#obviously it's just very charming to have a painting of a character who's the subject of like. 3 different in-game paintings. heeheehoo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

But Once a Year (3/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9K and change, but also stuff happens AN: I cannot tell you guys how much I appreciate you continuing to appreciate this story. It’s exceptionally nice, and I think you’re wonderful. Here’s a whole slew of feelings and tradition and magic. Like, lots of magic.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

This is a problem.

Multiple problems, honestly. Like, at least seven different problems that Emma can think of off the top of her head, and obviously the most pressing is getting back to the right part of her timeline, but only marginally less distressing is the overall domesticity of her life at this point of her timeline.

It’s more than the pillows. Of which there are just an absolutely ridiculous amount, actually. They hover in couch corners and fall to the floor with alarming regularity because, between the two of them, Hope and Lucy are something akin to forces of nature, hopped up on Christmas-type sugar and the cookies that people apparently just hand out on the street in Storybrooke. Someone’s always got some sort of baked good, freshly out of the oven — and while Emma’s discovered she’s particularly partial to Granny’s snickerdoodles, she can’t imagine any of this is very efficient.

For Storybrooke’s economy, or whatever.

There’s no bank. Emma looked. And asked. Several dwarfs, actually. All of whom immediately bowed and narrowed their eyes at her like she’d totally lost her mind, which seems pretty accurate at this point. Five days after waking up on that couch, with all of its pillows and questionable comfort, and only a handful of people actually know what’s going on.

Not Hope.

And no one actually told her to do that, but Emma figures it’s kind of like deciding to take her boots off in the house. Polite. Plus, a growing determination not to traumatize a ridiculously cute four-year-old, even when that four-year-old appears to be far more adept at stealing cookies than anything else.

Crumbs line the counter in the morning, and there’s usually a bit of evidence directly outside Hope’s bedroom door, signs of a late-night theft that shouldn’t make Emma smile. She does anyway. Can’t seem to stop it, which might be problem number four. Three is definitely Killian’s consistent lack of jacket, which admittedly is a very surface problem, but the button-up shirts are all ridiculously patterned, and trying not to ask who initially took him shopping is like, problem, three sub-a.

So, no one tells Hope that her mom isn’t her mom. Technically speaking, at least. They go through the motions, and Emma smiles when she’s supposed to, and she eats what is undoubtedly the world record for snickerdoodle consumption by a wayward princess, but trying to be herself, while also not being herself continues to be a rather daunting prospect.

Particularly because whomever Regina believed would know more about Neverland vegetation and its ability to ruin everything is taking their sweet time responding or showing up in Storybrooke, and they’ve tried what feels like several thousand things to get Emma back, but magic beans were a no-go, and some very fancy wand didn’t do anything except infuriate Regina with it uselessness, and it’s still Christmas, so there are apparently a metric shit ton of traditions and expectations, and—

“Wait, what?” Emma asks, perched on the edge of her desk in the station because that’s at least something she’s used to. Less so to Killian’s presence at the only other desk, and she doesn’t remember the only other desk being quite so close to her’s, but it’s entirely possible that’s a trick of her not-quite coherent mind.

Might be problem six. Maybe seven. Making it six gives it power, and acknowledges how much the state of his tongue continues to affect her cognitive abilities. Of which there were already very few, especially while she was exhausted in Neverland, and Emma’s not willing to risk anymore.

“It’s something of a requirement,” Killian says, not for the first time. Princesses have a ridiculous number of requirements, Emma’s rather quickly learned. And he can’t seem to sit straight in any chair. Also ridiculous.

“Does that not hurt your spine?”

Shrugging, he smirks at her and that’s been happening more often. Not that she’s keeping track, or anything. She’s just—aware, that’s totally the right word. Of him, and what he does with his face and his patterned shirts, and there’s been no bare arm again, but Emma’s still not really his wife, and she knows the hours he’s spent holed up in one of the copious rooms in their quasi-mansion have been dedicated to research.

And getting his wife back.

That’s fine. It’s fine. Definitely not a problem. Hasn’t even crossed her mind.

Emma doesn’t want him to want her. Like, ever.

And they’re waiting for her dad, anyway. To report back on some magical failing in Wonderland. Seriously, everything is so fine that it's almost a problem as well. It’s too fine. Everything is—

Great.

“Are you concerned about the state of my spine, darling?”

Melting is not an option — so far as Emma is aware of, but it’s certainly very appealing in the moment. When that moment includes tilted lips and an angled neck seemingly designed to ensure Killian’s hair falls artfully across his forehead, as if the strands are there to frame his eyes and the hint of light in them.

She takes a deep breath.

The light brightens. Or she imagines.

“A tree lighting, though,” Emma says, not-so-subtly changing the subject. Killian’s brows jump. Up his forehead and past those strands of hair she’s only passably obsessed with. “Isn’t that kind of...I don’t know, it’s not very fairy tale.” “Regina lights the candles with magic, if that helps.” “So why do I have to be there?” “The monarchy usually stands on a platform, waves lovingly to their subjects and—” “—God, how is there more?” Emma balks, but that only gets her a more powerful smirk and eyes that are far too blue to be fair, and they still haven’t painted the dining room. She’s not going to ask about that.

She’s not.

“This is something of the central hub for the rest of the United Realms,” Killian explains, “and with Regina and the Charmings here, it makes sense that people...flock.” “Like birds.” “Not the ones your mother can commune with, but I suppose the metaphor is appropriate.”

“Who decided to hold Regina’s queen election?” Eyeing her speculatively, Emma does her very best not to wither under Killian’s expression. She’s not altogether confident it works, but they’ve almost come to something like an understanding, and it’s very easy. This, them. No, not them. There’s no them and while Emma’s done her fair share of staring, there can’t be a them now because that will undoubtedly fuck with the timeline and probably everything else, just to keep inspiring problematic lists, and her increasing desire to kiss him until he also has to deal with wobbly knees is just something she’s going to have to deal with.

“Maybe I won’t remember when I get back,” Emma reasons, but that one word comes out as wobbly as her knees have been and Killian purses his lips. “Ok, fine—tell me something totally random, then. A fun-fact, as it were.” “Random.” “Do you not know what that means?” He rolls his eyes. “I know at least three more languages than you do, so—” “—No you do not!”

Nodding, Killian smiles over the edge of his coffee mug, and neither one of them mention that his proclivity to drinking a gallon of coffee every morning could probably be this so-called fun fact. “English, obviously, and—” “—Ok, I can clearly speak English,” Emma argues. She nearly bites her tongue in half at the force of Killian’s answering look, part amusement and even more heat and that only circles her back around to the melting thing.

“Aye, but I definitely know more curses than you do, so that’s got to count for something. Also that’s simply my base language, as it were.” She sneers. He chuckles. Into the mug, but it feels like the emotion behind it sinks under Emma’s skin and times up with her pulse, less erratic than it had been those first few nights, and she’s actually started sleeping consistently. “Then of course, I’m rather familiar with Latin.” “Dead, it doesn’t count.” “Impressive, though.” “Sounds like you’re fishing for compliments, Captain.” “Unnecessary, when I know you’ll be all wide-eyed and amazed in a moment,” Killian promises, swinging his legs to prop his feet on the edge of her desk. “There’s also Greek, and—” Waving her hands, Emma doesn’t explicitly try to swat at his legs, but he’s just so goddamn close, and still exuding heat, and she’s starting to have some assumptions about that as well. Of the possibly magic and decidedly—no she’s not doing that. They’re not that. Not like this, anyway. And Killian doesn’t immediately move, but that only lulls her into a false sense of security, the metal of his hook is cold enough that she yelps when it circles both her wrists.

“Fairy,” he finishes, and Emma refuses to believe he leans forward on purpose.

“No.” “You keep objecting to my facts and you’ll give a man a complex, Swan.” “Why would you know Greek, you’re a—” “—Fairy tale character?”

Emma presses her lips together. So as not to make an undignified noise. She’s already whimpered enough, and cried more than she thought possible and the hitch in his voice threatens to shatter several things. Moving her hands is impossible, which is probably for the best, but all of her would very much like to cup his cheek, if only to see if he’ll kiss the inside of her wrist, and she’s like ninety-two percent positive he would. “Pirate prince,” she corrects lightly, and does get her a smile. “Do you have an official title here?” “Captain.” “That’s it?” “Not impressive enough, huh?”

There’s no music on in the station, but they’re clearly dancing all the same — around each other, and the maelstrom of feelings Emma is doing a God awful job of ignoring, and at some point one of them is going to have to pull away from the other. In more ways than one.

“I didn’t say that,” she shakes, “and don’t bother telling me it’s another argument, I don’t care. I’m just—curious, I guess.” “About me?”

Nodding is the least dangerous response when she’s so worried about tripping over her own feet in this metaphorical waltz, but it’s one of the more accurate things she’s said since she got here, and now she’s got an excuse. No repercussions, nothing exactly permanent about these conversations, or this information, and no one’s told her whether or not she’ll retain her memories once she gets back, but they also don’t know she’ll get back so—

Fuck it, honestly.

“Yeah,” Emma replies, not bothering to gloat when Killian’s the one whose eyes go wide first.

“Oh.” “Is that unexpected?” “Maybe at this point.”

Humming, she files that away, preening slightly under the not-quite-compliment. “Not an answer though. Habit of yours.” “Not really, you’re just very demanding in this incarnation.” “Product of my situation, I guess.” He laughs. It’s something that happens more often here than it did when Emma knew him — knows him, whatever tenses get confusing in time travel. Still, the sound consistently manages to catch her off guard. Free and easy, and the magic that rustles in the back of her brain might deserve its own list.

Or another conversation with Regina. “The Royal Navy,” Killian says, an answer Emma nearly forgot she wanted. Her eyes widen. He looks triumphant. “See, told you.” “Like an Enchanted Forest GI bill, huh? See new lands, learn new languages.” “Something like that, aye.” “How’d you get to fairy?” “Did you meet the Lady Bell before—” “—I got yanked out of Neverland?” Emma quips, and it might be a defense mechanism. Making jokes, but she also hasn’t gone into detail about the plant-thing yet, and that might be because she doesn’t want to freak him out.

Anymore than he already is. He spends at least an hour in that room every night.

“Yeah, I did,” she adds,” after she kidnapped Regina and told us Greg and Tamara were dead, which...y’know—” “—Wasn’t the worst thing in the world?” “Does that make me a horrible person?” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” “Are you going to tell me you learned fairy language from an actual fairy?” “Not much else to do on a hellish island for several hundred years, and it’s a rather complicated tongue. Takes some practice.” “Oh, you’re doing that on purpose now.” The speed of his grin is like molasses. Emma assumes. She’s not sure she’s ever encountered molasses in real life. Even so, the whole thing is bordering on obscene and the opposite of the Christmas spirit and—“Alright,” she concedes, “learning fairy is actually pretty impressive.” “You flatter me, love.”

“What’s your favorite fairy curse word and do you think anyone would be totally scandalized if I used it during this super fancy, exceptionally royal tree lighting?”

Absolutely, goddamn obscene. The tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth, and his eyes get noticeably darker, Emma’s pulse picking up until she’s sure they can hear it on the other side of town, and there’s already barely any space between them, but that appears to be decreasing with every passing second. She’s got no idea who’s moving. She might be moving.

God, she hopes she’s moving.

Losing control of her limbs may send her off some ledge.

And she’s just about to throw caution to the seemingly ever-present wind that comes off the harbor, because the front of this patterned shirt looks particularly yankable, but the station door creaks, and a muscle in Killian’s jaw jumps and David clicks his teeth exactly once when he walks in.

“Interrupting something, am I?” “No, no,” Emma stammers at the same time Killian mumbles “absolutely not,” and neither of those things sound all that honest.

She’s never gone into cardiac arrest, but if this is what it feels like, it’s kind of disorienting.

“You hear about the tree lighting, Emma?” David asks, and that’s obviously where her inability to tactfully alter the course of a conversation comes from. Killian rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, slumping back into his chair.

Exhaling feels like an admission of guilt, but Emma can’t have anything to feel guilty about here, and she hopes Killian’s getting sleep. On the couch. He keeps sleeping on the couch.

Of course he does.

“Do I have to wear a gown or anything?” “It’s outside,” David says, “there are trees involved.”

Killian’s hook pokes at his chair arm. “Only one tree, as far as I knew.” “Why are you like this?” “You’re charmed by it, I know,” he chuckles, eyes flashing towards Emma. Coincidence, she’s sure. Her cheeks are very warm.

She’s very warm. Passably magical, maybe.

David sighs. “No, there are no gowns. It is in fact only one tree, and Em—you don’t have to say anything. Regina will thank people for coming, Snow will open up the meal and that’ll be that.” “Should I know what the meal is?” Emma asks, and her gaze doesn’t automatically drift towards Killian either. It just, sort of—meanders there, naturally. His tongue is still doing that thing.

“I was going to get to that part eventually.” “There’s kind of a reception,” David explains, “with cookies.” “Shit, how many cookies can one United Realm eat?” “An exceptional amount,” Killian mutters, and Emma might guffaw. While realizing why her other version had been baking so much before.

“You don’t have to do anything,” David adds, “just show up and smile, and you’ll get some cookies out of it.” “Will I not get cookies if I don’t smile?” Not able to stop whatever noise rumbles out of him, the force of Killian’s grin makes Emma glad she’s sitting down again. “I’ll swipe you some if you don’t.” “Very gallant.” “Happens from time to time.” Flirting in front of her father is wrong. That’s if this counts as flirting. As far as Emma knows, most of their banter has been a product of their mutually ridiculous lives, and whatever situation they’ve found themselves in at the moment, but this moment doesn’t hold any danger and it is so goddamn easy.

She smiles.

Killian beams.

David sighs again. “Anyone want to hear about Wonderland now? Or how the White Rabbit can’t draw any portals? Or—” “—This is a really extensive list,” Emma grumbles, and Killian’s smile is going to get stuck on his face. Permanently. She’s very charmed by the crinkles around his eyes.

“Tinker Bell is here.” Slamming his feet back onto the floor, Killian practically snaps to attention, and Emma’s body goes through another reaction she does not expect. What feels suspiciously like jealousy rattles down her spine, rooting her to the spot and drying out her mouth and David’s far too observant.

He clicks his teeth again. “When?” Killian asks, already standing and offering Emma his hand. She takes it, not thinking about what that means — or how it affects the half-green tint clouding her vision, and her heart misses a beat. As soon as his fingers lace through hers.

“Just now. Went to Regina’s, but I had to come here, so one of Snow’s birds told me.” “You can talk to the birds too?” Emma balks, stumbling while Killian all but yanks her towards the door.

“No, no, they carry messages now.” “Ah of course.” “Did Tink say anything yet?” Killian demands, David already shaking his head and they’re picking up speed. All but jogging down Main Street and towards Regina’s office, and the nickname probably isn’t important. It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s all going to be good.

Even when the fairy in question snaps towards the office door as it swings open, practically lighting up when she notices Killian and Regina’s eyes go noticeably thin. Staring at Emma like she’s trying to read her mind.

Her fingers are still tied up with Killian’s. “Hook,” Tinker Bell exclaims, and she doesn’t have any visible wings so she can’t fly out of her chair. She tries all the same, arms that bump Emma as they hug her not-quite husband and he mutters a greeting. It takes a moment for Tinker Bell’s gaze to find Emma, trying and failing to keep her expression even, and Killian might chuckle.

She kicks his ankle.

“Emma,” Tink breathes, “it’s good to see you again, you have to get the hell out of this timeline.”

“So, that’s it,” Tinker Bell finishes, shrugging like Emma’s not dangerously close to fully breaking down and Killian’s thumb keeps tapping the side of her palm. Because he’s still holding her hand. Cool, it’s cool. She’s not totally preoccupied with that.

Regina’s totally staring, anyway.

“Will-o-wisps,” Killian says, “I thought that was a rumor.” More shrugging. There’s too much shrugging for Emma. “I’ve never heard of it in practice,” Tinker Bell reasons, “but can you think of another plant in Neverland that could do such a thing? That rumor you’re talking about always mentioned how it would draw a traveler in, bewitch them with lights and—were there lights, Emma?”

She nods. Swallows, or tries at least. But her tongue is expanding again, and her heart might be shrinking, and the whole thing feels like a very cruel trick.

“Pan would have known about all of that,” Tinker Bell continues, “and used it to his advantage. If he could get Emma to follow the light, then she wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” “But I didn’t actually move anywhere,” Emma argues. “There was no following the light.” Regina exhales. “Probably more metaphorical, giving into what the light offered.” “Which was?” “This, obviously. What we talked about, and what you thought you couldn’t ever have while you were stuck in Neverland, convinced of a whole slew of wholly negative things. So, there was no walking, but—” “—I wouldn’t have just run away!”

Voice cracking is a sign of impending mental breakdown, Emma’s sure. As are Killian’s tightening fingers, although she’s starting to depend on those fingers just a bit because sitting hadn’t even crossed her mind before and now that might be the only reason she’s still standing.

That keeps happening.

“Doesn’t sound like you had a choice,” Regina says, “if Pan wanted to tempt you, will-o-wisps seem like the perfect way to do it. See the light, get pulled into this future, he gets Henry, and everything he wants.” “But Henry is here. He’s—he’s a grown man, with a kid and—” “—None of that is set in stone,” Tinker Bell interrupts, magic roaring in Emma’s ears. Killian’s going to cut off the circulation to her hand. “With you out of the way, Pan’s got a straight shot at the heart of the truest believer, he can change what you would have eventually done. Make sure he gets the magic that’ll save Neverland. That’s why everything else is falling apart.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Magic,” David clarifies. “All of it acting strangely? Turns out that is because of you, kid.” Scoffing makes her lean forward awkwardly, but Killian doesn’t mention the strain it’s undoubtedly putting on his arm, and letting go of her hand is disappointing for about two seconds. Before it turns into his arm around waist.

Regina’s expression turns calculating.

“Again,” she says, “it’s what we talked about. Things falling apart because you got pulled off the board. Into this exceedingly tempting place.”

Widening her eyes at the unspoken judgement doesn’t do anything to alter Regina’s face, but Emma didn’t really expect it to and her eyes hurt. From not crying. She can’t possibly cry anymore. “I’ve never been to Wonderland, though. How could I fuck up its magic?” “You’ve been other places, love,” Killian murmurs, “and all of that has ripple effects. Savior saves one place, and other realms reap the benefits.” “Is Neverland in the United Realms?” “No.” “Just like that?” “Just like that,” he echoes, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “What do we do now, Your Majesty?”

Taking a deep breath, Regina lets it out almost immediately — staring at limbs and their out-of-place placement for a moment, before glancing at Tinker Bell. Who shrugs, again. Emma’s going to scream. Before she cries. Maybe then all the emotions will balance out. “We figure out a way to get Emma back to the right place, so she can save Henry and defeat Pan, then we hope that things haven’t been altered so much in the past that this version of the future crumbles entirely.” “What was that about no pressure before?” Emma huffs, David laughing under his breath and the feel of something on her hair is absolutely not Killian’s lips. “And honesty, what options do we have left? As far as time travel goes.” “Eh, we're far from exhausted on possibilities,” Regina says. “Just need to get creative.” Tinker Bell’s gasp is very loud. “Have you tried—” “—No,” Killian cuts in, sharper than anything else he’s said. “That’s not going to work.” “But you haven’t tried.” “Because it’s not an option.” “Oh, that’s very negative.” He hums, and Emma waits for the rest of the conversation. Another verbal volley, but it doesn’t come and Tinker Bell looks very disappointed. She’s got another migraine. “How long do you think we have until this future just—disintegrates?” Emma asks.

She counts to twenty-four before anyone replies. “Maybe a couple days,” Regina replies, “a week at most.” “So—Christmas, then?” “I bet he didn’t plan that on purpose, just one of those crazy happenstances.” “Yuh huh.” “Try and sound more convincing next time, that one sucked a bit.”

Hearing the so-called queen of these supposed United Realms utter the word sucked without a hint of irony is not what Emma expects to be the straw that breaks her back, but it is and her back hurts, and all of her aches, and saving people is her gig. She’s got to figure out a way to do that. No matter what.

She can’t do that while standing here. With three matching looks of concern, and one of absolute and total fear boring into the side of her head, and Emma’s also very good at running.

That would suggest she’s got control over her limbs, though. Stumbling down the stairs, she makes it about three-quarters of the way down before the whole thing is too challenging and her lungs appear to be disappearing, or possibly melting, and something in her spine cracks when she falls forward.

Hair brushes Emma’s knees, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs and the volume of her breathing and the hand that lands on hers doesn’t surprise her as much as it should. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Killian instructs, only for Emma to flat out fail at that too.

Becoming a very frustrating theme. “Why are you so worried about my oxygen intake?” “It concerns me that you’re not, actually.”

Letting out a breath she definitely could have used, Emma’s head lolls. Towards his shoulder and the very solid nature of him, and he doesn’t try to roll her off. Just shifts his arm so it’s back around her waist and that does make it a bit easier to keep her lungs functioning.

“Was it all of reality collapsing, or Regina using that particular word?”

Emma groans. “Mind reading’s kind of a violation of privacy.” “Invoking my pirate excuse.” “That’s not a thing.” “Eh,” he says, and she hears the smile. That’s...nice. “Having no regard for laws is something of a requirement for piracy.” “This is not working as well as you think it is.” “I respectfully disagree. We’re going to fix this, you know that, right?” “I can’t imagine how.” “Sheer stubbornness hardwired into your personality.” Laughing hurts her very tight and anxiety-riddled chest, but Emma can’t help herself and she’d been right about the smile. Magic flutters under her skin, a steady pulse that’s slightly different than her normal pulse because it’s also more consistent and Killian’s nose is close enough to brush her cheek. If he wanted.

She wonders if he does. She’d like him to.

But that’s another problem, and more danger than anything Neverland could offer, and—“Fuck Peter Pan, honestly,” Emma proclaims, Killian’s response warm on her skin because it also includes a sound drifting close to a guffaw and she supposes his mouth is as close as his nose. What with the general structure of faces, and all.

He kisses her cheek.

Quick — barely there, really. Over before it has a chance to register, but Emma’s certain she’s been catapulted into the stratosphere, and he blinks almost hyperactively at her. She’s right about the palm thing too.

He turns into her hand as soon as it finds his cheek.

“Apologies,” Killian mumbles, retreating back into formalities and behind walls Emma had been clinging to only a few days before. Now they’re just kind of annoying. “Force of habit.”

“Was it the fuck Peter Pan that got you?” “You’ve always been something of a wordsmith.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Emma smiles. “Can I—can I ask you a question?” “No need to preface it, darling.” That’s something like the eighth time that’s happened. In the last two days. Second in the last hour or so. Emma’s not counting that either. “Do you remember this?” “Currently?” “Don’t be an ass,” she snarks, but his hook is around her wrists before she can even try to lift her hands. “The will-o-wisp attack. I—well, it was my turn to watch and I was kind of wallowing because of everything that had happened, and—” Telling him she wanted to kiss him then and now and possibly for the rest of time is also very appealing. And terrifying. Emma bites her tongue. Coward.

“No,” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t.” “Is that weird?” “Decidedly.” “So, then—wait, I’ve got another question.” He lifts his eyebrows. Smirks. Has the absolute cheek to lift his thumb and brush tears away from her skin, and Emma resolutely refuses to acknowledge the shiver that goes through her at that. “What was with your huh’s, then?” “Last night, you mean.” “I said Echo Caves and you totally froze. Is that—” “Quite a lot of things happen in Neverland,” Killian finishes, “and not all of them have happened for you yet.” “Menacing.” He hums again, takes a deep breath that clearly isn’t a sign he wants to kiss her again. When he does not actually kiss her again. Fine, fine, fine, super. “Not all of it,” he says, although the words sound suspiciously like a promise and neither one of them blink when a bird flies through the open window nearby.

“Are those birds flying in sync?” “Stop talking, you’re going to get us in trouble.” “What was that about pirate code, or whatever?” Grinning up at him and his scowl, Emma can’t help but be a little proud that she’s managed to distract the great and passably royal Captain Killian Jones during the United Realm’s annual tree lighting. Which in retrospect, does seem kind of strange since Emma can’t imagine they actually have Christmas in the Enchanted Forest.

That’s a conversation for a different time, though.

For now she’s willing to keep playing distraction, and it’s very fun to flirt. With Killian, specifically. She’ll consider the repercussions of that later, too.

“As far as I’m aware,” Killian whispers, trying to keep Hope from jumping into the nearest snowbank, “your mother has instructed them to appear at certain and integral points in the ceremony. For dramatic effect.” “Kind of gaudy, isn’t it?” “A requirement of royalty, so it would seem.”

The muscles in her cheeks are starting to ache. From overuse, and that’s—another problem. Being here a tease. That one strand of hair that always manages to fall towards Killian’s right eye is the worst.

“How long have you been holding onto that particular opinion?” They haven't turned the tree on yet, so whatever light reflects in his eyes is more theoretical than anything. Regina must have practiced this speech at some point. No way this is all improvised, not with the dramatic pauses and introductions and— “Oh shit,” Emma mutters, the ends of Killian’s ears going red because Regina is introducing them and Hope is nothing more than four uncoordinated limbs and Henry snickers very loudly.

