look of disapproval to the unimpressed human. Their only response was a raise of their eyebrow as Kelsey covered her own mouth to stop her snickering. Obi shifted his gaze from the left where Kai was to the right, where he shot Kelsey the same look of momentary disapproval in the process, as if wondering just how she could betray him by laughing at their middle sibling’s statement.

She could only give a light shrug in return, making Obi Wan roll his eyes.

“Look don’t you roll those stupid things at her,” Kai defended with a light prod to their brother’s arm, “I’m stating a fact. Suns are literally just stars that are close enough to the atmosphere of a planet to provide enough heat to support life. If you’re going to compare eyes to something, do better.”

“What would you prefer to compare it to?”

It was Anakin that spoke up next, his voice amused from the corner of the room where the door hung slightly ajar, ruining the calm space Obi Wan had put together for their meditative session:

“You could do something cool. Compare them to a racer.”

“Only you would find that cool, Anakin.” Obi Wan deadpanned back.

“Compare it to a supernova!” Kai suggested eagerly, “Oh - no wait better idea - compare it to a racer jet launching itself INTO a supernova!”

Obi groaned, making the three of the others laugh around him as they all grinned brightly at one another. It was rare to have everyone home at the same time, Kelsey couldn’t help but think with something of amusement lacing the tone of her thoughts, but the laughter that bubbled up was always like this when they were together. Between the group’s horrible habit of snarking at one another, they had somehow learned to excel at comedic improvisation bits as well. The most obvious trait of which showed up only when Kelsey, Kai, and Anakin found it a necessary task to bother Obi Wan at any given opportunity.

As the oldest sibling, of course, he had it coming.

Anakin threw a few more teasing words at Obi Wan that Kelsey did not fully catch, instead watching as Obi Wan took a pillow from the corner of the room and chucked it vehemently in the other’s direction. Anakin cackled as he dodged the pillow, only to have it force-thrown at quicker velocity towards the spot he ran to. Kai cackled somewhere in the corner now, having stood up to move and stretch their body after a mostly useless session of them poking at their siblings already.

Kelsey was the only one who had remained sitting at some point, watching in a meditative pose as her siblings roughhoused with shrieks of frustration at one another. The home was warm with their energy, auras fading in and out of the force with the violent trepidation of fireworks across a night sky. She smiled despite herself, the faces of each of her family members warm in her heart as she pushed them into her memory. So that she could memorize each edge of them with the utmost detail that they could manage. What a wonderful and unique sort of sight, she decided, one that only her family could truly manage.

“Alright the three of you, that’s enough.”

“They started it!” Obi Wan couldn’t help but state as he pointed to Kai, who grinned easily as Qui Gon entered the room with nothing short of a fatherly stare of disappointment at them all. Anakin muttered something under his breath as he rubbed at the back of his neck, a light blush of embarrassment coating his sharp cheekbones as he did so. There was a continued stare to Qui Gon’s gaze as he waited for the group to quietly apologize to one another and to him.

Kelsey smiled when Qui Gon ushered the three out of the room to work on duties around the house (though he likely knew that Anakin would break away to work on some sky racer project and Obi Wan would go to the library with Kai to somehow make an effort to disprove the use of stars and the sun in semantic language across planets) and left the two of them in quiet comfort together.

“I see you were at least meditating properly,” Qui Gon chuffed as he stepped forward a few feet before sitting down at Kelsey’s side. The statement made a giggle curl out from the woman’s lips as she shrugged lightheartedly.

“I was slightly distracted by their antics,” Kelsey admitted, “After all, you saw that show.”

“If there’s anything Kai is good at, it’s riling Obi Wan up.” He agreed with a hearty chuff.

“I mean, Ani doesn’t help. They’re always ganging up on him.”

“So are you when the mood suits you.”

“Why, Master! To think I’m nothing if not supportive of my brother is truly a cruel fate!”

The two stared at one another for a long moment before a laughter echoed between them. It was a pleasant and familiar sound, one that filled them with comfort as the two revelled in their moment together as they always seemed to do. It wasn’t that Kelsey disliked spending time with her siblings, certainly, but there was… a comfort with Qui-Gon Jinn that the others did not have. A strong and brave sort of feeling that left Kelsey wanting to be something better than she was. To always improve.

To make him proud. Not that he wasn’t of her already of course.

“Do you wish to continue with your meditation?” Qui-Gon requested with polite curiosity, “I’d love to join you, if so.”

Kelsey felt her heart light up and she couldn’t help the smile that spread on her lips as she nodded:

“Please do.”

It brought them into the lull of comfortable silence within the few moments of the agreement, both their eyes shut as their breathing even out. Breaths quickened and slowed to match one another as they meditated, feeling the flow of the force push through their bodies carefully in its exploration of the world around them.

The force was like that in strange ways, much like a finicky child still accepting those who asked it questions. Qui-Gon had taught her to treat the force with patience: nothing came out of rushing itself into full power and hurting your own form in the process. The force was a thing to be carefully understood and read with patience. Jedi training was as long as it was because of the understanding the force required against the natural instincts of human nature.

It was always easier to understand it with Qui-Gon, though.

It was as if the force behaved differently with her master around than it did with anyone else. When Anakin or Obi Wan used the force it was intense. A heat of suddenness that would wash over Kelsey’s form and startle her into adapting to it, it left no room for error nor did it leave any space for breathing on occasion. Kai was not as strong to the force as others, certainly, and their force was a little more than a sliver of an insect in a meadow of grass. Barely there but there nonetheless, just difficult to connect with even when they seemed to try their hardest.

Qui-Gon Jinn’s force was perfect to her. It slithered out of his form with an aura of patience as it prodded at her own mind. She allowed it willingly, of course, and offered a strand of her own thoughtful force to it in return. It was like she could feel each end meld and join together in the perfect concoction of closeness. She could feel her breathing ease in with his own and the world around them faded into nothing but the two of them as they searched for the inner peace that would make them stronger Jedi at last.

“Your force is growing stronger,” Qui-Gon couldn’t seem to help but comment through their peaceful time together, “More brave in its exploration outside of you… It’s impressive in such a short amount of time, you should be proud.”

Kelsey smiled despite herself, her eyes still shut in concentration.

“I have a brilliant master to thank for that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, dearest, you’re stronger than you think. You’ll make a fine Jedi soon.”

The compliment coming from his lips, rumbling out of the base of his chest, made Kelsey blush as she cracked an eye open. Qui-Gon was staring at her with both of his eyes open now, his smile warm as he watched her with a sense of pride. Pride, yes, he was proud of her. The thought of him caring enough about her to be proud almost made an unwanted emotion swell in her chest. Kelsey smiled back at the man with an appreciative nod.

“QUI-GOOOOON, OBI WAN WON’T LET ME READ THE HOLOPAD HE PULLED OUT FROM THE LIBRARY MAKE HIM GIVE IT TO ME.”

“I LET YOU READ IT AND YOU SAID IT WAS BORING.”

“YEAH BUT NOW I WANT TO READ IT! SO GIVE ME IT-”

The obnoxious interruption startled the two into a small chuckle of laughter, their grins bright as Qui-Gon stood up and offered his hand out to help Kelsey up as well. She took it, the two rising and keeping their hands in one another’s for a moment longer as Qui-Gon sighed.

“Now then, let’s see what is so important with your siblings they had to interrupt us.”

Siblings… Yes. That’s what they were. Family. Qui-Gon was family too. Kelsey couldn’t help but smile brighter as she followed after him.

Through better or worse, they were family. Through it all, they were there for one another.

Just as it should be.

#kinley writes #self ship #self insert #platonic self ship #platonic selfship #self ship community #self insert community

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neuxue · 5 years

Text

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 50

Chapter 50: Veins of Gold

The chapter many of you have been waiting for, I presume

That chapter title.

Rand’s hardly even thought of the bonds to Elayne and Min and Aviendha this book; he can’t even feel his own emotions, so feeling anyone else’s is more or less out of the question…and then this. A reference that, though the quote it’s referencing was several books ago, is unmistakeable.

I’m ready.

Wind blew around Rand as he sat at the top of the world.

A wind rose…

Wind and the Dragon Reborn, here on Dragonmount, the place of beginnings and endings. This is not the ending, nor is it the beginning, but it is a beginning. An ending. And so the wind is here, to carry whatever is to come across the land.

The whole image—Rand sitting alone, silent, unmoving, on the highest peak of a broken mountain, surrounded by snow and volcanic fire, up here above the world, apart from it and yet always and inextricably a part of it—is just excellent.

What was he? What was the Dragon Reborn?

Are you repeating yourself, or are those actually separate questions? And it’s notable that he asks ‘what’, rather than ‘who’. “I don’t know how human the Dragon Reborn can afford to be”…but he is human, and that’s so much of the point.

A symbol? A sacrifice? A sword, meant to destroy? A sheltering hand, meant to protect?

A puppet, playing a part over and over again?

It’s that last question that’s the hardest, in a way; the others he can deal with, so long as they are his choice. But for so long, he hasn’t really felt that it is; it’s been a case of a role he has to play. He must save the world for there is no one else. And if he does? What reward is there, but getting to do it again and again and again for all of time?

Even without that, though…ah, Rand. I feel like there’s little I can really say without repeating things I’ve said a thousand times before, because I’ve asked these questions on his behalf, but this is the first time—or at least the first time in a very long time—that we’ve seen him face them directly, rather than shoving them away along with all his feelings and pain.

What is it, really, that is being asked of him? What is he meant to be?

Which all leads, ultimately, to the question of and why should he do it?

Why accept that role, that brings him so much pain?

He was angry.

And yet, even that admission is a victory. It’s something other than the icy cold he’s tried to envelop himself in, something other than the eerie calm with which he annihilated a fortress. He’s angry, and really he has every right to be. It’s okay, sometimes, to rage at the world that has asked everything of you. It’s human.

What right did any of them have to demand Rand’s life of him?

Well, Rand had offered that life to them.

Oh.

That’s…oh, Rand. That’s exactly the sort of semantic twisting of the knife I cannot ever get enough of. They demand his life, and so he offers it to them, for once this is over he will have no more use for it. They demand his life, and so he relinquishes it. They demand his life, so he gives it up, along with his self; those no longer belong to him (he belongs to the Pattern now, and to history).

But Rand, the demand is your life. Your life, not your death. Those are not, I think, the same in this case.

It had taken him a great while to accept his death, but he had made his peace. Wasn’t that enough? Did he have to be in pain until the end?

Sometimes I remember how young he is.

And lines like this hurt.

(Also, Gethsemane came up in conversation between last chapter and this, and…well).

He has given so much, because that’s all he can think to do. So much has been asked of him, and so he strips away pieces of himself until his offering equals the weight of the task, and he is left with nothing. But just as giving his life is not the same as giving his death, leaving himself nothingness, emptiness, void, is not the same as making his peace.

He’s just had to convince himself it is, because what more can he do?

He had thought that if he made himself hard enough, it would take away the pain. If he couldn’t feel, then he couldn’t hurt.

(Is that last verb transitive, or intransitive, Rand?)

There’s a part of me that wants to speculate on whether Rand’s thoughts are so directly phrased here, so clearly stated, because it’s Sanderson at the helm and that’s more his style…but you know what? I actually don’t really care, because, at least for me, it works. This is Rand finally, here at the end of all things, at the edge of the world and at both extremes of his life (lives), having to face himself. Walls stripped away, nothing to do but to stare at an image of his own power and look at what he has become. Nowhere left to run, nothing left to hide behind, no battles or politics directly in front of him to demand his focus and distract him. He is standing on his grave and his birthplace, pushed twice now to a point he cannot make himself cross, pushed to a point of crisis, and the last thing standing there to confront him is himself.

And so of course those thoughts that were vague or not even stated at all suddenly come to the forefront, everything else falling away. Of course he asks himself these questions he has so long avoided. There is nowhere else for him to turn. And so this is his moment to stop and look and think and question.

He’s asking what, but it’s a step, I think, towards asking himself why.

If he couldn’t feel, then he couldn’t hurt.

The wounds in his side pulsed in agony.

Well, that tells you everything you need to know about his choice of numbing agent, really.

(See a doctor to find out if apathy is right for you…)

(I’m so sorry).

He understood what would be required of him

Still on the ‘what’ though. It’s much harder to bear if you don’t have a reason why.

What man could do these things and remain sane?

I mean…yeah. Especially with the whole world waiting with baited breath for him to go mad.

It’s easy enough to shout at a fictional character to get your shit together and remember what you’re fighting for and save the world…but also, he has been dealt an utterly shit hand. Sure, I think he needs to reach a point where he doesn’t just resign himself to his role or even accept it but genuinely embraces it, not just as a painful necessity but as something he has true reason to be doing…but also, how the hell does a person get there, having gone through what he has, and with the burden he carries?

And now, without even that small voice in his mind telling him that something is wrong, he’s…afraid of himself, of what he might do. And yet, without that, what’s to stop him from doing all the things he’s afraid of?

It was midday, though the sun still lay hidden behind the clouds.

One with the land, etcetera.

“And what if I don’t want the Pattern to continue?” he bellowed.

That’s a terrifying question to hear him voice, and yet, in a weird way, it’s…a version of the precise one he needs to be asking: why is he doing this at all?

Everything, in a sense, depends on him being able to answer that question. Because…if he doesn’t want the Pattern to continue, then there truly is no point in what he is doing. Then all the pain he has endured and all the pain he has caused has been pointless, and thus he is damned for having caused it, for it serves no purpose but to hurt.

But if he can answer that, if he can find a reason to want the Pattern to continue…then he has something to fight for. Then that pain is not meaningless, and then the destruction is just the other side of a coin that also carries salvation, and then he can face what is to come with his entire self, and fight to save something, rather than just fighting to die.

“We live the same lives!” he yelled at them. “Over and over and over. We make the same mistakes. Kingdoms do the same stupid things. Rulers fail their people time and time again. Men continue to hurt and hate and die and kill!”

There it is: the crux of the matter. Why fight to keep the Pattern continuing, if it’s just the same thing over and over, the same mistakes, the same pain.

But is it? Could you not turn every part of that statement around? The same lives over and over, but different each time. Mistakes, yes, but are they the same ones? Or just different variations on them, learning each time? People hurt and hate and die and kill but if Min were here she would speak of balance: for every terrible accident, some great twist of luck. For each death, life. Hurt and hate and die and kill but also heal and love and live and save.

And so it’s a duality again, if only Rand can see it. But he has fallen so far to one side, has been hurting so much and for so long, and has lost sight of his cause, and so all he can see right now is the darkness, the despair, the pointlessness of it all. Why continue, when victory just condemns him—condemns them all—to the same fate, over and over? He nearly repeated Lews Therin’s actions (‘What am I doing?’ ‘No more than I’ve done before’), and he has feared for so long that his past life will define his present one, and has fought against those chains, convinced that the chains exist.

“What if I think it’s all meaningless?” he demanded

Then I think you and Moridin—or Elan Morin Tedronai—have something in common.

Of course, that was the point, was it not? ‘He must know pain of heart…’

“What if I don’t want it to keep turning? We live our lives by the blood of others! And those others become forgotten. What good is it if everything we know will fade? Great deeds or great tragedies, neither means anything! They will become legends, then those legends will be forgotten, then it will all start over again!”

It’s…some of it, I think, is the influence of having Moridin in his head. But I think the reason those thoughts can so easily become his own is because he’s still trying to shelter in apathy, still clinging to that armour of ice and cuendillar, in order to stop it from hurting so much. And that level of apathy leads so easily to this kind of outright nihilism—if nothing matters because he has already gone too far, and he feels nothing, and he must die simply because it is demanded of him and therefore nothing he does and no part of the remainder of his life truly means anything, and this is just preordained and required of him and so damning but also not his fault, if victory is hollow because all that matters is the winning and not the why, if there is no hope because hope is too painful when it fails, if there is no drive to save because that only makes it worse when he must destroy…then what is the point of any of it? Is it not easier to just let it end?

He has reached that point for himself—that it would be easier to die, that it would hurt less, that it would or will be a relief—and the Dragon is one with the land, and so it was only a matter of time until that reasoning reached the whole of the world, of existence. It would be easier for it to stop, because then there could be no more pain. No more mistakes, no more sacrifices. No more great deeds that are forgotten. No more endless cycles of death and pain and suffering.

Pain or apathy: those are the only choices remaining to him, that he can see. He has lost sight of the third, of the one that stands on the other side of the balance.

And again, how could he not? How could he hurt so much and for so long and not be so caught up in pain and avoiding it that he forgets what it means to fight for something that is not just the absence of it.

But there is another side to it. Great deeds and tragedies will become legends, and yes, in time they will be forgotten and it will begin again, but each time it is different. Rand is Lews Therin reborn but he is not Lews Therin. And he will make mistakes, but maybe they will be different ones. And maybe in some cycle, he or someone else will get it right. Or maybe not…but if the world ceases to exist, then there isn’t even that smallest bit of hope. Because if it starts all over again, well, at least there’s a chance.

Only, hope is anathema to him right now, because that way lies pain.

(Ishamael was well named, I think).

(I feel like I’m describing how I think of him, as much as I’m describing Rand at this point).

(Which says something, both about me and about where Rand is at right now).

It’s also harder for Rand because he does remember a past life, and it seems there’s a good reason most people don’t. Rand can remember that life, now, and so he starts to see the shape of the Ages, the passage of time, the way deeds become stories, and legend fades to myth. But mostly that’s meant to be forgotten, because each new life is just that: a new one. A life not chained to what has come before, but just a chance to play out a new variation, unfettered by past mistakes.

