#((so when he runs into someone; in this case randall; it was a sort of knee-jerk reaction))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"I thought I saw Erika dancing with Father!" June smiled delightedly as she and Callahan returned from the dance floor themselves, June leaning down to kiss her granddaughter's blonde locks, saying softly, "I hope you had fun out there."

"Perhaps I'll get a chance to dance with you, June?" August asked with a small smile, at which his daughter squeezed his shoulder, saying, "Maybe this evening-it looks like the band is taking a bit of a break for now, and the other dancers are relaxing a little. But tonight after dinner, I'd love to dance with you again."

"Maybe I could steal a dance from my grandson too?" Josephine asked with a little smile, turning to look at Randall, whom smiled back rather shyly, saying, "I-I'd be honored...Grandmother."

Gosh, it was so strange to say-to think, he was sitting beside his mother's mother, his grandmother! A woman he felt like he knew, on account of the portraits he'd seen, the recipes he cooked and baked from notes written in her hand, the afghans and blankets made by her that he'd held and admired...it was surreal, in a way, to finally be acquainted with someone he'd never met, yet felt as if he'd known all his life.

[satansapostle6]

Love The Sinner | Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan, a vigilante serial killer hiding in plain sight, loses sleep for the first time in his life when he’s met with the very last thing he expected: a kindred spirit.

Warnings: Violence. Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Part One.

Part Two. Innocent Until Proven Sexy.

Johnny Bertelli, in the many long months of my murder trial, became my favorite fucking person. The jury thankfully didn’t really see it that way, but we were running circles around the prosecutors. Our claim was naturally self defense, and I have to admit, it was a fucking good one. Story goes, I entered George Randall’s house to confront him, for causing my daughter’s suicide. I got angry, and things got heated, with neighbors to attest to the fact that we were both yelling. George got angry, and attacked me. And I defended myself. The story’s so good, even I believe it.

Technically, I did come to return George’s dishes to him, and he did get pretty heated with me when we argued, so really, we weren’t telling too many lies here. As far as George’s various embellishments, this case was pretty clean. I would say the only challenge Johnny and I faced in court was spinning my obvious lack of remorse when I was arrested. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Johnny take on a real challenge. It really is funny to watch this giant Italian guy pacing about the court during his addresses to the court while he’s built like Luca Brasi.

At the moment, I’m sitting up on the stand beside the judge, while the entire courtroom scrutinizes my every move and micro expression. There are about fifty pairs of eyes on me, but right now, I only care about one. A pair of sharp green eyes, that I still recognize from when I couldn’t work that goddamn phone. But I quickly snapped out of it, bringing my attention back to Johnny, and the trial. Somehow, this felt less interesting.

“So. Nicole, I know you’ve been through a lot in the past year or so, so forgive me,” my lawyer began, evoking sympathy from the court, “But did you have any intention of murdering George Randall when you knocked on his door?”

I took a moment, almost chewing on the question as I reluctantly relished its bitter taste.

“No.”

One thing good lawyers tell you: never answer more than the question you’re being asked. Even if you think it makes you sound better.

“Now, Nicole… I’m sorry that we have to go through this… Frankly, hurtful line of questioning. If you need to, just focus on me, alright? For now, this is between us. Not the court.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Johnny nodded kindly. God, we were fucking good at this. I was so close to nominating us both for Academy Awards.

“Can you tell me what you were thinking, as you knocked on George’s door?”

I thought for a moment, calling back to our preparations for this trial.

“I… I was naturally angry, and disgusted, when I read my daughter’s suicide note, stating that George Randall had…”

I did genuinely choke on the word.

“Raped… my daughter,” I told Johnny. “I was appalled, but… More than anything, I wanted answers.”

Johnny looks at me curiously. “‘Answers’?”

I cleared my throat. “I… I just couldn’t understand how someone, a human being, could be capable of that sort of evil. I mean, to rape a child? To cause a twelve year-old girl, my little girl, to take her own life? What kind of monster does that?”

Johnny nods, agreeing with me. “Yes. It’s unthinkable. That’s what it is, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, unthinkable, and unspeakable… But unfortunately, my client, Nicole, does not have the luxury of being able to ignore what this man did… Because this man’s evil claimed two lives; not only the life of twelve year-old Isabella Carvalho, but Nicole Carvalho’s as well, if the prosecution prevails,” he says harshly. “That is the truth; if the prosecution succeeds in wrongfully convicting Nicole Carvalho of murder, she will receive a prison sentence, or God forbid, the death penalty, for defending herself against the man who attacked her, the very same man who raped and drove her daughter to suicide at only twelve years old.”

Johnny nods solemnly, looking at me gratefully before turning to the court.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I believe that this is a crucial factor in this case; George Randall may be dead today, but the fact remains, he was neither murdered, nor a victim. He raped a twelve year-old girl.”

A harsh wave of silence washes over the court, as most hold their breath.

“He raped a twelve year old-girl, driving her to the irreversible act of suicide at the young age of twelve, not even a teenager yet, and when that girl’s mother knocked on her door, he couldn’t handle it, and lashed out at her!”

The jury seemed just as disturbed as they should’ve been at this. I sat quietly on the stand, not having to say a word. Johnny was working the court. Together, we were such good liars, I think we even believed ourselves, on some level. As Johnny continued his argument, highlighting me as the victim in our perfect narrative, I looked around the room with a deep sadness in my eyes. I really was thinking about my daughter. I felt like I was living in some dystopian world, a world where my daughter was dead, and I had become a murderer.

Everything around me felt so distant and surreal, but then, I looked into his eyes. The man I had hardly noticed before, because he looked like every man. It was him, watching my trial, next to another man he’d come with, a short bald man. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but it really was him, the man who had helped me with the phone at Miami Metro all those months ago. It was him, I was sure of it, sitting there lost in the crowd watching the proceedings of my court case with his eyes darting back and forth like at a basketball game. I looked right into his cold green eyes, and suddenly, reality hit me again.

I was no longer lost in my melancholic fantasy. I was brought back to real life, in all its delicious violence and passion. I didn’t believe in God, but this man had the presence of an angel. Not, like, a cartoonish cherub with tiny wings and a halo, but a real, biblically accurate angel. I looked into his cold, icy eyes that seemed to watch me with an almost inhuman precision, and I felt so strange. This feeling was like nothing I’d ever experienced before with any other stranger. I looked into his eyes, felt his austere gaze on me, and I could’ve sworn it was like all the blood drained from my body.

I looked into this man’s eyes, and I felt more things in that one millisecond than I’d ever felt in my life. This man looked to me like an angel. Not because he was so soft and comforting, but because I could’ve sworn I looked into his hawklike eyes and heard a voice tell me ‘do not be afraid’. It felt just as surreal as a human in the bible encountering a real angel, in all its terrifying glory. In that moment, I had no idea what came over me, but when our eyes met, I looked at him for a moment, no longer lying, or playing a character. I looked at him from across the room, electrified, and for a split second, I smiled. I don’t know why, I couldn’t help it.

I risked my entire court case just to look at this strange man across the room, and I just smiled, with no remorse or concern for anything but my own appetites. What was even stranger was that he looked at me, saw my flirtatious smile, and returned it, for so short of a time that afterwards, I couldn’t even be sure if it was real.

*****

After today, I left the court room with Johnny in tears. Real tears. Not many of them, but enough to warrant sunglasses. I was still emotional about Isabella, given that she was practically murdered, and it just so happened that it came out from time to time in public. After walking out of the courthouse with Johnny, with his hand on my back as we ran past the journalists trying to get interviews and photos, I wiped away the last of my tears, brushing mascara clumps off of my fingers.

“You did good, kiddo,” Johnny promises me.

I just smile, nodding. I love this man, because he talks to me like we’re on The Sopranos. I hurry down the street with him in my Jimmy Choos, rushing to our cars just as I accidentally bump into a man on the street.

“Oh, sorry—!” the man exclaims, as his companion turns.

I suddenly stop as, right there on the street, the man from Miami Metro and his bald friend stand right in front of us. Johnny is somewhat confused by my lingering, but waits with me. The bald man looks at me like he’s seen a ghost, staring at me like he’s starstruck. Fuck, I think, he must recognize me. I thought he was about to panic, or act like I have something contagious, given about half of society currently sees me as a murderer, but he seems to have a completely different reaction.

“O-Oh my God!” the little bald man exclaims, as the other man just smiles at me uncomfortably. “You’re—You’re—”

He seems incapable of finishing the sentence.

“Nicole Carvalho,” I finish the sentence for him.

“…Miami MILF!” he exclaims, before I can finish. “Murderer I’d Like to Fuck!”

I frowned, not really expecting that as Johnny chivalrously comes to my defense.

“Hey, pal…” my lawyer begins, before I cut him off.

“Johnny, it’s alright,” I turned to him, not threatened by this man.

The bald Japanese man scrambles before just handing me his coffee cup. “Do you think you could sign this?!”

As far as strange interactions after I became a household name, this honestly wasn’t the worst.

“You… want me to sign this?” I question, needing confirmation as he hands me the mostly empty coffee cup.

He nods. “Yeah!”

But before this can go any further, the man from Miami Metro intervenes, taking the coffee cup from me as an act of courtesy.

“Okay, Masuka,” he says responsibly, “I don’t think we need to do that—”

I take the cup back, smiling as I fish for a pen in my purse. “It’s alright,” I promise them, deciding to just sign the cup, “I’ve always wanted to give an autograph, albeit, under different circumstances… What’s your name?”

The bald man practically jumps for joy as I sign the cup. “Vince. It’s Vince.”

Honestly, his morbid fascination with me was somewhat… well… fascinating. I was probably a murderer, or at the very least definitely a killer, but he didn’t seem to care, because I looked good in a pencil skirt. God, the halo effect is real.

“Okay, great, I’ll make this out to Vince:”

“Thank you!” Vince says far too enthusiastically.

I nod. “Mm-hmm.”

The man from Miami Metro just stands there, awkwardly, frowning sympathetically as I sign and give back the paper cup.

“Here you go,” I say charismatically, “Just… Promise not to lift it for prints, okay?”

This makes even the sandy-haired guy from the police station chuckle, before Johnny chimes in, with perfect comedic timing.

“She’s kidding, of course,” Johnny says quickly, smiling, “You wouldn’t find much if you did.”

I smile as I seem to have made the bald man, Masuka’s, day.

“Thank you,” the sandy-haired guy says sheepishly, “And sorry…”

“Not a problem,” I offer, “At least I get to feel like a celebrity for… two seconds.”

“Oh, come on,” Vince Masuka says, “I’m sure guys ask you for autographs all the time.”

I smile awkwardly. “Surprisingly, no.”

“Really?” he thinks. “Huh. Well, they should, because… All due respect… You’re a dime piece.”

I smile. “Well, that just brightens up my day….”

He laughs a laugh that I can only describe as Beavis and Butthead-esque.

“Alright, well… Thank you for your time,” the Miami Metro guy thanks me politely and apologetically. “Vince… let’s leave the nice woman alone,” he prompted, seeming desperate to get away.

But why? Why was this man who had been watching me for days suddenly so keen on getting away? He must’ve wanted some semblance of distance from me… To watch me in the shadows, without me knowing he’s there. He was trying to get away, but I didn’t let him. I just couldn’t. He was like a fly stuck in my trap.

“I’m sorry, what was your name?” I ask him.

Forget the cat, curiosity was killing me.

“Uh, Dexter,” he says in a friendly manner, shaking my hand.

“Dexter,” I smile, as if trying it out.

Of course it had to be something like that. I considered that maybe he’d given me a fake name, but given that he had a friend with him, I supposed it probably wasn’t.

“Well, Vince, Dexter, it was nice meeting you,” I wave as I walk away with Johnny.

Vince looks at me like a lost puppy, waving hopelessly as I walk away. Dexter, on the other hand, gives me a tiny wave before the friendly smile on his face disappears, revealing a colder, smarter mind beneath the surface, if only for a second. I had no idea who this man was, or why he was really so interested in my case. Logic told me he could’ve been just as pervy of a fanboy as his friend, but something told me it certainly wasn’t that. I didn’t know what his fascination was with me, but I knew it was something dark. There was something just so present, and unnerving, in the way he looked at me, even just as he waved goodbye to me on the street.

I just couldn’t quite place it, and it was killing me. I racked my brain, but still, I couldn’t think of just one instance where somebody looked at me the exact same way this Dexter character did. It was strange. However, there was one memory of someone in particular that wasn’t exact, but a close match. The closest thing to the look I saw in Dexter’s eyes was the look in George Randall’s eyes, right before he died, somewhere between the tenth and eleventh stab wound.

-

Part Three.

[jonsa101]

Max Goodwin and Randall Pearson: The Well-Meaning, Incredibly Self-Centered Leading Men We’ve Grown to Love.

Hey fam! Like I said, I’ve been writing a ton of meta lately and this is another one that’s just been sitting in my drafts. It’s basically a This Is Us and a New Amsterdam meta which is something I haven’t done before but something I want do more of. In my Game of Thrones days I used to write a lot of meta about shows and characters that had similarities so this is fun for me. I hope y’all enjoy this. ALSO THIS HAS SPOILERS FOR BOTH SHOWS!!!!!!!

Without a doubt the two most popular shows on NBC is This is Us and New Amsterdam. And what’s not to love? They’re both emotionally driven, heartfelt, shows that focus on incredibly deep and complex topics. Though one show focuses on family dynamics and the other focuses on the healthcare system, these shows are very similar in more ways than one. Case in point, Max Goodwin and Randall Pearson. The more I watch these two shows, the more I realize how these two characters are so alike!!! These two men are kind-hearted, well intentioned, individuals who genuinely want to make some sort of positive difference. They are incredibly ambitious and always have “bright ideas” and “goals” they want to accomplish and somehow they’re able to meet those goals without ever having to sacrifice their wants and needs. By every definition these men are the “main characters” or the ultimate “protagonists.” These are the folks that we are supposed to root for. At the same time, though these men have many traits to be admired, when you truly look at it both of them can be incredibly self centered and selfish especially when it pertains to their romantic partners and love interests. No matter how appealing you make these characters out to be these men clearly fall under the Behind Every Great Man trope.

The Behind Every Great Man trope has been used countless of times throughout Cinema and TV History that I’m sure that I don’t even have to explain it to you but for the sake of this meta this is how it’s defined.

“Behind Every Great Man...stands an even greater woman! Or in about a hundred variations is a Stock Phrase referring to how people rarely achieve greatness without support structures that go generally unappreciated, and said support structure is a traditionally female role via being the wife, mother, or sometimes another relation. This trope is specifically about a man who is credited with something important, but owes much of his success to the woman in his life.”

This trope usually has a negative connotation (and rightfully so) because the man who often benefits from this is an asshole and unworthy of this type of support!

For example:

Oliva and Fitz

Cristina Yang and Burke

Cookie and Lucious

Ghost and Tasha

There are countless others but these are a few of the couples that come to mind for me. Randall and Max aren’t comparable to any of these men that are listed above but they are still operating under the same trope. It just looks nicer because Max and Randall are inherently good and inspirational. They are the heroes of the story. I would even argue and say that both men fall under the Chronic Hero Syndrome trope which is defined as

“Chronic Hero Syndrome is an "affliction" of cleaner heroes where for them, every wrong within earshot must be righted, and everyone in need must be helped, preferably by Our Hero themself. While certainly admirable, this may have a few negative side-effects on the hero and those around them. Such heroes could wear themselves out in their attempts to help everyone or become distraught and blame themselves for the one time that they're unable to save the day. Spending so much time and effort saving everyone else can also put a strain on the hero's personal or dating life.”

Just because Max and Randall have these incredibly inspiring aspirations, is it fair that their wives and love interests are always expected to rise to the occasion and support them. Is it ok for their partners to continuously sacrifice their wants and needs because they love these men? 

Let’s dive into it. 

Truth be told, Beth Pearson, Helen Sharpe and Georgia Goodwin had to endure a GREAT DEAL to emotionally support the dreams and aspirations of these men while sacrificing so much of themselves in the process. In media we often see women sacrificing so much of their wants and needs out of love for these male leads and rarely do men do the same thing for their romantic partners and love interests. All three of these women clearly fall under the Act of True Love trope defined as

“The Act of True Love proves beyond doubt that you are ready to put your loved one's interests before your own, that you are truly loyal and devoted to them. Usually this involves a sacrifice on your part, at the very least a considerable effort and/or a great risk. The action must be motivated, not by morals or principle or expectation of future reward, but by sheer personal affection.When your beloved is in dire need of your help, or in great danger, and you do something, at great expense to yourself, for the sake of their safety, their welfare, or their happiness, thus proving beyond any doubt that you put their interest ahead of yours.”

Over the past few seasons we have seen all three of these women truly live up to this trope without any true consequences or accountability from the men they’re making all these sacrifices for. For example, in Beth and Randall’s marriage, how many times did Randall spring an idea on Beth without truly talking to her or considering her wants first? Everyone thinks these two are an ideal couple but she has endured A LOT for Randall.

Randall has spontaneously quit his job, moved his dying biological dad into their home, bought his biological dad’s old apartment building, fostered and adopted a child and also ran for city councilman outside of his district. In all of these decisions, Randall “consulted” Beth about it but at the same time didn’t really consult her. In a way there has always been this expectation of Beth to just go along for the ride with what Randall wants. Is anyone else exhausted from reading that list?! That’s a lot for partner to endure and lovingly support. But Beth has endured and has been Randall’s rock through it all!!! What worries me is that the one time Beth spoke out about her wants and needs of pursuing dance again, he couldn’t match the same energy she was giving him and eventually it led to world war three between them. Though things are looking up in their relationship  and he’s starting to support her more, has Randall nearly given to Beth as much as she’s given to him? Absolutely not!

Similar to Randall, Max also had a wife who was a dancer. in fact, she was a prima ballerina. Unlike Randall and Beth, Max relationship with Georgia was rocky from the start. When we were first introduced to them Max and Georgia were separated and rightfully so. Georgia was never Max’s first priority. The hospital always came first in their relationship. He couldn’t even dedicate a full night to her for their proposal. In order to “save” their marriage they decide to have a baby and they both committed to taking a step back in their careers in order to do so. The problem was Max didn’t keep his side of their commitment and took a job to become the medical director at the biggest public hospital in the U.S. She gave up her career to start a family and he totally and completely betrayed her trust. So throughout season one we see them trying to rebuild their marriage but even in the midst of trying to rebuild a marriage based on trust and mutual respect Max still keeps things from Georgia. For several episodes he didn’t tell her that he had advance stages of throat cancer. He only told her when Georgia asked him to move back home. That’s fucked up! Then throughout their pregnancy he was never fully there for Georgia because he was either to preoccupied with the hospital or himself. At the end of it all, Georgia died tragically at the beginning of season two and really had nothing to show for it in her relationship with Max other than her daughter Luna.

Now let’s bring Helen Sharpe into the fold. While all of this stuff was going on with Max and his wife in season one, Max was developing a deep friendship, borderline emotional affair with Helen. Their relationship started out with Helen being his oncologist. As the new Medical Director of New Amsterdam, he swore Helen to secrecy about his diagnosis so that he could still run the hospital. Through that secrecy they eventually formed a deep bond but as his cancer got worse his secret was let out of the bag. He realistically needed someone to step up and run the hospital when he was going through chemo and though Helen already had commitments she stepped up and became his deputy medical director. Somewhere along the lines Max and Helen started developing feelings for each other. As Helen becomes aware of those feelings, she made a choice and decides to remove herself as Max’s doctor. He BITCHES about it but eventually accepts the boundary she’s clearly trying to set. Mind you, as this is unfolding, like Max, Helen is also in a new relationship with her boyfriend Panthaki. As Max’s cancer seems to be getting worse with his new doctor, she goes back on her boundary and decides to be his doctor again. This pisses her boyfriend off because he could already peep the vibe between them and he breaks up with her. When we get into season two, Max’s wife died and Helen set him up in a clinical trail (with a doctor she previously fired) that’s helping his cancer.  Unbeknownst to Max, this doctor ends up holding his life saving treatment plan over Helen’s head and in order for his treatment to continue she gives this doctor half of her department!

Helen has sacrificed a lot for Max and now in season three she’s finally prioritizing her current wants and needs first! Like Randall, Max is starting to turn a page and is starting to support Helen and truly listen to the wants and needs that she has. All of this is good but my question is did any of these women have to sacrifice so much for the men in their lives to get a clue?

Why is it that this is a trope we see in media time and time and time again? Even if these men are good, why don’t we still keep these male characters accountable when they put their significant others in these situations that are clearly not fair? I’ve watched countless tv shows and I’ve seen a lot of tv couples but I think I have only come across one couple where the male counterpart has selflessly loved his significant other and has always put her needs above his own. 

That character my friend is none other than PACEY WITTER

I might be mistaken but I think Joey and Pacey are the most popular ship in tv history and honestly, rightfully so! This is only example I can think of where the male in the relationship so willingly puts the wants and needs of his partner first. It is a completely selfless and sacrificial love. He never wants to hold her back and he never asks her to compromise her wants or needs for him. That’s why I think so many women love Pacey because in a sea of TV relationships, Pacey Witter is a fucking unicorn.

So to wrap this up does this mean that I hate Randall Pearson or Max Goodwin? No! I adore them. I love both of their characters so much. I just think that when we see the media continuously play out the sacrificial wife/love interest for the sake of their male counterparts, it should be called out. I’m all about sacrificial and selfless love but it should come from both sides.❤️❤️❤️

Anyway I hope y’all enjoy this! As always my DMs are opening here or on Twitter @oyindaodewale

[fleetwoodmak99]

Primed for Sin (5/10)

SUMMARY: Arthur tends to keep his promise to give Elena space but after days of pure torture from his job and Randall down his throat about the gun, he just can't stay away anymore.

WARNING: SMUT (18+), Loss of Virginity, Dirty Talk, Oral (F Receiving), Vaginal Penetration, Murder, Talks of Blood, Smoking, Swearing 

Hi. So I’m sorry it took me way too long to get this out but I hope to make it up with this part finally having smut in it and it being longer. I hope its not too long lol. I just started school back up and it definitely takes up all my time but hopefully once things settle down I’ll have more time to work on this series. I hope I don’t disappoint and thank you for those who actually follow this story. 

Part 4

It has been four day since his last conversation with Elena. Four damn days.

He did as he promised, he stayed away and gave her space. He respected that sometimes she would need a break from the world but it was a lot harder than he had originally anticipated.

Arthur hate to admit it but Elena practically dominated every single one of his thoughts. He wondered what she was doing, who she was with, when was she going to call.

The downside to this was his brain never stopped so he isn't able to stop himself from falling down the rabbit hole multiple time the past few days. His mother had gotten very ill and had been taken to the hospital. As much as he loved his mother, he was glad she was someone else problem now. 

Arthur walked into his apartment, his legs felt like they were going to fall off as he started to take off his clown gear from being at work all day. He switched on the TV and turned it to the local news station. Arthurs been trying to fill his time with watching the news to keep up with any advancements in the subway case.

To his dismay, they had.

"Police are now looking for what seems to be a killer clown responsible for the killing of Wall Street brokers Dennis Reynolds, Ronald Ponderosa, and Ben Kelly." The female anchor spoke professionally through the screen.

Arthur grabbed a cigarette, sparking it up and took a drag of it as he finally sat down and inspects the photos presented by the police. It was of a fake clown with green, blue and pink laced all over it. The women continued to speak, "only one witness has come forward, describing the scene as a massacre."

His heart dropped. Did she tell someone?

Arthur's thoughts were put to rest when an old man popped up on the screen. The man was short and had white hair already dominating most of his head.

Arthur watched as the man started to make his testimony.

"Well you see, I was going about my normal business heading to work when I saw a man wearing some sort of clown mask running up out of the subway. I thought I heard a women screaming but when I went to check what was wrong, I only found the three poor souls that sick clown left behind. People like that just can't get away with things like this. Justice has to be served."

Arthur couldn’t listen anymore, he could feel his anger boiling. His thought switching to Elena. It had been for days now but he told himself to hold on just a little bit longer. It was starting to get too much to bare when he sees people like that getting more attention on the TV than people who actually deserve it.

There was so much wrong with this city. That was one of Arthur's reasons he wanted to always be around Elena, even when she didn't know it. It was the only way to effectively protect her.

Arthur was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a loud bang at the door.

________________________________________________________________

Randall could tell that Arthur had been acting strange. He's more distant, only caring to talk when someone addresses him. Its been like this for a few days, ever since the city went into an uproar over the subway killings. 

Normally, Randall wouldn't give a shit but with him giving a gun to Arthur and all, he wanted to make sure his name was in the clear. So he made his way down to Arthurs apartment to give him a talk. That was a mistake.

Opening the door, Arthur still had his clown makeup on from work. He looked in bad shape. 

“Arthur!” Randall shouted. “How you doin pal?” He gave Arthur a pat on the shoulder before pushing his was into the mans apartment. 

Arthur’s apartment was filthy. It had clothes laying aimlessly all over the place with a mountain of dishes piled in the sink. Not that Randall’s apartment was any better. 

Randall turned to Arthur, who was closing the door. “Anything new?”

“Umm oh!” Arthur snapped his fingers at Randall as he locked the door behind him. “I stopped taking my medication, I feel a lot better now.” Arthur gave out a small forced laugh but his face was completely dead.

Randall looked at Arthur confused. “Oh okay. Good for you.” 

Arthur just nodded his head, taking a drag of his cigarette as Randall continued. “So hey, I don’t know if you heard but the cops have been coming around the shop talking to all the other guys about the subway murders.” 

Arthur started to tone the man out, not wanting to listen to him try and explain himself. He reached his hand out and started to put out his cigarette, slowing forming his hands into a fist against the wall.

“I’m not saying you did anything but I just wanna make sure if the cops talk to you, we are all on the same page about who gave you that gun.” Randall gave out a nervous laugh. 

That was enough for Arthur to slowly move his hand towards for the knife that laid on the dining room table behind him. Nodding his head in agreement as he did so, so Randall wouldn’t notice. 

“You know, cause your my boy in all.” Arthur now had his hand on the knife. Arthur felt everything he had pushed down the past four days starting the boil over as he made a fist around the knife handle.

“Right. Right.” Arthur agreed before squeezing the knife and deciding to give into his anger. 

Now.

He slashed the knife into Randall’s neck before he could say another word. Arthur was surprised with how much blood came out but he held the knife in place as Randall struggled against him. 

Randal was able to push Arthur off but only for Arthur to grab his head and bash it into the wall. This was when Arthur blacked out. 

