#Beetle Baby Yoda

[don-lichterman]

Man of Steel 2, Wonder Woman 3, Alita: Battle Angel 2... KinoCheck News

Man of Steel 2, Wonder Woman 3, Alita: Battle Angel 2… KinoCheck News

This time in the #KinoCheckNews “Alita: Battle Angel 2”, “The Mandalorian Season 3”, “Wonder-Woman 3”, “Man of Steel 2”, “Aquaman and The Lost Kingdom”, “Black Adam 2”, “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse”, “Blue Beetle” etc.| Subscribe ➤ https://abo.yt/ki | 2022 Movie News Show | More News https://KinoCheck.com/news 00:00 Alita: Battle Angel 2 When “Alita: Battle Angel” was released in 2019,…

[thenightling]

Oh, Tim Burton, what have you done? You've... you've conjured Beetlejuice-Mania!

"And who can forget Beetlemania!" - That is a line from the Beetlejuice animated series episode Critter Sitters when Beetlejuice was on trial in The Neither World. The "i" is in there on purpose. In the cartoon it's Neither, not Nether. And it's the "knee" pronunciation. Some of you Youtubers give yourselves away as having not really watched the show when you pronounce it as "Ny-ther." When this line was said in the episode one imagines the Beatlemania (60s Beatles craze) pun was in regard to Beetlejuice unleashing a swarm of beetles. But now... Beetlejuice is ridiculously trendy. It probably won't last since it's a pre-Halloween trend and burning pretty bright. Very intense fads tend to die out quickly. But I'll ride it while it's here. Sure, there was a borage of marketing tie-ins like Carmax and Secret woman's full-body deodorant (Strange to make that Beetlejuice related but okay...) Or Fanta's "Haunted Apple" soda. But now... Now I'm seeing Beetlejuice content everywhere. Those just discovering the Beetlejuice animated series because it went to Tubi (for free) last week are now writing Beetlejuice / Lydia fan fics and shipping the healthy friendship version of the characters. At least five different companies are making dolls of "Baby Beetlejuice" (sometimes called "Baby Juice" to be extra gross about it). NECA has the life-sized prop replica version. Living Dead Dolls has the distinction of selling their chibi Beetlejuice first. There are several plushies for sale on Amazon, Walmart, and other sites.

I even spotted an officially licensed action figure of the Beetlejuice depiction from the Beetlejuice animated series. Nine-year-old me would have killed for that. Whoever decided to release baby dolls of Beetlejuice around the same time as the movie wisely paid attention to Disney's fumble with baby Grogu (Baby Yoda) when the Mandalorian was first released and the doll was nearly impossible to find at first. I never thought the hot toy (or at least in the top ten) this holiday season might be a baby doll of Beetlejuice.

Honestly, I don't think Beetlejuice was this popular IN 1988. Beetlejuice and The Sandman (Now a Netflix series and also originally from 1988 source material) are (with Wednesday, the Addams Family spin-off) accidentally rousing a new generation of Baby Bats (Young Goths) and it's adorable. I, for one, welcome our 80s / early 90s Goth Over-Lords. :-P

[dg-outlaw]

Blue Beetle - Movie Review

Finally got to see this on HBO Max... yes, "MAX" we still think of you as HBO just as Grogu is still Baby Yoda. Deal with it.

So, back to 'Blue Beetle'.

Long review, short, I thoroughly enjoyed this movie and think it's one of DC's best in their quasi-DCEU/not DCEU or whatever is going on with WB and the DC movies these days. From what I understand, James Gunn/WB is not scrapping everything from the Snyder-verse/DCEU, but changes are coming and there's rumor that this iteration of Jaime Reyes/Blue Beetle will stick around and I really hope so. I also think it helps that there were no character cameos in the film, only mentions of heroes like Superman, Batman, etc. so this Blue Beetle could easily be folded into the upcoming Gunn-verse.

As a latino I'm both ashamed to say I don't know much about Jaime Reyes' Blue Beetle outside of his appearances on the 'Young Justice' animated series, but I was also excited to see him on the big screen (metaphorically) and plan to go back and check out his comics.

I won't do a random synopsis as you can easily hit up a Youtube trailer or read an IMDb blurb to get that info, but I will talk about some of things I really enjoyed about this film. Warning: Slight Spoiler's ahead.

First off, this was overall a well-polished, well-written, directed, acted, and enjoyable film. The CGI was CGI, but it never felt janky and I could see the attention to detail in a lot of the VFX work, even with Jaime's practical Blue Beetle suit. I also truly appreciated that this film took risks and didn't shy away from taking those risks, creating stakes and sometimes following through, and addressing certain cultural and socio-economic subject matter without being preachy. In some ways I compare it to the MCU's 'Black Panther' in tackling the cultural and socio-economic things that mainstream, especially Disney, often tries to shy away from.

While 'Blue Beetle' isn't as serious in tone as 'Black Panther' there were several moments in the film where you knew that the writer and director had some creative leeway as opposed to having lots of studio oversight, just as Ryan Coogler had in the first 'Black Panther' film. I'm not sure if this is because WB wasn't paying attention because the DCEU was dying off or if they were somehow convinced to let the creators do their thing.

There were also so many moments where my Hollywood Blockbuster/MCU-trained brain said, "now is where they pull away from the hard moment, make a joke to pull away from a real emotion, or water down the stakes", but that didn't happen in this film. Yes, it was funny throughout, and jokes were made to lighten the mood where appropriate, but it was never at a disservice to the story or the characters. There were no moments where I felt like some director/screenwriter/studio-exec was getting embarrassed because it's a superhero movie so [insert Whedon-esque quip here] to avoid showing feelings.

Plus, you had George Lopez bringing his well-known loud, wild humor as the conspiracy theory spouting, 1% hating, mad-scientist Uncle Rudy, but if anything I think he was needed to give light to a story that potential to be really dark and sad at times. This is not to say there weren't moments that tugged at your heartstrings and made you feel or think. This movie went there because yes, we can think it's cheesy because it's just a superhero movie, but in-universe these events are reality for the characters and I think other superhero movies need to remember that. This was really well done in the first transformation scene of Jaime into the Blue Beetle as it started with light humor and slowly morphed into an almost horror-film like scene. There was no gore, but you felt the terror that Jaime and his family were feeling by watching things unfold. We, as the audience know what's going on, but for him and the family, the shit was hitting the fan and they didn't know what was going on.

Honestly, I didn't know what to expect from this film. Having recently watched Shazam 2, which I thought was really funny and better than the first, but also forgettable and the Flash movie (which I also thought was fun but forgettable), I just expected more popcorn fun--the last sugary drops of the DCEU slushie before the Gunn-verse got underway. What I recalled about the trailers and vague reviews about this film was that it was a fun superhero movie that focused heavily on family.

But unlike the popcorn, turn your brain off and enjoy chaos of the Fast franchise, it didn't require Vin Diesel, 30 movies, and an endless string of memes to drill that concept into your head. Yes, Jaime Reyes is the hero in the film, but it's the collective efforts and support of his family that ends up helping him win in the end and it's what gave the movie heart.

This is also not meant to take away from Xolo Maridueña's performance as Jaime Reyes as the hero, an actor I've enjoyed since first seeing him on the Netflix series 'Cobra Kai'. Just like in 'Cobra Kai', I continue to enjoy his almost innocent boyish charm, shyness, and vulnerability he exudes on-screen. In some ways his character and performance remind me of Tom Holland's Spider-Man as just this kid trying to do the right thing, but is totally in over his head as a teen superhero (even though Jaime is a recent college grad from Gotham U). And just like Peter Park, Jaime didn't ask to be a hero and had no real aspirations for being a hero, other than to his family, but in the end he stepped up. This was not for cool points, though Jaime eventually learned to embrace the scarab's many cool powers, but because he knew it was the right thing to do. And yes, Mr. Vin Diesel, because of family.

I could go on and on about all the cultural moments and subject matter addressed in this film that I thought was really brave and refreshing in a superhero movie, but I won't as that's a giant article in it of itself. But I honestly think Disney/Marvel could take some pointers here as they often pull away just as they are about to get there. Also, no hate on MCU. There are many of the MCU films I enjoy, but the overall formula hasn't gotten tired and needs a revamp. Again, another post for another day, but just putting in a BIPOC, female, or LGBTQ character in a movie doesn't make it good and marketable. And no, we don't need PSA sob-story movies beaten into our heads, but what does it mean to be part of a marginalized community and be a hero? What does that look like? What different perspective does that character bring to the table?

In the end, yes, enjoy 'Blue Beetle' as a superhero movie, but also keep an eye out for the smaller messages and heart of this film as it was a delightful surprise for me. I hope we get to see more Blue Beetle in the future of DC films and I'd even be down for a live-action adaptation of 'Young Justice', with Jaime on the team.

[terrible-star-wars-crossovers]

Star Wars Kubo and the Two Strings AU: Luke is kubo (obviously) Padme is Monkey, and the Moon King is Vader. (And who you might ask is Beetle if Vader is the Moon King? Well, tis a clone of Anakin of course... let me explain)

It starts out pretty similar to the end of ROTS. Anakin falls and becomes Vader- though in this version he kills palpatine and becones emperor. The duel on mustafar happens, though Vader beats Obi-wan, but is still severely injured. Padme meanwhile flees mustafar and has the twins on Polis Masa. Padme lives, and while debating what to do next with Bail and Yoda, Polis Masa is attacked by Vader, who is determined to get his wife and child (he's unaware there are twins) back. During the chaos, Padme ends up escaping with Luke while Bail escapes with Leia.

Vader, of course, follows the ship with Padme on it and after a brief confrontation in which baby Luke looses his hand because of Vader, Padme gives up on him. SHe manages to Fake her and Lukes deaths by making vader think their ship blew up, when reality it slipped into hyperspace. They end up crashing on Tattooine and Padme injures her head.

12 years later, Luke and Padme are still on Tattoine in a small house in the wastes. Due to her head injury when they crashed, Padmes mind has slowly deteriorated and spends most of her days catatonic. So every day, Luke goes out to Mos Eisley and earns a living by doing repair work and telling stories of the hero without fear that his mother told him in her bouts of lucidity. Luke knows about and can use the force to some degree, though Padme tells him never to use his abilities, lest it attracts the attention of The Emperor and his Inquisitors. (In this Au, Luke knows Vader is his father, but he idolises the man he was- the man his mother fell in love with and can't help but wonder if anakin still exists deep down.)

One day, Inquisitors arrive on Tattooine and Luke being Luke, ends up revealing his identity and abilities while defending one of the locals, which causes vader to sense him a Galaxy away. Padme, in a bout of lucidity, manages to fend off said Inquisitors and the pair flee Tattoine. Padme then says they must find Master yoda in order to train luke, as that is the only way to protect him now emperor vader knows he is alive. They follow a trail of clues accriss the Galaxy, but it is slow going as Padme's bouts of lucidity only last a few hours and Luke is reluctant to search without her.

Eventually, the pair end up on Kamino, where they come across a man who claims to be a Jedi but doesn't remember much and can't use the force. One of the few things he does remember, however, is Anakin- who he claims to owe a life debt to and he vows to protect and serve Luke, as he is the son of Skywalker. Padme is skeptical, but Luke says that they need all the help they can get Besides both of them find there is something familar about the man.

The trio continue on in their quest accross the Galaxy, hunting for clues and digging Inquisitors. As they travel, the man -who decides to simply be known as Jedi, starts to bond with luke and teaches him how to use a lightsaber and his force abilities (Despite Jedi seemingly not having powers himself, he is knowledgeable in how to harness them and is pretty damn good with a lightsaber.) Padme also bonds with jedi and asks him to care for luke when she is gone and when it is all over, to help Luke find his sister.