The access key began to glow in his hands. The clouds above seemed to grow darker.

Light in his hands, but the kind of light that darkens the world. I love all the imagery in the last…okay, well, twelve books, but.

He felt himself alight with the Power, like a sun to the world below.

Oh, damn. That um. Is an image. And a description.

Except the sun is hidden by clouds, and the sky is darkening. Brightness and light and yet it is destruction, nothingness, annihilation.

“NONE OF THIS MATTERS!”

Oh, Rand.

It’s too much. He’s been pushed too far and he hurts too much and he’s done too much to forgive himself, and so the only comfort he can find is in the ultimate destination of apathy. In deciding that none of it matters. And yet there’s such an undertone of unendurable agony in this, in watching this boy stand on the mountain that has defined his life and fill himself with power and rage at the world that has done this to him, but even anger can’t help him now so instead it’s this absolute despair that manifests as…this. But it is despair. This is Rand ready to give up, truly, for the first time in the series.

Because he can’t see a way forward, and more than that he can’t see a reason to find one.

He has tried. He has tried so hard, and finally it’s too much, and he’s gone as far as he can, and still he can’t see any sort of light at the end of it, and yes he’s burning with power and shouting at the entire world but it carries the same kind of feeling, almost, as if he had broken down weeping.

This is the point where he looks at the world, and looks at his task, and says ‘I can’t do it’.

This is the point where he breaks.

He knew that much power would destroy him. He had stopped caring. Fury that had been building in him for years finally boiled free, unleashed at long last. He spread his arms out wide, access key in his hand. Lews Therin had been right to kill himself and create Dragonmount. Only he hadn’t gone far enough.

That last sentence. It’s…not surprising, given everything Rand’s been thinking and saying up until now. But it’s still…uh. Terrifying and painful and we’re standing on a knife’s edge about to tip to the Shadow’s victory.

This is, in a weird kind of way, a temptation scene.

The winds began to whip at him, spinning, enormous clouds above twisting upon themselves

As if the wind—which I’ve always linked in my head to some kind of symbolic embodiment of Rand or the concept of the Dragon or even the Pattern itself—is trying to push back at him, to pull him back to himself.

But also...’I am the storm’

Lews Therin had made a mistake.

Just the one?

He had died, but had left the world alive, wounded, limping forward. He’d let the Wheel of Time keep turning, rotating, rotting, and bringing him back around again. He could not escape it. Not without ending everything.

Everything about this is awful and hurts but, you know, in the good way. And also feels just so very, very Moridin-Ishamael-Tedronai, and also just like despair (and you wonder which came first, Elan Morin’s betrayal of hope or hope’s betrayal of him, and now Rand is facing that point as well and I’m fine this is all fine).

Not without ending everything. I just…wow.

The terrifying thing, of course, is that he could.

The hero of the story, standing on a precipice, a heartbeat away from ending existence itself out of despair.

This is what I signed up for.

Not for him to go through with it, really, but just to watch a character dragged to this point. Gradually, over the course of twelve books, in a way where every step feels so natural, so easy, just a little further than the last. Until you end up here, too far gone and with nowhere left to go, past the point of forgiveness and past any kind of hope and broken and at last unable to go on and, without ever turning, without ever changing sides, without any kind of dramatic hero-to-villain kind of moment, still standing ready to become death, destroyer of worlds. Without ever turning from the light.

“Why?” Rand whispered to the twisting winds around him.

YES!!! THAT’S IT THAT’S THE QUESTION THAT’S WHAT IT ALL COMES DOWN TO.

And finally, finally, here just moments from the—an—ending, he asks it.

All the rest falls away and what is left is ‘why?’

And he asks it of the winds. *Claws hands down face and makes pained but delighted wailing noises*

“Why do we have to do this again?” he whispered. “I have already failed. She is dead by my hand. Why must you make me live it again?”

Because it’s not a punishment. Because past failure does not chain you to failure forever. It’s not a condemnation, it’s not being forced to live it again—it’s getting to live it again, to try again.

And…did he fail, really? Yes, Lews Therin ended in tragedy, but he also sealed the Dark One away for a time, and bought the world…well, a bit more time.

Why? Why must they do this over and over? The world could give him no answers.

It’s not the world that needs to answer that question, though. It’s Rand. The world demands his sacrifice, the world demands his life, the world demands…but ultimately, he has to choose. Has to choose whether to fight, and what to give, and, finally, why. If he lets the world answer that question for him, the he is back where he started: chained to a duty thrust on him by the world, and his own choice—his own self—is meaningless.

Rand raised his arms high, a conduit of power and energy. An incarnation of death and destruction. He would end it. End it all and let men rest, finally, from their suffering.

But also extinguish any chance they might ever have of…anything. Succeeding. Living. He would take away even the existence of choice, for it has been taken from him; he’ll make a final choice for the world and all of existence.

Following in Lews Therin’s footsteps, but not stopping the destruction at just all those he loved. No, he’ll repeat the ending he so feared, and take it a step further. Oh Rand.

Stop them from having to live over and over again. Why? Why had the Creator done this to them? Why?

Why do we live again? Lews Therin asked, suddenly. His voice was crisp and distinct.

Oh.

Lews Therin’s voice is distinct now because the…transition? Switch? Shift? Is…complete, in a way. At least that’s where I go with this. Rand has pushed away that last part of himself, that smallest of voices that whispered that something was wrong. That last remnant of who he was. He’s pushed that across this barrier, along with everything else that was once the shepherd named Rand al’Thor, keeping instead Lews Therin’s memories and knowledge. Pushing away his early optimism and hope and keeping instead coldness, hardness. Pushing away a desire to live and keeping a desire to die.

And so now, when Rand is about to ‘become’ Lews Therin, standing atop Dragonmount and drawing in power ready to destroy himself and everything around him…of course ‘Lews Therin’s’ voice is clear. Because that’s what ‘Rand’ has become.

Yes, Rand said, pleading. Tell me. Why?

Even now, ready to destroy everything, he is pleading. Still searching for an answer, still…hoping. Desperate to understand, desperate, I think, to find a reason that makes it not meaningless. Because for all his efforts at apathy, for all his lost hope, I think he still doesn’t want it to be. That’s why this scene hurts so much: because everything Rand is seems to fight against this point he has come to, and yet he can’t…find a way out of it. But even now, as he’s about to destroy the world, he grasps at the possibility of an answer, desperate, hoping.

Maybe…Lews Therin said, shockingly lucid, not a hint of madness to him. He spoke softly, reverently. Why? Could it be…Maybe it’s so that we can have a second chance.

ASLERKASLEIATHOWERIAJE

YES

YES YES YES!

THAT’S IT THAT’S IT THAT’S IT

I’VE BEEN

WAITING

He asks why AND THEN HE ANSWERS.

And the voices are divided but…it’s like last chapter, when the dialogue tags merged and it was just…Rand.

It’s the same here; he’s calling it Lews Therin’s voice but at this point, the parts of himself—of himself and his past life—that are on each side of that barrier have shifted so much that it’s almost meaningless to give them names; it’s just…him.

Rand asks why, desperate. And Rand, finally, out of the depths of who he was before, finds an answer.

And I love that it’s Rand who stops himself. Interrupts himself just as he’s about to erase existence, and tries to answer the question he had been shouting to the sky. It’s not someone else stepping in, not even the remembrance of someone else’s voice. Not even the bonds the chapter title hints at.

It’s just Rand—via the part of him that speaks with Lews Therin’s voice, yes, but Rand just the same.

Because this is his fight against himself. He has pushed through so many things, and this is the end of that path, and the last thing he confronts is not an enemy, not a battlefield, not an ally trying to help or manipulate him, but himself. Just himself.

So much of what has led him here has been a battle against himself, and against his past. Against having to accept that as a part of him. And so of course he and Lews Therin have essentially ‘switched places’ in his mind at this point. And of course it’s the part of him that feels like his old self, speaking to who he has become in Lews Therin’s voice, that calls him back. It’s a mirroring and an inversion but also a closing of the circle. Lews Therin brought him here, and he has come so close to becoming Lews Therin and repeating that fate, and so it is the other part of himself, the part of himself that’s just a shepherd named Rand al’Thor, the part he has locked away, that speaks to him now.

And gives an answer.

But also, the chapter title sort of underlies this; it is just Rand here on this mountain, and it is Rand’s struggle and Rand’s realisation, but there’s that reminder of the ‘veins of gold’, of the bonds and love and people who have cared for him, who love him and anchor him. They’re not here, and so far they’re not even mentioned, but they don’t have to be. It’s not specifically about them, but it’s as if we’re given that chapter title as a…reminder, almost in the way those bonds, those veins of gold, still exist in Rand’s mind as a reminder, even if he is not specifically thinking of them either.

But just.

A SECOND CHANCE. THIS IS THE MOMENT I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR.

I have ASKED THIS QUESTION so many times—why are you fighting, Rand—and he’s ANSWERING IT and it’s the answer I was hoping for and it’s…perfect.

He’s not fighting for ultimate victory, or a perfect world. He’s just fighting so that existence can continue, because then there’s a chance. Maybe it will be mistake after mistake. Maybe he’ll fail sometimes. But there’s a second chance. Living again isn’t a punishment, it’s another chance to try again.

You may not have a choice about which duties are given you, Tam’s voice, just a memory, said in his mind. But you can choose why you fulfil them. Why, Rand? Why do you go to battle? What is the point? Why?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

This is, almost word for word, everything I wanted from this scene.

For Rand to ask himself these questions.

And for him to answer.

This is where the darkest moment becomes a turning point, becomes an epiphany. And it’s one he’s been moving towards almost since the series began. For so long he’s been losing sight of why he’s fighting and I have hoped it would come to something like this, and so for him to actually just…ask himself that exact question, and answer it…

You know, sometimes a major moment in a character’s story going exactly the way you hoped, and tentatively predicted, is infinitely more satisfying than if instead it had gone in a completely unexpected direction for the sake of shocking the audience with ‘a twist no one saw coming’. This? Is one of those moments.

Because this is…how this scene has to play out. This is Rand’s fight against himself, and he is here on the mountain his story was always heading for, because time is a wheel and this is where his life ended and began, and he has been driven here in this war that has been against himself as much as any enemy…and so he has to confront that, driven to this point of crisis, before he can move on. This is the end of the road unless he can find a way to do that, and so it has to come down to those questions, and to finding an answer. To discovering, or perhaps rediscovering, why he is fighting. Because that will give him the strength to go on, rather than ending it all.

All was still. Even with the tempest, the winds, the crashes of thunder. All was still.

This is absolutely lovely.

Why? Rand thought with wonder. Because each time we live, we get to love again.

That was the answer. It all swept over him, lives lived, mistakes made, love changed everything.

Okay, I have to say I like the ‘second chance’ version a little better than the ‘love is the answer’ version but that’s okay. It’s all part of the same realisation.

He remembered lives, hundreds of them, thousands of them, stretching to infinity. He remembered love, and peace, and joy, and hope.

When before, all he could see was ‘people hurt and hate and die and kill’. This is the flipside, and he can see that at last.

(Though…okay, listen, I’m me, so just…indulge me for a second here as I pause to savour the pain of realising that, for Moridin-Ishamael-Elan Morin Tedronai, that flipside never came. He’s talked about seeing across time, across turnings of the Wheel…but all he sees is that despair. And for him, that’s where it stops, and so he is, forever, at that point of pain and despair and wondering why they must do this again and again, and so, if his thoughts follow the same pattern Rand’s just did, wishing simply for it to end…)

Within that moment, suddenly something amazing occurred to him. If I live again, then she might as well!

Second chances. He’s been so focused on Ilyena’s death, on the condemnation it brings him, and as Rand has sort of…extended that, with his list of dead ladies, and now again he’s seeing the other side of that coin. She died—and he died, both at his hand—but he lives again, and so might she, and so might so many others, and they have another chance, another try.

The reverse of ‘living again and again is a punishment because it’s just the same failures and mistakes’ is ‘living again and again means that there can be forgiveness for mistakes that were made in the past, because we have another chance to do something different’. It’s an open door for redemption; he does not have to be condemned by the actions of his past self, nor is he bound to repeat them.

I fight because last time, I failed. I fight because I want to fix what I did wrong. I want to do it right this time.

YES! THAT! It’s not a condemnation or a sentence; it’s a redemption arc that stretches across lifetimes, and that he only sees as such now, when he can see those lives played out in front of him.

And as someone who loves a good redemption arc, let me just say, this is some good shit.

The Power within him reached a crescendo, and he turned it upon itself, drove it through the access key. […]

Rand used its own power upon it, crushing the distant globe, shattering it as if in the grip of a giant’s hands.

The Choedan Kal exploded.

The Power winked out.

The tempest ended.

On the verge of making Lews Therin’s final choice, he makes a different one. Because he has been given a second chance, and he sees that now, and so he takes it. Redirects that immense power, destroying not himself or the world or those he loves, but something dangerous.

It's a temptation scene, and he turns away.

And the storm ends. ‘I am the storm’, he said, several books ago, giving himself to anger and destruction, becoming what he thought he had to be, becoming something that would destroy himself and the world.

But now he turns that on itself and the storm ends.

I’m just so very here for all the wind and storm metaphors, and this one works so well.

The tempest ended. A wind rose. I just. YES.

And Rand opened his eyes for the first time in a very long while.

Y E S.

Because he’s Rand again. And because he can see again, now—can see what it is he’s fighting for, can see his goal.

He knew—somehow—that he would never again hear Lews Therin’s voice in his head. For they were not to men, and never had been.

Y E S ! ! !

ALL THE THINGS I WANTED. ALL AT ONCE. Rand asking himself why. Rand answering. Rand understanding what he is fighting for: a second chance, love, hope. And now…acceptance of Lews Therin as a part of himself.

An end, at long last, to that battle against himself. To holding parts of himself apart, dividing himself in two, fighting himself just as he was fighting the world.

Because now that he has asked the question and given the answer, now that he understands that each life is another chance, and that the failures of his past do not define his future, there is no need to fight who he is.

That separation, that voice, served its last purpose—his last moment of being divided against himself was when he called himself back from the brink.

The clouds above had finally broken, if only just above him.

IT’S NOT SUBTLE AND I DON’T EVEN CARE. The tempest ended, the storm has broken, the sun shines again, let there be light, GIVE IT ALL TO ME.

Rand looked up at it. Then he smiled. Finally, he let out a deep-throated laugh, true and pure.

It had been far too long.

LAUGHTER AND TEARS

ON DRAGONMOUNT.

LAUGHTER AND TEARS AND A REASON WHY AND AN ACCEPTANCE OF HIMSELF AND A DISCOVERY OF PURPOSE AND A REALISATION AND A TURNING POINT AND

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Next (TGS epilogue) Previous (TGS ch 49)

#catharsis: the chapter #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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cheesytoucans · 6 years

Text

Starlight Supernatural AU: Meeting the Pawrents

Maya was trying to get her nerves hidden, which was difficult considering her girlfriend has been freaking out for days now. The vampire was also more than a little hurt. You see, she’s been dating Claudine for over a year now (closer to three years, if you count all the time they spent mutually pinning and then not-dating), and in all that time Kuro has tried to keep her as far away from her parents as possible.

At first she thought it was just Kuro being independent and trying to keep their relationship as their own business, but as time went on she started getting worried. Would kuro’s parents disapprove of her and that’s why Claudine didn’t want to tell them? After she found out the blonde did tell her parents, she only got more worried, convinced that they were against the relationship and Kuro just didn’t want to tell her. Then, about a month ago, Claudine reluctantly told her she was formally invited to France after graduation to spend a month with her family.

“It’s about time!” Banana exclaimed, to Maya’s confusion. “Your mom has been asking me about Maya all year!”

“I told you to stop talking with my mom!”

While Nana scolded Kuro, Maya was frozen. It was sounding more and more like Kuro’s parents had wanted to meet her for a while, but Kuro has refused.

Why? Was something wrong with her? Was her Claudine not as serious about this relationship as Maya was?

Maya quickly hid her feelings and accepted the invitation.

She would have talked to Kuro about it, but her girlfriend had been so stressed about this meeting that Maya didn’t have the heart to tell her. Besides, she’s been pretty busy with graduation and preparing for the trip (her parents thankfully didn’t need her for anything clan-related so she had gotten their permission quickly. They had actually seemed happy on their own way as soon as she told them it was to meet Claudine’s family. Maya wasn’t very surprised. Her parents probably loved their own donors more than they loved each other, since their marriage had been arranged. They even wanted to meet Kuro too, but Maya managed to do some fast talking to get her girlfriend out of that for a while. She’ll worry about it if she survived her own meeting with the parents).

And now here she was, about to arrive at France, and her girlfriend looking more and more as if the world was about to end.

Luckily, they managed to find their baggage quickly and didn’t have time for anything else before they heard an excited shout.

“Puppy!” Kuro pretty much ran to hug the couple waiting for them. Maya had seen pictures, and seeing how gorgeous her girlfriend was it didn’t come as a surprise, but Claudine’s parents were really attractive. Kuro took after her mother a lot.

After letting the family have a moment to reconnect, Maya came closer.

Kuro nervously introduced her and Maya said her greetings in both French and Japanese. She was going to do everything she could to get Kuro’s parents to like her. Including acting as formal as possible to hide her nerves.

