#Gary articulating Jamie's thoughts

[storyshark2005]

Fic Rec - New Carraville!!!

absolute fucking instant classic Carraville. Amazing writing!!! Anon if you can hear this-- well done!!! I am IN LOVE WITH THIS STORY! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Gary glances up at him and there’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, like Jamie’s words have some double meaning that he’s just now understanding. (They don’t). Staring back into the bottom of his glass, he says: “No. I couldn’t. I just… belong to David. Always will.”  It’s strange to hear Gary refer to him as David — Jamie thinks he’s only ever heard Victoria call him by that name, in oversaturated, sickly-sweet television interviews.  “But,” Jamie says, like he’s grasping at straws, “Even if—” Gary cuts across him quietly. “Even if he doesn’t want me anymore.” His shrug is well-practised; it implies he’s resigned himself to this fact a long time ago. “That’s just how it is with him and me.” The pub is still chattering all around them, an old Stone Roses song playing so loud everyone has to half-shout to be heard, and Jamie is unbearably lonely. He knows quite acutely that he’s never been in love before, not like that. He has no fucking clue what to do with that information, that he’s only ever glimpsed the real thing once, in a moldy, low-lit stairwell at twenty-one years old. He feels as though something’s passed him by, something he never knew he wanted in the first place. So far behind him it’s already out of reach. All his life, Gary Neville has flaunted the fact that he only ever wanted one thing, that playing for United was the only dream. It was one of many things about him that rubbed Jamie the wrong way. And now, to learn he’s only ever wanted one person too… Jamie lets jealousy crash over him like a wave, even though he knows it’s misplaced. To have one dream instead of a drawerful, to be so pure and uncompromised— what must that be like? As though he can read Jamie’s mind, Gary says: “It’s not supposed to be like this. I love him, but it’s not supposed to be like this.” When he glances up, though, Gary’s not looking at him, and Jamie can see Gary didn’t say it for his sake.

[aramblingjay]

Through fresh eyes — Part I

Alternatively titled: How Gary goes from looking at Jamie like he wants to kill him to looking at Jamie like arguing football with him is the highlight of his week (and the greatest honor of his life)

Aka: I somehow started writing a from-the-beginning indifferent-coworkers-to-best-friends carraville origin story fic? Still not entirely sure how that happened, but here’s part 1

--

He’s a student of the game, Gary, someone says to him, and it rubs him the wrong way right from the start.

Much like the term club legend, student of the game is banded about far too often these days, brought out for every half-decent footballer who can articulate the difference between a back three and a back four with any level of coherency. He’s been able to hold back, so far, from picking fights with people who claim punditry is easy—everything is easy when you’re doing it from your own couch in beach shorts and an undershirt, after all, the same way everyone can bend it like Beckham when playing footie with their mates in the back garden. But if there’s anything his disastrous first MNF should prove, it’s that punditry is far harder than it might seem.

Armed with that experience, he’s prepared to dislike Carragher from the moment he arrives at Sky. Just because he’s given one or two decent post-match interviews and been shouting a back line into organization for the better part of a decade doesn’t mean he’s going to be any good, never mind the student of the game nonsense being thrown around.

Entirely separately, Gary just doesn’t like him. He’s the biggest Scouser in the whole of the country, probably, and seems to love hearing himself talk nearly as much as he seems to love Liverpool.

(Gary can think of more charitable reasons why Carragher shouted even more during matches than Sir Alex did afterward, but that’s entirely beside the point)

The point is it’s a match made in hell. But he refused to be the guy who wouldn’t let go of grudges from his playing days, or the guy who couldn’t play nicely with others, so he didn’t stop this in its tracks way back when such a thing was still entirely in his control.

Well. He’s paying the price for that now, he thinks grimly, as he catches a first glimpse of Carragher across the lobby, looking every bit as punchable as he did on the pitch. Time to face the music.

--

The introductions happen in the MNF studio, surrounded by the glow of screens that Gary knows like the back of his own hand, as imposing a theater as any in the West End. Carragher is clearly a little out-of-his-depth but pleasant enough, you alrights and how are wes as he makes his way around the room, everything turned sharp and throaty in that broad Scouse accent. They’re surrounded mostly by well-dressed Londoners who socialize for a living, and Gary is willing to admit he’s strangely pleased there’s finally someone who seems to fit here even less than he does.

