#flyin' jenny

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Flyin' Jenny - art by Matt Baker (1947)

[crowsent]

i know it said tags but theres a tag limit and honestly your mistake was thinkin i wont sit here and type for several hours at 3 in the mornin

first lady that popped to mind is dc raven but specifically the og teen titans cartoon raven. child salt dragged his ass to a computer to look for fanfic of her. first fanfic ever. she inspired the aesthetic. she inspired salt actually makin an attempt to do somethin about disproportionate emotional reactions

even now whenever salt rewatches the teen titans cartoon its bc of raven. is the animation good? yes. are the episodes paced well? yes. does the show have good overall humour? yes. does salt still remember mother mae eye down to the minute? yes he does and he still hates her granny ass. is this the reason salt rewatches the show? absolutely not the reason is raven.

raven got me into dc (and also marvel bc salt did not know the difference back then) and honestly understandable. and speakin of dc JLA wonder woman and hawkgirl are also up there for the same reasons as raven. makes me go back and rewatch the show jus to see em. goth girl supremacy. muscled amazonian supremacy. mace wielder supremacy. flyin women squad supremacy

while on the topic of animated ladies.

tigress.

tigress kung fu panda.

she is everythin to me.

the snarl on her bridge fight with tai lung lives rent free in my head.

child salt had a fever dream of her and toph doin the fusion dance and bein a tigress who can earthbend and i will forever mourn the fact that that vision will never see reality because can you imagine???????

toph as well is one of my favourite blorbos. she was my roman empire. gap moe before i understood what gap moe was. tsundere before i understood what tsundere was. the duality of her arc. her design. the kinship of bein stifled by familial expectations. the balls of fuckin titanium to break away from a life of comfort and stability to ride a giant flyin bison travellin the world to stop a war she as a child shouldnt even have to fight

to this day all of my most beloved atla episodes heavily feature toph in them. like yes she is the greatest earthbender in the world and i will never forget it but more than her earthbendin shes jus so. direct. she EMBODIES earthbendin. she has a goal. she plants her feet. she takes a step forward. again. and again. if theres somethin in her way she makes it move. icon

a round of quick names to break up the paragraphs

princess bubblegum adventure time. leliana dragon age. biscuit hxh

ann p5. gwen bbc merlin. kicho from the best game ever created

perielle from the current game im playin. jenny yyh. kyoko hq

lady zhen historical. lady zhen koei. evie frye ac. penelope garcia

back to your regularly scheduled shitpost with primrose azelhart. a diamond in a pile of sapphires emeralds rubies etc. everythin in her game is gorgeous. the art? gorgeous. the story? gorgeous. the gameplay? gorgeous. the game itself is a 10/10 without her

but she is everythin to me. best storyline. best sprite. best artwork. a revenge story that actually directly acknowledges the futility of it but knowin nothin else but rage to fuel her. the slow recovery. the acceptance of loss. the hope for a tomorrow. the conviction to finish what she started. i cried on each and every one of her chapters and for good fuckin reason

same reason for inej ghafa. every time i see her on screen (on page really bc shes from a book but semantics) i weep. its the deadliness but the reluctance to be. its the sadness wrapped up in steel. its an arrow fired into the void and snatched up out the air.

i jus like that theme of duality. of a harsh exterior soft interior. a lot of my blorbos are like that and almost everyone on this list is like that and im addin another one bc vex de rolo critical role peaked ttrpg characters for me.

there will never be another like her.

yes jester s2 is great. yes vogue vampire lady from la by night is elegant and amazin and tragic but no one does it like vex.

bein part of a family that detests you. movin on with your life after a loss. best of all happy endin??????? happy endin with someone that sees the darkest ugliest parts of yourself and still accepts you???? bein told all your life that youre never enough and suddenly bam you rank higher than the people who turned their noses down at you????? kickin ass in your own fuckin weddin gown???????

fully aware that the trope of female characters fightin in heels/skirts/insert impractical clothin here is overdone. and in most cases done poorly.

but look me in the eyes and tell me a well choreod fight scene with flowy dresses doesnt slap

you cant bc they slap

and this is where i insert every female character in rwby which is a lot of the main cast bc goddamn

aside from havin unique designs and silhouettes that set them apart from each other theres also the fightin styles. each and every single one is fuckin different.

weiss dances on the battlefield. spins. pirouettes. arm extended like the fancy rich lady she is. pyrrha fights like a professional. arms up elbows out stance wide. yang takes up space with wide swings and aoe shotgun blasts. neo and her fluid movement bleedin into her fightin style. and all of this in banger outfits

another quick name round to break up the paragraphs bc im not done

lunafreya ff. maki jjk. lucy lius character in charlies angels

leah stardew valley. she was the first romance option i went for and i stand by that choice. past salt went straight for the best character in the game and i cant blame him.

catcat apothecary diaries. charlie spn. aloy horizon. elizabeth potc

that one vampire chick in the volturi who killed alices boy. i dont remember her name but child salt had a crush on her bc even back then we gravitate towards bad bitches

same manson danny phantom. again. goth girl supremacy

vasilisa the beautiful. the girl who incinerated her entire abusive family with a flamin skull impaled on a stick given to her by baba yaga most iconic of witches. best fairy tale protagonist award. best fairy tale in general. my prized possession is a book of fairy tales thicker than i am and the chapter i read most was hers

its a core memory. child salt dreamt about meetin her in the same woods where we were waylaid by the kindly neighbours for 2 hours on our way to the annual family trip irl.

maki jjk. yennefer of vengerburg. hinami tg. annabeth chase pjo.

barbie. every iteration of barbie. but to be more specific princess and the pauper annalise and fairytopia elina barbie.

one of the reasons i wanted a cat was bc of annalise. i spent 3 days hand writing information about mermaids bc of fairytopia 2. the brainrot grabbed my head and didnt let go. p&p has a better written storyline than modern triple a movies. fairytopia had better suspense than everythin blumhouse has shat out recently.

femshep me. nezuko kamado kny. goth god mommy tds

sissel skyrim. listen to me. listen. my khajiit stealth archer (yes original i know shush) went to rorikstead and sat behind the rocks overlookin the town. he aimed his crossbow. and he fired a bolt right between lemkils eyes so he could adopt sissel himself.

out of every adoptable child. sissel is my everythin. she has the tragic backstory. she has the magic aptitude. she has the dialogue. she dreamt of paarthurnax. in my scu (skyrim cinematic universe) sissel grows up to be archmage of the college of winterhold. its canon. you cant change my mind

dog lender no 6. ymir snk. albedo overlord. sandra lom. yi

kumoko kumoko. catiua tactics ogre. sue the trex. mito naruto.

your wife jade cocoon. yuko xxxholic. shuna tensura.

the hot vampire lady i made in the sims. rukia bleach.

yuna ghost of tsushima. the hag dbd. female chalice half chalice.

and finally

save the best for last

rose lalonde

when i am in an artblock she is the one i draw.

i close my eyes and see her face in perfect clarity.

i cant even wax poetic about her bc every time i try i remember her sesquipedalian verbosity and i am left ashamed at my complete inability to string words together whenever she comes up

she lives rent free in my head and the fact that shes there in the first place makes the property value of my head go up

i feel like i should be the one payin her rent for the privilege of existin

my name is salt it is now 5:30 am and i spared yall an even longer post bc my head is still full of blorbos good night

Good evening, Tumblr user.

In front of you is a post asking everyone to list their favorite female Blorbos in the tags, stating that OP is tired of the focus on men in fandom.

You must participate and tag all of your favorite female characters.

If you include any characters who were canonically written as male in your tags regardless of reason, the reverse bear trap attached to your head will activate.

Begin.

[downthetubes]

Marvel Comics writer Tom Brevoort re-examines an early, rejected take on Superman developed as a newspaper strip by Jerry Siegel and artist Russell Keaton in 1934: https://tombrevoort.com/2024/10/12/the-seldom-seen-jerry-siegel-russell-keaton-superman-samples/

Russell Keaton was a noted cartoonist, who, prior to these samples, had worked uncredited on “Buck Rogers”, and was one of the first American comic creators to use a woman as the main character in an aviation cartoon, “Flyin’ Jenny”, which made its debut in 1939. Keaton’s choice of subject matter came from the interwar popularity of aviation comic strips, his own interest in flying, and the then-novel idea of a female protagonist in an action adventure strip.

