#graham rouse

[for-the-love-of-javert]

Philip Quast as Billy Webb in the Australian TV series 'A Country Practice': Season 4 Episodes 14 & 15: On The Sheep's Back Part 1 & 2

Also Pictured: Peter Gwynne as Richard Page & Graham Rouse as Ernie Cullen

[forensicated]

Lots of articles and props and the like are being posted to the Sierra-Oscar community if you haven't seen them yet (one of the low points of communities on Tumblr is that they're not overly visible, nor do the posts show up when tagged in the searches).

If you'd like to see, come on over here!

Unfortunately, another limitation of Tumblr communities is that you have to be invited to join them and can't just join at the moment. If you want to join, please like or comment on this post and we will send you an invite ASAP.

Whilst I'm at the reminders, here is a link to lots of The Bill reference information. Here you can find:

Detailed episode guides (Currently up to 04x02),

Smithy/Gina important episode guides,

Gina/Jonathan important episode guides

Detailed episode guides for the Witness, Gun Runner, Conviction episodes and also Gina's last two episodes.

Station information (so far mostly focused on the first 2 incarnations of Sun Hill)

Show info (call signs, vehicle call signs, address, caution, streets and locations used in the show and more!)

Family/Friend connections for each regular cast member from start to finish including important information (under construction!)

If there's anything you want to query or add to anything, please feel free to reply or message me and I'll get back ASAP!

[milliondollarbaby87]

Young Woman and the Sea (2024) Review

The true story of competitive swimmer Trudy Ederle who became the first woman to ever swim across the English Channel in 1926. ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Continue reading Young Woman and the Sea (2024) Review

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

Young Woman and the Sea (PG): Celebrating the Extraordinary "Queen of the Sea", Trudy Ederle.

#onemannsmovies #filmreview of "Young Woman And The Sea". #YoungWomanAndTheSea. Daisy Ridley excels in a stirring true life story. 4.5/5.

A One Mann’s Movies review of “Young Woman and the Sea” (2024). I went into this new Daisy Ridley feature with no expectations at all. But it is a truly wonderful film and one that virtually all ages could go and enjoy. Bob the Movie Man Rating: Plot Summary: It’s New York in the early 1920’s. Trudy Ederle (Daisy Ridley) grows up a rebellious girl in a man’s world. In particular, she has a…

[theredofoctober]

MANNA CHAPTER 2: SUPPER

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham fic, TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, mild Daddy kink (it'll all make sense).

This chapter is chronologically 2nd in the series.

Keep reading after the cut

Blood in your mouth; you've bitten your inner cheek in your sedative state, auto-cannibalism under the eye of vague attendants. Both are male, featureless, moth-men with closed wings.

You glance from one to the other, grasping foolishly at memory, not yet finding its edges.

"Dad?"

The figure on the left ejects an awkward laugh.

"Which one of us is that again?"

"A moment, Will," says the other man, and through the ether of sleep you see his face, the etching of an aesthete, that which you have seen before.

Hannibal. Dr. Lecter. An enemy in the seat of a saviour.

"Give her time to wake," he says, "and to acclimatise to her environment."

"What's going on?" you ask, rubbing your hands across your face in an effort to rouse yourself. "Where am I right now?"

"You don't remember what happened?" asks Hannibal, his absence of brows arched. "You are in my home, where you will be staying for the foreseeable future, under my care. My colleague, Will Graham, will be assisting me in looking after you. I hope that while you are unhappy with your situation, you will be cordial to him."

A tableau— Hannibal trapping you against the door, your knee bruising his male sensitivity, intimate as newlyweds in the clinch of your rash violence—slows your thoughts with its artistry.

You remain too sluggish, yet, to fear Dr. Lecter as you did in his office. Every feeling seems performed by some spirit in your place, a girl who died here before you, leaving a breath of her sorrows in the walls.

"Are you a doctor?" you ask the man named Will Graham.

He blinks at you as though perturbed by the question.

"No," he says, shortly. "I lecture in criminal profiling for the FBI. Occasionally, I step in as a special agent on crime scenes. I'm here to offer my insights on your case, I guess. Haven't decided quite what they are, yet."

You sit up, frowning.

"But I'm not a murderer."

Will smiles, the curl of his mouth quite unpleasant.

"I know. Doesn't mean I can't get inside your head, though."

He is unfriendly, and oddly furtive, his expression dancing between moral objection and a grudging interest in you. Segments of his conversation with Hannibal pluck at you delicately: he is present only under duress, any curiosity a provocation on Dr. Lecter's part.

You glimpse an avenue for escape through the younger man's sensitivity.

"So... you're a cop?" you ask, carefully.

Will coughs out a laugh.

"Not exactly. Why, worried I'll arrest you?"

"No, but you should arrest Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal delivers you an amused look.

"I have no concerns with the legalities of your treatment. Will would not incriminate himself in any act that would be to your detriment."

You worry your lower lip with your teeth, wondering how much of the truth Will Graham knows.

"So... am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be?" Will enquires, but the question is directed at Hannibal, who coolly answers.

"She assaulted me in her efforts to leave my office."

You stiffen as Will's expression clouds with a new darkness.

"Are you hurt?"

"Fortunately not. I could have been, but I was prepared for resistance. A poor start to our relationship, nonetheless. I think an apology is in order."

Threat is inevitable in that statement; you look for windows, doors, any potential exit, knowing well that you cannot move fast enough to pass your jailers without intervention.

Will says your name, the suddenness throwing you like the recoil of a gun.

"Apologise to Dr. Lecter."

"She was frightened, Will," says Hannibal, generously. "A stray animal unused to human contact, she cannot help but bite in the terror that we mean her harm."

Yet he does mean you harm, means to play with you as an orca does a seal it kills, an inversion of his own metaphor.

Will shakes himself, turning from you in reluctance to meet your gaze.

"You said she has to learn," he says, through gritted teeth. "We need to reinforce boundaries with her. So either she apologises, or we have to punish her. That's the way this works, right?"

Fear opens your lethargy with a surgeon's precision.

"Punish?" you cry. "What are you talking about?"

Ignoring your interjection, Dr. Lecter says, "You are correct, Will. For certain plants, a framework is needed for them to grow. What trellis must we build to guide our clematis to its most majestic heights?"

Will regards his friend thoughtfully.

"What's your suggestion?"

"There are two options that occur to me," says Hannibal, watching as you claw yourself against the headboard with both hands. "The first is that we begin the initial step of her recovery with a hearty meal. I was informed by her family that she has not eaten since yesterday. It is not too late for me to prepare dinner. If she will not eat, then I have the means to encourage her to do so."

Dr. Lecter turns aside, allowing you to glimpse a feeding tube posed gracefully on a tabletop. You have long feared this tool, which even previous therapists have raised as a possibility for you, should you not end this starving strike. Never had you pictured a day this horror would find its becoming.

Terror licks at you as readily as a flame.

Starting forward, you grip Will by the wrist, unhinged in your desperation.

"Don't let him do that to me."

Will looks down at your hand with displeasure, yet he doesn't attempt to remove it, enduring your touch with grimacing obligation.

"And the other option, Dr Lecter?" he asks, thinly. "It's been a long day, and I don't know if I have the energy to step in as orderly to a violent patient without preparation."

"I am sure that you would handle her proficiently," says Dr. Lecter. "But perhaps there is another method we can consider, first."

He takes Will aside and murmurs to him; the fragments you discern sound as ambiguous as the language used aloud.

The younger man takes on a cornered look.

"I... can't do that," he protests, his posture sharp with discomfort. "That could open up a whole host of new problems for her."

"Or it could impress upon her the necessity to listen to her guardians," says Hannibal. "I will join you, if it will persuade you."

"Doesn't that go against the confines of your role?"

Dr. Lecter smirks, his fine-jawed features made truly handsome.

"I will enact discipline, also. But it will not be the first tool that I apply."

The two men approach the bed together, one on either side of you, apparently united in their purpose.

"What are you doing?" you cry, although by now you've a sense of it. "Stay away from me!"

"These are the conquences of resistance, little one," says Hannibal, closing the space between you. "From now on, I suggest that you comply."

You scramble backwards only to come up against Will Graham, his arms a cuff around you.

"Don't struggle," he snaps. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to."

"No! No!"

Child-like, you find yourself reduced to simple denial, fear snatching the very language from you. You are all trembling fragility beneath Will as he shoves you, face down, on the bed; you turn your head back to look at him, glimpsing a flash of clenched teeth, eyes with a bear's indifferent hunger, something sickly, and soulful underneath.

You think, this man is not well, then bark out a startled scream as he forces your head frontwise, a fisherman's rough hand on your scalp, oppressing you in its unthinking violence.

"Face him," Will barks, pushing you for emphasis. "He's the one you injured."

You comply, feeling on the very cusp of death.

The man on your back manoeuvres you on all fours to his liking, the stave of his hard want crushed against his jeans. His comrade holds your arms down, though you could not move them at the devil's request; stillness is your ally, submission where a fight would cut your throat.

Hannibal looks at you with the cruel serenity of an angel, in all his justice. He touches your tear-scaled cheek with solace stolen from husbands and fathers; when he tips your face to his, you know what he will take from you, have felt the omen of that kiss.

It is intimate, gentle, kinder than any touch you've known in years. You blink, dismayed by the lust that roots itself from gut to cunt in its tangling wisteria.

"What— why?" you stutter, the feel of his lips on yours a reverberation that long remains.

"A treatment from bygone times," says Hannibal, patiently. "Although widely frowned upon, sex was once implemented to allieve many ailments. I find value in it, still."

"No," you say, aware of Will's arousal at your entrance. "I mean, why did you kiss me? Why would you do that?"

"You ache to be cherished, and so you will be. Alas, it may be many months before you see me as the friend you crave."

"You'll never be my friend," you sneer, and regret the barb as Will thrusts against you, having unbuckled his jeans to free himself to your imprisonment.

There is an arc of sore horror as his cock bolts within, making butchery of you in his taking. Will's arms are either side of you, the bars that cage such a sow; he smells of sweat, and Old Spice, and dog hair, and now of sex. You sob drily as he ruts your vulnerability against the mattress, as he sucks the skin of your neck in his teeth and bites until a ring tattoos your throat.

That mark is a staple of sexual assault, you'd read that somewhere, a sigil of the taker's power.

Limp, you let him use you, fucking you in so harsh and primal rhythm that you can think of nothing but its pattern.

What ill of yours earned this brash causality? Why, of all patients, has Hannibal taken you up as his toy?

"Stay there," Will grumbles, as you arch your back in a spasm of gilded agony. "Don't move."