Ella elbows him in the side.

Emma likes her daughter-in-law. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about that title, or the granddaughter it comes with, but she’s getting very good at putting thoughts in boxes and only partially acknowledging what they mean and Killian's hand finds her again.

Magic rushes from the top of her head to the very bottom of her feet, standing a bit straighter in another pair of boots, and Killian’s whole body moves towards her. So as to make it easier when he openly gapes at her.

That must happen a lot too, though. No one bats an eyelash. “If you’re all done,” Regina drawls, but Henry isn’t and Ella can’t contain her laugh either. Mary Margaret looks overjoyed. Even as her birds break formation.

Emma nods. “All good.” “Gods, the whole lot of you are annoying. You know—” Waving one hand, candles burst into flame without a word, multi-colored lights appearing on every branch, and it takes Emma a moment to realize that everyone in the crowd is holding an ornament.

“What are they for?” she asks Killian, not bothering to lower her face over the cheers. People are cheering for the tree. “They’re wishes, Mama,” Hope cries. “From everyone!”

He nods when the four-year-old doesn’t explain anymore — already rushing towards Mary Margaret and her ornament. “That’s why people come from all over. Aside from the festive nature, and the talented birds, it’s an old superstition. Place an ornament where the candle was, and you’ll get your wish.” “What happens to the candle?” “Supposed to bring it home, and light that space with the feeling of the solstice.”

In any other situation, exhaling as forcefully as she does would be embarrassing. As it is, Emma figures she’s got a thousand excuses and the hand in hers gives no indication of letting go any time soon. So, seems like a wash. “Gods, that’s nice.” “Aye, it is.”

Hope puts an ornament on the tree.

So does Henry.

And Lucy. The list goes on and on, but all Emma can do is stand at the end of Granny’s counters and eat her weight in Snickerdoodles.

She's the worst, frankly.

Snow starts to fall just as Emma’s wavering between that happy medium of pleasantly buzzed and legitimately drunk, and she’s got to ask someone who doles out the liquor licenses in this realm because it appears Granny’s hand has grown a bit heavy over the years.

Lucy scampers towards the far window as soon as she notices the storm, already talking a mile a minute and detailing plans with Hope and Neal — and this happy medium makes it impossible for Emma to be too frustrated by that, but she also hasn’t actually asked what happened to Neal or why he doesn’t appear in Storybrooke, so it seems it’s more difficult to rid herself of the self-imposed asshole moniker than she’d like.

And the bell over the door rattles like it’s the goddamn town crier, another familiar face stepping through the frame. With red highlights in her hair. “Are we doing this, then?” Ruby asks, flanked by a woman Emma doesn’t recognize and another redhead who is obviously not Ariel and it’s strange to see Mulan out of armor.

“Cap?” Ruby presses, when no one responds quickly enough, “this is happening, right?” Glancing at a wary Henry and back towards a clearly confused Emma, Killian grits his teeth. While she does her best to come to terms with nicknames, and another tradition and Hope tries very hard to climb up Emma’s side.

So as to yell in her ear easier.

“It’s snowing, Mama. We’ve got to play!” Emma blinks. “In the snow.” “It’s a...thing,” Killian explains. “Gets almost—” “—Bloodthirsty,” Mary Margaret says, which is not the most shocking thing that’s happened so far, but Emma’s buzz is starting to ebb slightly and someone’s knocking on the door. Another redhead, with her hair in braids and what looks like suspiciously like a crown on her head and David lets out a joyful noise when he notices the guy behind her.

Mary Margaret tugs at the edge of Emma’s sleeve. She might be nearly drunk too, actually. If her slight wobble is any indication. “In the past,” she starts, “there’s been some notably magical snowstorms here. It was quite an event when Elsa first arrived, but then well—you helped save her, and her sister.” The redhead waves, as if she knows she’s being talked about and Emma can’t fathom how she makes that connection, but she’s getting better at puzzles. “And now,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s become something of a ritual.”

Ruby gags. “Oh Gods, don’t say it like that. Sounds ruthless.” “Isn’t it, though?” Henry challenges. “The gist is, that Elsa shows up after the tree lighting with her snow powers and we have a snowball fight.” She’s too drunk for this. Definitely well past buzzed at this point. “A snowball fight,” Emma repeats, half a dozen nodding heads replying with equally large smiles and the almost audible sense of anticipation hovering around them.

Hope widens her eyes. It’s a very good trick. “She practices that,” Killian mutters, more mind reading that Emma doesn’t bother to point out because the redhead is shouting "come on, let’s go'' and that sounds like a command. And bloodthirsty is a very appropriate adjective.

Teams are quickly formed, alliances announced and the guy Emma realizes is named Kristoff claims “honor must be defended” enough times that it appears to be a catchphrase. Laughter rings out around them, dancing on the magically-induced snowflakes and off the lights, and there aren’t as many candles on the tree anymore, but some flames continue to flicker, casting shadows across faces and snowballs.

As they fly past Emma’s ears.

“Your aim could use some work,” Killian says, breathing heavier as he ducks behind a snow drift they’re using as a blockade. Emma sneers. “Where’d the kid go?” “Ours?” She nods. Tries not to die. Only marginally succeeds. Killian doesn’t appear to notice. Force of habit is a very strong rationalization, it seems. “She’s allied herself with her much more impressive brother, who—” Lifting out of his crouch, Killian cups a hand to his mouth, like that will help the volume of his ensuing insult. “—Has clearly been practicing snowball creation in the Wish Realm and only knows how to win by cheating!” “I learned it from you,” Henry calls back.

David’s laugh is loud enough to disrupt a whole flock of birds. Perched on the branches above his and Mary Margaret’s head.

Goosebumps make a glorious return to Emma’s arm — and quite possibly her soul, which only seems like an exaggeration until she notices the spots of color on Killian’s cheeks and the bits of snow clinging to his hair. His eyes get bluer when she brushes the moisture away. Have to, if only to explain Emma’s fluttering magic and fledgling pulse and a snowball slams into her left shoulder blade. “Gotta hide better,” Anna calls, the blonde behind her, who is definitely Elsa, shaking with the force of her laughter. Everyone keeps laughing. Everyone is so happy. It’s—

A goddamn Christmas Utopia.

“You did offer yourself up a bit,” Killian reasons, Emma gasping at the betrayal. Pulling on the front of her now-damp jacket, he tugs her back against his side and they’re very close. Too close. Possibly not close enough.

“And what would you suggest o ye master strategist?” “Little wordy, don’t you think?”

“I retract my compliment, then.” “Ahaha,” he chuckles, “a compliment, was it? Well that’s totally different, then. Now, if you just stay here with—” The rest of the sentence gets caught up in his grunt and groan and Emma’s not particularly disappointed to see Hope’s return to this side of the snowball fight, but she’s also fairly certain there was a me looming on the tip of Killian’s very distracting tongue and she’d like to hear that. Selfishly. “Oh, switched allegiances again, have you, little love?” “Henry can’t enchant the snowballs,” Hope says, like that’s supposed to make sense and it almost does because Emma has magic, but she’s never tried to use it on snow. At least not yet.

“I don’t—” she starts, only to cut herself off. At the overall circumference of Hope’s eyes, and the color of Killian’s and there’s something to said for sheer force of will. “Gimme a snowball, baby.”

Excitement immediately colors her daughter’s face, smile wide enough that it’s probably a record and Killian doesn’t say anything. Watches without a single shift of his chest, which means Emma is staring at his chest, but he’s also obviously not breathing, and her lungs can’t stand up to much more of this.

An admittedly lackluster snowball gets plopped in Emma’s upturned palm, and she blinks away the cold like this is old hat. Or something less lame sounding. Snow packs together like—well, magic, she supposes, a perfect sphere that isn’t quite iced over, but won’t fall apart when one of them throws it and obviously Hope’s got to throw it.

“Ok,” she says, nodding encouragingly. “Who did you want to take down?” Killian’s lips disappear. Behind his teeth. To stop himself from grinning like a maniac, or so Emma very quickly convinces herself.

“Uncle Kris,” Hope announces, and this family’s apparently only grown in the last decade or so. Maybe Emma should be more concerned about her heart. And its ability to burst.

“We can do that. Just—toss it up, and…”

She’s got no idea, really. Just generic hope, and a surplus of feeling, but Emma’s always been told that magic is emotion and she’s not sure she’s ever been more emotional, which is a scathing commentary of her life, but this is also her life and— Killian scoops Hope up, an impressive act of balance and dodging incoming snowballs, and Emma will use that emotion as a reasonable excuse for what she does next. Reaching forward, her fingers curl around the brace at the end of his arm, not able to actually touch skin because he’s wearing a leather jacket, and that’s only sort of messing with her mind. But the motivation is the same, and she’s got all those suspicions and thoughts and—

The most powerful magic in the world.

“Throw it, love,” Killian directs, Hope’s arm pulling behind her like she’s a professional baseball player, and Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Warmth curls at the base of her spine, inching up her vertebrae until it takes root at the base of her skull, spreading out through her brain and the rest of her limbs and he definitely kisses her hair again.

She’d been counting on that, just a bit.

Muscles loosen under her skin, no sense of tension or that ever-present anxiety Emma’s always just assumed was part of her genetic makeup. Shouts echo around her, in addition to the snow, but she can’t quite hear any of it over the explosion of magic between her ears, and Hope’s cry of success will probably be branded on Emma for the rest of her life.

She hopes so, at least.

Opening her eyes to find Kristoff sputtering, and Anna as impressed as she is indignant, Emma only barely has a chance to catch her breath before there’s a kid flying into her arms. It’s harder to hold her when she doesn’t let go of Killian. And Killian doesn’t pull away.

He watches both of them. Traces over Emma’s face, the same way she had in the hallway, and something happens. Something important. Passing between them, and cementing itself in her gut and her soul and his lips twitch. At her magic, probably. “Thank you,” Killian mouths, Emma nodding against Hope’s hair. She kisses it. Out of habit, or whatever.

Strands of hair are damp against Emma's temple by the time they traipse back to the house, Hope asleep on Killian’s shoulder. Enchanted snowflakes linger on the back of her jacket, hovering on her eyelashes for maximum effect and peak cute, which didn’t need any help if Emma’s being honest and she might be willing to err on the side of that particular feeling right now. So as to keep the feeling, all year long and maybe even indefinitely.

Or whatever they said about Ebenezer Scrooge.

After he learned to love Christmas. And other humans.

Emma’s still not thinking too hard about that particular word, though. So, maybe complete honesty’s something of a stretch, but the kid is undeniably adorable and it’s admittedly difficult to think straight when Killian is—

Killian. In italicized and underlined lettering, meeting Emma snark for snark, and snowball for snowball, and she really wants to know his Monopoly cheating strategy, but that’s a problem for an entirely different list because that list has impossible words and improbable feelings and he’s staring at her.

Where she’s leaning against their front door.

Using possessive and collective pronouns isn’t helping her cause.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. For the benefit of the sleeping kid, Emma figures. Not the state of her pulse, or the magic he could feel, and the cyclical nature of time is just toying with her at this point.

She nods. “Better than, somehow.” “Oh, that’s a little negative, Swan.” “Kind of my schtick, isn’t it.” “Not always,” Killian says, another pair of words that shouldn’t sound like a promise and clearly do not care. Emma feels her smile. Like, possibly in the very core of her being. At least between her ribs, where the growing sense of belonging has decided to linger, this feeling of home and possibility and staying here is not a possibility. Tinker Bell will figure something out.

Emma will — that’s how Savior’ing works, after all.

“You know,” Killian adds, Hope humming into his neck and there’s quite a lot of neck. Emma might be staring at his neck. “At some point we concoct this very impressive buttered rum recipe, that’s notoriously good at warding off chills.” Digging her teeth into her lips does not do anything to disperse the butterflies in Emma’s stomach, but she’s also not all that interested in them leaving. “Concerned about my breathing and my overall body temperature?” God, she’s an idiot.

Flirting isn't quite second nature, though — and Emma’s even less accustomed to flirting as a two-way street, but this feels as easy as it has and will and there’s those tense-based issues all over again. Killian grins. Slow, and measured and inching almost close to lecherous, sparking a handful of other other ideas that—

Immediately disappears when the four-year-old wakes up.

Brushed teeth take precedence, as do picking out pajamas and Hope is in possession of more pajama sets than Emma knew could exist in one set of drawers. Then there’s a bedding routine, lifting comforters and crawling under sheets and Emma doesn’t know the story requested of her.

She’s got no idea what happens after Prince Charles spun around with his sword.

It’s got to be impressive, though.

“Oh, Hope I—” she exhales, fear creeping back into the forefront of her mind. Until fingers find they’re way back into hers, and they’re just as warm as they always are and it takes Killian less than three minutes to promise a different story on another night.

No tears are shed, so that’s got to be a victory and Hope’s eyes are already fluttering closed when Killian flicks off the light. Lingering in the hallway, Emma’s not sure what she’s supposed to do or where she’s supposed to go, but there’s a hook pressed into the small of her back and buttered rum turns out to have a ridiculous amount of cinnamon in it. “Shit,” Emma mutters into her glass, and Killian looks far too satisfied. “This is really good.” “Took some trial and error, but we got there eventually. Or get there for you, I suppose.” Sipping instead of responding is another cowardly move, one Emma won’t ever admit to and it doesn’t matter because he can read her mind. At least her face. Open book, and all that.

“I’m sorry.” Killian blinks. “For what, exactly?” “God, throw a dart. Everything I—showing up in your life and making the right Emma disappear, maybe, and that’s got to be fucking with you, and—” “—You’re not the wrong Emma,” he interrupts, with enough force to pull her up short. Buttered rum drips on her chin. So, she’s a picture of romance and flirting potential. “Just a little early, that’s all.” “Not what you said when I got here.” “Aye, well that was the bastard version of me. He’s a—” “—Bastard?” “Absolutely,” Killian nods, “and maybe a little unsure of himself when it comes to you.”

It’s her turn to blink. More than once, only a little concerned the scene in front of her will change, but it doesn’t and it won’t and there’s got to be a limit on time travel. Emma’s reached her quota by now, she hopes. “Because I’m a mess now? I mean, this version of me. Not the wife one.” “You’re worried about Henry. And I understand that, did then as well. I just—you want to know why the Echo Caves gave me pause? Because if you got tugged right after that, then all you’re sure of is that I think I could move on from Milah, but nothing else has happened for you yet. No promises or—” Swallowing, he sets his glass down and there wasn’t much room between them, but there’s even less now and Emma’s got nowhere to put her hands. Except on his thigh. Where it bumps hers. “Leaving behind that bastard who wouldn’t give you the magic bean was always something of a challenge, but you made me want to. Made it easier to do just that. Because eventually you do trust me, and you believe in me, and—”

He exhales. Licks his lips. Emma can’t move. “The thought of losing that terrified me,” Killian finishes.

They’ve stopped dancing. Are standing stock-still in the middle of the floor, while other people twirl around and wait for them to get their rhythm back. And Killian doesn’t blink, which is equally frustrating and overwhelming and a much more positive adjective that Emma can’t be bothered with because she’s too busy saying, “I...like you?” “Was that a question?” “Maybe,” she admits, “it’s not really my forte, and I told Neal a bunch of shit in the Echo Caves too, so—is...did my parents name their kid after him?” “Yuh huh.” “Don’t sound particularly pleased.” “We’ll get to that,” Killian says, “Rehash the liking stuff, please.” Maybe laughing at inappropriate times is actually his greatest talent. Emma’s head drops, bumping Killian’s shoulder, but then there’s an arm back around her waist and there’s so much of him, and that’s always been the problem. Opposite of a problem, really.

“You just—” Emma mutters. “Came back, for us and me and I...that kind of terrifies me too, but you always make sure if I'm ok, and that’s—not a ton of people do that.” “Becomes something of a habit.” “I’m going to ask you a question.” “Still don’t need to preface it.” “Are you Prince Charles in the story?”

Surprise is a good look on him. All of them are, but Emma’s already crossed one emotional threshold and like wasn’t really the word she was thinking about before. “Aye,” Killian says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear.

“Does that make me the princess?” “In almost every story I tell.”

The warmth moves to her cheeks, and the same skin Killian’s fingers graze, coming dangerously close to the edge of her mouth and barely parted lips. “So, uh,” Emma stammers, “not our first time travel adventure?” “Gets confusing when you haven’t done that other part yet.” “Time travel might be overrated, honestly. But we get back, right? That’s—I mean, you’re here.”

Nodding, his nose replaces his fingers and it’s oddly endearing. “If you remember this in the past, I refuse to be held accountable, alright?”

“Seems fair,” Emma laughs, and she thinks she hears him swallow before he responds. “You give up your magic, for me—which is something else I never entirely pay you back for, but then we get pulled into the portal, adventures ensue, including that very impressive spin move, and then your magic comes back.” “How?” “With that wand Regina used before, that’s why she thought it would work.” “You’re skipping over things,” she accuses, and flirting might not be the only two-way street. He’s getting easier to read. “Was that was it you? Helping with my magic?” Shrugging isn’t easy when they’re so tangled together, but Killian’s ears are as red as Ariel’s hair and Ruby’s highlights and—“The only reason I magic’ed that snowball was because I was holding onto you. Control’s not something I’ve got much of right now.” “You would have been able to figure it out.” “Not with a kid waiting, and all those people and—” Problems be damned. Lists be damned. Time itself, be goddamned. “Paying me back is a stupid thing to think.”

“Swan.” Shaking her head, Emma moves before she can reconsider how incredibly dumb this is and possibly even more dangerous, but he keeps staring at her and it’s so easy and normal, and if she were someone who breathed with any sort of regularity, that wold be an appropriate analogy. Killian shifts too, so that helps.

And she definitely mumbles kiss me like some harlequin romance heroine, but he doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t object and the fingers that find her hair help ground her. To this plane of reality. Nice exists for about half a second, before it rather quickly evolves into need and desire and there are hands everywhere. Emma’s and Killian’s — tracing each other like this is the first time all over again, and her back arches once she clamors into his lap.

Rocking down at the same time he rocks up draws out several sounds Emma’s never heard before, and would not mind hearing on loop. Fingers search out skin, pushing into the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, and she can’t tilt her head enough. To get the right angle, or more of his tongue and his tongue’s already swiping at her lips.

He groans again. When she opens her mouth, lets him trace as much as he’d like, and Emma would like even more, but she’s always been kind of greedy when it comes to him and really oxygen is vastly overrated.

She can’t keep her eyes open.

Can’t imagine how anything gets better than this, or them and there’s that pronoun again.

Both of their shoulders heave when they finally have to pull apart, more black than blue in Killian’s eyes and— “We’re really good at that,” she mutters, working a laugh out of him. That he presses against her neck. And under her chin. Drags across her jaw, and up towards her temple, kissing whatever he can reach and everywhere he lands and it takes a power she did not know she possessed for Emma to keep herself from demanding he take his clothes off as well.

She opts for the next best thing. “Thoughts on sleeping in your own bed?”

The eyebrows, honestly. Flying up, and reacting quicker than he can respond and Killian kisses her. Soft and easy, and as normal as anything. “Vast,” he says, mostly into her mouth, “and it’s difficult to fall asleep without you, so it’d be nice to actually do that.” “Yeah, ok. That works.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #MAGIC SNOWBALL FIGHTS #making a united realms solely to bring back frozen characters???#more likely than you think!!

35 notes · View notes

mst3kproject · 3 years

Photo

Mars Needs Women

This is one of the B-movies that a lot of people have heard of, although I’m not sure how many have actually seen it. It was written, produced, and directed by Larry “They Just Didn’t Care” Buchanan and stars Tommy Kirk from Catalina Caper and Village of the Giants. Happy belated birthday to Mr. Kirk, who just turned seventy-nine in December of 2020. That’s not a bad score for a guy who’s done as many drugs as he has.

The planet Mars is suffering from a genetic problem – their chromosomes are so degraded that one hundred males are born for every one female! Clearly this is not conducive to the survival of the species, so a group of Martians have come to Earth seeking another solution: they want five female volunteers to return to Mars with them and find out if our genes are compatible! The army brass (all male, obviously) dismiss the idea out of hand, but the Martians cannot afford to fail. They will have their way with the Earth Women, with or without the Earth Men’s permission.

We all know that Larry Buchanan couldn’t come up with an idea of his own, so naturally this is a remake of sorts. Mars Needs Women was inspired by Tommy Kirk’s previous movie Pajama Party, which doesn’t sound like an alien invasion flick, but is. In it, Kirk plays a Martian named Gogo (yes, really), who comes to Earth as an invasion scout but decides not to take over the planet because he falls in love with Annette Funicello. Mars Needs Women dispenses with the teen hijinks angle in an attempt to be a straight-up sci-fi thriller, and fails miserably.

We get the normal Larry Buchanan types of suck, such as crummy lighting, appallingly awful day-for-night, a washed-out, colourless print, and copious stock footage. There’s a long bit where the air force tries to attack the Martian ship and fails, which is entirely stock footage intercut with men in uniforms staring at something next to the camera. We don’t see the flying saucer itself even once during this sequence, although they do have a model of it that shows up elsewhere and is almost definitely the best effect in the whole movie. Not a high bar, of course, but seeing as they actually appear to have spent money on this miniature, you’d think it’d get more screen time.

The Martians themselves dress like a sort of noir version of the Chicken Men of Krankor. Their costumes are black wetsuits decorated with duct tape and silver paint, with stupid antennae on the sides of their heads. It amuses me that the first thing they do after acquiring some ‘Earth apparel’ is complain about how dumb neckties are. There’s a mention about how they’ve been trained in ‘Earth slang’, which seems to have happened just so the movie would have no possible sources of humour. When I think about Attack of the The Eye Creatures, I’m kind of grateful that Mars Needs Women never tries to be funny, but it leaves the whole film relentlessly monotone.

The acting is pretty crummy, even from the main characters. Yvonne Craig (Batgirl – no, not one of them, the actual Batgirl) does her best with the material but the lines she’s given are such technobabble bullshit there are very few people who could deliver them with any conviction. Almost everybody else is bland at best. The women scream and faint, and the military guys tense their jaws and glare. The only decent acting moment actually goes to Tommy Kirk as he describes the conditions on Mars, the dying planet. His tone barely changes, and yet you can sense his nostalgia and regret.

Do I even need to ask if this movie objectifies women? Well, yes, actually, I do, and you’ll see why in a minute. The answer is a resounding yes and a good bit of run time is spent doing exactly that. Before the opening credits we see three blondes abducted in broad daylight, dematerialized by the simple means of stopping the camera, removing the actress, and starting it up again. One of these hapless victims is taken from the shower. We later learn that the beam-ups failed somehow, which I assume means the women died, but that’s apparently not worth more than a throwaway line.

Once the five Martians arrive on Earth, they disperse to go hunting for suitable subjects. The first one goes directly to a strip bar, perhaps on the assumption that the employees will not be married (he’d be amazed). We then watch the stripper dance at great length, cutting back to it repeatedly in between other threads of the storyline, which suggests that the Martian sat there for hours staring at her before making his move. He seems to have been the least choosy of the five, simply taking the first woman he gets a boner for. The others are a bit more discerning.

None more so than the leader, Fellow One (the Martians are Fellows One through Five, which did save the writers from having to come up with ‘alien names’ that sound like synthetic fabrics). He decides on Craig’s character, Dr. Marjorie Bolen, an expert in ‘space medicine’ and ‘space genetics’ (this may be 60’s for astrobiology). Her skills seem to be just what the Martians need. This character is treated terribly by the movie and almost everybody in it. A news reporter commenting on Dr. Bolen’s arrival describes her as a stunning brunette who found it hard to hide her charm behind her horn-rimmed spectacles, and only then moves on to her qualifications. She gives a news conference titled Sex and Outer Space, and the reporters who are supposed to be interviewing her have a laugh about the good time the kidnapped women will supposedly be having on Mars. The prop department can’t even bother to spell her name right – it’s written as ‘Majorie’ on a sign even though the r is clearly audible when people say it out loud.

In contrast to this, Fellow One treats her with some degree of respect. Their conversations about science are mostly nonsense, but you can tell what the script is going for. They go on a couple of quick dates, one to a planetarium and one to a museum exhibit on human reproduction (yes, this is weird and icky), and while it is rushed, their little love story is actually important to the plot in ways besides Fellow One deciding to abandon the mission so he can bone her. The movie considers Dr. Bolen a sex object, but from the beginning Fellow One sees her as more than that.

This brings us, in a sideways kind of way, to the thing I find weirdly fascinating about Mars Needs Women: the alien invaders are curiously considerate. They steal a car, but they take one from airport parking on the assumption that the owner won’t need it for a while. They request unattached women, not wanting to break up any happy partnerships. And most of all, they ask for volunteers for abduction! This makes me wonder what would have happened if they’d broadcast their message to the entire world instead of one group of soldiers. Humans being the way we are, I’m sure there’re lots of people out there who’d fuck a couple of aliens if it meant a free trip to Mars (or move to Mars if it meant they got to fuck some aliens).