Eventually, Carragher makes his way over to the main MNF table. Gary’s standing behind it where his chair would normally be, and it occurs to him that this table will probably be gone before their first show in a few weeks, replaced for a larger one than can accommodate three chairs. He’s always maintained that this show should continue to evolve and improve, but suddenly the thought of all the changes that are bound to happen makes his stomach flip uneasily.

They’ve met before, obviously, though under wildly different circumstances. So when Carragher reaches out an arm to shake his hand, all proper and business-like, Gary’s head spins a little with how jarring the contrast is. But his mum raised him with better manners than that, so he grasps the proffered arm and manages to find his best meet-the-media smile.

“Welcome aboard,” he says, trying to make it sound as genuine as he can. If they are going to be working together for at least the foreseeable few weeks (the producers want this to happen, sure, but they’ll pull the plug on it and cut their losses before September is through if Carragher flops horrendously), it’s better to start off on the right foot.

“Looking forward to it,” Carragher replies with a half-smile, and so it begins.

--

The first meeting is—

It’s good.

Having a solid pre-show Monday morning meeting is as critical to success as the actual hours live on air, it’s one of the very first things Gary learned. He doesn’t tell Carragher anything beforehand though, wants to see what he’s made of and how he operates (and maybe wants to let him flounder, just a bit, the way Gary floundered at first). The old dressing room initiation habits haven’t quite left him in the years since.

Carragher is there even earlier than him, sitting at the table and thumbing through a notepad with a look of deep concentration on his face, and that’s instantly a positive. He hates when people are late, hates when people don’t take the job seriously. Gary thinks back on the stories he’s heard of the kind of dressing room Carragher and Gerrard ran at Liverpool, and decides that tardiness and laziness are probably not going to be an issue here.

Only after he’s entered the room, taken a seat across the table, and pulled out his own set of notes, does Carragher look up. “Thoughts on the weekend?” he asks, skipping any sort of greeting.

Meeting hasn’t started yet, mate, is on the tip of Gary’s tongue. Ed isn’t here yet, likes to stroll through the door just as the clock strikes the hour, and neither are any of the various producers, directors, and stattos who normally pitch in with their input too. But he takes in the casual look on Carragher’s face, the way his eyes are clear of any sort of guile, and thinks maybe this is his idea of a good morning, how’s it going then?

Gary glances down at his meticulous notes from all the weekend’s games, the teams, the scores, the timestamps of all the clips he wants the team to pull, and then very deliberately pushes the notepad to one side. “Think United will win the League this year, playing like they did on Saturday,” he offers, the statement as inflammatory as he can make it, leaning back in his chair with a little smirk.

Carragher has the audacity to grin, full on grin, like he was hoping for nothing less. “The first season after Fergie? Not a fucking chance.”

A very large part of Gary winces to hear Sir Alex referred to like that, but he lets it slide because he knows that’s its own sort of deliberate provocation. “What, you think Suarez being forced to stay for another year will be enough for Liverpool to nick it?”

They’re still arguing thirty-six minutes later, when Ed strolls in to a room full of people watching them go at it like it’s a prime-time boxing match. Gary’s distantly aware of Ed’s presence, the same way he’s been distantly aware they haven’t been alone for over fifteen minutes ever since Scott walked in the room—but even the usual gravitas he carries with him as the show’s producer isn’t enough to stop their discussion in its tracks.

And it is a discussion, more than anything else, even though Gary’s blood is singing like he’s on the pitch having it out with a player who’s left one on him a few too many times. It’s push and pull, no-nonsense and no-holds-barred—Gary slates Liverpool’s defense (refusing to acknowledge how that’s implicitly giving some sort of credit to Carragher for helping carry it the previous year), Carragher slates just about everything under the sun about United—and yet, beneath it all, there’s always a thread of truth, of real and genuine football talk.

It’s the absolute fucking highlight of Gary’s month so far, and he’s not entirely sure what to do with that knowledge.

No, the first meeting isn’t just good—it’s great, it’s glorious, it scratches an itch under his skin he didn’t even know he had, food for his brain and his competitive, contrarian soul; and for the first time, Gary lets himself wonder if maybe this might work after all.

--

Showtime.