As all of this is happening, Luke dreams about Anakin (spoiler, they aren't just dreams and it is Vader is pretending to be Anakin) who tells him Yoda is at the ruins of Polis Masa. The trio go, but end up being caught by the Inquisitors. They reveal Yoda has been dead for 12 years and their quest was in vain. They also reveal that Jedi to be a clone of Anakin (Early in his reign, Emperor Vader was desperate to find a way to make his body whole again and resorted to cloning. The experiments failed and the facilities were abandoned, leaving only one Clone (why Padme didn't reconize him? Rapid aging plus 10 years of isolation can wreck a man's appearance.) ) The trio manahe to beat the Inquisitors, though Padme and Jedi/Clone Anakin end up dying in the process.

Luke then leaves, determined to confront the Emperor, his father....

[kylosbreedingkink]

Zoo au characters, and if you're feeling adventurous and achieving, drama between them, please? Normally I'd want to hear about Kylo (always), but I'm struck by Hux being pedantic about beetles. Also what's Poe doing? My cousins both work at a zoo so I'd love to see what they think about all this. They're nerds too.

So animal management at the zoo is split into 2 main sections with smaller within that. Thoe are LVI & Birds, and then mammals. LVI is reptiles, amphibs, inverts, etc and stands for lower vertebrate and invertebrates. This is the first time I'm writing some of this down so there may be some changes to what i've said before. Notably I put the KoR as maintenance but not anymore. It's long so rest under the cut

Kylo: Nepotism baby got an easy zoo internship because at the time his uncle was the assistant curator of mammals and his mother headed the education department. Some people hate him because of this. Zookeeping is not an easy industry to get into and he just walked in like he was owed the world. His internship was on the mammal section, focusing directly under Luke on the large carnivores. An incredibly boring section as everyone knows the small carnivores are where the interesting things happen. All big cats have going for them is that they're big. When he finished his placement, a role was created for him as the new primary keeper of the big cats. He turned it down. He instead walked straight into a job on the LVI & Birds section under curator Snoke. Turns out he had been spending his days off and his break times with Snoke, learning aviculture, and had become enamored with birds. Luke was not happy. Hux was not happy either as Snoke is currently without an assistant curator and it seems like he's grooming Kylo for the position even though Hux has been working for him for years. With him on the bird section (There's a lot of birds. Snoke likes his birds) he has some of the knights of ren. There's more of them in spring and summer to help man the bird walkthroughs and deal with the increased workload bird sections have then. Basically there's a strange overlap between the bird keeper section and animal training, even though the birds under snoke receive little to no training (Snoke doesn't deem it necessary for husbandry). Kylo himself goes over to animal training a few times a week, but not to train any animals, and always during his lunch breaks. Ren: Head of animal training/the show. He's kinda off on his own not under the jurisdiction of either curatorship, but works with them. Mostly enjoys the birds of prey and flying those. He is never seen without his falconer glove even when he's training ducks. Flirts with everyone and anyone. Once tried to bag both Luke and Leia at the same time. Luke seemed keen but Leia slapped him. It's ok though, he had Han and Luke when Leia and he were 'on a break'. He also had that big eyed son of hers. Multiple times. The kid's clingy but he's good for getting Rens dick wet. Luke: When Kylo started his internship he was the assistant curator/senior keeper of large carnivores. Not long after the internship was finished, Luke was promoted to curator of mammals as his predecessor (Yoda) retired. He holds resentment for Kylo ruining his big plans for him, where he would be curator and in a few years his nephew the assistant curator under him. Kylo had a knack for the job and Luke thought he was genuinely interested, just for Kylo to walk right over to the other curators section without any prior warning (As far as he knew.. Selective vision, everyone else saw him helping out on the birds whenever he wasn't with the cats) Luke I have working with big cats because I really think big cat keepers are boring. Not as bad as elephant keepers, but still up there with the boring and the big ego. Luke is just incredibly boring to me. It literally won't let me post more than this which is ??? as i see other people with stupid long posts and not even a cut like all the time zzz. I'll do more in a subsequent post.

[fanficsforheartandsoul]

GREMLIN AU

@smhalltheurlsaretaken has motivated me to draw some Grandpa Yoda stuff and god, I just came up with some new things that are definitely canon now because I decided so, don’t @ me. 

Also I don’t give a shit about canon in general, Yoda is a grumpy gremlin now, whose ears are like Stitch’s from Lilo & Stitch, and the clones are his sons. End of discussion. 

Grumpy Grandpa Yoda™ living with his children who take care of him later, they age like normal people and it’s just a happy funny family AU:

Yoda lives with 10 clones he was able to save on Dagobah

There’s a lot of mud and swampy stuff and creatures and the clones HATE IT

At least at the beginning, later the begin to love it and I can guarantee you there are sooooo many mud fights - Yoda disapproves

Yoda takes Commander Gree, Draa and Buzz (Doesn’t make any sense I know but who cares bitch) and other soldiers from the 41st Stormtrooper Legion with him

Hades, Ace, Eli, Beetle, Fox, Rook and Essi 

together with the other three and the gremlin they build a big family

they build some rather crude houses but there not exactly architects, right?

Later, they get better and all of the clones have an individual hut

The distance between the clones and the former grandmaster of the Jedi order seems like a giant canyon at the beginning and they call Yoda “Sir” for a few years

until the clones play a game of truth or dare and one of them is dared to make the Jedi change his sad demeanor for once

Yes, they play games

A lot actually

It’s like they’re finally having their childhood and puberty although the look like adults

imagine 10 grown ass men racing through the swamps of Dagobah

The Jedi has been mourning for the Jedi, the knights, the padawans, the younglings for a long time and the clones know

They see the absent-minded gremlin stare outside the window and they feel sad too

after all they do know how it feels to loose trusted friends and companions although not in that big capacity like the Jedi purge

But well back to the dare 

one of the clones, Ace, is seriously thinking about how to make the little dude smile or at least shock him and he’s wracking his brain because never before has he seen the Jedi master surprised

so how is he gonna do it?

one evening, after everyone went to bed and the Jedi draped the bed sheets over him with the help of the force, he has an image before his eyes

and the next morning when there’s a heated discussion over who becomes the last jelly pudding, Ace blurts out “Grandpa should decide!”

and everyone just stops

Grell who gave Buzz a head nut is just turning and looking at him

Draa paused his spoon mid air, mouth wide open

Hades and Fox just blink, the latter still in a headlock

Eli almost dies because he choked on his milk

The other three who dozed at the table are suddenly wide awake

and then a voice says: “The pudding, Rook should get” and all heads turn

Master Yoda is smiling softly and the bois suddenly have the feeling of “must protect this gremlin” and from that they on they just call him “Grandpa”

Not without teasing Ace to death first, obviously

A lot of jokes get thrown around

“Now that I think about it, I see the resemblance.” “We have the same face, you idiot.” 

Only Grell is a hesitating and just calls him “Yoda” but secretly he likes to say it too

They wear their armor for a long time before they finally take it off, mainly because they’re scared of the Empire finding them 

They want to be ready for battle any time

But then Yoda takes off his Jedi robes and the boys gradually relax and take of their helmets and armor too

Now the get stung a lot by mosquitos

And the bois discover that the gremlin likes to eat a lot of disgusting things

But the mosquito problem gets solved so no one is complaining

Yoda changes a lot

He shows his emotions more and sometimes even loses his patience

His walking stick becomes a weapon for head nuts

Grell gets a lot of them because he always tries to help him but

“Not that old, I am, boy!” 

“Alone, I could’ve done that, Grell.”

He plays with the bois

The often play a ball game where Yoda lets the ball float and the guys try to catch it without being hit in the face

The current count is 142 to 19 with Grandpa clearly winning

Rook is a fucking sewing machine and they soon get to wear custom clothes

He knits a super long and super heavy scarf for Yoda because he “worries that Grandpa will be cold in the winter”

The scarf is literally 3 meters long and I guarantee you that the clones have to unwrap him like toilet paper every evening

Rook is right, Yoda is cold in winter and his bones hurt a lot more

One time Yoda forgot his walking stick and Buzz just straight up holds his hand and walks with him like a toddler

Few years later, when he’s even older and a little wobbly on his feet, Fox and Eli like to carry him around on their backs

Beetle, the absolute crackhead, carries him like a baby

Grandpa always complains but he secretly likes it because the child isn’t a stone hard washboard like the others

They send holograms to Obi-Wan, the responsible uncle and Hades’ beard role model, and the Jedi has questioned the gremlin’s choices so many times already because of the weird ass pictures

Obi-Wan sends them holograms of little Luke in return and the bois are LIVID, because “OUR COUSIN, LOOK AT HIM WADDLE, GUYS”

The clones and Yoda go on holiday trips - which are basically just visiting another swamp on Dagobah

So many puns and inside jokes

“WHAT are you doing in my swamp?”

“GET OUT OF MY SWAMP!”

Laughing

so much laughing

And dirty jokes

Only out of Yoda’s earshot though

The boys grow up, ok?

Eli is good at drawing

He’s the one who painted most of their armor and their battle ships

But for Sith’s sakes he can’t draw Yoda at all

His pictures still hang on the fridge tho

And all kinds of other stuff hangs there too

Yoda’s hut has all sorts of trinkets everywhere

All of them were gifted to him by the boys and some of them are just some sort of weird metal that “looked shiny or nice”

But the Grandpa loves them SO MUCH

When Yoda gets older, his hearing gets a lot worse and his ear muscles deteriorate which is why he’s constantly walking around with flabby ears

The boys have to repeat their sentences 

When the gremlin doesn’t like what he’s hearing he’s just pretending he can’t understand them but Grell KNOWS

When he meditates too long or sits too long without eating, the boys force him to eat something

mostly frogs - he likes them a lot

They make sure he brushes his teeth because that frog smell nasty

and they brush his hair, but it’s mostly Grell because he can ignore the gremlin’s attitude when it comes to taking care of himself

Yoda makes Obi-Wan send pictures of some locals on Tatooine, trying to subtly set the boys up

They aren’t Jedi after all

A little happiness, they deserve, hoho

The boys find it funny but never try to contact the person because it’s too dangerous

This makes Yoda sure that half of them are gay

Not that he minded

They just have an embarrassing talk about the bees, and Adam and Steve

And he’s telling them the story of “Jal and Argo” some members of his species he met on a little moon and yada yada yada

MAKER, he loves to tell stories

The ears of the clones almost start to bleed, he talks so long and loud - he can’t hear his voice properly sometimes and starts to randomly YELL

But they like to listen, although half of them are always asleep at the end

and receive head buts when grumpy Grandpa notices

But he never hits them hard, especially not Beetle

He seriously worries about that guy

“make sure he doesn't lose any more brain cells, I have to”

But the clone’s head is really hard so might as well be fine

BONUS: ugly ass 10 minute sketches

YODA’S SPECIES HAS THE CAPABILITY TO MOVE THEIR EARS LIKE STITCH, I DON’T ACCEPT ANYTHING ELSE

[jasontoddiefor]

settle down Home is where you have a warm bed and a warm meal. Naturally, it follows that as the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, Yoda likes to cook for the many people in his care. Or: Five times Yoda cooks for somebody and one time someone cooks for him.

Yoda had been looking forward to this year’s Convergence. He had been sure that this time around, he would have one less Padawan and one more Knight to his lineage, and indeed, Obi-Wan had become a great Knight. Yoda just wished the price hadn’t been so high. He had lost Qui-Gon and Dooku both within weeks. He had kept watch over Dooku’s growing distance to the Order with wary eyes, but his former Padawan was an adult, an old man almost already, and Yoda hadn’t wanted to pretend he held any kind of sway over him. Now he wished he would have pressed for Dooku to stay a little longer. Perhaps meeting Obi-Wan and Anakin properly would have been enough to keep him with the Order. Yoda was sad to see his Padawan go, but he could not linger. He was sure Dooku was going to encourage growth and kindness on his homeworld.