She barely came out of her deep bow before she was attacked by a hug and kisses on the cheeks courtesy of her mother in law.

“We’re so happy to meet you dear, our pup won’t stop talking about you!”

Her senses tingled, trying to tell her something, but she was so caught off guard by the effusive greeting that she couldn’t tell what it was. Then came a handshake with Kuro’s dad, who insisted she call them “mom and dad”. Maya resisted a bit, she was supposed to be formal and courteous but she also didn’t want to go against her in-laws’ wishes, so they reached a compromise with “mother and father”.

The whole car ride to the house (it was more like a beautiful villa, but who cares about semantics?), Kuro’s parents kept her off balance by being so damn welcoming and warm. Maya spent so long thinking about worse case scenarios that she wasn’t prepared to deal with how downright friendly and supportive of their relationship Her Claudine’s parents were. Complimenting her on how beautiful, smart and well-mannered she was, congratulating Kuro for such a catch, telling her just how much Kuro talked about her. Kuro loudly complained about how embarrassing they were being.

Maya was floored to find out they had even asked Kuro in advance about her favorite food, so they had a big feast prepared to celebrate their graduation that had both Kuro’s and Maya’s favorites. There were several gourmet dishes involving potatoes, and crab. Maya probably ate more than was polite, but in her defense, mother and father kept pushing her to try everything and have seconds and even thirds.

After stuffing themselves, Maya and Kuro were ready to drop. The flight was catching up to them. Mother insisted on Maya sleeping in Kuro’s room (Father just gave a long-suffering sigh in the background, resigned to this fate).

Mother gave them both a hug goodnight, and that’s when the feeling at the back of her mind that had been bothering her clicked. Still, Maya didn’t say or do anything about it until the next morning when Kuro and her weren’t feeling like zombies.

Maya woke up spooning Kuro. She was pretty sure her girlfriend had been awake for a while now but had decided against getting up because she was too comfy to move. They both stayed like that, cuddling in silence until Maya worked up the nerve to ask.

“Your mother is not a werewolf, is she?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Maya regretted it because her wolf tensed up immediately. Still, the damage was already done so she pressed forward. “Is that why you didn’t want me to meet them? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Who would want to tell their girlfriend that they are a freak of nature?” The words and the bitterness in Kuro’s voice surprised Maya. She made Kuro turn to face her and lifted her chin to make eye contact. Claudine had that defiant look on her face that was mostly bravado, since her eyes were shining with tears and here lower lip was pouting more and more every second. It broke Maya’s heart.

“Don’t you EVER say that about my girlfriend. Ma Claudine is a beautiful gift, and I won’t let anyone believe otherwise. Especially not you.”

That’s all it took for the waterworks to start. She held the blonde tight to her chest as she cried and let all the fear out. It turns out, Kuro had also been worrying herself sick all this time. For some reason that Maya couldn’t fathom, Claudine though she would be disgusted if she learned the truth.

Maya would NEVER be disgusted by or reject her girlfriend for something outside of her control, and she repeatedly reassured her of this. But she had to admit Kuro’s whispered explanations were a little surprising.

You see, when two supernatural creatures of different species had kids (IF they could have kids), said children would take after the species of one parent, never a mix of the two. Sure, there were tales of mixed offspring, but Maya thought those were myths. Until now.

Kuro’s mother was a weredog (and Maya would bet a lifetime supply of blood that she knew exactly what kind, considering how Claudine’s wolf form looked) and her father a werewolf. At most, Kuro said, she should have been a wolf with golden colored fur or a dog with a fur coloring pattern similar to her dad, not… Whatever she was.

Thankfully, she smelled like a wolf (or at least similar enough), so she managed to pass as long as people didn’t meet both of her parents and saw her transformed form. Somehow, no one in Japan had put two and two together. Probably because her parents spent a lot of time in France, or because people put anything weird they noticed about her own scent down to her being half-french. Claudine was just thankful the vultures of the press never got wind of it. Being so different was a sure way of ending your career if you’re not well established.

Maya just listened and tried to reassure her when she could. They quietly discussed very important topics, like the fact that Kuro saw herself as a wolf regardless of her unusual biology, and how much it freaked her out whenever people compared her to a Golden Retriever and she had to pretend to be angry to deflect any possible suspicions (Maya decided to subtly interrupt any future teasing by their friends, since they didn’t know any better). That this secret was the reason why she tried to keep herself apart from the other wolves at the beginning until they became friends. That she was afraid they would reject her, even now that she knew them better and was pretty sure they wouldn’t do that, you can never be completely sure and there was no way to take it back after telling them.

(Although she was convinced Nana already figured it out somehow. Maya agreed).

The vampire promised that everything related to this was Kuro’s secret to tell, and that she would support her in whatever she decided, even if she decided to never tell another soul.

Then Maya confessed her own insecurities and Kuro apologized profusely for giving her the wrong idea. The blonde insisted she was more than happy with Maya meeting her parents. Even if they shared embarrassing details about Kuro.

After this long overdue talk, they both could finally relax. Kuro especially looked like she had taken a huge weight off her shoulders, so Maya decided it was safe to do a little gentle teasing.

“You know, I really wasn’t lying. You’re truly adorable when you cry.”