They’ve rehearsed various different bits and one-liners to pull out at different times—the spark is there, and it’s a little bit too sharp to be called banter just yet (they’re not mates, not even close, and the barbs thrown in each direction are still meant to wound more than amuse), but whatever it is, Scott and Duncan love it.

All the producers look gleeful, actually, as the music starts. They probably know that if a fight does break out, the ratings will be through the roof.

Most of those rehearsed insults don’t get used. They don’t even need them, really, not when little things like centre-back movement and zonal marking are usually enough to start several minutes of spirited bickering. That’s how the burglar thing ends up happening.

They don’t plan it at all. Carragher gets up out of his seat to demonstrate something about defending—he looks awkward, suit a little too big, hair not quite styled right for TV, a little jerky as he moves with his words—and Gary swears he can almost hear the frustrated groan of a producer somewhere lamenting how Carragher can’t sit still in his bloody seat.

He half-interrupts just as Carragher is winding down on his point, can again almost hear the sigh of relief from the same producer when Carragher takes his seat again. The analogy comes to him, and he doesn’t hesitate (hasn’t since that first season, when he realized it was better to say things in his own natural words, off-color or not). “He’s a bit like a burglar in your house, and you don’t know which room he’s in. He really is, honestly—”

It takes the space of a blink to realize Carragher has interrupted right back. “You’d be under the bed,” he chuckles, shifting again in his seat.

Gary can’t help but laugh, and a large part of him is impressed—he couldn’t have made an off-the-cuff joke like that his first show, could barely get his practiced and perfected words out without stumbling. But this is not his first rodeo anymore, which means the retort is right there, tantalizing. Usually, he has enough maturity (and filter) to ignore it, but he’s missed this, sparring with someone who won’t back down from a disagreement, and it’s the least he can do after the implication that Mancunians (or at least him, in particular) are cowards.

He sees Carragher reach for his water, and just goes for it. “Bet you’d probably be the burglar.”

There isn’t a even a pause before Carragher laughs right back, louder than the rest of the studio—even Ed, whose chuckle is tentative, mirrors the slight unease of the rest of the room. But Carragher takes it in stride, looks delighted, even, meeting his eyes square on with a smile stretched right across his face.

And something settles over Gary’s shoulders, a kind of calm, steadying weight, like a loose brick sliding into place. Carragher doesn’t fit yet, with his big suit and his fidgeting and his ill-timed reach for the water (wait for the advert break, that’s what Gary’s always been told), but he’s witty, willing to dish it out and take it back in equal measure, and he’s sharp, says things that don’t leave Gary feeling like he wants to pull all his hair out and bury himself in a sand pit where no one’s ever heard of football before.

Fuck it all, he’s sharp.

Gary’s always liked the smart ones. It’s what stops him from screwing Carragher over by leaving his stylus on the screen, or interrupting him when he goes on a little too long in his answers, or any of a hundred other things he could do to stitch him up. Carragher doesn’t know TV yet (because who does, really, before you’re sat in front of the cameras as a captive audience of millions waits to pick apart your every mistake?), but he clearly knows football, and that’s enough for the moment.

At the end of the evening, the show is a solid 7/10. It could’ve gone better, as always, but it also could’ve gone a lot worse (Gary would rate his own debut a paltry 2/10, the two points coming entirely from Ed’s calming, professional presence), and he adds Carragher to the MNF WhatsApp group before the night is over. There’s the beginnings of something here, it crackles in the air even after Ed delivers the outro and all the cameras switch off.

Welcome aboard indeed.

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Happy Sunday. Time for another chapter and if we’ve had a hen party, surely it’s time for a stag do (without Wee Jamie).

Thanks to you all and especially @wickedgoodbooks @happytoobserve @mo-nighean-rouge for their support.

Chapter 21: A Staggering Circumstance

Rudy: Let's have a bachelor party with chicks and guns and fire trucks and hookers and drugs and booze!

Gary: Yeah! Yeah yeah! All the things that make life worth living for!

Bachelor Party

Jamie leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, a finger marking his place in the report he had been reading. He mulled over the recommendations succinctly articulated by Jenny. Ever since her recent fact finding visit to the Macallan distillery, she had been enthusing at every opportunity about the new architecture, technology and design and was preparing a presentation on her vision and proposed five year plan for their own distillery to the Board.

