#except for good luck charlie i watched good luck charlie four times in a row in the span of a single week

[poughkeepsies]

What’s your go to comfort episode, any show

this is actually super hard cause I feel like I rarely rewatch shows but the first two that popped into my mind were Merlin 4x06 A Servant of Two Masters and Criminal Minds 11x11 Entropy. I think all the episodes from 6b in 9-1-1 have the potential to be comfort episodes rn though

and also a bunch of Run BTS episodes, those I could definitely rewatch over and over

[justthehiddleswrites]

The Reluctants | Chapter 7 | The Reluctant Lover

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary:  Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Chapter:   Adam and Charlie unpack some of their baggage and attempt to move forward.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

-

“Adam!” Charlie and Ava exclaimed, though for entirely different reasons.

Ava jumped up and hugged Adam. His muscle twitched under Ava’s touch. Charlie sat still, confused and a little frightened.

“How long has it been, Adam? Five years?”

“Not fucking long enough. Get the fuck out of my house. You are not welcome.”

Ava glanced back at Charlie. “But your lovely girlfriend invited me in.” Ava gave a brief smile.

Adam looked away and Charlie’s hands fidgeted in her lap. Ava sensed she hit a nerve and pushed.

“Adam, aren’t you going to formally introduce me to her?”

“No. She’s…”

“Charlie.” she jumped to her feet and extended her hand. Ava shook it with her gloved hand. She turned Charlie’s hand over and inspected the healing wounds on her wrists.

“Double dipping, Adam? Naughty.” Ava scrunched up her nose.

“And you are?” Charlie yanked her hand back and shifted to Adam’s side. He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed hard.

Ava pouted. “You haven’t told her about me? I’m Ava. His sister-in-law.”

Charlie’s heart dropped like a stone into her stomach and all the way down to her shoes. She let go of Adam’s hand.

“What?” she croaked out. Adam reached out for her, but she jerked her hand away.

“I’m Eve’s sister.” Ava continued on, either oblivious or indifferent to the damage she caused with each word. “The two of them were so in love for centuries. How many weddings was it? Four?”

“Five.” Adam responded quietly. Charlie took another step away as hot tears stung her eyes.

“Excuse me.” Charlie bolted from the room, slamming and locking her bedroom door.

Adam narrowed eyes at Ava. “Not even five fucking minutes.”

“How was I supposed to know you didn’t tell you about her? It must be serious if you are sucking and fucking.”

“Don’t call it that!” Adam raised his voice. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Is that any way to treat family?” Ava batted her eyes. Adam grabbed her elbow and walked Ava to the door. “You need me!”

“I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody!”

Adam flung the door open and with all his force threw Ava out onto the porch. She stumbled down the stairs.

“Fucking asshole!” she screamed.

“Stay the fuck away from me. If you come here again, Eve’s memory won’t save you from my wrath.”

Adam slammed the door shut and stared down Charlie’s bedroom door. He contemplated letting it sit until tomorrow. That was the easiest option, but not the right one.

“Charlie?” He rapped his knuckles against the door.

She didn’t respond, but Adam could hear her breathing on the other side of the door. There was a soft sob.

“I can explain all of it, Charlie. But I need you to open the door, darling.”

Nothing. Adam’s head hit the door with a thud. “Please.”

“Go away.” Charlie sobbed.

“No.”

“I’m not opening the door.”

“Then I’m sleeping on the floor. I’m not leaving until you talk to me. Until I can explain.” He slumped to the floor, leaning against the door. “I need you, Charlie.”

“You don’t need anyone, Adam.” Charlie turned away and crawled into bed, sobbing.

-

Ava dusted off her short dress and cursed at the hole in her tights.

“Shit!”

“Do you know him?” a voice called out from the shadows.

“Who’s out there?” Ava tensed up.

Jason stepped out from the shadows, a cast on one arm. “Someone with a bone to pick with the man that lives in that house. Do you know him?”

Ava smiled. An ally in town would be helpful. She needed a place to stay. “I do. Can we go somewhere? Maybe your place?” Jason’s eyes lit up. “I’m so hungry.”

“I parked my car around the corner.” He offered his good arm to Ava. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ava.” She rubbed Jason’s arm. “My name’s Ava.”

“Ava. I’m Jason.”

-

Charlie slept like shit and woke up grateful she had the day off. Her head pounded from crying the night before. A fraction of the pain in her heart. She should know. She cursed her stupidity for falling once again for an unavailable man. Still wearing the clothes from last night, she opened the door and tripped over Adam sleeping at the threshold.

“Ah!” she screamed as she tumbled to the floor, hitting her knees hard.

“Shit.” Adam groaned as he unfurled from the fetal position he had curled into once it became clear Charlie wasn’t coming out. As he pulled his eyes open, he spied Charlie crumpled on the floor. “Charlie!” He reached for her, but she recoiled.

“I’m fine! What’s a little more pain at this point?” She rushed to her feet, smoothing out her wrinkled t-shirt.

Charlie walked to the kitchen, ignoring Adam’s footsteps behind her. Opening a cabinet, she grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and a coffee mug. Adam leaned against the sink, arms crossed, watching Charlie’s coffee ritual. Two scoops of grounds carefully measured. Water not from the tap but a bottle.

“Are we not going to talk about yesterday?” Adam picked lint from the hallway carpet off his rumpled shirt.

Charlie’s spoon clattered to the counter. She flattened her palms against the counter, composed herself, and flashed Adam a fake smile.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She moved to grab a bowl of Sugar Smacks. Adam shuttered at the sight of the processed cereal.

“If there is nothing to talk about, then why are looking at me like we are going to go kill Batman?” Charlie cocked her head to the side. “Your fake fucking smile, Charlie! Are we talking about this or not?!” His voice raised and reverberated against the peeling wallpaper of the tiny kitchen. His tone sharp and cruel.

“Not! We are not talking about it!” Charlie screamed back, her headache pushing against her forehead. She promised herself not to cry in front of him.

“That’s not acceptable!”

“Then why did you give me the option?! Then why did you…” her voice trailed off, and she spun back around as the tears dropped to her cheeks. She grabbed her coffee, not bothering to doctor it up with creamer and sugar like usual. “Go home, Adam.” She stomped off back towards her room.

Adam’s long legs helped him cut her off before she reached the hallway. “I am home. This is my house. Finish your sentence. Why did I…” There were a million ways Adam could imagine that sentence ending, all of them bad.

Charlie shuffled her feet, deciding whether to break away from the conversation, return to the kitchen, maybe barricade herself in the bathroom or tell Adam the truth.

“Why did you say all those things to me if you didn’t mean them? Why did you have to sleep with me if you were never going to love me?” she struggled to spit out the words.

“I… I…” Adam sputtered. None of those answers did he expect. Again, nothing about Charlie was what he expected. Nothing had gone to plan since he met her.

“Please.” She held a hand up. “I don’t need excuses. I’m used to rejection and disappointment. It is just a lot easier to swallow when the person doesn’t make me feel like they gave a damn first.”

Adam stepped forward. She held her arms out. “Please stop! I have had quite enough torture for 24 hours and you comforting me about finding about your wife, who have been married to for centuries, is more than I can handle. Go downstairs. I’ll see you in a few days to feed.”

He made one more step. Charlie’s fists clenched at her sides. “Go before I call the police to report harassment!”

Adam stopped in his tracks. Charlie’s eyes sparked with hurt and anger. He wanted to push the issue, wanted to tell her about Eve. About Ava. About the pain inside his heart. But no good came from him ending up in a jail cell.

He nodded. “I’ll see you, darling.”

She glared at the term of endearment and continued to do so until he left via the interior stairs. Adam overheard the lock click on Charlie’s door to the interior basement stairs and his heart ached like being crushed in a vice. He hurried downstairs and locked himself in the spare bedroom.

“Eve.” he called out to no one. “I’ve fucked up and I need your help.” If he could cry, he would.

-

Adam respected Charlie’s request and kept his distance. He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to Eve. About Charlie. Never in all his days did he imagine himself talking to his dead undead wife about his current… Not girlfriend, not lover. His Charlie. There was no other word to describe her. And she was his. Or at least she was.

“Eve, baby.” he called out to the wind for the third night in a row. “What was it you said to me before? About life?”

He plucked the strings of the instrument on his lap. All the music he played felt hollow. He can hear Eve prattling on about surviving, nature, kindness, and dancing in his head. When Adam lost Eve, he closed his heart to all those things except surviving. And he was doing a piss-poor job at that.

“You would like her. She is brilliant but kind. She doesn’t give me an inch and gives as good as she gets. And yet, so fragile, my dear. Fragile like a bomb. And her family. It seems they are the root of all this nonsense. I could kill them, Eve, for they have done to her.”