"I have her," says Hannibal, and he guides you up onto your knees, his chest flat to yours as Will ruins the atrium of his desire. "Teach her what she will endure, if she will not accept our aid."

You cannot stand to be torn apart like this, a beast between your legs, and another touching your breasts and waist as though your partner in a waltz, all courtly chivalry.

"Please, Will," you moan, but he has thrown aside his reason, swept up in this gourmand's pleasure.

"Hurt me the way you hurt Dr. Lecter and you'll really wish you hadn't," he says, and you shake your head in a frantic falsehood.

"I won't. I swear I won't."

Will is fire, and you are ash: he is pain and delight, a conundrum. He puts a hand to your neck, holding your head upright as he fucks you, and growls against your ear sharp threats that sell you to silence.

Hannibal stares at you in fascination. You feel it pour over you like tar, glazing you with the shame of your illness having made you his object.

Dr. Lecter is of an evil Will is not, setting you both before him to observe your every response.

Later, he will write notes about this; the hands that glide your body now will itch for the pen, to lay out all you are on paper, and memorialise your suffering.

Does he truly think that this will help you? You don't believe it.

This night is his experiment, that which he might take apart like a pig's heart to show its working to students of science. Will is Dr. Lecter's pupil, and he is moulding the man to be as he is, and though it is Graham that fucks you, it is Hannibal you hate the most, the God that set this all into motion.

Will's breath flutters at your ear, and he stills, only the part of him within you left flinching to a vicious end. Hannibal steps back from the bedframe, smoothing down his suit of creases with elegant hands. As Will struggles up to join him, you crumple forward, sodden and stammering, a headache starting to beat at your temple, the hangover of Dr. Lecter's drug.

Yet when the younger man places a hand to your jerking back, you accept the touch, wanting even so poor a substitute for love.

"Daddy," you whisper. "I want to go home."

Will jerks away from you, staring at his own hand with abject revulsion.

"What have I done?" he asks, and there is an undercurrent of awe to the words that you do not quite understand.

"You did what you had to," says Dr. Lecter, smoothly. "What was needed."

His colleague shakes his head, his gaze dropping floorwise.

"No. She's seriously ill. She should be in a hospital ward, and I— we—"

"Will."

You cannot stand the fondness with which Hannibal addresses the other man, grooming him to such extremities of evil. He lays a hand on Will's shoulder, and he relaxes into the touch, an unconscious softening of his inate angles.

They stand together as if alone in the room, Dr. Lecter's face almost in the crook of Will Graham's neck.

"She is quelled," he says, quietly. "Tomorrow, she will eat the breakfast I make for her with the memory of this correction, and in time, she will learn to thank you for it. Even to love."

Still, Will lingers in the doorway, watching you wind yourself into the coverlet to nurse the wound of his making.

"Is she going to be alright?" he asks, nervously.

Through sodden lashes, you see Dr. Lecter guide his colleague into the hallway, as a strict father might the mother that coddles an infant that screams to be held.

"Let her sleep," he murmurs. "Her dreams will be woven with our teaching. Soon we shall see what tapestry will be made."

They leave you there, descending into opiate darkness. You slumber, but you do not dream, only lie with your hand over the heat these heathens have struck in what was before a lampless under-earth.

Your hunger follows you down into the castles of sleep, loyal to its creator.

[pomodoriyum]

the day after Halloween:

Nedward little: worrying about having to clean up the giant mess from the party. pathetically sweeping at a sticky spot on the floor with a broom

john irving: trying and failing to sleep off a headache from the copious amounts of alcohol he imbibed. still kinda drunk

george hodgson: drinking coffee, completely chipper, surveying mess with no intention to start cleaning any time soon

thomas jopson: sleeps in a bit late but pretty much functional. he’s eager to begin putting things back to order; the party was very fun!

solomon tozer: hungover pretty badly. wakes up and hes all cuddled up with heather, whos snoozing away. spends most of his day like this. gets up at like 2-3pm

billy gibson: slight headache from the noise/excitement from prev night, sleeps in ‘late’ (for him) but is up by like 6:40 am. also having coffee in the kitchen (black). kissed hickey’s head before getting up and was nearly ensnared by hickeys demands for cuddling (hes gotten really good at dodging grabby hands/arms)

cornelius hickey: did not drink, but likes sleeping in late so stays in bed until like 10 anyway. upset that billy got up to start his day; really wanted cuddles (and was hoping for a quick fuck). WILL smoke in bed. sometimes billy brings him coffee if he’s accidentally made too much in the pot

harry goodsir: sleeps in late, but wakes feeling refreshed. definitely showers first thing. he slept on the couch so silna could sleep in his twin-sized bed (she gets backaches on the couch)

silna: up early but stays in bed reading one of the books on goodsirs bedside table. eventually gets up and goes for a run with tuunbaq (patiently waiting at foot of the bed) and then breakfasts with goodsir

charles des voeux: ate himself sick on candy and had waaaaay to much to drink, so hes curled pathetically under the coffee table whimpering and groaning. tom hartnell takes photos before maneuvering him into a blanket and making him drink water.

tom hartnell: had a wonderful time at the party hanging out with the lads!! is actually helpful cleaning up; does take a vicious joy in vacuuming loudly a smidge too early for the folks who drank a lot/annoyed him the previous night (i.e, des voeux)

pilkington: a little hungover but mostly ok; is the designated driver to get people home. wakes up wedged next to des voeux on the floor between the couch and coffee table

francis crozier: initially avoided the party bc of the drinking; ended up going anyway bc james called him midway and convinced him to come. mosty hung out by the food table and the couch. he and jfj definitely took a romantic walk late in the evening

james fitzjames: put the party together with the help of dundy. drank quite a bit but knows his limits and is not hungover. is absolutely planning on making other people clean up the mess from the party, though

Henry le visconte: helped jfj put things together, partied *hard*, currently passed out in a bush somewhere. Fitzjames comes to find him and fetch him out of there and make him drink water and swaddle him in blankets

sir john franklin: came, politely said hello, had a few snacks, told a few stories, and left early before it got too loud. gave lots of back pats to the men.

graham gore: partied hard. got a bit sensual with the lads. had a great time and is only a little hungover. joins george for coffee and they have a rousing conversation about musical theory in the kitchen.

stephen stanley: did not attend.

[dandelionjack]

half the traits people hate about 13’s character and label ‘inconsistencies’ are just part of her personality and they’re pretty clearly written as consistent flaws particular to this regeneration. you just can’t bear to see your beloved iconic protagonist as a complex woman. everyone and their mother loves to talk about the graham-cancer-socially-awkward scene being one of the lowest points of her tenure but i’m adamant that it’s fine writing and most importantly fits the type of person that she is: a genius autistic blabbermouth who can conjure up a powerful rousing speech at will when faced with a life-or-death crisis but can’t deal with small-scale emotional moments to save her life or anyone else’s. she’s a bit of a bastard. far better with machines (this includes the tardis) than with people (this also includes the tardis). feral child. wacky tour guide. emotionally distant aunt. she’s still my least favourite nuwho doctor because somebody has to be last on the list, but that doesn’t mean i don’t love her. consider watching her series with your eyes and mind open next time

[mollywog]

RegencyLark Part 1 | RegencyLark Part 2

Everything after had been a blur.

He was able to obtain the details from Lord Abernathy as Katniss wept; Graham had complained of a headache and retired to bed before his evening appointment, but when they had gone to rouse him, he’d never woken. The doctor had been fetched but it was too late: Aruliaus had suggested an aneurysm.

Lady Abernathy insisted Katniss return to Abernathy house with them, but she had protested, never letting up her grip on Peeta. She wanted to be alone, she had said, but after the Everdeens and Abernathys had left, she’d still clung to Peeta and asked him to stay. What could he do but comply? Did he really want to return to his empty apartment where he’d do nothing but worry for her?

So he’d stayed that night and every night after that week when she’d asked. Doing nothing more than holding her so she might sleep, protecting her from the nightmares and wondering if his brother had been lying next to her just as he was only a fortnight earlier. If what they were doing was improper, the staff hadn’t raised a brow. They adored Katniss as they had his brother and by extension himself and would not see her ruined by gossip especially in her grief.

But though they were shielded in that regard, expectant looks began in a different quarter. Peeta hadn’t noticed them until Haymitch had pulled him aside to inform him that a representative of the House of Lords had visited to inquire after his God-daughter’s ‘health’.

It had all fallen into place. He was to be the new Earl of Bakerston, unless Katniss was with child; A possibility he had hardly thought on long enough to even wish for. But although her answer had been a definitive ‘no’, the proof had taken time and when it came, it was as if he’d lost Graham yet again.

He couldn’t breathe in the Mellark House. Couldn’t take the mourners who came to call with their thinly veiled interest in the newest Earl. Couldn’t mourn his brother while pining after his grieving widow; The grief and guilt eating him alive in equal measure, until it had become unbearable.

So he’d run; Halfway across the globe, it still wasn’t far enough, but he’d stayed anyway until he couldn’t stay away any longer.

Now almost two years later he stands outside of the Mallark house in town, preparing to enter back into society, not as an insignificant third son, but as the interloping Earl of Bakerston.

He’s not sure what he expects; he'd made it clear in his correspondence with the staff that it was still her home; that Katniss, the Countess of Bakerston, was welcome to stay, but he supposed he expected she would remain in the county estate as reports from the last two seasons had indicated or that she’d eventually return to the Abernathy home where she could be surrounded by family. Though later after giving it serious thought, he realized she had never really been truly at home in the mayhem at the Abernathy’s.

He only makes it past the foyer before spotting her.

He has the advantage, her head is down as she fastens her cloak, and then she looks up and pales as if she’s seen a ghost; he supposes she has, but she’s still breathtaking. Better even than the memories he’d convinced himself he’d romanticized.

He opens his mouth, to say what, he’s unsure, but she finds her voice first, “Please excuse me, I was just on my way out,” she says before dashing past him and out the front door.

[tuppencetrinkets]

Sorted caps from Season 1 of The Vampire Diaries, the Originals and Legacies.