[fashioninpaper]

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 6

A/N Where does the time go?  I lugged my laptop 7,000km round trip with the sole intention of working on this fic, but that apparently didn’t happen.  For those who found the last chapter hard to bear, I apologize in advance.  I am not quite finished being cruel.  With that said, trigger warning for character death, childhood disease, suicide ideation.  The chapter title is Sleeping in the Clouds.

The first five chapters are available on my AO3 page.

Five Months Later

A persistent mechanical bleating lifted Claire from the indeterminate depths of medicated sleep.  The emergency contact number she provided to all her patients was programmed to forward to her mobile, where a particularly aggravating ringtone ensured she would never miss a call.  Even at one am on a Tuesday night.

Fumbling for the device, she glanced at the unfamiliar number before answering.

“Doctor Beauchamp speaking.”  Her voice was gritty and rough.  She reached for a half-filled tumbler of water while waiting for the caller to identify themselves.  Over the line she could make out muted traffic noise, and perhaps a distant foghorn, but no-one spoke.

“Hello?” she inquired, torn between concern that a patient needed her and frustration that she might have been woken by a misdialed number.

“If you’re one of my patients, you need to talk to me so that I can help you.”

There was an intake of breath, a weepy sniffle, and then the click of the call being terminated.  A prickle of gooseflesh washed over her.  She couldn’t say exactly how, but she knew who had called, and that he needed her.

One of the grim perks of her job was that she had backdoor access to reverse look-up for telephone numbers, in cases where there was a threat of self-harm or harm to others.  As Claire hastily donned socks and grabbed a winter coat, she waited on hold for the PSAP operator to provide an address.

“We’re in luck, Doctor Beauchamp.  It wasna a mobile number.  In fact, tis a telephone booth.  Gote Lane, in Queensferry.  Down near the... umm, next tae the bridge.”

Without so much as a thank you, she hung up and frantically punched the app for an Uber.

Fifteen nail biting minutes and an excessive tip later, she stood in front of an empty phone booth.  Predictably, the directory had been torn out, leaving only a thin metal cord and car-key graffiti inside the cramped interior.  But on top of the phone itself she found a familiar ecru business card, her name and credentials embossed in black font.

“Damn it, Jamie,” she muttered to herself, palming the card.

If he’d hung up and started walking towards the bridge, she might be able to catch him if she ran all out, but something called her towards the nearby shore instead.

The tide was out, leaving a narrow strip of beach and sharp, slimy rocks exposed to the heavy air.  Her nostrils were assaulted by the briny vegetative rot of the retreating sea.

On a weathered bench facing the river, encircled by a cone of foggy streetlight, sat a man, his eyes trained on the smudgy lights of the Queensferry bridge hovering high above.  Even bundled in a heavy black jacket and watch cap, she would recognize his long limbs and the set of his shoulders anywhere.  She let out a long breath of relief.

She approached the bench cautiously, not certain if her presence would be welcome.  Instead of turning to greet her footsteps, Jamie addressed the bridge.

“Maggie passed t’day.  I called ‘cause I wanted ye tae know, but then I couldna find the words tae tell ye.”  Despite his refusal to look at her, his words were calm and without a hint of the bitterness she’d expected.

“Oh, Jamie.  I’m so terribly sorry.  I didn’t know her well, but she was a very special little girl who loved you dearly.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of her words, but didn’t reply.  She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, suddenly aware that she was still wearing her pajamas, her hair doubtless a veritable cumulus of tangled curls.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.  “I still have some contacts at the hospital, I could...” she broke off, knowing it was ridiculous to offer professional assistance when she’d been the one to sever their relationship.

“Would ye, if it’s no’ too much tae ask, would ye mind jus’ sittin’ here with me fer a bit?”

He finally turned to look at her, and she could see the spider web of red veins that surrounded his irises, testimony to his heartbreak.  His mouth, usually such an accurate barometer of his mood, was strangely inert.  She nodded, unable to deny him such a simple request.

It was the time of night when the daytime symphony of the city broke into its component parts, every passing car, every lapping wave a single instrument singing its own plaintive song.  They sat in silence for long enough that she could feel the damp creeping up the legs of her pajamas.

“Maggie loved tae cross that bridge,” Jamie said at last.  “She’d lower her window, rain or shine, and stick her wee arm out, sayin’ it felt like she was flyin’.”

Claire smiled at the image, trying to picture the little girl with the giant imagination.

“What colour was her hair, Jamie?” she asked.  “Was it red, like yours?”

“Nah, dark, like Jenny’s and our Da.  But wi’ curls like mine and my Ma’s.  A little like yours, actually, Sassenach.  That is, before the chemo took it away.”

She grimaced, not knowing what topic to choose that wouldn’t lead Jamie on a path directly back to his grief.

“She fought sae hard,” he continued before she could attempt another distraction, “but the cancer wouldna let her win.”  Tears were rolling down his cheeks, glinting in the sodium light like stars, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.  “She was the best person I knew.  Sounds strange tae say of a wee lass, but she truly was.  An’ it made me a better person tae love her.  What the fuck am I gonna do now?”

Jamie was looking straight at her, as though he truly expected her to offer useful guidance.  All her training, her professional distance, fell away in the face of one broken man.  She swallowed, searching for words that weren’t a platitude.

“You’re going to go on living, because she can’t.  Because your happiness, when you are ready to feel it again, will be a gift to her memory.”

Jamie sniffed, then wiped his sleeve across his face.  He placed his hand on the bench between them.  Without allowing herself to think, Claire reached for it, finding his skin surprisingly warm.  There was an agonizing fermata, when all the instruments held their breath, and then he turned his palm upwards to meet her own.  Beneath the fog the river slipped by, blending endlessly into the sea.

"Look, Jamie, I know it’s not the right time, but I want to tell you that I’m sorry.  For the way I treated you, and ended things, and...”

“Nay, Sassenach, it’s me who should apologize.  I had no right tae throw my diagnosis at ye like some kinda weapon.  An’ when I think of how I heedlessly brought up yer becoming a mother.  I, of all people.  Weel, suffice it tae say I’ve spent many an hour regretin’ my words an’ actions.”

She squeezed his hand, wordlessly declaring them equal in remorse.

“How have ye been?” he inquired, peering at her as though trying to read her state of mind on the planes of her face.  She chuckled, looking away when the intensity of his gaze became too much.

“About the same, I suppose.  Better some days than others.  Geillis has started ordering my lunches for me, so I no longer have any excuse not to eat.”  Jamie nodded, seemingly pleased with this news.

“And you?  Are you still seeing Dr. Rafferty?  I... uhh, I know his office requested your file.”

In fact, Giles Rafferty had called her the week after her confrontation with Jamie, wondering why his new patient’s record of treatment contained no more than his biographical details and the time and date of each of his appointments.  She told him the same thing she’d told Geillis when she asked the same question in significantly cruder terms: that her weekly interactions with Jamie had never led to a professional diagnosis or a recommended course of treatment.

“Aye. He’s a good man, although tragically immune tae my charms.  Unlike some.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Fraser,” she warned, although his rakish grin warmed her from the inside out.

“I’ll be darkening his doorway wi’ some frequency, after t’day,” he continued with a return to solemnity.

And yet you called me, Claire wanted to say, but didn’t.  When his beloved niece had slipped away, hers had been the number he had dialed, despite everything.  The very idea made her thoughts flit about like fireflies.

“I missed ye, Sassenach,” he confessed quietly after a time.

“I missed you too, Jamie.”

They sat together through the thin hours of the night, talking, sharing memories of Maggie, but mostly in silent companionship.  As dawn brightened the eastern sky, the fog began to lift, revealing an overcast sky.  The lights of the bridge blinked out, and the city’s music began anew.  Claire wished futilely that day would never break, knowing that it would bring them both the pain of two very different kinds of goodbye.

Her hand, when Jamie finally let it go, felt strange, as though it had been separated from its source.  She tucked it quickly into her pocket.

“I.. errr, I need tae be goin’,” Jamie said by way of apology.  “Ian and Jenn will be needin’ me.”

“Yes, of course.  I’ll just, um, call myself an Uber.”

They were both standing, neither seemingly knowing how to part.

Jamie opened his mouth, paused, shook his head in frustration, then looked away.  Her traitorous hand escaped her pocket and found its way to his chest.

“I’ll be thinking of you.  All of you.  If there’s anything, anything at all..”