He sighed and slumped before falling back onto the bed. “I can’t lose her. I can’t. Not like I lost you.” He squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his hands. Adam lay motionless, deep in thought.

-

Charlie eased down the stairs, the letter folded neatly into thirds gripped in her hand. No sweaters, no skirts. Just a ratty sweatshirt and her favorite pair of jeans. She knocked on the door. When Adam didn’t answer, she tried the doorknob and pushed it open to step inside.

To the untrained eye, the apartment would look the same as always. But Charlie could see the telltale signs of clutter. Instruments on the sofa. Notes on the floor.

Adam wasn’t in the living room or the bedroom. Charlie ambled down the hallway and past the tiny bathroom to the spare bedroom. The door was wide open. Adam laid sprawled on the bed, eyes closed. Picture frames leaned against the walls three and four deep. They filled every corner with boxes of flotsam and jetsam. Discarded on the bed was some strange stringed instrument Charlie had never seen before.

“Adam.” her voice is soft but clear.

He popped to standing and rushed to hug her. Her hands hung loose at her side.

“You came.” He buried himself into her neck, inhaling her scent. That impossible scent of Charlie, toeing the line of too masculine and too cloying.

“I can’t have you starving. A deal is still a deal. Before we get started, here.” She shoved the letter at him.

Adam unfolded the paper and read the top line. “Notice of Intent to Terminate Lease. What is this?”

Charlie gulped. “You just said. I’m terminating my lease. Now the original lease terms asked for 30 days, so that is what I put here. That should give you plenty of time to find a new supply of—”

“No.” Adam crumpled the paper into a tight paper and threw it into a corner. “I don’t accept.”

“Well, the terms of the lease explicitly state—”

“STOP IT CHARLIE!” Adam yelled loud enough for Charlie to blink and take a step back. “You are not packing up and leaving until I explain.” he regained some of that cool exterior he had worked decades to cultivate. “Go sit on the sofa. Please.”

Charlie didn’t move. “If after what I have to say you still want to leave, I won’t stop you or bother you ever again. Now please go sit.”

She nodded and turned back down the hallway. Adam shut the door behind him and followed her to the living room. Charlie picked up the instruments with care and returned them to their designated hooks, one after another. Adam didn’t even have to correct her once. She sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, hands folded in her lap. Like that day when she first found out the truth about him.

He sat on the opposite side, uncertain what to do with his hands.

“I should have told you about Eve.”

“Yes. You should have.”

“Sounds like something she would say.” he chuckled before clearing his throat.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Right. We were together for a long time, Charlie. She was my other half in every way. But then she got sick. Blood poisoning.”

Charlie scooted closer to take his hand. Adam gave it a small squeeze.

“After that, it was easier to shut everything out. Lightning doesn’t strike twice. And I am not that lucky. But you are…” He searched for the words. “… unexpected.”

“Is that a nice way of saying…” Adam cut her off.

“It is my turn to speak. And I will not have you denigrating yourself in front of me.”

Charlie shut her mouth and motioned to have Adam continue.

“Thank you. I never planned on any of this. I am ill equipped for relationships.”

“That makes two of us.” Charlie muttered and Adam snapped his head and furrowed his brows. “I was agreeing with you!” she pleaded.

“The bottom line is…” he turned to face her, grabbing her other hand. “… I may have been married for centuries but you are here now and Eve is gone. And if you are willing to give me another chance, I will do better. But in this moment, right here and now, I need you, Charlie. And I don’t need anyone.”

Charlie chewed her lower lip and bounced her foot against the floor. She glanced around the room, buying time. Her eyes settled on Adam’s record player. She stood and walked towards it. A stack of records off to the side. Charlie shuffled through them, selecting one and putting it on.

“Dance with me, Adam.” Charlie called as the strains of O.V. Wright’s Let’s Straighten It Out came on.

Adam grabbed Charlie’s outstretched arm and pulled her tight to his chest. His long arms enveloped her as they swayed to the music. She buried her head into his chest and breathed in deep. He smelled of Adam, sandalwood and cologne.

“I’m not letting go.” Adam commented as he kissed the top of her head.

“Please don’t.” she replied, muffled by his shirt. Tears stained the silk material as they fell from her eyes. “I’m ruining your shirt.” She pulled back, wiping her cheek.

“It’s been through worse.”

He tilted his head down and pulled Charlie’s chin up and kissed her with parted lips. His hands splayed across her back as his tongue slipped into Charlie’s mouth and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers slipped through Adam’s black locks and she explored his mouth as he explored hers.

When they parted, the song ended, but they continued to sway to an invisible rhythm.

“Where do we go from here?” Charlie questioned, not moving her head to look at Adam.

“I believe tradition dictates after a fight, a couple takes part in make-up sex.”

Charlie giggled against his chest. “Nothing we have ever done has been traditional.”

Adam’s hands tugged and pulled at her sweatshirt. “True but we definitely do sex.”

“That we do.” Adam kissed her again, walking the two of them back to the couch. As Charlie fell to the couch, the wood frame of the antique sofa cracked, but neither Adam nor Charlie paid it any mind.

“I am hungry, darling.” Adam growled into Charlie’s ear as he pawed as her chest underneath the sweatshirt.

Charlie arched her back to meet his hands. She pulled the sweatshirt off and tossed it to the floor. Her hands tugged at his shirt, exposing the taut muscles underneath. They rose to their knees. The couch creaked again. Adam kissed up and down Charlie’s torso with sloppy mouth kisses. He gripped her waist and Charlie reached behind and unhooked her bra.

“Your tits are magnificent.” Adam moaned, taking one of Charlie’s nipples in his mouth. He sucked hard.

“Fuck, Adam!” Her head fell back as her hands pulled him closer. His fangs nipped at the tender flesh. He hungered in all aspects.

“I need you, darling. Now.” Adam grabbed her thighs and flopped her onto her back.

Creak. “Did you hear that?” Charlie asked, while she fumbled with the infernal button fly on his dark jeans. “Why in the hell are there so many buttons?”

Adam yanked her jeans, not budging them for a moment. “I insist you must only walk around naked from now on in this house.” He was in such a hurry that when Charlie stroked his shaft, he ripped the button clean off.

“Those were my favorite jeans.”

“Too much talking.” Adam growled, shimmying her pants to her ankles. He lifted each leg, pulling the jeans off and depositing them on the floor. He pushed his own pants down past his ass, his cock popping free.

“I am afraid I won’t be gentle this time, my love.” Adam pushed her legs open and up, pining them back.

Charlie grabbed his shoulders, pulling him against her. He pushed into her and groaned.

“Fuck!” they both exclaimed as Adam bottomed out.

Adam’s hips twisted while he rutted against Charlie. Her nails dug into his back, leaving red crescents. Adam tore at the upholstery, fisting it on either side of Charlie’s shoulders. The couch creaked and whined as Adam thrusted into Charlie at a ruthless pace.

“Darling…” Adam moaned as his balls tightened. His fangs painful.

“I’m cumming!” Charlie bucked against his hips. Her pussy fluttered and clenched around Adam’s cock.

“Yes!” Adam thrusted twice more as his fangs sunk into Charlie’s neck.

“AHHH!” Charlie’s vision turned white while Adam fed and came inside her. Her pussy milked his cock. Adam remained latched to her neck. A meal had never tasted so good.

In complete exhaustion, Adam collapsed against Charlie. A trickle of blood came down Charlie’s neck to pool between her breasts. With a delicate touch, Adam licked up the trail of red before kissing Charlie’s neck just below the already healing wound.

“Oh!” Charlie shuddered at the overstimulation.

“We should fight more often.” Adam commented, continuing to nip at Charlie’s neck, collarbone, and breasts, leaving marks.

“Adam!” Charlie punched his shoulder.

At that moment, the sofa collapsed underneath them, sending a cloud of dust surrounding them. Charlie held onto Adam as they crashed down, screaming. Adam covered as much of Charlie’s body as he could, in case there was shrapnel from the collapse.

As the dust settled, Adam stared into Charlie’s wide eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Darling, I believe we have fucked the shit out of this couch.”

Charlie burst into laughter.

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts: Vanaheim

Wizards Hearts Game/Fest ran for a full four months, and is now officially over, though we are ever appreciative towards our readers for spreading love to Drarry fics old and new, short and long. 900 comments were left as a result of the game.

Players were sorted and assigned at random to four different teams. All team activities and discussions were completely optional but could yield extra points to help win the game! There were weekly team activities and longer, creative team activities where players could imagine new, fun headcanons in the Harry Potter universe and perhaps a few stories of their own!

Throughout the game, creatures were directed to create their own magical casinos, including locations, menu, games played in the bounds, and other fun activities!

This is the information gathered by our Team 3, self-designated as the casino ‘Vanaheim’.