Deep in thought, he walked to the kitchen and opened his fridge. He was supposed to spend the Convergence with the lineage of a Padawan who had died already a hundred years ago. Yoda had made it a habit to spend every year with a different branch of his family, but this year’s circumstances forced him to switch around his cycle a little. He was glad Feemor had reached out to Obi-Wan. The two would benefit from supporting one another and little Anakin Skywalker could learn a lot from Feemor’s Padawan. However, Yoda felt like he might add a little to the situation. See for himself how they were doing.

He took the roots, vegetables, and beetles he usually used for this meal out of the fridge. He had gone to the kitchens just this morning to get them all to be sure he had enough for everyone. He knew his stew was not the favorite amongst the human members of his lineages, but it was tradition.  Perhaps Anakin would like it. When he had met the boy in the kitchens, he had been complaining about the lack of sunbeetles for the meal he was going to prepare.

Setting the items on the kitchen counter, Yoda took a knife out of a drawer and began to cut them all up.

X

“Hello, younglings,” Yoda greeted the excited children. They were all vibrating with joy, so much that the Senior Padawan in charge of them looked a little nervous at their bouncing.

“Hello, Master Yoda,” the children greeted him in turn. “What are we going to make today?”

Yoda hummed as he led the group to the kitchens. They were all of various ages, the youngest being a four-year-old Togruta child and the oldest an eleven-year-old Mon Calamari boy. He would have to make something simple with them so that all could be included in the process.

Scanning the group of eight, Yoda noted that they didn’t have a single avian child amongst them. Well, that made his decision easier.

“Firecracker cookies, eaten those before have you?”

The Senior Padawan paled considerably and looked at Yoda as if he had just cursed him to eternal darkness. The Grandmaster cackled. The teenager must have tasted the Mandalorian delicacy once then.

A human child shook their head. “No. Are they tasty?”

“Very,” Yoda confirmed. “Do not offer them to avian species. Eat them, they can not. Too spicy they are for their stomachs.”

Now the Padawan actually let out a desperate whimper and Yoda couldn’t help but laugh out loud. This was bound to be a fun lesson for everyone involved.

X

Yoda had expected many things from the war and was sad how many of his predictions had come true. The bloodshed was gruesome, painful, and feeling so many sentients die around him was worse than anything he had ever experienced before, except, perhaps, reaching out for his Padawan and finding darkness where there once was light. It weighted heavily on his soul and he could only hope that the many Padawans dispersed around the galaxy had as much support as they needed. They had argued so much about whether to let their children fight, but if this war were to escalate, become even longer and harsher, they had to make sure that the next generation could survive it, that there would be a next generation to raise the one after and so on. Yoda did not expect to survive the end of the war, but he was old already, much older than his species usually became. He had seen much of the world and could pass on peacefully, knowing he had given as much as he could.

And all of it for those who would come after.

“Like you, hm?” Yoda asked the baby resting peacefully in his arms now. They had found the girl amongst the wreckage of another battlefield, her parents dead.

She had not been crying, had likely stopped days ago when she noticed that nobody was coming. The poor baby had only still been hurting in the Force, a wound as large and terrific as an exploding star.

The little Twi’lek looked at him with her dark green eyes, entirely focused as she sucked at the bottle. It was good that they were due for another stop at Coruscant. He could bring her to the creche and there they could provide her with more than the scrapped together milk they had found in her bombed home.

“A great Jedi will you be,” Yoda told her and gently caressed her cheek. “Strong and wise and a little troublesome, yes.”

The baby didn’t reply, she was hardly half a year old, a little too young for the creche actually but nothing they hadn’t mastered before. Yoda could feel her warmth however, that she was content and felt safe.

And that was the most important part.

X

“So, what’s for dinner?” asked Tekel, one of the newer troopers. Their armor was still too white and pristine for their brothers’ liking, but Yoda was sure they’d earn a few scratches soon, perhaps even add more paint. “Ration bars or ration bars or ration bars but already too old to actually be served as food?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” another brother replied and knocked against the young trooper’s shoulder as he made his way towards the campfire. “Never heard that one before.”

Yoda observed them fondly. They reminded him of the groups of Padawans hanging around the mess hall, joking and laughing and making fun of one another. The men certainly weren’t much older than the children Yoda had watched grow up. It would be more accurate actually to say they were younger given their accelerated aging. It was a blessing that they wouldn’t also grow old twice as fast unless they had a genetic mutation.

“Eat ration bars tonight, we will not,” Yoda decided.

His men turned to him with curious looks in their eyes. “We won’t? Did we get a shipment of something else?”

Their weapons and tactical training were impeccable, but you couldn’t forget that they had been raised in a sterile environment. Some of the finer elements of nature still eluded them.

“Pah! Mandalorian, your prime was, was he not? Part of our Order are you not? Smart hunters you are and full of life this planet is. Eat properly we will tonight.”

With that announcement, still keeping a serious face, Yoda walked into the woods on silent feet, his men quickly hurrying after him. They made too much noise at first, but quickly learned to walk as silently as he. It made Yoda wonder about their potential. Tekel especially was strong in the Force. He called it good instincts, but Yoda had not been born a fool. They didn’t have the equipment to test of Midichlorians, but good Jedi didn’t need those to know how strong their opposite was. He shouldn’t be a soldier, but a Jedi. None of his men should be forced to fight.

“I got one!” Tekel shouted after a while, victoriously holding up one of the local animals, a small round ball of fluff.

“Good, good,” Yoda praised. “Teach you how to cook it I will next.”

Tekel and their brothers exchanged a slightly worried look.

“Wait, what?”

X

Yoda loved the galaxy. It was bright and vibrant and there were so many things to see, explore and discover, but if he ever had to pick a space to spend the rest of his life in, it would most certainly be the temple. It was his home, where he had grown up and raised countless children, seen them grow into great Masters, surpassing him in the fraction of time it had taken him to learn. He was proud of all of them and was ashamed he could not lessen their burden more. They looked to him for answers about the war, deployments and battle strategy and hundred more things Yoda could not help them with.

This one thing, however, Yoda could do for them.

“Take another, you should,” Yoda said and held his plate out.

Before the council meeting, Yoda had made plenty of snacks for all the Council members currently stationed at the temple. They were due for another dusk-to-dawn meeting and Yoda knew very well how quick all of them were to neglect their own needs.

Mace politely raised his hands to decline the offer.

“Thank you, Master Yoda, but that one sandwich was enough for me.”

Yoda huffed and shook the plate slightly.

“Knew you as a youngling, I did. Never ate well then you did either, always causing your Master headaches. Have a biscuit, Mace.”

The other Master stared at the plate for a moment linger, than he admitted defeat and took a cookie from it. Yoda was pleased to notice that Mace, while giving his speech on troops currently stuck in the Outer Rim, took another cookie every few minutes.

Younglings shouldn’t protest so much, Yoda did know what was good for them

X

Yoda awoke to the smell of tea and breakfast. It was most unusual, as he was the one who made breakfast as he got up hours before his Padawan. The old Master got dressed and stepped out of his rooms and into the kitchen where, indeed, his Padawan was leaning over an old handwritten notebook, trying to decipher the instruction.

“Three tablespoons of cinnamon? That’s too much,” Dooku muttered under his breath. “Who puts three tablespoons of that stuff in pancakes?”

“Put this much cinnamon in my pancakes, I do, Padawan mine,” Yoda spoke up.

Dooku let out a quite undignified shriek and almost knocked over the chair standing behind him as he took a step back.

“Master!” Dooku complained. “Why are you up already?”

“Asking you this, I should be,” Yoda replied and sat down on his chair at their table.

If his Padawan had decided to make breakfast, Yoda was not going to stop him.

“Weeeeeell,” Dooku scratched the back of his head, his cheeks glowing red. The youngling was quite cute even now that his voice was beginning to crack. “It’s your life day, Master. I figured I should cook for you for once.”

Yoda smiled. “A meal, appreciate greatly I do.”

Dooku grinned back with youthful enthusiasm and went to retrieve his spoon from the batter. “So, three tablespoons of cinnamon?”

“Three tablespoons.”

In silence, Yoda watched his Padawan cook for him and imagined a future where he would get to see his young student cook for his entire lineage. They still had a while until then, but Yoda was sure it would be a sight to behold.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

What the Water Gave Me

Happy holidays, @gryvon!  And thank you to @stetersecretsanta​ for putting this all together! 

You can also check it out here on AO3: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876028

A run in with a rusalka leaves Detective Stiles Stilinski with a crippling fear of the water. And help comes from an unexpected quarter.

Or, that time Stiles hates Peter Hale, right up until he doesn't.

What the Water Gave Me

“I don’t like him,” Stiles says.

“I don’t even know why you think your opinion matters here, kiddo,” John replies as he tips a jar of salsa into a serving dish because, yeah, that’s about as classy as things get around chez Stilinski. “This is my weekly poker game, and I can invite whoever I damn well please.”

Stiles growls.

He’s not proud of it, but he growls.

“By the sound of that, I’m not the one who’s been spending too much time hanging out with werewolves,” John says. “And you and Derek…?”

“Are me and Derek what?” Stiles asks, and then mentally backpedals. “No, don’t answer that. Me and Derek have never been and are never going to be a thing, okay?”

Stiles and Derek are bros. There was some awkwardness there when Stiles was pubescent and drowning in hormones, but he’s over it now. He’s not sure that Derek ever will be, because at the same time Stiles was at the mercy of his raging hormones he was also at the mercy of his raging nascent spark, and he might have maybe magicked all of Derek’s clothes off him this one time. To be fair to Stiles, it was a total accident, but Derek’s never really forgiven him. To be fair to Derek, it was in Whole Foods.

Not all of Stiles’s memories of his spark in those formative years make him laugh. Magic is... magic can be terrifying. As someone who lives with it in his bones, Stiles would rather not dwell on that. It’s much easier to think of Derek’s pale naked ass and chortle.

But no, Stiles and Derek are bros. Stiles likes Derek. He does not like his asshole of an uncle, Peter, with his expensive suits, his smirk, and his habit of looking at Stiles like he’s some sort of interesting and slightly gross scientific specimen: Gentlemen, the dung beetle.

And it doesn’t help that Peter Hale is Beacon Hills’ foremost attorney. Defense attorney. How John can even bear to have him in the house is a total mystery to Stiles. Peter’s life’s work is literally to screw John. In a professional way, not a fun one, because ew. Point is, Peter is the enemy.

His dad should not be inviting the enemy to poker games.

John lifts an unimpressed eyebrow at the expression on Stiles’s face. “Son, while you’re living under my roof—”

“Stop right there,” Stiles says, dragging a corn chip through the salsa. “I’m twenty-five years old, and the only reason I’m living under your roof is because you broke into my motel room and stole all my things.”

John snorts. “After I fought the cockroaches for them! That place was a fleapit, Stiles!”

“I had an aesthetic going on!”

He did, too. He was a weary jaded detective, all hard-bitten cynicism and jagged edges, living in the gutter and staring bleakly into the void while he listened to slow jazz on his phone. It was very emotive. Very noir. He’d been considering taking up smoking.

“An aesthetic? You had a fungal infection!”

Okay, so that’s technically true. But when Stiles had applied for the newly created detective’s position in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department after a few years in Sacramento, he was adamant that he would be coming back as an independent adult. Apparently though, that was not negotiable once his dad actually saw where he was living. So here he is, back living in his dad’s house like he’s a kid all over again, and although it’s nice not to have to worry about dying of cholera or whatever else was lurking in that motel, it hasn’t been without friction.

Like tonight, for example.