He wasn’t Arthur anymore. He had been changing into something else the moment he meet Elena. Arthur was becoming more powerful and he wanted to share that with her. 

Only thinking of her as he stormed out of his apartment, not caring about the mess he had just made. He found himself at her apartment door, blood soaked, face painted and rage filled. 

Arthur didn’t give it any thought and started to bang on her door. This was it. No more holding back, no more space. They were meant to be together and he was done denying himself that. 

________________________________________________________________

Elena sat on the couch smoking while the Murray Show played on the tv. She could feel the smoke leaving her lungs as she exhaled. Michael had gone down later than usual so she wasn’t able to have her normal alone time. 

She jumped when she heard a bang at the front door. Elena looked at the door confused, she wasn’t expecting anyone. She quickly hid her bong under a blanket and rushed to the door. 

Opening it, she was startled to see Arthur standing there. She didn’t even have time to examine him as he immediately pushed himself against her and smashed his lips into hers. 

Elena couldn’t help but close her eyes in shock. She didn't fight against him, instead it was almost of an embrace. She couldn’t believe how her body just couldn’t help but give into him. 

Pushing the both of them inside the apartment, he placed both of his hands on either side of her face so she wouldn't be able to break the kiss even if she wanted to. Eventually she felt the cool wall being pushed against her back, being pinned there.

When she felt Arthur release her lips, she finally let out a breath. He kept her body close, their faces only inches apart. She could feel his hot breath on her face but didn’t dare open her eyes. He placed his forehead on hers. “I thought you were gonna call.” 

She let out a small breath, almost laughing. “I-I’m sorry.” She innocently whispered. 

That sweet voice tore into Arthur like knives. His dick already hard for her. He couldn’t wait any more, he needed to be inside her.

“Don’t worry sweet girl. I’m gonna take care of you tonight. Where is Michael?” She then opened her eyes to see Arthur dark ones staring into hers. She could now see the painted faced man covered in small specks of red looking at her hungrily. 

“Ummm,” She cleared her throat. Elena had to admit, he looked so sexy like that. She tried pulling herself together to answer his question. “He’s asleep in his room.”

Arthur smiled wickedly at her, pleased with answer. “Good. Good.”

He gave her a few more deep kisses on the lip, soaking in the taste before lifting her up and wrapping her legs around him. 

Breaking away for a moment, he asked. “Bedroom?”

She was hesitant. Was this really gonna happen? Right now? Was she ready for all that? She wanted him. Elena couldn’t deny that. After everything, she was still willing to have a relationship with him. 

He waited for her response patiently. Not rushing her. Eventually she gave into her desire and pointed Arthur in the right direction. A wicked smile appearing across his face as he leaned in again. She too leaned into the kiss this time, not fighting it either. They made their way towards the bedroom.

Taking his time, he slowly placed her on the bed. Not breaking the kiss but somehow deepening it by entering his tongue in her mouth. He pinned her there for a moment. He seemed to like to play with her. Their tongue swirling around each others mouth, trying to explore every part of each other. 

She could feel his hands moving all over her body. It felt amazing to have such big hands on her body. They clawed at her breast, her ass, eventually making its way towards her pussy. Elena grabbed his hand out of instinct. 

Arthur immediately stopped his movements, worried that he had crossed the line. She tried desperately to control her breathing and tried to speak. “I-I’m sorry Arthur. I-I-I’ve never done this before.” 

Elena could actually die from the embarrassment she felt telling him how inexperienced she was. It was put to shame when he gave her a sweet smile. She could just melt looking at the face painted man. 

He leaned his forehead on hers. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of you tonight. Just listen to me. Okay?”

She nodded, giving in almost immediately. 

With that, he leaned into her again, completely taking control as he reconnected their lips and started gently taking off her clothes, one by one.

Elena now laid there, completely naked and exposed for him. She felt a sense of vulnerability, she wasn't able to hide anything from Arthur now. He didn't want her too. He wanted to hear and see everything.

She felt cool air hit her body as she anxiously waited for Arthurs next move. He gazed at her, taking a full look at what he picture in his mind a million time before. She exceeded his every expectation. 

“You are so beautiful, Elena.” He spoke to her like she was the only people left in the whole world. 

Elena gave out a small whimper, reaching her hand out for him. He obeyed as he slapped messy kisses all over her neck. She turned her head so he could have more access. She wanted him to feel every part of her. 

Arthur started to kiss his way down her neck, towards her breasts. She ached her back at the sensation of Arthur taking one of her sensitive nipples into his mouth. Her eyes were forced shut when he started to softly started to suck. 

Elena moved against him, jerking and twitching to the new experience of having someone’s mouth on her. She clawed at his back, digging in her nail as she felt a warm feeling starting to pool around pussy. It was something she never felt before but it over powered every nerve in her body. 

She felt as Arthur started to kiss down her stomach. Elena knew where he was heading.

Her eyes shot open as excitement and nerves when she felt his hot breath at her entrance. She came to see Arthur at the end of the bed. His hands now on the inside of her thigh, spreading her apart so her pussy was now on full display for him.

Putting his face just inches away, he spoke to her. "We gotta get this pussy nice and wet for me to fuck."

Her eyes widened from the vulgarity Arthur was showing. She didn't know if she should be scared or if she should be excited.

She soon found out when Arthurs tongue started to explore her, placing small kitten licks all around. It was so weird. At first Elena didn't even find the point until he latched himself onto her clit.

Immediately feeling a burst of pleasure go through her body, her head feel back as she let Arthur go to work. Feeling as he flicked and sucked at her. She bucked her hip towards him, she could feel the burning sensation of her clit being abused and loved every second of it.

Without even meaning to, Elena start to moan Arthurs names. Begging him to keep going as she brushed a hand through his hair, grabbing it kindly and pushing his head towards her core in order to chase that incredible release.

But of course it never came. Arthur was able to break from her grip and stepped away from her now deprived pussy.

Elena pouted in response, now having no way to release herself.

"I know. I know." Arthur caressed her cheek tenderly. "All in good time darling. We gotta take things slow for your first time."

Arthur gave her a quick peek on the lips before stepping back and discarding his own clothes. Elena just notice she was the only one naked until now. A flow of shame washed over her.

Arthur must have noticed the humiliation she had felt because as his clothes hit the floor he started to ramble, placing small kisses all over her face.

"You are so beautiful. I-I thought of you everyday like this and still you outdo my imagination every time. I-I can't believe your mine."

Her heart leaped hearing this. No man has ever said such things to her and now the perfect man was completely bare before her.

Looking down at his package, she couldn't help but gasp. She'd never seen one before and she certainly didn't think it would be that. Also how did he expect that thing to get inside her? It was huge compared to what she was used to.

Arthur breaking his line of kisses to rest his lips back on her for a moment, "its going to hurt honey but don't you worry ok? You are going to feel real good soon. I promise."

It was going to hurt?

Elena never thought it would hurt but she knew she wanted Arthur inside her so she leaned into him. Sticking her tongue in his mouth to show him she was ready.

Arthur chucked at her, his hand slowly making it way in between her legs in an attempt to see just how ready she was. Feeling a puddle of wetness forming for him, he broke the kiss again.

"Nice and wet. Just for me." He then pumped himself a few times before lining himself up at her entrance. “Are you ready, sweetheart.?” 

This was it. She thought. This is actually happening.

Giving a hesitant nod, she sucked in her breath as she felt the tip of his dick dip inside her. Feeling a piercing pain burst through her, she jolted away from him but didn’t get anywhere when she felt Arthurs hands gently holding her there. 

“Shh shh shh I know. We just gotta get through this part.” 

Arthur didn’t even give her time to respond before thrusting his hips into her at a painfully slow pace. Elena practically screamed at the feeling. It was so much to take. 

The feeling of being stretched out by him was so intoxicating she couldn’t even help but close her eyes and focus on the sensation. It definitely hurt but she couldn’t help but love the feeling of him filling her up. It made her feel whole.

Elena couldn’t believe the man was able to fit himself in as deep as he was. She could feel him in her stomach as she tried to force herself to relax. She felt herself clenching against him, trying to adjust when he spoke again. This time, right into her ear

“You are so damn tight. Tighter than I could have ever imagined. I’m going to move sweetheart.” 

Elena tried opening her eyes but some unknown force kept them shut. Instead she let out a small whimper. The pain had yet to subside as she twitched against him but unable to say no, she nodded her head.

This was all Arthur needed to push himself out before slamming back into her. It was slow but strong. Elena's whole body bucked to the sensation. 

Again. Slowly taking himself out of her before smashing his hard cock back into her now drench pussy. 

He repeated this.

As much as the pain wanted to make her cry it was soon replaced with pleasure. The same feeling she had felt before when Arthur was in between her legs, completely devouring her. Elena involuntarily started to buck her hip towards Arthur.

 Now creating friction in between them as he started to move faster, pounding into her. The room filling with both their moans. 

“Oh Arthur! Please don’t stop.”

Elena hoped Arthur locked the door. Knowing her luck, Michael would coming walking right in with all the noise they were making but she could help herself.

Arthur was ruthless with his thrusting. His hands were holding her against him as he did so. Elena started to chase for her release once again. Grinding against him as he continued to pound her.

"Say it." He whispered in her ear, not letting up.

"What?" Elena whispered back. Knowing fully well what he was talking about just not ready to take that step.

"Say it and ill let you cum." Arthur was stir and dominate. It only added to Elena arousal.

"I-I-I," Elena was so over powered by pleasure that it trumped her fear of opening that box, she couldn't help but fall into his trap just to get her sweet release. "I love you Arthur."

Arthur growled in her ear, biting down on it lightly. He then pumped deep insider, hitting that special spot that sent her soaring.  "Good girl. I love you so much."

That was her cue to let go completely. As the warm feeling in her stomach erupted and burst through her entire body. Making the poor girl shake against Arthur, losing control of her body.

Elena clenched hard against Arthur, making the man groan as he too came inside her.

Shit. He didn't wear a condom. Of course he didn't. Elena was his now.

Elena slowly came down from her high as Arthur pulled out of her. Making his rightly place on the left side of her bed, pulling her limp body close to him.

She felt a big pair of muscular arm wrap themselves around her, feeling a sense of protection fall upon her. 

"Get some rest now, sweetheart. Your most likely going to be sore tomorrow and am going it need your rest." Elena felt at peace as she nuzzled her head into his neck. Letting herself close her eyes as she slipped into a deep sleep, dreaming of the man she just gave her innocence to.

[valiantarcher]

I have random and assorted thoughts on my Constance Savery reads over the past couple of weeks. I’ve categorised them by work (Magic in My Shoes, “The Waswytch Secret”, The Reb and the Redcoats, The Good Ship Red Lily, and Enemy Brothers) so those who haven’t read all of them have the option to (hopefully easily) scroll past the unread ones if they so desire. I have also put them under the cut due to length.

Magic in My Shoes: I enjoyed Sally as the narrator, and the premise was engaging even with me knowing the secret early in the book. I was a little surprised by the accusations of ill-nourishment and neglect against Aunt Persis, but in retrospect, I appreciate that realism - four growing children are not going to flourish off even generous portions for two of them. Which brings me to my main complaint - Tandy and his unwillingness to see gorging himself was selfish and wrong on many levels. Despite the thin excuse that he had been delicate and sickly at times in the past, I really expected Josset (with Laurence’s support) to put his foot down instead of continuing to baby him (after all, as someone remarked, triplets are all of the same age). Tandy didn’t ruin the story for me, but he made certain parts of it very irritating. I did love the plan involving ten-year-old Laurence becoming a schoolteacher and, when Aunt Persis declared that was nonsense, all the children bring up a moral tale with a six-year-old being so studious that she became a teacher as solid proof.

“The Waswytch Secret”: Given that it was in a collection of ghost stories (well, sort of - most had some sort of haunting element, if only a little, but I’m still not sure why “The Red-Headed League” was included), I wasn’t sure what to expect at first. It was thoroughly Savery, though, and an enjoyable read with an element of mystery. It felt slightly different from her novels, and I think that was due to the choice of one of the younger children as narrator.

Reb and Redcoats: This was a reread and I found it a pretty fun one this time around. Randal’s integration into and relationship with the Darringtons was charming. I couldn’t decide whether Tim Wingate’s inaptitude for stealth and secrecy was more irritating or amusing, but I swung towards the latter by the end, especially given his cheerful nature. My main gripe is that I still feel like the Patty switch was kind of cheating.

The Good Ship Red Lily: I struggled with this one a lot even past (or maybe because of) the tense start. Violet was a horrible child, and I loathed Ingram and disliked Sir Timon. Objectively, of course it’s good that there was reconciliation with Ingram and that he repented and asked forgiveness, but I could not make myself invested in it (though the tiny glimpses we had of it from Michael’s perspective helped a little). I enjoyed Toby as primary character a lot and especially appreciated his resolution to deny the pleasures when he felt accepting them would go against his conscience. I wasn’t very pleased with the treatment of Patience, though - Toby said the others didn’t join him in his denial because they were too young to understand; while that certainly makes sense for the younger ones (and Violet is a category in and of herself), Patience is a year older than him and - although not privy to all the knowledge and trust from their father that Toby is - was Toby’s confidant about plans to escape. She showed a lack of wisdom in following Violet up the chimney, but that could partially have been explained by her caregiving to the younger children. Regardless, especially since all knew about Ingram’s betrayal, I think Patience at least should have been given a reason for not seeing the pleasures as a betrayal of their father instead of being pushed to the side and under the general but false umbrella of “too young to understand”.

Enemy Brothers: Especially after The Good Ship Red Lily, I was afraid this one might not live up to the positive recollection I had of it - but it didn’t disappoint. I very much appreciated that, although Dym was the one who had a special connection with Tony, Tony belonged to the entire family and they to him. I know Tony takes it lightly at the end and chalks it up to their keenness for detective work, but James and Porgy cycling 60 miles after him and the German in the car was no small thing. And, while it bugs me a little bit that Ginger doesn’t recgonise Tony despite the marked resemblance to Dym, I’ll let it go with the idea that he thinks he’s familiar but his brain doesn’t provide the correct context while on ship. I have a new appreciation for Dym. On one hand, of course he is gentle and doesn’t take harm easily from Tony - he’s been searching for Tony for years and so he’s been choosing to love Tony for years. And, on the other, you can tell he still hasn’t forgiven Max’s Mutti for stealing Tony and just how much effort it takes for him to choose to tell Tony to still love her and that he will take him to see her after the war. I also appreciate the honesty that Dym had in discussing England’s past and how they were not always on the side of right but that this time, they were. Also, Dym was a bomber pilot! I don’t know the exact statistics, but this was an incredibly dangerous job. I’m sure it varied some between organizations and aircraft, but if you were on the crew of a US B-17 bomber doing runs, the odds were you would only make it halfway through the 25 runs (I believe that’s right for the year it was published?) you were supposed to before being killed, captured, or severely injured. Even if you beat the odds and made it through all those runs (as some did), you would have had multiple crewmembers who did not and so would not have kept your full crew together (Were there rare exceptions to this, crews who made it all together? I hope so, but I don’t know). At any rate, when Euphemia comments to Dym and his friends to leave croquet until the summer when it was warmer and the way they all looked at each other for a moment as if there was no certainty that summer would come hit hard this time. (Oh, I just found someone noting that the RAF flew night missions and had a higher casualty rate than the US bombers, though it did depend on the year, of course - if they weren’t in the worst year yet, they were heading into it.) And the moment when Tony finds Dym and comes up behind him, nervous and afraid, and whispers “Please, George, I’ve come back” is just wonderful. I think there’s an idea of fear and justice vs. love and mercy, along with the hope that the choice of coming back will make a difference, but I haven’t figured out how to put it into words. I’m actually kind of shocked this book has never been made into a movie or a mini-series, especially when WWII stories have been so popular in somewhat recent years. But perhaps the strong Christian threads have put producers off (...not that that’s stopped others from mangling or removing them from other works).

The Good Ship Red Lily and Enemy Brothers: Enemy Brothers feels like a kind of inverse of The Good Ship Red Lily. Both books deal with children meeting and spending time with family members (and because of kidnapping, no less) and making decisions as to where home is and who true family is, but the role of the family is drastically different. In Red Lily, the dapper uncle is the kidnapper. Ingram tries to act like he is filling the kind, wise, but fun adult role and the children do love him for that. However, he is directly and actively responsible for their kidnapping, for previous imprisonment of their father, and for the current attempt to capture their father. In Enemy Brothers, Dym is ostensibly in the enemy role (being English and responsible for Tony’s “imprisonment” in the White Priory), but his actions are kind, loving, and (mostly) wise. Even when Tony is hating him, he can’t deny there’s a magnetism around Dym that all the children, including him, recognise and respond to. It’s not quite that serious, but I am reminded of the exchange in The Fellowship of the Ring about the enemy’s agents seeming fair but feeling foul, while the good may look foul but feel fair. But where an understanding of Ingram’s true nature leads Toby to separate from him and his grandfather, a deeper understanding of Dym and his true character helps Tony to make the hard but right decision about his home and family. In both cases, repentance and returning bring about reconciliation and restoration, but Ingram is the one repenting in Red Lily, confessing and asking forgiveness of his brother. In Enemy Brothers, Tony is the one who comes back, finally seeking the brother who has sought him for so long. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness from his brother in words and indeed doesn’t need to because his actions speak so loudly of it, but is fully received with love and restored.

[themonkeycabal]

WandaVision Ep 4 SPOILERS

Yes, spoilers, 

Wherein I watch and say stuff that might or might not be worth reading.

After a little bit of a lackluster start, there was good story progress last week. An escalation of weird, which I appreciated. I'll probably have to relive it, because Disney doesn't want to let me skip the previously. Ever. Why are you the way you are, Disney?

Geraldine/Monica is made of whispery voices and swirling dust and such. Weird. She's sitting in a chair, sleeping, and apparently being reconstituted. She wakes to a hospital room but outside is chaos. Lots of yelling and people running about. There's like swirling dust or human confetti everywhere, and other people are being reconstituted left and right. Seems unusual. Not the sort of thing that normally happens in hospitals. Oh, are they being un-snapped? The great un-snappening. The un-snapapalooza. The fall of the snappocalypse. I'll stop. I guess we're in a flashback of sorts.

Dudes, Monica just like full on hip checked some dude into the boards. She didn't mean it, but, damn, that guy went flying. Nobody knows what's going on, it's madness. A doctor recognizes her and asks where she went and Monica's all "uh, what? I took a nap?" Napping and then snapping and then popping back into existence. Ain't that just the way? Oh, sad, her mom died while she was missing for five years. :(

Sentient Weapon Observation Response Division — please nobody expect me to remember that. They have a Cape Canaveral looking compound with multiple launch pads and a very large hanger smack in the middle. Gee how neat for them that they get to operate out in the open, Phil Coulson says (in my head) with a whole lot of sarcasm.

Oh, right, they called it the Blip. The Great Un-Blippening. That doesn't sound as good. What on earth with the massive monitors in the main lobby. Nobody likes watching the news that much. Monica is trying to brazenly walk through the front doors with a badge that doesn't work and wow, security guy is kind of a dick. Oh, she belongs there. Captain Monica Rambeau. Captain, good for her.

And now security dick is revealed to be even more dickish, since this is just after the Blip and she's trying to go back to work. Like, SWORD couldn't put out a memo "Be on the lookout for recently unblipped personnel. Don't be massive dicks to them when their security badges don't work, because of how they got blipped and all"? Also maybe a reorientation packet, or like a desk out front "Back from the Blip? Talk to Lt. Mandy Smith in HR about your reactivation options today!" I'm just spitballing here. I get it was chaotic, but that's no reason to let the unblipped get a rude welcome. It wasn't their fault Thanos was critically dumb.

Blip no longer sounds like a word.

Anyway, the acting director is fortunately there to meet her before she could drop her gloves and punch the security dick in the dick. Aww, Maria Rambeau is on the Wall of Valor, or whatever they call it at SWORD.

Things aren't going well at SWORD. The Blip put the hurt on the division. Their remaining astronaut trainees have chickened out. Oh, what if there was like crew up in orbit that got blipped and then when they unblipped five years later … yikes. Well, I'll allow the 'lost their nerve' may have a solid basis in horribleness that probably occurred around the Blip. I retract the 'chickened out' comment.

This is a very long walk-and-talk. Maria Rambeau built SWORD "from the ground up". Bless.

The Director has grounded Monica. Well, actually, her mom grounded her, making protocols in case vanished personnel one day returned. Lol. Though, I mean, I'd guess she'd know, what with Carol and all.  "I know it's a raw deal, but there is one positive takeaway. She believed you'd come back." Awww

So, she's off to deal with some sort of missing persons case in New Jersey overseeing the loan of one of their drones for the FBI. I guess Wanda will be the missing person. Yep, she's off to Westview. Which has seen better days.

Hey! It's Agent Woo! I like you Agent Woo! Did I know he was in this? I don't remember. Randall Park's great. A happy surprise.

Hmm, he has a missing witness. So, not Wanda, then. Hmm again. Agent Woo contacted known associates, family, friends — none of them have ever heard of the witness. A mystery!

Oh and there's another wrinkle.

"Pardon me Sheriff, would you mind repeating your claim about Westview to my colleague here?"

"No such place," he says, standing next to the 'Welcome to Westview" sign.

Hmmm, puzzling. Jimmy Woo can't reach anybody listed as living in town. So, wait, the town doesn't exist, except it does, but, nobody thinks it does, so where did he get the phone records for residents? The phone company was just like "here's your records for the imaginary city of Westview, all 3,000+ residents that never existed, and yet we have the numbers and we're just not going to question that". Weird.

"So you can't reach anyone inside and everyone on the outside has some sort of selective amnesia?" That does seem to be the case, Monica. Super odd. Agent Woo is very sanguine about the whole thing. He dealt with Scott Lang, I guess after that everything else is like, 'meh'.

"Why haven't' you gone inside to investigate?" A fine question, Captain.

"Because it doesn't want me to." That's just creepy, Agent Woo. "You can feel it, too, can't you? Nobody's supposed to go in." I guess this is where the drone will come in handy. Oh, it's the little helicopter that Wanda found in the bushes in the second episode. I'm going to pretend that super advanced SWORD drones would totally look like cheap RC toy helicopters. I guess that's a disguise?

Monica wants to know why she and Agent Woo are aware that Westview exists and nobody else is. Does that mean the Sheriff was standing next to the Welcome to Westview sign and just did not see it at all? He was just hanging out in the middle of nowhere with a weirdly laconic FBI agent who kept asking about the town that very clearly wasn't just right behind them? That's a little more than amnesia.  

Also, Agent Woo's hero was Elliot Ness. Of course it was.

Oh no, the drone vanished as it crossed the town line! There's an energy field around the town that looks like what happens when you push your fingers against an old monitor and get the weird pixelly rainbow. Agent Woo's all "please no touch" and Monica's all "yes, I think I'll stick my whole hand in there." And she got sucked in. Agent Woo's gotta be like "WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY EVER LISTEN TO ME?"

24 hours later. Darcy! Some sort of transport van. A trio of other suits in the back, plus Darcy. She tries to talk to one of the dudes and he's all "we're not supposed to talk to each other!" "Boy Scout leader, got it." Relax, uptight guy. Pfft, what sort of team is that? The rest give up their specialty. Aww, bless, she went into astrophysics. "We've got the full clown car." heh.

Boy Scout leader finally caving to peer pressure: "I'm a chemical engineer." Darcy: "No one cares." lol. Missed you, girlfriend!

And in 24 hours SWORD/FBI whoever have set up a little military camp. Oh a "response base". How banally euphemistic. There's like a whole bunch of agencies there, as well as Army and Air Force.

Dr. Lewis. Oh, I'm so proud. I bet Jane was over the moon. Saved from poli-sci!

Elsewhere another drone vanishes. Darcy darcys a lot at an uptight uniform who is breathing down her neck "make your assessment" and it's delightful. Darcy notices some high levels of cosmic background radiation and also something weird layered over the top of that. Hmm, she needs a tv. "An old one, like not flat." One with vacuum tubes, perhaps?

In another part of the camp, they send in a guy in a hazmat suit, down into the sewers, looking for Monica. I guess he'll be the beekeper Wanda tosses in ep 2. Jimmy Woo is not optimistic about that plan. He tells the SWORD Director all about it.

"Someone must really miss you back at Quantico." "No, sir, softball season is over." Lol.

All their high tech scanning is turning up nothing.

Uhoh, screaming. Oh, nevermind, it's the laughtrack. While everybody else was dicking around with the LIDAR, Darcy has tracked down the last tube tv in New Jersey and has tuned into the Wanda Dimension. Episode one is playing.  

Darcy is understandably particularly baffled by Vision. "Look, I know it's been a crazy few years on this planet, but he's dead right? Not blipped. Dead." Poor Vision. Alas.

Director wants to know if the broadcast is realtime or a recording. Or what? Darcy's like "how tf should I know?"

Jimmy asks the good question "So you're saying the universe created a sitcom staring two Avengers?" "It's a working theory."

Now SWORD fans out! And collects every ye olde TV on the eastern seaboard. Who doesn't love a good sitcom, amiright? (Me. Me do not love sitcoms). The Director storms off to wherever for whatever reason. I don't know, don't care. Jimmy and Darcy are on the case.

Darcy is IDing the other "characters" in the sitcom, who appear to be real people with NJ driver's liscenses, while Jimmy is wondering why the force field is hexagonal. You've got me there. And now we're montaging.

Jimmy ponders the big board of 'characters' and Darcy drops her cup o' noodles when she spots Monica in the second episode. He and Darcy discuss and he's like "is it an alternate reality, time travel, some cockamamie social experiment?" Darcy's all "it's a sitcom." A pure mystery.

Darcy comes up with the idea to reach out to Wanda via the radio in her kitchen. "Next time she's washing dishes — which by my count happens about once an episode, barf." heh. She tech babbles some and I'm very proud.

A minion agent runs up with the latest intel from the most recent episode, it's a picture of the SWORD drone that looks more retro (frankly it looks better than the 'real world' one.) Hmmm, such a puzzler. Why did it change, they wonder.  

Darcy Lewis and Jimmy Woo are a partnership I can totally get behind. Jimmy was the voice trying to reach Wanda. Darcy's watching the show while Jimmy's trying the radio thing. It's the second episode where Wanda's talking to Emma Caulfield and things go weird. Good. I'm glad they jumped us to the outside world by ep four. While I thought the first two eps were slow, I think maybe they'll work better once we can watch the whole thing at a go.