Activity 1

To enter Vanaheim you must go to a small, rundown, local pub in a rainy Scottish village called Tyche’s Tavern. Once there you order a “Fortuna Major” from the bartender. They will slide your drink over to you on a special coaster, that is a portkey to our Casino. It is an ancient viking ship, sunken deep underwater. It’s unplottable and impossible to find without the portkey.

Our Casino has a relic named  Hofund, it is the the sword of Heimdall, it is placed in the entry way.  It is both an omen of good luck, and a guarantee against cheating. Once you touch it, anyone that tries to cheat or steal from us will be cursed to sprout tentacles that break out in painful boils

Activity 2

Re: Mundungus Fletcher

Mundungus Fletcher has been skulking around our casino for a long time now. Our staff has observed him stealing from us on multiple occasions. Interestingly, he was stealing very mundane valueless objects. It’s like he can’t help himself. It was brought to our attention when we saw him stealing forks and water goblets from the restaurant, but then we observed him stealing even more valueless things, like napkins. Once he began stealing toilet paper our staff came up with a weekly betting pool on what he would steal next and in what quantities. It was fun, but unfortunately the fun ended when Charlie Weasley came in and we caught him trying to steal objects Mr. Weasley touched so that he could sell them to besotted witches and wizards with a crush on the dragon tamer. We fined and reprimanded him. We later caught him hanging around Tyche’s Tavern trying to accost our more famous clientele. Most recently we caught him dressed as an old woman on holiday stealing a poker chip from Harry Potter. Its value was only 1 sickle, but he was planning on selling it to a wizard in France who is infatuated with Mr.Potter. We have since warded the premises against Mr. Fletcher and he is no longer welcome in our establishment.

Re: Game Rules

Vanaheim is well known for a game that can trace its roots to its Viking Heritage. Meir is a dice game based on chance, but that involves a good deal of skill. Much like Poker it relies on lying and bluffing to win. Vanaheim has several sets of historic dice that date back to the invention of the game. The earliest wizards in these parts used these exact sets of bone dice. Legend says they were carved from the bones of the goat that Loki and Thor once enjoyed at a farmers house as guests. Over time they have broken and chipped. But they still retain the power of Thor and the mischief of Loki. Other magical properties have been added to them over the centuries. The best of which is that to preserve their luck and to ensure a fair game, they are self rolling. Additionally, they have begun to become interested in the game they are used to play, and can develop affinities for frequent players. Some say they can be heard whispering advice to the person that wields them regarding their wagers and their thoughts about whether or not to bluff. No one is quite certain when they became sentient, but any player at Vanaheim knows it is to their advantage to make friends with the dice as they have been playing this game longer than any wizard alive and their advice is always spot on.

Activity 3

For 364 days of the year, Vanaheim is located in a secret location on the ocean floor. But once a year, on All Hallows’ Eve, the ancient Viking ship rises to the surface for a grand celebration. Extension and Buoyancy Charms are added for additional occupancy, but our Halloween celebration is still very exclusive (please be sure to book a year in advance). On this night, the gods walk among us. Expect to brush shoulders with Thor, Loki, Baldur, Heimdall, Freya or, if you are very lucky, Odin himself. At midnight, our guests will be treated to an exceptional display of fireworks - custom made from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes - to the rousing sounds of Old Norse battle music.

For dinner you are in for a treat. Our specially bred goats (descended from the goat eaten by Thor and Loki, from which our dice were carved) are rubbed with our secret blend of herbs and spices and slow-roasted over an open fire-pit located at the stern of the ship. Thinly sliced and served with a side of roasted carrots and caramelised baby potatoes, the tender meat will melt in your mouth and bring you luck for the year to come. For dessert you will enjoy a selection of lightly spiced honey cakes. Vanaheim brews its own mead in the Old World style.  Fermented with raw honey, juniper, hibiscus and infused with special herbs, our mead is stirred with a birch totem stick, gifted from Kvasir, and chanted over throughout the brewing process to invoke the good will of the gods. When you drink our mead, you may experience some of its illuminating properties. You may find yourself noticing things about your companions that you may have overlooked - perhaps they are especially thoughtful, or have a knack for remembering birthdays - and they may notice your unique gifts in return.  No matter what, our endless barrels of mead will have you feeling joyous and festive into the wee hours of the morning

Activity 4

Written by Vanaheim, about Loch Lomond’s Treasure

Written by Loch Lomond’s Treasure, about Vanaheim

Activity 5

It was stiflingly hot inside the infamous Vanaheim Casino, and the glamour Romilda wore didn’t help matters much since it clogged every pore of her face, making her feeling more uncomfortable. But she didn’t dare take off her glamour and risk being detected. Ever since she’d been caught bribing Mundungus Fletcher to steal things from the more noteworthy guests, she’d been banned from the premises under threat of public humiliation.

Tonight had been dreadfully dull though. She’d had high hopes for this event, with both Harry Potter and his more than questionable choice of boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, as guests. But everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly. Not even a row over winnings or counting cards or anything, just a slow hum of voices and the occasional outcry whenever someone won at that weird dice game they insisted on playing here that she could never understand or remember the rules for.

She sighed, glancing at her wristwatch, when something caught her eye. How on earth could she have missed this? She was sure she had kept her eyes firmly on Potter the entire night, but somehow she hadn’t noticed him walking up to… to none other than the literal god and eligible bachelor Thor Odinsson. Oh, this was good. This was almost too good to be true. But where was Malfoy?

It was difficult trying to scan the room for Malfoy while simultaneously keeping track of what Potter was doing with Odinsson, but when Potter leaned into the other man, placing a hand on his big bicep and whispering in his ear, Romilda felt like she had found the thirteenth use of dragon’s blood. Surely she would get promoted after writing a story about this?

Unbelievably, it got even better when she heard a cry of rage to her right, and saw Malfoy elbow his way through the crowd towards the two men. Romilda was whispering furiously to her Quick Quotes Quill while Malfoy started having a shouting match with Potter, and even went so far as to push Potter away from Odinsson. But in her haste to get everything written down, she had forgotten to keep her glamour, and she felt it slip enough that the bouncer by the door noticed her. He’d always had a keen eye, that one, and wasn’t easily distracted by gossip-worthy fights, not even a big one like this. Luckily for her, Malfoy yanked Potter away towards the loos by grabbing his collar. She took the opportunity to slink away in the general commotion that caused, grieving that she hadn’t become an unregistered Animagus like her predecessor Rita Skeeter so she could follow the two men and see the rest of the row. By the look of Malfoy’s face, it promised to get juicy.

* * * * *

Draco pushed Potter unceremoniously into the loo and slammed the door behind them. After a quick check to make sure they were alone, he cast Colloportus and pushed Potter up against the sink.

“I saw you,” Draco growled.

Potter’s eyes widened but he didn’t move.

“In front of everyone. They were all watching their Saviour. They think I don’t deserve you.” Draco took a step closer until they were inches apart. “I saw you. Whispering in his ear, touching him, and he looked like he wanted to devour you. Make you his.”

Potter exhaled, his eyes dark. “How did that make you feel?”

Draco slid his thigh between Potter’s and crowded into his space. “Incredibly turned on. He wanted you, thought he could have you.”

“The look on your face,” Potter murmured in Draco’s ear. “I was watching you the whole time. I love it when your cheeks and neck get flushed. You’re gorgeous when you’re jealous.”

“Fuck, Potter.” Draco leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry’s jaw, kissed down his neck and Harry tilted his head to the side in encouragement. “But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Harry’s breath hitched as Draco nipped at the sensitive spot by his ear. “All yours. You’re the only one I want.”

Draco sucked a bruise into Harry’s neck to mark what was his, then came up and claimed his lips in a searing kiss. When they broke apart, Draco had only one coherent thought on his mind. “Apparate us home. Right now.”

With a loud crack, the room was once again empty.

[go-redgirl]

John Kerry’s Service Record Were John Kerry's Vietnam War service medals earned under 'fishy' circumstances? David Mikkelson

Claim:

  John Kerry’s Vietnam War service medals (a Bronze Star, a Silver Star and three Purple Hearts) were earned under “fishy” circumstances. This was written by a retired admiral and Annapolis graduate. The item offers no direct testimony about Kerry, but it does provide informed background useful in assessing what Kerry seems to have claimed for himself. It confirms information I have received from other sources. Our media should be demanding that Senator Kerry open his service records in the same way they demanded that of President Bush regarding his NG service. I was in the Delta shortly after he [Kerry] left. I know that area well. I know the operations he was involved in well. I know the tactics and the doctrine used. I know the equipment. Although I was attached to CTF-116 (PBRs) I spent a fair amount of time with CTF-115 (swift boats), Kerry’s command. Here are my problems and suspicions:

(1) Kerry was in-country less than four months and collected, a Bronze Star, a Silver Star and three purple hearts. I never heard of anybody with any outfit I worked with (including SEAL One, the Sea Wolves, Riverines and the River Patrol Force) collecting that much hardware so fast, and for such pedestrian actions. The Swifts did a commendable job. But that duty wasn’t the worst you could draw. They operated only along the coast and in the major rivers (Bassac and Mekong). The rough stuff in the hot areas was mainly handled by the smaller, faster PBRs.