“How long until your no’ my doctor anymore?  Ethically speakin’.”  He was looking at her in a way that made the fireflies whirlpool about.

“What?” she asked to buy herself some time to breath.

“Before I go an’ face everything that is wrong about t’day, I want tae ken, how long must I wait before I can kiss ye again wi’out riskin’ yer reputation?”

“There’s no written timetable,” she stalled.  “It’s a question of a doctor exerting undue influence or the exploitation of the patient’s trust, and there’s really...”

“Those rules are meant tae protect the patient, aye?  So I should be allowed tae waive them, no’?”

“Jamie...”

“Fine, let me rephrase my question.  Doctor Claire Beauchamp, when can I, James Fraser, ask ye tae look upon me as a potential suitor and no’ a former patient?  Six months?  A year?  Two years?”

“You really are the most infuriatingly stubborn man,” she huffed.

“Aye, I ken.  Sae, two years?  Do we have an agreement, Sassenach?”

“Fine, yes, two years, but Jamie, I don’t expect you to...”

A finger was placed across her lips, silencing her protests.

“Two years are naught if I can kiss ye again once they have passed.  Until then, Claire, please take care of yerself.”

She stood by the bench long after Jamie was gone, staring out across the river.  A flock of geese flew by in formation, broad wings nearly touching the surface of the water as it reflected the steel gray clouds above.  She thought of little Maggie, and her birdhouse surrounded by clouds.  A sob wrestled its way up her throat, surprising in its urgency.  And then, she allowed herself to cry.

[digitalcomicmuseum]

Comic Uploaded: 24-10-2017 Flyin' Jenny #2 Uploader: fett Download Link: https://digitalcomicmuseum.com/index.php?dlid=30822 Read Online

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

Previously

AO3

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Chapter 4 : An Emergency Appointment

Cure sometimes, treat often, comfort always. Hippocrates

Jamie sat on the hard plastic chair and shifted uncomfortably. The fluorescent strip lighting overhead was giving him a bit of a headache and he was conscious of the mobile in his pocket, silent now, but Jamie knew at any minute it would start chirping away and he would have to talk to his sister.

Wee Jamie, on the other hand, seemed in fine spirits as he sat on the trolley in the little cubicle, curtains partitioning them off from the other Emergency Department patients. “Wot’s ‘at?” He asked his uncle, pointing.

“Hand sanitiser, makes yer hands nice and clean, gets rid of wee germs.”

“Wot’s ‘at?” He repeated, pointing in a different direction.

“Box of gloves, sae the doctors and nurses can put them on when they have tae examine ye… are ye sure ye’re feeling alright? How’s yer arm now?”

“‘S poorly.” Wee Jamie looked down at his left hand, motionless in his little lap. “Ouch… sweetie?” He added hopefully.

Jamie laughed despite his worry. “Ye wee gomerel. Ye never miss an opportunity, do ye? Dinna fret, afore I deliver ye back tae yer Mam, we can get some sweeties. Seeing as she’s goin’ tae shout at me anyways for letting ye hurt yerself, we can just add ruining yer teeth tae the list.”

The curtains parted slightly and a young nurse poked her head into the cubicle. “Mr. Fraser, we’re just waiting for the orthopaedic surgeon on call to come and take a look at your nephew. Shouldn’t be too long now.” She smiled coyly at Jamie. “Can I no’ get ye anything? Tea, coffee, sandwich?”

Jamie smiled politely. “No thank ye. But have ye a wee bit of juice or milk for my nephew?”

“I’m no’ sure he should have that, in case they need tae operate. Let me check”

Jamie blanched at the thought of a possible operation. His nephew was so small, to see him have to go through that would be unbearable. And with Jenny so close to her due date, too.

“Unca, wot’s ‘perate?” Wee Jamie still seemed unconcerned by everything going on around him. Easily distracted, he quickly added to his requests whilst his uncle was in the mood to spoil him. “Chips too an’ sweeties, pease?”

“Aye laddie. Chips and sweeties it is. After we’ve seen the doctor.” Jamie leaned over and planted a kiss on his nephew’s forehead.

The rustling of the hospital’s paperlike curtains took Jamie’s attention away from his nephew. He looked up as the doctor came into the cubicle. His breath hitched in his throat, no... more than that, the expression ‘take your breath away’ had never been so true.

After mere glimpses of her at Rupert’s wedding last month and in the pub less than a week ago, here was the woman who had invaded his daytime thoughts and his nighttime dreams. Her long legs were encased in baggy green hospital scrubs with the matching top camouflaging her curves. Her dark curls were haphazardly tied back in a ponytail, with corkscrew wisps escaping and gently feathering her forehead and cheeks. She was all that he remembered and more. He forced himself to stay calm. This was about his nephew, not him.

Claire’s hand flew instinctively to her hair, trying, ineffectually, to tidy the wild ponytail. She looked straight at the Viking who had captured her imagination at that hotel the month before. And he was here… with a small child. Great, Claire tried to compose her thoughts, pull yourself together, Beauchamp. He’s here, worrying about his child and you’re busy feeling disappointed that he’s already taken. Get a grip!

“Hello.” Claire directed the greeting to the small boy now sucking his thumb. “My name’s Claire and I’ve come to see how I can make you feel better.”

Without removing his thumb, Wee Jamie eyed her up and down before silently passing judgement and snuggling closer to his uncle. Jamie pulled him fully onto his lap.

“ Now, Jamie, that’s no way tae greet the doctor who’s gonna make ya feel better.”

“That’s no matter.” Smiling, Claire pulled up a chair and spoke directly to Jamie. “Well, Mr Murray, I’ve reviewed your son’s x-ray…”

“He’s no my son, I’m Mr...er... Jamie Fraser.” Fearful of Claire getting the wrong idea, Jamie quickly interrupted. “I mean… that is… he’s my nephew… my sister’s laddie. I was mindin’ him today and... weel…”

“Ah, sorry, ok… is his mother on her way?” Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at this welcome piece of news, Claire maintained her professional demeanour.

“I’ve left her some messages, just waiting fer her call. She’s probably nappin’... she’s eight months pregnant, ye ken.”

Fed up with being sidelined, Wee Jamie decided to join in the conversation. “Aye, Mam has big baby tummy, Da says.” He confided.

Claire smiled. “And I’m sure she’s thrilled every time he says that.”

She turned to the computer next to her in the cubicle and quickly pressed a few keys, waiting for the screen to fire into life. “So, would you like to see a picture of the inside of your arm then, Jamie?”

As the x-ray image appeared, Claire began to explain. “So, Mr. Fraser, from the nature of the accident and the pain localised at the base of the thumb, I was concerned that there was a scaphoid fracture of the wrist. But, as you can see,” she pointed at a small white mass on the x-ray. “There’s no fracture there. Which is a relief as that would have needed a cast at best and possibly even surgery. So, we’re looking at a bad sprain, which will get better on its own. Just make sure to rest it plenty, young man.”

Fascinated by the image on the screen, the little lad wriggled in his uncle’s lap and pointed. “Dat my arm?”

Claire nodded. “It’s a picture of the bones in your hand and arm. See, here’s your thumb and fingers…” She leant in as she started to explain. So close, Jamie could almost smell the shampoo of her hair, almost feel the heat from her body. His knee almost grazed against hers in the confined space of the cubicle.

A insistent chirping broke into Claire’s explanation.  

“Sorry,” Jamie shrugged. “This must be Jenny, my sister. I’d better take this.”

In a low voice, Claire continued to talk to Wee Jamie, gently stroking his arm as she named the various bones in his hand and arm. With one ear, she tried to listen in to the conversation Jamie was having with his sister (albeit one-sided).  

“Aye… Aye… Och, ye ken what he’s like with the ducks… He loves tae chase them… Aye… We didna see the tree root… just went flyin’ and put his hand out… it’s no’ bad, just a sprain… Aye… the doctor’s here now… Aye, the orthopaedic surgeon… she says it’s no’ bad… ok...”

Jamie passed the phone to Claire. “Sorry, would ye mind having a quick word with ma sister?”

Claire took the phone. “Mrs Murray? Claire Beauchamp here. Don’t worry, your son is fine. Your brother did the right thing and brought him in to be checked out. There is no fracture, so the sprain should heal itself. Just make sure he rests it… ok… not a problem… I’ll pass you back… Goodbye.”

“Jenny, I’ll see ye in a bit. Jamie and I are goin’ fer a bite to eat… Aye, healthy, I hear ye… no, no chips… bye.”