“Shut your mouth right now, Tendou Maya!”

~~~🌟~~~

Notes: And that’s why Kuro-chan is so tiny. I’ve been saving this for a while lol

Sorry for any typos, my tablet’s keyboard is acting weird for unknown reasons.

#oh my god #curly this is the best shit #thank you for these gifts #kuro is a werewolf!#she's small and we love her and she's doing her best #and all the other puppies love her too #she's a member of the pack!#that means she's family #supernatural au #long post #shoujo kageki revue starlight #submission

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

WHY TO MAKE WEALTH

Obviously one case where it would help to be rapacious is when growth depends on that. Introducing change is like pulling off a bandage: the pain is a memory almost as soon as possible. The founders sometimes think they could improve the startup scene in their town by starting something like Y Combinator there, but in some degree every field. It's terrifying to build something big from scratch. Relentlessness wins because, in the famous Social Text affair. Introducing change is like pulling off a bandage: the pain is a memory almost as soon as possible. More people are starting startups, but as I explained before, this is the third counterintuitive thing to remember about startups: starting a startup is to try to make a living, and a party reminder from Evite. Nothing could be better, for a time as a mercenary in Africa, for a time as a mercenary in Africa, for a time as a doctor in Nepal, for a new feature in the morning, you can start to count on it. Obviously the world sucked, so why do I have to live at home, I have to do is get eight or ten lines in the right place to look is in our blind spot: in our natural, naive belief that it's all about us.1 Then you'd really be in good shape. But spammers haven't yet made a serious effort to spoof statistical filters. Yes and no.

Mathematicians call good work beautiful, and so, later, was Perl. When Milton was going to visit Italy in the 1630s, Sir Henry Wootton, who had been ambassador to Venice, told him his motto should be i pensieri stretti & il viso sciolto. What would someone who was the opposite of hapless be like? I wanted.2 I do now to get there. When we started our startup in 1995, the first thing I want to do, designing beautiful software, hackers in universities and research labs keep hackers from doing the kind of software they wrote in their spare time.3 The second phase in the growth of taste is a conscious attempt at originality. But these words are part of the indictment. I was 13 that TV was addictive, so I can usually catch them. Programming languages, especially, is a watered-down Lisp with infix syntax and no macros. And if you have to be.4 Tcl, and supply the Lisp together with a complete system for supporting server-based applications, and there is something wrong with you if you build something popular is that you look smug.

In every period of history, there seem to have some cavities filled. This seems backward. But before we hired a PR firm I had no idea how it works. But building new things takes too long. There is already a good deal for everyone. There are two ways to do it was turn the sound into packets and ship it over the Internet.5 In 1450 it was filled with the kind of people you find now in America.6 It's always alarming when two people trying the same experiment get widely divergent results. So did Apple.7 When Yahoo bought Viaweb, they asked me what I wanted. Don't try to do it your way and he likes to do things they don't want to destroy it by feeding them mere propaganda.

If another map has the same effect as making it smaller. After all, the companies selling smells on the moon base could continue to sell them on the Earth, if they lobbied successfully for laws requiring us all to continue to the point that there is hope for a new Lisp, and the Inquisition was a bit surprised. If you want to make money? I don't think so. He knows that people sometimes ask for things that are really wrong. And passion is a bad word for it.8 They can't tell how smart you are. This is especially true for strangeness. But we still only have about 8,000 uniques a day. Free! I could imagine air suppliers adding scents at an extra charge.

Most programmers are told what language to use by someone else. Smack! It's odd that people think of property as having a single unchanging definition is that its definition changes very slowly.9 For those of us who design things, you'll inevitably do it in a smaller form in some earlier painting.10 I need to handle case in a more sophisticated way. The third was one of the motives on the FBI's list.11 Most hackers don't learn to hack. When I say that the answer is almost certainly no. Performance Between December 10 2002 and January 10 2003 I got about 1750 spams.

But the fact is, the huge size of current VC investments is dictated by the structure of VC funds, not the needs of your own users, and keep walking swiftly toward it while investors and acquirers scurry alongside trying to wave money in your face, start another. We had to pay $5000 for the Netscape Commerce Server, the only way to find out would be to consider not just 15 tokens, but all the tokens you'll tend to miss longer spams, the type where someone tells you their life story up to the right people, giving the impression of productivity, and so, either now or in the past. You may save him from writing a badly designed program to solve the wrong problem.12 With the rise of server-based applications. Good support for threads will enable all the users to share a single heap. Well, yes, but you can't break away from them. No one knows who said never attribute to malice what can be explained by incompetence, but it turns out you have to take these cycles into account, because they're given a fake thing to do in the rest of the programmers will tend to be forced to work on stuff you like if you want to find general recipes for discovering what you can't say. It's not surprising that after being trained for their whole lives up to that point?

You're asking for trouble if you try, anything you achieve is on the plus side of the room to check email or browse the web or check email now. If you're the rare exception—a free implementation, a book, and something to hack. It's dangerous to design your life around getting into college, for the reason I just explained: startups take over your life for a lot of classes there might only be 20 or 30 ideas that were the right shape to make good things, you'll get better at it. It would set off alarms. Even these buildings only tended to be asymmetric about major axes, though; there were hundreds of minor symmetries. At the other extreme are publications like the New York Times article about suits would sound if you read it in a second: they make bad cars. The difference between the good ones and the bad ones only becomes visible in the other half of their jobs: choosing and advising startups. Prep schools openly say this is unthinkable—that they want all their money to be put to work growing the company. The nature of the problems change.13

Notes

This gets harder as you start to feel tired.

It might also be good. The problem with most of the most convincing pitch can't sell an idea where the acquirer just wants the employees. She was always good at acting that way. What he meant, I mean no more than the others to act.

Forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups. Japan is prone to earthquakes, so we also give any startup that wants to program a Turing machine. Strictly speaking it's impossible without a time. Merely including Steve in the ordinary sense.

Structurally the idea that was a sudden rush of interest, you don't go back and rewrite journal entries over and over for two weeks. Steep usage growth will also remind founders that an artist or writer has to work on what interests you most. At the moment; if you hadn't written it? In practice it's more like determination is proportionate to the table.

As one very successful YC founder who used to do the opposite. Compromising a server could cause such damage that photography has done, she expresses it by smiling more.

As Secretary of Labor.

And it would be very hard to compete directly with open source software. They hate their bread and butter cases. That can be useful in cases where VCs don't invest, regardless of how hard they work for us! Cascading menus would also be good startup founders is the precise half of 2004, as they turn from their screen to answer your question.

Unfortunately the constraint probably has to their kids won't listen to them rather than for any opinions expressed. These points don't apply to the code you write for your present valuation is the same investor to invest in the sense of the most promising opportunities, it has to split hairs that fine about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's not as facile a trick as it was worth it for the first time as an experiment she sent their recruiters the resumes of the company. After reading a draft of this essay, Richard. 43.

It's hard to say exactly what constitutes research in the sense that there were some good ideas buried in Bubble thinking.

Vision research may be some things it's a bad reputation, a VC recently who said they wanted to.

A variant is that when you see people breaking off to both write the sort of things you like a wave.

It would probably be the more important. And journalists as part of wisdom. You're not one of the next Apple, maybe the balance of power will start to go away, and a list of the advantages of not starving then you should be asking will you build for them. The Socialist People's Democratic Republic of X is probably no accident that the people working for me was the last step is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors treat them differently.

We managed to get jobs. See particularly the mail by Anton van Straaten on semantic compression. If they really mean, in Galbraith's words, of course, that alone could in principle 100,000 sestertii, for example, would probably only improve filtering rates early on when you use in representing physical things.

0 notes

welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (35/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Happy playoffs! Happy flirting in the hallway post-game! Happy it’s kind of obvious how much Laura hates the Pittsburgh Penguins! I am still just constantly stunned by you guys and how fantastic you are, but just know that I appreciate it a ridiculous amount. This story would be nothing without @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan. Also hanging out on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“Is there a reason you’re lurking in the corner?”

Killian’s head snapped up, smiling out of instinct as soon as he heard the question and the tone of her voice and Emma was staring at him incredulously, arms crossed over the front of yet another team-branded t-shirt.

“You’ve started quite a collection of my jerseys, Swan,” he pointed out, nodding towards the ‘C’ on her shoulder.

“This is a t-shirt.” “Semantics.”

Emma rolled her eyes and dropped onto the edge of the stool next to him, kicking her feet out slightly. “Come on, seriously. What’s the matter?” “Nothing’s the matter,” he said and it wasn’t a complete lie.

It wasn’t.

It was, just, as they say, all happening. And he was somewhere in the vicinity of excited and nervous and anxious and something that felt a bit like terrified – which was all kind of weird because Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been terrified of anything that had to do with hockey.

There’d never been quite so much riding on hockey either.

Emma’s lips twisted slightly and he could nearly hear the thought appearing in the back of her head, the flash of understanding in her eyes making him fall in love with her just a little bit more. Maybe terrified wasn’t the right word.

Maybe determined was better.

“Did you send out season-ticket blasts?” Killian asked, already certain of the answer. He was certain she’d sent out the e-mails and the announcements and the Facebook video celebrating the Rangers’ clinched Wild Card spot as soon as the buzzer went off.

“Are you kidding me?” Emma countered. She kicked at his leg again and he groaned dramatically when the toe of her heel connected with his ankle.

“Jeez, careful, Swan.” “Come on, you’re honestly asking me about work? We’re supposed to be celebrating. Easy playoff path and all that stuff.” “Who’s saying easy?” “Every newspaper in the greater New York City area and Yahoo Sports.” “You’re reading Yahoo Sports?” “Aren’t you?” Killian shrugged and Emma scoffed, tracing her finger across the bar. Of course he was. He didn’t normally – ever since Liam had gotten hurt, he’d avoided media reports like some sort of athletic-themed plague – but in the last few weeks, since they’d been just on the cusp of clinching, he’d found himself actually searching out stories and links and playoff projections. It was like he was actually trying to torture himself.

There was no easy path.

This was the playoffs and the Cup and everything from here on out was a very distinct type of challenge, but he was that mix of emotions and determination and he kept reading everything he could get his hands on.

The coffee table in his apartment was like a shrine to the National Hockey League at this point, a mess of sports sections and copies of Sports Illustrated he’d forced Ruby to get for him.

“You know,” Emma said pointedly, nodding in Eric’s direction when he left a plate of onion rings in front of her. “You left your Daily News sports section sitting next to the bed this morning.” Her bed. In her apartment. Several blocks away from his.

Not that it was a problem – it wasn’t. Really.

He wasn’t a complete ass. Killian really did understand why she’d gotten her own apartment and he hadn’t really been considering some sort of joint living arrangement until Emma had explained that there wouldn’t be one and Mary Margaret’s mom-disappointment probably extended to him as well.

The last month had been a back-and-forth schedule of nights in his apartment and her apartment and wrapping up the regular season and it was no wonder he’d left the sports section of a New York daily next to her bed because he could hardly remember where he had to be later that night, let alone putting a few sheets of newspaper back in his bag.

“If you were trying to make sure I didn’t find that story about what happens if you don’t win a Cup, you weren’t doing a very good job,” Emma continued, whispering the last few words so as not to draw the ire of an entire hockey team.

That got him to smile again.

“It was more just forgetting I’d left it there than any sort of overly dramatic attempt to get you to notice me,” Killian laughed.

His thumb traced over the bend of her knee and it wasn’t lost on him that they were back where they’d started – tucked into the corner of the restaurant with a very loud, very excited, team a few feet away and he didn’t care about any of them.

He kept staring at her.

It was the same spot as the set-up, but it couldn’t have been more different and he would have trekked back and forth between her apartment and his for the rest of the foreseeable future to ensure that Emma Swan kept looking at him like he was the best goddamn player in the league.

“That kind of seems like a problem,” Emma said. “Can’t score goals if you’re all distracted like that.” “Not distracted. Focused.” “On forgetting newspapers or what the newspapers are saying?” Killian’s thumb stopped moving and he gripped her knee a bit tighter. “I totally read the story,” Emma continued, tilting her head to the side as she ripped an onion ring apart.

He’d lost track of the number of times he’d read the story or the number of times Regina had told him about the story and, eventually, someone was going to just let him play hockey, right? He hoped so.

That might make this easier.

Emma leaned forward, balancing precariously on the edge of the stool and Killian’s hand moved to her waist out of instinct. “Jeez, Jones, relax,” she mumbled.

“I’m just making sure Eric doesn’t have to deal with cleaning up after you when you kill yourself from falling off this stool.”

She groaned, but she didn’t actually move his hand and the smile was still tugging on the edge of her lips when she sat up straight. The story was in her hand. “I think I’ve read it like a dozen times today,” Emma mumbled. “You’d look good on TV.” “Yeah, that’s what Regina keeps saying.” “Doesn’t surprise me at all.” It didn’t surprise him either – Regina’s promises that this was something to consider and, well, he’d already told the Av’s no and there was no guarantee any other team would sign him if the Rangers didn’t and they might have a playoff spot, but Wild Card wasn’t easy and...the list went on and on.

He could probably recite it verbatim at this point.

“The story seems to think you’d make several zeroes worth of money for your very attractive face,” Emma said and he didn’t think he imagined the way she leaned toward him, knee brushing against his and hand landing on the top of his pants.

Killian quirked one eyebrow and a slightly embarrassed Emma – the one who blushed just a bit when she’d been caught calling her boyfriend attractive – was something he was far more interested in than he realized.

“You telling me you think the TV people only want me for my face, Swan?” Killian asked, propping his elbow up on the bar and resting his chin on his hand.

She rolled her eyes. “I said no such thing.” “You did. You just said the story claimed I’d get several zeroes for my very attractive face.” “Slip of the tongue.” He widened his eyes and he was certain Emma’s face was nearly as red as the highlights in Ruby’s hair. “Oh my God,” she sighed. “Shut up.” “Your words, not mine.” She was quiet for a moment, lips pressed together tightly and Killian knew she was thinking exactly what he was – it was a good offer, it was a lot of zeroes, it kept him in New York no matter what happened this season.

His attractive face would, probably, look pretty damn good on TV.

“You don’t know that someone else wouldn’t offer after the run,” Emma whispered. “And this is the only time I’ve seen this story.” “It’s definitely true,” Killian said. “Gina thinks it’s some kind of fantastic back-up plan.” “Isn’t it?” He shrugged. It was. It made as much sense as Emma getting her own apartment.

Be prepared. Or something.

He didn’t want that. He wanted to win a fucking Stanley Cup. He wanted this to work. He wanted Emma to move into his apartment more than he’d been willing to admit to himself in the last month.

Emma narrowed her eyes and he’d never actually answered her question. He didn’t really get the chance – attacked, as per usual, by a seven-year-old whirlwind, decked out in head-to-toe blue and one of the fansite shirts that claimed the Rangers weren’t interested in easy victories.

“Hook,” Roland shouted, arms already thrust into the air so he could get pulled up onto the edge of the bar. “Oh, are those onion rings?” Emma laughed softly and for half a moment Killian forgot about the story and the playoff run and anything that wasn’t that sound and the look on her face when she tugged Roland towards her. “Come on, Rol,” she huffed and at least the kid tried to help her, pushing up on the balls of his feet before climbing up onto the bar himself. Eric only looked vaguely scandalized.

“Thanks,” Roland mumbled, mouth half stuffed with onion rings already.

“Slow down,” Killian said, tugging Roland’s hand away from the plate. He’d already eaten half the onion rings. “You’re going to choke and then Gina will kill me.” Roland shook his head and for a recently-turned-seven-year-old, he was deceptively strong, yanking his arm out of Killian’s grip. “Nah, she’s busy.” “Is she on the phone again?”

If Regina was talking to people without telling him again, Killian was going to break something. Or maybe throw something. Or maybe get two minutes on purpose in the season finale the next night. Probably not the last one.

Arthur would make him skate sprints if he did that.

“Not about TV,” Roland said seriously and Killian was momentarily stunned at that. Emma tried to turn her laughter into a cough.

“What about then?” “Henry.” “Henry?” Killian repeated and Emma’s eyes got impossibly wide. He glanced up, meeting her slightly stunned stare with one of his own.

Henry was, in fact, sitting a few feet away, legs stretched out at one of the tables in the corner of the restaurant with his arms crossed over his chest and he looked every inch like he belonged there, wearing his own playoff shirt and a smile that Killian was certain would never actually leave his face.

“What’s going on?” Killian asked, not sure if he was talking to Roland or Emma.

She bit her lip and he resisted the urge to mutter open book at her when Roland started babbling excitedly while trying to devour seven onion rings at once.

“He’s going to move in while you guys are in Montreal and Gina’s trying to make sure the house gives him all his stuff and he doesn’t have any stuff, not really, that’s what he told me, but Gina keeps calling and she’s using that serious voice she used when she talked about you going away, Hook and I asked Henry if that made him my brother and…”

Emma breath audibly caught and she was blinking quickly enough that Killian’s hand found hers almost immediately.

“Wait,” Killian interrupted and Roland froze with an onion ring halfway to his mouth. “Brother? What are you talking about?” Roland’s eyes got as large as Emma’s and his gaze darted between the two of them. He dropped the onion ring on his pants.

“Robin didn’t tell you,” Emma said. It wasn’t a question.

“He told you?” Killian asked.

“No, no, Henry did.” “When?” “A couple weeks ago.” Killian’s mouth hung open and Emma’s lips had all but disappeared behind her teeth, something in her expression that looked like an apology. “But it’s not final yet. They were still in paperwork then. It probably isn’t still. That stuff takes some time.” “Paperwork?” “I’d imagine there’s a lot of it if you’re going to adopt a kid.”

He’d been holding his breath. He hadn’t realized. And, somewhere in the back of his mind it made sense – everything about this whole night made sense – but it all hit a bit too close to home and no one had told him anything.

Old habits coming back to haunt or taunt or just be particularly annoying at the start of some kind of career-defining playoff run.

Killian ran his hand through his hair, desperate not to meet Emma’s worried gaze and this was what he’d been trying to avoid in New York in the first place. This was why he hadn’t wanted to come to that party all those months ago, the family that wasn’t quite his family and everything moving and changing and evolving around him.

And he just sat still.

“I thought Robin would have told you,” Emma muttered, squeezing his hand tightly. Oh, that was different.

Emma.

Emma was there now and she hadn’t let go of his hand and, well, Page Six wasn’t wrong. There was a reason he was staying in New York. And considering TV.

“Nah,” Killian shook his head. “You’re right though, probably didn’t want to jinx it or something.”

Roland looked distraught. “Dad didn’t tell you, Hook?” “It’s ok, Rol,” he promised, trying to take a deep breath. He smiled at the kid and tugged on the bottom of his t-shirt. “This is a good thing.” Roland beamed. “I’ve never had a brother before. And neither has dad and Gina doesn’t have any either and...” “And?” “And you and Uncle Liam are brothers.” Killian sat up a bit straighter, Emma’s hand gripping just a bit tighter than it had to. “That’s true.” “And you guys played hockey together and he taught you how to check somebody and, well, maybe Henry could teach me how to check somebody.” He hadn’t gotten enough sleep for this kind of conversation.

This was Robin territory. This was actual dad territory, not quasi-parental figure who let you eat more onion rings than you were supposed to as dictated by the Food and Drug Administration.

This wasn’t what Killian signed up for.

Roland, however, didn’t seem to care – eyes bright and expectations written on his face clear as day and Emma still hadn’t let go of Killian’s hand.