Nina Dobrev - Elena Gilbert

Paul Wesley - Stefan Salvatore

Ian Somerhalder - Damon Salvatore

Kat Graham - Bonnie Bennett

Candice King - Caroline Forbes

Zach Roerig - Matt Donovan

Michael Trevino - Tyler Lockwood

Steven R. McQueen - Jeremy Gilbert

Matthew Davis - Alaric Saltzman

Joseph Morgan - Klaus Mikaelson

Marguerite Macintyre - Liz Forbes

Sara Canning - Jenna Sommers

Claire Holt - Rebekah Mikaelson

Susan Walters - Carol Lockwood

Daniel Gillies - Elijah Mikaelson

Susan Walters - Carol Lockwood

Kayle Ewell - Vicki Donovan

Melise - Anna Zhu

David Anders - John Gilbert

Arielle Kebbel - Lexi Branson

Phoebe Tonkin - Hayley Marshall

Kelly Hu - Pearl Zhu

Mia Kirshner - Isobel Flemming

Sebastian Roche - Mikael

Charles Michael Davis - Marcel Gerard

Danielle Campbell - Davina Claire

Leah Pipes - Camille O'Connell

Nathan Parsons - Jackson Kenner

Danielle Pineda - Sophie Deveraux

Danielle Rose Russell - Hope Mikaelson

Eka Darville - Diego

Todd Stashwick - Kieran O'Connell

Elyse Levesque - Genevieve

Shannon Kane - Sabine Laurent

Aria Shahghasemi - Landon Kirby

Quincy Rouse - Milton Greasley

Jenny Boyd - Lizzie Saltzman

Kaylee Kaneshiro - Josie Saltzman

Demetrius Bridges - Dorian Williams

Omono Okojie - Cleo Sowande

Yasmine Al-Bustami - Monique Deveraux

Bianca Lawson - Emily Bennett

Steven Krueger - Josh

Lulu Antariksa - Penelope

Melinda Clarke - Kelly Donovan

Sheila Bennett - Jasmine Guy

Karen David - Emma

Gina Torres - Bess

This content is free for anyone to use or edit however you like; if you care to throw a dollar or two my way for time, effort, storage fees etc you are more than welcome to do so via my PAYPAL.  Please like or reblog this post if you have found it useful or are downloading the content within.  If you have any questions or you have any problems with the links or find any inconsistencies in the content, etc. please feel free to drop me a politely worded message via my ASKBOX (second icon from the top on my theme!)

[fedorah-the-explorah]

Prompt or inspo for writing! 👇

"please just breath......"

It was a dirty trick, and stupidly, Graham hadn't thought to expect it.

It was a real shitty night. Rain fell in sheets, and powerful gusts of wind were hitting up to 80MPH. Most sane people sat safely in their boarded up homes, sheltering from the hurricane force winds; but Graham Calloway worked for an organization that quite literally had the words "villainous" and "evil" right there in its name, so. Personal safety was not something they'd call a "concern."

It was an archeological site; much like the one from the ill-fated Casa Blanca heist a couple years ago. And Graham, to his credit, was on a roll.

He'd planned the entire thing down to every last detail. El Topo and Le Chèvre had been placed on perimeter with strict instructions to let Carmen win without making it too obvious. Sheena was placed within the site itself and made for the perfect decoy while Graham pulled off the rest.

Artifact secured, he now lurked in the shadows, watching as the women fought from above. He smirked, pleased with himself for his rousing success. The mission was over, and Carmen had remained totally oblivious to his presence. Now it was time to gloat.

He stepped out into the moonlight and shielded his eyes against the slowing rain as he whistled up to Tigress.

"Oi!" He cried, "Job's done, you can give it a rest!"

The women stopped, turning in sync to look at him. Tigress grinned and cocked a hip. She flicked her hair and raindrops went flying. Next to her, Carmen stood rigid as she leered down at him. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, and he could see from there the hurt flashing in her eyes.

A small part of him faltered. She had left him, but...

Well.

He had tried to rip out and kill the piece of him that still cared for her, and he had failed. The heart kept score, and it was not so quick to forget. It had been years, but still, he occasionally found himself pulling a punch or two.

If she sometimes did the same, they never talked about it. And why would they? They barely spoke at all. Carmen might've been quick-witted with the others, but she iced him out with silence. Since that night on the train a year ago, the two had barely exchanged more than three words.

He blinked and shook his head free of any love lorn angsting. They made their choices.

Suddenly, Tigress lunged.

The battle had already been won, but what did that matter? When an enemy leaves herself open to attack, why the hell shouldn't you?

Carmen was quick, but she had the disadvantage of distraction. She turned to meet Tigress a second too late and instead caught a blow that sent her staggering over the edge.

She fell fourteen feet, and Graham watched.

Maybe he could have done something. Maybe he couldn't have.

It didn't matter, he watched.

She twisted before hitting the ground and prevented a landing that would have killed her. Still, she didn't quite stick it.

Her body thudded against the floor, and her left arm, which she had used with her right to break her fall, lay broken at an awkward angle.

Tigress cackled from above and called out, "That'll keep her down for a while!"

Graham glanced from Carmen to Tigress and did nothing because he was useless.

"I'll meet you at the hotel," She said, flicking her pretty blonde hair.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and watched her stalk off. He thought about following, and he thought about helping. Both options were as appealing as they were not.

He didn't want to care about her anymore. It was tedious, and painful, and more trouble than it was worth. They made their choices.

He turned his back to her and started after Tigress. There was no need for guilt; she would do the same.

He stopped suddenly, staring at his feet. She would do the same. In a way, she already had. Granted, the straits had not been so dire...

She groaned softly, and though it was almost inaudible, it cut straight to his heart. It occurred to him then that it didn't matter what she would do.

He closed his eyes and felt a headache forming.

"Ah, fuck." He said, kicking up dirt.

He turned back around and trudged over to her. He crouched down and poked her.

"Hey. You good?"

She let out this sort of displeased, animalistic groan that did a really cool job of showcasing both her displeasure and pain. She attempted to sit up, and her left arm spasmed. She cried out and collapsed, breathing raggedly. She squeezed her eyes shut tight.

"...Fuck...You..." She wheezed.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright," He said, taking hold of her, "Heeere we go."

"Wait--" She gasped, but he didn't listen. He pulled her up, and the motion forced a hoarse scream. He startled, yanking his hands away.

"Woah, hey--"

Letting her go in this state was not his brightest idea, and this became evident when she keeled over approximately two seconds later. He caught her, held her, and questioned his sanity-- all in that order.

She trembled against him, her breath hitching in soft, pained gasps. His hands hovered awkwardly over her back.

"C'mon, Lamb, it's just a broken bone...?"

She shook her head.

"No?"

"Hurts..." She wheezed, "...breathing."

"Oh."

"Oh." She mocked.

His eyebrows creased, and he scowled. "Are you kidding me?" He grabbed her and laid her gently on her right side, "Don't mock me if you're having breathing problems."

"Kill... y'self... I...dowhatiwant..." She winced and screwed her eyes shut, curling in on herself. "Ow."

"Uh huh. And how's that working out for you?"

She coughed once and brought up blood.

He inhaled sharply and his eyes blew wide.

"Shit!" He swore, "Carmen!"

"Nnnnngh."

"How could you let her do that to you? You're better than this!"

"What?! This 's--"

He backpeddled. "No, no, don't speak. I shouldn't have said that. We all have the occasional miss. Just focus on breathing, okay? Is your team around?"

She nodded. "on their way..."

She wheezed and wrapped her right arm around her midsection. She curled further in on herself as her brow creased with pain. "...this's humiliating..."

"Carmen."

"...once fell... off... moving truck."

"I'd heard."

"...was 'pletely fine..."

"Yep. Mhm. You're very impressive, I mean it. Now please, just breathe. You're only hurting yourself."

She attempted to smirk, but it presented more as a grimace. "Just thought you should..."

"...Know who I'm dealing with. Yep, I get it. Now shhh."

She glared at him. He frowned at her.

"Just take it easy, okay?"

She grunted. "wha'ver"

He sighed and sat cross-legged, settling in to wait for her team. He warily eyed their surroundings and decided to call it luck that this of all nights, they were hit with a tropical storm. It was unlikely anyone else would be out in this weather, and that helped their odds.

He turned back to Carmen and watched her. Her left arm was held close to her chest, and every so often, she would twitch her fingers or rotate her wrist as if to confirm they still worked. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, and with every short inhale, he heard what could have been mistaken for whimpering catching in her throat.

He worried on his bottom lip as something he tried to keep buried stirred within him.

For the sake of the heist, he had planned things so Carmen wouldn't see him until the last minute, but it was more than just the mission.

He's never regretted doing VILEs bidding. From the day he graduated, he knew what he was signing up for, and that didn't bother him. The maiming and the cheating and the stealing? Call him a bad person because he was, but he didn't regret any of that stuff.

That night on the train, however...

He had almost crossed a line that night. When he set his crackle rod to kill and pointed it at the woman he--

He...

He couldn't bear to see her hurt.

Consumed with self-pity and remorse, Graham did not immediately notice when Carmen's already quick, shallow breathing turned harsh and rapid. He only snapped out of it when she reached for him with her trembling right hand and weakly grabbed his knee.

"Carmen?"

Her eyes were wide with fear, and her skin had taken on a deathly pallor as she struggled to breathe. She brought her hand to her throat, mimicking the choking gesture.

"Can't..." She croaked, "...get 'nough air."

He wasn't sure what possessed him, but before thinking better of it, he reached over and cupped the side of her face.

"You're hyperventilating, love. Try taking deep breaths."

Her eyes welled with tears, and her bottom lip quivered. Her breathing was still erratic.

"Shh. Deep breaths, hon. You're okay."

She nodded and closed her eyes. She drew in a shuddering breath but stopped suddenly as she sobbed. Tears slipped past her eyes, and he wiped them away.

"Keep going."

She whimpered, and he could only guess how painful this must've been for her. He'd cracked a rib or two in the past, and the pain of that had made him consider the merit of simply ceasing to respirate. Based on her everything, Graham would venture a guess that she suffered much more than a cracked rib or two. If he were in her place, he might have also chosen asphyxiation.

He brushed the hair from her face and rubbed her temple. "Help is coming, Carmen. Just keep breathing, okay? You're doing so well."

"...don' patronize me."

He snorted and retracted his hand. She was so...

She opened her eyes to leer at him. "...didn't tell you t'stop..."

He stared at her incredulously. "You're really something else, you know that?" He returned his hand, "And didn't I tell you to stop talking? Doesn't it hurt?"

"...not bad... as.. breathing."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well. Unfortunately for you, breathing is something of a necessity, so."

"Hmm." She leaned into his touch and said nothing.

He gulped, and his heart did this weird skippy thing. Her weird moment of panic had passed, but she was still acting so... strange.

They'd gone an entire year of saying nothing to one another whenever they crossed paths, and now he was cradling her face while comforting her. And she was letting him.

As much as it should be, hate was not the word he'd use to describe his feelings towards her.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before her red-headed lackeys came shouting her name, but by the time that they did, the rain had settled, and the wind died down a little. The storm was passing on.

"Carm!"

Graham turned his head and saw the girl lackey racing down the makeshift stair case two steps at a time.