As his nephew’s lower lip started to tremble, Jamie reassured him. “Dinna fash, lad, we’ll get some chips on the way home. But, shhhh, dinna tell yer Mam.”

Claire pulled her chair back and stood up. “Well, I’d hate to stand in the way of you and your chips, Jamie.” She stroked wee Jamie’s hair briefly. “You enjoy and I hope I don’t see you in here again!” Claire looked at Jamie, trying to keep her professional face together. “Nice to meet you, Mr Fraser.”

Jamie hesitated and looked at his feet. Would it be wrong to ask for her number?  Would I look like a sleazebag, trying to pick her up as she was doing her job, caring for my nephew?

The rustling curtain gave him his answer. She had gone, decision made. Well, at least he knew her name, and where she worked, that was a start.

Jamie stood up and lifted his nephew in his arms. “Come on then, there are chips waiting fer us tae eat them.” He drew back the curtain and headed for the exit. A hand on his arm halted him.

“Sorry tae bother ye.” The nurse talking in a quiet voice seemed familiar to him,  her strawberry blonde hair neatly tied up in a bun. He just couldn’t place her. “I ken the lad’s alright, but, just in case ye need tae consult with the orthopaedic surgeon…” She placed a piece of paper in his hand and walked away.

[antheminmyheart]

a circus ain't a love story (Barlyle)

I know that, obviously, cars did not exist in the time period the film takes place in. I tried to think of ways to modernize the fic, but couldn't think of anything that I liked. I still wanted to use Getaway Car by Taylor Swift, though — the inspiration struck me after realizing just how Barlyle-esque the song sounds. So, in the case of this fic, the "getaway car" is more of a metaphor than anything! And, of course, I DO NOT own the song or the lyrics, have no association with Taylor Swift, and am not making money in any way using this little oneshot.

Nothing in this oneshot is *too* graphic, but I put an M rating just in case

---

No, nothing good starts in a getaway car

It all seemed too good to be true. When P.T. Barnum first approached him about joining his circus, Phillip viewed the man's promises as an opportunity to finally escape his parents' iron-clad clutches. After Barnum promised him 10% in all profits earned by the circus, he jumped at the chance to leave his old, stale playwriting life behind.

He didn't realize, then, that when you jump, you're bound to fall.

And when you fall, you break.

He was the best of times, the worst of crimes

I struck a match and blew your mind

But I didn't mean it

And you didn't see it

Phillip always admired the ringmaster's energy, but sometimes the man was too spontaneous for his own good. They got along well until Barnum insisted on leaving to tour with Jenny Lind — a woman who, really, caused much more trouble than she was worth. Their fights leading up to Barnum's departure were too loud, too passionate, and always left Phillip feeling terribly confused. Barnum would storm away in a huff, leaving Phillip to wonder — was this all a game? Had Barnum only used him, used him for his wealth and to get close to Jenny Lind — a woman that he didn't even know?

When Barnum left, Phillip still couldn't clear his mind of his troubling, thunderous thoughts.

But it was after the fire when things really changed.

The ties were black, the lies were white

And shades of grey in candlelight

I wanted to leave him

I needed a reason

It seemed only minutes after the fire that Phillip was released from the hospital and found himself in a confusing, terrifying affair with P.T. Barn — er, Phineas. After Charity and the girls left him, upon hearing the news of his affair with Jenny Lind, it was Phillip that Phineas turned to in a sudden moment of need. Phillip accepted his kisses and affection willingly enough at first, but the man had many troubles — too many, Phillip found, to possibly handle — and Phillip quickly went from being excited for their nights together to being downright wary and hesitant.

Phillip moaned for Phineas, led Phineas to believe that he was who Phillip lusted for, but after the first few couplings, he felt nothing but... detachment. Though he laid willingly with Phineas, he allowed his mind to wander and, on the inside, his heart ached as the older man moaned with release above him. He was left aching (Phineas worked himself up to be so frustrated that he was rarely gentle) and empty afterwards, the furthest from content he could be without being downright forced, as the older man rolled over with a sigh beside him and quickly fell asleep. He never complained when he found that Phillip had gotten up and left the bedroom in the morning — either he didn't remember falling asleep together, or he just didn't care. And, even though Phillip felt no real want for the man, that hurt him more than he'd ever care to let Phineas know.

X marks the spot, where we fell apart

He poisoned the well, I was lyin' to myself

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

We never had a shotgun shot in the dark

If Phineas ever questioned their "relationship" (whatever it could be called), he didn't let on about it. Phillip didn't need convincing that he admired the man — that's what the feeling was, admiration — but he had been a fool to think he could feel anything more for the ringmaster. He was grateful to Phineas for getting him out of a hellish situation — he certainly did not miss his mundane plays or his father's regular beatings — but he'd go mad if he had to fake his way through a romantic or sexual relationship with Phineas any longer. He was almost tempted to tell Phineas that he was lying with one of the other circus acts just to get the man off his back. But, knowing Phineas, he'd surely check with said circus act, and then—

How'd he even end up in this mess in the first place?

He couldn't remember anymore.

You were drivin' the getaway car

We were flyin', but we'd never get far

Don't pretend it's such a mystery

Think about the place where you first met me

Sometimes, Phillip would read about his parents in the newspaper. Reading about his father, who had officially 'cut all ties' with him, left a deep, aching wound in his chest. It was because of his father that he ended up at the bar every night, eventually leading to his first meeting with Phineas.

So, really, it was his father that Phillip could thank. Meeting with Phineas had been the perfect getaway, the key to his new life – or so he'd thought.

In retrospect, it probably wasn't a great idea to make business deals when you were near-stumbling drunk and could be easily persuaded by a singing man wearing a top hat.

We're ridin' in a getaway car

There were sirens in the beat of your heart

Should've known I'd be the first to leave

Think about the place where you first met me

It was in a newspaper clipping where Phillip found out about his father's passing. All his breath whooshed from his body and he set the newspaper down on the table before resting his head in his arms.

He didn't realize Phineas was in the room until he heard the deep, rumbling voice ask him if he was all right.

He said he was, but he didn't lift his head from the table.

A firm, strong hand came down to rest on his shoulder and he turned his head to peek at Phineas. The man promised that he'd make it up to Phillip that night, he'd make sure that Phillip forgot all about his father, but they couldn't do anything about it right now. They had a show to run, after all, and they needed to hurry if they didn't want to be late.

Phillip started to get up, started to go for his coat and top hat, but then he paused. He turned to Phineas.

Actually, he said, I think I'll go to the bar tonight.

Phineas stopped, paused as if considering Phillip's words, then slowly nodded. He asked if he should come along.

Phillip said no.

In a getaway car, oh-oh

No, they never get far, oh-ahh

No, nothing good starts in a getaway car

Going to the bar wasn't the best idea, but Phillip needed to get away. So, he found himself drawn back to the place where it had all began.

He quickly lost track of how many drinks he'd consumed, but thankfully the bartender didn't ask questions. When somebody came through the front doors, his grip on his glass tightened and he looked back at the entry with bleary eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought it was Phineas.

No, not Phineas. Just an older-looking man with salt and pepper hair.

He tried to relax, but try as he might his shoulders remained tense and he sat perched on the barstool as if ready to bolt at any moment. The bartender asked if he was all right.

Another, he demanded.

This time, the bartender hesitated.

I'm paying you, aren't I? Another!

He said a silent thanks when the bartender finally took his glass and filled it. The cool glass between his fingers was a blessing and he didn't hesitate before tipping the drink back and downing it in one gulp.

He got sick before the alcohol had the chance to settle in his stomach.

He didn't remember falling off of the barstool.

It was the great escape, the prison break

The light of freedom on my face

But you weren't thinkin'

And I was just drinkin'

He woke up to a pounding headache and a red-faced Phineas.

What were you thinking?! Phineas demanded.

Phillip groaned and rolled onto his stomach. He was lying in a bed. Their bed? Phineas's bed?

He didn't know anymore.

As Phineas proceeded to demand why he felt the need to get so drunk, Phillip drifted back into himself. He had a skull-splitting headache, but even that was forgotten as he drifted away, away from that room, and away from the circus.

Are you crying? Phineas asked.

With a jolt, Phillip realized that there were, in fact, tears on his face. He lifted his hand and had just looked down to study his wet fingers when he felt Phineas's weight settle next to him on the bed.