(2) Three Purple Hearts, but no limp. All injuries so minor that no time lost from duty. Amazing luck. Or he was putting himself in for medals every time he bumped his head on the wheel house hatch? Combat on the boats was almost always at close range. You didn’t have minor wounds. At least not often. Not three times in a row. Then he used the three purple hearts to request a trip home eight months before the end of his tour. Fishy.

(3) The details of the event for which he was given the Silver Star make no sense at all. Supposedly, a B-40 was fired at the boat and missed. Charlie jumps up with the launcher in his hand, the bow gunner knocks him down with the twin .50, Kerry beaches the boat, jumps off, shoots Charlie, and retreives the launcher. If true, he did everything wrong. (a) Standard procedure when you took rocket fire was to put your stern to the action and go balls to the wall. A B-40 has the ballistic integrity of a frisbie after about 25 yards, so you put 50 yards or so between you and the beach and begin raking it with your .50’s. (b) Did you ever see anybody get knocked down with a .50 caliber round and get up? The guy was dead or dying. The rocket launcher was empty. There was no reason to go after him (except if you knew he was no danger to you just flopping around in the dust during his last few seconds on earth, and you wanted some derring do in your after-action report). And we didn’t shoot wounded people. We had rules against that, too. (c) Kerry got off the boat. This was a major breach of standing procedures. Nobody on a boat crew ever got off a boat in a hot area. EVER! The reason was simple. If you had somebody on the beach your boat was defenseless. It coudn’t run and it couldn’t return fire. It was stupid and it put his crew in danger. He should have been relieved and reprimanded. I never heard of any boat crewman ever leaving a boat during or after a firefight. Something is fishy. Here we have a JFK wannabe (the guy Halsey wanted to court martial for carelessly losing his boat and getting a couple people killed by running across the bow of a Jap destroyer) who is hardly in Vietnam long enough to get good tan, collects medals faster than Audie Murphy in a job where lots of medals weren’t common, gets sent home eight months early, requests separation from active duty a few months after that so he can run for Congress, finds out war heros don’t sell well in Massachusetts in 1970 so reinvents himself as Jane Fonda, throws his ribbons in the dirt with the cameras running to jump start his political career, gets Stillborn Pell to invite him to address Congress and Bobby Kennedy’s speechwriter to do the heavy lifting, winds up in the Senate himself a few years later, votes against every major defense bill, says the CIA is irrelevant after the Wall came down, votes against the Gulf War, a big mistake since that turned out well, decides not to make the same mistake twice so votes for invading Iraq, but oops, that didn’t turn out so well so he now says he really didn’t mean for Bush to go to war when he voted to allow him to go to war. I’m real glad you or I never had this guy covering our flanks in Vietnam. I sure don’t want him as Commander in Chief. I hope that somebody from CTF-115 shows up with some facts challenging Kerry’s Vietnam record. I know in my gut it’s wildy inflated. And fishy. rigins:   In Vietnam, Lieutenant John Kerry served aboard 50-foot aluminum boats known as PCFs (from “patrol craft fast”) or “Swift boats” (supposedly an acronym for “Shallow Water Inshore Fast Tactical Craft”). Despite the implications contained in the piece quoted above (“that duty wasn’t the worst you could draw”), Swift boat duty was plenty dangerous: . . . two weeks after [Kerry] arrived in Vietnam, the swift boat mission changed — and Kerry went from having one of the safest assignments in the escalating conflict to one of the most dangerous. Under the newly launched Operation SEALORD, swift boats were charged with patrolling the narrow waterways of the Mekong Delta to draw fire and smoke out the enemy. Cruising inlets and coves and canals, swift boats were especially vulnerable targets. Originally designed to ferry oil workers to ocean rigs, swift boats offered flimsy protection. Because bullets could easily penetrate the hull, sailors hung flak jackets over the sides. The boat’s loud engine invited ambushes. Speed was its saving grace — but that wasn’t always an option in narrow, heavily mined canals. The swift boat crew typically consisted of a college-educated skipper, such as Kerry, and five blue-collar sailors averaging 19 years old. The most vulnerable sailor sat in the “tub” — a squat nest that rose above the pilot house — and operated a pair of .50-caliber machine guns. Another gunner was in the rear. Kerry’s mission was to wait until hidden Viet Cong guerrillas started shooting, then order his men to return fire. If John Kerry was not at all unusual that a Swift boat crew member might be wounded more than once in a relatively short period of time, or that injuries meriting the award of a Purple Heart might not be serious enough to require time off from duty. According to a Boston Globe overview of John Kerry’s Vietnam experience: Under [Navy Admiral Elmo] Zumwalt’s command, swift boats would aggressively engage the enemy. Zumwalt, who died in 2000, calculated in his autobiography that these men under his command had a 75 percent chance of being killed or wounded during a typical year.

“There were an awful lot of Purple Hearts — from shrapnel, some of those might have been M-40 grenades,” said George Elliott, Kerry’s commanding officer. “The Purple Hearts were coming down in boxes. Kerry, he had three Purple Hearts. None of them took him off duty. Not to belittle it, that was more the rule than the exception.” And according to Douglas Brinkley’s history of John Kerry and the Vietnam War: As generally understood, the Purple Heart is given to any U.S. citizen wounded in wartime service to the nation. Giving out Purple Hearts increased as the United States started sending Swifts up rivers. Sailors — no longer safe on aircraft carriers or battleships in the Gulf of Tonkin — were starting to bleed, a lot. John Kerry was wounded in his first significant combat action, when he volunteered for a special mission on 2 December 1968: “It was a half-assed action that hardly qualfied as combat, but it was my first, and that made it very exciting,” [Kerry said]. “Three of us, two enlisted men and myself, had stayed up all night in a Boston Whaler [a foam-filled-fiberglass boat] patrolling the shore off a Viet Cong-infested peninsula north of Cam Ranh . . . 

Most of the night had been spent being scared shitless by fisherman whom we would suddenly creep up on in the darkness. Once, one of the sailors was so startled by two men who surprised us as we came around a corner ten yards from the shore that he actually pulled the trigger on his machine gun. Fortunately for the two men, he had forgotten to switch off the safety . . .” As it turned out, the two men really were just a pair of innocent fisherman who didn’t know where one zone began and the other ended. Their papers were perfectly in order, if their night’s fishing over. 

The fear was that they were VC. Allowing them to continue might have compromised the mission. For the next four hours Kerry’s Boston Whaler, using paddles, brought boatloads of fisherman they found in sampans, all operating in a curfew zone, back to the Swift. It was tiring work. “We deposited them with the Swift boat that remained out in the deep water to give us cover,” Kerry continued. 

“Then, very early in the morning, around 2:00 or 3:00, while it was still dark, we proceeded up the tiny inlet between the island and the peninsula to the point designated as our objective. 

The jungle closed in on us on both sides. It was scary as hell. You could hear yourself breathing. We were almost touching the shore. Suddenly, through the magnified moonlight of the infrared ‘starlight scope,’ I watched, mesmerized, as a group of sampans glided in toward the shore. We had been briefed that this was a favorite crossing area for VC trafficking contraband.” With its motor turned off, Kerry paddled the Boston Whaler out of the inlet into the beginning of the bay. Simultaneously the Vietnamese pulled their sampans up onto the beach and began to unload something; he couldn’t tell what, so he decided to illuminate the proceedings with a flare.

 The entire sky seemed to explode into daylight. The men from the sampans bolted erect, stiff with shock for only an instant before they sprang for cover like a herd of panicked gazelles Kerry had once seen on TV’s Wild Kingdom. “We opened fire,” he went on. 