"Carmen, I am so sorry," Ivy said, crouching down on her other side, "The storm made getting around absolutely suck. Are you okay? Sorry, that's a stupid question. Get your hands off her!"

He yanked away from her and held his hands up, feeling oddly intimidated.

"She needs a hospital," said Graham.

"Yeah, no shit." Said Ivy.

"No hospitals!"

"Hush!" Said Graham and Ivy.

Carmen grumbled, finding it within her to pout. "'m gonna need... the three of you... t'stop yelling a' me."

"Three?"

"She's delirious," Ivy explained, "She's forgotten how to count."

Graham narrowed his eyes and pretended he didn't notice the way her eyes flickered to Carmen's earring. "...Okay."

"Alright, Carm. Let's get you out of here."

Carmen yelped as she picked her up, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Graham scowled.

"Careful with her!" He snapped.

Ivy's gaze turned icy, the type of cold that killed. "Excuse me?"

"Uh..." Graham rubbed the back of his neck, averting eye contact. "You jostled her, 's all... I--"

"--Don't fucking talk to me about how to help my friend, Crackle. You have no right."

"Look--"

"--If you actually cared about her, we wouldn't be here. So I'd thank you to shut your mouth and walk the fuck away."

"I just want to make sure she's okay!"

"Well, she's not!"

Graham winced.

Carmen groaned, shifting in her arms. "...Ivy..."

"Hush, Carm. This guy is pathetic." She leveled a glare at him, "I don't know what you ever saw in him."

She continued to glare at him, waiting. As if expecting an explanation.

He had none to give.

They made their choices.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa’s story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

(7/?)

~*~

The sobs echoed off the stalactites, grew in volume, surrounded him as he crept forward, his mouth dry and his heart pounding. 

What could possibly be down here? And crying? This place had been abandoned for years and years, dusty and hollow with silence. There shouldn’t have been anything here. And yet. And yet. The whimpers were unmistakable, yearning and lost and all the more terrifying. They shouldn’t be here. No one should be here.

There were stories of crying creatures in the dark, tempting travelers to come to them, then striking. Stories of monsters setting traps, calling and killing. Faceless ghosts wailing in the dark seeking vengeance for past crimes. Demons with long fingers and longer memories reaching out with hate in their eyes and a false sob in their throats.  

Graham inched forward. Fear crawled up his spine with each fresh wail, but he had to keep going. 

(Gwendolyn watched the little mirror king, clinging to her stuffed rabbit. “Weren’t you afraid?” 

“Terrified! But I’d rather face my fear than deal with my wild imagination. I’m afraid my mind could conjure a hundred deaths, a million monsters, but until I knew what I truly faced, they were simply nightmares, as fragile as spun sugar, as empty as the wind.”) 

The cave seemed to resent the voice, seemed irritated that something was disturbing its decades of sleep. The stones seemed sharper, the passage narrower, the shadows blacker. He couldn’t help but think of the puppets again, like the constant sound would rouse them, send them tottering down the tunnels looking for the source of the noise.  

He shuffled forward, scarcely breathing, until he finally reached a bend in the tunnel, finally could find what it was that was haunting these rooms.  

He was surprised to find that this cavern was fairly well lit, with the typical glowing mushrooms of all types and colors reaching up, revealing how high the ceiling was. Water that eventually fed the frog pond, and possibly his own damp cell further down the line, sparkled in the glow, bubbling over the rocks. And, huddled on the floor, wailing... 

Not a demon. Not a monster. Not a human. 

A goblin.  

It was curled in a ball, sobbing. Even from a distance, Graham could tell it was horribly bruised and banged and cut—he suspected it had fallen from more normal prison paths above them (maybe they were beneath the cavern he’d noticed near Acorn’s Jack in the Beanstalk tower?), fallen down the sloping walls, bounced off the mushrooms (several were freshly broken, proving his suspicion), and rolled to a stop down here. In this lost, dark place. 

It howled pitifully, clinging to its dented helmet. Graham wondered if it could stand, or if it had hurt itself too much. No one above seemed to have noticed its cries, or if its cries did carry up to the prisons above them, no one cared enough to bother trying to rescue their fallen friend. Goblin society was maybe a little too individualistic. Or maybe this had happened before and they knew it was too dangerous to try. Didn’t matter, though: all that mattered was that Graham and this goblin were alone down here, far, far away from any help.  

What to do. 

He could hardly leave it there, in pain and frightened, but he was hardly supposed to be down here himself. Would it be mad? It did have its spear—the shaft was splintered near the top, and the sharp bit was on the ground, but the goblin could still probably do something with the weapon if it didn’t care for Graham’s existence. And what was that old thing about wounded animals, they could be more dangerous than healthy ones? 

Still. 

He couldn’t leave it there in the dark, alone. He couldn’t.  

He inched forward again. The goblin took no notice of him at all, whimpering. It curled up tighter, its sobs muffled against its own armor for a moment.  

Other than the spear, the goblin had dropped other things as it fell. A coin, scraps of paper with fairy tales sketched on them, a key. 

A key.  

Graham’s heart stuttered. What kind of key? What was it for? This was a goblin guard from the prisons, he was certain. What kind of key was it carrying? Was it for the prisoners’ doors? Or, and he hardly dared breathe as he hoped this, was it the key to the door leading out into the goblin city, out into Daventry, the key to the door that would lead him home? 

He had to get it. He needed it. Stars above, what if, what if, what if?  

But the goblin would hate him getting his hands on that. It hadn’t noticed him yet, but the key was right next to it. The goblin could hardly fail to notice him if he got close enough to grab it, and the spear, even broken, was still a threat.  

Graham approached, and his boots rang against the floor. The goblin didn’t seem to react much. His foot nudged the key, but again, not much reaction.

“Hey,” he said.

The goblin lashed out, wailing—Graham stumbled back, out of the reach of its wildly swinging claws, but he tripped over an upraised rock behind him, sat down hard, and crawled back. In his pocket, the harp clanged as it dragged over the rock, and the goblin froze for half an instant before going back to scratching the air.

Graham realized the helmet was dented in such a way that the goblin probably couldn’t see him well. It would probably be easy to grab that key, to scramble away, with the goblin mostly unaware. It would be easy. Just keep walking.

But.

That wouldn’t be right.  

Wente didn’t believe I was going to help them. Did he think I lost my compassion when I became king?

He stayed sitting, out of the goblin’s reach. His friends needed him, but what kind of a king—no, what kind of a person—would he be if he just left this goblin here in the dark?

He needed to soothe it before it would listen, though; it kept swinging wildly in directions it thought he might be in. Talking probably wasn’t going to help, not if the goblin was tense and frightened. Hearing a human wouldn’t help. But.

Music might help. It always helped Graham, when he was feeling scared and alone. Humming or singing, or seeking out lute players or minstrels.

Graham pulled out the dented, out of tune, missing a string, harp. He ran his fingers across the strings, and even though the resulting noise was anything but sweet, the goblin paused again. It tilted its head, apparently trying to see him through the crushed eyeholes on the helmet. Graham strummed the instrument, unconsciously tuning a couple of the strings to try and help it sound nicer. The goblin inched toward him, dragging itself painfully along the stone floor. Graham tried not to flinch, tried to sit straight and confident, and he ran through a short, extremely simple lullaby, the sort of thing an aspiring student first learned, an easy melody Wente probably liked to hum while making his hot buns in the morning. It didn’t sound too awful on the harp, really, and the goblin seemed to appreciate it. It was still sniffling, with those gasping breaths of a person who’d just stopped a huge crying streak.

He strummed a few tuneless notes for a while, thinking. Thinking, thinking. Stories. The goblins loved stories. Maybe he should tell one.

He toyed with the strings, then, “Once upon a time,” he said, watching for a reaction. He instantly got one: the goblin sat up straight and eager, like a puppy. All right, then. He wondered if it was the cadence of the phrase, or if it could understand the plot. Only one way to find out.

“Once upon a time, there was a brave little goblin,” Graham said. “It lived in a huge goblin castle with all its friends. The goblins in this castle each had a role to play, and they did them all very well. They could act out any story, and they had been acting them out perfectly for years. Except, the brave little goblin was new to the castle, and he loved to tell stories of his own. But as he told his stories, he realized no one wanted to hear them. The brave little goblin was supposed to be following the stories already told, was supposed to be acting them out properly with the rest of the goblins. They talked over the brave little goblin, they ignored his new ideas, and they buried in him old stories he should memorize instead. The brave little goblin felt lonely. No one listened to him at all.”

In front of him, the goblin started sniffling again. Not in pain or fear, but apparently deeply touched by the story. I mean, it’s not that good, Graham thought, watching it. But I do appreciate an attentive audience, I guess.

(Gwendolyn glanced at her grandfather. “But you’re the king, shouldn’t everyone listen to you?”

“Ah, you’ve figured out my tale.”

“I mean. It’s not like it’s hard.”

“Gwendolyn, a fancy hat does not mean you are always right. And to be a good king, you have to be a good person. You have to earn the trust of those around you. Like I was trying to earn this goblin’s trust now, with a story.”)

“The brave little goblin decided he needed to go on a quest. He was going to find people willing to listen to his stories, even if they were very far away,” Graham continued. “But as he walked through the tunnels beyond the goblin castle, he lost his footing, and he fell.”

The goblin in front of him gasped, putting its hands over where its mouth probably was.

“He fell down a dark pit,” Graham said, eying the room in front of them. “He bounced off the mushrooms that grew in the dark, and he rolled beside an underground river, and he scraped along the hard stones, and he came to a crumpled stop in the darkness. He was more alone than he’d ever been before, and no one could hear his stories here. No one would ever see the little brave goblin again. He had fallen out of the story. He was lost.”

The goblin had decided that putting its hands over its helmet wasn’t enough. It grabbed the dented, damaged helmet, yanked it off—revealing huge floppy ears, giant eyes gleaming with tears, and a drippy button nose. It pressed its hands hard over its fanged mouth, leaning into Graham’s story with pale golden eyes better suited to seeing in the dark than Graham’s human eyes ever could.

“But the goblin was very brave,” Graham said. “He looked around the darkness, and he knew he could find a way out. Even if he was lost, the goblin knew he could fix this. The goblin told himself stories old and new about...about strong blacksmiths, about happy bakers, about wise alchemists, about confident knights, and the goblin felt stronger thinking about them. He even felt stronger thinking about the goblins he’d left in the castle. Everyone had a part to play, he knew, even him, even if he still had to figure out what his part was, exactly. Maybe…maybe he just had to show everyone he was more than what they thought. But. But he knew he was a part of the overall story, and he couldn’t just fall out of it. And he stood up, as brave and strong as ever with the stories behind him, supporting him, and he walked into the darkness, seeking a way back to his friends.”