Dude is still crawling through the sewers. I completely forgot he was down there. And the field extends below ground and he just crawled through it and became a beekeeper, and his safety rope snapped and … became a jumprope?

And then Wanda wishes him to the cornfield. (I guess? We don't see what happens to him.)

SWORD is watching episode three.

"1950s, 1960s, and now 70s. Why does it keep switching time periods. It can't be purely for my enjoyment can it?" Guys, it's so good to see Darcy.   "I can't believe Wanda and Vision are having a baby." No really, Jimmy and Darcy, BFFS 4EVAH! They're eating chips and watching the episode. Delightful. Just delightful.

"Twins. What a twist." Jimmy gives Darcy a look. "I'm invested!"

Monica mentions Ultron and Jimmy and Darcy are like "Whoa!".

They notice the screen sort of glitches and then Monica is gone and it's the end credits. Like when Bee guy vanished. Darcy and Jimmy are confused. "Someone is censoring the broadcast." Yeah, Wanda. She's gone to the scary place, friends.

Alarms go off and they run off. But, we go into Wanda World the aspect ratio changes from 4:3 to 16:9 and it's a new angle on when Wanda went all scary at Monica, demanding to know who she is. And then, of course, she gets kicked out of Wanda World.

"Wanda, I'm just your neighbor." "Then how could you know about Ultron?"

Wanda brings up the glowy hands of scary. "You are a stranger and an outsider and right now you are trespassing here. And I want you to leave." And then she zooms Monica out through the walls and fences and fields and that looked like it probably hurt.

Oh gross. Wanda turns around and sees Dead Vision. The big hole in his head and his face all, you know, dead looking. She looks away and then he's normal when she looks back. Well, now this has turned all sad, you guys. "We can go wherever we want." "No, we can't." Sad. Poor Wanda. The aspect ratio goes back to 4:3. I’m sure Editorial was like “oh god, again?” 

"Don't worry darling, I have everything under control."

I don't think so, Wanda.

Good ep! My only real takeaway is that none of this is going to end particularly happily. 

So … Darcy and Jimmy, BFFS 4EVAH!

[jamieatthebarricade]

Maids to Wives // Chapter 3

An Outlander AU based loosely on the TV Show and real life in the historic Jamestown

In 1619, one hundred and forty-four English women from good families crossed the Atlantic in response to the Virginia Company of London’s call for maids “young and corrupt” to make wives for the planters of it’s new colony in Virginia. One in six of the maids could even claim gentry status. Although promised a free choice of husband, they were in effect being traded into marriage for a bride price of 150 pounds of best leaf tobacco, the profits to flow to individual investors

In 1619, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp made the voyage to do one thing: marry a man she's never met. But when she arrives, she comes to the startling realization that her heart belongs to someone else, a certain James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

Find Maids to Wives on Archive of Our Own!

Chapter 3 : Maids to Wives

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

May 16th, 1619, Claire’s POV

The air was crisper in the new world, that was the first thing I noticed. The smell of soft pinewood, salt water, and fresh bodies filled my nose. Around me was open air, no tall buildings or hundreds of people in sight. I don’t remember the air being this clean since I traveled with my uncle.

While the air was clearer, there was also a thick fog of tension within the ship. Since seeing land, many of us women had realized how drastic our lives would change in less than a few hours. Either a woman would meet the love of her life, or she would enter a life of hell. I silently hoped for the first option. It was a new day, and we were nearly to the mainland. ‘You should tidy up’ my brain told me, as I looked around trying to find any reflective surface Managing to borrow a small piece of glass from another woman, my reflection stared back at me. Small bits of hair were falling out of my neat bun I had tried to make earlier in the day. The sailors wouldn’t let us use the water for washing up and such, so I wasn’t doubtful I didn’t smell all that good. I decided to use my remaining water ration to quickly wet my underarms as a sort of rugged wash. I smelt myself quick and didn’t find any odar too terrible. 

Looking into my reflection, I smiled. The curls around my face sprang out like a lion's mane, and thankfully to the sun, my face had a bit of color to it. I was no longer the ghostly pale my uncle lamb used to describe me as. He would call me a ghost, depending on where we were and how much sunlight I got. Around me, other ladies were trying to freshen themselves up as much as they could. Geillis had managed to braid a few strands in her long auburn hair. Mary also used some drinking water to give her hair a quick rinse. We all checked each other and were happy with what we were seeing.

“Are ye ready, Claire?” Geillis smiled at me. In truth I didn’t know if I was ready, but there was no turning back from it now. Weeks of waiting and daydreaming were finally coming true today. I was just happy to be on land, a different land, and start this adventure. “I hope my husband is tall. And fit. And has a nice arse” I threw my rag at Geillis in a joking matter. She rarely held back when it came to matters such as female sexuality. Geillis was truly an open book.

At the mention of arse, Mary flushed a nice shade of ruby. “You shouldn’t be mentioning such things!” She whispered softly under her breath, just loud enough for me and Geillis to hear. Geillis in turn laughed and placed a loving arm around Mary’s shoulders.

“If ye think arse is bad, what do ye think happens on the wedding night?” Mary’s face managed to blush an even deeper shade of red, and she quickly hurried into the line for disembarking the ship. Geillis laughed as she ran away, smiling contentedly to herself. 

“That lass is gonna have an interesting time with her new husband” Geillis and me walked over to where the rest of the women were waiting, including Mary. As Geillis looked on I stared out to the land. Grass was much greener than I remembered, and the sky seemed to shine a brighter shade of blue. It was like stepping through a portal into a strange new world, which is strangely what this is. I’m a stranger in a new world who wasn’t awaiting my arrival. Fear tug at my heart at the possibility of something happening. What if there wasn’t enough food? What if we were attacked by a new settlement? I suddenly felt exposed to danger, and subconsciously wrapped my cloak around my body, like a shield.

‘Whatever happens’ I thought. ‘At least I have Geillis and Mary here’. I was fortunate and grateful to have made such great friends on the voyage. Sure, I was expected to be a new wife, but who knew if a man could fill a hole of loneliness and want for a friendship. If something were to happen and I couldn’t tell my spouse, I knew that Geillis and Mary would be there for me.

“Claire, are ye alright? Ye starin’ at nothing,” Geillis gave me a gentle tap on my shoulder, breaking me from my thought haze. They already started carting women off the ship, and Me and Geillis were next in line. The shouts of multiple crewmen filled my ear, and I heard a man shouting the names of both women and the men who would marry them. 

Me and Geillis made our way onto the long boardwalk, and as we were half way, we heard Mary’s name being called.

“Mary Hawkins, Alex Randall,” A short but handsome young man emerged from the crowd. He looked no older than Mary, and his eyes lit up when he saw her. Anxiously, he walked over to her and held out a hand. I could see the blush from her cheeks as they walked away. ‘They’re going to make a wonderful marriage’.

I smiled internally at the sight of them. It was like seeing a sister finding the love of her life, I had nothing but joy for the 2 of them. I scanned the audience. There were men of all different ages and backgrounds. Tall men, short men. Young men, and old men. Most of the young men were reasonably handsome, handsome enough to tolerate. Many of them looked unwashed, which I figured would be the case as most men typically didn’t care that much about hygiene, which was an unfortunate trait.

When we got down to the land, the minute I put my foot down I felt a sense of calm wash over me. Whatever would happen, I’m here now. The feeling of knowing I couldn’t leave, even if I tried, gave me a sense of home oddly enough.

Geillis stood in front of men, waiting behind 2 more women. Slowly their names were called and met with their respective husbands.

“Suzette Augustin, Murtagh Fraser,” Suzette was french, that was one of the only things I knew about her. She was pretty, with very long black hair and a sweet smile, which lit up brightly as Murtagh stepped from the crowd. He was among the tallest of the group, wearing a tartan wrapped around his middle. His face was dark and aged, but he was still very handsome. Suzette definitely thought so, taking his hand politely, but I could see the excitement bouncing off of her.

They were down to the last person before Geillis. All of a sudden, the nerves came rushing back. I would be meeting my future husband in less than 5 minutes. What if he doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like him? I felt the sudden urge to run and hide from all of this, and I looked around quickly for a route (as if I actually had the nerve to run), when suddenly my eyes met with a man. 

He was probably the tallest, leaving me to wonder why I didn’t notice him before as he stood at least a few inches above the other men. His hair was bright ginger and slightly tostled. When I looked at him, all worries and troubles melted away. ‘Did he see the fear in my eyes?’ I wondered. I thought he would look away or turn his attention to one of the other women but his gaze stared at me. Suddenly the urge to run was gone, as if he was holding me by the shoulders. I felt peaceful, like this whole situation wasn’t that bad. 

Our connection was only broken when I felt a nudge behind me, indicating that I had to move forward. I did, but tried to keep my eyes on him a little longer. I didn’t even know his name, yet he was a familiar face in a sea of strangers. I tried to chase that feeling of serenity in his face just a minute longer.

He seemed like he was following me too, his head turning with my step. ‘Did he feel this same serenity?’ Maybe he was getting a bride today, and was just if not more nervous than I was. Deep down a part of me hoped I was to be the bride, but I tried to shake that thought quickly. I didn’t even know this man, I didn’t need to want him this bad.

I turned my head quickly forward, hoping that he didn’t find the action malicious. Even standing forward I still felt his eyes on me, and tried my best to keep my gaze ahead. Geillis and then me, and Geillis was already telling her name to the man.

“Geillis Edgars, Arthur Duncan” A short, stout man emerged from the crowd. He was at least 20 years her senior, and about 5 inches below her. As I saw Geillis’ face drop, I concealed my hand and tried to reach out for Geillis, but Arthur was already by her side, taking her hand lovingly. She took it hesitantly, and as they walked away, Geillis turned back and gave me a sad look. ‘I needed to see her later’.

“What’s your name?” a thick british accent said in front of me. My attention turned and I saw a man, maybe in his late 40s, and a big book in front of him.

“Claire Beuachamp,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice stable as best I could. I wanted to look into the crowd and find that man again. So far, his gaze was the only thing that brought me peace.

“Claire Beauchamp, Frank Randall” the man shouted. I looked out into the crowd, and the ginger man’s face dropped. It wasn’t the same calming look as before. Was he Frank Randall? Perhaps I mistook our connection before. 

Thankfully, another man emerged behind him. He was around my height and a deep, dark face. His hair was a nice brown, and he seemed to be balding but it didn’t age him any bit. He stood in front of me, and took my right hand, giving it a soft kiss on top. His hands were warm, and gave me a sense of hope. ‘I could build a life with this man’ I thought happily, smiling to him, which caused his face to light up as well. 

We walked away from the ship, right towards the ginger man. As we walked towards him, his gaze fell on me again, but this time it wasn’t a calm feeling that came over me. It was more of a flutter, like I was tongue tied without even talking to him. When we passed him, my shoulder brushed him softly. I quickly turned, causing Frank to stop in his path.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. He opened his mouth to answer but I felt a tug on my hand and before I knew it, our interaction was over. I looked over to Frank, and his kind face from before was changed to slight frustration.

Turning back once more, I caught his eye for only a second, yet I found so much solace in his face. It wasn’t love like you read about in stories, but it was understanding, and for some that’s a start. 

This time he was the one to look away, but quite hesitantly. My gaze shifted as well and and all of a sudden I wondered if I was making the right choice. I hadn’t even met both men yet, but the ginger man looked at me as if he was wrapping himself around me like a blanket, shielding me from any worries to come. I looked back at frank and didn’t find that same warmness. 

Instead, the feeling of fear and the want to run came back, but this time, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back home or back to my friends. I wanted to find out what that man’s name was.

[tea-with-cinnamontoast]

family.

[A/N: E. this is the nhs family day au thing,, i actually like it wow-]

"Ugh, family day. Stupid 'Family Bonding' day," the puple-haired teen mumbled, cleaning up his room. The same thing every year, Norrisville High had a 'Family Bonding' day where the students are supposed to bring at least one person from their family to school and apparently, bond. Howard said there was a bazaar, lots of games, and many yummy food. Randy didn't know, because he never participated. His dad divorced with his mom, and his mom is too busy working, that he never joined.

He always wanted to, he admitted. Randy wanted a time with his family, but he drifted apart from his mom and lost contact with his dad. The teen imagined laughing with his parents, playing ring-toss and winning prizes. He imagined himself eating cotton candy and making funny faces with his parents in the photo booth. He wanted to have fun and 'bond', as the school said it, and have the brucest day of the year. But, no. Randy was the only child of two adults, adults that Randy barely even talk to these days.

"Never once have I even joined, because of some stupid business mom always does," the boy grumbled to himself, taking his books away for tomorrow is Saturday. In worse cases, Randy would think that his mom was just avoiding him. He hated Family Bonding Day. He hated not being there. He hated not having fun. He hated not having a proper, fun and close family. To be honest, Randy didn't know if it was illegal to come in without a family, yet he was too embarrassed to try. He didn't want to be known as 'the shoob with no parents' cause that's how sad being a freshman is. Once you got a name, there is no coming back.

Done cleaning up with his bits and bobs, he grabbed the Nomicon and put it by his table, having a kind of feeling that the book was listening, but Randy shrugged the thought off and sighed. "Welp, another Family day, another full-day of playing Grave Puncher in my underwear, I guess," the teen begrudgingly went up to the top bunk and rested his eyes.

-- + --

"Wake up, ninja," a stern, yet soothing, voice called onto Randy. "We are going to be late." It took a while for the newly woken up boy to register the sound. Then it occurred to him, the source of the voice was from his own mentor, Nomi. The teen groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and saw Nomi with her gorgeous red hair in a, surprisingly, modern attire. Her hair was tied in a pony tail, yet some of her hair is still loose. She used a black shirt, with the nomicon pattern in it, and black pants. She also wore red shoes.

The boy looked over her shoulder and saw Satoru sitting on his sofa, resting his head and closed his eyes. He used a ponytail for his hair, red shirt with a Norisu Nine symbol and black pants. The First Ninja peeked his eyes opened for a bit and saw Randy awake, stretching his arm and walked over to the boy. "Come on, get ready. We are going to walk there soon," he urged, the boy nodding in response and quickly got ready.

Up in his normal clothes, the three went outside Randy's house and walked. The siblings talked and laughed as the boy silently listening, excited, yet curious, of where they were going. "Hey guyss, it'll be bruce if you tell me where we're going. Ooh! Training maybe? What am I going to learn today?" the teen asked the adults. "You will know when we will get there," Nomi answered smiling, which triggered Randy's curiosity even more. The boy fake-pouted as Satoru chuckled by his side. This'll be interesting.

All Randy knew was that they were heading uptown, where the malls, McFist Industry, Norrisville High, and other McStores lie. Maybe they were heading to the park? Oh! Maybe they're gonna shop together? The boy thought hard, wanting to know where they were going. It was rare for the two to spring out of the Nomicon, so maybe this is an emergency of some sort, where they have to train and teach Randy new stuff. It was exciting.

But when the teen got there it wasn't what he was expecting.

-- + --

To say he was surprised was an understatement, Randy was filled with a few feelings. Shock, curiosity, confusion, and posibly... happiness? It was mixed up and the boy didn't know what to expect. He was in front of the school. On Family Day. Without a family. Well, the last one was debatable, the two adults beside him we're like family to him, closer than his bond with his own mom. Which isn't supposed to be a good thing, Randy guessed.

"Why... are we here?" the boy asked, looking at the blue and yellow banners all over the place. The ribbon on the school were put up high, with the writings "HELLO PARENTS, WELCOME TO FAMILY BONDING DAY!!" written messily by one of the students using yellow paint. The outside was full of people, from adults to their children, from the teachers to the other staff. The place looked fun and cheerful, like there isn't a prison of an ancient evil sorcerer under it ('Which would be great if it wasn't literal,' Randy thought).

"Nomi overheard your predicament, so we thought it would be... bruce if you could come here," Satoru answered, the red head nodded. "But my parents aren't here and..." Randy said, not yet catching on the wind. The two raised their eye brows. 'Oh,' the boy realized. "You two are..." he tried to say.

Tears started swelling up in his eyes, but the others didn't notice. They were too busy looking at the well-decorated school, and Randy could appreciate that. Despite feeling the nerve to break down and say thank you in front of everyone, he decided that the best way to cherish the day is by giving the not-from-the-present sibling the best time of their 800 year-old life. But he couldn't stop the urge to hug the two, and so he did.

It took a while for Satoru and Nomi to register what the juice happened, but returned the hug and embrace the boy. Excitedly, Randy dragged the two past-ninjas inside, past the crowded place. The boy looked overjoyed and is jumping everywhere like an excited puppy, pointing everywhere and listing the things he wanted to do. For the two siblings though, it was a new sight.

They never saw most events that happened in the school from a book, mind you, so they were fascinated, but the two kept cool. "Not like the last time we visited eh, brother?" Nomi smiled and Satoru nodded. To be honest, Nomi was as interesting as her brother. Hidden well, she was amused at how far humanity came from her time.

"Randy! You're here?" a voice, the purple-haired teen recognize everywhere, called from wherever, running and panting towards him. "But I thought you... you know." Randy understood the silent phrase. 'Don't want to be seen without a parent'. The lanky teen just shrugged and answered with a simple "Yeah."

"Ah, Wienerman, such a wonderful time to meet again," Satoru greeted from behind, with Nomi came with a bit of resentment. The girl do not like Howard. He was selfish, mean, and overall not a good friend, but Randy needed his bro, and Nomi could understand that. But still, that doesn't mean she liked him and the feeling was mutual.

Satoru, on the other hand, liked (liked, mind you) that Wienerman kid. His friendship with Randy reminded him of his own with Plop Plop, and that was nice to see. Nomi didn't know what her brother saw on the orange-haired boy, but decided not to ask. Howard saw the two and gasped for a while, and Randy sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, they're posing as family," the tall teen confirmed.

"Well, bruce to see you again, First Ninj," Howard greeted back, grinning. He always liked the First Ninja and Plop Plop, they were cool, especially when the two teen went back in time. "Please, call me Satoru. Satoru Norisawa," the ninja replied. Nomi joined them, Randy winced a bit. He knew their resentment and that they would never get along. Howard addressed the redhead with a simple "You."

Nomi didn't answer nor greeted the boy, they just stared at each other, and Randy wondered which one hated the other more. It was a bit too intense for the teen's comfort, and Satoru catched his discomfort. "Nomi..." her brother started. "Howie! There you are!" someone called from behind, stopping Howard from his glaring contest.

"Randy! Great to see you here!" Howard's dad, Mort Wienerman, came. He later acknowledged the two adults and smiled, though he looked sort of confused. "And you must be Randy's..." he reached his hand for a shake, but he couldnt finish the statement. "Family," the teen answered simply. And he wasn't lying. "Nomi Norisawa, and my brother, Satoru," Nomi introduced, shaking the other's hand. "Mort Wienerman, family from Japan?" Howard's dad asked. Randy took this one, "Yeah, you could say that."

Nomi inspected the man in front of her, and concluded that this is Howard's father. Behind him, a girl with the same fantastic orange shade of hair walked towards them. "Nice to see that Randall can make it, for once," the female said, not looking up from her phone ("It's Randy! It's always been Randy!"). "I'm going to get some food, see you later," the man informed them. "Dad, can I stay with Cunningham?" Howard asked, and Mort nodded.

"So what do we start with first? I'm leaning to food, but I'm also thinking about games," Randy started, walking with the group. He wanted the two ninjas to have a time of their life, and he needed to be good. "I vote food," Howard said. "Of course you do. How about you two?" the lanky teen asked. "We have never been here, do you not remember?" Satoru answered, his hands crossed behind him, looking at the long food stands and games.

"Right. We're going to the game section!" Randy announced like a pirate captain and pointed, walking towards the games.

-- + --

"Haha! You are going to lose, dear brother!" Nomi exclaimed to his brother, the two playing skeeball. Randy laughed and watched with fascination. "Not if I beat you first, dearest Nomi," Satoru shot back, focusing on the game. The purple-haired teen didn't know if it was the "800 year old ninja knowledge" thing or that they practiced (which is unlikely...) but the two we're super skilled and evenly matched, both of them hitting the bullseye with every ball they had.

The game keeper watched with wide eyes, and others started coming, too. They watched the two spar it out in the game, as the two focused on the hole. The siblings finally stopped when they have no more balls, and deemed themselves the winner. There was a competitive glare between the Norisawas for a while, but it boiled down into laughter and enjoyment. Randy loved every second of it.

Randy loved they way they were just... here. Wow, even his mortal, easier-to-be-here mom couldn't be in this spot right now, yet two from-the-past siblings managed to be there. For him. The teen loved the way they would laugh together and take care of him, occasionally being an 'actual' parent just for him to be safe. He love the way they were open and fun, and would do anything to make Randy happy. He just loved them. They were like his own parent figure. Like a family.

Nomi's giggles and Satoru's chuckling filled Randy's heart with joy, and they decided to buy some food. The two never tried 'modern' food before, and for that reason, the teen wanted to pick the best food for them. "So Howard, name the best food here," he whispered to his biffer, who was munching on some chips. "Well, Cunningham. I think I would choose corndogs, then top it off with some cotton candy," the short boy answered, cheese from the chips smeared his mouth.

And so he did. The freshman bought some corndogs and shared them with his best friend and, admittedly, his family. They were peacefully laughing, when a giant explosion can be heard. "Seriously? We we're having fun and a monster comes?" Randy mumbled under his breath. "Go, Ninja. We will be here if you need help," Satoru assured. The teen nodded and ran to the restroom, leaving his teachers and biffer alone.

The boy used his mask, flashing lights and black ribbons covered him. After all the lightshow was done, he ran out of the stall and smoke-bombed his way in. "Smoke bomb! Hey, monster! Seriously!? On Family Day?! Who would even-" before he could finished his sentence, the stanked one attacked. The 'corrupted' one looked different, it was too robotic for a human, but too emotional for a robot. The Ninja remembered fighting a staked Viceroy creation, but this wasn't the same.

It's eyes stared into Randy, causing uneasiness. The teen didn't know how or why this one got stanked, but the fight sure wasn't easy. And yet, something about its... shape is recognizable. The creature had a bull's head and a human body, not a very good look on anyone, to be honest. The boy racked up his name, thinking about his classes. It was hard, since he zoned out most of his scholar studies. Then he realized.

"You're a, um, Minator? How do you say it's shoob name... Oh yeah, uh, Minotaur!" the Ninja shouted it's name. 'Names have power,' he recalled from a movie. Randy heard about this nasty piece of work, actually, he heard of the actual one not a half robotic one. Apparently, some lady from Ancient Greece decided it was a great idea to make a child with a bull. A honkin' bull. The boy remembered a few parts of the story, when explained in his history class (talking about Greece and its lush mythology), and remembered the hero Theseus.

But he wasn't fighting just any Minatour shaped robot. He was fighting a stanked one, and those are bad news.

Not looking at the Minotaur coming towards him full speed after a fun, and totally not destructive, rampage around the school, all Randy can remember was flying. It would've been great if it wasn't a dream, yet it wasn't, and the Ninja is plunging in super speed into his death. But he didn't feel the ground. Which is weird, maybe he died? "Got you, Ninja," Satoru's voice called from behind the mask.

The teen opened his eyes and stood up, watching the scenes. There were quick movements here and there, the robot getting slashed slowly and steadily, but the creature wouldn't go down that easily. Gradually, it rose up, dodging Nomi's (now in a mask) attacks and charging on the girl. She was growing restless and retreated, then united with the male ninjas.

"This creature... cannot be fought alone," the girl summarized. They planned an ambush and charged, grabbing their katanas and other weapons. Skilled in hand-in-hand combat, Satoru grabbed a katana. More skilled in ranged attacks, Nomi pulled out a bow and arrow (which isn't very ninja-y you might think but holy cheese she's good). Skilled in a more street fighting type of combat, Randy grabbed a stick (or a pole? The teen called it the "Ninja Smacking Stick!").

They fought and fought, slashed and slashed, stabbed and stabbed. Randy kept calling the bull names (his mouth can be as demonic as the Tengu, I swear to the Norisu Nine-). But nothing seems to work. Until, Satoru stabbed it's heart. "When a great warrior strikes you down, it would be best to stay down," Satoru quipped.

Maybe he already figured out where the stanking was or he just accidentally did it, green smoke left the robotic body and went underground, back to the Sorcerer. The three smoke-bombed away and appeared in the field with their normal clothes. Some witnesses said that they saw three warriors. Howard caught up with them and said, "Oh Cunningham! You should've seen the bull-thingy's face when you called him names!" Nomi thought it would be more suitable if he asked if Randy was okay, but then again, this is Howard we're talking about.

Howard needed to go, and Nomi hid her relief. She couldn't stand any more seconds with the short boy and would've already strangled him if he wasn't Randy's friend. The purple-haired teen decided to go to the photobooth and take some pictures together. Free of any worry, they made funny faces and shit-eating grins, ended up laughing together. It was getting dark, and the bazaar/carnival sort of thing is destroyed anyway, so they decided to go home. Watching the sunset, Randy appreciated the moment, though there was a feeling of guilt.

"Hey, guys? Thank you for bringing me here and sorry for not being able to kill the robot alone. I shoobed this day for you all didn't I?" the boy hung his head low. He didn't see the head shakes and the smiles. "When a Ninja needs help, he can always ask for help," Nomi said softly. "It was, with no doubt, one of the best things that happened in the 800 years. It was very... bruce," Satoru smiled. The teen couldn't help but to grin.

Randy loved today. He smelled the fragrance of the flowers blooming as they walked home, calmly talking to his two mentors. Mentors that became family, not since today, but the teen felt they were family from the first. What did he learn today, Randy didn't know. But one thing's for sure: he has a family. He has a great best friend. He has an amazing job. What else can he ask for?

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Sixteen) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual���

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing, murder, mentions of sexual assault, literally everything Criminal Minds, okie.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 9247

Timeline: Season 2 Episode 23. Right after part fifteen.

It was a sad and quiet walk to the car as Morgan, Hotch, Emily, and I all headed to the crime scene. When we got there, the door to Rebecca’s apartment was wide open. There was no sign of forced entry, which meant that she had originally believed that he was Gideon, like she said on the phone, so she invited him in. The house phone that I had called was smashed on the ground in the living room, and there was a single cup of coffee on the table in front of the couch. I reached down and felt the outside of the mug to find that it was cold. Frank was long gone, just as expected.