“The light from the flares started to fade, the air was full of explosions. My M-16 jammed, and as I bent down in the boat to grab another gun, a stinging piece of heat socked into my arm and just seemed to burn like hell. By this time one of the sailors had started the engine and we ran by the beach, strafing it. Then it was quiet. “We stayed quiet and low because we did not want to illuminate ourselves at that point,” Kerry explained. “In the dead of night, without any knowledge of what kind of force was there, we were not all about to go crawling on the beach to get our asses shot off. We were unprotected; we didn’t have ammunition, we didn’t have cover, we just weren’t prepared for that . . . So we first shot the sampans so that they were destroyed and whatever was in them was destroyed.” Then their cover boat warned of a possible VC ambush in the small channel they had to exit through, and Kerry and company departed the area. The “stinging piece of heat” Kerry felt in his arm had been caused by a piece of shrapnel, a wound for which he was awarded a Purple Heart. The injury was not serious — Brinkley notes that Kerry went on a regular Swift boat patrol the next day with a bandage on his arm, and the Boston Globe quoted William Schachte, who oversaw the mission and went on to become a rear admiral, as recalling that “It was not a very serious wound at all.” Kerry earned his second Purple Heart while returning from a PCF mission up the Bo De River on 20 February 1969: One of the mission’s support helicopters had been hit by small-arms fire during the trip up the Bo De and the rest had returned with it to their base to refuel and get the damage inspected. While there the pilots found that they wouldn’t be able to return to the Swifts for several more hours. “We therefore had a choice: 

to wait for what was not a confirmed return by the helos [and] give any snipers more time to set up an ambush for our exit or we could take a chance and exit immediately without any cover,” Kerry recorded in his notebook. “We chose the latter.”

Just as they moved out onto the Cua Lon, at a junction known for unfriendliness in the past, kaboom! PCF-94 had taken a rocket-propelled grenade round off the port side, fired at them from the far left bank. Kerry felt a piece of hot shrapnel bore into his left leg. With blood running down the deck, the Swift managed to make an otherwise uneventful exit into the Gulf of Thailand, where they rendezvoused with a Coast Guard cutter. The injury Kerry suffered in that action earned his his second Purple Heart. Brinkley noted that, as in the previous case, “Kerry’s wound was not serious enough to require time off from duty.” Kerry earned his Silver Star on 28 February 1969, when he beached his craft and jumped off it with an M-16 rifle in hand to chase and shoot a guerrilla who was running into position to launch a B-40 rocket at Kerry’s boat. Contrary to the account quoted above, Kerry did not shoot a “Charlie” who had “fired at the boat and missed,” whose “rocket launcher was empty,” and who was “already dead or dying” after being “knocked down with a .50 caliber round.” Kerry’s boat had been hit by a rocket fired by someone else — the guerrilla in question was still armed with a live B-40 and had only been clipped in the leg; when the guerrilla got up to run, Kerry assumed he was getting into position to launch a rocket and shot him: On Feb. 28, 1969, Kerry’s boat received word that a swift boat was being ambushed. As Kerry raced to the scene, his boat became another target, as a Viet Cong B-40 rocket blast shattered a window. Kerry could have ordered his crew to hit the enemy and run. But the skipper had a more aggressive reaction in mind. Beach the boat, Kerry ordered, and the craft’s bow was quickly rammed upon the shoreline. Out of the bush appeared a teenager in a loin cloth, clutching a grenade launcher. An enemy was just feet away, holding a weapon with enough firepower to blow up the boat. Kerry’s forward gunner, [Tommy] Belodeau, shot and clipped the Viet Cong in the leg. Then Belodeau’s gun jammed, according to other crewmates (Belodeau died in 1997). [Michael] Medeiros tried to fire at the Viet Cong, but he couldn’t get a shot off. In an interview, Kerry added a chilling detail. “This guy could have dispatched us in a second, but for . . . I’ll never be able to explain, we were literally face to face, he with his B-40 rocket and us in our boat, and he didn’t pull the trigger. I would not be here today talking to you if he had,” Kerry recalled. “And Tommy clipped him, and he started going [down.] I thought it was over.” Instead, the guerrilla got up and started running. “We’ve got to get him, make sure he doesn’t get behind the hut, and then we’re in trouble,” Kerry recalled. So Kerry shot and killed the guerrilla. “I don’t have a second’s question about that, nor does anybody who was with me,” he said. “He was running away with a live B-40, and, I thought, poised to turn around and fire it.” Asked whether that meant Kerry shot the guerrilla in the back, Kerry said, “No, absolutely not. He was hurt, other guys were shooting from back, side, back. There is no, there is not a scintilla of question in any person’s mind who was there [that] this guy was dangerous, he was a combatant, he had an armed weapon.” Another member of the crew confirmed Kerry’s account for the Boston Globe and expressed no doubt that Kerry’s action had saved both the boat and its crew: The crewman with the best view of the action was Frederic Short, the man in the tub operating the twin guns. Short had not talked to Kerry for 34 years, until after he was recently contacted by a Globe reporter. Kerry said he had “totally forgotten” Short was on board that day. Short had joined Kerry’s crew just two weeks earlier, as a last-minute replacement, and he was as green as the Arkansas grass of his home. He said he didn’t realize that he should have carried an M-16 rifle, figuring the tub’s machine guns would be enough. But as Kerry stood face to face with the guerrilla carrying the rocket, Short realized his predicament. With the boat beached and the bow tilted up, a guard rail prevented him from taking aim at the enemy. For a terrifying moment, the guerrilla looked straight at Short with the rocket. Short believes the guerrilla didn’t fire because he was too close and needed to be a suitable distance to hit the boat squarely and avoid ricochet debris. Short tried to protect his skipper. “I laid in fire with the twin .50s, and he got behind a hootch,” recalled Short. “I laid 50 rounds in there, and Mr. Kerry went in. Rounds were coming everywhere. We were getting fire from both sides of the river. It was a canal. We were receiving fire from the opposite bank, also, and there was no way I could bring my guns to bear on that.” Short said there is “no doubt” that Kerry saved the boat and crew. “That was a him-or-us thing, that was a loaded weapon with a shape charge on it . . . It could pierce a tank. I wouldn’t have been here talking to you. I probably prayed more up that creek than a Southern Baptist church does in a month.” Charles Gibson, who served on Kerry’s boat that day because he was on a one-week indoctrination course, said Kerry’s action was dangerous but necessary. “Every day you wake up and say, ‘How the hell did we get out of that alive?'” Gibson said. “Kerry was a good leader. He knew what he was doing.” Although Kerry’s superiors were somewhat concerned about the issue of his leaving his boat unattended, they nonetheless found his actions courageous and worthy of commendation: When Kerry returned to his base, his commanding officer, George Elliott, raised an issue with Kerry: the fine line between whether the action merited a medal or a court-martial. “When [Kerry] came back from the well-publicized action where he beached his boat in middle of ambush and chased a VC around a hootch and ended his life, when [Kerry] came back and I heard his debrief, I said, ‘John, I don’t know whether you should be court-martialed or given a medal, court-martialed for leaving your ship, your post,'” Elliott recalled in an interview. “But I ended up writing it up for a Silver Star, which is well deserved, and I have no regrets or second thoughts at all about that,” Elliott said. A Silver Star, which the Navy said is its fifth-highest medal, commends distinctive gallantry in action. Asked why he had raised the issue of a court-martial, Elliott said he did so “half tongue-in-cheek, because there was never any question I wanted him to realize I didn’t want him to leave his boat unattended. That was in context of big-ship Navy — my background. A C.O. [commanding officer] never leaves his ship in battle or anything else. I realize this, first of all, it was pretty courageous to turn into an ambush even though you usually find no more than two or three people there. On the other hand, on an operation some time later, down on the very tip of the peninsula, we had lost one boat and several men in a big operation, and they were hit by a lot more than two or three people.” Elliott stressed that he never questioned Kerry’s decision to kill the Viet Cong, and he appeared in Boston at Kerry’s side during the 1996 Senate race to back up that aspect of Kerry’s action. “I don’t think they were exactly ready to court-martial him,” said Wade Sanders, who commanded a swift boat that sometimes accompanied Kerry’s vessel, and who later became deputy assistant secretary of the Navy. “I can only say from the certainty borne of experience that there must have been some rumbling about, ‘What are we going to do with this guy, he turned his boat,’ and I can hear the words, ‘He endangered his crew.’ But from our position, the tactic to take is whatever action is best designed to eliminate the enemy threat, which is what he did.” Indeed, the Silver Star citation makes clear that Kerry’s performance on that day was both extraordinary and risky. “With utter disregard for his own safety and the enemy rockets,” the citation says, Kerry “again ordered a charge on the enemy, beached his boat only 10 feet from the Viet Cong rocket position and personally led a landing party ashore in pursuit of the enemy . . . The extraordinary daring and personal courage of Lt. Kerry in attacking a numerically superior force in the face of intense fire were responsible for the highly successful mission.” Kerry was injured yet again on 13 March 1969, in an action for which he was awarded both a Bronze Star and his third Purple Heart. According to Kerry’s Bronze Star citation (signed by Admiral Zumwalt himself): Lieutenant (junior grade) Kerry was serving as an Officer-in-Charge of Inshore Patrol Craft 94, one of five boats conducting a Sealords operation in the Bay Hap River. While exiting the river, a mine detonated under another Inshore Patrol Craft and almost simultaneously, another mine detonated wounding Lieutenant (junior grade) Kerry in the right arm. In addition, all units began receiving small arms and automatic weapons fire from the river banks. When Lieutenant (junior grade) Kerry discovered he had a man overboard, he returned upriver to assist. 