The goblin clapped eagerly. It chittered something Graham couldn’t even begin to understand, and it pointed at the caves around them.

“Yeah, like the story,” Graham said, hoping he was agreeing with it instead of condemning himself to something he wouldn’t like. The goblin sat back, grinning toothily at Graham, then admired the room again, pleased that its actions had created a story.

Graham scooted a little closer to the goblin, cautiously. It didn’t seem to mind, so Graham stretched, hugely exaggerated, yawning dramatically, carefully putting his boot on the key and dragging it safely under his cloak. “Ahhhhhh. Just stretching,” he muttered. He stuffed the key into a pocket without the goblin seeming to notice, the rough metal cold against his fingers and full of promise.

[scotianostra]

27th July 1689 saw the Battle of Killiecrankie.

As soon as you hear the words "Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?" it puts a smile on my face, in my opinion one of the most rousing Scottish folk songs.

The battle itself saw a force of 2,000 Jacobites under the command of 'Bonnie Dundee', defeated the larger government army of 4,000 soldiers led by General Hugh Mackay.

Bonnie Dundee first sent a small group of highlanders down the main road towards Killiecrankie as a feint, with the intention of deceiving Mackay into thinking this was the advanced guard.

Meanwhile the main Army left their camp in Old Blair, around mid afternoon and circled behind the hill of Lude coming down Allt Chluain. (Ambush stream) with Creag Eallaich (rock of the charge) on their left. Mackay had positioned his men to meet a frontal attack from the direction of Blair. As the highlanders emerged around the side of the hill they saw McKay's army jump to their feet, they had been resting. Mackay had to wheel his forces round quickly to meet this new threat. This put him in the awkward position of facing uphill with his opponents above him and the river barrier at his back. The Highland charge would have bbe in full flight as he tried to regroup his men.

As soon as Bonnie Dundee gave the order to charge, the highlanders uttering the eerie high-pitched battle cry of the Celt, leapt down the hill towards the enemy. The battle lasted approximately 15 minutes.

Unfortunately Dundee, in the act of encouraging his men, was pierced beneath the breastplate by a musket ball of the enemy and fell dying from his horse. Graham reputedly asked a soldier "How goes the day?", to which the man replied, "Well for King James, but I am sorry for your lordship." The dying Graham then replied, "If it goes well for him, it matters the less for me." A short letter describing the engagement to King James was later produced which purported to be from Graham, but is now believed to be spurious.

Going back to the song and the line "But I met the devil and Dundee" this relates to the legend that he was invulnerable to lead (due to having made a pact with the Devil) and was killed by being penetrated by a silver button from his own coat. He died on the battlefield and was carried the few miles to the nearby parish church of St Bride.

I leave you with the Corries, the song here was a live performance from 1975 but there is footage from 1966 as the lads did a pioneering music video, it sees them travel along the road from Pitlochry to Killiecrankie. This is one of my favourite songs from The Corries. The first three verses and the chorus were written by Robert Burns and set to an older melody. James Hogg may have had a hand in writing the additional verses..

[forensicated]

Conviction - Part 6 - Judgement Day (6/6)

Leon and Millie arrive at a disturbance at a playground on the West Gate Estate to find Ara Byatt desperately searching for her niece Jala. Jala had to watch her father die when they were being trafficked by the Devlin's and he and another man were crushed by the poorly loaded contents falling on them. Today is the first day in court.

Callum finds Smithy sat in the darkness of the locker room. Smithy's staring at his warrant card, enduring flashbacks of assaulting Jason Devlin. Callum reassures him not to worry about the witness, everyone knows he's been bought. He's interrupted by Leon reporting over the radio that Jala has gone missing. Smithy and Callum rush to the estate. Leon reports the only other person he saw after their arrival was a road sweeper. Callum tells him to find him and if he can't to get in touch with his boss and track him down that way.

At the court, Neil and Jack learn that Devlin's barrister is very expensive - Daddy must be worried! Smithy has not been called by the prosecution but the barrister wants him on standby just in case he's needed to give evidence. He's going to focus on Hassiq informing about the people trafficking as he classes the assault to be a distraction. Hassiq insists he wants Devlin to look him in the eyes and see that he's not scared of them. He finally feels like a man who is worthy of Ara - if she wants him - now he's speaking out.

Smithy stays with Ara and tries to calm her down and get her to talk through what has happened. Tony and Callum start going door to door. She asks Smithy to speak to his superiors and get them to tell Hassiq that Jala has been taken as she thinks it's either the Devlin's or the community that have taken her to stop him giving evidence - the Devlin's to collapse the trial or the community to stop daylight being shone on so many illegal immigrants living on the estate.

The prosecution barrister opens his case explaining that Devlin is the head of an organised crime group who are involved in human trafficking and the evidence was kept by his bookkeeper who is one of the people he trafficked into the country. The evidence will be deciphered in detail by said bookkeeper - Hassiq. Jack refuses to let Hassiq know about Jala, calling it management not manipulation. Instead he sends every available officer to track her down.

Millie gives evidence and explains Smithy rescued Jala and then returned for her father when she told them he was there. Smithy did his best to save him but it was too late. Jala had to witness the entire thing. The prosecution barrister asks Millie if Smithy was very upset by finding the two men trapped. Millie explains that he was doing his job and the barrister asks again, pointing out that it's distressing to hear Millie was distressed at the time and then asks again if Smithy was. Nah love, he was tap dancing. Bit of a generous bit emotional manipulation to make out Smithy was the most distressed out of all of them and that's why he attacked Devlin. Even the judge fails to see the relevance but the barrister claims Smithy's emotional response is at the heart of their defence and as the prosecution haven't called Smithy she can't ask him herself. When it's allowed, Millie says Smithy was concerned.

Hassiq is delivered to court by Kezia and Will but before they can stop it, Ara runs towards him and tells him about Jala. Neil tells him they don't know what has happened and everyone is out looking for her. He tells him he can go later in the running order but not to give up entirely and let the Devlin's go free. After all, Jala's fathers death would be for nothing. He refuses to give evidence until Jala is found.

Jack is now fuming that Hassiq knows about Jala. Smithy insists it wasn't their secret to keep and that they only get to keep their trust by playing it straight and he's sick of all the lies. Callum tells him he didn't have to be the taxi driver (he drove Ara to court) and that without Hassiq's evidence Smithy is 'the main event'.

Jala has been spotted on the route to her school walking behind three girls. She never made it into school so Rachel wants the girls identified and questioned. It could be witness intimidation so they need to find her quickly to ensure her safety and that the Devlin's don't walk out of court scot free.

Smithy insists to Callum he's going to make it up the right way by finding Jala. Callum says he'll tell him what the school say. In passing Stuart mocks Smithy and says CID 'love him up there'. Stevie tells him to ignore him. Ara doesn't recognise and of the girls Jala was following. Stevie asks if Jala could have gone off for time to think and Ara shakes her head and explains Jala is scared to be alone and that she thinks it's to stop Hassiq giving evidence. Stevie asks if anyone could have cottoned on to their relationship and Ara explains they never went to each others flat and always met away from where people who know them would be. If they met at the community center they would simply say hello and that they're not like Westerners with it on show, they treat love as being private. Stevie explains that Smithy was suggesting that however successfully she thinks they've hidden it, feelings always have a way of showing. "Sometimes you can't help it." She says, looking at Smithy. (this is weird... They're trying to imply something happened and continued after Gun Runner a year ago when it didn't, they agreed to continue just being friends and didn't even have *moments*. And after this it's all forgotten again. It's very confusing and only there for the storyline!)

Callum locates the girls who were walking with Jala. One, Vicky Bell, was assigned to be her 'buddy' so that she could find her way around school but it's clear they're not 'friends'. Vicky says she was with them but went back because she forgot her PE kit. In a search Millie finds Jala's bag at the side of the canal. One strap has been broken but there's no sign of blood or violence other than the strap. Callum and Tony spot Vicky again a little later. She says she's going home because school is over despite it being not even 12. Callum suggests she's looking for Jala's bag to see if they'd found it. He asks what happened. She tells him that they tried to make her come to school but she wouldn't because one of the other girls was bullying her about her father and rubbing it in that they all still had theirs. Smithy updates Ara and asks where she'd go if she was thinking about her dad. Ara doesn't know because she's quiet, but she suggests the cemetery or the river where they threw flowers in for him.

The prosecution call one of the victims of trafficking, Zemar, and ask him to identify his stolen property. He tells them that it - a ring - was removed from him in Holland by Babur the driver. It was found in the boot of Jason Devlin's car. He would get his ring back by working but he claims he doesn't know for who - despite what he said in his statement. Neil and Jack look worried. The defence pulls out a rng from her pocket and hands it to an usher, asking if it's Zemar's ring. He says yes. She does the same with another ring that is the same and he says yes. She says they're 10 a penny in the markets of Kabul and it's not rare. She suggests that the ring found in Devlin's boot could also not be the same ring. Zemar admits it could be any of them or perhaps none of them, He's been gotten to by the Devlin's.

CCTV shows Jala willingly getting into a car that has been spotted on the Longbridge Estate by ANPR. Rachel authorises Smithy to take as many people as he can down there to find her. "No pressure!" Stuart The Dick shouts after him. They force entry into the home it is outside. The mother panics and grabs her children, whimpering in a foreign tongue. Smithy tries to explain it's alright and shows them a picture of Jala. Before he can say anything the little girl cries out Jala's name happily. Tony finds her coat in the front room.

Jack has to tell the judge about Jala's disappearance and that they think it's a message to Hassiq to keep him quiet. The judge asks why and the defence barrister has to admit there's a problem with disclosure and he can't tell him. The judge tells him to get over the disclosure problem or there'll be no extra time. He hopes the child is found for her sake but claims it has no bearing on proceedings as things stand. If Hassiq still refuses to give evidence then the judge shall withdraw the trafficking charge. Jack tells Neil there'll be no delay if Hassiq refuses and the charge will be removed. He insists they've likely got the girl, they've got to Zemar and he wouldn't be surprised if they had the judge in their pocket too.

Smithy explains to Rachel that the woman they've brought in was granted leave to remain a few years previous but the children's father was killed for deserting Afghanistan's army. In interview the woman claims via Sammy the interpreter that it was her daughter who brought the coat home. Smithy gets Sammy to explain that Jala is in danger. She won't be drawn further. Smithy asks Ara to speak to her and explain that the only way to get through it is to stick together and she won't have to be so scared. He says if it happens to Ara it could happen to the women's children and that Hassiq is trying to stand up for their community and release the stranglehold the Devlin's have.