Morgan kicked the bedroom door open after jiggling the locked door handle around. Hotch and Morgan took the lead heading inside while Emily and I kept pressure on the tail end for backup, not that it ultimately mattered. After the door flew open, we discovered Rebecca’s body on her bed in the same state that the woman in Gideon’s apartment had been found.

Hotch sighed to himself and took a step out of the apartment. I followed for a brief moment, but I didn’t end up going any further than the couch in the living room. I took a quiet seat and hid my face in my hands. There must have been some hope still brewing in my chest on the car ride over because seeing Rebecca hit my heart harder than it should have. I didn’t know her. I didn’t have any connection to her other than being a part of her rescue team that night we saved her. And yet, I felt almost responsible for her. We could have done more to protect her. We should have called her first. At the time, it didn’t make sense to call one potential target over another, but I should have just done it… She could perhaps still have been alive if we just called a few minutes sooner to warn her.

Emily walked by, “I’m going to check on Hotch,” she told me. I nodded and whispered a thank you.

“Y/N,” Morgan called my name from the bedroom. “You should come take a look at this…”

He sounded concerned about something, so I sucked in a brave breath before stepping into the room. Morgan was holding evidence in his gloved hands, searching through a stack of… whatever it was he found… As I approached, Morgan held the evidence out to the side, but he didn’t look up at me, almost like he was too scared to. Hesitantly, I took what he was offering in order to look for myself. The second it was out of his hands, Morgan turned to find something else to work on.

I looked down at my hands and the evidence they were holding. Within an instant, I felt like yelping or screaming, yet nothing came out. As my blood ran cold, I stayed paralyzed and looked at the photos in my hands. All this time, I thought that they had burned in the fire; yet there they were. Intact and staring back at me.

I swallowed hard. “Has Hotch or Emily seen these?” Morgan shook his head, though still refusing to look at me. I didn’t blame him after what he had just seen. I wouldn’t want to look at me either. “Don’t tell him,” I quietly begged.

“It’s evidence, Y/N.”

“They don’t exist,” I insisted, putting them in the inside pocket of my jacket. “They burned in the fire at Randall Garner’s home.”

“Y/N—“ he turned around, finally finding enough dignity to look at me.

I stared him down, “They don’t… exist.” His eyes frantically searched mine, but I stayed calm. “Hotch can never see them.”

Morgan kept staring at me as if it would change my mind. It wouldn’t. I genuinely thought that this had all ended the night Randall Garner died and his house burned down. I thought that the images he stole from me disappeared with him. There wasn’t a single day since then where I even thought about those photos, because why would I when I had tried so hard to forget them in the first place and then I had reason to believe that they had been wiped from existence. Not once did the thought cross my mind of there being a possibility that those photos were still out there. If I would have known, I would have searched through heaven and hell to find them and burn them myself. Yet there they were now, hiding in my jacket, out of sight of the one person I didn’t want to ever lay eyes on them. Hotch was a well grounded, smart man. He didn’t like to use his position at the FBI for any kind of personal gain— including finding people or digging up dirt on whomever he wanted. But if he saw those pictures… If he knew that they really were, he wouldn’t stop until he found the boy that did that to me, and he would kill him. Therefore, Hotch could never know, the same way Elle could never know. That was, if I ever ended up seeing my sister again.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he whispered to me.

I shook my head, “They don’t exist. It never happened.”

His face softened, “Y/N—”

“It never happened, Morgan. Please. Just… drop it…”

“You know that I, of all people, get it. Right? You can talk to me.”

“And you should know, of all people, that I just want you to drop it and never talk about it again.”

Morgan took a physical step back to signify him backing down from the conversation. He turned back to looking around the room for more evidence, meanwhile I paced around the bed to look at Rebecca’s body. It was left in an identical state compared to the body last night. Her stomach had been cut open, obvious organs missing— but I wouldn’t know until Reid or a coroner could take a look. There was an incision on the left side of her chest, just where there was easy access to a rib, if that was really what his M.O. was. I froze and squinted when I noticed that she was clutching something in her right palm.

“Morgan,” I called his attention over. I pried Rebecca’s hand open slightly and slid the piece of paper out of her tight grip. “It says ‘7AM, Union Station. I’ll trade her for Jane.’” Morgan and I exchanged a glance. “Hotch!” I yelled. Him and Emily came in a few seconds later and I handed the note to him.

“So he’s taken someone else already,” Emily spoke up. 

“Or at least he’s planning on it.”

“Let’s think about this. All other eight possible targets are safe and accounted for, so what— or who— did we miss?” Morgan questioned. “Frank isn’t capable of feeling the same feelings we do, but he enjoys mimicking them because he finds it fun. He takes what other people hold sacred and he uses it against them. So what does that say about his next target?”

“People hold women and children most sacred,” Emily worked out. “He said that he’d be willing to trade ‘her’ for Jane, but he wouldn’t have given that detail if he didn’t want us to narrow down the list, so it has to be a kid.”

“Call JJ and ask her to search through all of the child victims we’ve worked with in recent years and have moved to the D.C. area so recently that Gideon wouldn’t have it marked down,” Hotch told Emily. Emily left the bedroom. “Did you guys find anything else in here?”

Morgan looked over at me like he was waiting for some kind of cue to admit what he found, but I shook my head vaguely. “We didn’t find anything else,” Morgan answered finally.

“Hotch,” Emily said breathlessly as she ran back in, “JJ says that the only girl who matches the description and isn’t accounted for is a girl named Tracey Belle.” Hotch eyes shot wide. “She also says that they found Jane.”

“Okay, go back to the office to meet up with JJ and sort things out with Jane. Morgan, stay here with the crime scene while the PD is on their way, Y/N and I will go to the Belle’s residence. Have JJ send us the address. Let’s go.”

Hotch and I hurried to McLean, Virginia where Tracey Belle’s family had moved to after our team saved her from a child Unsub long before I joined the team. I knew nothing about Tracey Belle or the case she was involved in, except for the fact that there was a boy in her grade who was luring other kids to the woods and murdering them out there. Tracey was supposed to be his last victim, but the team managed to get there in time to stop him before anything could happen. Thankfully. But now, there was a strong chance that Frank had her. She was going to relive her worst nightmares all over again…

The sun was already down again with another day concluded, which was both a blessing and a curse. While the darkness would help Hotch and I approach the house undetected, it also meant that Frank could hide or run and we wouldn’t even know it— or even worse, he could have already killed Tracey.

Hotch kicked down the door and I pushed into the house first with my weapon and flashlight raised. We moved quickly and quietly, checking every corner of the living room, kitchen, and dining room. When there was no sign of a struggle or Tracey at all, we moved down the hallway towards the bedrooms. The first door on our left was open, and it looked like Tracey’s father’s office. Past that, on the right, was Tracey’s parents’ room, which was also empty. The last room to check was Tracey’s room at the end of the hall on the left again. The door was closed, unlike the other rooms. I gave Hotch a short nod as I put my hand on the doorknob, and he returned the signal. I turned the handle, pushed the door open as fast and hard as I could, and Hotch ran in first.

Empty. Entirely empty.

There was no sign of Tracey or her family anywhere. While that seemed like a loss— which, in reality, it technically was— it was also still a win. If Frank was going to hurt Tracey, he would have already killed her in her home like he had done with the other victims. From the looks of it, he took Tracey. The only question was, however, where were her parents?

“I’ll call a forensics team,” Hotch said. “Call Morgan and have him meet us here.”

While Hotch turned to call the office, I grabbed my phone and dialed Morgan. I asked if he was done at Rebecca’s house yet, and he told me that they were just bagging up her body and then the crime scene cleaners were going to come in, which he didn’t need to be there for. I told him that we needed him down at the Belle’s residence as soon as possible. He sighed and hesitantly asked me if she was dead.

“No. Frank just took her.”

“I’m on my way.”

Thirty minutes later, while Hotch and I were casing the house as best we could ourselves, Morgan and the forensics team showed up with the local sheriff's department. We stepped out of the house to let them do what they needed to do in order or to determine exactly what happened to Tracey. Morgan met us out front and we started to discuss why Frank would have possibly taken Tracey, of all people. According to them, Frank wasn’t fond of children, which was why the school bus hostages were a shock to them in the first place, but now this? He was getting desperate. He was losing track of who he enjoyed murdering because he was so focused on Jane. That being said, he didn’t kill Tracey, so maybe she was meant to be a gift for Jane, and in that case, Tracey would be safe unless we didn’t give Frank what he wanted.

“That’s our house, Charlie!” someone shouted from the road.

Hotch, Morgan, and I looked over to see Tracey’s parents getting out of their car and running up towards the house. The three of us stepped in their path to make sure they wouldn’t get through. I recognized the worry on their faces as uncontrollable panic about their daughter’s safety, but we wouldn’t let them into the house until the forensics team was done inside.

“You have to let us in,” Mrs. Belle told us desperately while trying to push past me. “My daughter’s inside.”

“You can’t go in right now,” Hotch tried to explain to them calmly.

“Where’s Tracey? Where’s my daughter?”

“Mrs. Belle—” I began, but she didn’t listen. She was still fighting against me as if I would suddenly budge and move out of her way, but I was going to do no such thing.

“What’s important to know right now is that Tracey is, in fact, alive,” Hotch said. Mr. Belle saw an opportunity to push through Morgan and Hotch, so he attempted to take it, but Morgan caught him before he could make it to the door. “Sir, she’s not in there!” Mr. Belle threw his hands up in surrender and stepped back. “We’re going to find her, I promise,” he said to both parents.

Mrs. Belle stopped fighting against me and suddenly broke down in my arms. She fell to her knees with me barely catching her in time, and she began to sob. Mr. Belle hurried over and took Mrs. Belle from my arms so that he could hold her as they both cried. They thought that all of this was over after they moved… They thought that their daughter was safe because our team had saved her before, but now she was gone and we were back on their doorstep.

The way Mrs. Belle cried and screamed out for her baby shattered my heart as the three of us stood around and watched. She rocked in her husband’s embrace and tried to muffle her sobs, but they were so agonizingly painful in her heart and chest that she couldn’t hold them back. My jaw clenched as I swallowed back the feeling of needing to cry in response. The tears that had started welling my eyes disappeared after I looked away and blinked furiously to make the fog over my eyes go away.

“We should go back to the office,” I whispered to Hotch. I was too scared to say anything louder than that because I thought that the sob collecting in my throat would escape if I raised my voice above a whisper. I took in a steady breath before stepping around the Belles.

If what Emily said earlier about JJ locating Jane was still true, they were likely back at the BAU already interrogating her for information, and since we hadn’t received another call from them, I was going to go out on a limb and guess that they weren’t getting anything of use yet. Hotch was the best interrogator we had, if anyone could do it, it was him. We were practically useless at the crime scene now, there was no point in staying when he could be finding a way to end this once and for all without giving Jane to Frank again and without getting Tracey killed. There had to be answers. There had to be a way to get that little girl back to her family.

“We need to talk,” Morgan said, coming up to me as I leaned against the side of the car while waiting on Hotch. I opened my mouth to protest because I knew exactly where this was headed, but he put up a hand to tell me to be quiet and just listen, so I decided to give him a shot at not making my night any worse than it already was. “You know what I went through growing up. I didn’t want people to know the truth either, yet they found out. They always find out, Y/N. Everyone got hurt and lost their trust in me because I chose to hide that secret over helping them find the man responsible. Hotch still struggles to trust me sometimes.” He shifted his weight on his feet. “You can’t keep it a secret forever even though you think you can. That man over there loves you more than anything in the world. I have never in my life seen anyone look at another person the way the two of you look at each other. You don’t want to lose that because of these photos, Y/N. It’s not worth it.”

“It’s not for him to know, though. It happened decades ago. What’s the point in bringing it all back up when all it will do is hurt people? Nothing will be solved suddenly if I show him the pictures and tell Hotch every single thing that boy did to me. He’s better off not knowing.”

“If it were Hotch keeping a secret like this from you, wouldn’t you want to know?”

I paused. Truthfully, I would want to know. But it wasn’t fair of Morgan to force the decision on me like this. He was right that I knew exactly what happened to him, but he forgot that I also knew how adamant he was about not telling anyone and how when I pieced it together myself, I didn’t tell anyone because it was his secret to tell when he wanted. Telling Hotch the truth was the most petrifying concept to me. During the Fisher King case, I had hinted to him what happened, but he didn’t know the extent of it, and he certainly didn’t need to see the photos.

“Does it get any better after they know?” I asked him.

Morgan’s eyes fluttered as he looked at the ground. “No,” he shook his head, “I don’t suppose it does.”

“You know that I love and respect you, Morgan… but I just… I need to think about it, at least.”

“Are you two ready to go?” Hotch asked as he met us at the car. Neither of us looked up at him or each other. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and relaxed my shoulders. “Nothing.” I opened the car door and got in.

At the BAU, Reid met us as the elevator doors opened. He explained that Jane had turned herself in to local police because she had nowhere else to go and she wanted to talk with Gideon. He also said that she seemed on edge. She was scared, obviously, but there was something more to it than that, but no one could figure out what.

When we entered the mirror room, I could see that Emily and JJ were still in the interrogation room with Jane, trying to get her to talk while she held onto a brown paper bag for dear life. Morgan and Reid took a few side steps to stand in front of the window, but I moved to follow Hotch into the interrogation room.

“Stay in here, Y/N,” Hotch said. “She doesn’t know you, so it might turn her off from talking if there’s someone in the room that she doesn’t recognize.” I nodded agreeingly and went to stand in front of the mirror with Morgan and Reid.

Jane clutched the bag closer to her chest. “Frank hasn’t hurt anyone, has he? He wouldn’t do that… Not while he has me…”

“But he doesn’t have you, Jane,” JJ explained. “We do.”

“Why did you leave Frank? What changed?” Emily asked.

“Frank changed,” Jane answered. “Agent Gideon warned me that this would happen, but I didn’t believe him when I should have. Frank isn’t who he says he is. That’s why Frank’s mad with Agent Gideon because he knows everything about Frank. That’s why I need to see him.”

“Frank wants Agent Gideon to stop him, doesn’t he?” Hotch inquired quietly from the corner. Everyone was using hushed tones with her because she was such a fragile woman. Anything over a whisper would have made her spiral, which we didn’t have time for.

“Well, if anyone can stop him, it’s Agent Gidoen.”

“Not without you, Jane.”

“What do you mean?”

Hotch changed the subject, “Tell me what you know about Frank. Where is he from?”

“Manhattan. He talked about it all the time. He told me about where he lived and how he grew up, everything. He wanted me to know everything.”

“Did he say where in Manhattan?”

She shook her head, “No, but he said that he lived with his mother, Mary Breitkopf. Just his mother, though. He never knew his father, but he still despised him. He loved his mother more than anything. She would take him to the fair, and to the movies when they could afford it, they would have dinner parties when they couldn’t, and she read stories to him every night. He even had me read some of them to him to help him sleep.”

“Did Frank try to kill anyone else while you guys were on the run?”

“Is it wrong to love Frank?” she dodged Hotch’s question by asking Emily another one. Emily raised a curious brow. “You know, since he is what he is… Is it wrong?”

“You don’t choose who you love,” Emily answered.

My eyes unconsciously switched to look at Hotch. He looked at the mirror as if he could see me and I realized that he was thinking the same thing. We would fight tooth and nail for each other and to make our relationship work, just as I had told him in the car the night before. Jane seemed to feel that way about Frank, but we knew what kind of man he was, and there was no way that he could return the same desperate feelings.

Hotch looked back at the table in the middle of the room. “Jane, did Frank try to kill anyone else?”

She nodded, “Me…” She lowered her head as she started to cry quietly. “We had an argument, and as it blew up, I said that Agent Gideon was right, and he became so angry. So I ran and I didn’t look but.” She looked back up, “But he won’t try to kill anybody else. I promise.”

“He’s already killed two people, Jane,” JJ said. “And he’s not going to stop until he gets you back.”

“Oh…”

There was a knock at the door suddenly. Morgan, Reid, and I all turned to see who it was. Anderson poked his head into the room and told us that there was a call for Hotch and that it was extremely urgent. When I inquired about who it was, he said that it was Tracey Belle. I immediately reached for the door to the interrogation room and told Hotch that we had a problem. Hotch uncrossed his arms and hurried past me, Morgan, Reid, and Anderson. We all ran after him as Anderson tried to explain that it was Tracey Belle who had called and she sounded upset— which, of course she fucking was, Frank had her.

“Hello?” Hotch welcomed as he picked up the phone on his desk and put it on speaker for us to hear.

“Agent Hotchner,” Frank began, “we asked for Agent Gideon, not you. Put him on the phone.”

Hotch reached down to the phone and speed dialed Garcia’s number since Gideon didn’t have his phone on him. When she picked up, Hotch said, “Garcia, put Jason on the phone. There’s someone who wants to talk to him.”

“Who is this?” Gideon asked once he had the phone.

“Jason?” Tracey questioned, her voice shaking with fright. “It’s Tracey Belle.”

“Go on, Tracey,” Frank encouraged from the background. “Just like we practiced.”

“Please, Mr. Gideon,” Tracey sniffled, “you have to help me. You saved me once before. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember you, Tracey. How could I ever forget you?” Gideon chuckled lightly and playfully, trying to brighten Tracey’s mood. “Tracey, everything’s going to be alright.”

“I’m scared, Mr. Gideon… I want my mommy…”

I sat down on the couch in Hotch’s office as I choked back that same need to cry that I felt at the Belle’s residence. Tracey was crying out for her mother in the same way that Mrs. Belle had been crying out for her daughter. It all rang in my head over and over again, the crying and the screaming.

“Jason,” Frank sing-songed into the call.

“You son of a bitch,” Gideon cursed into the phone. “I swear I will find you no matter what it takes and I will take you down.”

“Shhh,” Frank cooed. “I chose the station because I know of your interest in trains. I saw the toys in your apartment before I killed your date.” And then he hung up.

Silence hung in the air as we all stared at each other. We only had a few hours until the sun would start to rise and we were supposed to meet Frank at Union Station with Jane. There was no other choice than to play by his rules, though, right? If we wanted to get that little girl back to her family safe, then we needed to give him Jane. That being said, there was no way in hell Frank actually believed that we would let him get away again. Even if we did give him Jane, they weren’t going to get very far. D.C. and Virginia was our turf, not his. We knew how to tear apart the entire East coast if need be. He wasn’t going to win again. Especially since he made it personal with Gideon this time around.

Hotch picked up the phone and dialed the SWAT team to let them know that we would be heading to Union Station around 6:30 in order to be there on time for 7AM. Morgan paced around the room, biting at his nails, and Reid sat down on the couch with me while lost in thought. He was likely thinking of a way to get Frank after this was all over with. We knew that no matter what, we had to be the ones to get to Frank, because if Gideon got there first, he would kill him, and Reid couldn’t afford to lose Gideon because of a dumb mistake.

Morgan stopped pacing when Hotch hung up the phone and looked up at the three of us. “Boardroom. Now. Reid, get Emily and JJ.”

Reid stood and ran to the interrogation room to go collect them, and in the meantime, Hotch, Morgan, and I walked down the lifted walkway outside of Hotch and Gideon’s offices and into the boardroom. Hotch pulled up a map of the train station on the TV and we started making our plan for how we were going to clear the station, get to Frank, find out where Tracey was, and then arrest Frank. We had to be exact. There was no room for error. Fucking this up could result in either Tracey’s death or Frank getting away again— or both, if we were too careless.

“Hotch, we think we might know where Frank is keeping Tracey Belle,” JJ said as she, Emily, and Reid all stormed into the room. Hotch raised a curious brow. “Jane said that he is obsessed with his mother. Well, I did some digging, and it says that she’s still living in the Upper East Side in New York. Since taking Tracey, he would have had enough time to drive up there, leave her with his mother, and he could be back in time for our meeting at Union Station.”

“He would want to get her as far from us as possible,” Emily shrugged, explaining further, “just to make sure that we don’t get to her before he gets Jane.”

Hotch nodded, “No lead is a bad lead. JJ and Reid, take the jet to Mary Breitkopf’s home, see if you can find Tracey there. Meet with the field office there and have a task force go with you. We can’t afford to let Frank or his mother get away.”

JJ and Reid left together to get ready for their flight to New York while the rest of us looked back at the map of the train station. Hotch showed us exactly what plan he had in mind for the 7AM meet time. Our team, along with backup from SWAT, would move into the station and clear it out as quietly as possible. Frank won’t leave or hide in the crowd because he knows that this is his only chance of getting Jane back— just like when he stayed around in the diner in Nevada. Hotch was going to talk to Frank first, see if he would budge and tell us where Tracey was, even though that wasn’t very realistic. Eventually, we would have to show Jane to Frank in order to get Tracey’s location, since by the time Reid and JJ would get to his mother’s house in New York to check if she was there, this would all be unfolding. If it came down to it, we would have to give Jane over to Frank, and he would likely tell us to wait so that they could run again; but the local PD would have road blocks surrounding the area to make sure that he wouldn’t get too far. Our job would be to help find Frank once he was gone, but there wasn’t much we could do to stop him while at the station if things progressed, unfortunately. 

At 6:30, we geared up and headed out to Union Station. The SWAT team was waiting in the back of the parking lot for us since they didn’t want to scare off the public or Frank just yet. We needed to make sure that Frank remained calm until 7AM when we would find him somewhere inside, so it was a safer bet if our team went in quietly without our weapons out. People were in too much of a hurry around the station to notice a few FBI agents spread out amongst the building. Hotch put me and Emily on guard at the inside platform, and Morgan and Hotch were going to take the lobby. We headed in quietly and calmly, Emily and I splitting off from the boys as soon as we entered the building.

For the thirty or so minutes leading up to 7AM, Emily and I paced and searched the platforms to see if we could spot Frank anywhere. If we were lucky enough, we’d catch him in the crowd and we could take him in for interrogation over anything else. Frank liked being in control and being powerful, and by taking a hostage, he had both because we were playing by his rules. But if we shoved him in a dark, windowless interrogation room for long enough, he would tell us where Tracey was.

At 6:58AM exactly, the SWAT team moved into the station to start clearing out all of the civilians. Emily and I searched every face that passed by us to make sure that Frank wouldn’t slip out— just in case our profile of him was wrong. He wanted Jane, yes, but maybe he would get scared off by all of the armed agents running around. But there was no sign of him on the inside platform after everyone cleared out. Even if he was on the outside ones, he would have needed to pass by us or the boys in the lobby. He was either waiting somewhere for us or he was long gone.

“The building’s clear,” we heard from the SWAT team through the comms. Emily and I exchanged a glance. “Target spotted on the platform outside. Target spotted.”

“Emily, get Jane,” Hotch said over the comms.

Emily turned around and headed back for the lobby and the parking lot where Jane was sitting in one of the cars, waiting for us to get her. I immediately jumped onto my toes and started racing for the tunnel that led to the outside platform. The platform was entirely clear except for Frank, who was sitting alone on a bench, and Morgan and Hotch who were carefully approaching. Morgan passed the back of the bench to stand on Frank’s left side, while Hotch and I stood on his right side.

Hotch stood his ground and stared at the man sitting on the only bench on that side of the platform. “Frank,” he greeted casually.

“Agent Hotchner. Agent Greenaway. It’s a pleasure to formally meet both of you finally.”

“Where’s Tracey Belle?” Hotch wasn’t having any of Frank’s shit. We weren’t going to give up Jane until we knew for sure that Tracey was still alive and well. When Frank didn’t respond, Hotch asked again, to which he was met with Frank asking if we brought Jane. “Maybe we did. Tell us where Tracey Belle is and we’ll give you Jane.”

Frank tsked his tongue, “That’s not how this is going to work, Agent Hotchner. I see Jane first and I will tell you exactly where the girl is.”

Hotch sucked in a deep breath, his face still sour and flat. He waited another minute in silence before lifting his wrist comm to his mouth and telling Emily to bring Jane out. The platform was quiet again as everyone maintained their footing and aim at Frank. The clacks of Emily’s boots and Jane’s heels echoed in the station as they walked up to mine and Hotch’s side. Frank looked over and smiled at Jane, but she didn’t smile back. Hotch asked his question again as Frank stood up.

“Did you not think that I’d come looking for you?” Frank addressed Jane.

Jane hid slightly behind Emily. “You killed two innocent women, Frank, and you took that little girl. Why?”

“For you, my love. Without you, I am nothing. I had to do everything I could to get you back.”

“Tracey, Frank,” Emily said, irritated with how they were dancing around the information we needed.

“Not until we’re safely away.”

“Stop it, Frank. I’m not going with you,” Jane insisted, moving behind Emily a bit more.

“Jason, wait—” Hotch pleaded with Gideon as he came running onto the platform with his weapon raised at Frank.

Both of us tried to stand in his way, but he pushed past us and stepped closer to Frank. “Sarah was a doctor,” Gideon said behind gritted teeth. So that was his date’s name. “She ran a cancer treatment center. She dedicated her life to easing the pain of others. You took the lives of hundreds all because your mother was a whore.”

Frank’s grin immediately disappeared. “You don’t know anything about my mother.”

“Mary Louise Breitkopf. An immigrant from Germany, a single mother to a son named Frank, lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Tell me, did she do it all in the house or did she at least show you the courtesy of doing it elsewhere?”

“Shut up,” Frank hissed.

“You think that you’re special, don’t you, Frank? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not. You’re nothing.”

Frank glanced over Gideon’s shoulder to look at Jane again. “Jane, this world isn’t meant for us. We don’t fit in here. We should go Come with me and we can be together forever.” Jane stepped around Emily slowly and started walking forwards. No one tried to stop her,  but we were keeping a close eye to make sure that neither of them would try anything. “I love you, Jane.” He held out his hand for her.

She took his hand, “I love you, too.”

He pulled her close for a kiss, and both Emily and I stepped forward to intervene, but Hotch put an arm out to the side to stop us. The approaching train blared its horn to signal its arrival, so none of us could hear what was said between them after they parted from their kiss. The next thing we knew, Frank kissed Jane’s knuckles and they made a run for the train tracks. We all tried to run after them to grab them, but they were just too far ahead of us. Before we could stop them, both Frank and Jane jumped in front of the train.

I threw my palm to my forehead as my jaw fell and I let out a gasp. This was Frank’s endgame. He knew that we weren’t going to let him get away again, and he wanted to make sure that he was with Jane for forever, just like he said. He didn’t really care about her, though. As a psychopath, he was incapable of loving her the way she assumed he did. He just wanted one more victim to go down with him. She was supposed to be his first and only, but he couldn’t stop himself from killing, even in the end.