The man in the water was receiving sniper fire from both banks. Lieutenant (junior grade) Kerry directed his gunners to provide suppressing fire, while from an exposed position on the bow, his arm bleeding and in pain and with disregard for his personal safety, he pulled the man aboard. Lieutenant (junior grade) Kerry then directed his boat to return to and assist the other damaged boat to safety. Lieutenant (junior grade) Kerry’s calmness, professionalism and great personal courage under fire were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service. According to the Boston Globe, this was the only one of Kerry’s three Purple Heart injuries that caused him to miss any days of service: Kerry had been wounded three times and received three Purple Hearts. Asked about the severity of the wounds, Kerry said that one of them cost him about two days of service, and that the other two did not interrupt his duty. “Walking wounded,” as Kerry put it. 

A shrapnel wound in his left arm gave Kerry pain for years. Kerry declined a request from the Globe to sign a waiver authorizing the release of military documents that are covered under the Privacy Act and that might shed more light on the extent of the treatment Kerry needed as a result of the wounds. Back in 1969, Navy regulations specified that any soldier wounded in combat three times be automatically reassigned away from a combat zone to an assignment of his choosing (unless the thrice-wounded soldier specifically requested to stay). 

Four days after Kerry took his third hit of shrapnel, Commodore Charles F. Horne, an administrative official and commander of the coastal squadron in which Kerry served, forwarded a request on Kerry’s behalf to the Navy Bureau of Personnel asking that Kerry be reassigned to “duty as a personal aide in Boston, New York, or Washington, D.C.” 

Soon afterwards Kerry was transferred to Cam Ranh Bay to await further orders, and within a month he had been reassigned as a personal aide and flag lieutenant to Rear Admiral Walter F. Schlech, Jr. with the Military Sea Transportation Service based in Brooklyn, New York. Kerry served with Admiral Schlech until the end of 1969, when he requested an early discharge from the Navy in order to run for a Massachusetts congressional seat. Admiral Schlech approved the request, and on 3 January 1970 Kerry received an honorable discharge, six months early.

______________________________________

OPINION:  John Kerry is not a honest human-being.  He wanted to be recognized so desperately that he went to the extremed with his alleged lies.

Some people will just do anything to get ahead instead of earning their way through life.

Let the truth be told!

[fandom-necromancer]

988. “How do you want this to go? You can play this out, or I can kill you right here and now.” “Dude, we’re playing chess.”

This was prompted by the amazing @sv926! I loved writing something for Allen60 again!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Allen60 (Warnings: time in hospital, short description of violence and wounds)

Being a SWAT-Captain wasn’t the safest job to have, but no matter what his work demanded from him, he still loved it. It felt him with pride with every mission well done and he knew he was doing the right thing. Most of the time he came back unscathed or suffering minor wounds or bruises. He had counted himself lucky that he had never experienced any job that really had gone south and ended with casualties or hospitalisations. Much of it he supposed was because of the new, trusty android by their side. Sixty was a remarkably efficient addition to the force, even if most had been sceptic inviting someone who had nearly killed Connor and possibly Hank. But Sixty proved himself worthy of a place amongst them. Allen didn’t know how many of his men and women had been saved by this one robot alone. Sure, he was a competitive, self-entitled pain in the ass, but not undeserved.

Unfortunately, regardless of the amount of luck one could accumulate, some time it always had to eventually run out. And this had been his time: A raid of a warehouse rented by an android-trafficker had ended in the androids they had tried to safe from being sold as factory-reset machines attacking them, aiding the criminals in their retreat. They faced nearly the triple amount of enemies they had initially expected and had to quickly retreat themselves. Allen had ordered Sixty to leave his side and help another officer that was about to be cornered. But his attention had been with them both for too long, not seeing the two hacked androids charging into his side, ripping his Kevlar-armour open and shooting thrice through the opening before his team could get them off of him.

He had no memories of being outside the warehouse afterwards, an ambulance or even how much it had hurt. They simply stopped after these three bangs and his name being screamed by a familiar voice that normally sounded as if nothing could bother him and he was bored all the time. It wasn’t this time. His memories came back when he had woken up at the hospital, hooked up to all sorts of beeping equipment around him. A doctor had told him what had happened exactly, but he had been too dazed from painkillers to really understand everything. What he got from it though was that it had been bad. Chances fifty-fifty or worse of him dying. But he was stable now, he had defied the odds and from now on it was a question of how fast his body would restore itself.

He spent most of this asleep, but in his waking hours he read the get-well-soon cards on his bedside table. One from his SWAT-team, one from his brother, one from the police-team, one from Fowler and… one from Sixty personally? It was just a white piece of cardboard, “You better heal fast -60” the only thing written on it. He chuckled at the weirdly personal note and regretted it as his chest flared up even through the painkillers.

After a few days the personal visits came. His brother telling him to finally quit this job and find something calmer. Then the SWAT-team was crowding the little room. They all wished him to get better from the heart and Allen appreciated them all coming. But in the end, he couldn’t help but ask: ‘Did Sixty come too?’ It was silent, until one spoke up: ‘We asked him, but he didn’t want to come. Gave us shit because “humans need peace and quiet to get well again”. I’m sure he means well and hopes you come back soon, too.’ ‘Yeah’, Allen waved the embarrassment away. ‘Tell him I’ll hurry.’ This earned him a few chuckles and they took their leave. He was moved by them all coming to wish him well, but somehow Sixty not being there stung.

-

He was left to go home a few weeks later, upper body wrapped in bandages still and his arm in a sling. But finally leaving the hospital felt like he was finally free. His own home simply felt more comfortable by far. He struggled opening the door with his nondominant hand and was greeted by Leslie frantically wagging her tail and a few low barks. ‘Yeah, missed you too, old girl.’ He stored his clothes away and sat himself on his couch, treating his dog with long overdue clumsy cuddles. In the evening he made himself some instant noodles. Not the best food, but easy enough to prepare with one hand. After eating, he really didn’t feel like suffering through the procedure of “showering” by rubbing himself off with a cloth and went straight to bed.

The next morning started with cereal and coffee together with mindless TV, then he had wanted to catch up on his missed shower, but was caught midway by the doorbell ringing. He looked at it in bewilderment for a moment, before shrugging, hissing at the sudden pain it caused and opening. ‘Sixty?’ ‘Good to see you didn’t get hit in the head’, the android greeted him. ‘Now will you let me in or not?’ ‘Excuse me?’ Sixty sighed as if it was the most obvious thing. ‘You are not capable of caring for yourself with your injuries. As your partner I am obligated to help you until you are back to full functionality.’ ‘What?’ ‘Can you speak in something else despite questions?’ ‘Er… yes. You want to help me?’ ‘Obviously.’ ‘ObViOusLY’, Captain Allen repeated sarcastically. ‘Wouldn’t have thought so after everyone visited me except for you.’ ‘I wouldn’t have been of help there. All I would have done was distracting you from healing.’ ‘That… That isn’t really how it works…’ ‘Fine. Now would you finally let me in? I bought you supplies to cook with.’

Allen finally let Sixty in, more because he knew he couldn’t argue with the stubborn machine anyways. ‘So, you are not at work then?’, he asked instead. ‘Are they even capable to work with your mechanical genius gone?’ ‘They have to. You are my partner, I still technically can’t so anything without you around even with the laws in place. Whether I’m at work or here makes no difference and here I can be of help.’ ‘And… Just out of curiosity… How long do you plan on staying?’ ‘Until you are fit to come back to work of course.’ ‘Of course…’

-

It had been a week since Sixty had decided to temporarily move in. The Captain found that he was indeed thankful for his help. Eating something actually cooked was a welcome alternative to takeout and frozen pizza. Someone helping with cleaning and taking the dog out when it was raining, and you couldn’t hold an umbrella and the leash without getting the bandages wet was also a huge relief. What was his main problem with this arrangement was the small-talk. They both had a lot of free time and just sitting there in silence wasn’t really an option for him. Sixty didn’t seem to mind, but Allen lived in an atmosphere of awkwardness he despised. They talked about work first. Allen had asked how the rest of the team was faring, whether they had caught their traffickers again and as he learned, that no, they hadn’t, what steps they were taking to get back on their trail. But after that it was difficult to find anything to talk about. Sixty mostly giving him one-worded answers didn’t help, too. ‘Hey, what do you do after work normally?’ ‘Usually more work.’ ‘Usually?’ ‘Hobbies otherwise.’ ‘Hobbies?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What hobbies are you interested in?’ ‘Hmm… several.’ ‘Could you name one?’ ‘Yeah.’