“How about this, then?” John asks, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I don’t pull the ‘while you’re living under my roof ‘card and—”

“Deal!”

John fixes him with a challenging stare. “And you don’t tell me which friends I can invite over for poker night?”

Dammit. Stiles knows when he’s been stymied.

In a final act of petty revenge, he grabs the chips and salsa and flees upstairs.

He eats them in his childhood bedroom with the lights off, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that he put there when he was eight and listening to Dad and his friends—including Peter Hale—laughing and talking downstairs.

It’s no good.

Even Miles Davis and his Blue Moods album are never going to get Stiles’s fledgling noir aesthetic back now, are they?

The Yoda plushie on Stiles’s bookshelf gives him a look of wry agreement.

***

Stiles is the first detective in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department to be Supernatural Certified. That means he knows his weird shit, basically, and has done the courses to prove it. It means that whenever a case can’t be explained away by the usual measures, it lands on his desk. Which means, in a town with a nemeton close by, that Stiles gets a hell of a lot of overtime. It’s routine stuff mostly, and not at all as dangerous as his dad worries. Most supernaturals are just regular people, after all, with a little extra going on, and Stiles can hold his own with a spark as strong as his. The long hours he works are great for the student debt he came out of school with, but not so great for his social life. As in, apart from catching up with Derek a few times a week for coffee, Stiles doesn’t have a social life.

Derek’s eyebrows judge him on a Tuesday morning as Stiles pours what might be an entire cup of sugar into his coffee.

“Look,” Stiles says, “I’m not saying I hate Peter, but why does he have to be such a smug asshole?”

“Weird,” Derek says and sips his tea. “He says the same thing about you.”

Stiles jolts. Peter talks about him? But also, wait. “He says I’m a smug asshole?”

Derek considers for a moment. “No, he says you’re a little asshole.”

“I’m not even smug?” Stiles gasps. “Does he think I’m not smart enough to be smug? I can be smug, Derek!”

“I am aware.”

Stiles glares at his coffee.

Peter Hale is the first werewolf he ever met. Well, not the first, since he’s known all the Hales forever, but he’s the first one he ever saw shift. Before that, werewolves existed for Stiles conceptually, but only like, say, Iceland did. It was a thing, and Stiles knew about it, but he’d never actually figured it was something he’d have to deal with on a daily basis. All that snow and herring, ugh.  

Anyway, when Stiles was twelve and his spark manifested for the first time and some bad shit happened—there may have been explosions involved—suddenly a rampaging, slavering beast was charging right at him, tackling him to the ground while he screamed and the world erupted into flames around him.

And then, just when Stiles thought he was going to die, the rampaging, slavering beast turned into a naked man—which Stiles would like to point out was disturbing on a whole new level—and yelled, “Are you trying to burn down the whole fucking forest?”

And that was how Stiles found out that Peter—and all of the Hales—were werewolves.

He wasn’t brought into the circle of trust so much as he accidentally incinerated his way into it, because while people nowadays know that the supernatural is real, most supernatural beings prefer to keep their status to themselves.

Stiles has a bunch of files on his desk relating to what he suspects is hunter activity that show exactly why that’s still the case.

He tips more sugar into his coffee. “Anyway, how’s the rest of the pack?”

Derek’s resting bitch face softens into a smile. “Good. Cora and her girlfriend are thinking of moving back to the States. And Laura is expecting again.”

“Again?” Stiles blinks. “That woman is a baby machine!”

“And if you call her that,” Derek begins.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says. “My throat, her teeth, I know. What is this now though? Baby three?”

“And four,” Derek says. “Twins.”

“Jesus.” Stiles says. “We definitely need to take Patrick out drinking. Like in commiseration or something.”

“You mean in congratulation.”

“With twins on the way? I know what I mean.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “You know, some functioning adults actually treat children as a good thing.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Maybe when you’re a functioning adult, you’ll understand.”

“Excuse you!”

Derek quirks a brow. “How’s Yoda?”

Stiles glares at him, and drinks his sugary sludge.

***

Stiles is halfway through lunch, brushing fallen lettuce from his burger off his open case files, when Tara leans into the bullpen. “Stiles? Hale’s here to see you.”

“Good,” Stiles says, leaping up and barging toward the door to the foyer. “He owes me an apology for this mor—”

It’s not Derek.

Of course it’s not. It’s Peter Hale, looking smug and sharp in a suit that probably cost more than what Stiles still owes in student debt. It’s pinstriped for fuck’s sake. Who wears pinstripes in Beacon Hills? Stiles is barely wearing a shirt with buttons. If it wasn’t for stupid regulations he’d be wearing a t-shirt. And his Converse.

“Detective Stilinski,” Peter Hale says smoothly, looking him up and down.

Stiles picks a piece of lettuce off his tie. “Mr. Hale.”

“I’d like to discuss a client with you.”

Stiles sighs, and holds the door open to let him through. He sets his burger down on his desk. “Which client?”

“Clare Stepanova,” Peter says.

Stiles rolls his eyes, grabs the file, and uses it to wave Peter Hale through to the nearest free interview room. He takes his burger too, because fuck it, he’s hungry.

Stiles takes a seat on one side of the table.

Peter takes one on the other side, and checks his reflection in the two-way glass. Does something to his already-immaculate hair, because he’s as vain as he is arrogant.

Stiles rolls his eyes and flips open the file on Clare Stepanova.

Clare Stepanova. Twenty-one years old—though Stiles doubts that—absolutely gorgeous, and a mouth on her like a Prussian sailor. Stiles wasn’t her arresting officer, but he definitely remembers being shocked by her language when Tara hauled her out the back to the cells. And it takes a lot of language to shock Stiles. Still, at least her curses weren’t literal. Stiles knows they could have been.

“Now how did Clare Stepanova afford an attorney like you?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“She has wealthy parents,” Peter says.

Stiles snorts. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Well, she has wealthy people who call themselves her parents, and were able to pay my retainer,” Peter says.

Stiles eats the rest of his burger and folds his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

“I want you, as a Supernatural Certified detective, to go over her file.”

Stiles nods down at it. “Already did.”

“Then you’re aware that this isn’t a regular case.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles says. “She’s not a regular collar, but this is sure as shit a regular case. This isn’t a newly-bitten beta wolfing out on a full moon and breaking indecent exposure laws, or some wendigo kid slipping up and eating the neighbor’s cat. Clare Stepanova has no biological imperative to walk out of Sephora with $600 worth of cosmetics shoved down her jeans. Her being a rusalka has no bearing on this case.”

“Ah,” Peter says, his eyes lighting up for a moment.

“You didn’t know?”

“I got the vague impression of water,” Peter says. “Your spark has come a long way, it seems, now that you have it under control. Finally.”

One of Stiles’s most useful and valuable skills is his spark-given ability to know exactly what supernaturals he’s dealing with at a glance.

Kevin from the grocery store: fae.

Mrs. Iravani from the library: peri.

Clare Stepanova: rusalka.

Peter Hale: asshole.

“I would have expected,” Peter continues, “someone with a spark to have a little more empathy to the supernatural.”

Peter Hale: asshole.

Peter Hale: Grade A asshole.

“I have plenty of empathy,” Stiles says. “But until you can prove to me that rusalki need three different types of top-of-the-line lipstick and a bunch of other overpriced glittery shit to live, then I’m afraid I’m going to reserve that empathy for people who actually need it.”

Peter smiles slightly.

“I think we’re done here,” Stiles says. “I have reports to get back to, and you have to go and break it to your client that she’s shit out of luck.” He closes the file and rises from his chair. “Have fun with that, I guess.”

Peter doesn’t even have the decency to look slightly miffed at his wasted trip.

***

Stiles spends the rest of the afternoon writing a recommendation to the DA’s office for dropping charges in a case against a wiccan who was going sky-clad under the full moon last month. Mrs. McIntyre isn’t technically a supernatural—she has as much magic in her as you’d expect from your average elementary school teacher—so she doesn’t necessarily fall under Stiles’s purview, but she’s sixty-eight years old, never had as much as a parking ticket, and Stiles has incredibly fond memories of her back from when she was his third grade teacher.

It’s late when he gets out of work.

John has already left and gone home, but he sends Stiles a text asking him to pick up some milk, so Stiles swings by the gas station on the way home. He parks away from the pumps, wanders in to get the milk and whatever Skittles happen to catch his eye—four different packets do—and then heads outside again.

And steps immediately into a puddle.

Stiles groans and looks down. He doesn’t remember that puddle being there when he walked inside, and it’s not raining so where—

The water glistens in the light like an oil slick, and Stiles can’t tear his gaze away.

For a second he watches the colours, mesmerised, and then the truth of it hits him.

He can’t tear his gaze away.

He doesn’t want to, but also he literally fucking can’t.

His chest squeezes as fear grips him. He hears footsteps behind him, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

Feels soft, cool fingertips brush his cheek, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

He drops the milk and Skittles.

Feels the tickle of her hair against his face as she leans in, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

His phone. He needs…

He can’t make his hands move.

She smells like fresh water, like nature, like a cold, clear stream he wants to drown himself in.

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski,” she says.

Stiles stares at the colors in the puddle, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

And then her hands are covering his eyes, and everything goes black.

***

It’s dark when Stiles blinks away again.

He’s…

He squints into the gloom, but he doesn’t know where he is. He’s cold and wet.

He’s…

He’s been stripped down to his underwear, and he’s lying in about an inch or two of water. There are rough bricks underneath him, and…

Is he in a cellar?

He might be in a cellar. There’s a crack of light some distance away that might be a door? If it is, it’s some distance away and also higher than Stiles is, so he guesses there are stairs. It’s too dark to make them out though. There doesn’t appear to be any other light source.

Stiles shifts slightly, and the water tickles him.

It’s cold. Not shiver-to-death cold, but cold enough that hypothermia might become an issue. Does the light from under the door mean it’s daylight up there? When the temperature drops at night, the cold is definitely going to be a problem. If he lives that long.

If it’s daylight up there, has he already been here an entire night?

Dad must be looking for him then. Dad, and every cop from the station.

Stiles’s hand goes instinctively for his phone in his pocket, and only brushes against naked skin.

Underwear only, right.

He closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference, and reaches for his spark. It’s always there are the core of him, both hidden behind and intrinsically bound to his heartbeat. It’s—Stiles knows it sounds lame as fuck, but he’s always thought of it as his soul. Something uniquely him, but also something that’s not bound to his physical form. His spark encompasses so much more than bone and muscle and meat and, Stiles likes to think, it will last longer than those things too.

He finds it shining warmly behind his breastbone and he focuses on it.

If he can summon it, he can use it to—

And then the cold water is lapping at his skin, higher and higher, and Stiles opens his mouth to suck in a breath but he gets a mouthful of water instead. It rushes down his throat, suddenly a torrent.

Stiles flings himself upright, coughing and hacking, wiping at his mouth with his shaking hands.

The water recedes again, sliding down his skin like an icy caress. It leaves a shiver in its wake that Stiles feels through to his bones.

He doesn’t reach for his spark again.

***

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski,” Clare Stepanova says for the third time, or maybe the fourth, as Stiles chokes and coughs and tries to clear his lungs.

The water rises when she speaks, like tides pulled to the moon. And she’s beautiful, so beautiful, but she won’t let the water take him. He’s cold and he’s weak and he wants to sleep, wants to stop fighting the heaviness in his lungs, but she won’t let him go. She draws the water out of him with a flick of her wrist, her gold hair gleaming like moonlight in the gloom, and then she smiles and commands the water to drown him again.

The weight in his lungs is like lead. His head throbs. His chest aches. His heartbeat turns sluggish.

And then she pulls him back.

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski.”

Five times now, maybe six.