Gideon’s phone rang as he reholstered his weapon. I looked over at Hotch and he looked just as shocked as me. No one cared if Frank died, though it would have been nice if we could have arrested him; but Jane was just an innocent, naive, lost, and broken woman. She didn’t deserve what Frank put her through. That seemed to be Hotch’s biggest regret— not getting to help her more.

“Reid and JJ have Tracey,” Gideon told us, still on the phone. “She’s safe.”

“And Mary Breitkopf?” I asked.

Gideon shook his head, “Reid estimates that she’s been dead over twenty years.”

Frank started killing people around twenty years ago… The death of his mother— if he hadn’t killed her himself— was his stressor. He did all of this for her. But it was over now. Frank and Jane were gone, and they had left a trail of blood behind them; but Tracey was safe. That was a win. We failed Rebecca, but we didn’t fail that little girl or her parents.

It was over. Finally.

“Hey, Greenaway,” Morgan said as he approached my desk. “Wanna go for a drive?”

I shook my head while still collecting all of my things for the night. “Hotch and I are going to pick up Jack from his aunt’s house.”

Morgan kicked my ankle playfully to grab my attention, so I gave in and looked up at him with a glare. “I want to show you something. It’s important.”

“But Hotch—”

“I already talked to him. Trust me, it won’t take that long.”

I looked up at Hotch’s office to see that he had just finished packing up his briefcase for the night. Morgan stepped in front of my gaze and smiled at me. I rolled my eyes and gave into his offer with a silent nod. His smile widened as I got out of my seat and walked towards the glass doors of the BAU.

Morgan drove us about thirty minutes out of town to a suburban neighborhood that was in the middle of development. We pulled up to one of the houses that was practically just a skeleton with half of a roof. As Morgan put the car in park, I asked myself what the hell we were doing there. How did Morgan know about this place and what was so important to show me all the way out there?

I followed Morgan’s lead as he got out of the car and walked up to the house he had brought me to. There was no door, so we just stepped in between two beams. We ended up standing in the middle of what looked like would eventually be a living room. After a minute of me spinning around to try to figure out the significance of this place, I gave up and asked Morgan where we were and why we were there.

“You know how I own a bunch of different properties?” he asked me and I nodded. “Well, this is one of them.” That was great and all, but why were we there? “What happened to us, it doesn’t define us, but there are a lot of kids still out there who don’t know that— and a lot of them end up in the system. If there had been a place where I could have sought out help, I would have taken it, but I didn’t have anyone. We save all different kinds of kids all the time, and sometimes they end up in a system that can’t give them the help or resources they need, and I feel like I have the ability to help them, so I bought this place and I’m going to turn it into a foster home for kids who have been removed from abusive families.”

“Morgan, that’s…” I was absolutely speechless.

It was amazing. No one ever looked out for kids like us when we needed it the most. We always felt so alone and misunderstood— like somehow it was all our fault. Morgan knew that feeling better than anyone, and he took the initiative to find a place that could help kids. If I would’ve had something like that after… Well… Again, speechless. 

“Do you still have them?” he asked, referring to the pictures while pulling out something from his pocket. I nodded. He flipped open a lighter, “They don’t exist, right?” I smiled lightly as he ignited the flame. “Let’s make it official.”

I reached into my suit jacket and pulled the pictures out of the inside pocket. I kept them face down because I didn’t want either of us to look at them again. I wanted that night to be remembered for the kindness and friendship Derek Morgan showed me, not because it was the last time I ever stared at those nightmarish photos. Morgan took the photos carefully from my grip and I watched as he held one of the corners over the flame. The photos took a moment to catch on fire, but once they did, Morgan lit another corner just to make sure it would keep going and not fizzle out half way through.

When the flame got too close and hot to his fingers, Morgan dropped them on the dirt ground. We stood shoulder to shoulder in silence for a minute until I finally found the courage to say what had been on my mind all day since we found them in Rebecca’s room.

“I’m going to tell him,” I whispered as we watched the photos burn. “I’m just scared.”

“Y/N.” I looked up at him. “Hotch loves you more than anything. He’ll listen and he’ll get it. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I don’t want to lose him because he thinks differently of me.”

“I swear to you, if that happens, I’ll shoot him myself.”

I laughed, “Well, that’s a little hyperbolic.”

Morgan reached over with both of his arms and he enveloped me in a warm hug. “You’re going to be fine.”

I wrapped my arms around Morgan’s chest and hid my face in his shoulder, “Thank you, Morgan.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

The small fire died out as the photos were turned to nothing but ashes. It was like they never existed, which was exactly what I wanted. No one would ever see those photos again. They weren’t even a memory, if I were being honest. It happened, I moved on, yet they were exhumed for the purpose of hurting me again, and I just needed to get over it again. Time was the best way to heal before, and it would be again… as long as I had Hotch and Jack with me every step of the way. Knowing that I wasn’t alone anymore, that someone like Morgan got it, it helped tremendously; but Morgan was right, Hotch deserved to know why I was hurting because if anyone could help ease my suffering, it was the man I loved most. I didn’t have to be alone. I didn’t have to drown in my sorrows all over again like I did after high school. I had people who loved me and wanted to help me. All I needed to do was ask.

So I asked Morgan to drive me home as fast as he could before I could change my mind about it all. I watched the moon move in the opposite direction of us as he drove me back. The stars sparkled and the wind blew in my face as I stuck my head out the window and rested it on the windowsill. It was good to appreciate the smallest things like how nice the night was when our work consisted of so many terrible things. It was easy to lose faith in humanity and life if one got too caught up in the work and ignored the good that came out of it all. For instance, without the BAU, I would have never met Hotch and Jack. Without the BAU, I wouldn’t have found the closure I needed from that night in high school.. Without the BAU, I would have never met Morgan, Emily, Reid, Garcia, or JJ. The people I held most dear wouldn’t know me without the job we had. I had so much to be grateful for, and it all came from the opportunity I was given. I had to remember that every time a case took a toll on me or anyone else.

I thanked Morgan for showing me the foster home he was building and for driving me home afterwards. He insisted that it was no problem and if I ever needed a ride again, he’d be more than happy to lend a hand. I hit his arm playfully and told him that he had to get in line behind Hotch and his gun if he were ever going to get a chance with me. Morgan laughed and threw his hands up in surrender before I thanked him again and got out of his car. I watched as he drove off into the night to head back to his own home. 

When the street was quiet, I headed into the house. The lights were off in the living room, kitchen, and dining room, but the hallway light up the stairs was on, meaning that both Hotch and Jack were upstairs. I circled back to the front door to set the alarm before heading upstairs. I dropped my bag off in the hallway just outside of Jack’s room and quietly knocked to see if he would respond. When there was no answer, I carefully opened the door to see if he was asleep or had headphones on while playing a game on his tablet. My heart melted as I saw Jack curled up under the blankets on his bed. He looked like he had been asleep for hours despite it still being fairly early in the night.

I snuck over and discreetly sat on his bed so as to not disturb him. I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, “Goodnight, little man.” I sat back up straight.

“He crashed as soon as we got home,” Hotch whispered from the doorway. “I think he had a longer day than we did.” I smirked while brushing Jack’s hair out of his face gently. “Are you okay?” he asked me. I shrugged and he tiptoed closer to me before taking a seat on the bed, too. “What’s wrong?” he snaked his arms around my waist and kissed my temple.

“I can’t get the sound of Tracey Belle’s mom crying out of my head. They were so worried about their daughter… I thought that Mrs. Belle was going to have a heart attack then and there on that sidewalk.” I sucked in a quiet but deep breath. “And all I could think about was how I’d die if anything happened to you or Jack. He doesn’t deserve the cruel touch this world can have.” I reached up to my face and wiped a tear that managed to escape before I could blink it away.

There was so much out there that Jack wasn’t prepared for, and he never would be. Hotch and I knew of every evil imaginable, it came with the territory of the job, but I never wanted Jack to have to face any of it. Worst of all, I didn’t want him to end up in a lonely situation like Tracey Belle went through… or the unthinkable, what I endured.

Hotch kissed my cheek, “We’re going to be okay.” He hummed against my ear as he rocked me back and forth slightly. “I promise that nothing will ever happen to us. I swear.”

I stood from Jack’s bed, took Hotch’s hand in mine, and began to lead him towards our bedroom. He followed without arguments or playfulness like he normally would. In our bedroom, Hotch sat down on the bed while I closed the door. For a moment, I continued to face the door, my back to Hotch, my mind racing with thoughts of how I was going to approach this.

When it came to Morgan, everyone found out before he could even say anything the way he wanted to, but now I had to come up with the right words to make sense of everything for Hotch. The worst part, though, was the anxiety of not knowing how he was going to react. There weren’t many people out there who could learn about something like what I went through and then go on like nothing happened. I didn’t want things to change. I liked how Hotch and I were. I liked how he loved me when he was trying to be romantic, how he got rough when he wanted to be dominant, how he knew exactly what I wanted without even having to ask. It was our thing, and it made me happy. But people had a tendency to treat survivors like they were fragile, and I wasn’t fragile. I was more than just what happened to me. I didn’t want Hotch to be scared to do things anymore because he knew about my past. I didn’t want him to stop loving me because he might think differently of me. But Morgan had a point… Hotch would eventually find out one way or another, so it was best if I just told him.

“Baby,” he whispered from the bed.

He never called me that. It wasn’t like we didn’t want to or anything, but we just… hadn’t… so when it took me by surprise, I felt my heart and stomach do simultaneous somersaults. I didn’t want to lose him. It was my worst nightmare to have the only man I had ever loved to look at me like he was mad or disappointed. I didn’t want that. But he seemed so worried about me, obviously, or else he wouldn’t have slipped up on the name. Or maybe it wasn’t a slip up at all and he just felt like it made sense to finally say it.

“What is it?” he asked me. I turned to face him. “Is this about me jumping in the dumpster? I said I’m sorry.”

I smirked and shook off a laugh. He wanted to cheer me up and brighten the mood, and it was working, but my nerves prevented me from acting normal, which only concerned him even more. So, while fidgeting with my fingers, I sat next to him on the edge of the bed while maintaining a safe distance from him. There was no doubt in my mind that Hotch was definitely profiling my behavior. I was quiet, distant, my eyes were looking anywhere but at him, and I was shaking like a chihuahua in the snow. Something was obviously wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what other than the fact that what happened with Tracey Belle made me worry about Jack— but there was no reason for me to still be this worried about it when he had just calmed me down. So it was something else, he knew that much, and he was going to give me the time and space to say it however I saw fit.

“Do you remember how Randall Garner stole the jewelry box Elle gave me?” I asked quietly, still staring at the floor. I spotted Hotch nodding out the corner of my eye. “You remember I told you that there were supposed to be pictures inside—”

“I know, Y/N,” he interrupted before I could say more. I finally looked up at him with confusion plastered to my face. “Garcia found out about them, and you know how she is, she’s ridiculously protective of us all, and so she wanted to find the guy who blackmailed you, I guess. She didn’t find what the photos were, but… we connected the dots when we saw that he had at least ten other girls come forward against him, claiming that he did the same thing to all of them when he left for college.”

My eyes fell shut and I cringed. At least ten other girls. It should have ended with me, right, but that wasn’t how sociopaths like him worked. One victim just wasn’t enough to quench his thirst. Frank was the same way.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he took my hands.

“It was so long ago—”

“You don’t have to invalidate how you really feel about it.”

“I’m not.”

Hotch tilted his head to the side and gave me a look that said: “Seriously?” I shrugged. “Look at me,” he said before he gently grabbed my chin and made me stare at him. “What he did to you shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry that it did. But you didn’t have to be afraid to tell me and you don’t have to be scared to admit how you still feel about it. I need you to believe me when I tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

He was right. I knew it. Both Morgan and Hotch had told me practically the same things, and yet it was still hard to believe them. At least this hasn’t gone as poorly as expected. I would definitely need to talk to Garcia about keeping her fast, little, hacker fingers off my past, but I was honestly glad that I didn’t have to say it. While I should have been mad at them for snooping around in business that didn’t concern them and should have been my right to tell them, it was a relief that I didn’t have to relive any of the memories by telling Hotch everything. It could just go unsaid and the healing process could begin with him by my side.  

I escaped from his touch before letting my face fall into the crook of his neck. “Please don’t treat me any differently,” I begged quietly.

“I’m not going to,” he answered quickly while petting my hair.

I grabbed onto his shirt and twisted the fabric in my hands. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

[jaynovz]

The Black Sails Rewatch w/ Bob Commentary (s1 e7-8)

We finished s1 on New Year's Eve. Brace for Opinions and Salt :P

---

Ep 7:

Pastor is practicing sermon: "who is he talking to? the children of the corn?"

Flint and company in Eleanor's office: "Umm did they just teleport back?"

"Leaving in the middle of your meetings isn't very professional Eleanor"

Flint: Everyone is lied to for their own good

"You need consent dude"

about Eleanor and Mr. Scott: "Well you did just tell him you could handle yourself but now you're bent out of shape that he's leaving?"

Randall farts: "That doesn't mean anything. I bet John Silver farts 36 times a day. Randall could be a genius"

"This episode isn't very good is it? They're just like... marking time until the finale. Like, it's an 18 minute episode that for some reason is taking 50."

"That's sort of the advantage of procedural styles of tv. If you need to mark time and maybe wrap up a few loose ends, you can just have a case/mission/monster of the week"

“You guys don’t have electricity, why do you have all these conversations at night?”

about Ranger and Walrus: "those ships are too close together. I know you're a consort but you don't need to be within spitting distance, damn"

about Vane: "Rise my dirt child rise"

"They should have buried him face down"

and then:

"He's got a floppy sandy dick, I bet he got sand in his urethra. Captain Long Dong"

"Did anything happen that episode? It was just talking in rooms. Okay, Vane killed that beef guy, but it was in the last 30 seconds"

"What else happened? They dealt nominally with Billy being dead, like the bare minimum. Like 'Okay, so, promise to never whip your dick out on Zoom again' and no real punishment"

“Billy’s going to come back as that snapping turtle from Treasure Planet”

"I feel like they really should have voted Flint off by now. They don't really need him to get the gold do they? With him the crew is just bargaining for bigger cages and longer leashes"

Ep 8:

in the brothel: "Who lights all these candles, you’re gonna burn the place down"

about Randall's peg leg: "hey Silver, maybe the middle of a storm isn't the best time to have this conversation?"

Flint: Either tomorrow we'll be able to afford a lot more or

Gates: We'll be too dead to care

"Yeah, my ass this all resolves tomorrow"

"I really dislike people standing up in rowboats"

"I wish they had spent the last episode where they weren't doing anything instead showing all the preparations that were done to both ships to get them ready for this raid. Like before an anime fight scene, you show the characters training so that you know the stakes"

"I want an upgrade montage with the new 12 pounders. We spent so much time getting those guns and I DIDN’T GET TO SEE THEM"

Urca isn't there: "oh no, did they not find One Piece at the Grand Line -surprised Pikachu-"

Hornigold: In a moment when stability is at hand and the world is at your feet, your first instinct is to go out in search of someone new to fight

"That guy said exactly what I was thinking"

"wait wait, did Flint just say he wanted the Ranger to fire OVER THEIR BOW? Those guns do not have the kind of accuracy. This is a terrible plan"

Gates dies: "F in the chat. Just kiss his head a little bit"

and then

"Mr. Gates could still turn into a giant millipede in the next life"

"Turns out, Vane is a masochist"

"I don't envy anyone who tries to 'make an example' of Anne Bonny"

"Wait, so Vane's threat is that he's going to tell ppl that Jack betrayed his pirate pals... and then what? They get to just continue running this small business, being warm and not getting shot at and, as stated, making tons of money? This seems like a win"

Dufresne is accusing Flint: "Do we really have to do this right now!?"

“The one time you’re not supposed to challenge the Captain is in a battle situation and... that’s when all the challenges happen”

"lookit that, the warship has butt guns, looks like a fart. Poot poot"

"The ending of this season was exceptionally anti-climactic :( They spent so much time trying to convince ppl to do this really dangerous thing and it turned out to be a nothing burger"

--

I also thought the end of s1 was uh.... weird and anti-climactic. Here's hoping Bob enjoys s2 better! (which might be my favorite season).

[desperationandgin]

Where the Love Light Gleams

Rating: Mature

Also Read on: AO3

Summary: After an accident that changes Claire Randall's life, she comes face to face with the man who saved her.

Author’s Note: Welcome to the first fic for the inaugural Winter of Want! Thank you so much to @smashingteacups​ and @missclairebelle​ for being my partners in crime! Also, thank you to them as well as @happytoobserve​ for being betas! And thank you so much to @fierceweebadger​ for the beautiful moodboard she made! I'm so grateful to all of my people ❤ 

On with the story!

The Cellist

The first time he’d ever seen Claire Randall she was a broken woman, close to being consumed by flames, blood matting dark curls to her forehead and neck. She’d been hanging upside down by her seatbelt, and he’d worked to get her out while the rest of his crew battled the fire and pulled the driver from the wreckage.

A husband and wife who’d been heading home, according to the upside-down (but still functioning) GPS. Witnesses explained the husband swerved to miss a deer, sideswiped an oncoming truck, and flipped the car down an embankment. Sparks set the dry grass on fire, and by the time help had arrived, strangers were attempting to use any spare water they could to stop the blaze’s progress.

Jamie’d known the husband died instantly, but when he asked the lass what her name was during a moment of consciousness, she’d looked right at him and he had no doubt she would live. The sheer will in those amber eyes was too intense to go out, too stubborn. It had only been a second, but in that brief moment of awareness, she’d said her name as calmly as if they were on a still sea.

Claire.

She’d lost consciousness again after that, and Jamie had relinquished her to the medics. After his shift, he’d checked with the hospital, discovered she would live, and gone home. He’d thought about visiting her, but he was a stranger and her husband was dead. It didn’t seem like the time to introduce himself, though a part of him, perhaps, hoped that she would reach out to him, want to meet the person who saved her. The call never came, and he prayed the young widow was able to move on with her life, find some sort of happiness again. His dreams reminded him of her periodically, but over the next five years, all that he could remember were those eyes.

Until he walks into the Firefighter’s Charity Ball and there she is, on a stage flanked by seven others. Amid various Christmas decor, the woman he’d last seen bloody and fragile, plays the cello, the symphonic strains of O Come, All Ye Faithful filling the room thanks to the small octet. He stares, unable to look away, lips parting to see her so vibrant. So alive. She looks bonny, better than, with her curls floating like a cloud around her head. She’s in a simple black dress with the barest hint of her calves showing as she plays, and he’s sure he’s never wanted to know another woman this badly in his life.

Taking a sip of whisky as he admires the way she plays, the song fades, and she begins to put aside her bow. Before Jamie can look away, her eyes land directly on him.

She has no idea who he is.

He can see it in the way her gaze drifts immediately, looking out at the crowd before refocusing on her sheet music.

She has no idea that the man who saved her life is standing right in front of her.

It’s an hour before the musicians take a break, and Jamie finds her immediately, trying to decide how to approach her. He can’t very well ask her to recall something so horrible, so he introduces himself as a stranger, eggnog in hand to offer.

“Ye play verra beautifully, if ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he praises, holding out the glass. He’s formally dressed in his uniform and doesn’t miss the way her eyes land first at his chest, then make their way up slowly, taking her time.

At least he knows she’s interested.

“Thank you,” she replies with a soft smile and dip of her head. “I’ve always loved playing this time of year.”

“Does yer wee group make the rounds often around the holidays?” Jamie asks as he takes a sip of his drink, casually slipping a hand into his pocket, trying very hard not to think about wanting her.

Claire lets out a breath of air through her nose, a laugh, and smiles around the rim of her glass, shaking her head. “My wee group and I are part of the Scottish Symphony Orchestra. I’m first chair.” It’s an illumination dropped as casually as if she’d said she majored in English.

His eyes widen, adding her occupation and position with the orchestra to the list of things he knows to be true of her. (The others being her sheer will to survive and her determined gaze.) “That’s quite the achievement; I didna realize ye could ask for parts of the whole at an event.”

“Well, you can when you’re married to the conductor,” she informs him. “The event planner for tonight just happens to be, and this is a good cause, so I’m sure strings were pulled. No pun intended.” Claire meets his gaze with a softened one of her own. “Thank you. For risking your life to save others.”

He thinks she might tell him her story, a perfect segue for him to introduce himself, but instead, she simply tells him her name.

“I’m Claire Randall. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, and his first thought is that she never remarried, though he mentally admonishes himself immediately.

“Jamie Fraser. And ye dinnae need to thank me, though I appreciate it. Do ye get to enjoy yourself this evening, or is it all business?”

“Oh, I’m strictly the help,” she replies with a dazzling smile that makes his knees weak and his heart pound.

Christ, he feels like an eejit trying to come up with a way to keep her talking, to not go anywhere and leave him without her warmth. “If that’s the case then, how would ye feel about taking down my number?” Something, anything to keep a connection between them.

Watching his face, Claire finishes off her eggnog before checking the time and setting her glass down. “I feel you should wait until after the event is over and walk me home. I’m only a few blocks up. Then we’ll see if your number’s earned a place in my phone.”

The way she smiles at him before turning to go back toward the stage makes him feel as though he might be the only person she’s ever smiled at in exactly that way.

Jamie’s plan, initially, had been to leave after dessert, two hours well-spent mingling. Now, as the third-hour rolls by and people begin saying goodbyes, he watches the mini-orchestra perform one last medley of songs. It’s a good opportunity to study how focused Claire is when she plays her instrument, how her fingers seem to float, moved by something supernatural. He notices now that her arms are solid and toned, idly wondering how many years she’s been playing. He longs to hear her alone, the spotlight only on her.

As the playing concludes, Claire’s eyes move from the sheet music to Jamie, the intensity of their stare causing the air to seemingly crackle around them. Neither of them moves, and so she’s watching as he frowns and looks down, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He isn’t the only one — five others seem to stop what they’re doing and check for something.

It’s immediately clear that he has to leave.

Knowing the party is over anyway, Jamie makes his way to the stage, meeting her halfway down.

“You have to go?”

“Aye,” he breathes out, watching as she reaches into the folds of her dress and pulls out a business card. Taking it from her, Jamie wastes no time, grabbing the pen from his breast pocket, writing his number, and returning the card. “Let this be on your terms, Sassenach,” he assures her, then lightly snags her hand, kissing the top of her knuckles softly.

He’s gone before she can ask him what the hell a Sassenach is.

The next night, armed with wine and her laptop, Claire sits (in the company of her ‘she adopted me’ black cat, Sesh, and a Joni Mitchell playlist) and Googles one Jamie Fraser of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Service. Clicking over to an image search, she takes a sip of wine and hums at the first photo on the page. It’s him, most assuredly, running in a marathon, sweaty, biceps proudly showing, and somehow looking directly into the camera.

“I sincerely hope there was an emergency last night, Sesh,” Claire mutters, feeling a pang of shame for the thought, but not for long; soon enough it’s replaced by sheer want, before even that’s replaced by a guilt different from the first. She’s been reassured, not by one friend or even two ganging together, but four, that she deserves to be happy again or, at the very least, deserves a good roll in the hay with someone.

Those had been Gillian’s words, agreed-upon emphatically by both John — and in the ultimate betrayal — Joe plus his wife. She knew five years was more than enough time, but since the accident, there’d been no reason to seek out something that would only leave her feeling emptier than she had before. No one captivated her attention, no one made her want to get to know them better. She’s been happy to not risk her heart again and live in a quiet bubble alone.

Until last night.

She’d glimpsed him after finishing the first song of the evening, her eyes attracted to that shock of red curls in the audience. When he’d approached her, she found herself unable to keep the flirting from rolling right off of her tongue. He’d undone her somehow in the span of perhaps twenty minutes, all told. She remembers his hasty exit, which reminds her to open a new tab and begin typing into the search bar.

Sass-

“Oh, bloody hell. What was it?” she mutters, trying to recall it, to sound it out phonetically.

Sass-in-ach

Claire goes with it, appreciates the Showing Results For Sassenach correction, and reads aloud, mumbling the words. “‘An English person.’ That’s not very creative, is it?” Though she has to admit, it sounded nice coming from him. It’s different, and she wonders if he calls every English person he meets the same thing.

Going back to her original search, she clicks out of the images, skimming the links until one catches her eye. The date, in particular.

January 24th, 2014.

The day of the accident.

Putting her wine down and sitting up straight, Claire hesitates a fraction of a second before pulling up the story. She’s immediately greeted by an image of her own crumpled and overturned vehicle, and for a moment, she can do nothing but stare at it, trying to remember herself inside. John had taken her to see it two weeks after the funeral, helped her get the things out of the boot (her cello, protected in its case, a suitcase and carry on from her recent trip to the States), and she hasn’t seen it since. When she’s finally able to scroll past the image, she reads about details she can’t remember, and then there’s Jamie, being praised as a hero.

“‘I only knew I had to get the lass out of the vehicle, so I paid no mind to the flames. I had to trust that my colleagues had control of the situation while I managed to cut the passenger free,’ explained Jamie Fraser, one of the first responders on the scene. Thanks to his quick action, the female passenger is said to be making a full recovery. His efforts will be celebrated by Chief Fire Officer Blunden—”

She doesn’t bother to read any further. Every thought she has seems to fall on top of the next until one finally becomes clear: Jamie Fraser saved her life.

“Oh, my God.”

Sesh seems unbothered, slow-blinking up at her as the pieces come together. He’d seen her, sought her out. Did he remember her? Know who she was at the event? It’s only after she’s dialed the number he wrote on her card that she realizes it’s very nearly one in the morning. “Fuck.” She’s moving her thumb to disconnect just as she hears a muffled grunt. Freezing in surprise, the phone goes back to her ear as she speaks quietly.

“Hello?”

“Was that a suggestion, Sassenach?”

His voice is low and thick with sleep, but somehow his humor’s still quick, and she coughs, wetting her lips. “No, no, only that I didn’t mean to call you so late. I lost track of—”

Christ, cut to the chase, Beauchamp.

“Do you remember saving my life?”

The silence on the other end hangs for what feels like hours, but she hears the faint sound of what she assumes is Jamie sitting up in bed, readjusting the grip he has on his phone.

“Aye, I do. Do you remember it, Claire?”

Closing her eyes, she tries, but her memory stops just after Frank picked her up from the airport. “No. You pulled me out of the car?”

“I cut ye free and then got ye clear of the accident.” He pauses, sitting in the dark of his flat, worried about her. “Ye dinnae need to think about it, Claire,” he tells her gently.