The female characters even seem designed to want a trip to space. Dr. Bolen might well have helped them willingly in exchange for this unparalleled chance to expand her research, and she does find it very sexy that Fellow One speaks to her as an equal. Yet somehow, the idea never even comes up. At the last minute, she becomes the helpless princess who must be saved from peril, and Fellow One simply tells her he loves her and asks her to flee. Why not invite her along as a guest instead of a captive? It’s got to be worth a try.

The others can be made to fit this pattern, too. The stripper? Maybe she’s sick of being gawked at like meat and would welcome the chance to be among people who will treat her like a queen. The flight attendant? She might feel like she’s been everywhere and seen everything – on Earth, at least. The artist? A whole new planet to inspire her! The homecoming queen? She’s a journalism major. What a scoop if she can report back to Earth about the culture and history of Mars! I want to see a remake of this movie in which the ladies really are volunteers, who must help the Martians outwit the military so they can start their new lives on another planet.

Sadly, this is not that movie, and its exploitative aspects stand rather awkwardly alongside the embryonic feminism embodied in Dr. Bolen, overwhelming it more often than not. I do want to give it maybe half a kudo, though, for at least acknowledging that women can have interests and ambitions. I guess the point of the ending is that Fellow One has realized they need to be allowed to pursue those instead of being forced to breed.

Mars Needs Women is probably Larry Buchanan’s best movie, which is a statement on the same level as saying that The Beast of Yucca Flats is Coleman Francis’ – by any reasonable standard it still really sucks. While it has many problems, I would say that the one that kills any entertainment value is how the narrative totally lacks the urgency the title implies. The ending should be a race to stop the Martians taking off with their prisoners, but no, it saunters instead. If there were only some tension in the film, it could have been the guilty pleasure you’d want from a movie called Mars Needs Women.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #mars needs women #larry buchanan just doesn’t care #60s

25 notes · View notes

davidmann95 · 4 years

Note

So... Crossover #1: any thoughts?

Anonymous said: You seemed not to think much of Crossover #1 on Twitter. Your full thoughts?

wcwit said: So Cates' Crossover #1, best bad comic of the year or just regular pretentious trash?

An incidental note upfront: What you’re seeing there is the apparently SUPER-RARE SECRET VARIANT COVER I unwittingly picked up at the store - at first glance indistinguishable from the standard cover, the kid getting four-color-fucked by mysterious comic book rays is in fact themselves reading a variant cover of the book, rather than the main cover again in an infinite painting-within-a-painting sort of deal that’s the standard.

So I wasn’t gonna get this: my initial post on the comic and what an obviously awful idea it was back when we only knew half the premise and it was known as Pray The Capes Away actually got some out-of-nowhere traction recently, and I’ve grown rapidly tired of Cates’ Marvel work. Even learning that it was going to be Image’s biggest debut in decades - Jesus fuck, how and why - mostly just made me wish it was Commanders in Crisis getting those kinds of numbers. But Sean Dillon/@deathchrist2000 and Ritesh Babu both got early looks at it and assured me that I, specifically, needed to see the last page, so in I dove. I’ll be posting my reaction to the last page below because I recorded it for their amusement, and below that I’ll talk about said last page. It may surprise you, however, that that wasn’t my main takeaway from the issue.

Let’s accentuate the positive first! This book is gorgeous. Geoff Shaw was terrific back with Thanos Wins, but this is an incredible stylistic level-up aided and abetted by Dee Cunniffe’s colors: it’s rote as hell to say “They mix the elevated and the mundane so well!”, but even beyond the obvious ben-day dots stuff there’s such a tangible sense that the comic book beings don’t belong here, that they’re of higher, misty, platonic stuff and we squishy non-paper-people inevitably crumble and break and bleed in their wake, communicating that big idea so much more powerfully than the actual loads of text on the subject. And if we’re talking good things, I’ll concede it’s possible that there could be subtleties that play out in more interesting ways as it goes on, and that not everything is meant to be taken at face value: a smart friend who actually did like it mentioned being interested in it as clumsy but potentially effective exploration of ‘what if the fun hobby you had inadvertently became contaminated and stigmatized by forces beyond your control?’ In a post-Comicsgate world where we recently ended up inches away from the Superman logo almost certainly becoming a fascist propaganda symbol ala the Punisher skull for at least a generation, that’s a defensible lens to view this book through.

For all Donny Cates’ legitimate talents however, I don’t think an expectation of subtlety is gonna work out with this one.

Okay first off getting into the rest of it the main characters’ name is Ellipsis because “Those three little dots...they can become anything”, so there’s that. More importantly, in the world of this story where comic fans face social oppression after superpeople materialize and fuck up Colorado, they face EVERY KIND OF OPPRESSION: there are clear parallels drawn in here to the violence and harassment faced by people persecuted for their religion, people seeking abortions, queer people, and people of color; this motherfucker even drops a “hates and fears” to let us know comic collecting basically makes you one of the goddamn X-Men. Which in theory could be a purely misjudged allegory rather than stemming from actual, obscenely inflated to the point of disgusting fears of ‘nerd oppression’, except that the book literally opens with a quote from Wertham. If Cates didn’t want to make the message “Hating comics? That’s bad. Like, racism bad”, he utterly, grotesquely failed by inextricably intermingling imagery of real-world bigotry with systemic, deluded fanboy paranoia, at least as of this first issue that’s supposed to meaningfully convey the premise. As a queer dude I think I’m somewhat in my lane to say it’s too blunt and broad and dopey to be particularly offensive, but the co-opting of oppression is what this is rooted in.

The idea of ‘comics good no matter what people think, ain’t it?’ extends to the last traditional local comic store standing in this world: much as superheroes are the primary cause of suffering in this world but the point of the story is still supposed to reveal the beauty in them, part of this is that the comics community isn’t perfect but it sure is great. Which is expressed here via Ellie’s boss Otto, a loveable asshole who yells at people coming in trying to sell the wrong kind of comics to fuck off, but at heart is we’re supposed to understand a good enough dude that the shop he runs is “the only home a lot of (the benighted nerds) have left” (because I guess in this alternate universe the physical stores are still the main hub through which comics fans talk with one another?).

So here’s a story of my very own! That’s me in 2013, it must’ve been some kind of special day because I’m wearing a shirt with a button. I’d at that point only frequented one of what would be my thus far four regular comic shops. The first was a great place, and while to say I had a sense of community there would be overstating it a bit, I was on really good terms with the owner and we regularly chatted when we had the time. When I left for college my store there wasn’t as well-stocked, and for some damn reason all variant covers were double-price, but I got along really well with the owner there too. The third I wasn’t so lucky; the guy regularly behind the desk was never overtly hostile, but clearly wanted to wring my neck every time I asked when a missing comic might get in or if I could update my pull list, and given I’m in the ‘ideal’ demographic for being a comic book store regular and was dropping a solid lump of money there every week, I wonder how others were treated there (the store nearly went under, was saved on the last day of operation by another store that wanted to incorporate it as part of its franchise, then shortly afterwards DID go under and is now I believe a beef jerky place). My current store is fine, I didn’t chat much with the folks behind the counter even before we all had medical incentive to get in and out of places fairly quickly but it almost always has what I’m looking for.

Just because those were my regular stores of course doesn’t mean those are the only ones I’ve ever gone to. About a year before that picture was taken - it’s the closest I could find - when I was 17 my store didn’t have something or another I was looking for, so I head across town to see if another place I had looked up had it. This other place didn’t have what I was looking for either, though I distinctly remember picking up a few issues of Hickman’s FF while I was there since I had foolishly fallen off, hence my remembering the year. I bought a couple issues, but hung around for a bit looking to see if I might grab something else out of a dollar box, setting my comics down. Without realizing it, I’d set my books down on top of another issue, and when I decided I wasn’t getting anything else, I just picked that up along with the rest of the pile and was about to walk out before the owner stopped me. He explained what I had done though assumed it had been deliberate, and because I was a good-hearted little geek I even recall thinking “Well, he’s gonna chew me out, but I guess I deserve it. I’ll try and take this to heart as a learning experience.”

Then he pulled up his shirt a little to show me the gun on his belt. He pointed at the security camera monitors at his desk, and explained to me that if I ever did something like that again, he would have it on tape, and he would pull that gun on me and hold me there while he called the cops.

As it turned out, the comic was free.

The whole thing was so sudden and bizarre and unexpected I didn’t actually freak out until the drive home. It wasn’t until weeks or maybe months later that I managed to tell my dad about the experience, because I *had* nearly stolen a (free) comic and my guilt was mixed in with my nerves and I guess I was somehow too close to register just how disproportionate his response was. It wasn’t until now, nearly a decade later and thinking about it for the first time in a long time as I write this, that I wondered if that might have gone differently - especially living in the midwest - if I hadn’t been a white, squeaky-voiced 17-year-old.

So, minor spoiler, when our cantankerous but well-meaning LCS owner yells to call the cops and grabs and yells at a small kid for pocketing a comic (and later displays fantasy racism towards said kid), I am not filled with nostalgic love for the brotherly safe space that is comic book stores, where this guy while not meant to be seen as perfect is still framed in part as a charming, witty representation of Why We Love These Places, And This Community, And This Genre, And This Medium. Cates is clearly drawing on real time at his local stores, but he equally clearly has a very different takeaway from those experiences than me. And I am, again, in a demographic - white, cis-male, abled, bi but more interested in women, disposable income, a lifelong collector - that the industry and a lot of the guys who sell it to us contort themselves around catering to, even if I had a single very negative experience and later an ongoing low-key uncomfortable one to help disabuse me of any notions of the purity of the dork community. In the world of Crossover as of #1, toxicity is intertwined, deliberately or not on the part of the creators, with what we love on the cosmic and small business scales alike, but at least in the latter case it’s the whole picture that’s beautiful, not any single kernel that needs to be worked on to be dug up.

So underneath is my video reaction to the last page of Crossover #1. Very minor spoilers because I mutter the last two words of the comic to myself, but under the video I discuss said final page and some other scattered thoughts. Whether you read that or not, my takeaway is this: I’m fascinated with wherever the hell this thing is going, I’m glad my dad liked it well enough to want to keep getting it because now I’ll get to see where it heads, but my first impression is that this is at heart meant as cheapass Oscar-bait for people who only read Batman. It’s big and high-concept but also small and intimate! It’s meta and about how great you, the reader are for your consumption, especially the consumption of this! It’s going to be in large part about a forbidden love between a couple divided across impermeable social lines (a couple where they’re a seemingly straight white man and woman, but one likes comics)! Maybe it’ll become Not That, and I’m sure it’ll do at least something interesting along the way because Cates has done good stuff before and there are some inherently interesting big ideas for him to play with here, but for the love of god if you’re thinking about getting this buy Commanders in Crisis too or instead, it’s another new book out of Image about superheroes dealing with the collapse of the multiverse but that one is really fucking good.

So the final page splash reveal is that when the comic book child discovered in here got out of Colorado, which has had an impenetrable energy shield erected around it by one of the heroes for years, she and others were ferried out of there...by Superman, as the narration declares that “This is a story...about hope.” They don’t say the word, but she sketches her savior, Ellie and Otto freak out and go “Is that---” when they see it, and on that last page we see that while a crude drawing it isn’t a rough analogue character, it’s a guy with a cape and trunks with an S on his chest. Surprisingly, I don’t have much to say: it’s just another blunt signifier that superheroes rule and are the best, paired with the most utterly devalued notion as of late of what makes Superman special in ‘hope’. I mean, I’m perversely excited to see whether this is building the entire series on a hook it can never deliver on, or if Cates actually has talked DC into an intercompany crossover; believable given they’ve done a bunch of those over the last several years, and why else would Mark Waid be supervising as ‘story editor’ on this? I guess it’ll shake out one way or another with #6 given Cates has said it “has one of the more epic and — I would argue historic — sequences in comic book history in it.” But I’m far less convinced this is gonna truly go into the meaty question of “What does Superman mean and what makes him unique in this world where superheroes in general are indisputably either failures or monstrous bastards given the scale of destruction their presence has brought about, and he himself failed to stop that?” than as some kind of holy grail of how great superheroes are despite how dang violent they’ve gotten these days for the crew to chase after, whatever additional twist will surely be placed upon it. At least he’s kinda helping an immigrant kid get over a wall, if that’s deliberate?

Random final thoughts:

* If I wrote the opening essay and turned it in in a college course, I would be expelled for plagiarizing Grant Morrison. This is not a joke.

* If mainstream American superhero comics ended January 2017 in this universe, its own last ‘crossover’ was Civil War II, which is hilarious.

* God, please tell me if it takes the dive after all that this isn’t somehow tied into whatever Waid’s Superman project is.

* I wouldn’t normally crap on issues with the finer details of worldbuilding, but A. This is rooted in a nominally ‘real’ world playing by recognizable rules, B. I’m ragging on this anyway so what’s the harm, and C. It’s really obvious. So: Why is one of the racists against the superheroes the guy who loves superheroes so much he’s the last holdout in the entire world still selling comic books about them? How does this modestly-sized shop exist long-term with apparently a significant regular customer base if there are no new comics or even reprints to restock with, ever? Who’s buying the serialized cop/cowboy comics that the U.S. government apparently created pretty much overnight (nobody, it’s just another Wertham dig)?

* The solicit for issue #3 proclaims “Don't miss this one, folks. If you do, it just might drive you...mad.”, so now I fear some kind of Ultra Comics riff.

* “Kids love chains” is the most metal-ass quote of all time and I hate that it’s being wasted as an arc title on this book.

#Donny Cates #Geoff Shaw #Dee Cunniffe #John J. Hill #Mark Waid #Me #Superman #Opinion

42 notes · View notes

myfandomrambles · 4 years

Text

Character Analysis: Dean Forester (Gilmore Girls)

Requested by: @grouchycritic7794

Facts:

Moved in high school from Chicago to Stars Hollow

Lives with his parents and younger sister Clara

Quickly starts dating Rory

Works at Doose's market

Gets in a few fights

Breaks up with Rory over her refusal to say “I love you”

Gets back with Rory after she is willing to say “I love you”

Becomes deeply jealous over Rory liking Dean displaying unhealthy behavior

Breaks up with Rory again very publicly but continues to display his attraction to her including getting in a fight over with Jes

Doesn’t go to college right away worried about finding a job and succeeding

Dates Lindsy, a girl everyone considers nice

Quickly becomes engaged to Lindsy and marries

Has a turbulent marriage to Lindsay

Works as a construction worker

Cheats on Lindsay with Rory and hides it from Linsday

Has a public break up and divorce from Lindsay

Dates Rory in a strained relationship for some time a

Breaks up with Rory over her changing life and new friendships

Fights with Luke and dismisses his relationship to Lorelai

Eventually moves away

Has a family of a wife three sons and unborn daughter between the main show and AYITL

Analysis:

Dean is a normal high schooler and young adult. His family isn’t particularly wealthy and this leads him to work throughout the show, and he attends the public school away from Rory. He’s athletic and starts off as a sort of bad boy (series 1), he is mostly not that and tends to be more of a homebody and focused on his relationships. He lacks much ambition beyond being a husband and having a partner for much of the show. This is seen in his pattern of relationships but also in his love for the idea of having a traditional family. (Series 1-5)

His emotions often run high but often come off as pretty charismatic allowing people to like him. This shows in the way the town but especially Lorelai changes their view of him rather fast to positive rather quickly. This is in stark compassion to the way much of the town never changes their negative perception of Jess Mariano. His charisma however is dampened by his tendency to be self-centered and not care much for other people's feelings or perspectives.

Dean’s strong emotions are also tied into him being stubborn, and can both positively stand his ground against people like Richard or Tristen but can also cause problems in how he can interact with his partners and people who don’t deserve to be treated poorly like Jess or Luke.

Relationships to Rory & Lindsay

Dean’s relationship to Rory is the most key part of his story in the larger narrative. It’s an interesting one as the writers overall painted him as the “perfect first boyfriend” through the eyes of many of the characters including Rory, but in reality, the relationship is abusive. Dean tends to be possessive, dismissive, manipulative, and overly sensitive. We can also see the effects this has on Rory as he worsens her conflict-avoidance and anxiety. Seen heavily in his yelling and Rory being deeply scared of angering him.

An important to note is their relationship is liked in the town even when they are worried they may have had sex after Rory’s dance. (1x09) Most of the town continues to like Dean and sees him and Rory as a good couple. This includes Lorelai for most of the show. This overall like of Dean and of her being with Dean colors their relationship for the first two seasons of the show and how they interact with Jess.

When those around you reinforce the idea of how good someone you love is it will make it harder to notice the toxic and abusive behavior and give the abuse cover. Lorelai’s approval especially makes Rory feel like Dean is the perfect boyfriend. Lorelai herself is not likely to have toxic behavior as her relationship to Christopher is full of toxic behaviors and her emotional abuse and a child. Lorelai’s multiple episodes of support for Dean even without Rory being there likely make him feel as if he is supported and will have her telling Rory to stay with him.

The start relationship right coincides with the opening of the show. (1x01) He easily charms Rory and this coincides with the start of his possessive behavior. Including how fast he starts the relationship. Intense relationships that move very fast is often a negative sign for the ability of the people in it to moderate their emotions and can be a first abusive move. Rory is very nervous about this showing trepidation to move fast even when she has a clear crush on Dean. (1x01, 1x03-7).

In season one we see him block Rory's path and during the double date episode, he physically moves Rory's head when she is looking back and Lane to check if she is having a good time. (1x05, 1x12). While this behavior is not violent, invasion of space is a huge sign of a lack of respect for boundaries and is part of his overall pattern of abuse.

During the Donna Reed (1x14) story, Dean is very into the ideas of a Donna Reed style lifestyle finding the idea of a nuclear family where his wife cooks dinner very appealing. This is in large contrast to how Rory sees the world. When Rory is upset about his comments about wanting that life he calls it “just a joke”. Rory goes out of her way to make Dean happy while still keeping her own theatrical love in play when she makes him a 50s style dinner. However, an interesting mark is she seems genuinely upset when she thinks it didn’t go perfectly.

Dean attempts to build Rory a car for their three month anniversary and Rory seems overwhelmed by the situation but still finds it romantic. Dean tells Rory he loves her and when she won’t say it back he gets’ very angry with her and is unwilling to understand that it means something more for her to say it than it does for him. And as we understand he broke up with her over this. The giving of lavish presents and his unwillingness to let Rory have her own feelings come across as manipulative. It’s a common abuser behavior to give extravagant shows of affection followed by negative behavior. Dean also shows the abusive behaviors of yelling and dismissal emotions. (1x16)

Dean becomes irritated by the way the town overall seems frustrated with him, though shows concern for Rory when talking to Lane. Lorelai gets the truth out of what really happened when she confronted Dean. However, it’s unfair to Rory when Lorelai sides with him when Rory had all the right to not want to say “I love you” before she’s ready. (1x20)

The first breakup arc ends as Dean confronts Rory after he notices her trying to get the nerve up to talk about it by coming to his house and when she talks about wanting to say something but without saying it during the town meeting. He gets angry at first when Rory still struggles to communicate, and he sees Tristen picking on her by taking her books. But Rory gets out what she needs to say, and they make up. (1x21)

Following their makeup Dean is subjected to having to meet Rory’s grandparents. He tries hard to fit in bus struggles, understandably as Richard is being judgmental of him and working to make him uncomfortable on purpose. Rory and Lorelai both try to stand up for him and Emily is actually pretty affable not considering Dean to be much of a current threat to status or Rory's future.

However, Dean seems to internalize Richard's ideals and statement of him not being enough and turns it into a threat. Stating “He couldn't care less about Harvard” because he can’t go, taking his emotions out on Rory and belittling her deviation to her education. However, he can remember to bring his focus back to where it’s important and apologize though Rory continues to feel like she must apologize when it’s not as much of her fault. This also is part of his pattern of blowing up, apologizing, and then continuing to treat her poorly. (2x02)

Dean is invited for Rory’s coming out ball and spends much of the time complaining about what he has to wear but cares about Rory enough that he goes even when he hates the outfit. This shows how he keeps the relationship going easily, being able to point to all the positive actions. (2x06) One way being him using impactful displays of affection. (2x12) Put this positivity is undercut by his maltreatment of Rory.

When Rory and Tristan play Romeo and Juliet, Rory is scared to tell Dean anything, not only that they had kissed when she and Dean weren’t together and that they are playing Romeo and Juliet. He is resentful about all of it, and while he does say it’s not her fault he does a good job of making her uncomfortable and doubting her. This shows how dean provokes worsens Rory's relational anxiety. Dean shows characteristic jealousy and controlling behavior by injecting himself into the situation and watching the rehearsals. This jealousy and need to watch Rory is common manipulative behavior. It both alters how Rory acts and assuages his fear of being left without him having to regulate his own emotions. (2x09)

Dean shows jealousy towards Jess even when Rory, and he only glanced at each other during the Bracebridge dinner. While Rory is starting to like him she has not yet done anything to warrant suspicion of her faithfulness. Showing suspicions of partners around others is common abuser behavior as it shows insecurity but also makes the abused partner feel as if they are being watched. (2x10)

During the basket competition, dean displays possessive behavior. While Jess obviously wants to mess with Dean and flirt with Rory, Dean shows no ability to regulate his emotions or offer Rory trust and understanding. Along with that he tells her what she can and can't do. He tries to play the boss of the situation to feel powerful. He leaves in anger and Rory tries to get him to understand she isn’t doing anything on purpose but Dean doesn’t listen. He follows this by guilting her for doing the town traditions, something he knows she loves.

This combines manipulation, guilt-tripping, and a degree of intimidation with how loudly he flies off the handle. This causes Rory to believe she needs to calm his temper down. Jess while he is doing this on purpose notes Dean's overreaction and controlling of Rory's.

Dean also goes behind Rory and tries to talk to Lorelai to get her to insert herself between Rory and Jess, something that is abusive behavior to control the environment around the person being abused. (2x13)

Similar behavior of guilt-tripping is shown when Rory wants to spend a night alone and Dean makes fun of her reason and then when she tries to make sure he isn’t mad she says he isn’t. However irritation is exuded via his body language and including him saying he’s a “saint”. This guilt tripping is a common abusive behavior of his.

Dean refuses to let her have her alone at night and this bumps up against her having ended up with people over due to Paris wanting to study and Jess bringing over food. Rory is terrified of telling him the truth, while having just told him that Jess was there for dropping off the food . Rory suffers anxiety provoked by Dean and plays on Rory’s avoidance of conflict. He gets furious when she tries to be truthful, not letting her explain and not believing what she says. After Paris causes Dean to calm down Rory gives him complete cover for being angry saying it was all perfectly justified.

When Rory gets distressed Paris plays the good friend and steps in. Interestingly, Paris who is blunt and self focused reads this situation as one that is worth covering for.

When your friends feel the need to intervene between you're your partner to lessen the blow it speaks poorly of your relationships. Jess and Paris are the only ones who accurately read Dean and Rory’s relationships the first time they date. (2x16)

During the entire Jess arc, Dean tries to be even more involved in Rory's life than he already was, leaving her very little room to breathe. (2x10-3x07)

An example is when he tries to get her to watch him play softball before they had already agreed to visit each other that night. This adds to his attempts to control everything she does. He then tries to wait for her when she’s busy at the house and cleans her car without asking and calling 14 times. Lorelai tries hard to get him to give her space when he gets anxious over Jess and Rory. He then accepts that Rory has some feelings for jess. (2x18)

After Rory ends up in a car accident Dean becomes outraged after Rory writes a letter to tell him to throw his bag on the floor. Interestingly, Rory is surprised that he invites her in and is kind to her. She expects her to be angry and to yell at her. But this is an example of using guilt and manipulation, part of his fear of losing Rory. (2x20)

Rory crosses a line when she kisses Jess at the wedding. We see her try and figure out what to do why she goes away for the summer. Jess and Dean both suffer due to her indiscretions, however, it doesn’t excuse previous behavior nor does it mean you are allowed to be outright abusive. (2x22)

After this, we see Dean’s behaviors continue, and he shows a sense of judgment over the way Rory is excited getting down on her the moment she finally becomes calm and excited after feeling deeply anxious about it. (3x01-3)

Their relationship ends at the dance competition (3x07) Rory is distracted periodically by Jess messing with her. He breaks up with her in an extreme and public manner causing Rory and Jess to both be humiliated and hurt Rory deeply. Rory then feels the need to apologize and try and get him to not hate her following the fight. Which he by omission says he does hate her even though it’s very clear that while she did like two people at once his abusive behavior activates her fears so deeply she still has to prove he doesn’t hate her.

Later Dean takes a confrontation stance trying to get Jess in trouble with Rory trying to pick a fight with him and telling him that this is “his” town and making fun of him for wanting to be nice for Rory which is funny and makes it seem like he wanted the hold on Rory. Reminiscent of the cultural concept of people being “whipped” or similar things. (3x09) This antagonistic behavior continues throughout the story.