***

He’s lying on the floor, staring into the gloom. The water laps at his ears but he hasn’t got the strength to move. He’s going to die here. Every breath is harder than the last. Every one sounds like the wheeze of squeaky bellows. He’s going to drown in two inches of freezing water. He’s cold, he thinks, but he can no longer feel it. And his spark, that part of him he always thought of as indestructible, flickers on and off like a faulty lightbulb.

The water creeps up him again, icy fingers climbing his clammy skin, and a hot tear leaks out of the corner of Stiles’s eye and slides down his temple.

He’s going to die here.

And when the door crashes open and Stiles is blinded by the sudden blazing light, he thinks, for a moment, that’s what’s happened. And then there’s a dark shape moving down the stairs, and footsteps splashing toward him, and the roar of a werewolf fills the cellar room, and Stiles passes out.

***

“No,” John says firmly as Stiles blinks awake. He covers Stiles hand in his, and draws it away from the scratchy thing in his nose. “That’s your oxygen, kiddo. You need to leave that alone.”

Stiles squints at him.

His dad looks tired; about as tired and wrung out as Stiles feels right now. He’s sitting in a chair beside Stiles’s hospital bed, and he’s wearing a uniform that looks at least three days old, judging by the creases and what look like coffee stains down the shirt. His stubble’s about three days old too, and grayer than it should be.

Stiles pulls in a wheezing breath.

“You had pulmonary edema,” Dad says. “They’ve drained the water from your lungs, but you also have pneumonia, so that’s what’s causing you some issues now. You’re gonna be in here for a few more days before they’ll let me take you home.”

It’s a lot to take in, especially since Stiles can’t even remember for sure how he got here. His brow creases. “Clare?”

The name comes out like a croak.

John’s expression hardens into one of grim satisfaction. “Dead.”

Stiles tries to summon up a bit of feeling for that, but he’s mostly numb. Also, he’s mostly astonished that she was prepared to kill a cop over a shoplifting charge, but that’s the way of it with some supernaturals, isn’t it? Especially the old ones. Centuries of feeling superior to mundane and mortal humans tends to result in more than a few egotists who don’t see why they should be bound by human laws. Like vampires, for example. Total assholes who think they’re better than everyone else just because they saw Beethoven live in concert or whatever. Vampires are the fucking worst. Well, at least they were the worst, but for the record Stiles is going to shift rusalki up to the top of the list now.

He thinks back to the cellar. “Werewolf?”

John squeezes his hand and nods. “Peter.”

Stiles feels a jolt of surprise at that. For some reason he’d thought Derek, mostly because Derek is his best friend and has always had his back. Or maybe angry Talia, because she loves him like a mother. But Peter? Clare’s defense attorney Peter? Clare’s defense attorney Peter who thinks Stiles is a little asshole? Yeah, that’s definitely out of left field.

“The pack was tracking you the whole time,” John says. “Turns out that rusalki can hide scents. Who knew, huh?”

Well, Stiles knew. He’s done the course. But now isn’t really the time to bring it up.

“Anyway,” John continues, “Peter figured it might have been Clare, so he set up a meeting to talk about her case, and followed her after that. He was supposed to wait for backup, but, well…” He grimaces. “Apparently you didn’t have that much time left.”

Stiles sucks in another wheezing breath. “Wait… won’t he get in trouble? With the Bar Association or something?”

“Oh, son,” John says, and his mouth quirks. “If you think Peter Hale gives a flying fuck about the Bar Association, you really don’t know him at all. Besides, attorney client privilege doesn’t cover crimes in progress.”

He nods, and a rush of dizziness leaves him with black spots in his vision.

“Careful,” John says, with mild rebuke in his tone like Stiles has just tried to run a marathon, not nod. “You need to take it easy, kiddo.”

“Yeah,” Stiles rasps, and feels a sudden prick of tears in his eyes. He doesn’t even know why. He’s just… it’s all been too much, he guesses. Clare Stepanova tried to kill him, and he didn’t even fight back. He’s never had that happen before. And he knows it was because he was in her thrall, and he knows it wasn’t his fault, but he still hates that he made it so easy for her. Stiles has always been a fighter, oftentimes against all advice to the contrary, and it’s terrifying how Clare just shut down that part of him. Like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

Stiles was supposed to be stronger than that, smarter than that. He feels as helpless now as he did when the water was rushing into his lungs.

John squeezes his hand again, and Stiles summons up a weak smile for him.

And then Derek turns up with a massive blue teddy bear wearing an It’s a boy! ribbon from the hospital gift shop.

“You can put it with your Yoda,” he says, glowering at Stiles like Stiles’s near-death experience has personally offended him.

“I love it,” Stiles says, his voice still rasping, and opens his arms for a hug.

Both his dad and Derek get in there, and Stiles closes his eyes and feels warm again for the first time in days. And he wonders where Peter is right now.  

***

It’s four days before Stiles is allowed to go home. He curls up in a blanket on his dad’s couch, and doesn’t move for hours. He stares unblinkingly at the television until John makes him move into the kitchen for dinner. Then, after they’ve eaten, John herds Stiles upstairs and toward the bathroom.

“You stink, kiddo,” John says.

“Way to pull your punches, Dad.”

“Get cleaned up and get in bed,” John tells him. “I’ll bring you your meds.”

Stiles shuts the bathroom door and strips off. Steps into the shower and…

He can’t turn the tap. The thought of water on skin is…

He can’t.

And he knows he should. He knows his dad is right. He stinks. And he knows the steam from a hot shower will be good for his pneumonia. But he just can’t bring himself to do it.

He steps back out of the shower and crouches down in front of the bathroom sink instead. Ferrets around in the cabinet until he finds a bunch of wipes, and cleans himself with those instead.

He’ll shower tomorrow.

***

Three days later, and Stiles is out of wipes. His skin is greasy, and his hair is an oily mess. He’s also got a gross scraggly excuse for a beard, but he can’t bring himself to shave. Not even when the blast of water in the kitchen sink, or the trickle of it through the coffee machine is enough to make him freeze up. He’s pretty sure they can smell him all the way downtown, because there’s only so much that deodorant can do. Spoiler alert: not much.

“Poker night tonight,” John says. “Want to join us?”

Stiles pokes his spoon at his cereal. “I’m good.”

John’s face is creased with worry. “Stiles,” he says, “what’s going on, kid? You’re…”

Decaying, Stiles thinks. Moldering. Something.

“Not yourself,” John finishes. “Do you need to talk to someone? A professional?”

“I’m tired,” Stiles says. “Once I get over the pneumonia, I’ll bounce back.”

John holds his gaze for a long moment, and then nods.

Stiles knows better than to think his dad is letting this go though. The Stilinskis are a stubborn bunch.

He waves his dad off to work, and dozes on the couch for most of the day. He’s jolted awake sometime in the afternoon when the door opens and footsteps tread down the hallway.

“Good lord,” Peter Hale says, looking at where Stiles is nesting like a rat on the couch, surrounded by blankets and junk food wrappers. “You smell like you’ve been dead for a month.”

Stiles grunts and shows him his middle finger. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Please,” Peter says. “Your father and Derek would have been on my case for eternity if I hadn’t ripped that bitch’s throat out.” He grins and shows his teeth.

“Well, thanks anyway.” Stiles feels a sudden thrill at the thought of Peter wolfing out over him, and pretends he doesn’t. “How did you get in here anyway? Do you have a key?”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “As though I’d need a key.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Peter is such an asshole.

Peter strides over to him, and wrenches his blankets off. “Come on. You’re a mess, and your father’s worried about you. So is the pack.”

Stiles allows himself to be bullied all the way upstairs and into the bathroom. He baulks when he sees the shower.

“Peter, I…” He can’t finish the sentence. He can’t admit his fear, even when he knows it’s etched into his skin, and written into every expression. Even when he knows he literally reeks of it.

“Shirt off,” Peter says. “And then sit on the edge of the bath for me.”

Peter’s no-nonsense tone is easy to obey, and it gives Stiles something to rail against. He’s grateful for both those things as he pulls his shirt off and grumbles about overbearing asshole werewolves getting all up in his business, and this is bullshit, Peter, bullshit.

The blast of water in the sink makes his blood run cold and freezes the words in his throat.

Peter squeezes out the washcloth under the tap, and then grabs the bar of soap from the shower stall. When he turns back to face Stiles, his expression is grim.

“I thought you were a corpse,” he says. “When I found you in that cellar. I could barely hear your heartbeat.”

Stiles hunches over and looks away.

Peter crouches down in front of him. He takes Stiles wrist in his hand, and draws his arm out straight. Stiles shivers when Peter drags the warm washcloth from his shoulder to his wrist. “You scared me, Stiles.”

There’s no hint of rebuke in his tone. There’s only something softer than that; an admission, not an accusation.

“Scared me too,” Stiles murmurs.

Peter scrubs the soap along the washcloth, and then drags the cloth down Stiles’s arm again, leaving foamy bubbles in its wake. “So scared you can’t even face the thought of a shower?” He pinches the skin on the back of Stiles’s hand, and the mark doesn’t vanish. “So scared you’re letting yourself go dehydrated?”

Stiles nods, his eyes stinging with shame and helplessness.  

“She’s dead,” Peter says, his blue eyes shining. “She’s dead, and she can’t hurt you now.”

“I know,” Stiles rasps. “I know that, but…”

“But you don’t feel it,” Peter says, and hums slightly. “You know what you need, Stiles?”

“A therapist?”

“Well, possibly.” Peter smiles slightly. “But in the meantime would you settle for an amoral and slightly sociopathic werewolf by your side who’d tear out the hearts of your enemies if they even looked at you sideways?”

Stiles should be embarrassed at how long it takes him to get that. “But you hate me.”

“Nonsense,” Peter says, and swipes the washcloth over Stiles’s collarbone. “You are the thorn in my side and the pebble in my shoe, Stiles, but I’ve never hated you.”

“Really?”

“Do you think I break into the houses of people I hate and give them sponge baths?”

Stiles blinks. “No. That would be weird. I mean, this is weird enough, but that would be super weird.”

Peter’s laugh is low and full of warmth. He rises to rinse the washcloth out, and then he’s back, lifting Stiles’s other arm up and washing it gently. Stiles feels almost dizzy at the touch. He feels weak and helpless, but a part of him melts into this too. The part of him that wants to be cared for, wants to be allowed to need this without judgement.

Stiles is pretty sure he’ll judge himself harshly enough for this at a later date, but that’s a problem for future Stiles.

He closes his eyes and lets it happen. Drifts for a while on the feeling of being looked after.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Peter says softly. “Take the rest off.”

It should be humiliating, probably, but Stiles is floating from Peter’s touches, so he lifts his hips and lets Peter pull his sweatpants down and off. The hospital sponge baths were perfunctory and clinical; this is not. This feels almost like an act of quiet worship, and Stiles might be drunk on it.

“Good boy,” Peter murmurs, and Stiles melts a little more.

He’s zoned out enough that he can almost pretend the careful swipe of the warm washcloth over his dick and balls doesn’t happen. Almost. But by the time he jolts and his eyes flash open, Peter has already moved on to his thighs. He finishes up at Stiles’s feet, and Stiles toes curl at the slight tickle.

Peter smiles up at him, and then stands. “Now how about your hair, sweetheart? You look like a weasel dipped in oil.”

Stiles snorts. There’s the asshole he knows and… knows. There’s the asshole he knows, period, full stop, and nothing further to add.

Peter’s expression turns serious. “It needs a wash, Stiles. Do you think you could handle some water through it, if I’m here?”

Stiles’s heartbeat quickens, and he’s afraid that it he so much as blinks he’ll be back in that cellar, water rushing into his throat and drowning his screams.