Jamie sighed. The Macallan was certainly impressive, but they were a much bigger outfit and, as part of a larger group, had the finances to support change on this scale. As a smaller, independent distillery,  Broch Tuarach was not in that league and, truth be told, Jamie found comfort in the old technology and older buildings. But he did realise that some change certainly would be good for the business. It was all a balancing act really, tradition versus technology, investment versus profit, increased visitors versus spend on amenities.

A ping from his laptop made Jamie open his eyes. He smiled at the email from Claire - just a very brief message (love you) plus one attachment. He opened it up. With four weeks to go before the big day, this was the latest version of their wedding planning Excel spreadsheet.  He quickly scrolled down looking for the tasks Claire had assigned to him, clearly highlighted in yellow. There were two - he had to pick up thank you gifts for Ian and Wee Jamie and then collect William’s special wedding outfit.

He glanced across at the photographs on his desk - an ever growing range. The latest additions included a black and white snapshot of Claire holding William, laughing as he tried to paw her face, his happy grin clearly displaying his two front teeth and another of himself crouching next to William whose arms were outstretched, waiting for his father to cuddle him. And more photos to be added over the coming weeks, too, without a doubt.

The next four weeks could not pass quickly enough. Jamie longed to see Claire in her wedding dress. He longed to stand up in front of family and friends and make that forever commitment to Claire and to hear her say those words to him. In their day to day lives, nothing would really change, and yet, Jamie knew in his heart of hearts, marriage to his Sassenach would change everything for him… everything.

A slight tap at the office door roused him from his contemplations and, with only a brief pause, Ian came in. Jamie gestured for him to sit.

“I’m no’ disturbing ye, I hope?”

Jamie shook his head. “Nae. Jes’ digesting this report from Jenny. She has some grand ideas, ye ken.”

“Aye, that’s our Jenny. A woman with a vision, Nae doubt. But I didna come here tae talk about that. I jes’ wanted tae clarify something with ye. I’ve had an email from Angus… about yer stag do.”

“Oh, god. I thought it was all sorted. Curry and pub. That’ll do me fine.”

“Aye, that’s still the plan, but Angus wanted tae tell us about a club that’s jes’ opened that he can get us complimentary tickets fer. It’s called…” Ian consulted his iPad. “... ‘Gentlemen’s Relish’.”

Jamie sighed. “Er, that wouldna be a strip club by any chance?”

“Angus says not. Apparently, it’s a high class establishment frequented by discerning gentlemen requiring sophisticated entertainment.”

Ian showed Jamie the image of the flyer Angus had included as an attachment to his email. Jamie snorted with laughter.

“Sophisticated entertainment, ma arse. The pictures of those women in gold bikinis…  It’s jes’ a lap dancing club. I’m no’ interested. And I dinna think Claire, or Jenny fer that matter, would be too impressed. Let’s stick tae the plan.”

Ian stood up, “ I kent ye’d say that. But I had tae ask. And ye’re right. Chicken Jalfrezi and a few beers is much more ma kind of thing too. Dinna fash, I’ll set Angus straight.”

***************

Jamie supped his beer contentedly and looked around, catching snippets of conversations from his friends all in various stages of inebriation. His belly was comfortably full of lamb madras, rice and many, many poppadoms and now beer. He belched softly, a sure sign it was time to switch to whisky.

He shifted on the bar stool, trying to fit a wee bit more buttock onto the seat, but gave up and used his long legs to support him instead. That was the only downside of this pub, the seating. But worth it for the old fashioned ambience, the dark wood panelling, the lack of trendy, loud young crowds and, of course, the wide selection of craft beers and single malts.

Angus was talking animatedly to Rupert. From his elaborate hand gestures, Jamie was fairly certain he was telling Rupert about the ‘gentlemen’s club’. Jamie smiled. That wasn’t his idea of a fine evening. The whisky would, no doubt, be overpriced and watered down and however scantily clad and attractive the girls were, it wasn’t his kind of entertainment. Well, he corrected himself, it would be his kind of entertainment if it was his Sassenach providing the lap dance… a deeper connection there, not just providing a service to a series of nameless punters.