Stevie gives her evidence, explaining that she was escorting Devlin for his own safety after he'd enforced surprise evictions on an angry estate. They found two teenagers attacking his car and he chased the teenagers away before checking his boot. She spotted a holdall in the boot that matched the description that Babur, the driver of the lorry had run away with. Devlin assaulted her to stop her looking in it to see if it was the same one and kicked her unconscious on the ground. He asks why it was so important for her to look int he bag and she explains that if the jewellery was inside it would imply a chain of command - for example Babur removed it and then would pass it to the boss - Jason Devlin. The defence protests it's conjecture and he's advised to stick to fact so he does:

Did Devlin let her look at the bag? No.

Did Devlin kick her unconcious? Yes.

Was the jewellery taken forcibly from people illegally trafficked into the UK found in the bag? Yes.

No further questions.

Ara speaks to the woman 'alone' with Callum and Smithy in the viewing area alongside Sammy. Sammy explains that the woman is saying she doesn't understand any of it and doesn't know where Jala is. Ara accuses her of protecting the kidnapper and thrusts her against the door. Smithy and Callum force the door open and manage to get in, separating them. Ara tells Smithy that the woman said nothing because she's scared for herself.

The defence barrister insists that Stevie is remembering wrong, Devlin acted in self defence only and that there was no holdall in his boot. She claims it was a rollercoaster of an emotional day. She had to look after Jala who had seen her father die, she had to support the mans greiving sister as she identified the body. It would have been very emotional. She suggests she blamed Devlin when it all got too much, despite there being no evidence to support her claim. She says Smithy said 'it was your fault!' to him and Stevie explains that Smithy was meaning the riot was his fault in reaction to his evictions. The barrister goes on to tell the jury that Smithy and Stevie are close and the case had become personal for them. She claims the evidence was dreamt up and was embellished by them together - the judge tells her off for attacking the character of the witness. She's asked if she and Smithy are having a relationship and then if they have feelings for each other. She says no to each. The barrister asks if he has feelings for her and Stevie suggests she'd have to ask Smithy.

"Isn't it true that Sgt Smith shot someone to protect you?" The prosecution barrister leaps to his feet to call an objection. The judge allows it and says it's relevant so Stevie has to explain that there were 14 other people also in danger. "Answer the question, did Sgt Smith shoot someone?" "Yes, in the line of duty" (he was also in CO19 fgs!) and admits that the man did die - but for some stupid reason does not quickly add 'he was holding a machine gun he was about to discharge into a pub full of innocent people'. Even if the jury would be told to dismiss it. The defence asks again if Sgt Smith shot someone to save her. Stevie repeats that she was one of a number of people and adds this time that Smithy didn't even know she was there. "But you were there, you were one of the people he acted to protect." and then speaks to the jury like it's all because he's in love with Stevie and that he then attacked Jason Devlin because Stevie was hurt. I mean, the man also protected Cutler and Gatting's lives - both men who had held guns pointed at him with a legitimate threat to kill him at least three times off the top of my head! She says that her witness will tell them how Smithy reacted in response to seeing Stevie hurt when they give their evidence. Stevie says she knows Smithy did not assault Devlin or plant the evidence. The barrister asks how given she was assaulted. "Because I know the man." she says firmly. "Exactly." The barrister smiles, going on to claim that the case is nothing more than a vendetta dreamed up by two police officers with an intimate and personal knowledge of each other. Devlin Senior smirks across at Neil and Jack.

Smithy is called to attend court by the prosecution so Callum takes over with Ara. Ara says she doesn't recognise the car Jala gets into and she doesn't know how as she's with her auntie if she's not at school. She avoids talking about real emotional things as she's not ready to deal with the pain that brings. She's a very quiet girl. She sings a rude folk song that she learnt in the lorry that was taught to her by one of the other men in the lorry. He promised he'd take her to meet the queen and that there were trains that ran underground and shops as big as palaces. She doesn't know his name however... but it could be him that Jala got into the car to see. Callum wonders if it's Zemar - or linked to him - and he asks Leon to check to see how he arrived to court It's the same car! He asks Ben to go to his flat.

Rachel tells Smithy he has to deny he's in a relationship with Stevie. "... I'm what?" he blinks, his face a picture. Jack advises him to strip the emotion away from the case, keep measured, keep to the facts and nail the case. The prosecution opens by asking Smithy if he is in a relationship with Stevie, if he ever has been and if he has any special feelings towards her. He answers no to all. "No further questions, your honour."

Callum asks the woman where Zemar took the girl - he tells her they know he came to her house with her and then returned for her later so where has he taken her? She tells him that he is a good man who has a daughter the same age. He took Jala there to meet the children and then went to do an errand (or really appear in court.) Then he took her somewhere secret 'where time begins and ends'. Tony suggests the Royal Observatory in Greenwich.

The defense barrister claims Smithy and Stevie cooked up the entire thing against Devlin themselves after they took Ara to identify her brothers body. Smithy explains his training, experience and professionalism meant he wasn't emotionally involved like she has been making out. She claims Smithy doesn't like Jason Devlin and he says he neither likes nor dislikes him. She claims he assaulted him when releasing him from the station. He explains he held his arm whilst escorting him out. She classes that as assault and Smithy points out that he made no complaint. She smiles and says he has now and that there is a witness, Mr Eshan who will explain how Smithy "punched and kick-" she starts to say before she's told off again and told Mr Eshan can give his own account of what he witnessed. For an expensive barrister she's not much good! It's like she got her training in the playground. Her entire case is Groundhog Day. "You love your friend!." "No I don't!" "Yes you do!"

She claims Stevie was lying about spotting the bag in the car boot because Smithy hadn't yet put it there. Smithy says that's not true. She asks if they had any evidence prior to this and he admits they didn't and they were working to find it. She suggests his very limited line was that they needed evidence so he made sure they found it. Smithy explains that - like in every police case - they have a suspect and then search for the evidence to prove or disprove that. She suggests that they find the suspect they want and then fit the evidence to frame that person. Smithy says that's not what he said or what happened. She says he held him responsible for the trafficking, the assault on 'his lady friend' and handling the stolen property. Smithy says yes and that was because of the evidence. She tells Smithy he has form of becoming too emotionally involved and brings up Kieran Wallace.

Callum spots Zemar's car in the carpark of the observatory and gets Tony to stop. Within seconds they spot Jala with Zemar. He sees the officers and grips her arm, trying to make a run for it.

The prosecution barrister explains that the constant bringing up of Kieran Wallace and his death is irrelevant as it's a different case and different circumstances. The defence barrister insists that the common denominator in both is Smithy using deadly force. Smithy speaks directly to the judge and says he'd like to properly explain what happened with Kieran Wallace. He pointed out that Kieran was a known criminal armed with a machine gun that he was about to use in a public place. The defence try to cut in and say that they're talking about his motivation and Smithy cuts over her. "My motivation was to protect the public using my training as a firearms officer." he goes on to explain that he identified himself as a police officer to Kieran and ordered him to lay down his weapon. Kieran refused and aimed to fire at him. Smithy only shot when he had to with the knowledge that the people behind him were not in danger. "You're insinuating that my professionalism was in doubt. Read the report. It's not."

Tony approaches Jala and Zemar to talk and manages to get Zemar to hand Jala over. Callum asks Tony what happened whilst Mel takes Jala and Leon and Ben arrest Zemar. Tony tells Callum that the Devlin's offered a whole years wages to do one day of work for them and that he was desperate as he's about to be deported so agreed.

The defence barrister claims there's a parallel - Smithy decided people were in danger so he acted. He decided Stevie was in danger so he acted (It's almost as though - shock horror - he's a policeman!🙄) Smithy points out he wasn't there when Stevie was attacked "But you were there to give first aid to Jason Devlin, to get his blood on your clothes and your DNA on him." Smithy calmly says he arrived moments later. "Milliseconds." the barrister drawls before asking if he was that quick, how did he not see the attack on Stevie. She insists he did and that his 'relationship' with Stevie meant that he lashed out and attacked Devlin. "We're trained to do this, day in day out. I'm not saying we don't feel anything, what i'm saying is that training is the difference between what we feel and what we do." Smithy insists he didn't attack him and he didn't put anything in his vehicle. "YOU'RE A LIAR!" Devlin shouts from the dock. He's told to stay quiet or he'll be removed. The defence brief continues, saying it beggars belief that he could blame Devlin for the 2 bodies and then see his friend attacked and not react in a violent way. She finds that unimaginable "That's why I'm a police officer and you're not." Smithy says calmly - to murmurs of amusement and agreement from the gallery and jury. Neither the defence or prosecution have any further questions so Smithy steps down. Jason hisses at Smithy that he's a liar. Smithy just looks flatly at him before leaving.

Matthew Devlin leaves the room for a breath of fresh air but is stopped in the waiting area and arrested by Callum for conspiracy to kidnap and witness intimidation. He smirks and insist that he knows nothing about what he's talking about but the mask slips when Khaleed Hassiq is called and he stands up, coldly eyeing Devlin Senior as he passes him on his way into the courtroom. Jason looks unnerved as Hassiq enters the room and swears on the bible. He stands up and meekly says 'I'd like to change my plea."

The prosecution brief claims there must be something in Hassiq's evidence that they don't want made public or put on record. Perhaps people they've cheated/bought or someone they're protecting. Either way - they've got the result they wanted. Stevie tells Smithy to cheer up because they've got the result they wanted. "You did it." "Did I?" "Yes, you did!" she smiles.

Rachel tells Heaton she's thought about his offer and she's decided that yes, she will go with him. He also takes Kezia and Stuart. Rachel says they're great officers and he tells her that she's the best person to lead the team. Blah. All four of them will not be missed.*

Stevie goes and finds Smithy after, inviting him for a drink to celebrate the fact they're not an item. "Cor dear, that would have really messed things up if we were wouldn't it!" Stevie laughs. Smithy agrees to go for a pint and says it'll probably end up being several! Jack approaches and tells Smithy he doesn't appreciate him bringing Ara to court. Smithy says she'd have arrived anyway. Jack just nods and says he appreciates a man of principal. "I've heard that Rachel is leaving. Do you want her job?" Smithy does a literal double take. "... Just like that?" "If you want it." "Why me?" "Because I trust you, especially after today." "Ok, yeah..." (I have mixed feelings about this, I'm happy because obv he's been trained and moulded by Gina and he's a good man and it's for the greater good (and it also means Rachel has gone)but also they totally ignore the fact that Smithy still broke the law twice - the assault and perjuring himself in court. It being Smithy, he'd be eaten up by it as he was through the fight with Callum, when he tried to confess and also when they showed him still hearing the screams of the people in the lorry or having flashbacks. He wouldn't immediately feel like he deserved a promotion off the top of it. The only acknowledgement in the entire final episode of Conviction was flashbacks when he was in the locker room. It could have been a more involved and rounded story if it was taken into consideration and if he'd shown further remorse and struggling to align his job and his guilt but I guess they wanted to move on quickly and forget the naughty side ever happened! Especially as the next episode has Callum accused of chasing a suspect into the traffic only for him to be killed by a vehicle so they didn't want both brooding.)