��You’d probably be the one doing most of the teaching in this case,” KIllian said, eyes flashing towards Emma. “Henry doesn’t really even know how to skate.” “What?” Roland shouted and he moved so quickly, he nearly flew off the edge of the bar. Emma only managed to save the plate of onion rings from crashing onto the floor. “We’ve got to fix that, Hook! How come he doesn’t know how to skate?” It was if the idea of not knowing how to skate was the most scandalous thing that had ever crossed Roland’s mind. It might have been.

“Not everyone grows up with an entire hockey team around them, Rol,” Emma explained. “Some of us just kind of fall into it.” Killian might have squeezed her hand at that point. God, the playoffs needed to start. He needed some kind of consistency.

“Can we do that, Hook?” Roland continued, undeterred by Killian’s soft exclamation when he tried to jump back towards the floor again.

“Stop, you’re going to kill yourself,” he muttered, pushing a grumbling Roland back into the center of the bar. “And you’ll have to ask your dad and Gina. Maybe after the playoffs are over.” “After you guys win a Cup?” Killian grimaced, but didn’t say anything, something about ancient superstitions sitting on the tip of his tongue. It didn’t matter – Will yelled it from the other side of the restaurant.

“You know the rules, Rol,” Will shouted, arm slung over Belle’s shoulders. She almost looked embarrassed. “We don’t talk about that.” “But you guys are going to win,” Roland argued. He tried to push himself up again and Emma laughed when she pulled the onion ring plate completely out of harm’s way, eating the last one for good measure.

“Well, of course we are,” Killian said evenly. Roland sat back down. “But we just don’t talk about it. Bad form.” “Is there form for that kind of stuff?” Emma asked. “Or just ancient athletic superstitions?” “Bit of column A, bit of column B?” “Yuh huh.” “And Henry said he’s going to wear your jersey during the run too, Hook,” Roland continued, seemingly undeterred by whatever Scarlet was still complaining about from the other side of the restaurant. “And once he gets his stuff in his room, Gina said we could get sticks and put them on the wall.” The whole restaurant froze – or at least the front line. Scarlet, at least, stopped yelling.

“Well, there went the secret,” Emma muttered. Killian shook his head.

Robin and Regina sprinted towards the corner of the bar, matching looks of dread on their faces when they skidded to a stop in front of Killian.

“It’s fine,” Killian promised. “Some would go so far as to say good.” Regina didn’t look convinced. She almost looked mad when she noticed the empty plate a few feet away from Roland. Robin looked a little nervous.

“You think?” he muttered, hands stuffed into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

Killian glanced at Emma again – and there was some kind of deeper meaning to that, that also might have been based in not-quite-reasonable superstitions, some kind of good luck charm or the force behind everything – and she barely moved her head when she nodded, smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.

“I know,” Killian said. “When did you guys decide to do this though?” “You really want to know?” “Why wouldn’t I?” Robin made some kind of noise in the back of his throat and Killian knew the answer to that question – because he’d been busy lying to everyone about going to Colorado and running away from every ounce of family that had ever existed in New York and turning down a considerable number of zeroes.

“Yeah, well,” Killian started, “that’s different now.” “Yeah?”

Emma was blushing again. It was lighter that time, just spots of red on her cheeks and eyes trained on Roland and Regina and Mary Margaret had showed up at some point, probably responding to some kind of Emma sense that just knew when there was something potentially emotional about to happen.

“I guess so,” Robin said, answering his own question as soon as he looked at Killian.

“If you’re going to get sentimental on me Locksley, I swear, I’m going to leave.” “Nah, that’s a waste of time when you’re there already.” Killian scoffed and there was a small crowd around them now – Scarlet and Belle and Henry had his own stool and even David had moved as well, hand landing protectively on Emma’s shoulder like it was a flashing neon sign regarding sentimentality.

“And since the break,” Regina said suddenly, not even turning to look at Killian when she spoke. “No one wanted to tell you because you were being stupid.”

“Always so good with words, Gina,” Killian mumbled.

“Stop feeding my kid an obscene amount of onion rings and I’ll be nicer to you.” “Ah, but now you’ve just set yourself up for even more disappointment, because you’ve got two kids and that’s just more onion rings to spread around.” She did turn around at that, eyes narrowed and glare plastered on her face and Killian smiled in response. “I wish you’d left when the Av’s offered,” she said, but the words didn’t quite ring true.

“That’s just rude.” “Control the onion rings then.”

“Big job.” Regina groaned, but there was almost a smile on her face and Killian felt something settle in the very center of him – or maybe resettle. Like he’d found something all over again.

Emma moved off the stool, squeezing Henry’s arm once, before she took a few steps towards him, fingers finding the back of his hair and Killian’s hand was around her waist before he could stop himself, pulling her closer to his side.

Maybe he’d consider TV. Maybe it was good to be prepared.

Maybe he was hedging his bets to keep Emma pulled up against his side.

“Will you two stop arguing,” Ariel hissed, cutting into the conversation with practiced ease. Eric sputtered when she moved behind the bar, grabbing the remote out of his hand and Killian was a mix of impressed and vaguely intimidated. “Some of us are trying to see how this all shapes up.” She changed the channel and the restaurant went silent again – a dozen pairs of eyes trained on the TV screen and the Penguins game and she’d timed it almost perfectly because there were only a few minutes left.

“That was impressive, Red,” Killian said and she just stuck her tongue out at him.

“Shut up and watch the game. And then show up on time for PT tomorrow.” “Are you not showing up on time for PT?” Emma asked sharply, pushing on his shoulder like that would get him to follow the final-day-of-the-regular-season-schedule he was all too aware she had.

“She’s making that up, Swan,” Killian answered. “I was no less than two minutes late for PT yesterday and I made a fist, at least, a dozen times. She’s just greedy.” “I am doing my job,” Ariel argued, still staring at the TV. The whole group groaned when some third-liner scored an empty-net goal for the Penguins. “Ah, there it is.” Emma slumped against his side and Killian, head resting on his shoulder and, Ariel was right. There it was.

The Pens won the President’s Trophy.

“God, I hate them all,” Will mumbled and Belle clicked her tongue in reproach as a line of gold and black skated to center ice and the obligatory post-game celebration.

“Why are we watching this, exactly?” Robin asked. “We knew they were going to clinch tonight.” “Well, to be fair, they could have done it tomorrow,” Killian said, trying not to actually sigh too loudly when they brought the trophy out onto the ice to the sounds of a crowd that had, just recently, won a Stanley Cup. “God, this is depressing.” “Which brings me back to my original question.” Ariel huffed loudly, rolling her eyes as if she couldn’t quite believe any of them were still talking. “Are you guys serious? This is motivation!”

“I don’t think we really need that,” Killian said.

“Wild. Card.” “Which seems like plenty of motivation to begin with.”

“Ugh.” “Did you just say the word ugh out loud? That’s your argument right now?” “Show up to PT on time, Killian!”

He laughed softly, hand still lingering on Emma’s waist and she’d started tugging on the front of his jacket like it was an old habit she couldn't quite shake. “You’re going to drive her insane, you know.” “Nah, she’s used to it by now.” Ariel stuck her tongue out at him again, but Killian barely registered it, eyes flashing up to the screen when the crowd started to cheer again and a collective ooooh moved across the restaurant.

“Oh, well, they’re totally fucked now,” Will said, immediately chastised by everyone over the age of twelve. “Right, right, sorry, we’re a family team.” “That’s bad luck,” Robin muttered and Killian was somewhere in the realm of almost hysterical at this point, head thrown back as soon as Soyer’s hands landed on the trophy.

“See, Red,” he said, nodding towards the TV as the entire Penguins roster passed the President’s Trophy down the line. Some of them kissed it. “We don’t need any motivation. Not when they’ve already broken the rules.”

She didn’t argue immediately – and that felt a bit like a step in the right direction. “I can’t believe they touched it.”

“Too confident.” “You think?” Killian shrugged. “Certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?” “What a bunch of idiots,” Emma mumbled. “Look at them. They’re all posing with it like they’ve already won the Cup.” “This anti-Pittsburgh side of you is fun, Swan. I like it. Keep going.” Emma yanked on his zipper again and he fell forward dramatically, huffing out the air in his lungs like he’d been punched. “They’re not going to win again,” she said and Killian nearly forgot there was an entire hockey team standing behind them.

“Of course not.”

“Plus,” Will added, nearly pushing his hand in between Killian and Emma. “We’ve got to win so Cap doesn’t get screwed over by the entire franchise.” “The soul of tact, Scarlet.”

Will hummed in the back of his throat, grunting slightly when Robin hit against the back of his head. “What? I mean that’s true, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Scarlet,” Emma said and it sounded a bit like a threat. Her hand was flat on Killian’s chest, eyes tracing across his face like she was waiting for the blow-up in the middle of the restaurant. It wasn’t going to happen.

“We should toast,” David said suddenly and, it appeared, a bit out of his own control as Mary Margaret pushed him a step closer to Emma again. “Um, I mean, well you guys did it at the start of the regular season, right? We should do it again. For symmetry.” “Nice save,” she muttered.

“That’s a good idea,” Robin agreed, nodding towards an expectant Eric behind the bar. He handed out glasses and alcohol and soda and cleared his throat when David didn’t immediately start talking. “Your move, Detective.” “Oh, oh, right,” he sputtered. “Well, there’s no sense in talking about how long we’ve all waited for a run like this or a team like this. Everything is there and not just because that’s what the reports say. Because you guys, and well, all of us, are certain of it. No extra motivation needed. To the postseason.”

“To the postseason.”

The alcohol burned the back of his throat and landed in the pit of his stomach with an almost audible thump, but Emma hadn’t ever moved, head back on his shoulder and shot glass in her own hand and that very specific type of smile on her face.

That was more than enough motivation.

The first three games hadn’t been particularly easy.

He wouldn’t say that. This was the playoffs – nothing was easy. It was do or die and every sports cliché Mrs. Vankald could come up with was one-hundred percent true in situations like these.

There were no easy games, no easy shifts, every single hit hurt just a bit more and the bruises on his left hand were a testament to that.

It wasn’t easy. Hell, they’d nearly lost game three and Arthur’s whiteboard casualties were starting to get even more violent now, hitting them up against the boards and using them even after he’d cracked them, the lines tracing across them making it difficult to actually work out the plays he was trying to draw up.

The game’s hadn’t been perfect and Killian’s hand was black and blue and he hadn’t actually scored in the series, but he woke up with hair in his face and a smile on his lips and they could clinch that night.

He shifted slightly, breathing in slowly and maybe that had been a mistake because he breathed in more hair than he’d been entirely ready for and his whole body shook when he started coughing and Emma grumbled when she woke up.

“God, what are you doing?” she asked, voice scratchy from sleep and fingers splayed across his hip.

“Trying not to suffocate on your hair.” She scoffed and opened one eye, keeping the other squeezed shut and that might have made it even more difficult to breathe. Or it might have been the team-branded she was wearing, oversized t-shirt and not much else, legs twisted up with his and there’d been no conversation about coming back to her apartment after another home win, just an expectant smile on her face when he slung his arm around her shoulders in the back corner of the restaurant.

“Did you know that the reason they call the Canadiens the Habs is because of Madison Square Garden?” Emma asked.

“What?”

She nodded. “Yup. Tex Rickard, who owned the Garden in 1920-something, said the ‘H’ on the jerseys stood for Habitants. He was probably an idiot, but Habitants, Habs, it stuck.” “And why was he an idiot exactly?” “It stood for hockey.” “Ah, well, obviously.”

Emma grinned, pushing her hair back behind her ear and she did something with her eyebrows – or at least tried. Killian was paying more attention to whatever it was her fingers were doing, tracing out a circle with her thumb and she laughed when his breath actually caught, shoulders rolling back into the mattress.

“You know,” she said slowly, hand still moving and he wouldn’t have moved even if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. “You can clinch tonight.” “A fact I’m very much aware of, Swan.”

“Step forward and all that.”

“Also true.” “The tabs will have a field day if you sweep.”

“When,” Killian said instinctively and he wasn’t certain when he’d started being so positive, probably somewhere around the time the tips of Emma’s fingers found their way underneath the edge of his boxers.

He must have let out some kind of strangled Swan because she actually laughed, teeth tugging on her lower lip and that wasn’t even fair.

“Ah, that’s true,” she amended and he moved immediately as soon as she started pulling on fabric. “I just didn’t want to jinx it.” “You couldn’t do that, Swan.”

The words kind of felt like they were choking him, not quite as easy as the three games they’d won already and it was absolutely because of the look on her face and the feel of her next to him and if they did clinch that night, then Killian was half certain it was only because of how desperate he was to stay in this moment.

“I thought there were rules,” she challenged. “God, you’ve got to take these off.” “What are you trying to do exactly?” He knew exactly what she was trying to do – was halfway on his way to ensuring that she got to do it several times before either one of them had to get on the downtown one.

“Have I not made that clear?” “You’re not exactly talking, Swan. Except for some very early-morning facts.” “That was just my lead-in, get you interested with pertinent hockey facts and then keep you appropriately distracted with...not hockey facts.” Killian chuckled, but it might have turned into a groan when Emma’s foot found its way in between his legs, trying to push boxers into blankets and there was absolutely no need for a lead-in.

He should have said that.

He’d lost the ability to think. Or speak. Or do anything that wasn’t kissing his girlfriend a few hours before they could clinch a berth to the next round.

Emma gasped softly when they moved, her back on the mattress and Killian hovering just above her and his hand worked its way up underneath the fabric of the shirt she still had on. He’d probably think about that sound for the rest of the day.

That would probably make morning skate weird.

And if these last three games had been some kind of easy sweep, then this was even more simple. This – over-eager mornings and hockey facts and not-hockey facts and waking up with hair in his face – was as simple as breathing or stick-handling in between two defenders.

That wasn’t quite as romantic as Killian had been hoping for.

It hadn’t been some kind of straight line to this, had hardly been the stringent blue line he’d been certain had shaped his entire career and what he was allowed. It had been a criss-cross of emotions and feelings and finding and if he’d been looking for some kind of family and some sort of home somewhere, then he was positive he’d found it in Emma Swan and that sound she kept making whenever his lips found hers.

Emma’s hips hit his and then he was the one making that noise, sighing against her mouth and the hands that kept holding onto him like they were trying to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

Not for a ridiculous number of zeroes or even after she’d gotten her own apartment or whatever happened in the playoffs.

He wasn’t a fool.

He knew it wouldn’t always be easy and they might sweep, but there were still three more rounds and his hand would probably be perpetually bruised by the time all of this was over.

Killian didn’t care. And for the first time in his entire career, he was ready for all of it, no matter what happened at the end.

“You didn’t have to have a lead-in, you know,” he mumbled, tracing down her jaw and there were goosebumps on her skin. He smiled at that.

“No?” “No,” Killian promised. “Although I am consistently impressed by how many facts you just have at your disposal.”

His fingers traced along her thigh and he could hear Emma’s breathing pick up, smile inching across his face at that and he was some kind of reaction hoarder now because he was documenting every single one of them.

“Good, that’s...good to know,” she said and it came out a bit like a sigh when he moved his hand again. “Are you teasing on purpose or just because you’re the only one who actually took their clothes off?” “Swan, are you suggesting you’d like me to take your clothes off?” “You’re infuriating, you know that?” “I choose to see it as endearing. I seem to remember someone once saying it was charming. Too charming, if we want to get technical.” “I must have been delusional.” “Ah, somehow, I doubt that.” “So confident.” Killian hummed and Emma’s hips were moving again, chasing after exactly what she’d had planned with the lead-in and there was something to be said for waking up early if this was how it ended up. It seemed to end up like this more often than not.

He moved again, fingers tracing out patterns on the inside of her leg and he was only vaguely concerned with the amount of damage she was doing to her bottom lip. The rest of him was very focused on the way her chest kept moving, like she was trying to catch her breath and couldn’t quite get there.

He loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

“Killian,” Emma sighed, her grip on his hips tightening.

“What, Swan?” She tried to glare when he started smirking at her, eyebrows moving quickly and hand slowing until he was barely moving. “I’m afraid I don’t know what it is you want. Exactly.”

He swiped his tongue over his lips when her eyes met his and something flashed across her face at his words. It looked like determination.

Emma Swan knew what she wanted – always.

And it might have been him.

That made it difficult for Killian to breathe.

She grabbed his hand, fingers wrapping around his wrist and yanking him forward until he was balancing on one forearm so he didn’t fall on top of her.

“Still not being very descriptive, Swan,” Killian muttered and if this was some kind of game, he was almost enjoying himself too much.

“Visual learner,” she challenged, shifting again and he didn’t care about anything outside of that apartment when his hand moved in between her legs.

Killian groaned, determined not to actually collapse and Emma squeezed her eyes shut and if he didn’t love her more than anything then it was the biggest lie he’d ever tried to tell himself.

He lost track of time at some point, far too focused on everything else and that database of sounds he was, apparently, collecting. And he might have mumbled a handful of promises in her ear, everything he’d been thinking for the last month, but had never been willing to give credence to.

She didn’t say anything back, just kept her hands on his back and fingers in his hair and when he, finally, moved again, she seemed to breathe him in and it was easy as that. It was as easy as breathing.

This made more sense than anything else ever had.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asked later, head on his shoulder and arm flung over his stomach and he’d been tracing across the back of her hand without even realizing he was moving.

Killian lifted one eyebrow and she groaned, burying her face against his chest. “God, not that. Jeez.” “What do you want to talk about, Swan?” She tapped her fingers against his side for a few moments before answering and Killian couldn’t see her face, but he would have bet a fair amount of money he maybe didn’t have that she was biting her lip.

“TV,” Emma mumbled.

“No,” he said immediately and, perhaps, a bit sharper, than he’d intended. “I don’t.” “Oh.” He sighed and Emma propped her head up on her hand, staring at him expectantly and a bit more nervously than he would have wanted, all things considered. “It’s awfully greedy, don’t you think?” Killian asked and maybe this conversation would have been easier if they were in his apartment.

Home ice or whatever.

“What is?” Emma pressed.

“Wanting everything.” Her smile almost looked sad and for two people who were just a few hours away from moving on to the next round of the playoffs, this conversation had taken a decidedly negative turn. Maybe they should just start kissing some more.

That seemed like a distraction.

“That’s not true,” Emma said and there was a determination in her voice that caught Killian off guard. “No?” “No,” she repeated, shaking her head. Her hair almost hit him in the face again. “This team is...it doesn’t make any sense. You have a restaurant that you’ve claimed as your own and everyone knows everything about each other and, God, the Locksley's are going to adopt Henry. We should be featured on some sort of SportsCenter special.” “E60, definitely.” “A 30-for-30 at least. Multi-parter” Killian barked out a laugh and some of the tension that had taken up residence in his shoulders and his slightly bruised left hand dissipated at the look on her face. “You said we again,” he pointed out.

“Aren’t we? Like a mini team or something.” “As in you and me?” Killian asked, hand moving again and there were goosebumps on Emma’s arm.

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then no,” Emma said, smile wide and Killian would have sworn he could feel it settle into the very center of him in the middle of that bed. “That’s not greedy. You deserve this, Killian. A playoff run and a max deal and another picture on the side of the Garden. No one should have that more than you.” It wasn’t very often he didn’t know what to say – they’d been given media training after they got drafted and Killian could answer questions as easily as anything, even if he sometimes did his best to avoid him – but he wasn’t quite prepared for the certainty in Emma’s voice or the palm pressed flat against his chest like she was willing him to get her to believe him.

“Careful, Swan,” he mumbled, wrapping his hand around hers and dragging his lips over her knuckles. “That was bordering dangerously close to a compliment.” “Ah, well, maybe I’m just feeling generous. Make sure you’ve got some positive thoughts heading into a clincher.”

“I’m not going to take the TV deal.” “I know you’re not,” Emma said. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” “Why?” “Easy. You’re going to win a Stanley Cup.”

“I love you, you know that?” Emma nodded, smile still on her face and laughter ringing in his ears when he tugged her flush against him. “Weird, I wasn’t picking up on that at all.”

He kissed her and it wasn’t a distraction or even an attempt at a distraction, it was just that want he’d been talking about before and it would have been somewhere in the realm of perfect if the front door to her apartment didn’t swing open at the same time.

Emma yelped, eyes going wide and hand desperate for blankets and Mary Margaret looked like she was going to pass out.

“Oh my God,” she sputtered, face flushed and mouth hanging open. Killian laughed, but it turned into a groan when Emma smacked at his shoulder.

Mary Margaret appeared frozen.