Dean is unwilling to really move on and Rory is unable to maintain boundaries. He talks about how she drove him to want to do more and go to a four-year school. This comes across as manipulative because it’s not something we see him follow through with and follows after him telling Jess he wasn’t going to just stay in his own lane.

He then doesn’t give Jess and Rory space at the carnival to start with, even if Clara was still involved. We also see Rory assume Jess will blow up at her afterward even when he maintains his same affect of mild annoyance he had not changed it to try and make Rory feel worse and doesn’t second guess her explanation. (3x10)

We see Dean start to date Lindsay at the hockey game Rory goes to. A relationship that is deeply harmful and likely traumatizing to Lindsay. We know little of how it started other than Lindsay seems to be considered nice but cold to Rory understandably as Dean is still hung up and likely told Lindsay that Rory broke his heart. She isn’t aware of the mess of abuse on Dean's side and Rory’s actions. (3x15,3x17)

We then have the big Dean Jess fight. There is some merit in Dean wanting to know what happened as if a girl comes crying out of the bedroom at a party as there is cause for concern. But what makes this not at a show of compassion and more possessive is in his reaction. He acts as if to defend her honor and get in a fight. This continues his pattern of possessiveness over Rory and of being willing to use violence as a method.

I do think we see some behavior here from jess that’s toxic, it doesn’t fall anywhere near sexual assault and the reactions did nothing helpful. And most importantly had it been sexual assault a person who cared would get the victim to safety and ensure prevention shock not expose them to more violence. Not to mention it isn’t what Rory wants, and he knows she doesn’t like them fighting over her.

This also harms Lindsay as watching your boyfriend get in a fight over another girl. (3x19)

When Dean shares the news of his engagement he is unwilling to even see why Rory might be uncomfortable, not even angry, just confused, and only shows furry towards her. Then uses the time to guilt trip Rory telling her he “never thought he would be happy again” and insult her and her boyfriend. (3x20) Rory tries hard to make up for this by offering a nice wedding present, which was detrimental to both of them as it continues their inability to form boundaries. (3x22)

Dean’s lack of ability to form boundaries flares again when inviting his ex-girlfriend to his wedding with his new fiance. During his bachelor party, he starts talking about Rory and showing he is completely not over her and is marrying another woman to make up for it. This is something that is very unhealthy and is setting up for him to be unhappy, Lindsay to end up being abused and Rory to continue to not be able to move on. (4x04). Dean is willing to offer Rory some comfort in a vacuum. It's kind, but we see this spiral into him trying to bring Rory back into the relationships and affects how attentive to Linsday. (4x14)

We see Lindsay learning to cook and it seems they bring him lunch regularly as he noted this was early. Lindsay clearly tries to be what Dean wanted, learning to cook, bringing him food, trying to be what he wanted and circling her life around him, her whole family treating them as one of them. There might be some tension here as having a hovering mother and father-in-law might be hard, but as later we see him mildly complain about Lindsay wanting things it does show there was financial support. They seem to have an outwardly functional relationship. It’s hard to tell but due to the idea that she doesn’t work and that when she asks for the car he gives her money, there might be an “allowance” type situation, something that can easily turn toxic and abusive.

Rory judges Linsday for wanting a townhouse, which wanting a nice place to live after getting married makes perfect sense. Rory’s level of importance she puts fancy four-year schools on also isn’t the same way everyone thinks. Being a skilled builder who repairs homes is actually a fine job prospect and it always seemed Dean was good at it, we also know that the wife waiting for you at home was what he wanted in the first place. Dean is deeply annoyed at Rory’s judgment when Lindsay hears Rory talking badly of her, she is hurt due to not only Rory's continued judgment due to Dean having gone round her back more than once.

Dean realizes he yelled at Rory in the dorm and apologizes, but Rory says he was perfectly in the right, something she has learned to say from his past abuses. He also does this after calling incessantly, and never changing his behavior. While apologizing is positive if you back it up with nothing then it means nothing, and Dean never backs up his apologies. He also fails to stand up for his wife to Rory, continuously covers up his relationship to Rory already and maked Linsday feels admittedly terrible. Dean disrespects her wishes to not see someone who is judgmental and the ex-girlfriend, a tactic of psychological abuse. (4x15, 4x18)

We see the cracks in Linsday and Dean’s relationship when they fight about never spending any time together. Dean defends it by saying they need money, likely true, but Linsday is asking him to keep promises of calling and going out with friends when he says he will. There are problems in never keeping promises and making someone always wait alone for you at home. It clearly seems they don’t talk openly about finances and by her reaction, it seems this is the first time she has purposely gone out without him. He has lied about where he is before like hiding out in the arcade late previously and later to visit Rory. (4x20)

Dean drops everything to go see Rory when she calls, but never calls his wife along with being willing to spend money to drink with Rory. We also learn that Dean lies to Lindsay. These all show more commitment to Rory then to the woman he married. Everything in this episode points to emotional neglect and abuse through manipulation from Dean. (4x21)

When Jess shows up at Rory’s place (4x21) also tries to play protector and control to Rory just because someone else she used to date shows up. Following this he acts cagey and angry towards her, shutting her out because he guesses she might be seeing Jess again. All of this is reminiscent of his old behavior of trying to orchestrate Rory’s entire life. This also when Dean and Rory almost kiss, showing he uses manipulation as ways to get what he wants. During this situation, he is manipulating and emotionally hurting two women.

Later on the same day, Dean shows up at Rory’s house to finish what they started and Rory ends up agreeing to sleep with him after he lies about it being over with Lindsay and that they both “feel it”. Which is untrue Lindsay while she is unhappy doesn’t believe or so-called feel it’s over. Rory is of course culpable in what she did, this is not to argue Rory is blameless. This behavior on Dean’s part towards his wife is emotional abuse. Cheating on someone and lying about your relationship status are both abusive tactics. (4x22)

During the same period, Linsday was waiting for him and believed he was working. She tries to make him happy by having dessert waiting for him. Lindsay answered her phone to try and help, and he yelled at her overreacting deeply to her behavior. Emotionally berating her for something she tried to do right. Lindsay apologizes trying to get him to not yell at her and tries to ask if he is still mad. And Dean is clearly angry at her giving her disappointed and agitated answers along with closed off body language. This is physical and emotionally locking her out.

Dean continues going behind Linsday’s back and cheats on her again following this fight, at the same point Linsday tries hard to please him, making him food and being so proud when it works out. (5x01)

Rory sends a letter to Dean trying to say she doesn’t want to break up the marriage however this serves to be the first time Linsday learns that Dean slept with Rory. This is a horrible way to learn via Rory expressing both feelings of love and wanting to not break up the marriage. She does dramatically break up by throwing his stuff out the window. While this behavior isn’t the best response it is understandable as he actively lied to her multiple times and treated her in an abusive manner to be able to cheat on her. Dean tries to get her multiple times to talk about it shows he doesn’t understand why she is so hurt and is unwilling to admit he was wrong.

Dean then rightfully calls himself an idiot for what he did but then tells Rory removing herself from the situation was tantamount to bailing on him and rewrites history to say she dumped him the first time. While he is right that she did have feelings for another boy to still be judging her for that after what he did is rather hypocritical. (5x02) He also clearly doesn’t feel as guilty as he pretends to as he still continues to be in a relationship with Rory. (5x03-9)

Rory and Dean’s relationship is awkward for everyone around them, something that makes sense as it broke up the family that everyone thought was being built. Dean continues to be angry, admittedly yells at her, and is judgmental of Rory for what happened. He then apologizes, again without changing his behavior and Rory tries to say it’s all okay. Dean also lies about the idea he would have broken up with Linsday, which we can tell as he was trying to fix it. This is similar to his behavior in their first two relationships. (5x03, 5x05)

Lorelai tries to be friends with Dean and wants to return to a normal rhythm that they had when Rory and Dean were kids. Dean is not a fan of this prospect calling it a long time ago whereas Rory does seem to want it. Luke struggles to not make the evening awkward, not believing Dean is right or good for Rory after everything that has happened. (5x05) They start to grow apart because of their lack of time spent together. (5x03-8)

Their breakup is mostly based on the above-mentioned lack of time to spend together but more, so they grow apart. Dean is still living the life he had before back in what Rory referred to as “the old days'' and Rory is living a new life centered around her grandparents' lifestyle and college. While Rory finds Dean comforting and wants to be with him, she is drawn towards the Ivy League fancy party by her family but also because she genuinely seems to enjoy it just as much as small-town Stars Hollow.

During the party, her grandparents throw to find her a proper boyfriend Rory actually ends up having a great time when she meets Logan there. Logan is a symbol of her love of the aristocratic lifestyle and Dean is her connection to home; this party breaks one tie and forms another. Emily and Richard mostly got what they wanted and Rory did choose the rich boy over the hometown. Dean breaks up with her again publicly over her appearing to have had a good time with new friends and that she is late to be picked up. This is the final breakup in the show and is a final split for the two, recognizing in Dean’s words he “doesn’t belong here [with Rory] anymore” (5x08)

However, there are secondary reasons they didn’t work out. Firstly starting this relationship out by cheating on his wife and being in a place of awkwardness and distress with those around them set up the relationship for failure. Deans toxic to abusive behavior was always going to drive a wedge between them. Dean’s abusive behavior on top of Rory's communication deficits breaks up any ability to work through outside stressors like living a few hours away during the college years. Rory’s fear of upsetting Dean due to his past abusive behavior means Rory is unwilling to address issues point-blank and Dean will only talk about them in accusatory ways.

Dean didn’t fully understand why he and Rory broke up blaming it slowly on Rory “wanting more” and attempts to put his own emotional baggage on Luke when he sees him being in a relationship with Lorelai while working on a house (5x18)

During A Year In The Life when they bump into each other at Doses’s Rory describes their relationship as one that was healthy, positive and says Dean taught her what “safe felt like” an interesting bit of revisionist history. We know for a fact that Rory was constantly on the defensive with Dean and as has been discussed Dean perpetrated many emotionally abusive acts towards Rory and Linsday.

Rory viewed his abusive behavior as the person she wished she had met later but had a positive influence on her. Dean however seems to appreciate this characterization and this is the final closing word on their relationship.

66 notes · View notes

renaroo · 4 years

Text

A Cass with Many Faces

About a month ago, specifically on Cassandra Cain’s fictional birthday, I made a few posts dedicated to one of the fictional characters that have had a visible, measurable impact on my life, and has continued to do so since I first picked up an issue featuring her in 2004. I was twelve years old at the time and the issue in question was the fifth of a six-issue arc starting off Superman/Batman. I picked up the issue because Superboy -- my then-favorite comic book character -- was on the cover including some other characters I was mildly familiar with. And the character that I came away with the most intrigue in was, of course, Cassandra Cain.

Next time I was at my LCS, I picked up an issue of her solo series that was still ongoing at the time [Batgirl (2000-2006) #47] and instantly fell in love.

I’ve made posts before about how a scattershot strategy can be a good thing when talking about characters in multimedia franchises. Characters are more likely to endure in these environments if they are given more presence, and more significance, when more voices are advocating for them.

In the past, I was speaking about my experience in seeing the opposite happen with Cassandra.

I can honestly say I would have never checked out Cassandra Cain had it not been for her minor appearance in a silly comic four years after her debut. I was twelve, and still fairly new to DC Comics having grown up with a Marvel loving family, and as the years went on and Cass was diminished by poor corporate decisions, I learned a lesson about strategy with characters in these franchises. If they are not seen outside of their lane, if people aren’t exposed to them outside of their one series no matter how fantastic and great it is, when that series is canceled and they are mishandled, there is not going to be any protection for them.

Bad comics happen all the time, bad adaptations happen all of the time, it’s the nature of the business. But for the thousands of terrible Batman stories that have been published and the hundreds of head-scratching Ninja Turtles adaptations, there have been, they continue to prevail and good things happen to those characters’ IP because there is enough material out there to keep people coming back.

[Superman/Batman (2003-2011) #5]

This is all a long introduction to get into saying that we are starting 2020 in one of the most unique and unprecedented ways we could start it as Cassandra Cain fans. There is, I’m pretty sure for the first time in the two decades of this character’s existence, an almost scattershot approach to getting as much Cass content out in a blitz as possible while aligning with the first time she has appeared in multimedia outside of video game DLC only a few hardcore fans will ever get a hold of.

But, as to be expected, not all interpretations of Cass are going to be the most helpful or similar to the character as we know her. And while I try to think strategically, it’s important to acknowledge these differences outright. Because if this is someone’s intro to her character, it can paint what they see and expect from her for the rest of their experience.

I can’t say how good or bad that’ll be, I am the fangirl who jumped on board when Jeff Loeb was writing and Ed McGuinness was drawing. My quality receptors will forever be in question to more purist fans! But I do want to start out by saying that most things are valid when it comes to starting out with a medium as ridiculous and unintelligible as comics, and we can destroy each other over the remaining 10% any day.

Let’s talk about some Casses.

Shadow of the Batgirl (2020)

If you or someone you know is at all interested in reading more Cassandra Cain and the 73 issues of her original series are intimidating, there is a simple solution that has been given to us by Sarah Kuhn and Nicole Goux, Shadow of the Batgirl.

In a very short first-reaction review I did the week this graphic novel came out, I mentioned that I was teary the entire time I read this graphic novel because it was just so darn impactful and endearing. And that continues to be the case.

This is a YA graphic novel aimed at introducing young new readers to Cassandra and a world that desperately needs her gifts to escape the shadows of her past and regrets in order to fully realize her potential for the future. And it is both heartwarming and gorgeous.

One of the things I have hit on for years when it comes to Cassandra Cain’s treatment in comics is that it has felt that for a good half of a decade if not more, what she lacked more than anything was a consistent advocate on the publishing side of things. Fans and decent sales -- which, to be clear, her meager appearances and even the majority of her solo did definitively have -- were never going to be powerful enough on their own to give her a publishing opportunity if there were not writers and artists there to provide good stories.

In 2020, more than any other year, I feel like we finally see the fruition of these things coming true. Sarah Kuhn’s blurbs and interviews have been filled with personal love and detail for the character and her importance, which only fueled how great it was when the Shadow of the Batgirl did come out and surpass almost all expectations.

This is a retelling and reinventing of Cassandra’s origin story told completely from her perspective from the beginning.

One of the lasting critiques of Cassandra’s beginnings in comics has always been her silence and lack of voice at the very start of her career. While sometimes these complaints grew to hyperbolism and would deny provably existent agency -- and to be clear, there’s still a lot of that to a concerning degree to this day -- there is truth to the criticism. Cassandra’s internal narration was not provided for almost a year after her first appearance which is an alienating tactic to use for a character meant to be latched onto by readership. Even when handled well, the thoughts behind this choice still deserve examination.

This was further complicated by later reveals that Cassandra’s difficulty with expression was in part due to her aneurotypical processing. These are not independently bad choices to make narratively, I have gone on for thousands of words before on how important I believe Cassandra’s dyslexia is, but the shakey start to giving the perspective of an aneurotypical character a definitive voice to tell her own story is right to be critiqued.

Shadow of the Batgirl completely circumvents this by giving Cass a clear voice from the start and focusing her central relationships on the power of expression and individuality while giving her plenty of characters of varying backgrounds and abilities to bounce her own understanding off of.

In some parts, this greatly enforced Kuhn’s take on making Cass’ story a teenage coming of age story that she has proven skillful at in YA novels. It also allowed her to directly correct many of the wrongs that have been long criticized about Cassandra’s original series, such as having Barbara Gordon (a physically disabled character who should and has shown more sensitivity and nuance outside of her terrible capital-M-Moment in Cass’ series) embrace and love Cassandra for her aneurotypical perspective.

[Batgirl (2000-2006) #54]

[Shadow of the Batgirl (2020)]

But, for those of us who adore and have attached to Cassandra for her disabilities and portrayals of mental illness in the past, there is also some nuance and representation that has been left on the cutting room floor for this new origin.

Namely, while Cassandra is shown to be perplexed by and struggling with books in the graphic novel, there is not the desperation and frustration that we actively see her undergoing throughout the original Batgirl (2000-2006) series. By issue #58 of a 73-issue comic book solo, Cassandra is actively struggling to read “It was,” and her insecurities toward it are used and manipulated by the villain by the end of the series.

However, Cassandra of the Shadow of the Batgirl shows some capacity to read from early on, and her struggles with reading are not the subject of conversation in the novel, so how much her limitations are a function of dyslexia and how much are a function of her childhood is left up to debate.

A debate with many questions that do require an answer since the form of her isolation and abuse by her far-less rounded character of a father in this graphic novel has been changed dramatically.

While I am giving these critiques and do think that we should be mindful and conscious of their removal for those fans who are seeking out those types of stories to read, I do not want to at all give the impression that this is a bad comic.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I would argue with just about anyone that this is the gold standard for Cassandra Cain stories printed in the last fifteen years, and for what I miss about the original iteration of Cass stories it can easily be exchanged for the new voice and new direction for her character this graphic novel provides for us.

Many of these critiques can be chalked up to the graphic novel being just that, a self-contained graphic novel and not a 73-issue monthly publication. And I believe its art and story are a great deal more consistent and appealing than many eras of the original series as a result.

I love its tributes, its characterizations, its purpose, and its focus above all else. There is also something just utterly charming about having Cassandra’s first well handled romance in comics come from a YA novelist who obviously understands the character and also understands what readers want in a non-toxic and adorable story.

I love the focus on Cassandra’s journey being on self-compassion, forgiveness, and the earnest belief that people can change. Including yourself, if you make the choice.

It is a good book, the best for Cassandra Cain in ages, and one I bought no less than three times already to show my support. And in just one week on my classroom bookshelf, I’ve already seen it be avidly read by five students. And those are just the ones I catch!

I would also be remiss not to mention that after complaining about this pet peeve of mine for years, that it’s happened. It took us twenty-one years but we finally did it, guys. We got a costume that Cassandra Cain got to make and design herself! And not only did she get one but she got two! An adorable (and hilarious) DIY Batgirl costume, and then ending on the high note of her official Batgirl costume to swing through the city in!

This book is precious and I hope it is the start of something new and exciting in the future. Even if that new and exciting is simply a sequel graphic novel, I will be HERE for it, and supporting it and Sarah Kuhn all the way.

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)

Oh, boy. If there was one reason I was scared to make this post, it was because of this film.

Before I get too deep into this I want to first state my position on a few of the controversies that have cropped up online with concerns to this movie and its portrayal of Cassandra Cain.

First and foremost, I have no interest in telling people how they should or shouldn’t be offended on the grounds of representation and erasure. Not being able to or simply being unwilling to forego criticisms of tropes or insensitivities perpetrated by this or any other film are completely valid experiences. I have been that person in regards to other things, and I have also been someone whose first exposure to serious issues were the stances people took with regards to protesting certain media.

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) has faults and plays into certain erasures (one of which I’ll discuss more below) that people may be unwilling to let go of. If that is the case for people you know or see online, you should accept and support them. Listen to them.

But I do think we should also support people who love this movie for good reason. I enjoy this movie, but it’s not life-changing for me. I support it in the hopes of seeing more and better.

There are students I have who now are wearing merch and drawing fanart of the Birds of Prey, picking up the comics for the first time, because of their exposure to the hype and “girl power” of this movie. Some adults needed this movie to be some hopeful change for them and I support them too.

We’re lucky to be alive at a time where a superhero movie is so completely told from a feminine perspective, with a huge diversity of filmmakers behind it providing female voices at every level from acting to casting to scripting to directing. We’re lucky that there’s such a diversity of the cast. I want this to continue.

I hope that it continues to do better in theaters, and I know there are some murmurs of poor box office returns for it. I hope that doesn’t affect future projects. We’ll see.

All of that out of the way, we need to talk about its use of Cassandra Cain.

The joke I’ve made with my friends is that the best thing to do with this movie is to start getting in the habit of calling the young girl at the heart of this plot “Kassandra Kane” instead because the connection between this character and that of Cassandra Cain is fairly negligible. They are both young women of East Asian descent who pop up in Gotham.

I happen to like both characters, but there’s an obvious difference between one focused on as a main character and hero of her own story and one focused on as a supporting character who has plots happen to her. Neither is a bad thing, but my preferences obviously rest with the former.

It’s the fact that they were supposed to be the same character that seems to baffle most people. Myself included.

This may have been a move more suited for a character with less history and expectation on her before her big debut, like Sin who is Dinah’s adopted daughter in the comics and already connected to the Birds of Prey, or the character who clearly inspired Kassandra Kane, Ditto from the Black Canary (2015-2016) series.

[Black Canary (2015-2016) #6]

I also think that adaptation that dramatically changes Cass wouldn’t necessarily be a terrible thing either. With some rewrites and some more agency, a younger and more hardened Cass from the streets could have also worked with the movie they were trying to make -- perhaps have David Cain be Black Mask’s main enforcer rather than Victor Zsasz. Give Cassandra’s connection to the plot more character-oriented and have her liberation work in tandem with the liberation of the adult women.

The options were there, and there are critiques to be made, but the movie also knew what it wanted to be and spent its script and filming time focused on maintaining the continuity and integrity of the adult female characters who it probably could justify putting in the rated-R situations their fights got them in more than they could young Kassie Kane.

One of the no doubt unintended consequences of this has been that online discourse revolving around Cass vs. Kass has been in justifying the decisions one team has over the other in claims of racism and ableism.

Now, to be clear, my ability to speak with authority on either of those points is minimal. I’m an ally but not a voice of those communities and I want that to be as upfront as possible. I can only speak from personal experience in the realms of being a woman and being someone who lives with and has survived mental illness. And I can speak as a critic of media at large.

There are racist and ableist connotations in many things, and I am not going to deny that those conversations are relevant and need to happen in regards to Cass’ original portrayals or in this film. They do. I know even in my first viewing I wondered how it was deemed so unimportant and so uncritical to give even a moment where Kass could display dyslexia or any other form of disability when we had entire sequences dedicated to backgrounds of characters who appeared for half a second of screentime.

But I’m seeing a lot of discourse that is especially leveling claims of racism toward Cass’ original portrayals and not always looking at the voices of fans of color who debate that argument. But I also see people outright denying any critique of Cass’ original portrayals having overtones to them that are unsavory. The answer is to maybe settle for something less radical than both positions.

Like there is no ethical consumption under capitalism and we should murder the patriarchy. Just like Birds of Prey taught me.

I enjoyed the movie a lot, Kassandra Kane was a lot of fun, but it’s a 1/5 for adaptation which is bizarre for a movie that was firing on all cylinders for almost literally every other character that came on screen.

Batman and the Outsiders (2019-) #10

When it comes to consistent monthly comic publishing, the pickings for Cassandra Cain have been incredibly thin for years, arguably since the end of her own solo in 2006. But since the DC initiative “Rebirth” in 2016, an era has been entered where, with a few months here or there as the exception, Cass has been appearing in some comic each month.

That seems like a small thing to celebrate, especially when the quality of monthly content can vary so much depending on the creative team, but it has been a hugely important development that Cass has been put on a team book for over a year now.

Bryan Hill is a comic veteran at this point, publishing comics independently and from both Marvel and DC, making him quite busy, but one thing I’ve really appreciated as a Cassandra Cain fan is that he has consistently shown love and appreciation for her character.

The Cassandra that features in Batman and the Outsiders is arguably the closest the character is to her original solo series on paper, and Hill has weaved her origin story and relationship with Lady Shiva into the overarching plot of the entire series.

For me, Batman and the Outsiders has been a little slow in its story structure, and I worry about how that will affect the future of the book and whether or not it will continue as an ongoing after Hill’s planned departure, but his character focus is also my style of comics to read. And make no mistake that there is a plethora of character development and examination in every issue.

Cassandra is sharing her page time with her Outsider teammates, but this can be a good thing. Development is easier for characters who have consistent character interactions, and I have always been a firm believer that the Outsiders as a team concept works the best for Cassandra’s specific needs. This plays out and the team consisting of Bruce Wayne, Jefferson Pierce, Tatsu Yamashiro, and Duke Thomas all compliment each other and compliment Cass very well.

I do want to mention that I love this book and think it’s great reading for Batman fans, too, even with Bruce’s reduced presence. And I think the snub the Duke and Cass are receiving in other Bat titles like Peter Tomasi’s Batman: Alfred Pennyworth R.I.P. just last week is cruelly shortsighted.

But, hey, Tomasi being dismissive and backhanded toward members of the Batfamily outside of his preferred five. Guess it’s just another Wednesday.

Harley Quinn and the Birds of Prey (2020-) #1 (of 4)

After the complete circus that has been made of the Black Label Birds of Prey title meant to tie-in with the movie -- one DC thought to give to Brian Azzarello who vocally despises Harley Quinn and is divisive (to say the very least) in his treatment of high profile female characters that he does say he likes -- I wasn’t expecting DC to come through in aligning movie buzz with their comic publications. To be clear, DC has always sucked at doing this and I really didn’t think it was special to the BoP movie.