“I have an idea,” Peter says, and then disappears from the bathroom. He’s back a moment later, wheeling Stiles’s computer chair with him. “Let’s do this salon style.”

He flings a clean pair of sweatpants at Stiles, and Stiles climbs into them. Then he sits on the chair, and Peter wheels it back toward the sink. It’s not quite the right height, but Peter pillows a rolled-up towel under the back of his neck, and folds a dry washcloth over his forehead.

“I’ll do my best to keep the water off your face, hmm?”

Stiles nods. He wants to close his eyes, but he doesn’t dare.

It’s… it’s not as bad as he was afraid it would be. The tickle of water on his scalp makes his skin crawl, and makes him want to leap out of the chair, but Peter works quickly and calmly, and his fingers massage Stiles’s scalp deftly.

“What do you know about this Braeden person?” he asks.

“Which Braeden person?”

“The incredibly attractive and intimidating woman that Derek has fallen head over heels for,” Peter says. “I like her, but on the other hand I feel like I shouldn’t approve.”

“Because she’s very possibly a mercenary?” Stiles asks curiously.

“No, I think that’s hilarious,” Peter says. “You should see Talia’s face! I just feel like I shouldn’t approve because, well, I like to make Derek squirm.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles says.

Peter catches a trickle of water before it escapes the washcloth on Stiles’s forehead. “He’s my nephew. It’s my job.”

“It’s really not.”

Peter shrugs. “Well, we’ll agree to disagree. Now, want me to attack that abomination you call a beard? No water, sweetheart. Just shaving cream and a washcloth.”

Stiles nods warily. “Just… just keep talking, okay?”

Peter smirks. “I’m a lawyer, Stiles. That was never going to be an issue.”

***

When it’s done, all of Stiles’s doubts and insecurities come rushing back in. He’s clean and he’s shaved, but at what cost? Peter Hale saw him naked, and not just naked, but a whole other level of nakedness than Stiles is comfortable with. Peter didn’t just see his skin; he saw his vulnerability. Somehow Stiles knows that’s the thing that’s going to be hardest to reconcile.

He sits on his bed and stares out the window, and wonders if tomorrow he’ll be able to actually brave a shower, or if he’s going to be scared of water for the rest of his life. Which would be fine, if it was swimming in the stuff. But showering? Doing the laundry? Hydrating? These aren’t optional activities.

Stiles sighs, and grabs his laptop off his desk, and queues up an episode of Star Trek. Why aren’t sonic showers a thing yet? They need to be a thing.

The knock on his door doesn’t really surprise him.

“Come in, Peter.”

Peter opens the door. He’s holding a glass of orange juice.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs playing poker with my dad and all his friends?”

Peter ignores the question and sits next to Stiles. He sets the orange juice down on his bedside table. “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot, Stiles.”

“What, when you broke into my house without a key?” Stiles grouses.

“No,” Peter says. “When you were a twelve-year-old with a newly manifested spark, and I scared the hell out of you.”

Stiles feels the faint echo of that fear as he thinks back to that day. And what a hell of a day it was. “To be fair, I was exploding the forest at the time.”

Peter nods. “True. But still, I feel that being lunged at by a werewolf was probably quite traumatizing.”

“It was actually more traumatizing when I saw your dick,” Stiles says. “Werewolves, that was totally out of left field. But naked men jumping on me? Dad had warned me about how dangerous those were.”

Peter’s eyebrows do something complicated. It’s a Hale trait. “You thought I was a child molester?”

“Not for long! But, in my defense, you were a naked man who jumped on me. I was twelve, Peter. There wasn’t a lot of nuanced thought involved!”

“Well,” Peter says at last, “When it comes to nakedness, I suppose that we’re even now after today, sweetheart, aren’t we?”

There’s a strange weight in the air as Stiles avoids Peter’s gaze, and he thinks it’s all in the way he just said the word ‘sweetheart’. Usually Peter uses the word like it’s a sharp weapon, but now—and ever since he walked into the house this afternoon, if Stiles is honest—there’s no barb in the word at all. It sounds almost…

Almost real.

“Peter,” he asks cautiously, lifting his gaze again, “do you like me?”

“Yes,” Peter says.

“I mean, not because I’m pack adjacent, and Derek’s best friend, and Talia refers to me as the son she always wanted, but like-like, like—”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Peter says, and rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

This is the part where they should fall into a kiss, right? Stiles reaches for Peter, only to find a splayed hand on his chest.

“Nu-uh-uh,” Peter says. “Not until you drink your juice, sweetheart.”

Well, Stiles guesses, there’s some incentive.

He drinks his juice.

***

Stiles narrows his eyes at the bottle of water on his desk. He’s been back at work for three days now, and he’s mostly a lot better, but still not a total fan of this whole hydration business. It’s a shitty thing to develop a trigger over, but he’s working on it. He’s downloaded an app on his phone that reminds him when to drink, so he’s no longer got an excuse to avoid it. Also, his therapist prescribed him a shitload of Ativan, so that’s pretty sweet.

“Stiles?” Tara calls from the door. “Hale’s here to see you.”

Stiles leaps up from his desk, anticipation bubbling through him. Peter promised to bring him lunch, and he’s been counting down the minutes. Not because he gives a fuck about the new fusion place on Third that Peter’s been raving about, but because, well, Peter. Peter has been visiting Stiles every day, both at work and at home, checking that he’s functioning. They’ve got into a weird pattern now where when Stiles showers, Peter sits in the bathroom and talks to him. It should feel humiliating, but it doesn’t. And Peter isn’t even a jerk about it. He’s still a jerk about everything else, but, well, that’s Peter. It turns out that there’s just a lot more to him than that asshole exterior. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, Stiles might actually be in love.

Ugh. He has taste in his ass.

But so does Peter, probably, so it all works out.

And frankly, Stiles can’t wait for the day when showering with Peter means something a whole lot more sexy than their current arrangement.

He wrenches the door open. “Hey, Peter, I—motherfucker.”

Derek blinks at him.

“It’s always the wrong Hale,” Stiles says. “Every damn time.” He plasters on a smile. “Hey, Der-bear. It is great to see you!”

“Clearly,” Derek deadpans. “Anyway, Mom wanted me to remind you that it’s pack dinner this Friday, and she expects to see you there. And she said she’s making extra cookies so you can take a bunch home, and not try to smuggle them out in your pockets like last time.”

“She can’t prove that ever happened.”

“Stiles, your jeans smelled like chocolate for days. You should do your laundry more often.”

“You’re not actually supposed to wash your jeans after every wear.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “You are if they have chocolate in the pockets.”

“Point,” Stiles admits.

“See you Friday,” Derek says, and claps him on the shoulder before leaving.

Stiles heads back inside to the bullpen—and discovers Peter sitting at his desk, his fancy Italian ankle boots resting on Stiles’s open files. He’s eating something from a takeout container. It smells fucking orgasmic.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demands. “Did you break into a police station?”

Peter smirks. “I brought you lunch, sweetheart. Let’s not quibble over the details of why, and how, and whether or not it’s really an indictable offence.”

“Someone let you in the back door, didn’t they?”

“Your father,” Peter admits. “I met him in the parking lot.”

Stiles leans his ass on his desk. “You’re such a dick,” he said fondly.

Peter shrugs, and nudges Stiles’s water bottle closer to him. “Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” Stiles takes a sip of his water, trying not to grimace, and Peter rubs his knee gently in silent encouragement. Then Stiles steals his takeout and starts shoveling it into his mouth. “When I finish this, want to go make out in the file room?”

“Sweetheart,” Peter says with a broad grin, “I can’t think of a better way to spend my day.”

And how weird is Stiles’s life now? Because it turns out that neither can he. He wouldn’t say he’s grateful to Clare Stepanova—fuck that evil bitch—but Stiles knows that if he hadn’t been attacked, he and Peter would still be bitching about each other to their families, and snarking at each other when they met, and both of them dancing around the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was a spark of something between them that wasn’t sheer contempt. And, since they’re both such assholes, they would have died of old age before admitting it.

So there’s an upside, Stiles guesses. A crazy weird upside to being drowned repeatedly by a rusalka, and it turns out it’s the bastard of a werewolf pointedly nudging Stiles’s water bottle toward him again.

When Stiles had come back to Beacon Hills, he’d tried to like the idea of being alone. Romanticized it even, in that gross fleapit of a motel where he pretended to be a hard-bitten cynical film noir detective. But it turns out Stiles isn’t that kind of guy at all.

The corners of his mouth turn up as Peter nudges the water bottle against his thigh. Stiles picks it up and sips from it, and Peter makes a smug, satisfied noise.

It turns out it’s nice to be cared for after all.

[brideylee]

Anti- Fan Fiction: James Woods and Robert Blake at Dan Tana’s

           The air inside is hot, full of dust, and too many rotting mouths had ordered the lasagna. James Woods sits in his corner booth at Dan Tana’s in the main room with his eyes on the bar full of shouting men in suits. Some are West Hollywood slick fratties  and others more smelly and introspective in itchy tweed from the land of 70s character actor city. Squeezed in between these men taking up more space than needed with either their narcissistic sadness or their loud, cologned  bravado are some young women desperately trying to enjoy a martini at the historic restaurant, but instead are resigned to hear a bald someones life story and feeling many passing hands needlessly touch their bare backs as men hover and spill around them.

          Woods watches disgustedly, he watches everything disgustedly: babies being born, the sunrise, an elderly woman saying “Hello, Deary”. It all makes him sick. His belly protrudes forward as he holds back a sudden burp and he releases some air through his famously skeezy lips as though exhaling cigarette smoke. He is repulsively sexy in his stony confidence. He checks his watch and decides to complain about something. Dead eyed with his arm stretched out, he points at a maitre de who is pushing 90 and is only meant to be looked at by tourists as a part of the ambiance. The command of Woods pointing hypnotizes the ancient man and he walks over in submission thinking this could hopefully be death itself beckoning him home. 

            Woods gives him his iconic half smile, where one side of his mouth stays in place while the other curls up his cheek as though being lifted by a fish hook, his head tips forward and his round dark eyes look up at him like an alcoholic father who “doesn’t want to have to discipline.” “Hey sarge, the bread is a little chewy, mind popping it in the microwave or something. I could break my teeth on it. And heat the butter up. It’s fresh, its just not soft.” Woods gets bored with himself half way through his criticism and winks at a woman at the bar whose glance regrettably fell on him. The maitre de with no capacity left to hear, nods and takes the bread away, disappointed to still be breathing. 

Woods spots Tim Allen alone in a four person booth holding up a plate to his face, licking it feverishly. They lock eyes and give each other big, knowing smirks, like two people who both know where the body is.  Allen gleefully goes back to lapping up the rest of the marinara, grease all over his chin, his napkin bib coming into good use. “Funniest man in America” Woods thinks to himself before being distracted by some plastic cleavage walking by.

           Suddenly, the air in the restaurant cools as the door wafts open and a small shadowy figure enters with the silhouette of a miniature cowboy.  “Finally.” James Woods says as Robert Blake plops down across from him “Are we angry?” Blake says defiantly with his headed tilted back, his lids hanging low and heavy across his beetle eyes. “There is this thing called time, Robert. I’ve been waiting here an hour.” Blake laughs with a childish grin crossing his face, and somehow in the smooth red lighting of Tana's, he looks twenty years younger, though still disturbingly gaunt, and getting more pale by the minute like a man whose only sustenance is the unease he inspires. He’s wearing a black velvet cowboy hat that looks too big for him, making him along with his small stature appear like an elderly child. “Time!” Blake regales with impish laughter as though hearing an old joke he hasn’t heard out loud in years. Woods stews, his eye twitches and he chews on the inside of his mouth.  Blake’s laugher continues, even Tim Allen interrupts his slurping to peak at where this sinister chortling is coming from. 