Phillip, if there's anything you need to get off your chest—

I can't, he said, looking up.

Phineas paused. Frowned. Waited in silence for Phillip to continue.

I – I... nevermind.

Phillip got up. Swayed a little, dizzy with a hangover, but ignored it and managed to stumble his way out of the bedroom. He had no idea what time it was, if they had a performance coming up, but he didn't care.

All he cared about was getting out of there.

Wait! Phineas called. Where are you going?

I'll see you at the circus.

While he was runnin' after us, I was screamin', "go, go, go!"

But with three of us, honey, it's a side show

And a circus ain't a love story

And now we're both sorry (we're both sorry)

Phillip beat Phineas to the circus. Truth be told, he was very surprised that Phineas didn't try to follow him, but he was also relieved. He knew that he would need to deal with Phineas eventually, but to have even the shortest of breaks was a relief.

He sat on a bale of hay talking with Anne Wheeler, and felt a terrible guilt that started by twisting its way through his stomach and crawling up toward his brain. Anne was beautiful, talented, funny, and smart — everything, he'd thought for years, that he had looked for in a potential bride, before he found himself swept up in the most confusing relationship of his life with a man who had dug his own grave by kissing Jenny Lind. Somehow, he had dragged Phillip down with him.

If the affair with Phineas never started, Phillip wondered, would he have found comfort in the arms of Anne Wheeler?

She was so beautiful as she sat there, smiling and laughing with him. He didn't even know what they were talking about, he was so distracted by—

No. He couldn't think like that.

Even if he did manage to leave Phineas, that meant leaning the circus. He couldn't take Anne away from a world she loved so much.

He planned to leave, and he had already gotten attached to the circus itself. That was hard enough. He couldn't get attached to Anne, too. Hadn't he learned his lesson with Phineas?

The circus was no place for a love story.

X marks the spot, where we fell apart

He poisoned the well, every man for himself

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

It hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart

When Phillip finally worked up the courage to tell Phineas that he never felt the... whatever it was supposed to be, between them, it had gone about just as badly as he'd expected.

Phineas stumbled back, as if shot, and stared at Phillip with wide, wild eyes.

What do you mean? Aren't I enough for you?

Phillip watched him, gulped, tried to force words out of his mouth. The anger melted away from Phineas quickly, like snow melting on the first day of spring, and he stumbled back into his armchair with his head in his hands.

Weeping.

Phillip stared. Horrified.

He couldn't do this.

I'm sorry, he whispered.

Phineas looked up. He looked like a child peeking out at Phillip from between his fingers.

Don't leave me, Phineas begged. Don't go.

Silence.

I'll be better. I promise. Please.

Phillip stared. Gulped. Tears gathered in his eyes.

Phineas stared at him, looking miserable.

Phillip's hands shook.

Okay, he whispered.

Okay?

I'll stay.

You were drivin' the getaway car

We were flyin', but we'd never get far

Don't pretend it's such a mystery

Think about the place where you first met me

That night, Phineas tried to be better. He tried to give Phillip what he wanted, tried to give more than receive.

It didn't work. Try as he might, Phillip found himself detaching again. Phineas's actions built up a release waiting to uncoil in the pit of his stomach, but Phillip's mind wandered.

He thought of Anne, but quickly shooed her face away.

He thought of the bar. Oh God, the bar — he should hate that place for what it had done to his life, but he found himself longing for it. He longed for a time when he didn't know Phineas Barnum's face from the average Joe next door.

When he cried, Phineas thought it was because of his performance. Letting out a slight, contented grunt, Phineas kissed Phillip's forehead after they'd finished before rolling off of him.

That night was the first night that Phineas pulled Phillip close as he drifted off to sleep. But Phillip stayed awake, wide awake and unmoving, staring at the blank, black wall.

Phineas's arms felt like chains around his torso.

We're ridin' in a getaway car

There were sirens in the beat of your heart

Should've known I'd be the first to leave

Think about the place where you first met me

Why him?

That was one of the many things that Phillip couldn't figure out.

Why had Phineas selected him to help run the circus, to become close with, to lie with? He supposed that he could understand Phineas from a business aspect — his family's money certainly helped, and even after he died Mr. Carlyle had left him a (very) small amount — but he couldn't understand what had happened to lead Phineas to Phillip in a more... physical way.

The man loved women, did he not? He had been married to Charity for years, and only split because he'd been kissing another woman. Not a man.

So. Why. Him?

Phillip was too afraid to ask.

He'd been too afraid to leave him, had been worked down by Phineas's vulnerability, but he had to leave. He had to.

He'd find a way.

In a getaway car, oh-oh

No, they never get far, oh-ahh

No, nothing good starts in a getaway car

He was a fool.

He was a fool to take that business offer.

He was a fool to associate with P.T. Barnum in the first place.

He'd been blinded by the chance to leave his old life behind.

He didn't think to stop and ponder the consequences.

But even then — how could he have predicted this?

Never in a million years would he have thought himself to be in this situation.

He was suffocating.

Nothing good had come out of this.

Nothing at all.

Phillip closed his eyes.

Blocked out the deep, shuddering gasps from the man above him.

And drifted.

We were jet-set, Bonnie and Clyde

Until I switched to the other side

To the other si-i-i-i-ide

It's no surprise I turned you in

'Cause us traitors never win

It didn't used to be all bad. Before the fire, and before Jenny Lind, Phillip highly respected Phineas Barnum. The two got along incredibly until their arguments over the tour with Jenny took over all their time together.

Before then, working with Phineas was the most fun Phillip had ever experienced in all his life. They made an incredible duo and were often complimented over their abilities to make the circus a breathtaking experience no matter how often a person went. Phillip believed that crossing over to "the other side" was the best decision he'd ever made.

Oh, how quickly that had changed.

He had a plan now, at least. He had money, he had resources. All he had to do was slip away from Phineas... and leave his circus family behind.

He couldn't think about how difficult that part was going to be, though. He was so close. He could taste freedom on the tip of his tongue, could feel it coursing through his veins. This time, he really couldn't wait anymore.

The next stage of his plan was risky, and terrifying. He waited for a moment when he and Phineas were alone, when Phineas was actually in a rational mindset and not attempting to paw away his clothes.

It was now or never.

Phineas, I was wondering.

Hmm?

Would you like to leave the city with me? Just for the weekend — Lettie can take over the shows.

Phineas stared at him and he held his breath. The ringmaster blinked once. Twice.

Away? With you?

Yes.

Alone?

Yes.

Phineas smiled and visibly relaxed, sinking low into his chair. His smile was soft, his eyes warm. For a moment, staring at Phineas in this state, Phillip thought... maybe I could really love him.

No, he shook his head. No, I couldn't.

Phineas hadn't said anything so Phillip chewed on his lower lip. Well? he asked.

Phineas's eyes sparkled.

I'll fetch us a carriage.

I'm in a getaway car

I left you in a motel bar

Put the money in a bag and I stole the keys

That was the last time you ever saw me

They had booked two rooms, telling the hotel staff that they were there on a 'business meeting,' but Phineas snuck into Phillip's room that night, still incredibly drunk from fooling around at the bar earlier in the evening. Phillip, for once, forced himself to remain totally sober as he watched his former friend and business partner drown himself in alcohol.

When Phineas stumbled into Phillip's room, it was a wonder how he didn't manage to wake up everyone in the motel. Phillip shushed him only with promises of sex, which, of course, flustered Phineas and shut him up near immediately.

Just one more night, Phillip told himself as the tears rolled down his cheeks and wettened his ears. Just one more night and then it's over, you never have to lie with him again.

After Phineas fell asleep, satisfied and drunk, Phillip crawled out of bed and stood on trembling legs. He dressed, grabbed the money, and, with one last look back at Phineas Taylor Barnum, left the room, silent but for the slight 'click' of the door as it closed behind him.

Phillip Carlyle did not look back as he freed one of the horses from the carriage and left the motel behind in the night.

Drivin' the getaway car

We were flyin', but we'd never get far

Don't pretend it's such a mystery

Think about the place where you first met me

The ride was rough, Phillip hadn't ridden a horse in years and certainly wasn't used to horse riding in the dark, but they managed to find another motel in the next town or two over.

Phillip tied up the horse, checked in (it was quite late, but the staff managed to be persuaded with more profit than they'd seen in a week), and crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He dreamt of Phineas that night.