When Conner and Palmiotti got to announce their own tie-in for the movie that was supposed to be more fun and use more of the same characters, I was intrigued but also a little concerned about how this team would handle it. I can like or dislike their work depending on the project.

But my god, were they absolutely on when it came to this first issue of their four-issue miniseries.

I didn’t think I’d be recommending fans go pick up the first issue of the Harley Quinn and the Birds of Prey miniseries, but I am absolutely doing that for any fans of the movie who, like me, enjoyed it but wished a better Cassandra Cain adaptation had been woven into the plot.

Amanda Conner’s history with the character of Cass and with the Birds of Prey, in general, is actually interesting. While she is regarded for her art and her storytelling now, when she first started at DC it was art only in the credits, but those credits included a BoP arc and several fun covers for the latter half of Cassandra’s Batgirl (2000-2006). When she later had the opportunity to write comics along with doing their art, she even had Cass (albeit very chattily) feature in a rare team-up with Power Girl and Wonder Woman in the Wonder Woman (2006-2011) #600 special.

And, of course, the husband and wife team have become industry heavy hitters thanks to their smash hits with multiple Harley Quinn solo series.

This is a fun and cartoonishly violent miniseries that plays to their styles properly, but the characterizations in the first issue struck me as very true and very calculated. Cassandra Cain does not speak in this entry, but that allows Conner to stretch her artistic muscles in making Cass’ actions and expressions give a lot of character to her role. Which already shows more restraint and understanding for the character than many others have with Cass -- including Conner’s freshman efforts at writing Cass herself.

Cass isn’t alone in the little joys of this comic. There are overt references to Conner and Palmiotti’s Harley Quinn miniseries and solos that place this non-mainstream comic in a more nebulous space than the Black Label imprint would initially make you think, and the strong characters feel as though they walked off of the pages of their current mainstream efforts. All of which I greatly appreciate.

Not to mention on the front of queer representation, while Harley is a mess, I’m glad that I can unabashedly relate to her as a gay mess without obfuscation this time.

If there’s any comic that new fans brought on by the Birds of Prey movie are likely to pick up themselves, it’ll probably be this one. Which is a great thing because it seems like an honest effort with strong roots in the original comic source material for everyone -- including Cass this time.

Shame I can’t recommend it to my middle school students who are loving the movie. Though, I suppose, if they are watching a rated-R movie they’re probably sneaking to Black Label comics too. Little scamps.

DCeased: Unkillables (2020) #1 (of 3)

I cannot believe the wholesome Batfamily content I’ve craved for a decade needs the zombie apocalypse to happen.

While I read DCeased last year and didn’t hate it in the vein that I thought I was going to due to it being a zombie apocalypse AU in a superhero universe that seemed to keenly pull from the surprising successes of Marvel’s efforts, I never imagined that it would join the ranks as continued Cassandra Cain content vehicles.

It must be the sign of a good decade, right? Bats are lucky, indeed.

While DCeased proper dealt with the aftermath of the Anti-Life Equation that was Totally Not a Zombie Virus as they kept telling us over and over again, it was pretty closely tied to the most main of main DC heroes and heroines and their families as they attempted to survive and escape the hordes. We didn’t see many other fan-favorite but not quite A-tier heroes’ efforts until the tie-in comics began coming out.

I, as a Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and Mister Miracle/Big Barda fan adored A Good Day to Die, but I never saw DCeased: Unkillables coming. And even when it was announced I said to my dear friends “This will either be very good or very bad.”

I need to put more faith into Tom Taylor, he really hasn’t let me down just yet.

In Unkillables, we follow the days after the Anti-Life Equation is released on Earth now through the eyes of two teams -- one helmed by Deathstroke, whose unique physiology allows him to recover from infection and is now joining other supervillains in a doomsday cult led by Vandal Savage; one helmed by Jason Todd, whose unique position as the family rebel has apparently left him out of the loop enough to not die with Bruce, Dick, and Tim in the series proper, but not so out of the loop that he can’t access the cave and the heart monitors Bruce creepily keeps on track of all their other family and friends, letting him reunite with his estranged sister Cassandra and Jim Gordon. Who is just as confused as you are that Batman kept a heart monitor tracker on him without asking. Also, Ace the Bathound and I love it.

This is the first of three issues, but it fits a lot of character work and relationships into those pages, which if you’re paying attention, is the sort of writing that seems to be most helpful with Cassandra Cain's appearances.

I am hoping that everything continues to work well for this team, even knowing that we are going to have bloodshed and death along the way, but I think that the setting of making the last stand in an orphanage protecting children is the exact kind of thing these three characters would be united to do together in the zombie apocalypse.

This is a fun, albeit bloody and morbid, comic that is worth picking up for anyone who misses Cassandra being Batgirl as much as I do.

Also wow that family photo with Cass alongside her brothers and father. It took us this long to finally get one, huh.

Worth it. Suck it, Tomasi.

I have a lot of love for Cassandra, and a lot of opinions as well. Obviously! But what I love more than anything is to enjoy good stories with other people, and I’m hopeful and joyful that there seems to be more and more of those things intersecting on the horizon.

If you’ve enjoyed my take on any of this, I hope I can continue to point you toward content in the future. And even if not, if you want to share your takes with me, I hope I can provide some good conversation there, too!

Most of all I hope we all have something wonderful we can look forward to.

[Shadow of the Batgirl]

92 notes · View notes

gigi-sinclair · 4 years

Text

Cendrillon (crossover with “Versailles”, Guillaume/Thomas Jopson, rated G)

Blame it on @rubysharkruby, and specifically this gifset. Also, I believe it was @oochilka who said “a Thomas Jopson for every Matthew McNulty character”, and I can thoroughly get behind that.

If you haven’t seen “Versailles”, I would say Guillaume is more or less a 17th century French Edward Little. The poor guy just wants to do his job.

For the @theterrorbingo Free Space, and my third Bingo!!!

“I hear you are cobbler to the King.”

Guillaume looks up from the tannery workbench. In front of him stands the most beautiful man he's ever seen, tall and dark-haired. He's dressed simply, as a servant, but he is as lovely as any aristocratic flower Guillaume has glimpsed at Versailles.

“We work for all sorts of people,” Jeanne calls across the workshop. The man glances at her. “None of our clients have ever been dissatisfied.”

“But you are correct,” Guillaume says, bringing the man's startling blue gaze back to him. “We are fortunate enough to have a position at court.” At least until the King catches wind of Jeanne's disloyal sentiments.

“My master is in sore need of new shoes.” He has an accent, Guillaume remarks. English, although his French is very good. “But I am afraid he dislikes leaving home. I would be most grateful if somebody could go to him.”

Guillaume is far too busy with the King and the orders from court these days to take on such errands himself, but he finds himself strangely loath to assign the task to someone else.

“Where do you live?”

“My master's home is outside Menuls-lès-Saint-Cloud.” A fair ride from the workshop. A trip out there would certainly take more time than Guillaume has to spend.

“I can come tomorrow afternoon.” He can sense Jeanne's eyebrows go up, but ignores her. It's easy enough to do when the man bestows upon him a smile dazzling enough to put butterflies in Guillaume's stomach and palpitations in his heart. He even has dimples, Guillaume notes, with simultaneous despair and elation. He has always been inordinately fond of dimples.

“Thank you, monsieur. He is a very particular gentleman, he only wants the best.” The man gives Guillaume a look that can only be described as meaningful. Even after his experiences at court, where volumes are spoken with looks and gestures, Guillaume does not possess the skills to discern that meaning. He takes the address, and bids the man a farewell which is ridiculously forlorn, given they are complete strangers.

As soon as he is gone, Guillaume hears Jeanne scoff.

“You have something to say, dear sister?”

“Merely that I am pleased to see you taking work for someone other than His Majesty. And that your familiarity with the Duc d'Orléans seems to have affected you in more ways than one.” This meaning could not be clearer, and she could not be more wrong.

Guillaume knows of Philippe's proclivities, naturally. Those same proclivities lived in Guillaume long before he met Philippe. He wonders, at times, if that was what encouraged friendship to blossom between them, even more than their shared experiences in the war.

“If you are short of work, Jeanne, I'm certain I can find you something to do.” His tone is less imperious than he would like, but she says no more.

***

The mysterious gentleman's home is a moderately sized villa, tidy with a well-kept garden. It is not the home of an aristocrat, but nor is it a place for a pauper. The handsome servant himself greets Guillaume at the door.

Overnight, Guillaume almost managed to convince himself he had exaggerated the man's appearance. He, who had seemed an angel on Earth in the tannery, would no doubt appear ordinary or even plain in the light of day.

Guillaume was wrong. The man is as lovely now as he was yesterday. As he greets Guillaume with another of those astonishing smiles, Guillaume hears himself ask, “What is your name?”

“Jopson, monsieur. Thomas.” He says it the English way. Tom-mass. It is utterly delightful.

“I am Guillaume,” Guillaume tells him, as Thomas leads him into the house.

“Yes,” Thomas replies. Amusement colours his voice. “I know.”

A man awaits them in the drawing room. Although the weather is mild, he sits before the fire. Like the house itself, this room is well-kept without being extravagant, with tall bookshelves against several of the walls, and paintings of seascapes on the others. The gentleman is not elderly, but Guillaume recognizes the ravages of drink on his face.

“Captain Crozier,” Thomas says, in English. Guillaume can understand a little, although he would never attempt to speak it. “We are honoured with a visit from the King's shoemaker.”

Crozier casts his eyes across Guillaume's person, then snorts. “All right, then. Let's get on with it.”

Captain Crozier—given the seascapes, Guillaume assumes he is a naval captain, or was one, rather than an army captain—suffers from severe bunions. He winces as Guillaume measures his feet, although Guillaume is as gentle as possible. After marching for years with his own troops, this is a condition with which Guillaume has great sympathy.

“Tell him,” Guillaume says to Thomas, as he wraps up his measuring tape, “I will make him the most comfortable shoes he has ever owned.”

His words make Thomas' eyes light up. At once, Guillaume wishes to do that again, and again. “Oh, that would be very much appreciated.” Thomas repeats the sentence in English to the captain, who laughs derisively.

“He wouldn’t be the first to say that. But I welcome his attempt.” The captain's gaze goes to Thomas. “Why don't you have a pair made yourself, as well, Thomas?”

“Me, sir?”

“If his shoes are as good as he claims, then you surely deserve some of your own. You're on your feet far more than I.”

A fetching blush comes to Thomas' cheeks. “That's very kind, sir.” He turns to Guillaume. “My master has kindly offered me a pair of my own. If you don't mind...”

“Not at all.”

Thomas sits on the nearest chair, and removes his current shoes. They are of very poor quality, badly made to begin with and crudely patched on top of that. Guillaume wishes he had brought a pair of completed shoes for Thomas to wear while his are being made.

Guillaume has seen a lot of feet in his time. In and of themselves, they have never interested him, but Thomas' feet are strangely fascinating.

Guillaume bites his lip, striving to maintain the highest level of professionalism. The level that has kept him at court, even if Philippe's influence was obviously what first opened the door. He takes Thomas' measurements as briskly and efficiently as he did his master's, until he arrives at Thomas' left instep.

It is high. Before he can consider what he's doing, Guillaume traces it with his index finger. Even through Thomas' stocking, Guillaume can feel the heat of his body. He twitches, but does not pull his foot away. Rather, he pushes back, just a little, then raises his gaze to meet Guillaume's.

Guillaume feels his own face heat to match the blush darkening Thomas'. He pulls his hand away.

“I shall deliver the shoes myself, once completed.” The vow is rash. He might be called to Versailles at any time.

“I look forward to it, monsieur,” Thomas replies, in a low voice that does not quite suit a conversation about shoes.

***

As promised, the shoes Guillaume makes for Thomas and his master are among the finest he's created. The leather is richly tanned, supple beneath his fingers, and the stitching is exquisite, if he does say so himself. For all his sins, Guillaume is not usually a prideful man. He is proud of these shoes, and excited to present them to their new owners.

To one of their new owners in particular. He smiles to himself on the ride up to Menuls-lès-Saint-Cloud. He would say he feels as giddy as a schoolboy, but Guillaume was always a serious child.

“Good afternoon, monsieur!” Guillaume did not write ahead to announce his arrival, but Thomas greets him as if he was expected. “I'm afraid Captain Crozier has taken ill.”

“I hope it is nothing serious.”

A delicate frowns settles upon Thomas' forehead. “No,” he says, sounding tired. “It is quite usual.”

There is nothing to be said to that. “I have your shoes.” Guillaume holds up the bag in his hand. It seems an idiotic statement—why else would he have come?—but Thomas brightens, the frown disappearing.

“Please, do come in. I'm so eager to see them.”

He takes Guillaume to the same room they were in before. Guillaume sets aside the shoes made for the captain, and unveils Thomas' pair. “They're wonderful!” Thomas exclaims. “Might I try them?”

“Of course.” The prudent course of action would be to hand the shoes to Thomas, to let him put them on himself. Instead, Guillaume says, “Please, sit.”

Guillaume has spent a great deal of his life as a supplicant. Before God, before the King. It feels just as natural to go to his knees before Thomas, to take one of his stocking-clad feet in hand and slide it into the shoe. The fit, of course, is exact.

“My goodness.” Guillaume looks up. Thomas' cheeks are rosy, his lips parted in a way that makes Guillaume feel quite warm. “That's lovely.” He clears his throat, as Guillaume sets down that foot and takes up his other one. “In Italy, the captain and I heard a story about a lady who flees from a royal ball, and is found again by the perfect fit of a slipper she left behind. Do you know the tale?”

“I have heard a similar one at court.” Guillaume remembers Philippe recounting it to him, thinking, no doubt, that the subject matter would appeal.

Thomas holds his gaze. “Then you will know that the one who returns her slipper is a charming prince. Like you, Guillaume.”

Guillaume swallows. “I am far from a prince.”

“Perhaps.” He reaches out to rest his hand on Guillaume's shoulder. His touch is light. Still, it makes Guillaume's heart beat faster. “But I find you very charming indeed.”

He moves slowly. Guillaume has ample opportunity to shift away, to get up and leave, to reject what Thomas is clearly offering. He does none of that. Instead, he allows Thomas to sit on the floor beside him, to take Guillaume in his arms, and, finally, to press a kiss, soft and tentative, against Guillaume's lips.

Despite the circles he now moves in, despite his close friendship with the King's only brother, Guillaume is a simple man. He is not ashamed of that. There is a natural hierarchy to the world, and Guillaume is well aware of his place within it.

And my place at the moment, he thinks, wrapping his arms about Thomas and returning kiss with ardour, is exactly where I am now.

#theterrorbingo

28 notes · View notes

amityax · 4 years

Text

Exampletron: The Tutorial Character!

Name: Exampletron

Age: 100 Vorns (About 8,330 Earth years)

Place of Origin: Cybertron, Pious Pools, Middle District

Alignment: Lawful Good

Religion: Agnostic (Ironically, despite teaching classes on Religion, he’s never thought about it)

Gender: Male Leaning, He/Him, 3 on a binary scale of 1 to 10, 10 being female presenting and 1 being male presenting.

Altmode: Projector

Faction: Strongly Neutral

Defining Quote: “Teaching the next generation is the greatest privilege a bot could ask for.”

Physical Description: About 5 Meters Tall, Padded Shoulders, Blue paint with green accents, blue optics, and helm fins that have a paperclip-like pattern on them. They are built Lightly, but are not frail. Small in appearance, but not a mini-bot or a mini-con.

Outstanding Physical Features: They’ve got big feet, and they’ve got small, decorational kibble wings on their back.

Favorite Thing: History, Wooden Rulers (the texture is so… interesting!)

Least Favorite Thing: Exclusionary Policies, Bad Teachers

Inventory: Caries no weapons. Has at least one ruler and one extra hand-held clock at all times. Laminated samples of things. A puzzle cube. A Personal Data Pad and a Work Data Pad.

Functionalist Class: Delta, Disposable Class

Job: An Academy Teaching Assistant and Part-Time Unofficial Tutor For The Newly Forged

Stats: Strength: 2, Dexterity: 4, Constitution: 3, Intelligence: 8, Wisdom: 5, Charisma: 8

Skills/Proficiencies: Proficient in History, Religion, Investigation, Insight, and Performance. Has a vast information base of most teachable subjects. He is a very charming person, albeit mostly unintentionally. It’s why the Academy lets him get away with stuff. Proficient in being loved. :)

Weaknesses: Low Insight, Intimidation, Deception, Athletics. Not very strong, not very hardy. Could not hold himself in a fight. He’s not a pacifist, he just couldn’t conceive the idea of getting into a physical fight with anyone, and therefore has never thought about it. In the only thing he has situational insight into is the minds and emotions of students. Sympathetic and perceptive of their needs, but his low situational awareness of everything else combined with his sheltered nature (he was raised in Pious Academy, basically), leave him vulnerable to malicious manipulation and the danger he unknowingly puts himself in when he strives for lawful change.

Personality/Character Description: A kind, jovial, knowledge-loving bot. He loves to teach students, and constantly expresses his gladness when he is able to do so, even though he is often relegated to being a board projector for others. He wants to pass on knowledge from himself to the next generation, and has a fondness for history in particular. Wants to teach so badly, he often gets himself in trouble. He has a good mind, and tries to follow the rules as best he can, but when it came to keeping himself out of social/legal trouble, he had heart where he should have had brains. He has trouble keeping his cool when assisting bad teachers who either butcher the material and/or are cruel to students. Honestly, is a bit oblivious to the corrupted state of society, and is unaware of the danger he is in by semi-unknowingly defying the norm.

Outstanding Non-Physical Traits of Character: An Incredible Memory and love of learning. Definitely more so than your average person, or even your average teacher. Very kind, and prioritizes his students' welfare above all else.

Goals: Wants to become a teacher. Wants to teach a history class. Wants to improve his students’ quality of life by improving society as a whole. Also pushed for peaceful, legal educational reform on Cybertron. He wanted to make teacher credentials available to anyone who could pass certain tests instead of building people to be teachers and throwing them into a teaching/tutoring career whether they liked it or not. He also pushed for the creation of “On The Grid” classes, which are basically online classes that can be taken anywhere, and more importantly, by anyone (which for a functionalist government trying to limit which types of people could and could not receive and education, was quite a problem).

Accomplishments: He once taught a long-running Intro To Pre-History course before being outed. Had the highest success and proficiency scores of any other teacher in the school. He is very proud of the quality of his historical evidence and analysis. He can and will name several “students of his” who became very successful researcher/educators of their own; Daybreak, Vertical Shift, Imperial, Nautical… he set up a few “Grid Classes,” but they were taken down by the government after “potential terrorist sympathizers” began to access them.

Failures: He was “barred” from his unlicensed teaching after the government put pressure on the academy to be “up to code.” He was devastated. He never got the majority of his reforms pushed through, and not many people cared about his cause; either they were uninterested in change, or his concerns were to “niche.” He's terrified of letting his students down.

Backstory: He has worked at Pious Academy since it was open. He was literally sparked for his job. Serving as a projector for other teachers to display things on by day and scouring the library by night, he listened in on so many lectures, and knew the school so well, he became the formats expert on all things going on. He was inspired by one kind professor who only taught one year at the school before leaving to follow his heart and pass on his vast array of knowledge on to the next generation. His light and charming personality endeared him to the management staff, and allowed him to do additional work, despite his Disposable Class. There was one point where he was teaching classes on his own thanks to his vast array of data and his sheer seniority, until some spoiled prick of a student found out his Frame Type and tattled (*Cough* Sentinel). The Academy is now very careful to keep Exampletron on a leash, for fear of governmental retribution.

Character’s Opinion: Exampletron believes that he needs to do what it takes to get his right to teach back by changing the education system such that knowledge and learning have the most priority in a school setting, putting aside all Classism for it’s sake. He pushed for reforms, and patiently waits for his letters, inquiries, pamphlets, and essays to be reviewed and discussed upon (they never are, but he keeps trying). He’s not a “revolutionary” per say, he thinks everything he’s trying to get done is obvious to everyone, it’s just no one’s bothered to address it yet, is all.

Philosophy: The students, their education, and their quality of life is the most important thing. Hands down. Exampletron thinks that knowledge, history, literature, and culture is all beautiful, and that everyone should have the chance to appreciate it. Teaching is the most rewarding experience there is, and watching your students become better is and should be the goal, always.

Friends With: Several of the staff, administrators, and students of Pious Academy. Doesn’t know anyone else, really.

Platonically Dislikes: One student who always purposely spills oil on his Projector Form, even after Oil consumables were banned from the classroom. What’s with that guy, anyway?

Admires/Looks Up To: Alpha Trion. He’s never seen them in person (obviously), but he is All Over historical accounts of his actions and his records. (It's like having a crush on a historical figure, but that historical figure is still very much alive and it’s awkward as hell for everyone involved.)

Mentor To: Specifically, Hardlight, and aspiring writer in the Architecture History class he assists in. He tutors her on the down-low about the Quintesseons and Age of Wrath, as that’s where her book is set.

General Enemies With: The assistant dean, Whippersnap. They’re always cruel and mocking after one of Exampletron’s attempts to get change or teach a class on the sly goes awry.

Best Friend/Amica Endure: A teacher named Inquiry. They’re not Amica or anything, but they’re still really good friends. Inquiry always asks for Exampletron’s opinion during his geography class.

Romantic Interest: Again, it’s Inquiry. He’s just not sure how to bring it up…

Hate Crush: Uh,,, no one, really? He is Black Aromantic. He doesn’t enjoy hating people, really, but understands that others find this form of romance attractive and/or cathartic.

Arch Nemesis/Mortal Enemy: Trunchable from down the hall. She is THE WORST teacher OF ALL TIME. NO knowledge of subject matter, downright CRUEL to the students AND the other staff. She enjoys cruel and unusual punishment for even the smallest of slights. She once forced another teacher to eat an entire full-sized oil-cake in a teacher’s meeting for stealing her slice of cake from the work fridge, and the teacher got so sick they had to go to the hospital to get their tanks pumped. No one can tell her off or fire her because she’s the daughter of some high ranking official, and to make matters WORSE she teaches THE NEW FORGES. UGH!!!! He doesn’t like hating people, but she forces his platonic hand!

Peacemaker For: Many, many, many student pairs (and one teacher pair). Study groups can be quite challenging when you have to play Peacemaker for not one, not two, but four intensely Black-waxing couples all at the same time. That was a trying semester for Exampletron. The teacher pair is the only one he enjoys Peacekeeping. Young bots, as a rule, are hell to Mediate, even for Exampletron.

Peacemade By: Honeytrap, an assistant dean, mediates Exampletron and Trunchable, basically whenever they’re in the same room. It is a platonic Mediation, but so what? It’s the closest thing you can get with Exampletron.

Author’s Plans/Goals For Character: Exampletron tries to set up a Grid Class at the wrong time in the wrong place, and sends one to many letters to his local senator, and he gets placed on the Government’s long, long shit list. Ironically, Exampletron’s knowledge of history didn’t allow him to realize it was repeating itself, nor save him of his corrupt overlords and the lengths they would go to keep their power. At the end of the Golden Age, during the terror and confusion of the Dreaded Rust Plague, Exampletron, among many other political dissenters of the Prime, both private citizens and public politicians, are kidnapped from their homes and forced through space bridges en-mass to random colony locations. And then, to quarantine off the planet, Sentinel makes the decision to permanently deactivate the space bridges. What timing, amiright? Exampletron lands on Caminus and not one of the infected colonies, thankfully. He didn’t achieve his goal of reforming Cybertron’s education system, but at least the Camiens let him get a job as a history teacher the way he always wanted! He still misses his old students, though (and Inquiry).

#transformers #oc #idw transformers #character sheet #does anyone have a good name for a transformers version of a hate-romance relationship?#because I've come up dry #I think I like Peacemaker or Mediation for the grey quadrant tho #here's the example i promised

3 notes · View notes

badgergreene · 4 years

Text

One Morning in a Cafe in Byron Bay,

Jess stood looking at the road. She was bored, so bored she didn’t even play with her biro, lodged safely in her pinny. The lady and her son whom she had sat down a few minutes earlier were ready to order. Jess found this out as the lady started talking at her, even though she was far enough away for it to seem she was talking to herself. I’ll have poached eggs on toast. She looked at her brat of a son, who was of the age where he wouldn’t shut up at home, but now, in public, was barely able to string a sentence together, fiddling with the salt mill, desperately trying to break something. She looked at Jess, who by this time had moved closer to their table and had exaggerated her pose, which, if in a mime, would indicate she was about to write something down: order pad ever so slightly further from her body; pen on paper but motionless; mouth open, ready to anticipate, perhaps even encourage, a sound. And he will have a... she paused, pouted and turned proudly to her son, urging him to continue. Yes, thought Jess, and? What the fuck do you want? The boy turns his body towards his mother and mumbles something into her armpit Urgg, a, umm, babychino. His mother looked adoringly at her son and whispered Good boy. She looks back at Jess, as if, somehow, that was that. Clear as coffee. Jess turns on her heels and scribbles something on the pad. When you’ve worked as a waitress in a cafe for any length of time, you already half-suspect what the children will have. Ruminating on what other habits the child will eventually develop, thanks to Mummy, Jess rips the ticket and places it on the tab grabber. Fucking babychinos. Fucking kids.