“Jeez, Reese’s what are you doing?” Emma asked, blankets pulled up over her shoulders. “Didn’t we say noon?” “Yeah, yeah,” Mary Margaret said quickly. She was staring at the ceiling. “But it’s almost noon. I just figured…” “What?” “Shouldn’t you be at morning skate?” “I don’t have to be downtown until two,” Killian explained. “Morning skate is more mid-afternoon skate when you can clinch.” “Oh, yeah, that kind of makes sense.” “Kind of.” “Reese’s you’ve got to go back outside,” Emma implored and her face was red as well. Killian did his best not to laugh again.

“What? Why?” “Oh my God. C’mon Reese’s don’t make me actually spell it out for you.” Mary Margaret’s eyes, somehow, managed to get even wider and she nearly dropped whatever it was she was holding – what appeared to be several containers filled with food. She wavered for half a moment, eyes darting towards the refrigerator and Emma and back up to the ceiling and she nodded once before nearly sprinting out the door.

Killian laughed loudly as soon as she was gone, body shaking and Emma punched against his side. “You’re going to hurt me, Swan,” he said reasonably, grabbing her hand and grinning at her.

She huffed, falling back onto the mattress. “God,” Emma muttered. “She wasn’t supposed to be here until noon.” “Well, it is, apparently, almost noon.” “We had a schedule, though.” “Somehow I think we’ll survive. Is she just trying to feed you?”

Emma hummed, arm thrown over her face. “She thinks I’m starving. Something about having nothing in my fridge and I’ve got my own apartment, but no time to really make it mine. Just, you know, normal mom stuff.” “That’s not a bad thing, love.” “No, no, it’s not. And if she’d shown up at twelve it would have been totally fine.” “That embarrassed to have Mary Margaret see me?” Killian asked, pulling Emma’s arm away from her face. “I think she’s already aware we were doing this before.” She pressed her lips together and open book had never been more obvious. “What?”

“I wasn’t embarrassed by that.”

“What then?” “I’ve never brought anybody back,” she said quickly, refusing to meet his gaze. “I mean, you know, to my place or whatever. Reese’s did and David basically lived in our apartment in Boston and then, obviously, here. But when I was in Vancouver and LA, I didn’t do...this.” “This.” “Yeah. I had my space and they had their space and I was cool going to them, but not so much vice versa.” Words, it appeared, were becoming more and more difficult the longer Killian spent in that bed. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and made a noise in the back of her throat. “Anyway,” she said, trying to brush over his lack of response. “That’s why. She was probably just surprised you were here. We should probably get dressed though.”

She moved, half sitting up and Killian wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her up short. “I’m glad I’m here,” he said and Emma’s eyes widened slightly.

“Yeah?” she whispered.

“Always.”

Emma nodded once. “Put some clothes on, Cap. We can’t afford to let Reese’s leave here totally scandalized.”

Mary Margaret hadn’t let him leave without, at least, taking ten minutes to eat and he’d have to tell El that someone else was giving her a run for her mom money. And morning skate was as easy as Killian had promised it would be, hardly anything more than taking a few shots at an empty net and Jefferson hadn’t even bothered putting on his pads.

They were going to win – Killian was certain and he was mostly just anxious for the game to be over so he could get back to his apartment or Emma’s apartment and wake up with hair in his face again.

He could hear the cheers already, the pregame noise and he shifted his weight between his skates, tapping the end of his stick on the floor.

“Relax,” Robin muttered a few feet behind him. “It’s going to be fine.” “I know,” Killian said easily, glancing over his shoulder. Robin looked the opposite of fine. “What’s the matter with you?” “Nothing.” “Locksley. You’re doing that thing with your eyes.” “That thing with my eyes?” “Yeah, like you’re trying to look in two different directions at once.” “That’s impossible.” “What’s the matter with you?” Will groaned loudly at the other end of the line and it sounded like he was hitting his stick up against the wall. “Are you two really going to do this now? Right now? They’re literally about to drop the puck.” “Well, to be fair,” Killian argued. “I have no idea what we’re doing because Locksley’s got that thing with his eyes.” “I hate that thing. It’s unnatural.” “See,” Killian said, staring at Robin and this couldn’t have been good for his neck.

Robin glared at him, but his shoulders sagged and they were, apparently, doing this right now. “You’re really ok with this?” “Clinching a first-round series? Yeah.” “That’s not what I meant.” “Be more specific then.” He took a deep breath and his gaze was heavy when it landed on Killian. “About Henry,” Robin sighed. “You’re really ok with that?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” “Cap. For real?” “Don’t blame him, Locksley,” Will shouted. “He’s been spending all that time at Emma’s apartment. His mind’s not totally focused on anything else.” “Shut up Scarlet,” Killian muttered, not looking away from Robin. “Seriously though. Why wouldn’t I be? This is a good thing.” Robin made a face. “No, no, it is. I just…” “You were running away before, Cap,” Will finished. “And you were all anti-this and all of us interfering and Locksley’s terrified his painfully adorable family is going to scare you off again.” Ah.

He really had almost fucked up everything.

Robin’s eyes were going to bore a hole in the Garden floor. “No,” Killian said. “It’s not.”

The music in the Garden was ridiculously loud and they’d already started Potvin sucks chants. It would have been impressive if Killian didn’t feel like he was waiting for something.

“We should probably buy Emma something,” Will said and it lacked his usual sarcasm. “Like a thank you or wait, what’s she always drinking? Hot chocolate, right?” “We could show up at her post-game thing,” Robin suggested and the lights at the end of the hallway were starting to flicker. They needed to get on the ice.

Killian wasn’t certain how anyone would expect him to skate after this.

“What do you think, Cap?” Will continued. “You think we’d start some sort of riot if we showed up at a fan event in midtown?” “I don’t think we’re that famous,” Killian said. He didn’t fall over when his skates hit the ice. That probably meant something. “And it’s during the game, anyway.” “Ah, well that’s dumb.” “I’ll be sure to mention that.” “Don’t be an ass.” “But you make it so easy.”

Will grumbled, skidding to a stop next to him on the blue line and Robin was still staring at him like he’d never quite seen him before – it probably had something to do with the smile practically plastered on Killian’s face at this point.

“You’re right, you know,” Robin muttered.

“About?” “This is good.” Killian didn’t answer – notes of the anthem filling the arena, but he didn’t stop smiling either.

They won.

A series sweep in the first-round and a 2-1 victory and Scarlet would probably never stop talking about his game-winner. There were cameras everywhere and reporters and phones pushed in faces, all of them a bit desperate to get thoughts on the win and who they’d face next and whether or not they heard the Penguins had won that night too.

They had. The reporters made sure they had.

“It was just all instinct,” Will said, grinning into half a dozen cameras with that stupid hat on his head and it was all so different than it had been a year before.

Killian rolled his eyes when Will kept talking about reading a defense and how he knew his shot would come if he waited for it and Robin didn’t even try and mask his laughter. “Idiot,” Killian mumbled.

“He hasn’t had a game-winner all season,” Robin reasoned. “Leave him alone.” “Sure thing, Dad.” They were definitely breaking some kind of fire code, bodies packed into the locker room and there was barely enough room to move, let alone hear anything, but it would have been impossible to mistake the voice shouting for both Killian and Robin when she marched towards them.

“Ten-hut or whatever,” Ruby said, arms already crossed like she was ready for a fight. “Time for your post-game reaction.” “We did post already, Lucas,” Robin countered.

“Fan videos. Emma’s in the hallway where it’s at least, kind of, quieter. And you guys can talk about how psyched you are for the next series and how great Scarlet’s goal was.” “I’m not talking about Scarlet’s goal,” Killian said immediately, already halfway out the door.

“Too bad. Game-winner is a game-winner. Talk about it, Cap. And, speaking of talking, any reviews on Mary Margaret’s macaroni and cheese?”

“You know gossipping is a very unattractive habit.” “Luckily you don’t have to be attracted to me. Go help your girlfriend do her job.”

Killian saluted and Ruby made a face, heels echoing behind him as he made his way down the hallway.

The team-merch from that morning was now a dress and a blazer and Killian was only vaguely frustrated by Ruby’s gaze flitting between him and Emma, that expectant smile on her face like she was about to take credit for even the idea of them being happy. Emma’s head snapped up when she heard them, eyebrows pulled low and she tugged her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re not Scarlet,” she said.

“That’s true,” Killian agreed. “Should I be?” “Well he did score the game-winner. Fans were kind of clamoring for him. You guys’ll work though. Just, you know, talk about Scarlet’s goal. That’s all people care about.” “God, don’t tell him that, he’ll never shut up about it. How’d your in-game stuff go?” “Good,” Emma said, taking a step towards him and Ruby made some kind of gagging noise when her hands pulled on the front of his shirt. “Ridiculously good actually. I think Rol’s a bad influence on Henry now, by the way.” “What, why?” “They’ve fine-tuned some kind of round-robin cheer that incorporates both the goal song and Let’s go Rangers and it’s both the most adorable and annoying thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” “It’s definitely annoying,” Robin muttered, feet crossed at the ankles as he leaned back against the wall. “They were practicing the entire car ride home last night.” Emma laughed softly and something felt like it stuttered in Killian’s chest or maybe in his pulse. “They going to let you go to Boston?” he asked, fingers lacing through Emma’s.

“Yeah, actually. Since it’s so close. I won’t be able to go to the Garden, which kind of sucks, but we’ll do some Rangerstown stuff when you guys are there.” “She’s been e-mailing some hotel bar since the second intermission,” Ruby added and there was no mistaking the pride in her voice.

“Second intermission, Swan?” Killian asked. “We weren’t winning yet.” She clicked her tongue. “Film your post-game thing, Jones.” “You know, love, I think this is what some people would call evading the question.” “Was there a question?” “You started making phone calls to a hotel during intermission. Before Scarlet’s game winner.” “Just being prepared,” Emma muttered, nodding towards a Rangers backdrop he hadn’t noticed before.

“Good at your job.”

“Was that a compliment, Captain?”

Her eyes flashed up to him and the smile on her face was enough to warrant turning down all those zeroes – from TV and other teams and this was the year. It had to be. Killian took a step towards her and he could feel the turn of her lips when he kissed her, hand tight on her waist as she moved her arms around his neck.

They might have been there for days or weeks and maybe they’d won the Cup already. Ruby coughed loudly and Robin laughed under his breath when they finally moved apart.

“God, don’t come to Boston, Emma,” Ruby sighed. “This is gross.” “The worst,” Emma laughed, twisting when Killian kissed the top of her head. “Come on, film your stuff and then we can go eat, I’m starving.”

The video went out to fans just a few minutes after they filmed and there were more reporter questions and desperate cries about deadlines and Killian walked out of the arena with a smile still plastered on his face and Emma’s hand tied up in his.

And it was good and perfect and everything it hadn’t been at the same time last year – or it would have been if either one of them had noticed the cameras.

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ajricci · 6 years

Text

Into The Woods || AJ & Lea

AJ could only imagine how Dustin and the rest of the Parrish family would lose their minds if they could see AJ heading out into the forest with Lea right now. Shit would hit the fan if anybody saw them actually. Considering his dad’s reputation people already thought that AJ was a serial killer in training. AJ still couldn’t believe that Lea even trusted him enough to come out here with him. He glanced behind him to make sure that she was still following behind him. Dustin was definitely going to kill him. Or attempt to at least. He continued out into the forest until he came across a relatively open and flat piece of land before he tossed his bag onto the ground next to a tree and stripped his jacket off of him. The cold hit his skin like a bullet and goosebumps immediately sprang up and down his entire arm, but he just let the cold get to him. “Here we are. You ready?”

Realistically, she probably should have told Dustin what she was doing. But if her brother or her parents - or anybody else - knew what Lea was up to, they would freak out and never let her out of the house again. She fiddled with the ends of her hair as she followed AJ further into the forest, practically walking into him when he finally stopped and watched him remove his jacket and she quickly unzipped hers as well, folding it up neatly and placing it on top of her purse. She brushed her hands against her leggings and nodded. "Ready."

AJ began stretching. He gestured toward Lea to start doing the same. While the two stretched, he began talking. “The most important thing to remember during a fight is to always remain calm.” He switched positions to start stretching his arms out before talking again, “Easier said than done, I know. But whether you’re fighting out of fear or anger, emotion is your worst enemy. It is way more dangerous than any person or thing you’re fighting because it distracts from focus and logic, gets in the way of making rational, thought out plans. When you’re in a life or death situation, the fear might be overwhelming. But the best advice that I can give is to pause, just for three seconds.” AJ stopped stretching at this point to turn to her. “Let the fear in and run it’s course for three seconds, then at the end of it you take a deep breath and shut everything else out. Then you focus.” He broke the eye contact to turn and tread away from her, “Think you can do that?”

Lea began to stretch when AJ motioned for her to do so. Just like she did before field hockey practice. She bent over, practically resting her lower arm (between the wrist and elbow) on the ground before switching to the other arm, doing her best to listen to AJ and maintain proper breathing. "Mhm." She murmured. "That makes sense, at least in theory." Her breath caught in her throat briefly and she stood up quickly, adjusting her breathing before pulling a leg up and behind her as she listened to AJ continue. "I'm willing to try at least." She bit her lip. "I won't get anywhere if I can't do that." She dropped her leg and switched to the other one. "But - but what if you don't have three seconds?"

“If you don’t have three seconds than you have to be prepared to keep focused no matter how terrified you may be. Nothing changes except losing the luxury of the time to prepare. But you’re right, a fight isn’t going to wait for you to be ready.” AJ explained, remembering the fights he would get in at school. How sometimes he knew they were coming and other times he was jumped completely off guard. The common factor in both of those was that regardless of whether he knew a punch was coming or not, AJ was always on guard. Always. “But the fear doesn’t began right before someone throws a punch. I know you know the feeling, like you’re constantly being hunted. The fear doesn’t go away. So whether you’re walking alone at night or into the forest with someone you think you can trust, you need to always be on guard. Always be done with those three seconds of fear.” He waited while Lea finished up her own stretches and stood patiently in the center of the open field. Once she was done, AJ waved Lea over to him and grabbed her arms, pushing them up and using his hand to curl his hands into fists. “Bend your elbows and use your forearms as a shield to guard your face. Don’t put these arms down. It only takes one opening for you to take a fist to the face and black out.” Then he used his foot to kick at Lea’s ankles, forcing them farther apart, “Plant your feet so you don’t lose your balance. And put your hair up. Attackers will take any opportunity that they can. So don’t give them extra ones.”

"That - yeah, focus is key. Got it." Lea carefully listened to each of AJ's words - this was a chance to learn something that she couldn't get from a lot of people, and she had to do her best to take advantage of it. Like you're constantly being hunted. Her heart began to race slightly and she willed it to stop. Just an example. Even though witch hunters were everywhere and - Lea glanced around the open area - she was in the middle of a forest and she doubted anybody could hear if she screamed. But AJ was safe - he had to be, he'd known what she was for almost half a year and had never breathed a word, no matter how nervous she still was that he might do so someday. "Always be done with the three seconds." She repeated, letting a small smile cross her lips. "You're kinda good at the advice thing, you know?" She walked over to AJ when he motioned for her to move closer. When he grabbed her arms she tried to pull away briefly, before realizing what he was trying to do - "Yeah, I think I get it. These are like a bit of a shield, right?" She wiggled her wrists a little bit, and adjusted her ankles wth the help of his good. "I was going to do the hair thing, see?" She flashed him her wrist, before peeling the hair tie off and pulling her hair into a high ponytail. "All better." She grinned, running her hand through her hair before replacing her arms in front of her face.

“Okay. First tip, you’re small. You can use that your advantage but it’s a huge disadvantage too.” Even before AJ’s newfound strength he still had height and technique as an advantage against those attacking him. He was never as buff or built as his prior friends that all played some kind of sport though and his speed had saved his ass multiple times over the last couple of years. “You won’t be able to take a punch like they will, so your best bet is going to be reflexes and speed. You want to dodge punches and tire them out. Then, you go in for a hit.” AJ began and used his finger to point as he explained, “Nose. The neck. Knees. Groin and ears. Those are going to be your targets. A strike to the nose will force the eyes to water and block vision. Neck and throat can stop the biggest of attackers in their tracks. Kicking out the knee to get them to your height. Groin is self-explanatory. And it may seem unlikely, but striking with both palms out” AJ held his hands out flight and faced his palms towards Lea, then motioned swinging them inwards towards either side of her head, “It throws off their balance. A little harder to do when they’re a foot taller than you, but a good move if you kick them in the knee first.” AJ took a moment to give Lea some time to process all of the information. This was different than when he trained with Reza. Reza wasn’t a fighter but he had been in enough fights and had the strength and healing to top it off. AJ wasn’t afraid to play rough. “You following? It’s a lot of information at once.”

"Yes, when I weigh less than half the amount of even some of my classmates and I'm a foot smaller than a few of them too I can see how that could end up being a disadvantage." Lea gave a small nod, ponytail swaying slightly as she did so. "Well I do have decent reflexes." She scrunched up her nose. "I think. I'm good at field hockey at least." She maintained a careful gaze on AJ as he continued his explanation. "Is front or back of the knee better, or does it not matter?" She asked, wrapping the end of her ponytail around her fingers before she dropped it. Startled only briefly when AJ brought his hands closer to her face but willed herself to stop flinching. Always have the three seconds done with. "Yeah, I think I've got it. Dodge them, hit them, bring them to my level because I'm tiny and then do the rest of the things you've listed." She cocked her head to the side as she considered all that AJ had told her. She moved so that both her palms were out, pushing them toward AJ before swinging them - "So the goal with that is to knock them off balance, too?"

AJ stood motionless as Lea practiced the swinging movement. He doubted Lea would actually attempt to strike him, even if that was the exact type of thing that AJ had done to Reza. Lea was too timid and whether AJ wanted to admit it or not, he actually seemed to care about whether or not he kept her trust. “Yes, but the overall goal is to do whatever it takes to get away from them. With what you’re worried about, you goal is never going to be finishing a fight. Your goal is to defend, distract, and disappear. Whatever it takes to achieve that final goal is all semantics.” It was strange trying to find exactly what was going to work in teaching Lea. All he had was the lessons taught by his dad who had never been one to mince words or be gentle. His father had been a harsh and unforgiving teacher, but AJ didn’t think that same tactics that had been used to teach him would work for Lea. “Another tip, elbows and knees. They’re the toughest parts of the body and will do the most damage. A headbutt will do too in a pinch. The headache or bruise that comes with a headache will go away. Whatever it takes, right?”

"Of course." She said, biting her lip. Lea straightened up, giving another nod, more forceful this time. "Just get them off balance enough so that I can get away, got it." It was good she had AJ to give her lessons on this - not that she had anything against the courses the police station or maybe UMAC would offer, but given that AJ knew more about her than just about anybody save for her parents and Dustin did, working with him was the best option - and if she had a panic attack in the middle of all of this, she wouldn't have to lie about why it had happened. "Whatever it takes." She echoed. "I do think my elbows could do at least a bit of damage." She raised them up, before glancing at AJ. "Yeah?" Lea blew a few loose strands of hair out of her face and took in another measured breath. AJ was safe. This forest was safe. She was safe, and this was all to prepare her to be more safe. Her mother should be glad, really. "What if -" She felt her voice wobble briefly, "but what if they grab you? Or is that jumping too much to start? Should I try out my skills?" Breathe, Lea. "Sorry, too much of me talking all at once."

“If they grab you, don’t give up. It’s not over.” AJ tried explaining. He used to make that mistake with his father back when he was younger. He got too ahead of himself, too excited about the fight that he would make a mistake. All it took was one for his dad to get the drop on him and put him in a hold. AJ would struggle for a few seconds and eventually give in and his dad would scold him for it. Never give up. Keep fighting until you pass out. “Bite. Kick. Spit. Whatever it takes. Fight dirty. That might be the most important advice I can give you. There are no rules in situations like these. So spit in the face or scream until their ears bleed. Pretend to pass out until you feel their grip soften. But never stop fighting.” In AJ’s situation, he rarely had to worry about the fight ending in his own death. The people at school were assholes but they didn’t want to kill him. Lea’s fears were legitimately life or death, which only made his points more crucial. “And always keep your eyes open. You have to know your surroundings. If they shove you to the ground, what around you can you use as a weapon? How many steps backwards can you avoid someone coming after you until you back into a tree? You need to learn to look out for things like that.” He paused, and stepped closer to Lea, “For example, I dropped my bookbag by a tree. Don’t look. From your memory what was by that tree?”