We're ridin' in a getaway car

There were sirens in the beat of your heart

Should've known I'd be the first to leave

Think about the place where you first met me

He woke with a start, but relief flooded his body once he remembered where he was. His body was sore with the after effects of sex and horse riding, but it was also slack with relief.

He was finally free.

Sighing, he got out of bed and dressed. Nobody in the main lobby questioned why he was there — he supposed word hadn't gotten out yet of his leaving the circus — but he made quick business of eating breakfast and checking out.

Now that he had no more obligations to Phineas, the circus, or his parents, Phillip Carlyle was, for the first time in his life, free to do whatever he desired. He had the entire world at his fingertips.

He was thankful to P.T. Barnum and the circus troupe for getting him out of a lifestyle he had no business living, but Phillip realized that that was all they could ever do for him.

Soon, Phineas would become nothing but a distant memory.

In a getaway car, oh-oh

No, they never get far, oh-ahh

No, nothing good starts in a getaway car

It was in a theatre, some months later, when Phillip caught sight of Phineas Taylor Barnum for the first time since his departure. The lights in the theatre were low, the show was about to begin, but Phillip gasped and ducked his head, careful not to let the other man spot him.

Phineas looked like... he'd seen better days. He sat slouched in his seat and kept his head low, avoiding eye contact with those around him. It was the only time Phillip had ever seen Phineas not trying to be the center of attention.

The ringmaster shifted and turned in his seat, and Phillip quickly looked away. After a moment, he attempted to peek at the man from the corner of his eye, but voices erupting from the stage caught his attention instead and he faced forward.

The show was about to begin.

I was ridin' in a getaway car

I was cryin' in a getaway car

I was dyin' in a getaway car

Said goodbye in a getaway car

Phillip tried to sneak out of the theatre earlier, as not to be caught, but was caught up when an actor he knew — a man who'd played lead in one of Phillip's own plays, in fact — spotted him in the hall and stopped to chat. Apparently, he'd been cast as understudy for the male lead, but his use in the play hadn't been needed.

By the time the actor let him go, Phillip was swept up in a sea of people leaving the theatre. He tried to get out, tried to push forward, when—

Phillip?

The stranger's familiar voice pierced his ears and Phillip cringed as he turned around, not quite ready to make eye contact with Phineas Taylor Barnum.

Phineas, Phillip spoke, head bowed.

Phillip — can we talk?

Phillip looked up into those eyes — empty, hollow — for the first time in months, and gulped. He glanced around the still-crowded halls and, though nobody seemed to be paying them any mind, he felt his face redden with nerves.

All right, I suppose, but—

I know somewhere private we can go.

Phillip was surprised. Did Phineas just happen to hang around this particular theatre often?

Still, perhaps against his better judgment, he agreed to go with the crestfallen ringmaster.

Ridin' in a getaway car

I was cryin' in a getaway car

I was dyin' in a getaway car

Said goodbye in a getaway car

What the hell!

Phillip spluttered as he pushed back against Phineas's broad chest, gasping once Phineas's mouth left his. The ringmaster had taken them to an empty room where the theatre stored some of its smaller props. The lock on the door was broken and they'd been able to get inside easily enough.

Phillip had been a fool to think that 'talk' was all Phineas wanted to do.

Phineas... Phillip took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Tears wettened his eyelashes, but he refused to cry in front of the older man. When he opened his eyes again, Phineas wouldn't meet his gaze. I don't... want this... anymore.

Phil—

I thank you, Phillip cut in, and I appreciate all that you did to get me away from my suffocating life in the upper-class. But I can't do this, Phineas. I don't... desire you... in that way, anymore.

But you once did.

Phillip said nothing. He couldn't... because it was true.

What did I do? What can I do to make things good between us again?

Were things ever really good between us, Mr. Barnum?

Phineas flinched at the name, but said nothing.

You used me. I thought, maybe, that I could... learn to love you, or at least lust for you. But, Phin — you used me after you turned your own love life to shambles.

Phineas backed up. He stood against the wall, lips pressed together in a thin line. There was no trace of the extravagant ringmaster Phillip had once known.

Phillip sighed. Took a step forward, causing Phineas to look up hopefully. But, Phillip only reached up to trace Phineas's cheek and shake his head.

It's time for me to move on.

Phillip, please—

Phillip went for the door, opening it a crack before glancing back at the man over his shoulder.

Goodbye, Phineas.

Said goodbye in a getaway car

---

So, that was weird and impulsive and just... what? Lol, but it was my first 'songfic' and I hope you guys liked it! The writing style was fun and different for me to try, too — especially the dialogue, which was highly inspired by the novel The Road by Cormac McCarthy

[nadineresearchdesign]

AUT Library information I found

Comics in WW2

There weren't any visual resources on this so I just searched it up on google.

Vintage Ziggy Print Comic Strip Poster 1970s. Image courtesy of Etsy.

Osamu Tezuka and the Creation of Post-World war Manga. Image courtesy of Amazon.

Wonder Woman: The War Years 1941-1945 Roy Thomas. Image courtesy of Ebay.

Flyin' Jenny Comic Strips: January 23, 1944. Image courtesy of Airplanes and Rockets.

Captain America WW2. Image courtesy of amino apps.

There was nothing about Jose Joya or Constancio Bernardo in the AUT Library. Also all of the stuff on Yale and Cranbrook are not related to the abstract expressionism period and are all pretty generic.

[urbanenemy]

1/7 新入荷リスト

BILLY BEETHOVEN  Dreams (Out In The Forest) / We're Free BLACKFOOT SUE  Sing Don't Speak / 2 B Free BLADES  BOUNCE MUSIC LP BLADES FEATURING PAUL CLEARY  Downmarket / Truth Dont Hurt BLONDIE  Atomic / Die Young Stay Pretty BLONDIE  The Tide Is High / Susie And Jeffrey BLONDIE  Dreaming / Sound-A-Sleep BRAKES  The way I see it / Never making love CELIA AND THE MUTATIONS  Mony Mony / Mean To Me CHRIS PELCER  CAN'T FIND REVERSE LP DARLING  PUT IT DOWN TO EXPERIENCE LP DODGERS  Don't Let Me Be Wrong / Get To You DOLLY DOTS  Love me just a little bit more / He's sexy GRAHAM PARKER AND THE RUMOUR  Hold Back The Night / (Let Me Get) Sweet On You / White Honey (Live) / Soul Shoes (Live) HELLO  New York Groove / Little Miss Mystery HELLO  Star Studded Sham / Jenny Dream HOT TIP  My Shoes /  Hard To Be Me HOT TIP  Teach Me Something / Bridge To Manhattan HUMMINGBIRDS  Word Gets Around / Today Of All Days JAMES BOYS  Keep Moving / Sally Don't You Run JAMES BOYS  Hello Hello / Shoog Shoog JANE AIRE AND THE BELVEDERES  Breaking Down The Walls Of Heartache / Life After You KELLY GROUCUTT  Oh, Little Darling / Black Hearted Woman KIRSTY MACCOLL  Caroline / Irish Cousin LIMOUSINE  Daddy Grandpa / She's A Bit Of Allright LIMOUSINE  Seventy-Five / Streetwalker Adventures LIVERPOOL EXPRESS  Hold tight / Lost for words MAGGIE MACNEAL  When You're Gone / Mother Nature MAGGIE MACNEAL  Fools Together / Emty Place, Empty Space MANFRED MANN'S EARTH BAND  Don't Kill It Carol / Blinded By The Light MARTIZ  CURARE LP MOTT THE HOOPLE  All The Way From Memphis / Ballad Of Mott MOTT THE HOOPLE  The Golden Age Of Rock 'N' Roll / Rest In Peace NEW MUSIK  Living by numbers / Sad films ONE HIT WONDERS  Hey hey jump now / Goodbye PAUL DA VINCI  If You Get Hurt / Girl Called Love PAUL DA VINCI  Your Baby Ain't Your Baby Anymore / She'll Only Hurt You PERSONAL COLUMN  The Same Old Situation / Terminal Suspicion PHIL SEYMOUR  I Really Love You / We Don't Get Along PINKEES  Gonna Be Lonely Again / I'm Feeling Lonely POLLY BROWN  Up In A Puff Of Smoke / I'm Saving All My Love PRIMITIVES  Out of reach / Dreamwalk baby / Really stupid / Crash PRIMITIVES  Secrets / I Almost Touched You RIC GORDON  JUST CAN'T GET ENOUGH 12" ROBERT GORDON  Something's Gonna Happen / Flyin' Saucers Rock & Roll ROUSERS  TOUCHED LP ROUSERS  A TREAT OF NEW BEAT LP SECRET SERVICE  Ten O'Clock Postman / Ye - Si - Ca / Dancing In Madness / L.A. Goodbye SNOWSTORM  Sommarnatt / Message SNOWSTORM  Hon Älskar Snabbt / Första Gången STIFFS  The Young Guitars / Yer Under Attack 12" SUZI QUATRO  Mama's Boy / Mind Demons SWEET  Hell Raiser / Burning TEENAGE HEAD  Some Kinda Fun / Teenage Beer Drinkin' Party TEENAGE HEAD  Let's Go To Hawaii / Don't Toy With Me THUNDERMUG  Let's Live Together / Penny Babe THUNDERMUG  I Wanna Be With You / I Wanna Be With You TRIX  Gone, Gone, Gone / Get It Up WILD BEASTS  Minimum Maximum / Another Noun WRECKLESS ERIC  A Popsong / Reconnez Cherie