A man totters up the step and sits down cautiously on the nearest seat. He was one of those guys you feel sorry for. The clothes he wore had faded past the point of being dirty, to the extent his clothes resembled his core. Everything in his look, manner, hygiene, every move his fragile skeleton made, said ‘tired’. His hands were trembling, reaching into his pocket to count his change. You couldn’t tell if he was an alcoholic or just miserly and scared to hand over any cash. Anywhere else, it was the former. But this is Byron, where millionaires rubbed linen-clad shoulders with the homeless. Either way, the truth was that you stare at his hands for long enough you just want to go over and grab them. Stop fucking shaking!

Jess walked over to the lady and the kid. How’s your eggs? She didn’t care, but it was her job. Not to really care, but to pretend to care just enough until she either tipped or didn’t. If she did leave a tip, Jess knew that all the pent up anger she felt towards the lady who had acted from the outset as self-entitled and superior, all of it would disappear, leaving her with a faint guilt and coins in her pocket. She retreated back to the position she was at when the lady had started to talk at her and played with her fingernails, silently whistling the tune that was playing from the speakers. She’d better fucking tip.

A lady walks in with her dog. She is wearing bracelets you find in those machines in arcades. They were probably expensive but they looked cheap. She had on a grey, eighties-style jacket: raised shoulders, short sleeves, disgusting. Her hair is big, wild, but more than likely ‘styled’. She paints a tragic picture, completely incongruous to the setting, and decade. She strolls in, her scared-shitless Jack Russell following behind her. Jess looks at the dog. Sorry, can you keep your dog outside please? The lady, still with her sunglasses on inside, explodes. Listen, there’s a gas attack outside and I’m not leaving him out there! Jess and the other waitress look at each other, unsure how to proceed. Byron has a habit of attracting the Very Strange. Placating, Jess starts to stroke the dog, before telling the lady once again it has to stay outside. It’s a cafe, we serve food. We’re not allowed dogs inside, she implores. Don’t you fucking touch my dog, she pushes Jess’ hand away from the dog’s head, I don’t care about you, I haven’t eaten in three days. I just want a coffee. We’re not in a movie here, just get me a coffee. The lady, who incidentally looked like she had just been pushed off set in an eighties drama, started to get more wound up. The waitresses looked at each other again, wondering whether they should call the owner for guidance and/or muscle. So extreme this little scene, so above and beyond the normal ‘extreme’, Jess was sure that men in white coats would soon come and remove this lady, who, like the stain from table four, didn’t look like she was going anywhere. The dog can’t stay in here. Don’t you touch my dog. It can’t stay in here. I don’t care about you. Excuse me? Just make me a coffee, please! Can you take the dog outside? We’re not in a movie here. No, we’re not. Take your dog outside. I don’t care about you. There’s a gas attack outside. What? Smell it. I can’t. Exactly, I’m not subjecting my dog to the gas. What gas? I can’t smell any gas. It’s all over Byron. It’s deadly. I think it’s time you left. I don’t care about you. Please leave. We’re not in a fucking movie. Please go. Stage left if you want. I don’t care. I’m a regular here. I haven’t eaten in three days.

And so the record kept playing. The men in white coats never came, but she left, eventually. The Jack Russell, who presumably had observed such insanity before, remained obedient, shivering, head down, tail between its legs, following its owner who wasn’t on this planet. It looked thin, sad, and was totally subservient to the lead. It would have been perfect for someone looking for love. Jess felt far more fondness toward the dog than its owner and quickly, fleetingly, wondered if she could, so to speak, give the dog a bone. If Medussa hadn’t eaten for three days, how long had the dog been without food?

In walks the Cunt. His name is Eric, but Cunt is a better name. He is a short man, much shorter than he would wish and speaks in a volume that no one can ignore. He comes up to the table of Lee, a girl waiting to start work and was sitting down reading the paper, and pushes his groin onto her knee. Oh, and I missed you too! He smiles pure cheese. Lee, the waitresses, indeed all the patrons on the cafe continue as if he didn’t exist. Realising that this conversation was dead on its feet, that he was, in fact, boring the world, he shouted over the restaurant, hey Gaudi, can I have a coffee? The desperation for people to know he ‘belonged’ was palpable. There was no answer from out back, so he cupped his hands together. Gaudi! Gaudi! Soy latte please. Wanker. He sits down and invites the girls to sit around him. He starts talking about -yawn- business and money. Yeah, I try to make 2k a day, sometimes I win, sometimes I lose, but, you know, there’s a real fine line between fear and intuition, and that’s what I love about it -I really have to dig deep. And because there’s a lot of money, I mean a real lot of money, and that’s what is fascinating – I don’t get passionate about much, but this I do. The thing is, yet another reason why he is such a cunt, yeah, did 60 trades yesterday, burnt through my account, lost a lot, is that whilst he is saturating the girls with this horseshit, he thinks he is being not only interesting, but charming. Brick subtle in letting them know how humble he is to admit to losing money and then not worrying about it; building himself back up, showing strength of character, yet everyone can feel a show. I just double my money, and see what I can do. He owns an Italian restaurant, which is going down the pan. It’s been in the paper for sale and the price keeps dropping. If the suppliers to his restaurant could hear him waffle on about trading, whilst they have been chasing him for a five-figure sum, going under themselves because of a bill he didn’t pay, they would want to kill him. Yep, 0421, 31, 76, 34. The fact he is selling his restaurant and not paying his suppliers, then trying to impress waitresses with talk of trading, when what they know about trading is about as much as I know about the moon, is a sickening indictment of the character of this cunt. Okay, so let’s organise something, shall we? The next few days might be difficult, but I’ll juggle some things around and see what I can do. He has a son who is seriously depressed. It makes you wonder why. The girls leave and he looks at his iphone, his world, and says for everyone to hear, this is a disaster. Like he wants everyone to know that he is playing the market whilst he sips a soy latte, whilst his restaurant goes under. What a twat. Now he starts to whistle. Tunelessly. Gaudi walks past, how are you? Fine Gaudi, how’s things with you? The cunt doesn’t look up from his phone. He makes a phone call. The volume increases. Yeah, what it is, he’s attention seeking. He’s a 21 year old boy acting like a 14 year old. He’s talking about his son. Everyone can hear. All he does is smoke pot and do nothing. He needs to grow up. I’ll have him fucking committed, he’s suicidal, well, he’s not suicidal but he’ll climb to the top of a cliff so that everyone can see him. If he just took the pills. He’s the father. Cunt. I think he’s being selfish, difficult. I’ve given up. He’s so defensive. Personally, he needs a kick up the arse. He’s just attention seeking. Yeah, where does he get that from? Not from you, Cunt, obviously. I’m basically waiting for him to try and kill himself, so I can get him fucking committed. Yeah, I’ve given him the responsibilities of the restaurant... yeah he’s earning more than me. He’s on 450 a week, which at the moment is more than me. What happened to the 2k a day? Cunt. If he was really trying to help by giving his son the responsibilities to a failing business, rather than complaining about his attention-seeking, selfish behaviour, he might start by being there for him, giving him the attention he needs. It might be the only sweet bite of an apple rotten to the core. The more I listen to this heartfelt conversation about his son, the one person who needs his father, the less I want to cave his face in and the more pity I feel for him.

Two guys sat down, each very much in love with themselves but worried people would think they were in love with each other. So they sat with tense ease, unable to relax, blocking off any proper contact by keeping on the mirrored aviators, looking around to see who was looking at them. The taller of the two, stretched back in his chair, invading the free space of the cafe and crossing his legs, confidently asked Jess, How’s work today? Fine, thank you. She was short and it shut him up. He straightened in his chair and they were both silent until their meals came out.

He hunches over his table, looking at his phone. He is short, wears a white shirt, tucked into his jeans no less and he is from New York. His eyes are intense and his hands gesticulate wildly, perhaps to make up for having no forehead. The man has a very small forehead, made smaller by the furrows created by his perpetual frown. When he concentrates, he looks – in the words of Jess – like a window-licker, a bit special. The guy oozes money. He holds a centurion AMEX card, shouts down his phone and has stomach ulcers and very few manners. He eats like a pig, or someone who has money on his mind. He gets on his phone, gets up from his table and starts walking out to the pavement, then into the road. He bends over double and screams into his phone. Oblivious to the traffic, he wanders into the road shouting. He’s back in NYC and angry. The stress of the city has not left him. Maybe he needs to move here, but it won’t do any good. His ulcers will still secrete acid; he’ll still flap his arms Can I have the check please, and a hug?

#Byron Bay #writing #travel #coffee #you can't make this up #Moses #cafelife

4 notes · View notes

s-j-ace · 4 years

Text

The Same Question

Chapter Six

Characters: Shuichi Saihara, Ouma Kokichi

Words: 14290

Summary:

After Detective Shuichi Saihara encounters mysterious thief Kokichi Ouma for the first time, a game of cat and mouse ensues as both men ask themselves the same question. Why exactly does the elusive phantom thief do what he does?

This is Chapter Six, Here are Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, and Five

Read on AO3

[Log of Text Messages from Maki Harukawa’s Cellular Device]

From: Me

Did you touch down at Haneda yet?

From: Principal Emo

Yeah

A while ago actually

I’m actually on the train home right now

Which I guess is a little silly considering I’m coming right back over tomorrow

But also I definitely need to sleep in my own bed at least once before meeting people Kaito works with

From: Me

Ugh

Meeting people

From: Principal Emo

Yeah

Especially meeting people with Kaito “What’s your favorite blood type?” Momota

From: Me

Hey that’s my boyfriend you’re talking about

And your description is completely accurate, continue

From: Principal Emo

Ugh sorry that was mean

I’m mean today and I don’t like it

I need coffee :(

From: Me

Or, you know

A decent night’s sleep

From: Principal Emo

Too hard

From: Me

Oh, you’re right, taking care of yourself is too hard

Back to relentlessly roasting Kaito it is

From: Principal Emo

What no

I’m not roasting him

I’m just

Trying not to be mad at him because the only reason I have to be mad at him is that I’m going to miss him while he’s on his mission and I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me he was going on the mission soon enough that I had time to ease into missing him and if I’m just angry at him about that then I’ll be missing him when he’s here so I should try and not be angry at him so that I don’t let time with him go to waste while he’s not in space yet

That makes sense right?

From: Me

I mean feel about it how you wanna feel

But I’d just be mad at him if I were you

From: Principal Emo

From: Me

*>:(

From: Principal Emo

*<:(

From: Me

What is that

A party hat?

From: Principal Emo

No its like

Concerned eyebrows

From: Me

What are you concerned about?

From: Principal Emo

Right now? Or in general?

Because right now I’m worried that people on the train are giving me weird looks because my suitcase is taking up too much space

But like in general I fear that I am somehow secretly inadequate according to an unclear set of standards that only exist in my own mind

From: Me

Cool

Well not cool actually

You want me to give you a ride to the open house so that you don’t have to take the train again tomorrow

From: Principal Emo

I would actually very much appreciate that

I know that the lines under the Towa bridges have the newest trains and the most up to date security and all

But also there’s just a lot of people on trains and places to hide knives one would use for a train stabbing and even thought that’s super unreasonable maybe it’s not that unreasonable because we have a lot of stabbings in proportion to other countries but also we have a low homicide rate

From: Me

Ah so you don’t just want to carpool for my charming company

From: Principal Emo

If you’re trying to be sarcastic let me just say your company is genuinely more charming than the motley crew of characters one would expect on the Towa to Tanegashima line at ten in the morning

From: Me

Even though my car has the same amount of places to hide knives?

From: Principal Emo

Yeah but those knives are for your purposes and not train stabbings

From: Me

My purposes?

From: Principal Emo

You know what I mean

From: Me

Yeah I do

Also

While I do not want to validate your fear of train stabbings via the association of an abrupt subject change

I’ve been meaning to say for a while that I am sorry that I don’t trust your detective work more often

Well I don’t know about more often

What I mean is

I think that you are a good detective

Even when you say stuff that obviously sounds stupid

And if I implied a different stance through my words or actions

Then I regret those words and/or actions

From: Principal Emo

What?

Oh are you talking about what you told me before I went to Paris

From: Me

Yeah

I mean I don’t think I’m in the wrong when I say clowns stealing toilets from the louvre is a stupid premise for a crime

But I guess criminals are stupider than popular media and common sense would lead me to believe

And I think I should have believed in you more

But also I think I was right that you need a vacation and you haven’t taken one yet and I think that’s not great for you either

From: Principal Emo

Oh um

I guess not?

From: Me

And Kaito told me you’re not allowed to chase the clowns anymore

So maybe you should take a break now

From: Principal Emo

Well

I feel like in a way following the DICE case was a break?

Because I essentially didn’t get any cases done the whole time I was working it

Which means I’ll have catching up to do when I get back to the office

From: Me

Not if I kill you first

From: Principal Emo

Sorry, we’ll have to fit that in later

If you kill me then I’ll be even more behind

From: Me

Your eyeballs better be behind your eyelids at 8pm today or else I’m taking them

From: Principal Emo

Taking what?

From: Me

Your eyeballs

From: Principal Emo

No I need those

From: Me

Then hide them because I’m coming for you

From: Principal Emo

Okay, maybe I’ll sleep a little tonight

From: Me

You better still be sleeping when I get to your house

I’ll be there 8:30

From: Principal Emo

Maki if you want me to sleep at 8pm then that means you want me to sleep for 12 and a half hours

From: Me

Did I fucking stutter

From: Principal Emo

<:( --- Kokichi Ouma's flight from the Malpensa Airport in Milan, Italy to the Narita Airport in Tokyo, Japan was the first time he had ever been on a plane by himself. He had done that on purpose when organizing the flight groups yesterday. Ace and King had suggested that groups be made up of twos and threes to avoid "unnecessary danger," which Kokichi heard as avoiding "letting our boss eat paper and be in vents." Naturally Kokichi responded that it was a positively splendid suggestion, considering he had come up with it already, and he had obliged by it, organizing them into four groups with Kokichi's own group including Queen and Jack. Except somehow they had booked tickets for the wrong flight. Oooh noooo, how could that be? And Queen had been the one to book the tickets too…

Kokichi supposed that he hadn't quite thought this whole being on a plane alone thing all the way through when he was hacking into the airline's online ticket system last night. It seemed now, in the daylight of sitting in the window seat of aisle 22 watching the clouds stroll listlessly across the sky so that he wouldn't have to look at the lady next to him paint her toenails, that there was nothing overtly beneficial about the lack of a familiar audience to his exploits. Sure, it was nice that he could have his blue eyes white dragon on the plane with him in his pocket instead of hidden within the checked bags, but what was the point of it if there was no one to duel with?

Basically he was bored.

But also weirdly not motivated to do anything to end the boredom. Which seemed counterintuitive, because not being bored was his whole deal. Then again maybe having a whole deal was counterintuitive to his supposedly liquid personality. If he wanted to stir things up maybe he should indulge this part of himself that wanted to be boring because then that would vary from his constant need to not be boring, which in excess could be viewed as boring. Then again, changing things about his personality just to avoid an arbitrary standard of boring-ness would also be pretty boring, wouldn’t it?

He tried to think of what the Kokichi who didn't want to be bored with all of his being would do right now. Maybe he would turn around and just start picking apart the insecurities of miss "my toes need to be pink for the beach!" over here until she started crying and jumped out of the plane. Then again, he didn't trust his brain not to imprint onto the next person who had long eyelashes and who he thought might fuck up his whole deal if he let it wander free into the dangerous world of airplane small talk. Sure, he could steal something or break something or just cause some sort of problem on purpose, but, very concerningly, it didn't seem like he wanted to.

It just... seemed like a hassle right now, to think about things and scheme. If he was the maitre d' of mischief then what was the point of it if there wasn’t someone important's perceptions to attend to?

So his brain was left here, grasping at straws, rewatching episodes of Detective Conan in his head, and wondering where he went wrong with the whole dashing phantom thief thing.

It also felt like there was something he was supposed to be doing that he was forgetting to do but he didn't have a lot of time to think about it, what with the recently discovered antique fabregé egg being stolen from the Suzuki Modern Art Museum in Osaka and all. How did Kaitou Kid do it?

Oh, wait, Kokichi knew what this feeling reminded him of. It felt something like being twelve again. Back when DICE was just around a year old and they were still living in that apartment in Hokkaido. They were barely scraping by at that point. Spades and Clubs were in junior high, still seriously considering going back to the old home. All the other teens were still in highschool, except for King, who was just starting nursing school, and Ace still had their first job with that phony resume Kokichi made them. Wait, they hadn't even come up with their code names yet had they? Yeah, they still called him Ouma-sama back then.

That seemed kind of silly, looking back on it. While everyone was at school or work, Kokichi would stay in that little apartment and watch anime for hours, sometimes making nasty little bills disappear through some light, white collar crime. Well, it wasn't always anime he watched while committing tax fraud. Sometimes he would watch game shows or browse the internet while sending emails that would topple companies in just the right way so that rice cakes would be on sale the next week. He memorized a lot of different security detail layouts while lazing around and rerouting rubber horse mask deliveries to the CEO of the Towa corporation because their stupid TVs were too expensive. He also played a lot of video games. Like… a lot a lot. Most of his time was spent playing video games now that he thought of it...

Recalling those times now felt like looking down at half of a person. Or more like looking back at someone who didn't know he was a person yet.

Except now he was a person and he knew that he was one and he was on a plane by himself because he wanted to sulk defiantly. Wait sulk? Sulking? Was that what he was doing?

Well yeah, maybe he was a bit bummed about Saihara. He hadn't been able to think about that earlier because if he thought about the pit of disappointment sapping in the back of his head it might suck the rest of him in too and then he'd be no use to anyone. But now he was alone and it didn't matter how he felt about anybody and somehow he was still confused by it.

Maybe Saihara just wasn't the hot shit Kokichi thought he was. Actually, Kokichi was probably just being dumb for expecting more. Or, on the other hand, Saihara might just be doing things the right way. Tracking an internationally traveling thief through flight records was logical, but somehow knowing how the trick was done made it lose a little bit of magic. Or all of it, seeing as magic isn't real and all. Maybe Kokichi had just been excited by the possibility that Saihara had presented, and thus blew his minor deductive talent out of proportion.

Obviously whatever had made Saihara so interesting to him was of no consequence now, because the detective wouldn't be able to find them with his little method this time, what with DICE staggering out the ticket buying and all. He wasn't even going to leave a note to Interpol this time around. And so the semi-epic story of Shuichi v. Kokichi would end here.

Then Kokichi could just keep leading DICE in heists. Forever. He guessed. He didn't know, actually, what the long term plan was vis a vis their ever escalating chain of petty thefts. Bishop had said they made ¥2,000,000 this month. Kokichi didn't even know how much they had saved up in out of country bank accounts. It seemed like too much.

What was he supposed to say about that to DICE though? Ok guys, we’re making too much money actually, time to slow it down a bit and face the fact that we've wasted our young lives on being only mildly disruptive to but somehow somewhat supportive of the institution of capitalism.

Then what would happen after that?

When he started planning these heists, Kokichi had never really thought of an “after” to becoming an internationally wanted thief. He had seen it as the end goal. The destiny career.

How do you end that?

Maybe he should just pull a Ryo from GX except instead of a heart condition killing him he could just jump off a-

“Ladies and gentlemen,” The crackling voice of the Captain over the plane intercom interrupted the train of thought Kokichi was having as well as where he was in his mental Detective Conan Kaito Kid best hits Marathon, “As we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you.”

Uh. What? This was a twelve hour flight and that sounded an awful lot like a landing announcement. Was the Captain on crack or someth-

Kokichi realized that the sky outside the window he had been spacing the fuck out through was dark now. Even more telling of the passage of time, though, was the fact that he was on episode 703 now, the train one where Kaitou Kid disguises himself as a maid.

In order to function like a real living person who experienced the passage of time, Kokichi banished anime from his brain.

Okay, not thinking about anime anymore… thinking instead about what to do when not on the plane….

Right, he was supposed to wait at the baggage claim until Rook, King, Queen and Jack’s flights came in. Then they would drive to the rendezvous in central Tokyo where they would meet the members who landed at Haneda instead of Narita. Then they would head to the JAXA launch site on one of the islands in the Kagoshima prefecture and Kokichi would lay out the heist plan he came up with on... the…. plane….

Oh... he forgot to do that, didn’t he?

…

See, who needed a nemesis when Kokichi had self foiling down to a science? --- Shuichi Saihara really meant to sleep last night. He really did. He went through the whole thing too, brushing his teeth, putting on a sleep t-shirt, and lying down in the bed. Yet somehow his brain never got the message that it was time to shut down.

Instead, it compulsively lit up with anxiety, which began dueling it out with the half hearted self reassurances he postulated to pretend he was coping.

The afternoon before, Shuichi had returned to the small building which served as his dual purpose home/office to find a slew of missed phone calls and letters. He spent three, gut-wrenchingly guilt-ridden hours sorting through everything from distress calls from potential clients, some well wishes from clients he had been following up with, and worst of all extremely distressed calls from clients he had failed to follow up with in wake of the DICE case.

He felt like the stupidest, most pathetic excuse for a detective on the face of the earth. He knew that he shouldn’t feel that way, but how could he not come to that conclusion with all the evidence that lay before him? Every call and letter was from a person that Shuichi had failed to help because he had somehow decided vainly pursuing international thieves was something only he could do. Maybe early on it had seemed like the logical step to pursue the thieves where interpol couldn’t. Shuichi had just come off of a big bust in the organized crime sector of Towa City, tracing back a series of revenge killings at the behest of a secretive swordswoman, and had been passively keeping up with the DICE case on the side. When he had managed to get his hands on one of the encoded letters sent to Interpol, he was certain DICE was going to hit the Smithsonian, so he and Kaito had gotten on a plane to America. And then they didn’t catch the thief and obviously that was Shuichi’s fault because the evidence was all in his hands if he had only been fast enough… So he got the next letter and pursued the thieves to Paris and he got even closer and when he failed it was even more obviously his fault because he should’ve been smart enough to notice an internationally wanted thief sitting literally right next to him. And then some how he had decided that? Stealing plane records was the next logical step? How did he even get there? It was so obviously over the line… But would he really have been satisfied, then, if he had just given up on the truth? Was he really satisfied now? He couldn’t possibly-

It didn’t matter whether he was satisfied or not. Not everything was about him. He had his own job to do here in Towa City and he had forgotten that for about a month and a half to chase after a group of essentially harmless thieves. There had been four murders in Towa City since then! And Shuichi knew that because four people had called him to investigate them! And Shuichi was aware that people would be calling him about violent crime! And he had seen the evidence that the thieves had a zero casualty count! And yet somehow he still had to have Agent Ishimaru spell it out for him that he should’ve just stayed home!

Okay he was freaking out a bit, things were fine. Interpol was going to take care of DICE now. It wasn't Shuichi's case. He needed to calm down. Stop trying to convince himself there was more to the case. Why would he think he knew the case best when he worked on it for less than half a hear? Interpol had been tracking criminal activity suspected of the organization for nearly a decade now. Then again maybe that was a point against interpol. What if they were in-

Stop! No! Not his case! Stop being suspicious!

Shuichi had other things to focus on now. He had managed to get into contact with most of the people who had left him messages, and to make up for lost time he had decided to try and take up a few cases at a time. Except contrary to his own self-conceited beliefs there were more detectives in Towa City than just him, and everyone who had called him about a case had managed to hire someone else already.

He tried to convince himself this was a good thing, as he lay awake at night. Everything was fine. He wasn’t failing anyone. There were so many other capable detectives in Towa city. No reason to be concerned.

Yeah, nobody needed him, the pathetic detective he was anyway. He hadn’t even managed to get close to catching DICE’s leader, let alone the nine other members of the group…

Well maybe he had gotten pretty close. He remembered grappling with the thief in Taipei and Milan. The close contact with the pilferer of his pursuit only made Shuichi’s own incompetence more frustrating, his mistakes made more obvious in the light of hindsight.

He really wanted to know why-

Not his case. God what an idiot. What had Dr. Iruma diagnosed him with after the thief escaped? Ah that’s right, shit for brains.

… That reminded him, he should follow up with the Idabashi labs people. He had gotten so caught up in making sure he stayed on DICE’s tail that he forgot to even perform the most basic courtesy in his practice as a detective. Being able to check up with clients, bystanders, and victims without risking a witness tampering charge was one of the main benefits of being a private detective versus being a police detective. When he had started his private practice Shuichi had promised himself that now that he could put the people involved in a case before the case itself he would do so to the best of his ability. He usually took much better care to address concerns of breaking and entering victims, what had he been thinking leaving the labs immediately to pursue DICE? Dr. Iruma had still been uncertain if her friend would recover from being shut down right in front of her! Shuichi was shocked at his own behavior. It was the kind of awful thing he would have pulled as a reckless teen detective, pursuing the truth without regard for who he accused or lied to along the way. The resurfacing of this behavior seemed appalling to him now.