“You saved my life, Jamie, that’s what I’m thinking of. They asked me when I was in recovery if I wanted to meet you, but I couldn’t — I’d just lost my husband, I wasn’t thinking about meeting anyone.”

When Jamie speaks again, his voice is soft and even, meant to soothe. “There’s no reason ye need to explain anything. It was five years ago, Sassenach, and yer life was changed forever. I’m no’ going to hold anything against ye.”

For four heartbeats, quiet lingers between them before Claire speaks again. “I realize tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you’ve probably got plans of some sort, but I would like to see you if I can.”

If there’d been a hint of grogginess left in him, he’s fully awake now, squinting in the dark. “Ye dinnae have yer own plans?”

“Well, my husband died.”

Grunting in surprise at her response, Jamie rubs a hand over the top of his head, thinking. “I dinnae have anywhere to be until noon on Christmas Day, so my Eve is all yours, Sassenach, if ye want it.”

Christ, she doesn’t know if he meant to sound alluring or not, so she stays neutral. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Do ye ken where Victoria Park is?”

She’s nodding before she remembers she needs to respond aloud. “The park with the bowling greens?”

“Aye, and the walking paths. There are benches, good for sitting and talking for a while if ye’d like.” He meant it when he told her before that anything between them should be on her terms, and that was before she connected the dots. He doesn’t know what it is to lose a spouse, but he imagines the prospect of speaking about it is daunting.

In the silence that waits for her response, Claire looks down at the gold ring on her finger, thumb lightly stroking the cool metal. She tries to imagine it, her heart being wide open again and susceptible to breaking. Closing her eyes, she remembers that Jamie smelled vaguely of citrus and sage and the specific blue of his eyes was like an afternoon sky on a cloudless day. Comforting and warm.

It’s an easy decision when the memory of his gaze on her causes a flush.

“I would like that, Jamie.”

_______________________________________________________________________

They decide to meet at ten in the morning when the park is between hosting late A.M. joggers and parents with toddlers. She wanders toward the spot they’re meeting, under a grove of trees home to a row of benches. Slowing her pace as she approaches, Claire gives herself a few steps to admire him, the cut of his hips and the way his muscles move even under his coat.

Christ, he’s made an impression.

And then she remembers that this is the man who saved her life, features softening when he looks up and spots her.

“Ye made it. I was worried the directions were too vague,” he admits, standing to greet her.

“In the summer there’s a beautiful patch of wild yellow flowers just across the sidewalk. It’s gorgeous, I used to come often when I first moved here.”

They walk back to the bench together and sit, though neither one of them knows exactly how to begin the conversation. Eventually, it’s Claire who breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry. For not trying to find you after the accident.”

Jamie’s shaking his head before she’s done speaking. “Ye dinnae have to apologize for it, as I told ye last night.” He stops short of saying he was doing his job, but it was more than that. He knew it the moment she looked at him. “I did check in on ye, just to be sure ye’d be alright. But I kent there was no’ much I could do or say to make anything better for ye.” And he hadn’t wanted to drop in unannounced only to make things worse for her in some way.

Studying her hands, she drags her thumb along the lifeline, closing her eyes. She remembers getting into the car at the airport. Begging Frank to turn off talk radio so they could have a conversation. She remembers him laughing at something she said, and then, nothing. “I woke up in the hospital and couldn’t remember what happened. They told me there’d been an accident, and I think I knew my husband was dead before they said it.”

He moves his hand to cover one of hers without thinking, so when she squeezes his fingers he holds on tightly, aware now of the weight of her palm and the delicate skin of her wrist under his thumb.

“I didn’t touch my cello for a year afterward. I’d somehow convinced myself it was my fault, that if I hadn’t traveled to play, he wouldn’t have picked me up from the airport, there wouldn’t have been an accident.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I don’t believe that now, but it felt better to blame myself for a little while.”

She’s kept her grip on him, squeezing again as she takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

“When I finally got to ye,” he begins quietly, looking down at their hands, “ye were unconscious. I went to cut off the seatbelt and yer eyes opened, ye looked directly at me. I asked your name, and ye said it, so…” Jamie trails off, unable to find the right words for it. “As though ye’d been waiting for me to ask. Then ye were out again and that was the last I saw of ye.”

Her eyes fall to their hands as well, and she turns hers over so that their fingertips are touching.

“But I kent ye would live. I could see it in yer eyes, that ye’re a lass wi’ spirit,” he tells her with a soft smile. “And I ken ye know it now, but it wasna yer fault, Claire.”

She does know, but hearing it feels like balm on an aching wound. “Thank you for saving my life, Jamie.” Lifting her gaze, she studies his face and admires the sharp angle of his jaw, the tawny scruff there.

There’s something between them, he can feel it as if a living, pulsing thing. He’s aware of each breath she takes, the rise and fall of her chest; he feels it as surely as his own body moving, both of them separate pieces of a complete being.

“I’m glad that it was me, Sassenach. I cannae explain it, but—”

“But it was supposed to be you,” Claire finishes. Jamie was meant to save her, no one else could have.

Raising her hand to his lips, Jamie frowns lightly upon pulling back. “Your hands are like ice, Sassenach. Let me buy ye something warm,” he offers. “There’s a wee cafe nearby.”

In truth, if it were a way to spend more time with him, it didn’t matter what they did or where they went.

Claire smiles, charmed the moment he said wee.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was inevitable, really, that they fall into bed with one another. Under the pretense of dinner (which they did eat; an easy meal of pasta in lemon sauce and good crusty bread for soaking up the remnants), she’d agreed to go back to his flat. They’d both known it wasn’t going to be about the food for long.

She sleeps now with her head resting on his outstretched arm, facing him. His hand has been numb for hours, but he wouldn’t dream of moving her, not now. Not when he has the pleasure of seeing up close the light dusting of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. He can see the way her eyelashes curl upward slightly, and he revels in the feel of her breath falling against his skin. Reaching out, Jamie’s fingers lightly brush a stray curl from her cheek, his touch as gentle as possible so as not to wake her. Her skin is so delicate, like fine porcelain, and he slowly drags the tips of his fingers down her side. There’s a scar that begins on her hip, and he follows the feel of it down as far as he can reach. From the accident, she’d said, just before he’d leaned down to kiss the mark right in the center.

When Claire shifts, Jamie freezes, hand hovering as she finally moves off of his arm and tucks herself onto her side, with her back to him now. When she seems settled, he slowly moves onto his side behind her, curving his body into the hollow of hers. Tucking his legs behind her knees, he rests his hand on her hip, the other arm stretched protectively over her. Taking a chance, he ducks his head and kisses the beauty mark on her shoulder, his touch as light as he can make it. Then he finds he can’t stop himself from continuing his tender assault across her skin. She moves again, and his hand rests against her stomach, lightly holding on as he goes still.

“I’m not likely to go anywhere,” she whispers in the dark, hint of a smile in her voice.

Discovered, Jamie presses firmer kisses to her skin, giving up any pretense of being careful. “Good. I didna plan to let ye up from this bed soon,” he warns.

Smiling, Claire rolls herself under him, both of them shifting until he’s comfortably above her. Glancing toward the window, she raises an eyebrow, only able to see him in the dark because of a faintly glowing streetlamp. “From the looks of it, we still have plenty of sleeping to do.”

“Aye. Plenty of late night left. Which means plenty of time to sleep. In a bit.” He has no plans of letting her get back to it right away as his head ducks and lips press to the middle of her chest.

“You don’t seem very tired.” Already, she’s flushing, trying to anticipate where his mouth might go next.

“I’ve found my second wind, though I have a verra distinct feeling that it won’t be hard to want ye all the time.” He drops a kiss to the curve of her breast, marveling in the way her flesh softly yields.

“Does that mean you’d like to see me again?” she queries, voice soft, not wanting to assume.

Immediately, Jamie raises his head, eyes meeting hers so that she can see the truth of his words.

“I’d like to see ye every day for the rest of my life, Sassenach. If it suits ye.”

She’s so shocked by his words that she laughs; not at him but at the idea that she can laugh again, in the company of a man who wants her. “I’m sure we could work out some sort of arrangement, though I realize this time you have right now is a luxury.”

“It is,” he murmurs, resuming the self-imposed task of kissing her skin, dipping low to begin a slow descent. “But the consecutive days off are verra worth it, ye ken? If I have you to look forward to, I reckon I could get through anything.”

She sighs in contentment as her legs part to make a home for him. “You look forward to me?” She smiles softly, just as her breath catches at a well-placed kiss to her pelvis.

“Only someone wi’ out all five senses wouldna look forward to ye, mo nigheann donn.”

Claire stops him with a soft tug of his curls, and when he raises his head she arches an eyebrow, curiosity in her eyes.

“‘My brown-haired lass,’” he answers, knowing her question and bringing one of her legs over his shoulder, parting her with his fingers.

“I very much enjoy it when you speak to me in Gaelic,” she manages, getting it out while she can, knowing she won’t have the capability of thought soon.

Once more, Jamie raises his head, giving her a cheeky grin. “Laigh air ais fhad 's a tha mi agad.” (Lie back while I have ye.)

She has no idea what he said, but the timbre of his voice, the way his eyes darken — she knows it was filthy, but her amusement gives way to a soft gasp once his mouth finds the slick, heated center of her. A hand immediately moves to the top of his head, lips pressing together as she holds her breath for half a heartbeat and then cries out, back arching. Unable to help herself, she presses her thighs to the sides of his head, only easing up when one of his hands grips her hip tightly. His other rests on her belly, holding her down, keeping her grounded.

His head attempts to move with her body, following each spasm of her hips. He tastes her first climax; she coats his tongue and chin but he doesn’t stop, and when she comes again it’s around two curved fingers, the feel of her going straight to his cock. There’s a third, smaller shockwave, given while tucked against his chest, his hand between them.

Panting against his neck, Claire takes her time coming back to herself, basking in the feel of stretching when thoroughly satisfied. “You are very, very good at that,” she finally manages, very nearly purring in relaxation.

“Weel, I do aim to please, but admittedly, it’s no’ hard to want to make ye writhe like that all the time. Christ, the sounds ye make, and the way yer entire body grips me just so.” He’s hard and wanting, aching just a bit at the minutes-old memory. “Ye have no idea the gift ye are.”

His words strike her, and she pulls back, gaze soft as she reaches out, fingertips lightly pressing to his cheek.

“I’m only here because of you.”

Jamie wants to refute it, to insist that she did all the fighting to stay alive. But the truth of it is, she had needed him. She couldn’t have gotten out of that vehicle herself.

“Still. Ye lived, and I ken it was no’ easy for ye.” Lightly, he reaches out to drag his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “Ye needn’t ever worry that ye cannae still grieve him. If this was too soon, too much—”

Claire stops him with the tip of a finger pressed to his lips. For a moment’s pause, she simply looks at him, holds his gaze and makes it clear that she would like to speak. When his lips press softly to her finger, her hand drops and she pushes him lightly onto his back, straddling his hips. That’s all she does, reaching for his hands and holding onto both of them, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t recall saying anything was too much or too soon. What I can tell you is that for five years, I haven’t let myself feel a thing. Loneliness is a choice, or so they say. And I chose it because it’s a hell of a lot better than losing so much all the time.” She looks down, the hint of more loss than she’s willing to share playing across her features. “I thought it would stay like that, always.”

She’d convinced herself she was fine with it, that the less she risked, the fewer heartbreaks she would need to endure.

“That plan was working out very well for me until I met you,” she informs him, eyes creasing in the corners as she smiles before speaking seriously again. “I thought I’d lost the ability to feel anything close to this, after a while.” Want and lust and need for another person; all of those things had felt like lost causes.

“What is it about you, Jamie?” As she asks, her hips begin a slow rock against his. “How did you find me?”

He’s captivated by her words and movement, groaning at the feel of her gliding easily along the length of him. “I didna find ye at all,” he manages, raising his head a bit to watch himself disappear into her, finally, inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. Neither of them moves, her eyes closed while his are focused firmly on her face while he fights the urge to move right away.

“Ye came into my life, Claire, and ye never truly left.” A part of him has held onto her, even if it was only a single feature that haunted his dreams. Her soul imprinted on his, and he knows now that he’s complete with her, that it never could have been another way for him.

When she opens her eyes, they’re blown wide with pleasure, pupils dark and lids heavy. He’s staring right at her, and one of her hands reaches for his, bringing it over her chest. She rides him, slowly at first, while her heart pounds against his palm. The pulsing tempo increases beneath his touch as leisurely pleasure begins to turn into something more focused, more urgent. She leans forward, letting go of him only to brace her hands on his chest. He’s holding back, she can feel it, his belly tense beneath her.

When she speaks his name, it’s on a panting breath, and when his eyes open, he knows what she wants, can see it. Reaching out, his hands rest on her hips, and he looks at her one more time to be sure. When she nods, he shores up his grip and then slams into her once, hard, losing his breath at the cry of sheer pleasure it tears from her. He does it again, then again, pistoning his hips upward forcefully, quickly, driving noises from her so beautiful he’s not sure he’ll ever hear anything that could compare. He’s causing her to make those sounds, and he’ll be a damned man if he doesn’t strive to hear her as often as possible.

Jamie slows and Claire takes over, straightening her spine and beginning a pace that means she’s close; she has to be, because there’s no way in Christ’s name he’ll ever make it if not. His hands move up her body and cup around her breasts, squeezing enough to make her tighten around him involuntarily. His groan mingles with her cry of pleasure, and he wills his eyes open, needing to see her. When he does, he’s sure there’s not a better sight in all the world.

Her head is back, exposing the length of her neck, skin begging to know the imprint of his lips over and over again. Her hair sways back and forth, mussed curls seeming to tumble in all directions, and when her head falls forward, Jamie can see that she’s chasing her pleasure, forehead knit right in the center. She’s there, she’s close, and he sneaks one hand between them to touch, rolling that small bud of nerves beneath his thumb.

That’s all it takes for her to shatter, body pitching forward and nearly curling around his. Her breasts sway right before him and he doesn’t fight the urge to lean in, burying his face there. As her body tightens around his, pulling him in, his name becomes a choked cry, unable to get it out without whimpering in the middle.

She drops her hips one more time and Jamie tenses, arms wrapping around her frame. Her name is nothing more than a strangled sob as he spills into her, teeth lightly scraping her shoulder. He can feel her shaking against him but can do nothing about it; he’s not entirely sure if he’s able to move his arms and legs.

Eventually, there’s enough of a chill on cooling skin that Jamie reaches for the blankets, covering them up again. The silence between them is comfortable, and she stays right on top of him, unmoving as he begins to doze.

“You know, I’ve realized something,” she whispers, voice sleepy sounding and far away.

He hums, low in the back of his throat. “What’s that, Sassenach?”

As his fingers drag up and down her spine, she turns her head to press a soft kiss to his chest. “It’s clearly after midnight. Which means it’s technically Christmas Day.”

Opening his eyes, Jamie finds himself looking right at her, and his smile is easy, eyes alight with it.

“Well then, a nighean.” He leans in close, whispering the words across her lips, thankful for her, an unexpected gift. “Happy Christmas to ye.” He nuzzles her cheek, reaching down to playfully pinch her arse.

Her laughter fills the room, eventually carrying them to sleep.

[anna-justice]

Lost or Found - 6

Summary: As Jay, Hailey, Kim, Adam and Kevin start their junior year in the wake of a tragic summer, the past year of their lives comes back to haunt them. If you enjoyed Pretty Little Liars, this is for you! *UPSTEAD/BURZEK High School AU

...

6 - Born to Die

...

“You can’t be serious Hailey.” Jay said as they pulled out of the school parking lot. Hailey had booked it to the truck after her sudden realization and was still very shaken up.

She turned to face him. “I am! Jay, I’ve heard that voice in my nightmares. It has to be him. He’s connected to all of this somehow.” Hailey sat back in her seat and pressed her hand lightly to her neck, remembering the night she was attacked.

“I’ve known Severide for years, his dad’s a firefighter. He’s a great guy. There is no way he is wrapped up in all this.” Jay couldn’t wrap his head around any of it.

“I know what I heard, he attacked me that night.” Hailey said confidently. 

Jay sighed, “This isn’t the first thing you’ve been sure of this week.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The whole Nadia thing,” Jay explained, “You were so sure that it was her, we saw her today when the texts were sent. It couldn’t be. You’re grasping for anything to explain this Hailey.”

Hailey was sure there was steam coming out of her ears. “That’s not fair.” Jay kept quiet this time. “Last time I checked, you asked for my help and we are trying to solve your girlfriend's case. Don’t get mad at me because I’m looking at facts.” 

Jay wasn’t sure what to say. She was right, she didn’t have any sort of emotional connection to anyone. She was purely objective. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just, Erin and Kelly were really good friends. I couldn’t imagine him hurting her.”

“I didn’t say he hurt her, I’m saying that he hurt me.” Hailey’s words struck hard. It almost felt like a switch flipped inside of him. He hurt Hailey. Jay hadn’t realized how attached to her he had gotten, she had been his rock the past few weeks. And something else felt new as well: the phrase “girlfriend” didn’t sit well with him anymore. She had been gone almost four months now, she hadn’t really been his girlfriend in a long time. It wasn’t like he was happy either, he was thinking about ending things and kissing Hailey that night was the final straw. He wanted to kiss someone else, he enjoyed kissing someone else. He was going to break up with her that night, and he didn’t get the chance. So now, he’s still playing the role of the heartbroken boy with the missing girlfriend and even Hailey believed it.

His eyes landed on her again at the next red light, her eyes were watery, her gaze fixed on her lap. “And he’s not going to again.” He reached over the center console and placed a comforting hand on hers. He earned a small smile in return. 

Hailey wanted to be mad a little longer, but she couldn’t be. As much as she loved her friends, and Chicago, she didn’t grow up there like the rest of them. She didn’t know many people outside of her tight knit circle, accusing Nadia or Kelly was easy for her in a way. The rest of them had to handle the betrayal along with the fear. 

The pair opted to go to her house, and Hailey ignored the feeling in her stomach as they stepped over the threshold. She had become accustomed to Jay being around, it wasn’t strange for them to end up at each other’s houses or just riding around town with milkshakes. They spent a lot of time together and she could feel herself starting to get attached, which was a hard no in her book. 

Throwing their backpacks down by the door they made their way to the kitchen, where Jay helped himself to the box of donuts on her counter. Her aunt had bought them to celebrate the first day of school, but they were using them to mourn the summer. 

“So why doesn’t Greg hang out with us?” Hailey asked, breaking the silence. 

Jay wiped the chocolate frosting from his face before responding. “He’s homeschooled, his dad’s in the military so they move around a lot, but they keep an apartment here. He’s pretty shy, he used too, but he and Erin didn’t really get along.”

Hailey noticed the sad look on his face, “You should bring him around more often. He seems cool.”

“I don’t want to bring him into all of this.” Jay said, only half lying. He knew that he had helped with the text, but he drew the line there. Not only that, but Greg and Jay had known each other for a long time, they knew exactly how screwed up each other were, and they were both happy to keep things just between them. 

Hailey nodded and handed him another donut, which he gladly accepted, eating his feelings seemed like a great solution for the time being.

…

Kim sat on Adam’s bed, scrolling through instagram while Adam talked to his mom on the phone. They were at his dad’s house and his mom wasn’t very happy about it. It hurt Kim to watch Adam struggle through his parents divorce, it was only finalized a few months ago and he wasn’t doing very well with splitting time. 

They spent most of their time at his dad’s when they weren’t at her house, her parents adored him and Adam liked the weekly family dinners and the sense of stability that came with them. His mom wasn’t a big fan of Kim, she saw her as another person that was in the way of her getting all of his attention. Not that Adam was fond of giving her any, her substance abuse was quickly eating away at their relationship. 

Adam through his phone on the bed next to Kim, causing her to look up at him. He was obviously stressed and she took it as an invitation to wrap her arms around him. He gladly accepted the embrace, placing his chin on the top of her head. After a few minutes, Kim looked up at him. “You okay?”

“I am now.” He smirked, hugging her a bit tighter. 

Kim pulled away, leaving her hands on his elbows. “I’m being serious. Are you okay?”

Adam groaned and pulled her down next to him on his bed. “I guess, I’m just fed up with my mom starting fights.” Kim took his hand in hers, brushing her thumb over the back of it. “And my dad is choosing to ignore her, so I have to play damage control.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

He gave her a weak smile. “I know we all have way bigger problems right now, but I’m so sick of it all. I’m their kid, this isn’t my job.”

“Hey,” Kim said, pacing her hand on his jaw. “Don’t do that, we can’t focus on that all the time or we’ll go crazy. Plus, what are we gonna do? You are allowed to be upset, no matter what else is going on.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

Kim smirked, “I’ve been told a few times.” She squealed as Adam grabbed her by the waist and pulled her towards him, placing his lips on hers. She responded immediately, her hand finding the nape of his neck while his stayed on her waist. Somewhere in the middle, she ended up on her back on the bed with Adam hovering over her. She pulled him closer to her, which caused him to lose his balance and fall slightly top of her. They collapsed in a fit of laughter, Adam rolling over to lay on his back beside her. 

He looked over at her, a huge grin on his face. “This may be a little fast but,” his hand found hers, “I love you, Kim.” 

Kim was frozen for a second. She thought that she had imagined him saying it like she had a million times before. “Is this real?” She asked, rolling on her side to face him.

“It better be.” Adam joked, chuckling nervously. This was what he was afraid of, that she didn’t feel the same way. He was shocked when she jumped him, kissing him with more intensity than ever before.

“I love you too.” She said grinning, and suddenly Adam was on top of her all over again.

…

Kevin was sitting with some of the guys from the team at a local diner, they decided to go grab burgers after practice. They were laughing, joking, having a great time, well, everyone but Kevin.

He was worried about Vinessa, his little sister, constantly. Everyone else that was being threatened had at least a shot at defending themselves, she was just a kid. He had always been over protective of her, and his brother, Jordan. He was almost ten years older than him, Vinessa being only three. His mom was a single mom, working two jobs to keep their house, his dad left right after he was born and Jordan and Vinessa’s bolted before her first birthday. So Kevin was the closest thing to a father figure that they had. 

“Dude, did you see Decotis today? Damn that girl got hot.” One of his teammates asked.

The running back, Connor, grimaced. “I don’t know man, did you hear what Halstead said?” He asked. “I”m staying away, I wouldn’t put it past Sampson to sleep with a student. What do you think Kev?” Kevin wasn’t paying any attention, he was mindlessly staring down his drink. “Kev?”

He snaps his head up, having no idea what they were asking him. “Uh, I don’t know.” 

“Were you even paying attention?” Connor asks, laughing.

Kevin shakes his head, the rest of the group not noticing the lack of enthusiasm he was giving off. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do to protect his siblings, but he did know that in order to get to them, they would have to go through him. 

…

Hailey woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly well rested. School was giving her a sense of normalcy that she had lost in the past few weeks. She showered and got ready quickly, bounding down the stairs ready to tackle the day.

Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to sit next to Severide in class today and she was sure that between her and Jay, she could find a way to avoid him. 

When she entered the kitchen, she found her aunt and uncle sitting at their usual spot at the table, but Randall was looking a little more disheveled than usual after shift. She leaned against the island, “Everything okay?”

“Hailey.” Trudy said, just then noticing her presence. 

Randall looked up with a sad look in his eyes. “Come sit down kiddo.” 

Hailey sat down hesitantly. “What’s going on? Is Jay okay? Kim, Adam? Kevin?” She began to panic, ignoring the fact that the first person to come to her mind was a certain Halstead. 

“Yes.” Trudy said, placing a hand over Hailey’s shaky one. “They are all fine. Randall…” She dragged off, nodding to her husband.

Randall turned his whole body towards his niece. “Last night, around Midnight, we responded to a residential fire on Wabash. It was an old abandoned house, one of the last ones on the street. The basement was full of paper materials and electronics like computers, so with an accelerant it went up fast and burned hot.” He took a breath, “It’s already been turned over to fire investigation for arson, but, I wanted you to know that we pulled a body from the fire.”

Hailey knew what house he was talking about, she and Jay had been there just last week, but she played dumb. “I don’t understand, what does that have to do with me?” 

“Hailey, they think it’s Erin.”

…

A/N: I know that the family dynamics are a little different than they are on the show, but I had to alter them a bit to fit this storyline! Thanks for reading!

[knightofthecourt]

Love Bites - Chapter 2

Belatrice Gray was a TA at Belgrave University, working hard to stay on top of her marking and trying not to flunk her own studies, when a night out with her bff Randall and his roommates, changed everything.  

Hamish Duke x OC fiction with fluff, romance and angst. OC description has been left out to allow for reader personalisation!

“Haim?” Lillth reached out, placing a hand on Hamish’s shoulder. He was crouched next to Bela’s phone, in the same position he’d been in when he called Lillith to ask her to meet him outside.

He looked up at his friends. They were gathered around him, concern etched across their faces. 

“You heard it, didn’t you?” Hamish’s voice was quiet as he looked back down at the phone in front of him. 

Randall nodded. “The ringing, when we were in the club?”

“I should have known - should have come to check on her. She was out here, alone. I didn’t...”

Lilith shot Randall an uneasy look. Hamish was the Knight’s fearless leader, he was always decisive and assertive, the first to lead them into battle or come up with a game plan. She’d never seen him like this before. He looked so lost. 

“Hamish, buddy?” Jack said slowly, “You blaming yourself isn’t going to help anyone.” 

Hamish stared at the phone a moment longer and then moved his gaze to the object sitting a few inches away from it. As much as it pained him to admit it, Jack was right. 

He picked up the small shiny item and then pocketed Bela’s phone and straightened up. 

“Can you track this?” He held the grey plastic button out to Alyssa. 

She took it from him. “Yes - I just need a few things for the spell.” 

“Ok,” Hamish nodded. “Jack, get Alyssa to the Den, we’ve got supplies there. Lilith, Randall, we’re splitting up. We can cover more ground as wolves. The first one to find anything calls the others.”

They all nodded, falling back into the familiar routine of search and rescue. 

As Jack and Alyssa took off in the direction of the Den, Randall placed his hand on Hamish’s arm. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, past the lump in his throat. “We’ll find her.”  

Hamish squeezed Randall’s hand and offered him a weak smile. “Of course we will,” he said, ignoring the gnawing pit in his stomach. 

- - - - -

“You’re sure this is the place?” 

After 40 minutes of attempting to track Bela’s scent and coming up empty, Jack had called Hamish with a location. Now the two of them were standing under a shroud of trees with Alyssa, watching the entrance to a derelict building on the edge of Belgrave’s campus. 