[omniversalobservations]

Nicktoons Basketball (2004)

Nicktoons Basketball is a video game for the PC, released in 2004. It is based on many Nickelodeon animated series. It is the third Nicktoon game to be released by ImaginEngine, and also the first by Digital Eclipse.

The player plays basketball with various Nicktoons, including SpongeBob SquarePants, Timmy Turner, Jimmy Neutron, Danny Phantom, Tommy Pickles and more. The player can choose how they would like to control the game as well. There are 17 characters, 8 courts, and 26 teams.

Characters * SpongeBob SquarePants * Danny Fenton * Jimmy Neutron * Timmy Turner * Tommy Pickles * Patrick Star * Sandy Cheeks * Squidward Tentacles * Reggie Rocket * Cosmo * Wanda * A.J. * Jenny the Teenage Robot * Sheen Estevez * Goddard * Cindy Vortex * Tak

Arenas * Jimmy's Lab * Ocean Shores * Bikini Bottom Island * Burial Ground * Dimmsdale School * The Treedome * Fairyworld

Teams * Bikini Bottom Bouncers * Dimmsdale Dunkers * Nicktoons All Stars * Retroville Rockets * Hightops * Headbands * Saggy Bottoms * Ghosts * Hurricanes * Deflators * Goobers * Flyin' Pigs * Typhoons * Unstoppables * Peppers * Troublemakers * Lobsters * Robots * Slammers * Tornados * Wreckers * UFO'S

Source: Wikipedia

(image via eBay)

[imagineclaireandjamie]

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Three)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

Links to past installments:  (One) (Two)

(Three)

Jenny

I’d run upstairs the instant Claire was gone through the door—first to the bedchamber overlooking the road, then up still further to the upper floors, so I could see her for just a moment longer. For, damn me, but I couldna take my eyes off her…just kept—watchin’ her— until the last.

And even when the shape of her had long vanished over the horizon, I was still watchin’, staring into the spot where she’d been, the last place she’d inhabited before she’d gone away….just as she’d promised. 

The letter—God, Claire’s letter—was clutched tight in my hand and heavy on my heart. But it was also heavy in my hand, I realized. There was more than paper, therein, I’d swear to it; firm, whatever it was, but not rigid, exactly, for I could still bend it easily.  

I had the nail of my finger under the edge of the wax before somethin’….somethin’ stopped me—or could it be someone?—and I shivered. 

“Jenny?” 

Claire was in the doorway of the kitchen, cloak on, the letter clutched to her breast. 

I stood, awkwardly. “You’ve finished?” 

She nodded, and her eyes closed, of a sudden, and she looked so very young, like one of the bairns in a thunderstorm, all scared and—small—So sad, and—

—and I wavered. 

But before I could say anythin’, Claire was there right before my face, pressin’ the envelope hard into my hands. She didna let go, just kept—holdin’ on to me, eyes boring into mine so I couldna even blink. 

 “Whatever hurt there is between you and me, Jenny—” Those whisky-colored eyes were shining wi’ feeling, ready to spill over wi’ it. “—I beg you to see that Jamie gets this.” She added her other hand and squeezed me so hard that own hands were shakin’ along wi’ hers. “Please don’t wait too long to give it to him.” 

My voice cracked, and I couldna look away. “Why’s that?” 

“There are things in here, that—” the paper crinkled, loud and violent, that bitty sound, “—that will give him peace….I hope.” A small, broken breath. 

Peace…Peace for Jamie…

“Please, Jenny—PLEASE—promise me that you’ll give it to him.” Those wildcat eyes begged, and I could do nothing but nod. She heaved an enormous sigh and closed them, nodding, herself. “Thank you.” 

She released me, then and made for the door, pulling her cloak tight about her. Her eyes were on the handle as she said, “Goodbye.” 

And then before I could blink, she’d come back again and thrown both her arms ‘round me. Unnaturally tall as she was, my arms were trapped down at my sides, so I couldna have hugged her back, even had I wished to. 

Her voice was a ragged sob of a whisper. “I do love you, Jenny.” She kissed my cheek.

And then she was out the door, gone. Forever.  

And it was only as she was far, far gone, a vanished speck through a frozen windowpane, that I realized….

I *had* wished to. 

“Mam?” 

I nearly leapt out of my skin as I whirled like a guilty bairn to the door behind, where Maggie stood wi’ her own babe on her hip. 

“Ye’ve been up here for an age and a half, Mam. Did…” She gave me a significant look, “….something give ye a turn?” 

“I’m fine, mo chridhe,” I promised, flustered-like, bustling past her down the stairs to resume my work and hide my face. “Perfectly fine, nothin’ to—”

“But who was she, Mam?” Maggie’s voice, her footsteps, chased me down the stairs. “The dark-haired Englishwoman? Why was she here?” 

“She was a traveler. No one ye need be worrit about.” 

“Mam, I’m no’ a wee bairn. We all heard the great skelloch the two of ye were makin’. Clearly she was someone ye kent well, and it sounded as though she had come were wi’ a purpose, and  — “ 

“Maggie, do not— ” 

“But what was it she wanted of ye, Mam? She stayed hardly an hour, and we — “

“I dinna wish to DISCUSS it, Margaret.” 

From the look on her face, I’d shouted it, violently. She went all meek-like and left me standing alone on the stairs landing without another word. I started to go after her, but—I let my hands fall back to my side, clenching into shaking fists.  

What was it the Englishwoman had wanted of me, Maggie, love? The woman who saw ye delivered into this world? Only to come make peace and to mend your Uncle Jamie’s heart…and I… 

*I*….

Hands of guilt seemed to shove me toward the door, toward the stables. 

Janet Murray, go after Claire. Go after her right this moment. There’s still time to catch her up! 

“Aye, and WHY should I?” I muttered under my breath, stormin’ to the pantry and busyin’ my hands, furiously flyin’ from task to task. 

WHY? Because it was doomed from the start! 

Dinna lay the troubles of their marriage at my feet. It was GOOD for Jamie to be marrit. He NEEDED a woman.

You saw her fetch at the wedding. Jesus God, woman, THAT was your warning. THIS is the test. 

I wasna going to see my brother die alone, and I couldna have dreamed that she’d saunter in one day after—

No one could have supposed Claire was alive; but now that you know, you MUST make this right. 

Go and stop her…GO!

She had no right —No RIGHT to just vanish as she did. God, the —the arrogance of it — I threw an old jar against the wall, the crash of the pottery against the stone some kind of satisfaction amid the storms of rage and of shame within me. — not to even CHECK !—And ‘complicated,’ she says…COMPLICATED! 

She said she’d be able to explain. 

All can be made right, Janet Murray. Go after her, beg her to  —

I'll no’ beg that Sassenach witch for anythin’. The rage was boiling up within me, and suddenly even the promise of delivering her letter seemed like the vilest of insults. ‘Will bring him peace,’ she says…How could she POSSIBLY ken what can bring him peace, having been gone from him for twenty —

YOU would know, just fine, if it were Ian. Separation couldn’t change your knowing of him, could it? 

I ignored that pleading, reasonable voice and stormed back up the stairs. The only sensible thing was to pretend as though the letter had never existed. 

Jamie need never know. If he wasna precisely at *peace,* now, he’d at least settled into a living, and found a certain —

He hasn’t. 

NO sense at all in opening up old —

And since when were love or mercy about *sense*?  