Allen stopped trying after a while and ended up on the sofa most days. But the boredom nagged at him and he couldn’t help but groan. ‘Everything okay?’ ‘Yes…’, he sighed. ‘Just bored.’ ‘Do something then.’ ‘Yeah, and what?’ ‘Dunno.’ ‘Hmmm. Same.’

In the end he rummaged through his cupboards, trying to find anything he could fumble with. He knew his old Rubik’s cube had to be here somewhere. He had never managed more than one row, but maybe now his time had come. He didn’t find it, maybe he would have had he searched more, but he stopped as his hands had found a  certain box. ‘Hey, Sixty, you up for a game?’

-

Allen had just set up the pieces on the table, as Sixty leaned over it. They started taking turns playing and the android had been silent, as always. Until at a certain point he leaned back and grinned. ‘Now, how do you want this to go? You can play this out, or I can kill you right here and now.’ Allen looked up from the board. ‘Dude, we’re playing chess.’ ‘And? I never half ass things. Get your head in the game, I could end this in four turns.’ The Captain sighed. ‘Wouldn’t hurt you to relax a little…’ ‘Relaxing nearly got you killed.’ Allen blinked. ‘What did you just say?’ ‘Relaxing nearly got you killed’, Sixty repeated. ‘Excuse me?’ He couldn’t believe the audacity of- ‘If you want to insult my abilities, you really have bad timing. If you want a fight, I would wait until I’m not only a brawl away from opening my wounds again!’

Sixty immediately had his hands up to stop him. ‘Me relaxing nearly got you killed, Captain. It is my fault you are suffering like this.’ Maybe these were the most words Sixty had continuously spoken this week, but the human didn’t realise it. ‘You- Are you really blaming yourself for what’s happened to me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You have to explain that to me.’ ‘You ordered me to go help Charly. But Had I stayed by your side this wouldn’t have happened.’ ‘Then I shouldn’t have sent you away. Or I should have watched my surroundings more. This isn’t your fault, Sixty. Stuff like this happens.’ ‘Not if I can help it.’ ‘Sixty, you may be an android, but you too are not without error. No one is. And I definitely don’t blame you!’ The android stayed silent and stared at their forgotten chess-match. ‘Is this why you are doing this?’, Allen asked softly. ‘Is this why you didn’t visit me at the hospital with the others? Are you feeling guilty about this?’ ‘Yes! Yes, I am! Are you happy now? I failed protecting my partner. I may not be completely perfect, but I could have done better than that! You should ask for a different partner. I would understand it.’

Captain Allen sat there staring at the angry, pouting android. He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘What? What is your problem, human? What’s so funny?’ ‘God, Sixty, you surely are the most stubborn person I have ever met! I am not happy knowing you stress yourself about a known and frequent risk this job simply brings along. You don’t know how much you helped reducing that risk, but it is never gone completely. No one knows everything. Not even you. I would never in my life ask for a different partner, you are stupid for thinking I would. Maybe you could have done better, who knows. Then this will be a lesson to learn for us. No one died. I’m the only one of us severely injured. For not knowing we would be up against triple the amount of people, this mission went extraordinarily well. Please, don’t blame yourself. Who knows what would have happened had you stayed, and Charly would have been alone? Personally, I don’t want to think about that scenario.’ ‘This isn’t exactly something I can simply switch off, Captain.’ ‘I know. Believe me, I know… The guilty feeling never leaves you really. But it is the past. I know if I can help it, I’ll never get into a similar situation again and if I can’t, well… I chose this job. I know what it entails.’ Again the android didn’t say anything. ‘I don’t know what the future holds in check for me. For us. For everyone out there. But I know, I would rather face it with you by my side, okay?’ There was a faint blue blush on Sixty’s face and before Allen could think about what he had just said, he answered lowly: ‘I feel the same way. I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the hospital, it had been selfish of me.’ Allen smiled. ‘You are here now.’

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 31c

Trigger warnings for discussion of abuse and assault.

-x-

"The lack of swelling is concerning as its a pretty nasty knock." Josh commented as he ran a torch across Duffy's eyes.

Charlie nodded, he glanced at Andrew who was still out of it.

"Come on Duffy, keep your eyes open for me!" Josh encouraged.

Duffy was obviously struggling with the simple request.

Josh clearly noticed something as he quickly but gently lowered Duffy to the ground and moved back slightly, pushing Charlie with him.

Before Charlie had chance to speak Duffy began to have a seizure.

Charlie began to panic further. “I shouldn’t have left her.” He muttered.

"I don't understand." Josh replied as he studied his watch to time the seizure.

“I headed back inside. I shouldn’t have. I knew Andrew would be waiting for her, it didn’t go to plan.”

"You couldn't have predicted he'd attack her in broad daylight outside a court." Josh replied, moving back towards Duffy as she began to come out of the seizure.

“Is he alive?” Charlie asked, indicating to Andrew.

"Yeh, he'll be fine. You bust his jaw pretty good though." The other paramedic replied.

“Good.” He replied.

"Duffy, can you hear me?" Josh asked her.

She mumbled incoherently.

Charlie felt sick with worry. “Duffy, darling. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

"Let's get her to hospital. She needs a scan to check what's going on."

Charlie nodded. He took a deep breath. They waited for a second ambulance crew, before taking both Andrew and Duffy to hospital.

After a flurry of activity at the hospital Max eventually came to find Charlie in his office about an hour later.

His fingertips stroking over a picture of him and Duffy that was on his desk. In his own little world.

"The scan results are back."

“Is she ok?”

"Given time she should be. We'll know more once she's fully conscious. She has a compressed skull fracture. The seizure complicates matters. It's not the first one she's had according to her notes."

“What? She’s had this before?” Charlie frowned, “She never mentioned it...”

"There's two prior seizures listed on her notes. One last December and then another one dating back to when she was approximately 17 years old."

“I knew about the one when she was pregnant with the twins but I didn’t know about the first.” He replied. “Can I see her?”

"Of course you can." Max replied.

“Thank you.” He whispered as he put the photograph down and followed Max.

"According to the notes she was admitted to a+e after a fall. That's when she had the first seizure." Max explained quietly.

“What kind of fall?” Charlie frowned.

"She fell from a wall."

“How high?”

"Four feet. Seems she was highly intoxicated at the time."

Charlie nodded, “Thank you.”

"You'll have to ask her for more details."

“I will.”

Max held the resus doors open for Charlie and ushered him in.

He stepped into the room. God he’d seen this room too much in the last year and a half and not just on a professional level either.

The only noise in the room was the beeps and humming of the monitors. Duffy lay on her side quietly sleeping.

Before he sat down on the chair beside the bed, he tucked her up with the blanket.

She stirred slightly at the movement but didn't awaken fully.

He sat beside her and just watched her sleeping. He’d already contacted Kate and told her what had happened.

Kate had reacted with horror and terror but he'd managed to convince her to stay at the house with the kids.

“One day, I will stop him from hurting you.” Charlie said quietly. “I’ve just not quite done that yet.”

Her fingers twitched slightly against his.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you... again.” He sighed.

Her fingers moved again.

“I’m sorry sweetheart.”

She poked her nail into his palm.

He swallowed hard, “Everything bad that happens is usually because of me.” He whispered sadly.

She pinched his hand.

“Ouch.” He said quietly feeling the pinch.

She was still sleeping but he could have sworn there was a tiny smile on her face.

He kissed her forehead. “I have so many things to ask you.” He whispered.

She lapsed in and out of consciousness for most of the day, the periods of lucidity increasing as the afternoon and evening wore on. She'd been moved up to a ward and settled into a side room around 6pm.

Finally around mid-morning the next day she seemed to be doing a lot better.

Charlie had reassured the boys that their mum was ok and she just needed a rest but she’d be home soon. They went to school. Charlie brought the younger 3 to see their mum. The younger two in the pram and Emily in a sling on Charlie’s back. She was giggling hysterically.

The youngster's giggles succeeded in waking her mum. Duffy groaned softly.

The twins are asleep, they’d had a feed before the walk here. Emily continued to giggle. Charlie took her out of the sling, the twins in the corner of the room. Seeing her mum, Emily began to babble.

Duffy reached her hand out towards her daughter. "What happened?" She asked.

“Andrew assaulted you. You had a seizure.” Charlie explained. Emily snuggled into her mum once in her arms.

"Oh." Her voice lacked any note of surprise at the news.

“You’re not surprised?”

Realising she'd been caught out she sighed. "No."

“Over Andrew’s assault or the seizure?”

"Both." She admitted.

“You’ve had seizures before?”

"A few times."

“Why have you never mentioned them to me before?”

"Its nothing." She shrugged.

“Yes it is!”

"It just happens when I bang my head. Doctors don't really know why. They think something about the first time must have triggered it."

“When you fell from the wall?”

"Yeh... That's right..." Her tone revealed her surprise that he knew.