Jamie shifted, trying to lessen the stirrings in his nether regions at the thought of Claire giving him a personal lap dance. Perhaps he would ask her when he got home, perhaps she would be willing to…

A sudden shoulder shove from behind pushed Jamie off his stool. Struggling to regain his balance, his beer sloshed over the glass and onto the floor, catching the front of his shirt on the way. He turned around, anticipating an apology to be met with a sweaty and, once again, inebriated Tom Christie.

Tom leant fully against Jamie’s now unoccupied bar stool and looked up at him.

“Fraser,” he acknowledged. “Celebrating or commis… commis… drowning yer sorrows? I may have had a couple of nips maself. Is yer girlfriend no’ with ye?”

“Fiancée.” Jamie corrected and offered no further conversation. He put the dregs of his beer on the table.

“Aye, a fine lass, that one. If ye ever change yer mind, pass her ma way, would ye?”

In an instant, Ian was at Jamie’s side, a calming hand now resting on Jamie’s shoulder. At the same time, Tom’s drinking companions joined him.

“I suggest ye get Tom some fresh air and a taxi home.”  Ian spoke directly to Tom’s companions.

They hesitated and looked at Tom, now slightly swaying. “Och, he’ll be fine…”

“Now.” Jamie’s voice was harsh. “And that’s no’ a suggestion, mind. Get him out of ma fucking sight.”

He deliberately turned his back on Tom. Ian watched as Tom was, reluctantly, led away. John passed Jamie a large whisky.

“Ye did right, there, Jamie.” Ian reassured him. “He’s no’ worth the effort. And fer some reason, he has it in fer ye.”

“Aye, I dinna ken why.”

“Jealous, most like. He wants tae be ye. Ye have the family distillery, ye’re good looking, if ye like that kind of thing,” Ian joked. “And ye’ve Claire too. Ye need tae let him go and forget it. This is a night tae celebrate, not think about twats like him. And therefore…”

Ian cleared his throat and continued. “So, gentlemen, can we have a toast please tae the man of the moment, who’s finally leaving the single life and getting married in three weeks time tae the lovely Claire. I'm no’ sure quite what he’s done tae deserve her, but anyways, she’s said yes. So raise yer glasses tae Jamie Fraser… lucky bastard.”

“Jamie Fraser… lucky bastard.”

*******************

Claire pulled her dressing gown tightly around her as she checked the spy hole on the front door. A single blue eye stared back at her.

“‘S me, Sassenach.” The blue eye blinked. “Would ye let me in… please?”

She opened the door to find Jamie standing on the doormat, keys in one hand, bag of chips in the other. He stumbled slightly as he came in.

“I tried tae get ma key in, but I think there’s something wrong wi’ the hole. Mebbe it’s broken.”

He pushed the chips into Claire’s hands as he leaned in and gave her a kiss. She winced slightly as the beer and curry fumes hit her.

“I bought ye a wee gift, Sassenach.” Jamie indicated the lukewarm bag of chips.

“Thanks. Good night then, I take it?”

Jamie started to take his jacket off, struggling to get his arms out. Claire watched for a moment, amused, before depositing the chips on the hall table. She unfastened the buttons on the cuffs and pulled his jacket off.

“I thought my jacket was broken then. Is everything broken ‘round here?” He pulled her into a bear hug. “Ye dinna have a gold bikini, do ye, Sassenach?”

“No,” she laughed. “Why?”

“Och, jes’ a thought.”

He relaxed his hug and brought one hand up to her hair, selecting a random curl. Her hair smelt of rosemary and mint, fresh and clean. Letting the curl drop, his hand followed a familiar path down her back towards its favourite destination. He squeezed her arse through her dressing gown. His other hand crept between their bodies, finding its way through the layers of smooth fabric. He cupped her breast, feeling the nipple harden against his palm. Claire gave a small contented sigh.

“Will ye come tae bed?” He whispered.

“Yes, but, please clean your teeth.”

Jamie headed for the stairs, smiling. “Aye, I will do. I’ve some ideas…”

He stumbled on the bottom stair but, unphased, carried on talking. “Sassenach, babe, I’m going to rock your world.”

Claire made the usual nighttime rounds - checking the locks, turning the television off, switching off the lights, before following Jamie to the bedroom.