Callum is waiting outside for Smithy and tells him that Devlin Senior is being processed. "You did it then?" he says to Smithy. "...What do you want, Callum?" "Nothing." "Good." Callum tries to make a joke of it saying that it's his caring sharing moment but he's not very good at it. "We walk a hard line and it hardens your soul... I mean it, it does. I've worked with people so cold they may as well be dead inside. Things are going to be different for you now, yeah, but you're not there... you're not even close." "So why does this feel like a defeat then?" "Because it has to. If there wasn't a price then we wouldn't know we'd learnt something." (in my opinion THIS is where Smithy's offer of promotion should have been - after that chat).

*On reflection it's a pretty large clearout before the reboot and the change to 1 episode a week when added together with Sam leaving a couple of episodes before the first Conviction episode and Diane returning for one episode to round off Kaye's contract.* Tony, Sally and Millie are due to leave before the series finishes so that's 9 characters in roughly half a series/year.

Other than Kirsty there are no new officers taken on (not counting Lisa Kennedy as she was a guest for 7 eps). Noone new arrived full stop in series 25 but there are a series of shufflings with Smithy becoming Inspector, Jack finally becoming Superintendent, Will becoming a full DC, Stevie becoming a DS and finally Jo transfering from CID to Uniform within a few episodes of the rebooted S26.

If interested, the last new officer before Kirsty (18th February 2010) was Rachel Weston who arrived 6th August 2008) Poor Sarah, her first appearance on screen was literally 5 weeks before it was announced that the show had been cancelled! She'd have only arrived around Nov/Dec 09 - she got all of 6/7 months on the show when filming stopped on the 15th June 10!

*Old Habits was shot as a 2 parter for Diane to return as a Sergeant but ITV's changes for the reboot meant that they needed to reduce the size of the cast and new scenes were shot to explain Diane moving to Barton St and just returning for one night to get her eye back in after her promotion when she had been working a bit more up north. It did seem odd to have her return for a night so does make sense, but poor Kaye! It was announced in the press on the 22nd January 2009 and Old Habits aired 30th April so would have been being filmed around/just before the announcement so at least there shouldn't have been too much filmed of other eps to have to re-do/edit/re-write. What a welcome back from maternity leave though! "You're going to be a sergeant... ah, you've lost your job."

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Chapter Five Coquilles

TW: Crime scenes, Yelling, Blood, Gore, Religious themed crimes, Cancer

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty

Twisted Minds Masterlist

LONELY ROAD - NIGHT -

The BLACK STAG slowly lumbers down the vacant rural road. it is walking directly behind... WILL GRAHAM.

His eyes are glassy and vacant. He's clad in boxers and a white t-shirt, coming directly from bed. He walks on the gravel, barefoot, seemingly unaware of the BEAST behind him. Will Graham looks up at the BRIGHT MOON overhead, his HEARTBEAT and CIRCULATORY SYSTEM a DIN in his ears. He stops, swaying ever so slightly at his ankles. The BLACK STAG slows to a stop. Its SNOUT nudges Will's arm, dangling at his side. Will doesn't react, his arm only barely moves.

WILL'S P.O.V. - THE ROAD -

It stretches into the night in front of Will, VIBRATING IN AND OUT OF FOCUS as BEAMS OF LIGHT cut through the darkness. He instinctively holds up his arm to shield his eyes from the glare of the BRIGHT HEADLIGHTS. they belong to an approaching POLICE CAR. It rolls to a stop. TWO POLICE OFFICERS step out of either side of A POLICE CAR. "Are you lost?" one of the officers ask me as i rub my eyes in confusion, "What?" I ask confused to how i got here, "What's your name?" the officer asks "Will Graham" I respond still confused, Did I sleep walk? "You know where you are, Mr. Graham?" The officer asks me, I look around and shake my head. "No." I say rubbing my face tiredly, "Where do you live?" The officer asks watching me closely. "Wolf Trap, Virginia." I say blinking sleepily, "We're in Wolf Trap. So that's good. You're close to home. Is that yours?" The officer says as he points his flashlight behind me,  I slowly glance over to see, not the BLACK STAG of my nightmare, but the tail-wagging concern of WINSTON. "Hi, Winston." I say gently petting him, Winston can barely contain himself, worried about Will. As his dog nudges Will, he becomes aware he is in mild pain. "Can I sit down? My feet are sore." I ask looking up from my dog, "Why don't we take you home?" The Officer offers and I nod.

MOMENTS LATER - BACK OF COP CAR -

I slide in followed immediately thereafter by Winston. A standard-issue wool blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I pluck gravel out of my feet while trying to keep Winston from licking his wounds and his face. One of the POLICE OFFICERS hover over him, flashlights shining politely. "Are you on any drugs, medications? Prescription or otherwise?" He asks me, "No." I say shaking my head and petting Winston,  "Have you been drinking?" The officer asks,  "No. Yes. Not excessively. I had two fingers of whiskey before bed." I say shaking my head.  "Do you have a history of sleepwalking, Mr. Graham?" He asks me shining his he light in my eyes slightly.  I shakes My head no.

"I'm not even sure I'm awake now."

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND- HANNIBAL'S KITCHEN - EARLY MORNING-

Hannibal wears his bathrobe, having been roused from sleep. Will stands nearby, fully clothed, relatively bright eyed. "Although I may be, is it safe to assume you're not sleepwalking now?" Hannibal asks Me, I sigh "I'm sorry it's so early." I apologize feeling bad that I came so early in the morning. "Never apologize for coming to me. Office hours are for patients. My kitchen is always open to friends." Hannibal says as he pours Me a cup of coffee. "Onset of sleepwalking in adulthood is less common than in children." Hannibal explains as he hands me my cup of coffee.  "Could it be a seizure?" I ask taking a sip of my coffee, "I'd argue good old-fashioned post traumatic stress. Jack Crawford has gotten your hands very dirty." Hannibal says as he pours himself a cup. "Wasn't forced back into the field." I say leaning against Hannibal's counter and take another sip of my coffee. "I wouldn't say forced. Manipulated would be the word I'd choose." Hannibal says as he still prepares his coffee. "I can handle it." I say not really sure if i actually believe what i said. "Somewhere between denying horrible events and calling them out lies the truth of psychological trauma." Hannibal says as he finishes making his coffee. "So I can't handle it?" I say with a look in my eyes saying 'well shit'. "Your experience may've overwhelmed ordinary functions that give you a sense of control." Hannibal says looking up at me, no shit. "If my body is walking around without my permission, you'd say that's a loss of control?" i say sarcastically and chuckling. "Wouldn't you? Sleepwalkers demonstrate a difficulty handling aggression. Are you experiencing difficulty with aggressive feelings?" Hannibal says as he takes a sip of his coffee, i join him in that sip.  I think long and hard about that, then: "You said Jack sees Me and Y/N as fine china used for special guests. Well I'm Beginning to feel more like an old mug." I say walking slowly towards him and then lean on his counter. "You entered into a Devil's Bargain with Jack Crawford. Takes a toll." He says taking another sip of his coffee. i tilt My head chuckling, "Jack's not the devil.", "When it comes to how far he's willing to push you to get what he wants, Jack's certainly no saint.' he says looking at me with a knowing look. I take that in...

TRENTON, NEW JERSEY - Y/N'S P.O.V. - Jack Crawford, Will Graham, And Dr. Y/N L/N move through the gauntlet of shell-shocked LOCAL POLICE OFFICERS and F.B.I. AGENTS milling about CORONER'S VANS and POLICE CARS. "Room was registered to John Smith, along with every other room here." Jack says as we walk through the sea of people and i roll my eyes "Appalling failure of imagination." I say shaking my head. "They paid with cash. No security cameras on the premises. The motel practically advertises it." Jack says as all three of us pull on medical grade gloves. "John Smith one of the victims?" Will asks as he looks over and smiles at me, i smile back kindly and with a blush from the cold, and maybe because of him. "Mr. and Mrs. Anderson according to the register. Mutilated, displayed. Thought it might be the Chesapeake Ripper but no surgical trophies were taken." Jack says leading us towards the crime scene. (then) "I need you to prepare yourself." Jack says to us seriously, "I'm prepared." Will says looking over at jack then at me, i nod my head in agreance. 

 "Prepare yourselves some more. It's soup in there." Jack says still seriously. "Soup isn't good for the soul." Will says tilting his head chuckling, i chuckle a little too as i start to zone out. "Not this soup. No jurisdictional rivalry here. Local Police practically begged us to take it." Jack says as he notices  My haze, Jack snaps fingers to get My attention. "Where's your head?" Jack asks as he snaps me out of my drowsy state. "On my pillow. I didn't sleep." I say as I yawn, truth is i had a nightmare last night, a truly horrific one. "Got just the thing to wake you up." Jack says as we enter the crime scene.

"THE WELCOME INN" MOTEL - MOTEL ROOM - DAY -

Jack Crawford, Will Graham, and Dr. Y/N L/N ENTER to find BRIAN ZELLER taking photographs of the crime scene. THE DEATH TABLEAU TWO BODIES, one male, one female, kneel on either side of the bed. The FLESH OF THEIR BACKS has been cut down the middle, each side peeled back in a LARGE FLAP, which rise outstretched like WINGS. Hooks in the skin tied to hooks in the ceiling and walls with FISHING LINE SPREAD the "wings." Wrists are bound in front of them also with FISHING LINE, raised in mock prayer. VICTIMS' heads loll on their necks. Zeller photographs the dorsal wounds of the victims as BEVERLY KATZ navigates the fishing line to take samples from the crumpled bed sheets that were clearly slept in. JIMMY PRICE is dusting an OPEN BOTTLE OF SCOTCH and THREE GLASSES on a small table for fingerprints, one is still full. 