              After a few minutes, Blake calms down and stares at Woods lovingly. “You were always funnier than me, Woods. Never give that up, you can fall back on it.” Blake was full of these little jabs, always insinuating that Woods acting career never amounted to anything. Rehearsing a hurtful father son dynamic was one of the only ways these men could show their love. “How’s the old lady?” Blake is referring to Woods’ twenty-two year old girlfriend. “Driving me nuts,” says Woods gazing off, then he leans in towards Robert. “In all the right ways.” He winks at Robert. “Pet a pussy cat on the head too much, and they go bald.” Blake warns. Woods blinks, confused. He had a love-hate relationship with Blakes morsels of wisdom. On one hand it’s why he enjoyed his company so much, on the other hand, Blake had a way of making him question everything, particularly Blake’s sanity.  Woods decides to change the subject. 

“Some shrimp cocktail I ordered us an hour ago. They might be too dead to eat.” He slides an ornate glass rimmed with withered shrimp in front of Blake. All the ice inside the glass is melted and the shrimp look like they know how pathetic their fate is. Blake knocks all the shrimp off the edge of the glass towards the center and gulps them down like he’s taking a shot of vodka before going bear hunting. 

“So, what do you make of this 'Covid 19'” Woods puts Covid 19 in air quotes and his head bobbles with cocky indifference. “It’ll go away.” Blake states between sips of the shrimp water. “Everything goes away, James.” Blake studies the menu. “Not quite Vitello's…” James didn’t want to get into a Dan Tana's versus Vitellos fight tonight. For one, Blake hadn’t been there in decades since he took his wife there before having her killed and more than that Blake was just biased because Dan Tana's never named a pasta after him. Woods lets it slide, he understands the irrelevancy Blake feels to the modern world and the pain of being pushed farther and father back inside Hollywoods skeleton closet. 

         Yet, although Woods sees Blake as an oracle, his secret virus fears remain. There is a social distancing trend hyped in the media and a possible impending lock down for Los Angeles; a city full of the most insecure egos on the planet. A city that needed to love, use, and discard people so regularly that the notion of a lockdown seemed to go against its code of conduct. Furthermore,  Woods cant stand being in his house with his girlfriend for more than three hours, two if there was no oral sex involved, but even worse is the idea of being alone.

His anxiety is spiking as Blake with half glasses on seemed completely engrossed in the menu, ignoring him just like his old man. Woods dips into the pocket of his blazer and dabs his pinkie into a tiny bag of coke, neatly putting it away and rubbing the gums of his front teeth expertly discreet. Blake raises his eye brows. “They’ve got a chicken named after Sidney Beckerman. Did you know him?” Woods shakes his head, and gestures to a waiter to bring more water with an agro snottiness only he could pull off. “He produced Kelly’s Heroes. Good guy, but I never liked him.” Blake starts singing “Que Sera Sera” by Doris Day under his breath, while perusing the menu like it’s a gun catalogue.

Woods patience runs out, he blows a  long grey hair out of his eyes and grabs the menu from Blake. He smacks a passing waiter on the back with the menu. “We’re  gonna split a plain cheese pizza with a side of spaghetti, and two Roy Rogers. And lots of grenadine for this one right here.” Blake smiles like a school boy brat, pleased.

            “So listen, have you been following it at all?” “Following what?” Blake says with a gentle, Warhol deadpan. “The virus horse shit… Robert, they’re saying that we all need to go into isolation. That it’s airborne.” Blake whips the red napkin into his lap. “Get a hold of yourself. Will you? Fear is airborne. Do you know how many motherfuckers, here, still believe in Lincoln?” Blakes shifts were dramatic. Sometimes, he felt like you were talking to a screwy relative of Yoda and other times he had the grit of a  dried up cowboy that had made love with Joe Pesci. 

“FUCK YOU! NO!” The volume of Tim Allen shouting into his Motorolla razor silenced the place for a good twenty-seconds.  “500 million dollars in CASH or you can take your Santa Clause 6 and…make Santa Clause piss!!” The manager started a clap to diffuse any tension. After a smattering of applause, the place went back to normal. “Can I get a big brownie?” Tim Allen screams towards the kitchen like a kid at his grandparents house.

         Their Roy Rogers are placed on the table. Woods is sweating as the coke is hitting, and he can feel his phone vibrate with texts from his often pilled out girlfriend. Texts like “Can you remind me where the refrigerator is?”

  Blake raises his glass, admiring the red flesh of the maraschino cherry and the slow dance of the grenadine syrup descending towards the bottom, surrendering to him like a wounded lover. “Cheers! May we remember to lock the doors and make the baby swallow the key.” They clink glasses. Blake does a long exaggerated gasp of refreshment, his tongue  wagging out of his mouth for a long time. 

            “Woods, what do you think it was that got in the way of your success?” Triggered and high, Woods replies, coke speed with spit collecting at the corners of his mouth.  “Well, I think it was a lot of things. Particularly, that I am a man who values his freedom of speech and I don’t like my rights trampled on by so called “progressives” and  you know I thought I was pretty good in Ray Donovan, but I really wasn’t given much of a script, but, ah, fuck.” He wipes his forehead and collects himself. “Blake. I have a serious question.” They stare at each other. Blake has a gravelly distance between his soul and his eyes, but something in Woods reaches him. Their cheese pizza and spaghetti ruptures the eye contact, but Woods can’t give up.

“Say there is a lock down, and this virus is serious. I can’t be alone with the kiddo for that long, you know what I mean? I need a friend. Someone I can pal around with. Someone that gets it. Man to man. Blake, do you think we can live together? Either at the Ranch in Burbank or my place, wherever you feel the most like you can be you.” Woods heart is racing, this is the most vulnerable he’s felt since since the scene in The Virgin Suicides after his daughters die. 

         Blake stares at him coldly and takes a bite of pizza. “This virus frightens you.” Woods frustratedly digs into the pizza, his heart; a little more vacant, and confused. “Don’t worry.” Blake reaches into his pocket and takes out a vile of clear liquid and places it next to the spaghetti. “I got a cure for that.” Woods examines it. “Is this-“ “A vaccine” Blake says satisfied. “One sip and everything goes away.” 

       “CHANGE OF PANTS? PLEASE, CAN I GET A CHANGE OF PANTS” Tim Allen roars with a lap full of chocolate brownie. His face and khaki pants are covered in chocolate.  But Woods stays transfixed on the vile. “Where the hell did you?…” “We had to make vaccines during breaks on Little Rascals. Bastards always put us to work any way they could. Learned a thing or two though and this one is special… everything goes away. “Have you used it?” Woods asks, his head cocked to the side, watching the liquid float like the clear lip gloss his girlfriend….Kelly? Katy? wears.  “Used it plenty of times. Plenty of times.” Says Blake with the resigned faith of a Southern preacher.

          “Well, even so, if there’s a lock down, can I bunk with you? Forgive me, you’re single now, right?” “I’m dating,  but nothing to write home about," the eighty-six year old answers. Woods looks up from the vile, expectantly. “Listen, kid. My space is sacred. It’s between me and God. I don’t know if you think I can get you a bit part in something or…” “No, I just would like your company that’s all.” Woods assures him. “A man who can’t sleep alone, sleeps while awake. Take the vaccine. You’ll be free.” Woods leans back. Blake  always cuts him open and leaves him smelling like the chicken broth that seemed to emanate from Blakes pores. But that’s often the medicine Woods needs. He uncorks the vile, holds it up dramatically,“Salud!”

            Allen is standing in his boxers by his booth with his arms crossed waiting for the waiters to bring him pants while Woods finishes the last drop. The blood red walls moist from poor insulation seem to pulse around Woods as Blake stares at him. “Hows it feel?” “Like…uh..like nothing. I mean… like it was water, a placebo?” Blake giggles shaking his head. 

           Pants-less Tim Allen walks over to their table. “Hey Robert! I haven’t seen you in ages!” They high five. “You know me, keepin’ busy back at home.” Allen turns to Woods, “How ya doing, bud?” and then turn backs to Blake. “You know you’d be perfect for the next Santa Clause movie. You haven’t been in any of them yet, right? “Not yet!” “Well, right on,Cowboy!” Allen and Blake high five again. Woods gets dizzy and starts blinking slowly trying to steady himself. Perhaps taking a vaccine manufactured by Robert Blake was not smart, he didn’t know for sure. He barely knew anything. “Woods, isn’t it time we scroll through our imdb pages?” Blake baits him with their tradition. Woods nods and types his name into his phone. “I love this game! Can I play?” Tim sits down. 

           Woods can’t focus his eyes very well, but he has typed his name into imdb four times and nothing is coming up. Tim Allen can’t help  himself “Ok, so this is a show I was on where I played like a handy man…” His mouth hangs open as he excitedly awaits  the men to guess what show. “Garfield.” answers Blake without sarcasm. “It’s not working….” Woods interrupts. “Whats with your friend?” Tim Allen asks annoyed. Blakes eyes don’t leave Woods who is squinting at his phone. “Ok, I’m a dad and a handyman…” “My credits are all gone.” James’s voice seems to morph an octave lower the walls seem to run into the leather booths and booths seem to melt  into the floors and drip into the basement where a drunk couple are fucking among cans of tomato sauce.

Woods psyche seeps further into the earths crust, mantle and then core where he watches his entire identity burned in the furnace of mother earths blazing kiln. Alone with himself. To Allen and Blake, his body sitting at the booth looks like a prosthetic suite empty of an actor inside. “The vaccine works.” Blake thinks to himself sipping his pink drink through a straw. Allen whips his head from Woods to Blake and in his classic broad Tim Allen way says “Uhh, am I missing something???”

[phonocase]

Top 5 I-Phone Covers

If you are one of those uncountable loyal I-Phone users, then who knows the very use of cases better than you. Nobody can ever understand the delicacy of the iPhone better than you. The breaking of screens is undoubtedly no lesser than heartbreaks; do not let the same happen with you. 

With the millions and trillions of covers available online, it gets complicated for the customer to choose the appropriate one. Depending on style, durability, strength, users can choose the desired ones amongst the lot based upon their preferences.

For users, those who want all beautiful and cute, childlike covers filled with images of animals and stars and glitters sprinkling over everywhere is one type of category. And another lot is the type of users who want just durable and robust cases, so their needs and purposes are different.

Here is a list of top iPhone cases suiting to different needs of different users.

1: Apple Leather Folio:

COLORS: BLACK, BLUE, AUBERGINE, MAGENTA AND PURPLE

PRICE: $46 - $129 (depending on the color)

WEIGHT: 6.2 ounces 

Apple is a super stylish brand and makes cases with lots of versatility. Their collection ranges from slim-line issues to stylish folio cases and smart battery cases. 

This particular case has been crafted with the highest and finest quality of European leather. The luxurious design properly wraps the phone into it, and the microfiber lining on the inside adds the much-needed protection.  

The given model is available for iPhone X, XS, 11, 11 Pro and 11 Pro Max.

Customers have rated it 4.3/5 (amazon.com).

2: Spigen Liquid Air Armor:

COLORS: 

MATTE BLACK

PRICE: $12

WEIGHT: 1.76 ounces

This name ‘Spigen’ derived from German words means – mirror and gene. The material used is Thermoplastic Polyurethane. It is slim, form-fitted and lightweight. The form-fit design is to maintain a slim design and remain pocket-friendly.

The surface gives fingerprint resistance and comfort in every grip. It also has air-cushion technology for anti-shock protection. IT is available for iPhone 11 models.

Users have rated it 4.8/5 (amazon.com).

3: Baby Yoda iPhone 11 Case:

COLORS: BLACK, PINK, YELLOW AND WHITE

PRICE: $13.98

WEIGHT: 4.5 ounces

This baby yoda iphone 11 case is incredibly soft and perfectly engulfs the phone into it. The material provided is silicon, which adds a shiny appearance to the case. It protects the phone from any dirt or scratches. The flexible material ensures total safety from dings and shocks. 