“Ok, then Fraser, what ideas have you got for me—”

She stopped suddenly and took in the picture in front of her. Jamie lay, fully clothed, diagonally across their bed still wearing one shoe. The other was, inexplicably, on his bedside table, next to his watch, a beer mat and several after dinner mints. He gave a small snore, adjusted his balls through his trousers and farted.

Claire sighed. She quickly undid his belt and trousers and slowly shimmied his trousers down his hips before pulling the legs. She unbuttoned his beer-stained shirt.

“Jamie, Jamie. Wake up. You need to get ready for bed.”

Jamie emitted a mumbled ‘aye’ and rolled onto his side.

“Jamie, wake up.” She tried again, adding a shake of his shoulder.

With Jamie most definitely asleep, Claire left the bedroom and returned with a blanket and bucket, which she positioned next to his side of the bed. By a process of pushing Jamie’s inert body and pulling the duvet from underneath him, she managed to create enough space in the bed for herself. Tucking the blanket around Jamie, she finally crept into bed.

Perhaps Mary has the right idea, she chuckled to herself, maybe I should get me a ‘toy cupboard’.

Jamie snorted as if in agreement.

Claire moulded her body against Jamie’s back. “You raise a girl’s expectations, James Fraser and then you don’t deliver. But I forgive you.”

“And I can’t wait to be married to you,” she whispered. “I know on a practical level, nothing will change, but, for me, I know everything will change…” She lightly kissed his back. “... everything.”

[televinita]

Zoo 3x08

♫ If you’re looking for truth, don’t come looking for me ♫

-- Echosmith, “Safest Place”

And if you are looking for me, I will be over here playing Mitch's new theme song on repeat while you read.

But first:

WELL ALL RIGHT THEN. Abigail found the secret passcode to earning my wrath, and it's called "emotionally torturing Jackson about his family and failure to save them and/or being responsible for their deaths" (LISTEN ZOO I know you don't know this but I am still pretty emotionally compromised about The O.C. and Ryan's savior complex and the number it did on his head after a certain fiery car accident of his own, so I don't think now is the best time to prod this wound.)

I'm not saying I can't use this footage of Jackson strung up by his wrists, or that I didn't feast like a tiger upon the spoils of said emotional torture, just that.......actually on second thought I can't remember why I came to this review complaining.

(Also wow I really enjoy the part where Jackson started to snap out of Zen mode when he heard she'd compromised Mitch, and him desperately trying to talk Mitch out of Duncan mode. I still do not know quite how to articulate what it is that delights me about their relationship to each other, but Jackson's side of it was on full display)

Alpha Ship

Keep you far, keep you far from what I know You'll be fine, you'll be fine, just don't look closely now

First of all,

"Aunt Jamie can't really hold her liquor" OMG. I'll take "things that definitely still happen in the AU where Mitch and Jamie had a life together" for $200, Alex. (that quote in some context, at least. maybe not the two-man abduction carry)

Anyway I am just gonna be over here making high pitched squeals about Mitch smoothing her hair out of her face and everything else about these 4 seconds before Max starts talking, because I kinda feel like this is as close to an aftermath-of-rescue with them in these positions as we're going to get this year, and I would like to to wring every drop of visible Caring I can out of it.

"If the team finds out what I've done, I will lose everything. I'll lose Clem -- Jamie -- everything."

Well that hurt me good and deep. Can someone please call all the ambulances? My heart is under attack.

He has a fair point to be worried about: even if they understand, how would they in good conscience be able to keep him around if they don't know what he can do as Mr. Duncan, or how Mr. Duncan takes over? How can they be sure of their own safety alone with him, given how the biodrive might affect things?

On bright side: I forgot I had seen the kiss in this episode early, so that was a bolt out of the blue of PURE UNADULTERATED SHIPPY JOY when my eyeballs encountered it after seeing the context of Mitch being Sketchy As Heck and deserving none of Jamie's wholly sincere reassurance*, but desperate for it anyway. I choose to believe he was on the verge of spilling the beans at that point, but maybe not quite all the way there until the kiss sealed it.

*you are hereby forgiven for the Reiden Tower lies

Morgan & Morgan

I love Squirrelly!Mitch and I loved everything about him and Max working together and accidentally almost having some heart to hearts. Especially Max The Number One Mitch/Jamie Shipper giving him advice that Mitch actually takes about coming clean (or tries to take; thanks for being both the solution to and the cause of all our ship problems today, Max!).