What he doesna know canna pain him, and that’s all there is to it.

I stormed upstairs and threw the letter resolutely into the back of the drawer, coverin’ it over wi’ old underthings and rags where Ian wouldna find it. 

But all the rest of the day, that stern voice haunted me, warred with me. 

Go after her. 

Leave me be. 

What’s done is done. 

No, it isn’t. 

GO AFTER HER.

Claire let him suffer. 

She stayed away for TWENTY—

She doesna DESERVE  —

That was Jamie’s judgment to make, woman. Not yours. 

I told her only the bare facts. 

No. You lied to her. 

He DOES have a wife!

He DOES have two daughters that called him Da!

You told her all the difficult truths and made them as painful to her as you could. 

And you told one lie.

 That Jamie is happy.

Is he?  

No…

The guilt shuddered through me, a fist wrapped around my throat. 

He’s broken…

He’s still hurting…still raw….

From want of Her. 

And you sent her away. 

The look on her face as she begged me to give him that letter—

But the THINGS she did to  —

What you’ve just done is worse, still —For you did it from spite, Janet Murray; of your own pride and —

Across the house a door CRASHED open and I reeled back from the spice cupboard as though shot, my blood poundin’ in my ears as footsteps came thunderin’ in from the front door. “What in GOD’s holy name—???” 

“I dinna need to WASH to see Mam,” a grumpy voice protested from the foyer. 

“Oh Mary, Michael, and Bride—IAN!!” I’d forgotten—completely FORGOTTEN to be sick with worry for my wee scoundrel who’d run away. Lord forgive me, what sort of mother FORGETS —

I flew across the house, my guilt over Claire momentarily replaced by outrage at myself and fury at my son and RELIEF. “Ian!!” I sobbed as I threw my arms around his thin frame. “Ian you –YOU–oh—!” I swore violently, a great string of things, but all grateful, all emphatic with love as I squeezed him tight, wetting his shirtfront “—I’m so glad you’re safe, a chuisle.”

“I’m fine, mam,” he said with a sigh, though he returned the hug. 

I pulled back and slapped his shoulder, hard. “Well ye WILLNA be by the time I’m done wi’ ye! What were ye THINKING, Ian Murray, runnin’ away like that wi’ no word???”

“I DID leave word, Mam!” 

“Oh, ye think a wee note is enough? Not in this house, Ian. God, I’m so fashed and so happy in one single moment—” True enough; I was panting with the rush of the relief and the fright of the last two weeks. I hugged him again, then pushed him toward the stairs. “Off wi’ ye—we’ll deal wi’ your punishment later.” 

I turned from one Ian (well, the back of one, as he sulked off) to sigh in relief at sight of the other. “There’s my sweet lass,” he said, grinnin’ that bright, warm smile that I loved so well and holding out his arms to me.

All but fell into them, I did. “Mo ghraidh, ye found him.” I pressed my head against his chest, so happy to have him close; so happy for the relief of havin’ him hold me. There, against his heart, all could be well; all the voices and the shame and the rage could be silent. 

He kissed me, touched my cheek, then turned for the study. “I didna do much." He thudded into an armchair and pulled me into his lap. “In fact, I didna even get to Edinburgh.” 

“No?” I grinned, kissin’ his dear face. “Was he making such puir time? Chasin’ after lost pups and rabbits, again, aye?” 

“Nay, he’d already been to Edinburgh. When I came upon him, it was head on, already on their way back to us.”

I jolted back. “Their?” 

“Aye, Ian and Jamie.” 

“JAMIE?”

Go after her 

“Aye, who else?” Ian kissed me, blithe as ye please. “Said he didna trust Wee Ian to come back unescorted, and rightly so.”

Go after her

“Well, and — it’s good ye were able to meet Jamie on the way.” I brushed my hands nervously down my skirt, tryin’ not to give in to the feelings risin’ up in my gullet. “He’ll have needed to be back in his shop as soon as possible.”

“Oh, nay, he left Fergus in charge. Said he was past due for a visit. No sense in him making the journey twice, now, is there?” 

“Jamie’s — He’s — ?” I felt as though I were going to faint. 

Go NOW

What if he finds out? 

You MUST tell him. 

I canna — I CANNA —

I screamed it at my conscience, but it wasna like the rage of before: a scream of panic. The weight of what I’d done—it was fallin’ down all around me and over me, smashin’ apart my anger and my stubbornness and my pride only to reveal beneath all my darkest shame and regret and  —

“Jamie’s gone to Balriggan, then?” 

“NO, a nighean,” came a grinnin’ voice that paralyzed me as surely as the bolt of a crossbow in my spine, “he’s behind ye.”

Lord, help me, 

I canna

[kimonobeat]

BLACKPINK Lyrics: BOOMBAYAH (Japanese Ver.)

English translation and romanization (with parts labeled) below.

ENGLISH

BLACK PINK in ya area

Been a bad girl I know I am And I’m so hot I need a fan I don’t want a boy I need a man

Click clack! Bada bing bada boom! All eyes on me when I step in the room You don’t know Better ask somebody Watch your man hit the deck like pang pang pang Rang pang para para pang pang pang Raise your glass to the roof like chan chan chan Hands up lit with a bottle full of henny Watch your mouth When you speak my name Jennie

With me, things are always special Black to the pink, like the lights are dancing, oh yes Got their eyes on me but I wanna dance Like 따라다라단딴 따라다라단딴 뚜두룹바우

It’s gonna be lit tonight, wow Don’t stop, I’ve gotta feeling this’ll be love Oh god, I’m about to fall for you! I wanna dance with you

BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BOOM BA, 오빠! YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH, 오빠! YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BA-YAH

BLACK PINK in ya area

I’mma take what’s mine so get out my way Ain’t got time I go hard and slay Middle finger up F you pay me 90′s baby I pump up the jam Whip it up whip it up baby that Iambo Dropping the top I be too hard to handle Savage I’m killing them Stacking my millions Stopping my paper? Go brrrrr Rambo

Put your hand on my hip Front to my back, exceptional style, Oh yes I know u wanna touch from the looks you’re giving me Like Touch touch touch touch 뚜두룹바우

It’s gonna be lit tonight, wow Don’t stop, I’ve gotta feeling this’ll be love Oh god, I’m about to fall for you! I wanna dance with you

BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BOOM BA, 오빠! YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH, 오빠! YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BA-YAH

Let’s surrender ourselves tonight and just dance Let’s go past the skies above usーbut where? Ignore any goals you’ve got, send ‘em flyin’

Let’s go

ROMAJI

Jennie:  BLACK PINK in ya area

Lisa: Been a bad girl I know I am And I’m so hot I need a fan I don’t want a boy I need a man

Jennie: Click clack! Bada bing bada boom! All eyes on me when I step in the room You don’t know Better ask somebody Watch your man hit the deck like pang pang pang Rang pang para para pang pang pang Raise your glass to the roof like chan chan chan Hands up lit with a bottle full of henny Watch your mouth When you speak my name Jennie

Jisoo: hikari ga odoru you ni With me Black to the pink itsudemo tokubetsu oh yes Lisa: miiraretemo I wanna dance Like tara dara dan tan tara dara dan tan tu durupu bau

Rosé: kon’ya agari-makurou wow Jisoo: Don’t stop kono koi no yokan Rosé: yabai horesou anata to odoritai no

All: BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BOOM BA oppa YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH oppa YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BA-YAH

Rosé: BLACK PINK in ya area

Lisa: I’mma take what’s mine so get out my way Ain’t got time I go hard and slay Middle finger up F you pay me 90′s baby I pump up the jam Whip it up whip it up baby that Iambo Dropping the top I be too hard to handle Savage I’m killing them Stacking my millions Stopping my paper? Go brrrrr Rambo

Jisoo: atashi no koshi ni te wo atete Front to my back batsugun no sutairu oh yes Jennie: shisen de I know u wanna touch Like Touch touch touch touch tu durupu bau

Rosé: kon’ya agari-makurou wow Jisoo: Don’t stop kono koi no yokan Rosé: yabai ochisou anata to odoritai no

All: BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BA-YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BOOM BA oppa YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH oppa YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH YAH BOOM BOOM BA BOOM BA-YAH

kon’ya mi wo yudanaete odorou ano sora koe doko made ikou go-ru nante mushi tobasu dake yo

Let’s go

[fashioninpaper]

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[digitalcomicmuseum]

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