It is available for iPhone XS, XS Max, X, 6, 7 and 8 models.

4: Supcase Unicorn Beetle:

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5: Hello Kitty Phone Case:

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This is one of the prettiest designs yet the strongest one. It undeniably adds an extra stylish touch to the phone.

It is available for iPhone X.

[atamascolily]

A Natural History of Tatooine, part 22/?

In which Callista and Luke visit the plant nursery on Yavin IV and meet some baby uneti trees.

(There are actually legitimate plot reasons for this scene, but I'm not gonna lie, it's also an opportunity for pure self-indulgence, and I love it.)

(Previous installments)

The next day he took her to the makeshift nursery Tor had set up in the central courtyard between temples. Metal benches at waist height were everywhere, and Tor had erected columns of white shadecloth in places to mimic the shelter of an overhead canopy for plants that preferred a cooler microclimate. Misters dangling from the ceiling were prone to spraying everything in their surroundings without warning, and plants trailed out of their pots onto the ground, requiring them to pay close attention to their footing, lest they trip and fall.

Tiny white labels in Tor's looping hand were in every flat, marking identities and distinctions in what appeared identical to Luke's eyes. Occasionally, she'd gotten lazy and written only a few Sawarran ideographs in place of a long stream of Botanical Alderaanian, the language of science. The labels were hard to spot in the riot of green leaves and bright-stalked flowers streaming in every direction - brilliant purple orchid plumes next to vats of water-lilies, foxtail grasses interspersed with flats of tiny pointed seedlings and melon vines. Tor grew anything and everything she could get her hands on that would tolerate the Yavin climate, and even then there were species from the Ramaadi and Siettar deserts intermixed with some Ve'katn bays and Muunilistan mokopods.  

In Luke's opinion, the most interesting plants were the tiny uneti clones Tor was growing from cuttings from the two seed-grown plants in the central courtyard. They were so small and undifferentiated they barely registered as sentient. He had to strain to hear them as they murmured softly to each other of moisture and shadows, of the delicate flicker of roots in the potting mix as they slowly grew.

"The watering droids take care of most of the work, but Traitakh keeps an eye on this place while Tor is away," Luke explained, as Callista brushed her fingers against the delicate plume of foliage of one of the uneti cuttings. Under her touch, a series of images moved on the edge of Luke's mind, as the tree perceived the contact as a strong breeze, and shivered in anticipation as it swayed back and forth ever so slightly.

"She's your teacher now that Master Obi-wan and Master Yoda have passed on?" Callista asked, heedless of the reaction her movement triggered in the trees.

"Well-- it's complicated." It was hard to describe exactly what Tor was; she didn't fit easily into any of the usual categories. He'd shared some of his memories with Callista in their shared dream-visions on the <i>Eye of Palpatine</i> but he wasn't sure how to translate those experiences now that he was limited to words. "I certainly learn a lot from her. I met her when I was looking for help with the uneti tree seeds, and something just--clicked. I don't know what, but it's the same thing I felt when I was around Ben or Master Yoda. Some sort of...."

"Presence," Callista said, lost in the distance, as if she were remembering a training session of her own, long ago.

"Yes," he agreed. "I mean, she doesn't instruct me about the Force the way they did--her people worship it on Sawarra, but they don't use it or feel it the way the Jedi did. Do. But when I'm around her, I feel... more myself. Like I'm really me, wholly myself, without hiding or disguises. And she doesn't judge me for who I am. She's just... there."

"I think I know what you mean," Callista said slowly. "Master Altis was like that. But I've never met anyone who could do it without some mastery of the Force."

"Well, you'll see for yourself when she returns. I hope it will be soon. She's spending this summer out in the jungle on the far side of the moon with some graduate students, looking for new species and discoveries. But she said she'd be back for the practice intensive in the rainy season after all the guests leave. So you'll probably meet her then."

"Ah, yes, the intensive," Callista said, still in that same distracted tone of voice, as if Luke's words weren't fully registering. Then, guiltily, as if aware of her reaction, she jerked herself back to the present. "Sorry. I got lost there for a moment."

"Don't worry about it." He stroked another uneti tree, offering his greetings even though he wasn't sure the tiny tree would understand. It was so odd to think that this tiny branch would continue to grow roots and expand to become a completely new tree--albeit genetically identical to the original. It made him think of his right hand, lost at Bespin, and the clone that had been spawned from it, and how Joruus C'baoth had twisted him so thoroughly that Mara had had to kill him to keep him from murdering Luke on Wayland.

<i>If only we had been able to keep him alive. We could have helped him, healed him. But C'baoth would have killed my clone himself rather than let us save him--</i>

He shook his head. There he was, dwelling on the past again. Better to just be present and stop worrying about what he could not change.

"I like this place," Callista said, looking around. "It's quiet. Peaceful. More organized than the jungle, and probably safer, too."

"Mostly. Tor keeps all the carnivorous plants along that back row to keep them from getting too grabby. But there are snakes and beetles everywhere, so it's good to watch where you put your hands and feet."

Beyond that row was the ysalamiri pod--a deep-netted enclosure around two metal trees Tor had painstakingly transported from Myrkr to feed her pet lizards. That whole section of the nursery was a blank bubble to Luke's senses and he quickly steered Callista away from it. He'd grudgingly accepted their presence after the debacle with Kyp two years ago, and he used them as a training tool, but he still didn't find them endearing.

"Look!" Callista cried in delight. A pikka bird had landed on one of the larger waterlilies and was rolling itself in the golden pollen. It stirred at her cry and shook itself, sending yellow dust everywhere. It favored them with a skeptical look before taking off and vanishing back into the foliage.

Luke smiled. "I wonder if it's heading for the baths," he said. "I would, if I were in its place."

She laughed. "Well? Shall we take that as a sign?"

"Indeed." If there was one rule on Yavin, it was that there was never a bad time for a soak in the hot springs. His leg throbbed. "Let's go, then."

<i>Good-bye, presence,</i> he heard the uneti trees whisper as they moved away, the soft imagery of rising moon and stars, the subtle tug of gravity as heavenly bodies pulled in close before veering away. To their tiny developing minds, Luke and Callista were no different from the sun or the floating red gas giant above them.

A rough Basic translation, he thought, might be, <i>We will see you again soon.</i>

[at-least-ill-die-a-lionturtle]

All of the bug + botanical asks. c:

Butterfly: Favorite colors? Blues, purples, and greens (:

Caterpillar: Favorite food? Pizza and fried chicken :P OH and burgers! And seafood lol 

Spider: Do you like to be alone, or with other people? Depends, usually like being alone or just with the gf

Praying mantis: Do you have any crushes? Duh! Have you seen Ryan Reynolds???

Housefly: What are your biggest pet peeves? Being asked what my pet peeves are

Mosquito: Favorite season? Fall :D I love all the colors and the weather and wearing warm clothes!

Cockroach: Have you ever been bullied? Yeah, pretty severely :/

Wasp: Have you ever bullied anyone? I have, and I hated myself for it. And I wish I could apologize to the people I treated that way

Bumblebee: What is your dream job? I want to be and make people happy. Ideally through videos, photos, or music.

Firefly: What is your dream date? April 25th

Moth: Do you believe in the paranormal? I do! Ive experienced the paranormal before

Beetle: Have you ever been in a fight? Ive been in a small handful of fights. OR maybe an average sized handful? I dunno lol

Earthworm: What was your favorite class in elementary school? Uhhhhh... I dunno? Lol I guess English

Ant: What kind of job do you have? Senior Executive Assistant to the Regional Manager

Scorpion: Biggest fears? Only getting nine nuggets in my 10pc

Centipede: Do you smoke? Yeah. All the haters in Need For Speed: Most Wanted

Millipede: Have you ever done drugs? Never

Grasshopper: Favorite bands? UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Cicada: Do you like to sing? I LOVE TO SING! Sometimes I suck, sometimes I suck less lol

Cricket: Favorite genre of music? FUCK

Stick bug: Where do you want to travel to? Nice places :3__________________________________________________________baby’s breath: 5 things you associate yourself with: Music, vidya gaems, comfort food, stars, introversionbleeding heart: what makes you heart go mushy? @dahuntressbellflower: what’s the title of the song that makes you want to jump around out of joy? Cant Stop This Feeling by Justin Timberlakeevening primrose: what’s your sleeping playlist (give me 5 songs)? M4 EP - Fauntsforget-me-not: who is your favorite blog who isn’t following you? I have no idea lol I love my mutuals daffodil: what is one plant that you want to have but can never get? Bird of Paradise. Theyre toxic to cats :(calla lily: are you more of a sunny day or a rainy evening? Rainy all day foxglove: what is your favorite color and in what shade? Blue... Blue? Ive taken four years of art and I cant remember the difference between shade and tint lol [One Google search later] Navy blue!lavender: what is something that you’ve always wanted to be/have/get but can never have? *crying through laughter* A normally functioning brain hahahahahlove in a mist: what is the latest dream that you remember? I was a scientist/researcher Indiana Jones type person??? And found something I shouldntve. And the FBI was chasing me... And I had a cane that was a sword??? Like the cane was the sheath. I have weird dreams loldaisy: what is your favorite flavor of cotton candy, ice cream, and juice? DONT LIKE COTTON CANDY. Fav flav of ice cream is Moose Tracks :3 And my favorite juice is apple juice :Dpainter’s palette: are you more of a singer, dancer, painter, or instrumentalist? Definitely instrumentalist, and then singer. Not big on dancing lol I wanna be better at painting tho!tulip: what is your most favorite make-up product? do you like it more natural, dark, or etc? Dont wear make-up lolwaxflower: are you a bee or a butterfly person? a dog or a cat person? I love bees! Butterflies are nice tho too (: And I love dogs and cats, but I’d say I like dogs a bit moresugarbush: do you have sweet tooth? if yes, what’s your favorite sweets? if no, why? I do! But my teeth cant always handle it :P MY favorite sweets are Boston Creme doughnuts, Reeses Cups, old fashioned glazed doughnuts, a lot of other doughnuts because man I fuckin love doughnuts, Twix, uhhhhhh yeahsunflower: would you like to be a fairy or a mermaid? I guess a mermaid :Psweet pea: what would you like to call your significant other? I call her lots of things. Bread. 2% milk. Sweetie pie. sea lavender: can you swim? which strokes can you do? I can swim, I can do the doggie paddle lolwindflower: list 5 of your favorite blogs and explain why i like them. Why would I explain why you like them?goldenrod: are you more of a baker or a cook? A cook :P My gf is the bakerbloom: what is something that you would like to tell your children? STOP EATING THE FUCKING COUCHpeony: what is something that you wish your parents could’ve told you? I dunno. Theyre not exactly full of good adviceprairie gentian: do you have a significant other? I DO!september flower: are you more of a sunrise or sunset person? Sunsetbird of paradise: do you wake up early? do you sleep early? I wake up early-ish sometimes. I also sleep early sometimes lolmarigold: what’s your favorite tea? I like just regular black tea, green tea is also nice. I once had this citrus and something else black tea that was PHENOMENAL! peruvian lily: what are the names of your pets? Casper, Charlie, Oscar, Otis, Boogie, Lady, Po, Dobby, Yoda, Frizzo, Carter, Lucifer (Lucy), Gizmo, Bones, Sheep, and Izzyhyacinth: do you name your plants? I will when we get some!lilac: would you rather sleep and be cozy or hang out with your friends? Both? Both is good.poppy: do you like to dip your fries or do you like it as is? It depends on my mood really loldandelion: any special talent that you have? I can make weird noises with my mouth lol