The temporary blindness side effect was my favorite part, especially his insistence on hiding it when Jamie needed an actual airplane-crashing scenario to be distracted enough for only moderate concern at his short-circuiting and Max's oddly eager intervention (honestly, at a certain point he might as well have been hopping along singing "We're off on a secret mission!"). I enjoyed the humorous elements, but would not have opposed a multi-episode arc for the more serious, if this show had made room for it.

Bizarro Alpha Ship

Lies unfolding, cover your eyes

I've remained pretty neutral on the whole Duncan Reveal thing, and I think the reason is: listen, if you want to give me two Billy Burke characters at the same time on one show, then that... well, let's just say this is a fair imitation of the list of Billy Burke characters I have scoured the far corners of the internet, libraries and streaming video sites to enjoy.

But. THE ENDING. 100% agree with empress-of-snark's assessment:

I’ve never really wanted to see one of my otp’s beating each other up, but like…. I get it now. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing Jamie elbowing/kicking Mitch in the face, and I don’t understand but I enjoyed it (probably cause it wasn’t really him technically, but).

I also really enjoy when he first turns around with that eerie, dead-eyed stare (oh hey Gary Matheson redux) and she realizes who he is. This is ONE thing I'll admit sci fi does well -- the mind control / body takeover trope. I delighted in this exact same thing once on Under the Dome’s third season. There is nothing more chilling than seeing a character you would have sworn on your life would never harm their significant other be prepared to do exactly that, with no off switch. It's a much better experience as a viewer to know that it’s beyond their control than to find out they are actually human monsters, though.

And it's an even better experience when Jamie just steamrollers over any unhelpful emotions she's about to have with the steely resolve of Fine, It's A Beautiful Day To Kick Your Ass, and suddenly I'm wondering how low-prole it would be to edit and remix this fight with a subtle backing of "Move, Bitch." (why is the chorus of this song always relevant to my interests)

In other words: all fear and trust and betrayal issues can take a backseat for now because Jamie has one job right now, and I love that she has enough confidence and skill to know she can go through him if she has to.

Odds and Ends

I sat through Logan's entire waste of screen time in order not to lose my understanding-the-plot momentum, and so far I regret that decision.

Okay fine the Kenyatta family spooning was pretty adorbs.

Max trying to use the L word = aces

Out of all of AI Logan's comments, "I have an unfortunate announcement" is my very favorite. I want to use that all the time. Why isn't easy embedding of sound clips a thing.

Jackson attempting to strangle Abigail with his legs? Kinda workin' for me.

I think my favorite thing about Max and the Summoning Rod is that it's very much like the things Mitch ran Jackson through last year. Not so fun to be the guinea pig getting told to buck up, is it?

Should it concern me that I didn't even realize Clem was absent (off in Tankland) until they mentioned her?

Overall: minus Logan's non-AI scenes, WHAT A FUN AND WILD RIDE THIS WAS. By far the highest quality-per-minute density of the season for me. Superb sister episode to Howler Sloth.

I've had so much fun skipping back through it and watching the characters run around*, I keep legit forgetting the plane is going crazy because there is an octopus with snake legs (or something) they had to hack to death. There is so much IN this episode I can't possibly cover it all. It feels like lasted 900 years in a good way.

*or in the Morgans' case, sometimes, remain calm and blissfully unaware while the women nearly die following the Bitches Get Stuff Done model; the juxtaposition between the two drastically different panic levels cracks me up every time.

I have already watched a few minutes into episode 9 because that was a WTF cliffhanger, but I think this is as far as I am gonna get before next new episode.

[blackwestchester]

When word spread that the Mount Vernon Public Library could lose its status as the central library of Westchester, the community came out in full force in support of the MVPL, March 29th. 50 or so elected officials, community stakeholders and residents heard the rallying cry to stop the Westchester Library Systems (570 Taxter Rd #400, Elmsford) from voting to strip the MVPL of Central Library status responded.

After hearing from everyone who spoke, the board decided they may need to take another look at the situation before making their decision. So instead of the vote being the number one item on the agenda, they shelved the vote and instead voted for a sub-committee to look further into it, before voting.