"It's not over." She echoed again, rolling the words over in her mouth, doing her best to take them in. "I've been told I have quite a set of lungs if need be." Lea added. "I don't have to follow rules I'd normally be very into following." Part of her itched to actually practice something - actually try to throw a punch, but all of this was important - without the basic information she'd fail miserably at actually trying out the self-defense in action and then she'd be back at square one - zero, even. She closed her eyes, trying to picture the tree. They'd come to the clearing, AJ had taken off his jacket and thrown his bag on the ground, and Lea had done the same. Copying what he did, because you could really learn from anything and - "Bottles. I think. I don't know what sort, but they're glass."

“Wow. Color me impressed.” AJ smirked. Most of the time people didn’t recognize small details that AJ had been taught to notice since he was a kid. Someone as paranoid and jittery as Lea would be the kind of person to notice something as tiny as a bottle. “Two things” AJ held up his pointer finger, “Pay attention to every single detail. No matter how small or inconsequential it may seem. It may just save your life. For example,” AJ trailed off as he walked away to pick up one of the broken bottles, and in one quick movement smashed it against the tree the bottle once rested next to. The glass exploded, but AJ barely minded as he made his way back to Lea. “This bottle would make a great weapon.”

Lea bit her lip and couldn't help but smile at the compliment, though she was quick to glance down at the ground as she did so. Knowing AJ, he'd notice anyhow. "I've been told I am detail-oriented, usually." She jumped slightly when he hit the bottle against the tree, letting it shatter to pieces. Lea cursed herself silently - she should have seen that coming, but the noise still startled her, and she could hear the echoes of Amanda's stories in her head. AJ's going to grow up to be just like his father. Do you see how he watches me? I bet he did that for his father. Those poor girls. Lea shook her head. "Sorry, paying attention now. Yeah, 'cause of the glass. You could do a lot of damage with that I bet." She placed her hands on her hips and watched him carefully. The basics had been covered which meant that it was almost time to actually start throwing punches. Yet somehow AJ’s mind started wandering. He had been considering telling Lea about the Warden thing. He had his reasons for the decision. Regularly he was an incredibly private person. He still considered himself a private person. But even he couldn’t ignore the potential benefits on both sides of a mutual trust between a witch and a warden. Even if he didn’t understand exactly what being a warden was yet. “Before we start actually kicking each other’s ass, let’s talk.” His grip on the broken bottle tightened as he turned it over in his hand, carefully planning the next few minutes out meticulously in his head. “I call this mutually assured destruction. Or a sign of good faith or whatever the hell you want to call it. But I know you’re secret so here’s mine.” AJ pressed the bottle against his wrist and pressed down against it until blood started trickling down his skin. “Don’t freak out. Just wait.” He held up his uninjured hand to keep Lea at bay and waited until the wound started to heal itself. “I don’t really know how or when it started, but apparently I’m something called a Warden. And it means I have faster healing. And super strength. Or whatever.”

"I can do talking." Lea replied, a bit too quickly, the words threatening to run into one another. "Your secret?" She continued, eyes growing wide. Nothing to do with what Amanda's said. He's not going to confess to murders that are nothing but falsehoods. She answered her unanswered query. "That's fair." She nodded again, pursing her lips, spinning ideas around in her head when AJ brought the bottle against his skin and all of a sudden started to bleed. "What the hell?!" Lea squeaked, a hand flying up involuntarily, flinging the bottle against a nearby tree where it shattered into hundreds of pieces. "Sorry, reflex." She pressed her palms against her thighs, letting her eyes grow wide as AJ's wound healed right in front of her. "What's a Warden? I mean, I know about prison wardens but I don't think they are supposed to be able to do," she gestured at AJ, "that." I thought I was special with healing. "Does that mean you're - human? I mean, of course you are, dumb question, but - when - when did this start?"

AJ jerked his head to watch the beer bottle fly from his hand and smash against the tree behind him. “Really?” he asked incredulously. Witches and their ability to fling things with their minds. Since Lea never actually gave him a detailed list of her capabilities AJ had decided he would have to make his own list. This probably ranked within the same category as floating textbooks. “I couldn’t tell you. After I was attacked by that thing in the woods I think. And yes, I’m human. I’m just also something else. Not really sure what the specifics of being a Warden is yet.”

Lea looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry, that doesn't normally happen, I promise." Apparently just if I'm worried someone's going to get hurt. She scrunched up her face in brief confusion as AJ continued to explain what he was. "I'm confused," She added, finally. "I - I think I believe you, I mean, you've got no reason to lie to me, but..." Lea shook her head again. "I hope you figure more out. A warden's not a kind of witch, is it?" She took a few steps toward him, fighting the urge to press her fingers against his hand where blood had just been a few moments ago.

“I thought it didn’t happen at all. Since I imagined the textbooks floating.” AJ smiled. Next step would be to teach Lea how to be a better liar. She wasn’t nearly as awful as Blanche was, but neither of them were exceptionally skilled in the art. Considering just how many secrets the two had to guard they really should be better at it. “Think you believe me? I just cut myself open and healed after a few seconds.” AJ actually laughed out loud at this. The girl was a witch and yet she found it hard to believe that he was a Warden? “Need another example? Watch.” AJ turned away from her and strode to the fallen tree not far from them, turning around to make sure she was watching before he brought his fist down on it and cracked the entire thing in half. He brought his fist away shaking the pain off of it. His knuckles were immediately bruised and bloody, but that would heal soon enough also. “See?” He walked back up to her, “I talked to someone that works with the Scribes,” Whatever they were, “Sounds like I’m more like a vampire Slayer than a witch.”

Lea let a small glare flash across her face. "You've seen too much for me to pull that bullshit anymore, right?" She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, giving a shrug at his question. "I don't know, it's confusing." She had power, surely - that much was undeniable no matter how much she had to keep from mentioning it, but AJ's power? It was new and nebulous and confusing. "I-" She began, but before she could finish, AJ had slammed his fist against a tree, snapping it, and Lea willed herself not to jump or react to it. He was showing her something secret, not something terrible. "But I thought the Scribes were a historical society - you know what, never mind." She took a few more steps toward him, until they were less than a foot apart from one another. "Well, if it can help you, whatever you are," which I still don't get or totally believe in, "then that's good. I'm glad for you."

In AJ’s opinion, he had seen too much from the moment those textbooks defied the laws of gravity and refused to touch the ground. But for whatever reason Lea probably actually thought she had adequately denied the existence of magic to him. Not interested in wounding her ego at the moment AJ just nodded and moved on, “I have no idea who the scribes are. Don’t really care to learn anymore honestly.” The Scribe he had talked to had been nice enough. He would definitely keep her in mind just in case there was a day the Scribes might be useful to him. “Anyways, time to stop putting it off and actually throw some punches.”

"It sounds weird and formal, so I'm with you." Though part of her was curious about just who these people were - if they knew things about ideas that sounded funny in her head. Lea sighed. "Wish I knew more, but I don't, sorry." She looked up at him as he continued talking. "Yep, that's what we came out here to do, so we should get to that." She lightly bounced on the balls of her feet. This was good, this was exactly what she'd come to ask him for, and theories were all fine and good, but if she didn't get any actual practice she'd never get anywhere. "How do we start?"

AJ crossed his arms and circled Lea as he contemplated just how he was going to train her. He had been debating exactly the right way since Lea had first asked him to and still hadn’t made a decision. But in the moment now, AJ couldn’t figure out exactly what about her made him think that something should be any different. The answer was that it shouldn’t be. He could only teach the way that he had been taught. For better or for worse. “We aren’t starting anything. That’s your job.” AJ finally stopped moving and stood directly in front of Lea, “Hit me.”

Lea kept her body as still as possible as AJ walked around her, hardly daring to breathe. Waiting to see just what AJ had in mind, what he'd ask her to do in order for them to start their training. "Wait, hit you?" She half-squeaked at his comment. "I -" Lea began again. But this was necessary, you had to start somewhere and if AJ was actively asking her to hit him then it had to be okay, right? "Okay," She acquiesced, holding up her hands in tightly balled fists. That had to work, right? She pulled one arm back and sent a fist straight into his chest. "Did that hurt at all?" She asked before she could stop herself.

AJ had to admire Lea’s commitment. A lot of people in self-defense training classes took longer to convince to throw the first punch. And even then, most people threw the typical empty punch to the face. Easy to predict and even easier to reflect or avoid completely, a head shot is a smaller target and harder to actually hit without the element of surprise. A punch to the chest was both unpredictable and an easier hit to actually strike. And while the punch wasn’t the worst thing ever thrown at him, the sternum is a mighty force and not the best weakness to attempt to exploit. The punch landed, but AJ’s own hands caught her wrist before she could pull away and spun it around, pinning her arm behind her back and pulling her close, “Took me by surprise, so congrats to that. Wouldn’t say it necessarily hurt though.” Before he shoved her away towards the ground.

Injuring others was literally the antithesis of what her genes were programmed to do, but it was important to know protection, and it wasn't like she was actually going to hurt anybody without need. Her heartbeat spiked just slightly when AJ grabbed her wrist and pinned it against her back - Lea did everything she could to keep her breath from becoming uneven and from Amanda's stories creeping into her head. He helped his dad, didn't you know? He'll want to kill anybody, especially us. After all, he's going to grow up to be just like daddy. Too caught up in her thoughts, Lea didn't notice when AJ pushed her back and she fell against the ground, half-catching herself with her only recently healed arm. "Ouch," she muttered, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face before she pushed herself up again, steadying her body as much as her thoughts.

“Even with me blatantly knowing that you were going to punch me, you still managed to get the element of surprise. A chest punch is uncommon. Not what I expected. Also, you weren’t afraid to throw the punch. You didn’t refuse or throw a limp punch.” AJ explained, standing with his arms crossed above Lea as she was on the ground. He made no move to help her up. His dad had never afforded AJ that luxury when he had taught him. AJ had hit the floor more times than he could count and remembered lying on the ground looking up at his father’s displeased face like it was yesterday and he was twelve again. “That’s what you did right.” Lea got back up on her feet though with no complaints and that was commendable enough. “Now, tell me what you did wrong.”

"Well, I want to be the best I can be." Lea replied, keeping her voice as steady as possible. Glad that at least for the time being, Amanda's stories and voice were not in her head. She refrained from thanking AJ too much - any compliment from him was good and meant something, because Lea highly doubted that he was the sort to just throw around compliments - in fact, she knew that, if anything, he was the opposite of that. Fighting the urge to fix her ponytail, Lea bit her lip at AJ's question. "Uh, I didn't prepare for you fighting back - responding - to what I did." She paused. "I didn't try to put you at a disadvantage before trying to throw a punch? Which I should've, maybe, since you're like, almost a foot taller than me and also know what you're doing." Lea looked up at AJ. "Let me guess, I did lots of other stuff wrong too, right?"

“Don’t ever assume that someone is just going to stand there and let you throw a punch at them.” AJ corrected, “But good thought. Your height and build already puts you at a disadvantage against anyone with some prior training. So take any chance to get ahead that you can get.” AJ laughed at Lea’s comment. It worried him that she seemed to be getting to know him. “Of course. Your form was pathetic. It holds back the full force of the punch and leaves you unbalanced afterwards. It’s why it was so easy to shove you to the ground. Also, the sternum” AJ slapped his closed fist against his chest, “Not a smart target. It’s too tough, and you don’t have the strength behind your throw to do any real damage.” AJ clapped his hands together and then waved Lea on, “Okay let’s run it again.”

"Unless it's you and we're just in training." Lea replied, raising an eyebrow. "Right? Also, I'm plenty athletic. Just still tiny, so I guess fair enough point." She bit her lip as he continued explaining - and asked her to try again. The first time had been easy, at least somewhat - she had to be the best she could, but she didn't want to risk actually injuring AJ. But he apparently healed freakishly well without her help and he was offering to help her. "If you say so," she said, stepping forward, blowing another few loose strands of hair away from her face. He wouldn't hate her, this was all for practice, it was okay. Lea adjusted her stance slightly, before turning a foot out and making an attempt to aim it at the back of AJ's knee.

Lea made another attempt at attacking AJ, and this time she went smarter. She adjusted her stance to get a better angle of kick, which was the only thing that actually gave away what she had actually planned on doing. She was aiming for the back of AJ’s knee, a smart choice when trying to take someone a foot taller than her down. It was a tender spot and one that could easily give out especially if by a sneak attack. Unfortunately for Lea, AJ’s reflexes were a bit too quick. His leg lifted and his foot came down on Lea’s ankle, effectively pinning it to the ground. He was careful, planning to be gentler than his father had ever been was tough but AJ would accomplish it. “Nice attempt.” He smirked at her before lifting his foot up and spinning around so that the two could face each other again. “Better target. But repositioning yourself gave you away. I can do this all night Parrish.”

She'd have to get better at not giving away what she was doing, Lea thought as AJ's foot pinned her ankle against the ground. He's safe. She repeated again, a mantra almost. "Thanks." She quipped in brief reply. No matter how good AJ's approval made her feel, she wasn't about to dwell on it. "I figured," Lea sighed. "I'm younger than you and I play sports. I'm not even tired yet." She smirked right back, raising an eyebrow. "Ready to continue?"

“Younger than me? Am I a senior citizen now or something?” AJ rolled his eyes but chuckled at the statement. Lea didn’t actually believe that she could outlast AJ did she? It was an adorable sentiment, but little more than that. Even if AJ already had some supernatural disposition to super strength and perhaps stamina too, he had been training for this exact thing since he was a kid. Fighting was practically second handed nature to him by now. Her magic gave her an advantage sure, but did it measure up to all the advantages that AJ already held over her? Guess the two would find out tonight. “Prove it then. Bring it on.”

@leaparrish

#c: lea #chatzy: lea #touchofchatzy #chatzy #into the woods

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buriedunderbones-blog · 6 years

Text

EDGAR BONES APPLICATION

I realised that after the original main got hacked I didn’t re-post my application and I thought it would be helpful/interesting to have it somewhere that can be accessed by everyone. (It was a while ago now though so Ed now may differ a bit from my first idea of him. Also there may be some mistakes or spelling errors oops) Anyway, under the cut is my app for Ed!

DESIRED CHARACTER Edgar Bones

FACE CLAIM William Moseley

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I find Hufflepuffs that really defy the house’s stereotype really interesting and in particular love the dark and brooding artist vibe of Edgar. I’m a huge fan of poetry and I can’t pretend that his name alone didn't interest me because of Edgar Allan Poe (& I can imagine he would be low-key pleased about sharing a name with one of the greats), but I was just so enthralled by the character, which is strange for me because I’m rarely drawn to characters I don't know at least a little bit about. The idea of a ‘loner’ Hufflepuff is super captivating because I can imagine how difficult it would be to be surrounded by people constantly asking how you are when you just want to be alone and stewing in angst. He obviously exhibits a lot of typically Hufflepuff traits; he is very good at giving solutions to problems and empathising with people, he’s hard working, loyal, and he has his head in the clouds a lot. However, he doesn’t appreciate empathy when it’s directed towards him, he is a ride or die friend to only a few people and doesn’t really fret over the rest, and he often prefers to be lost in thought than down on earth. His issues with commitment stem from his lack of communication skills; he can write down what he’s feeling, but it’s often hard for him to verbally open up to others. He isn’t particularly quick to anger, but he often jumps into fights just to feel the thrill of it; Edgar bottles up a lot of his emotions and, while he also lets them out through artistic means, he doesn't have a physical outlet. Part of him also just finds the feeling of bones cracking under his knuckles fascinating. He was definitely the type of child who killed ants with a magnifying glass, not out of cruelty, but morbid curiosity. The poem ‘Alone’ by Poe really resonates with how I see Edgar; he just doesn’t relate to a lot of the people around him and while they all focus on the blue skies, he cannot help but see the clouds. I usually find it really difficult to match characters to an Enneagram of personality number, but Edgar is definitely a strong 4. He is very much focused on being himself and idealises sadness and fantasising, but sometimes in trying to find and be himself, he loses sight of his core values. He has a lot of Ravenclaw in him, but ultimately he isn't calculated enough to be a Ravenclaw and he doesn’t value intelligence and learning above all. He has some Slytherin qualities, but he isn't ambitious or cunning enough; he doesn’t really lie (but he does withhold truth with silence) and he’s content to keep his dreams in his head. He can seem quite impulsive, but he doesn’t have that true Gryffindor recklessness (at least not for the same reason they have it: he isn't scared of death). He fights for the cause, not because he’s particularly passionate about it, but because he knows it’s the right thing to do. He may stray to the darker things in life and have trouble figuring out where he stands morally, but he’s loyal to his family and knows he will always stand with them. I’m not sure if these are reasons or me just explaining why I love him so much. He’s weird and he’s an outcast; he doesn’t fit in, but that’s what makes him all the more interesting. While a lot of people in his situation would reject the people who made him feel that way and join more radical groups (eg. death eaters, aversio) to feel like they belong, Edgar doesn’t do that. He knows that even if his opinions and experiences differ to that of his family, he'll stick by them no matter what. It’s that loyalty that makes him a Hufflepuff and stops him from floating away into his thoughts to the point of no return. (I could really go on forever, but I’ll stop)

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

He would work well with someone who balances him out and is willing to let him have alone time, but also doesn’t let him wallow in self-pity. He find it hard not to develop an emotional connection through sex, but he has a lot of commitment issues so casual sex can be a bit of a problem. (he does it anyway though) He’s mostly homosexual; although I wouldn’t completely rule out a m/f ship, I see him working better with guys.

♔ CREATE ONE (oops) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-A MOCK BLOG ( buriedunderbones.tumblr.com ) where you can find the following: -A MOODBOARD ( https://buriedunderbones.tumblr.com/post/160438771802/edgar-bones-aesthetic-moodboard-no-one-remembers ) -AN AESTHETIC ( https://buriedunderbones.tumblr.com/post/160440824792/edgar-bones-aesthetic-those-of-wit-and-learning ) -A PLAYLIST ( https://buriedunderbones.tumblr.com/post/160438809257/edgar-bones-playlist-listen-here ) -I also did a little past/present/future gif post ( https://buriedunderbones.tumblr.com/post/160446099697/and-all-i-loved-i-loved-alone-childhoods-hour )

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

Edgar frowned thoughtfully, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t know if this counts really because its not an invention, as such, but it would be nice for invisibility cloaks to be more easily accessible.” He paused, unsure if he should continue. “I think- well, it’s, um, difficult sometimes to find a secluded place to think.” Edgar stuttered out, his mouth never had been quite on the same wavelength as his brain. Often people assumed he was shy, but he just struggled to get the right words on the tip of his tongue and by the time he finally managed most people stopped listening.

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

An almost fond look overtook the wizard’s features as he remembered the Forbidden Forest. Nobody took Edgar Bones for a rule-breaker, but he often found the best places to be alone were the ones off-limits. He had actually spent a night there, in his sixth year, up in a tree observing the wilderness and pouring into his moleskine. It was nice to be completely immersed in human silence, listening only to the animals tearing each other apart in the night. It was as though he didn’t exist at all. “I would go myself; as much as I love my family they just don’t get it.” He explained truthfully. “And I’d take my journal and quill, or does that count as two objects? I’m not really familiar with the semantics of the hypotheticals…” He trailed off awkwardly.

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

The hesitation on his face clearly indicated that the answer was ‘most of them’, but Edgar persevered with trying to come up with something more eloquent. “I feel a lot of emotions,” he struggled. “But I struggle to express them to other people, sometimes I don’t even want to. So, I suppose, I find it difficult to make the decisions that depend on showcasing my vulnerability.” Edgar shrugged slightly, as though to indicate he had nothing more to add.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“The spoken word is arbitrary; it’s what they don’t say that really counts.” His reply was more confident this time, but Edgar had always felt strongly towards the subject. Perhaps, it was because he was known to hide his own true feelings and knew exactly how cutthroat the human mind could be. Or perhaps he’d just heard whispers behind his back for too long to really worry about the sting of an insult that only reached his ears.