He should call Idabashi labs right away to apologize.

It was this thought that finally stirred him from his half-awake stupor at 4 AM. At realizing the time, the part of Shuichi’s brain that was still capable of higher reasoning decided that calling would be rather rude at the hour, but he was too anxious he’d forget to call at all if he postponed now to abandon the idea altogether. In compromise, he took out his laptop and began drafting a letter to Dr. Iruma instead, expressing his regrets and apologies of every little thing he could think of. The broken windows, the used bomb, the cup of coffee he had made in her kitchen without asking…

He was typing and retyping the sign off at the end of the letter (Sincerely was a good stand bye but not very personal? Concernedly? Too personal. Thank you for your time? Ugh not the right tone) when he heard the knock at the door.

Shuichi blinked, breaking the trance-like state that he now realized had led him to write a four page letter. He looked at the grandfather clock on his mantle. It read 10:31 AM. Which meant it was actually 8:27 AM because that clock was 2 hours and 4 minutes fast and Shuichi was too afraid he might break it to try and fix it.

Maki had promised to pick him up at 8:30 so by process of logical deduction Shuichi could safely assume that it was her outside, coming to bully him for being sleep deprived.

Sure enough, the sound of the spare key he’d given her and Kaito could be heard jiggling in the door knob. Maki opened the door.

The desk Shuichi was working at was in his client reception area, which was unfortunately immediately in view of anyone opening the door. Maki locked eyes with him almost instantly, and the look in hers was that of disappointment.

“And here I was thinking you might actually be asleep.”

“Uh. Sorry.” Shuichi said, closing his laptop. Then he opened it again. “Hey if you were apologizing to someone for not catching a burglar in their home/place of work and then leaving while their friend was sick so that you could chase said crook to another continent, would you sign the letter ‘sincerely’ or with something more like ‘once more expressing deepest apologies...”

Maki frowned, coming in and closing the door. “I’m not good at apologies. Those both sound polite but, knowing you, you probably didn't do something you would actually need that level of politeness to apologize for.”

“Um.” Shuichi went with ‘deepest apologies, -Shuichi Saihara.’ “Better safe than sorry?” He hit print. The printer his laptop was connected to was upstairs in the office where he kept his case files, so he had to run up the stairs to grab the printed letter.

Maki, seeming to sense he was going to need a second to put his four page letter in an envelope, sighed and came into the building from the entryway. She took off her shoes, heading towards the kitchen in the next room over.

When Shuichi got back down stairs with his four page apology letter safely tucked away in an envelope with a nice international stamp on it, he came into the kitchen to find Maki unplugging his coffee maker.

Both took a moment to register what one another was holding in their hands. Then they both frowned disapprovingly.

“Maki come on…” Shuichi protested weakly. “I don’t want to fall asleep at the JAXA open house.”

“Shuichi you’re at ten-page-apology-letter crazy right now and you think caffeine is going to help you?”

“Yes.” Uh. Wait. Was that healthy? “Maybe.” Probably not. “It’s only four pages.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Okay Shuichi was not on the winning side of logic here that much was clear. But still…

“Okay you win.” Shuichi relented, moving toward the kitchen counter as if to set down the envelope in his hands.

The second he dropped it, he made a mad lunge for the coffee maker cord. Maki effortlessly pulled it out of the way and grabbed his wrist, twisting him into a lock and then bringing him to a pin on the ground.

“What was the plan there?” She asked. Was it just him or did she sound bemused? He couldn’t really look at her face to garner her expression because his own face was currently smashed against the tile of his own kitchen.

“No plan.” Shuichi admitted through a mouthful of the floor. “Only caffeine withdrawal.”

“Okay.” Shuichi felt his center of gravity flip once more, “You’re sleeping in the car.” Shuichi realized that Maki had scooped him up into a princess carry too late to actually do anything about it.

“Hey!” Shuichi protested, a little indignant.

Being close friends with Maki Harukawa came with the knowledge that you were going to be treated like you weighed less than a ragdoll from time to time. She had a tendency to muscle her way through social interactions if at all possible. Her significant other just gave her a compliment she didn’t know how to deal with? Punch him. That guy at work wouldn’t stop talking to her about his fucking car? Walk through a door and close it in his face if he tries to follow. Her best friend wants to make a series of regrettable decisions? Physically prevent him from doing so because he is easier to lift than a handful of grapes.

Shuichi had been friends with Maki for about seven years now, and he knew this all well enough, but that didn’t mean he had to go down without a fight. “Maki I have to get my letter to the-”

“Shuichi when you get back to that letter tomorrow morning you’ll be embarrassed you even wrote it.”

Okay, maybe Shuichi would go down without a fight. Maki made a good point, Shuichi was very often embarrassed by things he himself did while off his daily recommended prescription of z’s and or caffeine.

“Okay! I give! You’re right.”

“I know.” Maki had gotten to the front door and seemed to be puzzling out how to open it with her elbow.

“Here I can walk by myself.” Shuichi made a move to roll out of Maki’s arms, but she was still gripping his shoulder in place.

“Walk to the car by yourself or walk to your kitchen and feed your caffeine addiction?” She looked down at him with a stern expression that implied only one correct answer.

“The car.” Shuichi relented.

“Alright then.”

Maki set him down and opened the door while he grabbed his coat from the closet.

She gave him another look.

“What is it?” Shuichi thought she was scrutinizing his appearance, so he mentally did the same. “Oh! I forgot to do my eyes-” Today his morning routine had been: get out of bed, go to computer, write apology letter, whereas usually it went: get out of bed, apply eyeliner, worry about inadequacies, drink coffee, feel marginally better. Shuichi had skipped the second step, and he was about to rush to the bathroom to correct it, but Maki grabbed his arm.

“Shuichi we’re going to Tanegashima in August. It’s 30 degrees there. Your eyes are going to melt. Along with the rest of you.”

Shuichi took a moment to realize that Maki herself was wearing shorts and a loose aloha shirt. Meanwhile he was standing here in his baggy sleep t-shirt, skinny jeans, and black trenchcoat.

“Uh.” Shuichi took off his coat and tied it around his waist. “Better?”

“Hmph.” Maki grumbled, walking out onto the sidewalk. “If you die of heatstroke on the way there, I’m not going to your funeral.”

“Not even if Kaito went?” Shuichi followed, locking the door behind him.

“Especially not if Kaito went.” Maki pulled out her keys and unlocked her car, which was parallel parked on the street by Shuichi’s office. “He’d cry like a baby. It would be insufferable.”

Maki’s car was an old black honda that always smelled a little like burnt sugar. With Maki, Shuichi couldn't be sure if the smell came from a baking mishap or the trace of nitroglycerin from a recently fired gun. It was probably both. On hot days the air inside was unbearably warm until the AC was turned on for at least a minute, because the seats were made of a dark, greasy pleather sort of thing that made it its mission to absorb as much heat as possible. Shuichi had a distinct memory of pressing his face against the material to avoid being shot from behind. In fact he sort of had a slideshow of bad memories associated with riding in this car on various high stake chases or on the approach of even more stressful social situations. Yet despite all that, the second Shuichi settled into the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt over himself, he felt more at home than he had pulling up the covers when he’d been trying to sleep last night.

What happened next was embarrassingly predictable. From Shuichi’s point of view it seemed like Maki started the car, he closed his eyes, and then when he opened them his face was pressed against the window and he could see the Towa Bridge Expressway zooming past him.

The road was on the upper side of one of the bridges Towa Corp had built about a decade ago connecting Islands like Tanegashima, Yakushima, and Towa City to the mainland. On the underside of the bridges were bullet trains that ran underwater between the islands.

Regardless of this, all roads feel the same under the wheels of a car you forget falling asleep in.

“Hghh.” Shuichi was half aware that his throat was the thing that just made that noise.

“Wow you got a whole REM cycle in there.” Maki seemed to hear his rooster cry of wakefulness despite the interference of some sort of j-pop song coming out of the car speakers. As Shuichi’s eyes adjusted to the pale daylight stinging his retinas, he could make out that his friend had her eyes fixed on the road. “That must be a new record.”

“If you’re gonna-” Shuichi realized his speech was muffled and that it was because his face was still against the window. He made an effort to sit up straight and started his sentence again, unobstructed. “If you’re going to make fun of me for sleeping the same as not sleeping then why should I even bother?”

“Because your health is your health and that isn’t beholden to my judgement.”

“Everything about me is beholden to judgement.” Shuichi muttered, still thinking miserably about his poor uncle’s good name, which he was most certainly running into the ground by having the office closed for another day. He was working a sum total of NO cases right now. Maybe he should write his uncle an apology letter too. Then again he wouldn’t want to bother him in his retirement… Who would want to have their nice day interrupted by their whining nephew? No one.

“Yeah, you should fix that.” Apparently driving for an hour and a half hadn’t changed Maki’s stance. She still had biting comments about his poor self esteem at the ready.

“Hghk.” Shuichi replied eloquently.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Maki muttered in reply.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Maki replied a little too quickly. She was chewing her lip. After a moment of thought she went on. "Well I guess it means something. But I'm still trying to wrap my head around it and I don't want to tell you until I have it phrased right in my mind."

"Hm. Okay."

Shuichi tried to regain faculty over his higher social functions in an attempt to discern what Maki was upset about and to make sure it wasn’t anything that he did. But while he was performing this heroic feat he closed his eyes on accident and then when he opened them again Maki was parking, presumably on the campus of the Tanegashima Space Center.

Shuichi groaned, now finding himself leaned in the opposite direction of the window. “Why does it feel like the part of my brain that produces melatonin is always waiting to get me by surprise?”

“Because you keep trying to drown it in caffeine,” Maki replied readily, seeming to have lost her contemplative mood after another hour of driving, “it’s fighting for it’s life, of course it’s going to use guerilla tactics.”

Shuichi shook the feeling back into his legs as Maki pulled into a spot. He remembered when he used to drive a lot more. When he was on the force he had access to a police cruiser, but nowadays Shuichi had trouble driving a car while he was on his own. He kept having intrusive thoughts about accidentally hitting pedestrians. A lot of grisly murders happened like that. Even now he could picture that guy whose head had been crushed under the wheel of a yakuza boss’s car…

“Come on, we haven’t got all day.” Maki tapped him in the arm with her fist, then got out of the car. Shuichi was going to follow suit, but he paused to check himself for eye crusties in the pull down mirror. He had just regained the mental capacity to remember he didn’t put on his eyeliner and now it was time to be anxious about his appearance again. Well, at least this would probably go better than the last time he encountered a social situation without doing his eyes. He really thought he’d be safe going to ask Keebo about the wi-fi, but he had managed to stumble into a robbery in process, which had then turned into a hostage situation, which had then turned into an all night police investigation and journalists tried to talk to him again and then Dr. Iruma was doing robot surgery and he got chewed out by Ishimaru again and-

“Shuichi?” Maki had ducked her head back into the car. “Are you coming?”

Shuichi startled out his internal anxiety tirade. “Y-yeah! Sorry.” He shut the mirror and opened the door of the car. It took a second to untangle his coat from the seatbelt, but he managed to get out and retie it around his waist.

“Hey…” Maki had locked the car and come around to his side. Her eyebrows were furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“What?” Shuichi blinked. Did he really look that bad? “No, yeah, I’m fine.” It only occurred to him he was kind of lying for no reason after he said it. “I mean, well. I’m just like. Embarrassed about not being able to see that case I was doing through all the way to the end. Like, I’m thinking about all the ways I messed it up, you know?”

Maki nodded. “Yeah. I feel that way too. About my own stuff. Sometimes. A lot of times. Actually.” Her fingers tangled into a strand of her hair. “But… Well, you know what he would say about it already, don’t you?”

Oh yeah. “Probably something like… the past is the past. What really matters is what you do now.” Just thinking about what Kaito would say made him feel better... He shook his head. “I really should just get ‘what would Kaito do’ tattooed on my brain…”

“Yeah, as long as you’re not in a haunted house.” Maki pointed out.

Shuichi laughed. “Yeah… I guess so…”

Maki looked down at her feet, still carding her hands through her hair.

“I’m… Going to miss him.” She confessed.

Shuichi suddenly felt extremely guilty. Here Maki was trying to keep his anxiety from preventing the performance of his every day functions and he had totally neglected to consider she was going through a lot right now too. Shuichi knew that Kaito had been a lifeline for Maki for a long time, and even though she was in a much better place now Shuichi would be much less of an awful friend if he had realized how much harder Kaito’s absence would hit her.

“What’s with that expression?” She muttered. Shuichi realized he was making a very fretful face. “Ugh. Nevermind, talking about this is pointless anyway…”

“It’s not pointless!” Shuichi rebutted quickly. “Of course you’ll miss Kaito. Talking about your feelings is an important step in processing them… And you know I want to be here for you if you ever need that. I’m your friend.”

“Yeah.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “I know.” She was chewing her lip again. “Uh. Thanks. Sorry if I’ve been kind of… mother henning you today. It’s just. I don’t want to be… Alone again.”

Now Shuichi really felt like a bad friend. “Oh, Maki-”

Shuichi was interrupted by the 2012 song ‘Space Unicorn’ blasting from Maki’s phone. Whenever Shuichi heard that song, it reminded him of udon noodle soup, because that’s what he’d been eating in the college cafeteria when Kaito set it as his ringtone in Maki’s phone.

“Ugh. I hate that song.” Maki took the phone out of her pocket. “We’ll talk later.” She told Shuichi, before answering the call.

“What is it.” Shuichi overheard Maki’s side of the conversation. “We just parked… Yeah… Where?... That’s troublesome… I’m kidding… Ok, see you there… Gross.”

She hung up.

“He says he’s waiting for us by the bus terminal at the museum. Which is on the other side of the campus.”

Oh, Kaito… “It’s like he’s making us run laps again…”

“I’ll try not to leave you behind.” Maki offered, kindly.

“Hey, maybe I’ll be able to keep pace…” Shuichi postulated. “I’ve been in a lot of chases recently.”

“You won’t be.” Maki said, already jogging in place.

“I’ll try my best…” Shuichi promised. --- Kokichi Ouma found himself wondering where exactly that big old brain of his had wandered off to. He knew that by all accounts he was very good at coming up with plans on the fly. Yet for some reason the performance of the actual organ that processed his mental functions was lacking at the moment. Like it didn’t know it was supposed to be the brain of an internationally wanted criminal today. Spontaneity was supposed to mean fun for him, but for some reason this whole build a plane plan seemed more like a point of stress than anything else. Which was weird because Kokichi didn’t usually get stressed. There was just something about this heist that he wasn’t looking forward to and he couldn’t identify what exactly it was or how exactly he was supposed to get around it.

Kokichi was still trying to halfass his way to a half decent plan when DICE reunited in Tokyo. And on the drive down to the Kagoshima prefecture he had more than enough time to think about a plan. In fact he had another 15 hours. And he just… Didn’t. He just didn’t think of a plan. He just sat around pretending to be sociable and analyzing the rest of the group’s conversations and sleeping habits. He thought that maybe he was anxious about them scheming behind his back again, but realizing that he was anxious should have made the being anxious go away, so he decided that it wasn’t that.

So when they finally did arrive at the Tanegashima Space Center in their stolen Space Center Tour bus the next morning and everyone huddled in the backmost rows of seats to hear what exactly the plan was, Kokichi had to pause for a second.

Uh. Okay. Plan time.

“You may not have noticed,” Kokichi started off after compiling some observations in his head, “But there’s an open house happening at this facility for JAXA employees and family members right now. We’re going to capitalize on that for our fakeout heist, which will be centered around the museum’s gift shop.” Right because the open house wouldn’t let them have access to the non-touristy shit. “Rook, King, Bishop, you’re going to be on that.” Ugh that wasn’t very detailed. “The fake mark is…” Fuck think of something stupid. “As many of those freeze-dried ice cream things as you can carry.” Okay that left him with 7 pieces for the real heist. “Jack, Clubs, Spades you’re on floor duty, make sure to call in suspicious personnel, we have the map of the space center in the heist planning chat.” He had remembered to do that much at least. “So spread out as much as you can.” Four pieces. “Queen, you know what you need. Get Ace to handle transport.” Should he really be delegating that much power to Queen after his little upstart? Or did it just show insecurity to not trust him? Too late to contemplate. “When you get back to the bus, text us and then take off ASAP.” The jet engine would take up most of the tour bus, so they had to get an alternative means of escape. “Hearts, you and I are going to disable security systems and get the secondary escape car.” That was something he knew how to do at least. “Any questions.”

Kokichi would usually expect a hearty “No sir!” to that concluding statement, but instead he observed a smattering of queer looks from the car full of clowns.

Hearts was the first to pipe up. “Uh, boss, your plan for disabling the security system wouldn’t happen to involve getting into the vents, would it?”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t really a better way to covertly sneak around a facility like this when their identities may be compromised. “What about it?”

Kokichi really didn’t have time for Hearts’s whole ‘I don’t like getting vent dust on my white uniform’ thing. He would just pretend like the whole group misheard him and he assigned her to ground duty in the first place if she said she wanted to swap-

“No, I just think maybe I could handle the security system myself.” Oh. That was a new one. “There’s not really a need for you to... You know, risk yourself.”

Kokichi was suddenly made aware of the bandage that was still wrapped around his forehead. He consciously resisted the urge to graze his hand over it. He didn’t want to play into the whole damaged goods bullshit that was going on right now in terms of how his subordinates were viewing him. Then again maybe that’s exactly what he should do…

“Believe me, I’ve considered the consequences,” Kokichi compelled himself to shed a single tear, clenching his fist like a shounen anime protagonist. “And though I may be suffering great pain and personal injury… I’ll risk it if it means not letting my friends down…”

Queen rolled his eyes, seeming to buy Kokichi’s bit, but Hearts still looked concerned, and now King was getting ready to add his two cents.

“Uh, Boss.” Ugh him and his stupid Nurse’s license, “It’s really fine if you wanna stay back…” Maybe if Kokichi cried he could derail this? “Your head is still healing and if, you know, an accident happens, you could re-open it and then we might have to suture...”

No, crying would just make him look worse now. The power dynamic would make it look like he was trying to convince King to let him go on the heist, which didn’t make sense at all. Maybe he could slot himself into a different group? No, most elements of this plan involved being in civilian wear and that’d just remind his crew about that time he just casually let a detective get a police sketch done of him like one of his french girls. Besides, he didn’t strictly need to participate in every step of this heist anyway. Kokichi’s real goal here was to maintain the idea in his subordinates’ minds that he was not a twerp trying to find the most unreliable time to bleed out. Hmm, okay, let’s go with this then.

Kokichi flashed an incredulous grin before smothering it into an exaggerated damsel expression. “Oh,,, I hate to admit it, but you’re so right, King.” He leaned over dramatically, “Every second is torture in this frail body of mine, it’s taking all my strength just to stand here before you!” He wasn’t standing but that was probably the easiest thing he was lying about right now, “I guess I’ll just have to.. Stay here, and.. Regain my strength… While you guys do all the work.” He pulled out the handkerchief he just remembered he had and was going to blow his nose into it before he remembered at the last second it wasn’t his handkerchief. He settled for a grotesque imitation of blowing his nose instead. He lay down across the back seat in a faint. “Ohh, alas, I fear I am not long for this world…”

“I vote we leave him here to die.” Jack bought in, rolling her eyes.

“I second the motion.” That was Queen, and yeah, Kokichi had expected that much.

“Hey, since when is this a democracy?” Kokichi sat up, adjusting the fluidity of his motions to reflect perfect health once more.

“Since our boss died,” Jack wiped away a fake tear with her finger. “I miss him every day… Sometimes I even hear his voice…”

Kokichi tossed aside the handkerchief and took a bag of chips out from the seat in front of him where he had seen Bishop stash them earlier. He poured the chips into his own lap and then crumbled up the bag into a ball before throwing it at Jack’s face.

Jack, in turn, batted it away, and it hit Spades, who caught it and threw it back at Jack, who dodged, which led the bag to hit Rook instead. Rook picked it up and got ready to throw it again, but Hearts took it out of their hands, leading to Rook just throwing air at Clubs, who squealed despite nothing actually hitting him and jumped out of his seat.

Okay, success. Concern about Kokichi’s injuries had all but dissipated as Club’s reaction got a smattering of giggles.

“Wow,” He remarked to Hearts, who was still holding the crumpled chip bag. “I’m sure a dove of peace such as yourself can handle the security system all on your lonesome.” He gestured to his lap, which was still covered in chips. “As you see I have other business to attend to.” He picked up one of the chips and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. When he finished the first chip he issued his final direction. “You guys better get started on your assignments. I’ll be here when you need to hijack the second getaway car.”

“Yes, Boss!” Most of his crew said the words more for their ritualistic purpose of ending the team huddle rather than out of genuine enthusiasm. They collected their gear, mostly stored in beach bags and casual purses, and filtered out of the van one by one. Everyone was still in their civilian clothing, so they’d blend right in with the crowds of tourists and open-house-goers.

And then Kokichi was alone again. Except instead of a plane he was on a tour bus. Eating chips off his lap. He got through them in about four minutes, which he estimated was about how long it would take DICE to get out of sight’s distance from the bus. When that time had passed, he licked the remaining salt and grease of his fingers and then stood up, brushing chip crumbs off his lap. Once he was clean, he picked up the handkerchief he had thrown aside earlier. He folded it up along the crease lines into a square, and put it in his pocket again. He convinced himself it was just because he wanted something to do.

He went up to the driver’s seat, sitting down. He didn’t have his license to drive a normal car, let alone a bus, but it didn’t really matter because the bus’s windows were reflective from the outside. They had parked the tour bus close to the entrance in the bus lane, so Kokichi had a good view of the people coming and going from the space center. If he had put any effort into this plan at all, he might’ve stationed Club or Spade here as a look out. Well, he guessed he was the look out now. Hah. Great.

….

BORED. He was bored again. Hgghghgfffkk.

He considered hitting his head against the horn of the car just to do something and by “considered” he meant he tried to actually do it but missed and almost hit his head on the dashboard before stopping and realizing that was a bad idea. For one, honking the horn would just make the vehicle look conspicuous, which was not ideal for a getaway car. And then there was also the fact that his plan had needlessly included bashing his head again which could open his cut and just cause a big hassle when King got back with his whole ‘I’m a licensed practical nurse’ thing he had going on.

So, okay. No horn honking. Right.

Kokichi took out his phone and checked Discord. The channel for heists had no new notifications. He put his phone away again.

God he was going to die in here. Wow, needy much? Shut up brain. Um.

Kokichi leaned over, smushing his chin against the dashboard, and occupied himself by looking at the passersby and picking out random details to build conspiracies about them. That guy’s shirt was untucked, untucked had eight letters in it, magic eight balls could see the future, eight balls were round, you know what else is round? An eyeball. Illuminati, natch. Next. That woman’s achilles tendon was chapped even though she was wearing sandals, which meant she wore heels a lot. Heel was something you said to train a dog. Who was trying to train the human race like dogs? The Illuminati. Next. That guy had really ugly hair. Looked like he used a lot of gel. Gel has three- wait, what?

Kokichi recognized that dumb hair style. It was almost like… No, it couldn’t be. The guy who had been with Saihara at the Smithsonian. What?

Kokichi didn’t let himself get excited until he spotted the slightly less dumb and slightly more familiar haircut on the guy standing next to him.

There was Shuichi Saihara, who was, apparently, the best detective in the world. Also, he was wearing a T-shirt, which was hilarious because he usually wore business casual button ups under his dark trench coat. Kokichi could see his arms, which were-

Wait, no, forget about his arms. How did any part of him even get here? How did he know? There wasn’t any way- Did he lie? HE LIED TO INTERPOL.

Wow, Saihara had more balls than Kokichi had originally anticipated. He should get out there and tickle them a little.

Kokichi started reformulating everything he had originally thought about this heist. If Saihara was going to buy into the phony heist he would have to get into the mix himself. How much would the detective have learned from their last bout in Milan? He knew about Kokichi’s head injury, surely. Kokichi stood up and headed for the door out of the bus. He would have to make his approach subtly, but the buffoon probably wouldn’t be much trouble to deal with. If anything he might make Saihara easier to trick. They were on the move, Kokichi would have to catch up. Was that woman in the hawaiian button up with them too? Yeah, it seemed like it. When she paused to look around, they paused too, looking back, presumably to see what was keeping her. Her eyes were scanning the crowd like she was some kind of terminator bot or something-

Every part of Kokichi froze when that gaze slipped past his.

He saw her face in that moment. Blunt brunette bangs. A dark birthmark. Blood red eyes.

For one shallow breath, a metallic tang poisoned the air in his lungs.

The eyes glanced unnotably over the JAXA tour bus. And then the red woman just... turned and walked away.

Saihara followed her into the building.

Kokichi sat back down.

…

What the fuck was she doing here. --- Shuichi Saihara’s best, it turned out, was most certainly not enough to keep pace with Maki Harukawa in a run across the Tanegashima Space Center’s beautiful green campus. Shuichi had plenty of time to admire that beautiful green color the grass had as he stood doubled over trying to catch his breath in front of the center’s main entrance.