Thursday night the Westchester Library Systems Central Library Study Committee held a meeting in the Mount Vernon Public Library’s Grace Greene  Baker Community Room. The purpose of the WLS Central Library Study Committee was to gather information about the role the MVPL plays in achieving the goals of the Central Library program. The committee said they were attempting to answer the overarching question: What should the Central Library be in order to best serve the WLS member libraries and their patrons?

If the WLS thought they saw something in March in Elmsford, they sure were not ready for the standing room only crowd they saw Thursday night. Those who could not fit in the room filled the hallways, listening and looking through the crowded doorway.

Mount Vernonites who came out to fight for the MVPL to retain it Central Library Status [Black Westchester]

The crowd made up of Northside & Southside residents, included the entire Mount Vernon City Council, Comptroller Maureen Walker, three County Legislators, Lyndon Williams, David J. Tubiolo and Ken Jenkins, Assemblyman Gary Pretlow, Former Mayor Ernie Davis, Judge Nichelle Johnson, several City Council Candidates who came out to represent the MVPL after turning in the petitions earlier in the day, waiting to see if they’ve made the ballot, and too many other Mt. Vernon stakeholders and taxpayers to name them all.

While I can not possibly name everyone, the one thing was noticeable and pointed out to the study committee was the unity in the room from many who do not always play well together, often find themselves on opposite sides of political agendas and basically do not get along. Everyone checked their agenda, political party and anything else that often separates Mount Vernonites at the door. Everyone was there for one reason to represent the MVPL and fight for it to keep its Central Library Status.

“Today, I had the honor to stand side by side with brothers and sisters in the community tonight to fight to keep Mount Vernon Public Library Westchester County’s central library,” Tyrae Woodson-Samuels said after the meeting. “One of the proudest moments of my life. With the negative press and in-fighting that we as a city are sometimes overtaken by, it was truly special to see everyone on one accord, fighting in unity for one issue. I think Mount Vernon took a step forward in the right direction tonight! Our library and its status as the county’s central location is too important to let it fall to the wayside.”

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Tamara Stewart [Black Westchester]

Bones Malone [Black Westchester]

Shawyn Patterson-Howard [Black Westchester]

Council President Roberta Apuzzo [Black Westchester]

Tyrae Woodson-Samuels [Black Westchester]

Councilman André Wallace [Black Westchester]

City Clerk George Brown [Black Westchester]

Councilman Marcus A. Griffith [Black Westchester]

MVPL Trustee Brain Johnson [Black Westchester]

Legislator Lyndon Williams [Black Westchester]

MVPL Supporter [Black Westchester]

Legislator David J. Tubiolo [Black Westchester]

MVPL Supporter [Black Westchester]

Former Mayor Ernie Davis [Black Westchester]

County Legislator Ken Jenkins [Black Westchester]

Assemblyman J. Gary Pretlow [Black Westchester]

Councilman J. Yuhanna Edwards [Back Westchester]

MVPL Supporter [Black Westchester]

Jamie Pessin [Black Westchester]

Comptroller Maureen Walker [Black Westchester]

MVPL Trustee Tanya Southerland [Black Westchester]

Each of the 40 or so speakers each passionately articulated their feelings about the library, some sharing stories and experiences, some sharing the history of the MVPL and others asking questions.  But all wanting to know why the central library status was in danger of being revoked from the MVPL. The Study Committee had its hands full trying to enforce the two minutes speaking time allotted and just hit the timer when it went off and let the speaker finish his or her thoughts, several times. Many of the speakers cause the study committee to take notes. At the end the Chair of the Study Committee, Dave Donelson had to let everyone know, your voices have been heard in a major way.

While the residents came out in numbers for the second time for the MVPL, it’s not over, the MVPL still needs their support. The WLS Central Library Study Committee will meet again on Thursday, August 10th at 6:00 PM at WLS Headquarters (570 Taxer Road in Elmsford. The Study Committee will prepare a draft report of their recommendations to be presented to the WLS board on Thursday, September 14th meeting that will also be held at the WLS Headquarters. The Study Committee will then present to the full WLS Board their recommendations on Central Library Status, Tuesday, September 26th.

    Mount Vernon Unites For MVPL, “Don’t Take Our Central Library Status Away” When word spread that the Mount Vernon Public Library could lose its status as the central library of Westchester, the community