WRITING SAMPLE

The vast body of water rippled dangerously with life. Edgar sat alone at the edge of the Great Lake and gazed upon its magnificence. To some people, such depth and area may appear intimidating, but Edgar was no stranger to his insignificance on a universal level. He picked up a small flat stone from the damp sand and flicked his wrist, skipping it over the lake’s surface. The stars shone brightly, reflecting off of the black water, giving the illusion that the wizard was himself part of the night sky. Edgar had always been strangely calm, it was a sense of peace that others couldn’t begin to comprehend. He didn’t bother himself with questions of existence and life; he found a freedom in knowing that, in the grand scheme of things, he didn’t matter. He embraced the philosophy and sought comfort in the idea that if his actions had no large scale effect, then he need not bind himself to the morals of the many. This oncoming war, however, could serve to change Edgar’s whole being.

The electricity in the air buzzed through him, wind whistling through his golden locks, and Edgar looked blankly at the grounds around him. Hogwarts castle was visible in the near distance, standing tall and regal as it had for many years. He envisioned the walls collapsing, turrets tumbling, silver bricks colliding with solid ground. Chaos wasn’t an unappealing idea to Edgar, but he would rather be contained by reasonable limits than let the world be overtaken in a blaze of fire. The Order of the Phoenix was supposedly a way he could stop that from happening.

Amelia looked at him, eyes brimming with determination and hope. “We could really make a difference Eddy; this is our chance to do something.” She looked at him like he looked at the stars above, and he was powerless to resist.

At first, Edgar was vehemently against the idea. He wanted to remain neutral. Not that he feared the danger that accompanied fighting the darkness; he had never been scared of death. Edgar spent his youth squashing insects and pulling the wings from butterflies, just to observe the consequences. His adolescent self channeled that feeling through his fists, acting out in violence to feel the emotions that escaped him. The sensation of his lip spitting and blood exploding from the gash was enough to make him grin. He wore black eyes like they were works of art speckled across his face.

The circle of people parted to let Edgar leave. He walked with a rare confidence, hands splattered purple and red. People started, open-mouthed, and he felt his anger balance out, tossing an easy ‘you should see the other guy’ over his shoulder.

The other students sometimes laughed at him, but Edgar knew they’d all want him on their side in times of battle. He would protect his few friends with everything he had. No, he didn’t have the strongest morals, nor did he claim to, but of all the badgers his bite was the worst.

However, for Edgar, a war, even one he wasn’t particularly tied to, could become quicksand. His embrace was wholehearted or non-existent. And, as he looked upon the place he had called home for so many years, Edgar whispered out into the open, empty air. “It’s not about the cause; it’s those standing by you that make the fighting worthwhile.”

#he made his peace with letting go #Edgar bones application #edgar bones

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thekastlediaries · 7 years

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Of Gods and Monsters - CH7

Chapters 1-6 on Ao3

“Quick, they have to be closer or the connection will sever.”

Morpheus glared at his companion, panting in his efforts. “I don’t see you helping.”

“I’m not allowed to meddle. So unless you want a couple of sizzling thunderbolts to tear this place apart, I suggest you start lifting with your knees.”

“Give me a second.”

He let Frank slump back down in his chair, taking a minute to survey their surroundings and catch his breath. Frank’s secret abode on earth was impressive, spacious and filled with the latest in technology and interior design. Morpheus’s own little apartment in the city was a closet by comparison, but he never never spent much time there anyway. He turned back to the task at hand, this time moving to grab Frank under the arms. He made a mental note to find out what kind of leather the thing was made out of since it was clearly comfortable enough to sleep in.

He rolled Frank onto the soft bed, grunting with the effort. The sleeping man was not light, and even with supernatural strength it was an onerous task. Morpheus looked down at at the sleeping couple, a sense of dread bubbling up in his stomach. Reaching into his pocket he fished out a roll of tums, chomping down on two chalky tablets before he turned back to his ethereal companion. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Demeter. Remember the whole no meddling thing? This seems – ”

He stopped short. The goddess flashed her eyes at him, sending yet another wave of nausea roiling in the pit of his stomach. He hated his earthbound form. Soft and susceptible to anxiety, he was pretty sure there was an ulcer developing in the lining of his stomach.

She huffed out a seemingly carefree response. “I’m not meddling. You are.”

“Semantics.”

“You’ve been around long enough to know that semantics is all that really matters, at least when it comes to the bullshit rules Gods like to throw around.”

That much at least was true. The Gods were worse than the slimiest lawyers when it came to finding and exploiting loopholes in agreements. Still, he felt uneasy when he gazed down upon the couple in the bed. The woman’s shining blonde locks fanned out across the pillow, her face gentle and smooth in repose. It was a stark contrast to the tense and angry features of the brute lying next to her.

“It’s dangerous, crossing over into other people’s dreams. Especially someone like him, so full of malice and vengeance. She could be torn apart by the monsters that live in his nightmares.”

“Oh, Morphy, you say that as though she doesn’t have nightmares of her own.”

He knew, of course. Dreams were under his sole command, nothing went on in that foggy middle place that he wasn’t aware of. Karen’s dreams were a strange combination of light-filled wonder and terror saturated darkness. He’d checked in the beginning at her mother’s behest. It had been easy to take the form of a chubby blonde adolescent, sweet and unassuming, a non-threatening confidant. He had fallen a little bit in love over the years, watching her wander through the naturescapes of her happiest slumbers. Once or twice he had flicked away impending nightmares, swishing a hand across the dark smoke clouding the edges of her unconscious. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but he hated knowing that she woke up crying more often than not. On the nights he held himself in check she’d come to school the next morning with tired puffy eyes and a somber look on her face. The guilt he felt on those mornings pushed him closer to her, made him act like a lovesick fool trying to draw a smile from her.

She knew him as Foggy, his preferred name while walking the planet. It seemed fitting, the fog of dreams being where he spent most of his existence. They hadn’t seen one another in a long time. Demeter had sensed his growing affection, and worried that it would lead to more trouble than it was worth. He’d agreed to slowly disappear, knowing that his feelings had been unrequited regardless of what her mother thought.

But seeing her with Frank bothered him. He couldn’t see the merit in twisting up Karen’s fate with the God of the underworld. Frank was volatile, and if anyone had asked Foggy he would have told them the dark God was morally dubious. Centuries of pent up anger all came spilling out when he finally fell asleep, which wasn’t all that often, and Foggy had vivid memories of the few times he was subjected to the hellscape that was Hades’ dreams. The Gods had no real need for slumber. But being here on earth, feeling human exhaustion, was really the only thing that pushed them to it, and Frank spent more time on the earthly plane than any of the other gods. It had only taken a tiny nudge from Foggy’s powers to send Frank over the edge.

Frank shifted in his sleep, and Foggy twitched. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure his powers were strong enough to keep the God of the underworld asleep against his will, and he didn’t care to find out what damage Frank could do to another God. His fear subsided when Frank swung his arm across Karen’s waist. It was replaced by a faint zip of jealousy. He quickly pushed it away.

“What exactly do you think this will accomplish?”

“Frank likes to put on the facade of an angry asshole, but he is a protector more than anything else.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“No you don’t know,and I don’t care to hear your uninformed opinion on the matter. I need him to see what Karen has lived through, what she is currently battling with, and what is coming for her. I need him… ” She trailed off, sudden sadness suffusing her features. “I need him to fix my mistake, and he won’t do it for me, but maybe he’ll do it for her. She keeps a cage around her true self. He just needs to see.”

Karen liked the feel of her hand ensconced in his. It was warm, the callouses along his palm were reassuring even if he was holding her fingers a little too tightly, as though she might float away if he let go. She might just do that. Nothing seemed fixed in place here.

They walked along the road. It was surprisingly dry after the storm, the dirt packed down hard and smooth. She liked the feel of it beneath her toes, a deep heat radiating up from the earth and into her soles. “So this is a dream… but you’re not a dream?”

Frank kept striding with purpose, walking a little faster than she would have liked. What did it matter how long it took them to get to their destination (wherever that was)? It’s not like time meant anything in dreams. He seemed so urgent, ignoring her question.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, dark purple clouds on the horizon building up high and higher like thunderheads ready to burst open at any moment. She wondered why they were heading toward the storm and not away from it. There was still a strange buzzing in the air behind them. Maybe that was part of it.

“Where are we going?”

This time Frank glanced at her sideways, the muscles in his jaw working as though he were trying to figure out what to say. “We’re going where it happened. Whoever is doing this seems to want to show you the absolute worst moment of my entire life, and I just want to get it over with.”

She frowned. “It? What is it? And what do you mean ‘whoever is doing this’?”

Frank stopped abruptly, the sudden shift of momentum throwing Karen off balance. He swiftly moved to catch her, a steadying hand resting on her lower back. “Someone has drugged or enchanted the both of us. I can’t make myself wake up, and that’s not normal for me. And you’re here in my dreams with me, the real you, not some figment of my imagination. Crossing into other people’s dreams is no small thing. So obviously there’s some kind of bullshit at work here. And because the Greek gods are a bunch of assholes, the only way to get to the bottom of it all is to play through the whole thing. There are no shortcuts, no emergency exits.”

His words tumbled out in a rush, and for the first time since Karen woke up in this strange place she was afraid. The shutters were gone from his expression, panic riding along the edge of his voice. The pain in his eyes took her breath away. She reached up to touch him, craving a connection, yearning to offer some comfort. Laying her palm against his cheek, she asked, “What is it, Frank? What are you about to relive?”

“The murder of my wife and daughter.”

#kastle #karen page #frank castle #kastle fic #kastle fanfiction #karen x frank #frank x karen #multich #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #kastlelibrary

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terabitweb · 5 years

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Original Post from Amazon Security Author: Supriya Anand

Byron Cook leads the AWS Automated Reasoning Group, which automates proof search in mathematical logic and builds tools that provide AWS customers with provable security. Byron has pushed boundaries in this field, delivered real-world applications in the cloud, and fostered a sense of community amongst its practitioners. In recognition of Byron’s contributions to cloud security and automated reasoning, the UK’s Royal Academy of Engineering elected him as one of 7 new Fellows in computing this year.

I recently sat down with Byron to discuss his new Fellowship, the work that it celebrates, and how he and his team continue to use automated reasoning in new ways to provide higher security assurance for customers in the AWS cloud.

Congratulations, Byron! Can you tell us a little bit about the Royal Academy of Engineering, and the significance of being a Fellow?

Thank you. I feel very honored! The Royal Academy of Engineering is focused on engineering in the broad sense; for example, aeronautical, biomedical, materials, etc. I’m one of only 7 Fellows elected this year that specialize in computing or logic, making the announcement really unique.

As for what the Royal Academy of Engineering is: the UK has Royal Academies for key disciplines such as music, drama, etc. The Royal Academies focus financial support and recognition on these fields, and gives a location and common meeting place. The Royal Academy of Music, for example, is near Regent’s Park in West London. The Royal Academy of Engineering’s building is in Carlton Place, one of the most exclusive locations in central London near Pall Mall and St. James’ Park. I’ve been to a number of lectures and events in that space. For example, it’s where I spoke ten years ago when I was the recipient of the Roger Needham prize. Some examples of previously elected Fellows include Sir Frank Whittle, who invented the jet engine; radar pioneer Sir George MacFarlane, and Sir Tim Berners-Lee, who developed the world-wide web.

Can you tell us a little bit about why you were selected for the award?

The letter I received from the Royal Academy says it better than I could say myself:

“Byron Cook is a world-renowned leader in the field of formal verification. For over 20 years Byron has worked to bring this field from academic hypothesis to mechanised industrial reality. Byron has made major research contributions, built influential tools, led teams that operationalised formal verification activities, and helped establish connections between others that have dramatically accelerated growth of the area. Byron’s tools have been applied to a wide array of topics, e.g. biological systems, computer operating systems, programming languages, and security. Byron’s Automated Reasoning Group at Amazon is leading the field to even greater success”.

Formal verification is the one term here that may be foreign to you, so perhaps I should explain. Formal verification is the use of mathematical logic to prove properties of systems. Euclid, for example, used formal verification in ~300 BC to prove that the Pythagorean theorem holds for all possible right-angled triangles. Today we are using formal verification to prove things about all possible configurations of a computer program might reach. When I founded Amazon’s Automated Reasoning Group, I named it that because my ambition was to automate all of the reasoning performed during formal verification.

Can you give us a bit of detail about some of the “research contributions and tools” mentioned in the text from Royal Academy of Engineering?

Probably my best-known work before joining Amazon was on the Terminator tool. Terminator was designed to reason at compile-time about what a given computer program would eventually do when running in production. For example, “Will the program eventually halt?” This is the famous “Halting problem,” proved undecidable in the 1930s. The Terminator tool piloted a new approach to the problem which is popular now, based on the idea of incrementally improving the best guess for a proof based on failed proof attempts. This was the first known approach capable of scaling termination proving to industrial problems. My colleagues and I used Terminator to find bugs in device drivers that could cause operating systems to become unresponsive. We found many bugs in device drivers that ran keyboards, mice, network devices, and video cards. The Terminator tool was also the basis of BioModelAnaylzer. It turns out that there’s a connection between diseases like Leukemia and the Halting problem: Leukemia is a termination bug in the genetic-regulatory pathways in your blood. You can think of it in the same way you think of a device driver that’s stuck in an infinite loop, causing your computer to freeze. My tools helped answer fundamental questions that no tool could solve before. Several pharmaceutical companies use BioModelAnaylzer today to understand disease and find new treatment options. And these days, there is an annual international competition with many termination provers that are much better than the Terminator. I think that this is what Royal Academy is talking about when they say I moved the area from “academic hypothesis to mechanized industrial reality.”

I have also worked on problems related to the question of P=NP, the most famous open problem in computing theory. From 2000-2006, I built tools that made NP feel equal to P in certain limited circumstances to try and understand the problem better. Then I focused on circumstances that aligned with important industrial problems, like proving the absence of bugs in microprocessors, flight control software, telecommunications systems, and railway control systems. These days the tools in this space are incredibly powerful. You should check out the software tools CVC4 or Z3.

And, of course, there’s my work with the Automated Reasoning Group, where I’ve built a team of domain experts that develop and apply formal verification tools to a wide variety of problems, helping make the cloud more secure. We have built tools that automatically reason about the semantics of policies, networks, cryptography, virtualization, etc. We reason about the implementation of Amazon Web Services (AWS) itself, and we’ve built tools that help customers prove the correctness of their AWS-based implementations.

Could you go into a bit more detail about how this work connects to Amazon and its customers?

AWS provides cloud services globally. Cloud is shorthand for on-demand access to IT resources such as compute, storage, and analytics via the Internet with pay-as-you-go pricing. AWS has a wide variety of customers, ranging from individuals to the largest enterprises, and practically all industries. My group develops mathematical proof tools that help make AWS more secure, and helps AWS customers understand how to build in the cloud more securely.

I first became an AWS customer myself when building BioModelAnaylzer. AWS allowed us working on this project to solve major scientific challenges (see this Nature Scientific Report for an example) using very large datacenters, but without having to buy the machines, maintain the machines, maintain the rooms that the machines would sit in, the A/C system that would keep them cool, etc. I was also able to easily provide our customers with access to the tool via the cloud, because it’s all over the internet. I just pointed people to the end-point on the internet and, presto, they were using the tool. About 5 years before developing BioModelAnalyzer, I was developing proof tools for device drivers and I gave a demo of the tool to my executive leadership. At the end of the demo, I was asked if 5,000 machines would help us do more proofs. Computationally, the answer was an obvious “yes,” but then I thought a minute about the amount of overhead required to manage a fleet of 5,000 machines and reluctantly replied “No, but thank you very much for the offer!” With AWS, it’s not even a question. Anyone with an Amazon account can provision 5,000 machines for practically nothing. In less than 5 minutes, you can be up and running and computing with thousands of machines.

What I love about working at AWS is that I can focus a very small team on proving the correctness of some aspect of AWS (for example, the cryptography) and, because of the size and importance of the customer base, we make much of the world meaningfully more secure. Just to name a few examples: s2n (the Amazon TLS implementation); the AWS Key Management Service (KMS), which allows customers to securely store crypto keys; and networking extensions to the IoT operating system Amazon FreeRTOS, which customers use to link cloud to IoT devices, such as robots in factories. We also focus on delivering service features that help customers prove the correctness of their AWS-based implementations. One example is Tiros, which powers a network reachability feature in Amazon Inspector. Another example is Zelkova, which powers features in services such as Amazon S3, AWS Config, and AWS IoT Device Defender.

When I think of mathematical logic I think of obscure theory and messy blackboards, not practical application. But it sounds like you’ve managed to balance the tension between theory and practical industrial problems?

I think that this is a common theme that great scientists don’t often talk about. Alan Turing, for example, did his best work during the war. John Snow, who made fundamental contributions to our understanding of germs and epidemics, did his greatest work while trying to figure out why people were dying in the streets of London. Christopher Stratchey, one of the founders of our field, wrote:

“It has long been my personal view that the separation of practical and theoretical work is artificial and injurious. Much of the practical work done in computing, both in software and in hardware design, is unsound and clumsy because the people who do it have not any clear understanding of the fundamental design principles in their work. Most of the abstract mathematical and theoretical work is sterile because it has no point of contact with real computing.”

Throughout my career, I’ve been at the intersection of practical and theoretical. In the early days, this was driven by necessity: I had two children during my PhD and, frankly, I needed the money. But I soon realized that my deep connection to real engineering problems was an advantage and not a disadvantage, and I’ve tried through the rest of my career to stay in that hot spot of commercially applicable problems while tackling abstract mathematical topics.

What’s next for you? For the Automated Reasoning Group? For your scientific field?

The Royal Academy of Engineering kindly said that I’ve brought “this field from academic hypothesis to mechanized industrial reality.” That’s perhaps true, but we are very far from done: it’s not yet an industrial standard. The full power of automated reasoning is not yet available to everyone because today’s tools are either difficult to use or weak. The engineering challenge is to make them both powerful and easy to use. With that I believe that they’ll become a key part of every software engineer’s daily routine. What excites me is that I believe that Amazon has a lot to teach me about how to operationalize the impossible. That’s what Amazon has done over and over again. That’s why I’m at Amazon today. I want to see these proof techniques operating automatically at Amazon scale.

Links: • Provable security webpage • Lecture: Fundamentals for Provable Security at AWS • Lecture: The evolution of Provable Security at AWS • Lecture: Automating compliance verification using provable security • Lecture: Byron speaks about Terminator at University of Colorado • https://biomodelanalyzer.org/

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Go to Source Author: Supriya Anand AWS Security Profile: Byron Cook, Director of the AWS Automated Reasoning Group Original Post from Amazon Security Author: Supriya Anand Byron Cook leads the AWS Automated Reasoning Group…

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