“Max told me.” He sighed, “Did you accidentally fall or...”

"Did I jump?" She finished his question.

He nodded.

"Honestly?" She asked.

“Yes.”

"I'm not totally sure. I wasn't exactly myself at the time..."

He nodded. “Can I ask you a question?” He sat down on the bed facing her.

"Sure."

“Have you ever felt suicidal?”

"No." She paused for a moment. "I was a stupid kid and it keeps coming back to bite me." She sighed.

He nodded, “OK. I just wanted to make sure. Would you tell me if you were?”

"Of course." She chewed her lip. "Do you want to know about that night?"

“Please, if you’d like to talk to me?”

"I'd had a row with my mum. I stormed out the house to hang out with some friends. There was a bottle of vodka. Usual Friday night on the council estate stuff. Except this night was different..."

“What made it different?” He asked gently.

"I was really wound up. One of the lads handed me a joint, said it would calm me down. That's all I remember til I woke up in the hospital to the sound of my mum screaming blue murder."

He stroked her cheek which Emily mimicked and did the same, except she prodded her mum’s cheek and giggled. “Possible reaction to the joint?”

"Possibly. It's just my luck really - I get high once and all it gets me is a twisted ankle, broken wrist, concussion and intermittent seizures for the rest of my life. So not worth it!"

“No.” He stroked her cheek again. “I’ve erm... got something to tell you.”

"What?"

“I’ve had a caution from the police.”

"For yesterday?" She paused. "It was yesterday right?" She asked.

He nodded, “Yeah.”

"What was the charge?"

“Assault.”

"Please tell me that Andrew has been charged too?"

“Yes he has on this occasion.”

"What for?"

“Assault same as me.”

"So I'll be getting a visit from the police before long then?" She sighed.

“Most likely, yes. Sorry.” He kissed her forehead, “I broke his jaw.”

"Charlie!"

“I was angry.” He looked down, “He was going to rape you! You think I was going to let that happen again to you?”

"It wasn't your fault."

“Yes it was. I shouldn’t have left you.”

"I'm a big girl Charlie."

He sighed. “I know.” He paused, “I’m not sorry I broke his jaw. If it was up to me, I’d have killed him.”

"Oh Charlie..." She sighed.

He sighed, “I know you’re probably ashamed of me right now.”

"You had the best of intentions."

He still didn’t make eye contact with her.

"Charlie, please..!"

He looked up and caught her gaze, “I’m sorry.”

"For protecting me?"

“No because I don’t want you to think I’m just like Andrew.”

"I know you're nothing like him."

“Even if sometimes I lose my temper?”

"We all lose our temper from time to time Charlie."

He nodded, “Again, I’m sorry.” He kissed her tenderly. “How are you feeling?”

"I'll be OK. It's you I'm worried about."

[junker-town]

The Astros are going to the World Series, so let’s celebrate that incredible Alex Bregman throw

The Astros won the pennant, and it might have been a daring, dumb, brilliant throw that got them there.

The Houston Astros, the butt of every baseball joke just a few years ago, are going to the World Series. There are a lot of reasons for this. They had to lose so many games that they were able to draft Carlos Correa before anyone else. They had to scout, secure, and develop Jose Altuve. Charlie Morton had to go to the 97-mph-fastball store and get him a 97-mph fastball. Someone had to teach Lance McCullers, Jr. his curveball, and someone else had to have the confidence that led to him throwing 24 of them in a row to finish his four-out save. Justin Verlander’s parents had to meet each other.

It’s a long, long list.

What I’ll remember from Game 7 of the ALCS is the play. Or, The Play. The dumb, daring, brilliantly executed play that changed everything. You don’t have to believe this is why the Astros are going to the World Series. This is why I believe the Astros are going to the World Series.

The Astros won by four runs, and that was just one run. Stop trying to force narratives down our throats, you dumb baseball writer. Sheesh.

Hold on, though. Let me advocate for this play. Let me state my case for why this play is what got the Astros to their second World Series in franchise history.

Start at the beginning. The Astros were the best offensive team in the land until they were the worst offensive team in the land, and they started gripping their bats like they were trying to extract a thick, viscous bat milk from them. They couldn’t get a hit with runners in scoring position. They couldn’t get a hit. They went nearly three games without getting two hits in the same inning, and it was wearing on them.

Then Evan Gattis hit a solo home run in the bottom of the fourth to put the Astros up by one. The early run was cathartic, and it offered hope, but it was just one run. Todd Frazier got three runs with a flick of his wrist earlier in the series. With the way the Astros’ bullpen had struggled, with the outing that Morton had in Game 3 of the series, there was no way to feel comfortable with just one run.

In the top of the fifth inning, Greg Bird led off with a double. Then there was a walk and a wild pitch on the same play, putting runners on first and third with one out. The Astros had wandered the desert of offensive futility for days, finally finding a teeny tiny oasis with a lone dinger, and the Yankees were about to match it with a double, a wild pitch, and an out. Just one medium-deep fly ball was going to be enough to tie the game.

One grounder was going to be enough to tie the game. And when that grounder tied the game, there would still be runners on base with just one out. The foundation would tremble. A couple shingles would fall off the roof. The bullpen would stir, but there wouldn’t be anyone overflowing with confidence in there. That one, lonely home run wasn’t any match for the Yankees’ continuous onslaught.

That’s the backdrop for The Throw. Or, The Play. Or, as I like to call it, The Holy Hell What Are You Doing, Alex Bre gman, Ha Ha, Just Kidding, You Beautiful Bastard Play.

When Bregman fielded the ball awkwardly like that, the runner was halfway to home. I don’t care if the runner is Greg Bird, Yadier Molina, or Bartolo Colon doing cartwheels. The Astros needed outs. They needed to stay out of the big inning. It stunk that a wild pitch got the tying run to third with just one out, but that was the past. The future was keeping the game close. Bregman threw home anyway.

He threw it there. HE THREW IT THERE.

It had to be a perfect throw, and I know you’ve heard that before about different plays during a long 162-game season, but this one really had to be perfect. It had to be a throw that allowed Brian McCann to tag the runner without really making a tag. Javier Baez wouldn’t have been able to slap a tag down quick enough on this play. The throw had to be its own tag, in other words.

It was, I feel comfortable writing, a horrible decision. The threat of the big inning was far more real than the odds of Bregman contorting his body to make a perfect throw on the run. He’s had an eye-opening defensive postseason, but I wouldn’t want Nolan Arenado, Manny Machado, or Adrian Beltre making that throw. No third baseman is perfect on command like that. Take the out. Take the out, you dummy.

But it worked. The risk paid off, and it was just about the baseballiest thing I can imagine. It was skill, and it was dumb luck, but it was more skill than dumb luck, but it was still some of both, and it ... it was baseball. Think of the cocktail of unlikely and obvious, the ability to bullseye womp rats at home plate from his T-16 back home, but paired with the risk. It was so reckless, so dumb, so beautiful. It was much more satisfying than a big man hitting a fastball far with his large stick.

The other part of this play’s artistry came with Brian McCann, who had to catch the thing and hold onto it with metal spikes sliding into his ulnar artery. It wasn’t enough that Bregman’s throw was perfect, like it was going to pop the balloon in the clown’s mouth at a carnival. There still had to be a catch and a tag, and it was executed perfectly. Compare this play with Gary Sanchez being unable to catch a baseball in the ninth inning of Game 2 without spikes threatening his livelihood.

I’ve watched the play about 30 times now, and I don’t have an answer for if Bregman’s throw was a good play. It seems like the kind of play that ends up backfiring nine times out of 10. It’s the fielding equivalent of sending Alex Gordon in the ninth inning of Game 7 in 2014. There were so many ways it could have ended up wrong.

But I have an answer as to Bregman’s throw being a great play. It most certainly was. It was pure abandon, and in retrospect, it seems so obvious. The Yankees were going to seize momentum right after the Astros got a lonely run, and it was going to sting. Charlie Morton was going to be knocked out of the game, and then Will Harris or someone was going to come in, and maybe it would work, or maybe it wouldn’t, but the Yankees would smell the Astros’ weakness, and it was going to end quickly and/or painfully.

Except Alex Bregman decided to throw home, and he made one of the best throws you’ll ever see. Because of that throw, the Astros are going to the World Series. I’m convinced of that. You don’t have to be, but it’s a lot more fun over here.

The Astros are going to the World Series for a lot of reasons. George Springer lasting 11 picks in the draft. Marwin Gonzalez developing into a secret-not-secret weapon. The Blue Jays drafting Egan Smith a pick ahead of Dallas Keuchel. Bregman’s throw was one of these reasons, except it happened after all those other dominos fell. It was a perfectly awful decision unless it was a perfect throw, which it was. It was baseball perfection, for all the right and wrong reasons.

And if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch it another 30 times.