Alyssa showed him the bowl in her hand. A small stick balanced in water with the button tied to it was pressed against the edge, as if pulled by an invisible hand in the direction of the front door. 

Jack sighed. “Why does this campus have so many creepy buildings? It’s like they’re asking for students to get kidnapped by evil magic practitioners from secret cults.” 

“We don’t know that this person is part of The Order.” Alyssa said, her voice low. “Maybe it’s a magic tourist.” 

Hamish ignored their comments as he scanned the area around them. 

“Right,” he said, focusing his gaze on the entrance. “You guys go round the back, I'll take the front. When we find Bela I'll create a distraction while you get her out.” 

“We don’t know how many are in there,” Jack shook his head “Shouldn’t we hold on until the others get here?”

“Randall and Lillith are on their way but we can’t wait, we don’t know what they’re doing to Bela.” 

Jack opened his mouth as if to disagree and then thought better of it when Hamish glared at him. He took Alyssa’s hand and they headed towards the side of the building, leaving Hamish alone. 

Hamish took a deep breath and walked straight through the front door. 

- - - - -

His footsteps were silent as he moved slowly down the hallway, muffled by the thick layer of dust covering the floor. In the weak light filtering in through the grime-smeared windows from streetlights outside, Hamish could make out further passageways and doors branching off into the darkness. 

Before it had been abandoned, the location must have been used as a storage facility for the University at some point. Mouldy cardboard boxes and forgotten paper files lined the rooms Hamish passed, but he didn’t stop to explore them as he pushed deeper into the heart of the building, drawn towards a faint orange glow.

As he crept closer to the end of the hallway a cavernous room emerged up ahead. The space had been cleared, office desks and chairs pushed against one wall. In the center of the room, starkly lit by the uncovered bulb hanging above, was a metal operating table.

Hamish felt his pulse stutter as he saw Bela’s form strapped to the table. She wasn’t moving. 

Terror flooded his mind. He took a deep breath, struggling for control as Tundra’s growls filled his head. Suddenly, a door on the far side of the room opened and someone walked in. 

Hamish recognised him immediately. 

Tanner leaned over the table, examining Bela, and then gave the restraints a sharp tug. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” He said, without turning. “Don’t worry, I took care of your friends. They won’t be bothering us.” 

Hamish stepped out of the shadows and into the room, keeping his eyes on Bela. 

“What did you do to them?” He asked. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained.  

“They’re ok, for now.” Tanner walked around the table to face Hamish, placing Bela between the two of them. He lifted his right hand and steel glinted in the light. “Just in case you get any ideas.” 

Hamish hesitated when he saw the knife hovering above Bela. “So, The Order is sending Acolytes to murder students now?” 

Tanner’s smile set his teeth on edge. “Oh,” he said, “is this the part where I tell you my motivation?” 

When Hamish didn’t answer he clicked his tongue impatiently. “Fine. This one is just bait. I admit it’s a bit of a waste to kill her, but worth it to get the real prize.” 

Hamish watched as Tanner lowered his arm slightly, the knife hovering just inches away from Bela’s abdomen. 

“The Knights?” 

“Yes. The Knights.” Tanner’s face twisted with disgust. “The great champions. Monsters hiding in our ranks, poisoning The Order from the inside.” 

“We’re part of The Order.” Hamish growled. 

“A mistake,” Tanner’s eyes darkened. “One I’m going to fix. I’ll be a hero.���  

Hamish’s heart stopped as Tanner plunged the knife downwards. He barely had time to inhale the scent of blood before the change ripped through him, his panicked thoughts giving way to Tundra as the wolf took control. 

Tanner watched the man before him transforming. He ran the blade across his palm a second time, sending another rush of blood spattering across the metal table below.

“Mutatis,” he bellowed. In an instant his body stiffened. He doubled over, his spine snapping forward at an unnatural angle as it lengthened and warped. His skin split, thick, dark hair erupting all over and his hands spasmed as his fingernails lengthened into claws.

Tundra turned to face Tanner and found himself staring into the jaws of a hulking black wolf. 

- - - - - 

Bela was snapped back to consciousness by a sickening pain in her legs. She blinked, groggily, as a large dark shape was yanked off her and sent hurtling into a nearby wall. The deafening crunch of plaster and glass sent bells pealing through her temple - she felt like her skull was about to split open. 

As her vision cleared and the room swung into focus she realised with a start that she didn’t recognise the bare, water-stained ceiling above her. What the hell was going on?

The last thing she remembered was being at the club with her friends, she was supposed to meet Hamish outside but that guy… Tanner, was it? He asked her to help with his car. 

Maybe there had been some sort of accident. Was she in hospital? She tried to sit up and groaned as her movement was met with another sharp ripple of pain through her thighs. She went to run her hands over them and realised that she couldn’t move her arms. She was stuck.  

Before she could gather the energy to yell out her vision was taken up by Hamish’s concerned face. 

“Bela? Thank God.” He looked on the verge of tears. 

“Urgh,” Bela croaked, finally finding her voice. “Am I dead?” 

“No, you’re very much alive.” The corner of his lips quirked up.  

“Haim, I can’t move. My legs-” 

“Oh. Wait a second.” He disappeared from view. 

Bela heard ripping sounds, like fabric tearing, and the pressure around her forearms and legs released. She sighed in relief and lifted her hands to feel for damage. As far as she could tell, she was still in one piece, which was a small mercy. 

“Careful,” Hamish reappeared at her side as she sat up and gingerly pulled her legs over the edge of the table.

“What the..?”  Bela’s eyes widened as she took in her surroundings.

“Hamish, where are we? What was that big black thing?” As she turned towards him her voice rose a few octaves. “Where are your clothes? Is that… is that blood? Are you ok?”

Hamish looked down at his blood spattered chest and then back up at Bela, a frown wrinkling his brow. 

“I’m not hurt. I can explain everything, I promise.” 

“Start talking.” Bela pushed herself up onto her feet and then fell backwards against the table. She gasped as white hot agony shot through her legs, turning them to jelly.

Hamish grabbed her waist and lifted her gently onto the table again. As Bela squirmed out of his grasp she caught the look of hurt that crossed his face. He stepped back and raised his arms, palms outstretched towards her. 

“You’re safe.” Hamish bowed his head. “I’m going to explain, we just need to get out of here first, please-”

He broke off as a loud bang echoed off the walls, spinning towards the door on the far side of the room as Jack and Alyssa strode through it.

Bela saw his shoulders relax as he recognised his friends. 

He met them half way, gratefully accepting the jacket Jack handed to him. “Are you guys ok?” 

Alyssa nodded, “Yeah, it was just a holding spell.”

Bela frowned. Spell? 

“Hey, are you ok Bela?” Alyssa started towards her but stopped when Hamish blocked her path. She gave him a funny look.

“Jesus Haim, chill.” Jack pulled Alyssa back towards him. “Where’s Tanner?”

Hamish pointed to a large opening by the door behind them. “I put him through that wall.” 

Jack disappeared into the hallways and then emerged a moment later, shaking his head. “He’s gone.” 

Hamish growled under his breath. “I should have ripped his fucking head off.” 

“Get in line.” Jack huffed. “I can’t believe that idiot was behind this. He barely even made it in to The Order in the first place.”

Alyssa glanced between the two of them. “You put him through a wall Hamish, how did he walk away from that?” 

“He used a transformation incantation.” Hamish’s voice was low but anger punctuated every syllable. 

“What?” Alyssa’s head snapped up. “That’s way above his skill level. What did he turn into?” 

“A wolf.” 

“A werewolf?” Jack’s brow furrowed. “I thought that was impossible?” 

“Not quite a werewolf -” Hamish ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out some of the dried blood,“- but big enough to give Tundra a run for his money.” 

“Do I have a concussion, or did you just say werewolf?” The three of them turned towards Bela and stared, as if they had just remembered she was in the room. 

“Both, probably.” Jack shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a Doctor.” 

Hamish glared at him. 

Bela pushed herself up from the table. “Don’t.” She said, holding up a hand when Hamish made a disapproving noise and moved towards her. She bit down on her lip as her legs throbbed in protest. 

She was exhausted, and furious. She’d woken up scared and in pain, strapped to a table in a creepy room with a very naked, blood-covered Hamish. Now they were talking about spells and incantations and werewolves. Enough was enough. 

“Explain. Now.” 

The three of them looked at her, mouths open. 

“Ok.” She rounded on Hamish. “Start talking, Haim. What the hell happened to me? Was that thing Tanner? What did he do to me? What did you do to him? Why are you talking about spells? Where are-”

Hamish caught her as a cloud of white powder enveloped her head. 

“Was that really necessary.” He hissed at Alyssa as he scooped Bela’s unconscious form up into his arms. 

“You can’t have a secret society if it’s not a secret, Hamish” 

“Fine,” He nodded. “Whatever. Let’s get her back to the Den.” 

“What about Tanner?” Jack frowned. 

“I’ll take care of him later.” Hamish said, his words more of a threat than a promise.

[popculturebuffet]

OK K.O.! Let’s Be Heroes!: You’re Everybody’s Sidekick Review

OK KO was easily one of the best animated series of the 2010′s and i’ll stand by those words. The brainchild of Ian Jones Quartlery, voice of Wallow in Bravest Warriors and more importantly former head writer for Steven Universe, and current longtime romantic partner of that series creator Rebecca Sugar. That part isn’t AS important, but I still find it sweet.  Anyways OK KO was the story of K.O., a 6-11, not my own laziness for once but the show’s own way of doing age, year old boy who wants to be the best like no one ever was. In this case i’ts being a hero in a world that’s basically like if someone took the marvel universe and smashed a retro game collection and a pile of manga on top of it and then blended up the result and shot it full of gamma rays. Full of heroes of all kinds ranging from those fighitng crime to those who just want to loiter outside strip malls or cut hair.  To achieve this goal KO gets a job at Gar’s Bodega, the combination of your average bodega (for those unfamiliar with the term, i’ts a convience store) and a video game item shop, so the slurpee machine is right next to the power ups and ninja stars, and everything from skateboard polish to Spread Guns is avaliable. The bodega is owned by Mr.Gar, a mustachiosed muscle man whose basically a shoutier mexican version of MIke Haggar but with shades and a mustache. So a somehow better version of him, though with him being busy watching over the plaza itself, doing secret hero missions and what not the day to day operations are left to two teens: Rad, a muscle bound dude bro alien with telekenisis and a secret heart of gold and Enid, a cynical, slacker ninja whose also bilogically a witch because her parents are a vampire and a werewolf. So the series follows these three as they run the boedega, grow as people and fight the robots that frequently attack the plaza sent by the evil Lord Boxman who hates the place literally because it’s there and it’s existance annoys him. This is the canon explination and it is utterly hilarious.  The series was funny, had great character work, decent ongoing stories, great jokes and a fun tone that could go from meaningful and well thorught ot utterly batshit from episode to episode and was sadly canceled after 3 seasons because Cartoon Network is kinda stupid right now and dosen’t know how to handle a superhero show that still makes action a priority, but it did get a solid ending, a slew of great crossovers and a decent amount of representation under i’ts belt.  WHich brings us to today and the start of RED ACTION WEEK: A week dedicated to the series most prominent gay character and the bisexual ninja witch who loves her. I’m covering all 5 of Red’s more prominent apperances... I was just going to do the red/enid episodes but decided this was a better introduction to the series itself, as well as the fact it allows her character arc to better tie together by her final episode, which directly uses this one as a major plot point. I also threw Plaza Prom in there since, even if she’s only a supporting character, it’s still one of her few major apperances, is part of her final major episode, is one of my faviorites, and the climactic dance fights is one of the most intentionally homoerotic fight scenes i’ve seen in some time. With all that out of the way, let’s do this after the cut. 

We start at Gar’s Bodega, just after the opening two parter, with KO starting his first day of work, part of the reason this episode is a fairly smooth introduction into the show. Not even in the door he accidently shoryukyn’s joe cuppa, a stand up comedian with a cup of coffee in the big time for a head... I told you anything goes and I meants it.  After that accident, we find Enid at the counter, ignoring the customers before shooing them away and when KO asks for work, plays along with his enthusasim and tells him to clean the store.. which he does in minutes, before being told to sort the penny dish, and while he does the two discuss KO’s love of helping people: KO just genuinely thinks that’s part of his job, the right thing to do and feels good while Enid.. dosen’t feel it’s worth the effort and people are just generally ungreatful and not worth it.  I really like this scene for showing off their character dynamic beautifully: It starts showing that while at this stage Enid is largely an asshole, she does care about K.O. and while he’s cleaning, despite usually turning customers away, still let’s Ginger, an elderly patron and one of KO’s mom’s dojo customers, not only check out but pay in freaking pennies. It shows that try as she might, Enid really isn’t a cyncial or heartlesss as she claims. It’s also nice setup for later in the season as, and as i’m sure Ian Jones Quartlery and crew were preparing for, we later DO see why Enid hates people so much: her best friend, possibly more, Elodie, who i’ll certainly be covering eventually, betrayed her for a spot at Point Prep, basically UHA or Xavier’s for this world and claimed their friendship was just a ploy (It wasn’t, but again, story for another time), while her one date with Rad went terribly due to him acting like a huge jackass at the advice of his even bigger jackasses of friends. It’s easy to see why she stopped carring: When she opened up in the past it only lead to her being hurt and alone. K.O.... is the opposite. He genuinely belivies in everyone and tries to help them because, as said above, it’s just what he does and what he belivies a hero should be... he hasn’t been hurt or influenced by assholes like his friends, and thus is able to get them to open up. It’s a wonderful dynamic and I love it.  And naturally, KO is determined to help Enid see the light, with Enid responding with the wonderful line “You’ll never melt my icy heart”... give him a few more episodes Enid, give him a few more episodes.  So K.O. Decides to set out helping people, shouting about it to enid back at the store as he does because he’s 6-11 and kids in that age range are many things, but subtle is not one of them. He starts with Geoff and Nick Army, a monk and gay duke nukem reflectivity who despite having polar oppositie personalities, are both a couple, as confirmed by the creative team and then the finale, and a crime fighting duo who are having a dispute over opening a pickle jar with the good old ultra violence or non violence, which KO solves by letting both do it once, which results in a pickle jar explosion, both men in their underwear and everyone happy, especially the shippers.  KO continues his quest, going to Logical Cuts where we meet Mr.Logic, a robot who has a rather moving and well done backstory we’ll certainly get to, and is voice by James Urabanik, aka the voice of Rusty Venture on the venture bros, to my utter delight. And yes i’ll be covering the venture bros eventually, and might be this month. His customer, another one of KO’s mom’s regulars, is upset because her haircut isn’t right while Mr.Logic is upset, well as upset as a monotone robot can convey, that his usually 100% mathmatically perfect haircuts are off. KO pitches in and the new result is perfect, with both being greatful. 

KO’s next stop on his good will help people crying for help tour, after the above bit of wonderful art shift as that version of ko moveds like a south park character for some reason. Anyways, it turns out best friends, co workers and the dante and randal of this show, i.e.two best friends working a dead end job who despite arguing a lot need each other, A Real Magical Skeleton, self explaintory and Greg, a bear, are having an argument because RMS is trying to do their job and frame a baseball for a guy while Greg is being a dickhead and playing the drums constantly. As you can probably wager, I do not like Greg, probably more than rusty, partly because a future episode has him making KO doubt his macaroni art gift for his mom so he can eat it, yes really,and partly because he’s less intresting than his buddy and yet the two are shipped frequently despite my honest assumption they’d kill each other.. much like if dante and randall finally banged. However if you do ship them, I have no hostility with you. Unlike say loudcest or shipping sam with lincoln over at the loud hosue, there's nothing wrong with RMS X Brandon, it’s just not for me.  Anywho KO solves it in the hilarious and awesome manner of just putting Brandon inside one of those baseball cube things... it’s a shame he apparently gave him air holes but whatever. Proud of himself, K.O. plans to head back when he runs into the Ally Teens: Red Action, rude teen warrior from the future who just had a bad haircut, Drupe, a sentient strawberry because of course, and Greg, Drupe’s nonbinary best friend and combination of one of the bone cousins and Woodstock. K.O. offers to help and , with the trio being huge steaming bowls of elephant piss at this point, they instead trick him into waiting in a lava flow and then have drupe whip him every time the lava causes him to cartoonishily jump in the air.  Yeah despite both Red Action and Drupe going on to having supporting roles, like our good pal tom, who I will get back to this month, there isn’t nearly as much wiggle room in their first apperance. With Tom Lucitor, he was a dick.. but you could make the case, even just off that ep that he genuinely dosen’t know HOW to be a good person or that what he’s doing is sketchy at best. Here, it’s fairly obvious the ally teens know setting a child on fire and using vine whip on him super effectively is wrong, that’s why their doing it. Red, being that special brand of asshole, posts it on social media. I mean posting a video of yourself hurting a child, that’s Tucker Carlson level’s of dickery right there. Stone cold. Enid sees it and is understandably concerned, and goes over to see if KO’s allright when he returns and is forced to explain to him that no they weren’t laughing with him, they were laughing at him and were just being dicks. Also he wasn’t in lava, it was magma. It was above ground. 

K.O. glumly wonders why and Enid reitrates this kind of shit is why she dosen’t help people. K.O. also wonders how she saw it and we find out Enid is basically facebook stalking red action on her social media, as you do, and that Red’s been on a bit of a tear lately, smashing up shit and farting in Geoff’s face all because she got a bad haircut, with K.O. , likely going thorugh more of her posts, realizing theirs a pattern: When bad things happen to her she lashes out at others.. just like Enid. I do like the parallel there: Enid likely has a crush on her because the two are fairly similar.. but Enid runs cold and tens to be standoffish as a result of her past, while Red tens to take out her anger and frustration on everyone else and runs red hot. But they come together because opposities attract... it’s what noble laurite MC Scat Kat taaught us after all.  K.O. however, having Steven Universe level’s of empahty and an equal sense of wanting to help, and just as few boundries as he had as a tween, decides that it’s clear the ally teens have underlying issues to adress and gets Enid help to look at their social media. Returning to the ally,and seemingly unphased by earlier, K.O. sets out helping them, starting by helping red get her haircut fixed by Mr. Logic. Red is adorably delighted. Moving on K.O. notes that Drupe basically just follows Red’s lead but has a fashion blog and clearly an identiy of her own and we soon learn she believes no one reads it. K.O. showed it to the not at all ambigiously gay duo and Geoff and Nick thank her> That’s two blushes and two wins in K.O.’s court.  Finishing up, K.O. realizes Gregg stays quiet because they have low self esteem and feel they have nothing to be proud of. K.O. however found lots to be proud of and framed Gregg’s valdectorian certificate for him, again with some help from earlier.  Instead of graditude red just calls him weird and leaves and KO slumps back depressed. I’ts a good lesson though: people DON’T change just because you did one weirdly kind thing for them. That takes time.. as we’ll see with Red and as we see with Drupe, who has less of an ons creen journey but is far nicer after her next apperance. While Enid is grossed out over having helped someone, Gregg comes in.. and after some great deranged animation thanks K.O. and Enid admits after some prodding that it does feel good to help, and K.O. is happy to have helped her int he process. The two playfully mess around as the episode ends. Final Thoughts: This was a really good one. Reaching back this far into the series, I didn’t think it’d would be nearly as good as it ended up: It serves both as a good proper introduction for a lot of the plaza regulars, a good setup for Enid’s character arc, and was also really funny with great animation. LIke Tom, I don’t think the creators knew exactly what they were going to do with the Alley Teens and thus take the two they end up focusing on in opposite directon: Red keeps her assholishness for her next apperance and grows from it, while Drupe’s drops off by the end of this season, likely due to her fashion blog taking off, but we’ll get into Red more in a review or so and Drupe more later this month.For now this episode was good and next up we have their next apperance in Plaza Prom. Until then, follow this blog for more reviews and nonsense, like and reblog it if you enjoyed this, hit me up with asks for review suggestions or comssions and until next time, later days!

[somefantasticplace]

THEY DIDN'T LET IT LIE

After four years of writing in secret, Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer are about to bring their surreal masterpiece Catterick to television screen. Glimpse here an interview that treads the outer regions of sanity…

A long time ago Vic Reeves (real name Jim Moir) and Bob Mortimer were television revolutionaries, their work genuinely baffled as it made you laugh. But in recent years they have lurched perilously close to becoming light entertainment stalwarts. Their new six-part series for the BBC, Catterick, named after the North Yorkshire garrison town, might be the TV show that puts Vic & Bob back in a deeply disturbing and equally funny place. Or it could be a creative disaster. Either way, as this exclusive on-set interview shows, it will certainly be strange.

Catterick, what is it then?

Vic: It’s just a great long story about people who have lost things and then try to find them. We’ve been working on it for four years as a movie but then the BBC offered us a sketch show so we’ve put it into that space.

Bob: It’s different, a real treat. But it’s bonkers. It’s not Phoenix Nights or Early Doors but in a funny way we hope it will be as easy to watch as they are. There are mysterious crows influencing events.

Vic: It’s got very sinister undertones.

Bob: If we do get away with it, it will be a much bigger thing than we’ve done before. But they’ll only trust us to a certain extent.

The BBC don’t trust you?

Bob: I don’t think the BBC is sure about anyone for much longer than about a year, or two years. They might not even be sure about Ricky Gervais in three years time. I do get that feeling that they don’t fucking know either way of it’s good or bad.

Vic: The BBC just usually let us get on with it. Because it’s a drama they got us involved, or tried to get us involved because at the end of the day we are the ones who say yea or nay.

Bob: Just little things. Like they didn’t want it to be called Catterick. Should it be called Catterick? Should it be this long? Should it have more plots? The sort of things that come out of corporations.

Were you disappointed by Randall & Hopkirk not getting a third series?

Bob: I was surprised we got the second series really. To be honest, I didn’t think the stories were good enough. Charlie Higson wrote it… well, it was a fuck of a lot to take on, six one-hours on the BBC. We knew it when we were doing it. You know when you’re doing something and saying, “This isn’t the sort of thing that we do but we’ll try it.”

Do you suffer from people thinking you are dark geniuses rather than just comics?

Vic: If people do feel that, they don’t ring us up, they’ve thought about it in darkened corners.

Do you think you are dark geniuses?

Vic: Well, Emile Zola didn’t have people ringing him up and saying, “Are you a dark genius?” you do what you do. And we never hear of anything from fans.

Are they kept away from you?

Bob: No

Vic: It’s not that we’re not interested but we never hear of them.

Bob: I mean we don’t set up web lines and we don’t get aggressive not see fans, it’s just not…

Not what you do?

Vic: (looks over at Bob who is wearing a tracksuit top beneath a formal jacket): That’s quite unique is that look. That approach.

Bob: I’ve got a Gentle Giant t-shirt on (with a patriotic US design featuring a stars ‘n’ stripes-coloured horse).

Vic: A sports top.

Bob: And quite a formal shirt these days.

Vic: But a sports top and a suit.

Bob: What’s your verdict?

Vic: Well, it’s the new thing. The younger set will be wearing that next week. Is Jack in the younger set?

Not really, no. Is your show similar to what Paul Whitehouse did with Happiness?

Vic: No, it’s nothing like it at all.

I don’t mean the end product, but whether it’s written with similarly downbeat inclinations.

Vic: I think if you wanted to really analyse it the essence of comedy is about sadness. And there’s a lot of sadness. It’s very similar to Voltaire’s Candide, in that a bloke meets a woman who he falls madly in love with, she gets kidnapped and he spends the rest of his life looking for her and when he finds her, he finds out he doesn’t fancy her anymore. But that’s his entire life gone, for nothing. Also in Candide, people get killed and then come back to life.

And in Catterick?

Bob: Well a few die.

Vic: But if someone gets killed they are not necessarily dead. Although they’re not far off. I think it’s the best thing we’ve ever done, one of the best things ever on television but whether people like it or not is a different thing. I think people are now numbed; they’re dumbed down to the state where they’re going “We just want to watch someone decorating someone’s house.”

If everyone’s stupid, what hope is there for clever humour? Or clever anything?

Vic: I think it’s got to the state of just before punk rock emerged. Someone’s going to have to say, “Look, this is getting too much. It’s too shit, it’s too boring.” Fortunately we grew up at the right time. People of our age, from our era, are the only creative people around. There’s fuck all going on.  I get so agitated watching television – there’s nothing on.

Bob: If we get away with Catterick it will make people more ambitious, take more chances. This isn’t Early Doors or the Alan Partridge thing, it has no element of – and this is something I’m not particularly keen on – “Oh he’s just like the bloke in our office” or “I know people like that”. All that stuff, there’s none of that, there’s no-one you recognise.

Vic: The characters in Catterick, they don’t look and act like normal people but they are normal. You can take somebody who’s outlandish in their look or the way that the speak and put them in a real life proper situation. It’s confusing and then it becomes funny.

Do you think that’s a Northern thing?

Vic: What do you mean?

A warmth towards outlandishness.

Vic: There’s some of that in our area.

Bob: You used to follow oddballs, didn’t you? Around the streets.

Vic: Yeah, but I think there’s something particular about where we grew up, the northeast of Yorkshire. It seems to breed a particular viewpoint, which is, I think, funny. And we’ve got Mark Benton who is a superb character and he’s from Middlesbrough, and it’s so easy to work with him because he’s got that particular… he knows what the humour is. But it’s from darkness and from sensibilities and straightforward people. And you just take a twist off to the right or left. That’s where humour is.

What do you thing to Ant and Dec, who’ve, arguably, done a childish version of your act?

Vic: Well, all the best to them. They do stuff that’s so popular and I’m sure they enjoy magnificent flats.

Bob: When they started doing Saturday morning telly, they did it well. Just because we’re from the same neck of the woods and there’s two of them…

Vic: I hope they don’t go too far and people start to despising them. Like what’s his name… not Michael Jackson… the ginger-haired fella…

Bob: Terry Evans?

Vic: Chris Evans.

Did you work with Evans?

Vic: We must have met him… he had a snotty nose.

Bob: We thought he was a sneezer.

Vic: So am I. It’s all the cocaine I abuse.

Bob: You do?

Vic: I have cocaine constantly. I love it.

Bob: (returning to the subject of Ant and Dec): Yeah, their early stuff has probably got a half-life but at the moment they are the top presenters. If there’s a big event they’ll probably be the number one choice for it at the moment.

Was your first television break on Jonathan Ross’s ‘The Last Resort’?