Maki was standing by Kaito, breathing perfectly fine with only a modest sheen on her forehead as evidence of the run. Meanwhile, Shuichi was over here sweating through his t-shirt and trying not to let his lungs burst.

“Is he okay?” Kaito not so quietly whispered to Maki.

“He will be.” Maki replied, “He’s just an idiot who decided black skinny jeans were the way to go even though it’s the middle of the sunny season…”

“In my… Defense…” Shuichi panted out between gulps of air. “I didn’t… know… I’d be… running… today…”

“Hey man, sweat’s just another word for hard work.” Kaito claimed, coming over to pat Shuichi on the back. “Awesome effort, sidekick.”

“Thanks… Kaito…” Shuichi was still trying to suppress his aching lungs into a normal pattern of breathing.

“Hold your hands over your head.” Maki advised, “It’ll open up your chest.”

Oh right, right. Shuichi should know that by now. He moved up from his hands-on-knees-to-make-sure-he-didn’t-fall-over position to one where his arms were up with his hands on his head. Immediately he found breathing easier, although the air was just as hot and stifling as before.

“You know,” Maki was looking at Kaito now. “We wouldn’t have had to run if you had been more specific before I paid for the parking permit… You said you wanted to show us the launch spectation sites, so our car is parked all the way out there...”

“Well, yeah, I did say that…” Kaito was characteristically unflustered by the accusation, “but, then I realized it would be better to show you guys the museum building first! This way we can take our time looking at the launch viewing sites without having to worry if the museum will be open or not later...”

Shuichi wondered if that was just an excuse for Kaito changing his mind about hiking when he realized how hot it was today. Kaito had a tendency to be a little unreliable when it came to making plans with friends, but then again Shuichi also had a tendency to forgive him for that.

Maki usually did not. So when Maki just sighed and shook her head, Shuichi took that as a signal to let Kaito off the hook on this one.

…

It was so strange to think that in just another week, Shuichi wouldn’t be able to make any plans with Kaito at all…

Ugh. He shouldn’t think about that right now.

“Hey, what’s with the sour looks, you two?” Kaito’s words made Shuichi aware of his own conflicted expression, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up!” Kaito turned, walking towards the entrance and gesturing for them to follow him with a sweeping arm movement.

Shichi complied, but stopped when he noticed Maki wasn’t moving with them.

Instead, she was scanning the parking lot behind them with a dangerous look in her eyes…

“... Maki?” Shuichi asked hesitantly.

She didn’t seem to register him, but Kaito did, turning back around.

“Is something the matter, Maki Roll?” He called.

That seemed to snap her out of it. “It’s nothing.” She shook her head and started walking into the building. “Let’s go inside.”

“Hey, what’d I say about secrets?” Kaito confronted her, but he followed her through the doors anyway, Shuichi not far behind him.

“I never agreed to that…” Maki muttered, still walking. “But it really isn’t anything. I just felt like someone was watching us out there…”

Shuichi felt a chill go down his spine. He had also felt something off, but he thought it was just a him thing. He had been seeing the faces of DICE in random passerby ever since he touched down in Tokyo and it was setting him on edge even though he knew his suspicions were completely unsubstantiated. In fact there had been that big tour group of 9 or 8 people that passed them by while they were at the entrance... Could-

“Oh well, they probably were,” Kaito shrugged, “You know, I’m a famous astronaut and all.”

Oh. Yeah. Duh. Maybe the chill Shuichi had felt was just the museum’s AC …

“That isn’t…” Maki cut herself off, seeming to think better of whatever she had been about to say. “You’re probably right. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Alrighty, whatever you say, Maki Roll.” Kaito moved forward as if the issue was entirely settled and had maybe never been unsettled in the first place. “Now come on! I want to show you something!”

What Kaito had wanted to show them turned out to be a series of star maps that were up for display as a promotion for the upcoming launch. Included were larger infographics about which lights in the sky were actually satellites, but those weren’t what Kaito was interested in.

“Look!” He exclaimed, pointing at a section of one of the maps, “Right here! What do you see?”

“Stars?” Maki asked, looking mildly amused by her boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

“Well, yes but…”

“Oh!” Shuichi exclaimed, now pointing as well. “I recognize this one! It’s the beard of despair!”

He was pointing to a circle of stars that he and Maki had named after the cheek to cheek beard Kaito came back from his winter break with in their last year at Towa Community College.

“Hey, that’s right!” Maki exclaimed.

“Why is that the only one you guys remember…” Kaito grumbled.

Come to think about it, a lot of the stars looked familiar… “Are these the stars that appear over TCC?”

“Well, it varies depending on the season, but yeah that’s what we were looking at most of the time!”

Shuichi was overcome with a wave of nostalgia. He first met Maki and Kaito when he had been doing the mandatory two years of training it took to become a Towa City police officer after he had passed the national exam. He had been disillusioned with a future in his uncle’s practice because the idea of getting paid to dig up dirt had skeezed him out, not to mention that he still had huge doubts about his own ability as a detective to earn a living off of it. A police detective had seemed like a more secure, if more restricting, job than private detective work.

Well, maybe it was more accurate to say that Kaito had met Maki and Shuichi and then decided they were all going to be friends because he said so. He used to make them meet him in the school court yard every night after dark to do exercises of various kinds. Sometimes they put aside exercise in lieu of star gazing when Kaito was in the mood.

“Hey, do you remember when Kaito told us which planets he thought were most like us?” Maki asked Shuichi, probably remembering the same times he was, “And when we asked him what planet he was, he said the sun?”

Shuichi squinted. “Oh yeah… I think I remember…” he vaguely recalled thinking that the planet Kaito assigned him was weird, but he didn’t remember why or which planet it was.

“Well, now that I know more about space and stuff, I think he was right.”

“Aww… Maki Roll.”

She smiled a little. “Yeah… The sun is a big ball of gas, just like him.”

“Hey!” Kaito smacked his chest, acting as if taken aback, but Shuichi was pretty sure he was secretly delighted that Maki admitted to knowing more about space now.

Maki laughed, “This is what you get for talking about astronomy every night…”

Shuichi remarked to himself how long it had taken for Maki’s laugh to seem commonplace in a conversation. She was really a lot more open then she had been when they spent those first few nights under the stars. It was understandable, though, considering…

“Which planets did you say we were again?” Shuichi found himself asking.

“Hm?” Kaito paused, squinting for a second in thought. “Uh… I’m pretty sure it was…”

“You said I was Mars,” Maki supplied, “And I think Shuichi was Venus.”

“Oh yeah!” Kaito made a sort of ‘That’s it!’ gesture with his palm and fist, “Maki was Mars because she tried to seem dry and uninhabitable, but there was definitely a frozen ocean in there somewhere, and Shuichi, you were Venus, because even though you thought you tried to blend in with the stars all the time, sometimes you could appear in the day as a second sun!”

Huh. That was pretty nice to say, but Shuichi wasn’t sure it was what he remembered…

“Oh, wait.” Maki interjected, “Didn’t you say something else last time?”

“Hm?” Kaito put on his ‘I’m remembering something’ face again. “Did I say… Oh yeah!” He laughed. “I said Venus suited Shuichi because Venus is the goddess of love and Shuichi’s clients keep falling in love with him!”

Shuichi suddenly remembered exactly why he had been so offended by Kaito’s characterization of him all those years ago.

Maki gave him a bemused look, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the face you made last time too...”

“Yeah, that’s because it’s a really weird thing to say about my clients Kaito…”

“Oh yeah?” Kaito grinned now that he wasn’t the one being teased, “You can’t say I’m really wrong though, bro…”

Shuichi shook his head, “A detective can’t think that way about his clients! It’s exploitative!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t stop them from thinking that way about you…” Maki pointed out.

“I- What- Maki-” Shuichi did not want to talk about this actually, he turned to Kaito hoping for some kind of escape, but his so-called friend just shook his head.

“You gotta face facts some time, Shuichi. You’re a heart-throb!”

“I don’t know what you mean…” Shuichi was finding that there was nowhere to hide his face and he cursed himself for letting Kaede talk him out of wearing his hat again.

“What about that girl who gave you chocolates?”

Oh, why had he told Maki that story?

“They were just for gratitude-”

“What about the guy who invited you on his yacht?”

Maybe asking his friends to help him out on cases all these years had been a mistake…

“That was to set up a trap for the-”

“The person who asked you out for dinner?”

Hghk.

“That was only to meet another contact-” “But then the contact didn’t show up and it was just the two of you.”

“They got in a car accident!”

What about the guy who pretended to be your husband on a plane? His own brain supplied rather unhelpfully.

*Bweeeeoop* *Bweeeeoop* *Bweeeeoop*

Shuichi had never been so grateful to hear an alarm sound off in his entire life.

Maki and Kaito stopped railing into him, looking around as if to see where the noise was coming from.

“I didn’t even know we had one of those…” Kaito muttered, barely audible over the continuing beep of the alarm. “I’m going to go ask someone what’s going on.” He declared, before storming off into a door marked ‘employees only.’

Maki, seemingly unperturbed by the sign, was about to follow him, but Shuichi grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” He said, retracing his own memory, “Come with me, please.”

“What?” She looked at him like he was crazy. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere I’m more likely to get in a fight than Kaito…” Under scrutiny, Shuichi found that he didn’t recall seeing that group of suspicious tourists among the exhibits… They disappeared at the entrance, which was by the...

Shuichi started making a beeline for the gift shop, untying his coat and wrestling it onto his shoulders as he went.

“You two are so high maintenance…” Maki grumbled, following him nonetheless.

Sure, Shuichi had thought his gift shop theory was pretty on point, but when he got to the doorway of said gift shop the cartoonishly big mallet coming down over his head took him by surprise.

Maki grabbed him, pulling him back just in time. “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” She scolded him before grabbing the hammer and pulling it out of the hands holding it, which were the gloved hands of, you guessed it, a clown with a checkered scarf, standing over the doorway and poised to pounce.

This wasn’t one of the DICE members Shuichi recognized, but it seemed that they recognized him.

“What the hell is this guy doing here?” They called back into the shop, where Shuichi realized two other DICE members were shoving freeze dried ice cream into a bag, before diving down and trying to sweep Maki’s feet from under her. Maki jumped up and tried to use the gravity of her dodge to kick the clown in the head, but the clown rolled away, hopping back up, where Maki was waiting to meet them with their own mallet in the face.

Shuichi heard a sickening crack and the clown crumpled to the floor.

“Rook!” The leaner looking of the two members grabbing ice cream dropped his bag and ran up to help his friend.

“Maki!” Shuichi exclaimed, rather horrified at this level of violence, “They’re just thieves!”

“What?” Maki asked, unshaken. When she saw Shuichi’s expression, she blinked as if genuinely confused. Then she straightened up in a gesture that Shuichi recognized as sheepish even though her tone remained flat as she clarified, “That wasn’t the clown’s skull, it was the hammer.” She raised the big mallet to show him the end of it, which had popped off, “This is just a toy.”

“Yeah! That don’t mean it don’t smart, lady!” The one on the floor, ‘Rook’ if their friend was to be believed, waved off the other DICE member, rubbing their face under their mask.

“Was I talking to you?” Maki fixed the clown with her patented death glare, taking the stick of the broken mallet and twirling it into a fighting ready position like a bo staff.

“Where’s your boss?” Shuichi muttered aloud. “And the rest of you for that matter…” Maybe the gift shop was a distraction, it didn’t seem like the most attention had been given to it. Then again if there were something happening further inside the facilities then Kaito’s people were probably wise to it by now, so there might not be any point in wondering...

“I dunno, ask your mom!” The bearded DICE member standing next to ‘Rook’ threw something at him.

Maki acted quickly, hitting the object dead-on with the broken mallet handle before it could smack him in the face. It burst open, and by the time Shuichi realized it was a smoke bomb his eyes were already stinging from exposure.

“Gah!” He exclaimed, hiding his face in his arm to prevent himself from inhaling the smoke.

Maki, however, ignored the smoke, pressing forward into the gift shop.

Shuichi stayed back, blocking the doorway and tried to remember if he had seen an external entrance to the gift shop. The question was dismissed from his mind as he heard the clattering of shattering glass and remembered that these thieves had no qualms about making their own exits. When the smoke cleared, Shuichi saw that Maki was now holding the bag stuffed with freeze dried ice cream. She dropped it and started walking towards the wall of windows opposite to the entrance. She pulled back her hair and grabbed the side of the window like she was going to try and climb out the hole at the top, which the clowns seemed to have escaped out of.

Except… As Shuichi came up the steps from the entrance he didn’t see any clowns beyond the window. Remembering DICE’s knack for misdirection, Shuichi did a quick glance around the room and… There!

“Maki!” He called as he moved forward, “There’s a sliding door back by the register!”

It was open just a jar, and as Shuichi got closer he spotted the last DICE member vaulting over the balcony just outside.

Maki beat him to the door, sliding it open and hopping on the balcony. She paused for a second, then turned back to look at him. “Stay here.” She ordered, as if it had crossed her mind Shuichi might try to scale down the wall as well.

He would have found it weird that Maki would take the time to tell him something so obvious as ‘you would fall if you tried this,’ but Shuichi remembered what Maki had said to him before, about not wanting to be alone again. He nodded in an effort to reassure her. “Right, I’ll call the police.”

She seemed satisfied with this, turning around and shifting off the balcony to climb down the wall. Shuichi, in the meantime, pulled out his phone and called 110. The operator put him through to the Kukinaga substation, which was the Tanegashima police station only four minutes away from the space center. Shuichi reported what had happened, and the substation representative asked him to stay put to give a report to the officers when they arrived. He voiced acquiescence and thanked the representative before hanging up.

And then Shuichi was standing alone in a gift shop with broken glass and a bag full of freeze dried ice cream on the ground. He noticed some things he hadn’t before. For instance, it looked like the gift shop was partially divided into a sort of cafe, with a freezer full of purchasable food and tables by the windows to sit and eat. For some reason, he decided that sitting alone in a gift shop with broken glass and a bag full of freeze dried ice cream on the ground would be marginally better, so he pulled out one of the chairs, sitting at the table.

…

It was weird how much time Shuichi sat around, waiting for things to happen. Well, maybe less weird and more just plain old pathetic… He wasn’t really the action type like Maki and Kaito were. A lot of his work as a detective was done in the aftermath of events. He was usually only trying to figure out what had already happened. This whole DICE thing was a bit of a change of pace, requiring him to be able to predict the next course of events and perhaps even stop potential crimes. Except, well, maybe he wasn’t so good at that part of it… Today was pretty clear evidence of that. This gift shop robbery was obviously a ruse covering up some sort of bigger crime. Something similar had happened in Egypt, where in order to keep one room’s artifacts secure, Shuichi had to alert the actual museum security to take care of things. Except, had that really been the right choice? The entire museum besides the room Shuichi was in were rugless because he refused to take action. Shuichi knew that staying in this gift shop would prevent it from being robbed, but he had to weigh that against the great uncertainty of what was happening elsewhere right now. It just felt shitty, knowing he could do nothing right now but wait. It had been part of the reason being a detective had yucked him out when he was a teen. For a while he had been solving exclusively murder cases, which were the worst way to be reminded his job was usually only useful after the horrible things happen… Maybe working on the DICE case had felt good because so much of the work was preventative. Predicting where DICE would strike next always gave him the hope that the next time would be the last and it would all be thanks to him… How stupid…

A memory flashed through his head

“You’re really something else, Shuichi.” A face very close to his had said.

Maybe that was something else about the case that felt good. Chasing DICE’s leader had been light and exciting. A mystery less pursued out of a sense of requirement or needed justice, but rather because the mystery itself was genuinely intriguing. Shuichi had started out fearing that DICE may have had some sort of tie to organized crime or some sort of international conspiracy, but… After investigating into such ties and looking at all past robberies attributed to them, Shuichi had turned up nothing. It was almost comical how good these clowns were at going about their globetrotting crime-spree untraced. And it was weird that Shuichi kept crossing paths with them by almost complete happenstance. Sure, he had predicted their movements in DC, Paris, Reno, and Milan, but Egypt, Taipei, and now… Yeah, completely by chance. Unless… DICE weren’t following him, were they? No, there really would be no point to that at all… Hah, Shuichi was starting to see why Interpol suspected that he had ties with-

Oh, fuck. Interpol.

For about four minutes, Shuichi had forgotten how much trouble he was going to be in. --- [Log of Text Messages from Kaito Momota’s Cellular Device]

From: Me

Hey where are you guys?

I can’t find you anywhere?

From: My Sidekick

Sorry I’m talking to the police right now

From: Me

What??

Bro

I’m gonna need like

A follow up on that

From: Maki Roll

Did you not know the police were here?

From: Me

Uh no

Should I have?

Oh I get it

They’re here about the alarm right?

Well you can tell them it's nothing to worry about

We figured out that a sleeping security guard tripped it on accident...

From: Maki Roll

The museum got robbed

From: Me

What??

From: Maki Roll

Well Shuichi thinks something was stolen

I’m pretty sure I chased the clowns away though

From: Me

Wait the clowns are here?

From: My Sidekick

Sorry Kaito! I’m back

Maki is being questioned now

The alarm going off was probably staged as part of the distraction

Did you check the other exhibits to see if anything was stolen?

From: Me

Yeah everythings fine we did a whole check

From: My Sidekick

What about other buildings on the campus?

Anything missing?

From: Me

Nope everything is where it should be

From: My Sidekick

Well I guess that’s somewhat of a relief

Although that does open up a lot of questions about what exactly happened here…

From: Me

Shuichi I need you to come down to the Space center building

The one with the rocketship

Like right now

From: My Sidekick

What?

What happened?

Kaito?

From: Maki Roll

Where are you guys?

The police are gone and you’re not by the space center

From: Me

We’re chilling in the museum gift shop

From: Maki Roll

What?

It’s not closed?

Isn’t it a crime scene right now?

From: Me

Nah nothing was really stolen

So me and Shuichi were fixing the window

But now we are c h i l l i n g

From: Maki Roll

Huh

I thought you might be investigating still

From: Me

Nah

Shuichi needed to do something with his hands

From: Maki Roll

Oh so you mean Shuichi was fixing the window and you were watching

From: Me

I was moral support!

From: Maki Roll

You know you won’t be able to get other people to do your chores when you’re in space…

From: My Sidekick

He wasn’t making me do it

It was something I needed to do

To like

Avoid freaking out

From: Maki Roll

Are you okay?

From: My Sidekick

Yes

I just uh

Lost an entire space engine and i can’t do anything about it

From: Maki Roll

What?

From: Me

He did NOT lose a space engine

He was interrupted while doing an investigation on our STOLEN rocket engine

From: Maki Roll

What????

The engine in your shuttle was stolen???

Are you not concerned about that? You can’t fly without one of those right?

From: Me

Hey we’ll find it!

Or maybe we’ll build a new one

It doesn’t matter I’m going to space no matter what!

From: Maki Roll

Wait and you’re not out looking for it right now?

From: Me

Well Shuichi was having a moment here

And hey when it comes to looking after your ride or looking after your sidekick your sidekick has gotta come first

From: Maki Roll

A moment?

From: My Sidekick

Found out I’m on red notice

From: Maki Roll

What’s that

From: My Sidekick

It like

Means that

Interpol thinks I should be arrested

But Interpol doesn’t actually have the power to arrest me

So they’ve basically told every recognized country in the world to arrest me if I’m spotted

So maybe Japan will try to arrest me if they find that they agree with interpol that I should be arrested

From: Maki Roll

What??

Did you do something???

From: Me

No! He didn’t!

Get this

Some asshole in a green coat just came up

And told Shuichi that his boss thinks Shuichi is too good of a detective to be doing things legally

But it's like

No actually he really is just that good

From: My Sidekick

Hhhhghhhghghhghg

That was Agent Sakakura

Them sending him means they really want me dead…

From: Maki Roll

That’s so stupid

You’re just doing your damn job

Hey do you want me to kill that guy for you?

Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill him for you

From: Me

No you won’t because killing is not good

But your anger is valid I am also very angry about this

From: My Sidekick

Hghfgfhhghhhgggggggggg

From: Me

Hmmm Maki roll Shuichi needs to vent some more so we’ll stop texting

From: Maki Roll

I’m bringing the car over

Tell me if you want me to kill someone for you Shuichi

From: My Sidekick

No thank you

But I appreciate the sentiment --- [Log of Messages sent via Discord to “#boss-where-he-shouldnt-be” from ???’s Cellular Device]

Ace: Hey, I know this is like a meme chat

Ace: But it's like the only one boss doesn’t have access to

Ace: And I wanted to know if anyone has noticed anything up with him?

Ace: Because I feel like he’s been kinda weird since we got the rocket

Queen: It’s not a rocket its an engine

Queen: In fact it’s actually only about 2/3s of an engine

King: What do you mean weird?

Queen: Rocket engines are built with mechanisms of fuel oxidization that won’t be strictly necessary for an aircraft that isn’t designed to operate in 0 ppm oxygen environments

Queen: So we’ll have to substitute it with an intake mechanism

Queen: Although the pre-existing combustion mechanism is EXQUISITE

Rook: No one cares queen

Queen: Its an important distinction

Hearts: Queen we have a channel for infodumping

Hearts: rn this channel is for gossiping about boss

Ace: He’s been quiet

Ace: Idk ive been worrying about it

King: Do you think it has to do with his injury?

Ace: Naw like

Ace: I feel like he was actin weird because of that before the space station

Ace: But now he’s actin weird a different way

Ace: Like before he seemed a little terse

Ace: And now he’s like catatonic in conversation

Queen: wym

Queen: I literally talked to him five seconds ago

Rook: no wait that is suspicious

Rook: if I were him I wouldn’tve just sat there and let you yap

Queen: oh shut up

Rook: MAKE ME

Ace: honestly i don’t know

Ace: but like you guys saw that detective guy there right

Ace: Do you think something happened with them that we didn’t see

King: What??

Jack: Oh you mean how boss definitely has a crush on him

King: What?????

Jack: Literally in Paris he dropped his entire 100 page plan just to go bully that guy

Jack: He’s like a middle schooler pulling pig tails

Hearts: Hmm… Hate to bring it down but pulling pigtails is a misogynistic notion that reinforces the normalization of violence against women...

Jack: It's true tho

Jack: My pigtails got pulled all the time because as you all know I am extremely attractive

Hearts: Maybe they were just bullying you darling

Spades: Yeah I can see that /s

Spades: Hey you know who really normalizes violence against women?

Spades: That detective guy

Spades: He flipped me in Milan!

Spades: Guy knows fucking aikido or some shit

Spades: And boss isn’t really a fan of violence

Rook: No wait

Queen: What? I thought he really liked yamikawaii shit

Rook: Even though that guy’s friend literally gave me a black eye

Spades: No I’m pretty sure he hates it

Rook: I see what Jack is saying

Rook: Boss totally has a thing for him

Rook: Like literally you can see the hearts pop into his eyes when he spots that guy

Rook: He dropped a display case on my foot when you told him the detective was in Cairo

Ace: Okay well thats not what I meant though

Jack: What you mean you don’t think he got his heart broken by aged up kid conan

Clubs: Conan’s name in his adult form is Shinichi Kudo.

Clubs: Also I think that talking behind Boss’s back is kind of not cool guys. :(

Spades: If you snitch I’m firing you from being my brother

Clubs: :(

Ace: I just meant like maybe he embarrassed himself platonically

Ace: Or I guess adversarially? Idk whatever word you would use for that

Queen: kismesissitude

Ace: What?

Spades: I will swiftly execute you

King: I mean i guess i could see him getting bent out of shape about that

King: But we were kinda onto the detective the whole time

King: I don’t think they would’ve had time to interact at all

Jack: Maybe he’s just sad he missed him

Ace: Ok sorry I don’t know if he’s sad

Ace: Just maybe in a weird mood

Ace: We haven't been in japan for a while and we haven't stuck around a place for more than a week in an even longer while

Ace: It’s putting me in a weird mood too so maybe that’s it

Hearts: Yeah he always likes to be on the move maybe he’s just antsy

King: Or maybe he feels bad cuz Rook got kinda beat up today?

King: I mean I feel bad about that

Rook: I’m okay <3

King: I know <3

Queen: Gross

Queen: You two are literally sitting right next to each other get a room

Bishop: He seems fine to me

Spades: Oh wow Bishop stopped scarfing for a second to weigh in...

Bishop: And by fine I mean terrible because he just dipped his pork dumpling in his panta right in front of me

Bishop: Also you guys know he can see you texting each other right

Bishop: We’re literally all eating at the same table rn

Queen: Oh yeah

Spades: Oops

#shuichi x kokichi #shuichi saihara #shuichi danganronpa #kokichi ouma #kokichi danganronpa #oumasai #saiouma #fanfiction #Phantom Thief AU #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #danganronpa v3 killing harmony #danganronpa #writing #whooeee this is a whole big thing innit #read on ao3 if you need warnings #i also have an update on my update schedule over there

1 note · View note