Vic: I wouldn’t say it was a break, as we weren’t looking for a break at the time. I think Jonathan got in a lucky position hosting a programme – he’d get all his mates on.

Bob: The other thing you realise is how indebted you are once you’ve got a show. We used to do a live show down in Deptford, but people heard about it and they wanted to put us on. By the end of it we had this fucking theatre in Deptford. As soon as we did a run of five weeks in it, it was sold out in hours.

Vic: There were people coming from all over to see it and then we had TV bosses sniffing around but they didn’t know what to do with us.

Bob: What would we have done, would we have just carried on doing that?

Vic: Well I remember sitting in a cab and you said, “Shall we be famous then? Do you fancy it, do you want to be famous for a bit?” And we really didn’t think – and it didn’t matter…

Bob: I think I took 10 weeks off work. We were doing a shitty little tour.

Vic: We didn’t think it would carry on from there. I think it was a case of… (we stop as a waitress arrives).

Bob: Cup of tea, please. (Bob points at my chip bowl, which he has gradually filled with fag ends.) Sorry about that, pet.

Vic: Can I have a large gin and tonic. I need a hair-of-the-dog and I don’t usually do that, but…

It works.

Vic: I bet it does – because you were here late for the interview I bet you got up out of bed late, didn’t you? What were you doing last night? I was singing with me father-in-law. Were you living it up?

Drinking, talking rubbish.

Bob: That’s your job though, isn’t it?

Vic: That’s alright!

Bob: I watched Harry Hill’s TV Burp. You know, it was one of those nights.

Vic: Quiet night, then.

Bob: Quiet night, yeah.

How close do you live to each other?

Bob: About 16 minutes.

Vic: No, longer, I reckon 40 minutes.

Bob: I’d say 28, if it’s important to you then we have to get it right.

Vic: More 29. Depends on the wind.

Bob: Mmm.

Isn’t that like giving up on life, moving to Kent?

Bob: Why do you say that? Where do you live?

Me? Camberwell.

Vic: Do you like it there?

I’ve not been there for that long, I was in Greenwich before.

Vic: You’re obsessive, that’s where we lived. The next thing you’ll be in Kent – you’re living the same places that we lived. You would have been here (central London) quicker if you lived in Kent, and you have the luxury of having a nice quiet life with beautiful countryside and fresh air. What happens with you now? You wake up and open your windows and you’ve got…

A gherkin.

Vic: Or a Nigerian taxi going, Waaaah! Waaaah!

Bob: You’re got a Gurkha?

A gherkin. It’s a building. And apart from me everyone else in the block is Nigerian.

Bob: Ah, yes. Do you drink in The Grove?

No, that’s turned into a big-box-little-box place. I drink at the Hermit’s cave.

Bob: That was the police pub. It was a no-go.

Vic: Do you go in at lunchtime? What do you have, pie or fish?

Just a drink.

Vic: Really, and then do you go home and have your tea? And then have some pints. What do you have for your tea?

My flatmate’s doing a cooking course so…

Vic: So she comes back with some good recipes. I left a recipe for Nancy when I was coming up here. I said “Get those chickens’ breasts out, put them in lemon juice and soy sauce then a bit pf paprika and let them marinate for some time and we’ll have those with a nice bit of cabbage and some mushrooms.”

Bob: I loved Camberwell. But I’d been in Peckham and Camberwell for 15 years and one weekend my girlfriend got attacked, my motorcycle got nicked and the police, with their helicopters, cornered a criminal in me back garden. And then the spell of it were gone. I couldn’t live there. I’d lived there happily but as soon as something happened I walked out.

Vic: I remember when we first did Big Night Out. I’d secured myself a really nice flat in Blackheath. One bedroom, but nice. It was posh. And he was living on the worst estate in Peckham and it used to make me think that other people were thinking that I was getting all the money and he wasn’t getting anything and he wouldn’t fucking get out of this shit hole. Even when we had quite a good deal of money he wouldn’t get out of that shithole in Peckham and it used to make me highly embarrassed.

Bob: I was in a homeless hostel, it’s true, and then I got this council flat just off the North Peckham council estate.

Vic: It was going to be on Through The Keyhole.

Bob: I wish I’d done it, like.

Vic: It was fucking frightening, like. When we were on tour I’d get picked up, it wasn’t a luxury flat but it had a nice front piece and it looking like a nice big hour and then I’d go and pick that fucker up and it was a disgusting hole.

Bob: It was fucking noisy at night.

Vic: And he made it worse because he was a lazy fucker. He couldn’t be bothered getting out of his bed and walking round to go to the toilet so he kicked a hole in the wall to the toilet. I said “What are you doing about getting this rubbish out of the house?” and he said, “Oh, I’ll put it out the window.” There was a triangle of shit, milk bottles and crap out the back window. Piss everywhere, piss in milk bottles…

Bob: They were the days thought, you can’t do that in Kent. And you know what, it’s embarrassing. I’m not being nasty to Nigerians in any way, I’m just making the clear point that they are noisy. Eight or nine of them in a very tiny space and they never shut up. Either that or it’s the tinkle of chicken bones falling on the pavement all fucking night.

Could that be construed as racist?

Vic: I don’t think it’s racist. When you go into an Indian shop they are always on the phone. Always. And it’s not racist but you get accused of being racist if you say that all Nigerians are…

Bob: They are fucking noisy.

Why isn’t that racist?

Bob: Because it has been my experience.

Vic: With our type of humour – a lot of people from the North East have our sense of humour – it’s a positive thing. We can say it because it’s the way we sound.

Well you’d have to ask a Nigerian whether he minds it in a North Yorkshire accent or not.

Bob: You noisy bastard.

Vic: One of the characters in Catterick is white, Jewish, ginger haired who’s got an Asian accent.

Bob: See that could be a stumbling block… it’s quite idiotic.

Vic: When we did The Club on Bang Bang, Bob played a character who had a Chinese accent and that was covered by the fact that…

Bob: But we seemed to get away with that but Asia’s different, isn’t it? As for what people are going to say? Fuck, I don’t know. Vic: If you were raised in Hong Kong and you were white Anglo-Saxon and you came back you’re going to talk with a Chinese accent. Which might be intriguing.

Bob: See the other thing is that I reckon probably in fucking South Yorkshire it’s incredibly cool to be Asian.

Like it used to be cool amongst some whites to pretend to be black?

Vic: That’s still cool now. White children in Southeast London have got a basically West Indian accent, haven’t they? It’s cool but will it ever be cool to come from the Isle of White.

Bob: I don’t think the BBC have cottoned on to that yet. That Matt Lucas is going to be Asian.

You said your humour is a product of where you come from, but Roy “Chubby” Brown is from the same area, isn’t he?

Vic: Do you know, when I was talking to my friend Eugene at the weekend, Nancy said “He says ‘cunt’".  And Nancy says, “You say ‘cunt’ a lot.” She says she doesn’t like it. Being from the South she finds if, well not offensive, but she says she “notices” it, it’s a serious word. But Eugene said it’s a particular thing to our particular area. People will say cunt in the Northeast without thinking about it and I think it’s because of the accent. It’s not forced out. If it were in the South it would be “CAANT!” so it sounds like it’s being shot out. In the Northeast it’s nice, and it’s rounded. I mean I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that word. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with any language. It’s just a natural thing.

Isn’t it violent towards women?

Vic: No, not really. The word cunt is the same as “Kent” and “quaint” if you take it right back to language. Where it first came from (all this is palpably untrue); from the English language when we had fewer words in our vocabulary Kent, quaint and cunt were all the same thing. So what do you do? Do you start saying you can’t say these words?

Bob: That’s terrible.

Northerners say “bastard” better.

Bob: I think they are the best words. Whatever you think to “Chubby”, he’s a fucking great swearer.

Vic: With Roy “Cubby” Brown those words can come out and they’re got the same amount of force but they’re used in a certain way so you can accept them a little bit easier. This Jethro character – I’ve never heard him but he’s quite oo-arhh, isn’t he? And I can imagine he says (speaking in an almost Long John Silver pirate accent to denote the West Country), “You farking Carnt.” It’s a lot smoother, but if it’s cockney it sounds like a battering ram of a machine gun.

Bob: There’s not that much kudos up North in being sharp, it’s not the thing to be the aggressive comic.

(Looking at photographs that Vic has brought) Is this the stuff you’ve been taking?

Vic: Yeah. I liked the way you said that. Are you the boss of Jack?

I am actually, yes.

Vic: Are you enjoying it?

Bob: Have you got a good office?

Yes. I’ve got a chair on a castor and a floor with no carpet so when I put up the phone I move…

Bob: Are you going to stick to the castors, though?

Well, we’re moving office… today, in fact.

Vic: To a place with carpets?

Yes, afraid so.

Vic: You might find that more tricky.

Bob: You’ll miss the movement you know. Have you booked your office and said, “That’s my fucking office.”

The new place is open plan…

Vic: Oh eh!

Bob: Oh fucking cordon it off man and put “The Boss” up.

Vic: (Handing me some photographs) I want them all back. I want to do a portrait book so you have to promise me that you’ll give them all back.

Bob: Well, what will you do if he doesn’t?

Vic: I know where he lives.

What, you’ll send the boys round?

Vic: Yes, to go in your pub. I know coppers.

They shut the police station.

Vic: It doesn’t matter, not coppers from Peckham.

Hull coppers are direct and to the point.

Bob: Hull? They’d be great coppers.

Vic: Leicester’s the worst city, though.

Bob: I tell you what I think is worse, when you go down the Thames to those towns…

Vic: Marlow!

Bob: Marlow’s the worst.

Vic: Complete fights… and gang warfare. We should have a street fight.

Bob: It’s been a while hasn’t it?

Vic: Yeah. Do you want to join in or are you not a street fighter?

No. I’ll leave that.

Bob: You arrange a street fight for soft lads where no-one really gets hurt. It looks fucking amazing.

Vic: Bob used to be a big street fighter.

Bob: There's a lock-in pub (Bob here gives extended directions to a particular pub in South London). I used to live next door to it, Fucking hell. Every day of the year.

Vic: Where was that other place you used to do a lock-in?

Bob: Oh the Mexican place. That was a long one, an all-nighter.

Vic: I never did all that, you used to do three days of drinking…. You were a real drinker.

Bob: I used to be.

Have you stopped.

Bob: To be honest, more or less. We had some dos recently because we’d finished filming and I don’t seem to be able to get past five fucking pints.

Do you fall over or just go to sleep.

Bob: I’m just fucked.

Vic: Twice a week I’ll have a really good piss up.

Do you turn into a violent drunk or a lachrymose “I love you” drunk?

Vic: You know what I like? I really fucking love getting nicely pissed in me house and do fuck all. I’ll mess about. I’ll do a drawing or fiddle about with a candle, or poke the fire. Poking the fire when you’re pissed… I fucking love it. I’ll do that twice a week, get heavily pissed poking a fire. The other times I’ll drink camomile tea. Me and my lass drink camomile tea and eat sweets. I tell you what, and I don’t know how the fuck she does it, she’ll get a big box of chicken legs and stuff and she goes through all the chicken legs and she doesn’t put on an ounce. She’ll have eight chicken legs in a night and… nothing. And we have a big jug of squash, chicken legs, sweets and cheese comes out every night – like a bastard! Cheese is going to kill me.

Which is your favourite cheese?

Vic: I love all Bries and the Camemberts. I love that and pickles. Pickled eggs. Every night the tray will come out with all the shit on it and she’ll eat and eat. And she’ll not put a thing on.

Why do you think the tabloids always chase Vic’s personal life, not Bob’s?

Bob: I think it’s because he’s “Vic Reeves”. That’s the story there, that’s the way they see it.

Vic: Bob and me are both equally dull as each other. We don’t do fuck all but they seem to want to think that I have an exciting life because I married an underwear model. They seem to think that we have rampant sex all the time. She makes the dinner and puts her pyjamas on.

Bob: And you poke the fire.

Vic: I poke the fire. And then I occasionally poke her. Nothing happens, we do fuck all. But the tabloids want us to have an exciting life. They expect more of me and I don’t know why.

As a double act you’re quite unique, there’s not a straight man and a funny man – it seems an equal opportunities arrangement…

Bob: In the old days there was a straight man and a funny man but if you look at Ant and Dec they're equal as well.

Vic: Maybe it’s just a copy of us. Maybe we were the first…

Bob: It seems a bit of a waste, up a blind alley ultimately if one’s straight and one's funny. I was quite straight in Shooting Stars.

Vic: But you were never the straight one. You can have the straight one or you can have two straight men. You can have someone who is the dozy one but then if you switch the tables… in Catterick I’m clearly, if you look at it straightforwardly, the dozy one and my brother Carl is the one who has got it together. But then if you look more deeply maybe I’m cleverer… and he’s a liar. But it’s got that underlying thing all the way through that you don’t really know.

How scripted is your stuff?

Vic: Quite heavily. If we’re going to do a routine then we’ll know about it.

Bob: The nice thing about Shooting Stars is there are surprises. It’s not like Buzzcocks where they give them the questions beforehand. They are quite brave some people, they don’t get any chance to think of something funny.

Vic: When we are writing we have an office and we go in at 9:30 and leave at 3:30. Deathly silence, we never speak.

Bob: You’ve just got to sit down and do it. It’s no good going to Denmark and thinking you’ll be inspired. It’s, “here’s an office and a table”. Sometimes you do three pages and sometimes you do three lines but we try and stick to it.

Has anybody ever turned you down to appear on Shooting Stars?

Vic: I tell you who we never get – boxers, because they all want five grand and they think they’re fucking it.

Bob: We send off massive lists.

Vic: We nearly had Art Garfunkel once.

Bob: He’s got an airport problem.

Vic: I don’t think we are au fait with the younger set so you get someone like Destiny’s Child on to the show, or someone else and you think, “Who the fuck’s that?”

Bob: There's a lot of that.

Vic: My daughter's like, “Wooooooooh, yeah, you’ve got Mis-Teeq on!” and I say “Mystique – is that a juggling act?”

Bob: We don’t know their names.

Vic: And Mis-Teeq is a big deal, isn’t she? I thought she might have been a trapeze act but no, she’s a singer.

How do you cope with someone as patently Southern and middle class as Will Self being in love with you?

Vic: He finds us fascinating.

But slightly patronising?

Bob: He really cares for what he’s doing.

Vic: He’s bombastic and we’re vicarious.

Do you worry about Johnny Vegas?

Vic: Yeah. We have to edit out a couple of hours. We once did a take of Shooting Stars in 36 minutes, but when we get Johnny Vegas in we were lucky to get three hours and I just felt sorry for the people who were sitting in the audience. I mean he’s fucking bright, he’s hilarious but he’ll go on for an hour-and-a-half with his answer and you’re thinking, “Fuck, can we just get him to the green room?”

Do you drink and work?

Bob: A live show, I like to have three pints before I go on. A television show, I like to have three cans. I’ve never recorded a show where I haven’t had a drink. I don’t think so.

Vic: It wasn’t religious but we’d have lagers, cans. I do remember once when I had one too many at Sheffield.

Bob: You know how lager’s powerful, at some venues we’d phone up and say, “Please, don’t fuck us up with this Skol and Stella and stuff,” Just three and that would fuck us. You don’t realise at the time but you can see afterwards.

Vic: It’s acting, that’s what it is, and you can’t act if you’ve had anything, you just can’t do it. I don’t understand how people smoke pot. I don’t know anyone who can have any drug or drink loads and go on stage.

Bob: That’s a fucker.

Vic: Here’s something interesting. Two comedians in Denmark are re-creating Shooting Stars ad they’re going to film it.

Bob: Who wants to do that?

Vic: The BBC, with us.

Bob: Denmark? That’s butter.

Well, bacon really.

Vic: And very soft shoes.

NO, YOU LYING GET…

A brief history of Reeves & Mortimer.

1986: The Vic Reeves Variety Palladium begins at Winston’s Wine Bar, Deptford. Sketches include “Tappy Lappy” – Moir dancing to “Fly Me To The Moon” with planks on his feet, wearing a Bryan Ferry mask. The show is re-named Vic Reeves Big Night Out and moves to Goldsmith’s Tavern, New Cross Road. Moir is joined by pal, Bob Mortimer.

1988-1989: Big Night Out  shifts to the Albany Empire, Deptford. Spotted by Jonathan Ross and invited onto Ross’s The Last Resort, giving Reeves his big break.

1990-1991: Vic Reeves Big Night Out on Channel 4. Classic end sequence as Reeves belts out “Mr  Songwriter”, turning side-on to accentuate the flare in his trousers.

1991:  I Will Cure You album released. “Dizzy”, performed with the Wonderstuff, reaches Number One.

1992: The Weekenders is on Channel 4, where Vic and Bob visit a meat festival and buy sausages for aliens.

1993-1995: The Smell of Reeves & Mortimer on BBC2, giving us Mulligan And O’Hare, Stars in Their Eyes and TV chefs eating the flesh from a giraffe’s antler.

1995-2003: Shooting Stars, a quiz format featuring regulars Ulrika-ka-ka-ka, Mark Lamarr, Donald Cox The Sweaty Fox, Will Self, Johnny Vegas, The Dove From Above and multi-talented drummer, Matt Lucas.

1997: “Comedy” show It’s Ulrika! hits the screens with the duo credited as writers. It’s bloody painful viewing.

1998-1999: Families At War includes a Vic & Bob five minute bit with Bob as a spider on a crane. Bang Bang It’s Reeves & Mortimer gives the duo more space. “The Club” shines.

2000-2001: Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased) on BBC1, but it doesn’t quite work.

2004: Catterick begins, which charts the first hours of a brotherly reunion. They become involved with a murderer and a hotelier who has lost his penis.

[warsofasoiaf]

Not sure if there's enough information on this New Vegas character for an analysis, but you did ask for Honest Hearts stuff that touches on redemption, family, and growing up! Any chance you can do a character analysis of Randall Clark?-TBH

So this is actually going to be an analysis of Honest Hearts in general, touching on the themes of childhood and growing up, and Randall Clark is a great element of that, so here we go.

The primary theme of Honest Hearts is innocence, and the loss of it upon growing up, and the feeling of loss in general. All of the main characters of Honest Hearts exist in a state of innocence and must confront painful realities about themselves and the world in order to grow up. Each must contend with the illusions that they’ve placed before themselves and the painful feeling that comes with stripping them away. Zion itself is an idyllic place full of wide-eyed, innocent tribals, but it is untouched by the corruption of the wider struggle until those who intrude upon it. The Courier travels along with an innocent caravan expedition (it’s even called Happy Trails for Pete’s sake!) for a wholesome adventure and a decent paycheck, not an intense tribal struggle and a battle for Joshua Graham’s own soul.

The Sorrows and the Dead Horses are perhaps the most explicit use of this theme. Neither understood much about the ways of warfare until Joshua Graham came along to teach them, even the savage raiding White Legs weren’t much of a threat until Ulysses taught them how to use their “storm drums” which is clearly a Thompson M1A1. This is an altogether common trope of the “Noble Savage,” a frequently inaccurate and often patronizing device used in media depicting tribal peoples. That these tribes do not engage in the practices of warfare suggests an innocence, an ideal quality untouched and untainted. Similarly, their speech patterns and language are used to suggest a child-like quality, the incomplete words like “grenah” for grenades or calling the tribals who throw firebombs (Molotov cocktails) “light bringers.” Since the Sorrows were originally descended from orphaned children refugees, this sets them up for their very own coming of age novel. Despite their innocence, they are threatened by the outside world via the form of the White Legs. The White Legs themselves are children, albeit in a somewhat more negative fashion; these are people who lack even the most basic skills needed to care for themselves. Resolving the Sorrow’s quest means that they have to grow up in one fashion or another. Running away means coming to terms with the painful loss of Zion, a literal interpretation of that old saying: “you can’t go home again.” Staying and fighting means learning the ways of war that Daniel had been avoiding, becoming adults and losing the innocence of their previous existence. The Sorrows still can’t go home again; because the Sorrows themselves have changed. Like children, they learn from the adults in their lives, and so depending on the resolution, the Courier can shape the Sorrows the way a parent shapes a child. Showing cruelty leads to the children learning cruelty, the cycle of violence continuing onward. Not all parenting is positive, and including that lesson was critical for selling the theme of childhood growing into adulthood in the interactive format of video games.

The two tribal followers you have in the game both have quests that revolve around maturity and growing up. Follows-Chalk is the most basic of these, played completely straight. He begins the game as a junior scout, not trusted to scout on his own but to follow his seniors as he grows into his tribal role. His youthful curiosity leads him to want to see more of the world, just like any teenager hoping to explore the world and find adventure. Through the Courier, who provides guidance in the way of adults teaching children, Follows-Chalk will either embrace the wanderlust and see the world, or stay at home, get married, and settle into domestic life as a scout, husband, and father. Notably, Follows-Chalk is simply “never seen again” if he leaves, but that’s it as far as what you learn. Did he die five seconds after he left? Five days? Five years? Five decades? Did he see the casinos that he wanted to see? Did he find out about what deathclaws were? You don’t know, and that too is part of life. Children grow up and leave, and best friends forever might lose touch and never know what happened to their long childhood chum after the parting. That’s life though, sometimes you lose touch and never find out what happened to someone, even those you care about a great deal.

Waking Cloud is also a child, which should at first glance not work because far from being a child, she is a wife and mother of three. Yet even though she is an established adult, Waking Cloud deals with one of the biggest experiences that children must go through to become adults; the experience of losing someone you care about and confronting difficult, sad situations as they are. Difficult subjects are often masked over with comforting lies for the sake of children who either cannot comprehend a situation or if the parents wish to spare severe emotional wrangling. Waking Cloud’s husband dies before the game starts, and Daniel keeps the knowledge from Cloud because he believes it would be too painful, that the work evacuating Zion was too important. Like any father, Daniel takes it upon himself to control what his ‘child’ knows, parenting out of the belief that he knows what’s best. These lies do impair the development of the ‘child’ Waking Cloud to an adult, as if she learns that Daniel lied to her, she learns distrust and sows it against Daniel as retribution. Yet if the Courier treats Waking Cloud as an adult, Waking Cloud acts like one in return; she is angry with Daniel for what he did but ultimately forgives the transgression. She handles the situation with maturity and moves past it healthily. 

Daniel is less about childhood than he is about being a parent. He’s unsure of what exactly to do with the Sorrows, he expresses metaphorically a lot of the uncertainty that new parents feel. He wants to do what is best for the Sorrows but doesn’t know what that is, yet he has to make a choice because they’re counting on him. The Sorrows go along with the plan because they trust Daniel and look to him as their father, but Daniel ultimately is making his plans out of his best interests, not that of the Sorrows. He wants to preserve the innocence that the Sorrows possess; in that sense he is the father that wishes his kids could stay young forever. He wants them to play in Zion as Neverland and when that can’t happen, he retreats to the Grand Staircase because the hardship is worth the innocence, in his mind. Notably, Daniel always loses something in the endings. If the Sorrows fight, he feels grief as he loses his ‘children’ to adulthood, and if they flee, Daniel loses Zion itself. Either way, something magical and special, something innocent is gone forever, and Daniel suffers for it.

Joshua Graham is not a child, but he has a child’s delusions, that he has made amends from his fiery descent into the Colorado and emerged as a new man whose sins were burned away with his skin. The forgiveness of the New Caananites taught him both right and wrong lessons about redemption. The human capacity for forgiveness can be truly transformational, this is undoubtedly true, but part of the transformation has to come from within. Joshua falls back into his old habits, the White Legs are the new Blackfoots (theme naming again, sometimes things aren’t subtle) and he embraces the savagery he indulged in as the Malpais Legate. The Courier is the real adult in the room when he forces Joshua to admit that Graham was always looking for excuses to justify his behavior to hide from the fact that it was always him that did those things and he is still that man. Joshua deluded himself into thinking that he was making progress when in truth, he was simply treading water until he had the strength to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. This too is a critical part of learning to be an adult, in taking responsibility for your own actions and realizing that if there is something that you don’t like about yourself, it’s you that has to change it and that it takes both recognition of the fault and serious effort to fix it. There’s a reason that 12-step programs frequently have admission as the first step, it’s an honest and painful thing to experience but it’s one that has to be done if there’s any hope of self-improvement. 

Randall Dean Clark is a great journey that explores these themes, essentially, the Survivalist is Honest Hearts if everything was past tense. The Survivalist also acts as a synthesis of Joshua and Daniel, the two ‘adults’ of Honest Hearts before the Courier came around. Clark had a sort of innocence about him at start, always running out to Zion. A father himself, Clark lost his wife and children in the nuclear firestorm that killed so many, and was left without a purpose in life. He found it in shepherding others, looking out for them out of paternal instinct. First was the group of Mexican survivors, who he aided covertly in a traditional sense out of paternal regard and human decency. The Vault 22 survivors brought that dream to an end, however, when they killed and ate the Mexican survivors. Like the conflict the Courier finds, the idyllic splendor and peaceful living of Zion was shattered by an outside group manipulated by a corrupt, cruel entity, in this case Vault-Tec itself whose twisted social experiments form some of the most nightmarish things in the Fallout universe. Clark kills the Vault 22 survivors until they finally flee, echoing the journey of Joshua. His revulsion at his work, grim resignation that “they deserved every damn bit of it” is what Joshua believes his crusade against the White Legs is. Yet there are telling differences, Clark does not desecrate the corpses as a warning nor does he lead others into battle. He still remembers his humanity when he encounters Sylvie, despite her also coming from Vault 22. Sure enough, he bonds with her, and then tragedy strikes again, when Sylvie and her baby Michael die. He becomes depressed and suicidal, but can’t bring himself to kill himself. Yet later, he discovers more children with who would eventually become the Sorrows, and begins again like he did with the Mexican survivors so many years ago. Again like Joshua, he goes back to old habits, yet these are habits of compassion rather than cruelty. Like Daniel, Clark attempts to preserve the innocence of these children, guiding them but also ensuring that they never see him. Thus, Clark achieves a sort of divine apotheosis as “The Father in the Caves” again mirroring the Mexican survivors who attributed Clark’s helpful actions in secret to divine intervention. But like Daniel, Clark also refused to let the Sorrows grow up, and this stunted them. Their fear of caves and traps left them unprepared to defend themselves against the White Legs, even to use as defensive works against the encroaching enemy. 

These are powerful themes, one that most if not all people end up having to deal with at some point in their life, which is why using these themes right can be quite powerful. Honest Hearts stumbles at times, but the concepts were sound.

Thanks for the question, TBH.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King