"Okay. I'm awake." I say staring at the horrific scene before me, its Morbidly Beautiful. "Hooks were bored into the ceiling. Fishing line was used to hold up the bodies and parts of bodies." Jack says as he points out what he's saying, "Least we know he's a fisherman." Bev says, i look over at her and give her a warm smile. "And or a Viking." Jimmy says tilting his head as he looks at the bodies. Zeller looks at him strangely, "Vikings do this?" He asks still giving Jimmy that look. "Vikings Used to execute Christians by breaking their ribs and bending them back so they looked like wings. Then they'd rip out their lungs. Called it a Blood Eagle." Jimmy explains in an almost excited tone. I stare at the bodies "Pagans mocking the God Fearing." Will says beside me. "Who's mocking who here?" Jack asks standing infront of the bodies blocking my view. "No He Isnt mocking them. He's transforming them." I say blankly, "I don't know if it was a good night's sleep, but he slept here. Hair on the pillow and the sheets are still damp. He's a sweater." "Madness slept here last night." Will says quietly to me and i agree. Beverly indicates the small pool of vomit on the edge of the bed washing onto the night stand. "He threw up on the night stand." "Couldn't stomach what he did? Flop sweat and nervous indigestion." Jack suggests i shake my head, "Not nervous. Righteous. Thinks he's elevating them somehow, making them better than how he saw them. I need a plastic sheet to cover the bed." I say looking at the bed.

 "THE WELCOME INN" MOTEL - MOTEL ROOM - MOMENTS LATER -

A RUBBER EVIDENCE SHEET covers the entire bed, creating a barrier to evidence tampering. Will Graham lays back on the bed Next to Y/N, glancing down at the man-made monsters at his feet. Will Graham takes a breath, exhales. "This is not who you are. You are more now than what you were." A PENDULUM It swings in the darkness of Their minds. FWUM. FWUM. FWUM.

WILL'S P.O.V.

The PENDULUM arcs through FRAME, wiping away in its wake the gush of BLOOD STAINS on the bed. FWUM. The PENDULUM swings again, wiping away the fishing wire and the hooks. FWUM. The PENDULUM ARCS REVEALING the MALE and FEMALE VICTIMS are now pre-skinning, kneeling in supplication by the bed. I watch with restrained awe as I narrate: "This is my gift to you."

Y/N'S P.O.V.

The Male and Female Victims' backs simultaneously SPLIT AND OPEN, UNFOLDING INTO OUTSTRETCHED WINGS in one graceful, elegant, horrifying movement. BACKLIT FISHING LINES extend from the WINGS like BIBLICAL RAYS OF LIGHT. "I allow you to be Angels."

 WILL'S P.O.V

"Now I lay me down to sleep."  Will closes his eyes...

B.A.U. - MORGUE - DAY -

Beverly Katz runs a small PLASTIC TOOL along the flap of skin hanging off the exposed muscle of Mrs. Anderson's back. Brian Zeller carefully removes the fish hooks one by one, dropping them into a pan with a PLINK... PLINK... PLINK. "...and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens' claws." Beverly says as she gazes at the corpse, "Robert Frost?" Zeller questions titling his head, i roll my eyes and shake my head. "Jim Morrison." Will says looking at me as I was about to say the same, Great minds think alike.  "Even a drunk with a flair for the dramatic can convince himself he's God. Or the Lizard King." Bev says glancing up to where me and Will are positioned.  "God makes angels. Jesus was fond of Fisherman. Are we going hard core Judeo-Christian upsetting or just upsetting in general." Jimmy says watching 

"This is a very specific upsetting." I say tilting my head and crossing my arms "Increase of serotonin in the wounds is much higher than the free histamines so she lived for about 15 minutes after she was skinned." Zeller says looking at the wounds of 'Mrs. Anderson',  Jimmy Price ENTERS from his WORK BAY, having just identified: "The powder residue on the neck of the soda bottle was Vecuronium. Scotch'n soda'n a paralytic agent." Jimmy says as he looks from his clip board to us "Had them kneeling in supplication at the feet of G dash D." Zeller points out, "Supplication is the most common form of prayer. Gimme-gimme-gimme." Jimmy says looking over at Zeller. "They weren't praying to him. They were praying for him. He's afraid." Will says leaning on the exam table I'm sitting on. 

"What is somebody who could do something like this afraid of?" Beverly says as Several answers fly through My mind and I'm sure Will's, but the clearest is: "What's in his vomit?" Will asks Looking at Bev, "Dexamethasone... kepra..." She says as she reads off the toxicology report. "He was epileptic. Radiation?" Zeller questions, "Gamma four." Bev says looking up at him. "Steroids for inflammation. Anti-convulsants for seizures. Radiation from chemotherapy. Our guy has a brain tumor." Zeller says which confirms my hunch and I'm sure Will's as well. "He's afraid of dying in his sleep. He makes Angels to watch over him." I say gazing at the bodies, seeing their true meaning.

HANNIBAL'S OFFICE - NIGHT -

Hannibal stands over Will on the second floor, scanning the shelves for a particular book on NEUROLOGY. He pulls it. "There's no one and only spiritual center of the brain. Any idea of God comes from many areas of the mind working together in unison." Hannibal says as he climbs down the ladder then tosses the book to Will. "Maybe I'm wrong. How do you profile someone who has an anomaly in their head changing the way they think?" Will says as he peruses the book in his hands. "A tumor can definitely affect brain function, even causing vivid hallucinations. However, what appears to be driving your Angel Maker to create heaven on Earth is a simple issue of mortality." Hannibal says as he studies Will, "Can't beat God, become him." Will tilts his head questioningly, "You said he was afraid." Hannibal says looking downwards,

"He feels abandoned." Will says looking up from the book but not at Hannibal. "Ever feel abandoned, Will?" He questions raising an eyebrow, Will shakes his head snickering "Abandonment requires expectation." Will says smirking humorously.  "What were your expectations of Jack Crawford and the F.B.I.?"  Hannibal asks as he also skims one of his books, "Jack hasn't abandoned me." Will says as he sets the book on Hannibal's desk. "Not in any discernible way. Perhaps in the way Gods abandon their creations." Hannibal asks closing the book in his hands, "Well, this should be interesting. Please proceed, Doctor." Will says leaning on Hannibal's desk.

"You say he hasn't abandoned you yet Jack gave you his word he would protect your head space. Yet he leaves you to your mental devices. And Jack leaves Y/N with her mind even when he knows she shouldn't be alone with it," Hannibal explains as he sets the book down, "Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?" Will asks Gazing curiously at Hannibal. "I'm trying to help you understand this Angel Maker you seek." Hannibal explains as he gazes back at Will,  "Help me understand how to catch him." Will says grabbing his coffee off Hannibal's desk.

"If he were a classic paranoid schizophrenic, you might be able to influence him to become visible." Hannibal suggests slyly, "Scare him out into the daylight."  Will says shaking his head and setting his coffee back down. "Might even get him to hurt himself if he hasn't already." Hannibal says with no seeming remorse, "If he were self-destructive, he wouldn't be so careful." Will says looking back at him curiously. "Unless he's being careful about his self-destruction. He's making angels to pray over him when he sleeps. Who prays over us when we sleep?" Hannibal asks Will, who does not know the answer to that question.

ABANDONED BUILDING - EARLY MORNING -

A CORPSE of a MAN has been mounted on scaffolding covered in plastic sheets creating a divine luminescing from behind. Lines of blood streaking the transparent plastic sheets serve as a corona of sorts emanating down from the angel wings. Beneath the ANGEL CORPSE, a crumpled, stained mattress. Will and Y/N are captivated in the scenes macabre beauty as Jack Crawford approaches. Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and Jimmy Price don their gloves. "Why angels?" Jack asks as he approaches, i jump slightly but quickly recover and turn to him. "It isn't Biblical. His angels have wings. In sculpture and paintings, angels fly, but not in the Bible." I say recalling my partially christian partially catholic upbringing. "He's drawing from secular sources." Jack says looking back and forth between me and Will and the Body.

"His mind has turned against him and there's no one there to help." Will says as he  just stares at the hanging fiery angelic body from the scaffolding. Brian Zeller carefully picks up a pair of SEVERED TESTICLES. "Are those? What are those?" Jimmy says squinting his eyes, i look over at the severed parts and my eyes widen for a second before going back to their once calm and collected state. "Someone got an orchiectomy cheap." Zeller says as Beverly shines her flashlight at the SECURITY GUARD'S crotch. "Doesn't look like the victim." She says looking at the body and the severed testicles. "So Their the Angel Maker's?"Jimmy suggests, Beverly looks at him in disbelief, "He castrated himself?!?" She says in a shocked tone. "He's not just making angels, he's getting ready to become one. Angels don't have genitalia." I say explaining off of their confused looks, "So He was afraid of dying and now he's getting used to the idea?" Jack asked confusedly as  he turns to me, "He's accepted it or he's bargaining." Will says stressed and scratching his neck. "Some bargaining chips." Zeller says sarcastically, i roll my eyes and start getting stressed out when Jack starts getting in my personal space.  "Does that mean he's done making angels or just getting started." Jack says as i hang my head, my head is pounding and my sight is blurry from stress. "I don't know." I say quietly, Will notices that something is not right with me in the moment.

"He's not just killing when he gets sleepy. How is he choosing them?"  Jack asks seriously "I don't know. Ask him." Will says as he tries to inconspicuously  calm me down from whatever's happening in my head. "I'm asking you Two." Jack says seriously, "You're the head of the Behavioral Science Unit, Jack. Why don't you come up with your own answers if you don't like Ours." I say frustratedly and overly-stressed,  A stillness washes over Zeller, Price and Katz with Y/N's blatant disrespect. Jack locks Caroline with a cold stare: "I did not just hear that." Jack says with a cold stare. "No, you didn't. I'm sorry." Y/N says Embarrassed by her outburst, Y/N wonders back over to the angel to collect her thoughts. Jack watches her go.

 B.A.U. - MORGUE - NEXT DAY -

Y/N stands between the corpses of MR. and MRS. ANDERSON, as alone in the work bay as she is in her head. Beverly ENTERS and leans on the morgue drawer, studying Y/N. "I've never seen anybody talk to Jack the way you talked to Jack." Bev says as she studies Y/N. "I was out of line." Y/N says shaking her head disappointed that she let stress and frustration get to her. "You were out of your mind. My ears rang like they did the first time I heard my mom say the f-word." She says causing Y/N to laugh softly "Are you okay? I know it's a stupid thing to ask considering that none of us could possibly be okay doing what we do. But are you okay?" she asks actually concerned and worried for Y/N.

"Do I seem different?" Y/N asks seriously, "You're a little different. You've always been a little different. Brilliant strategy. No one knows when there's something up with you." Beverly says comfortingly, wondering if something is actually going on with her friend, "How would I know if there was something up with you?" Y/N asks tilting her head and crossing her arms, mirroring Beverly's body language. "You wouldn't. But I would tell you if you asked me. Return the favor?" Bev says smirking kindly, But Before Y/N can answer: "Would the real Mr. and Mrs. Anderson please stand up." Jimmy says as he enters smirking, Y/N looks up as Jimmy Price ENTERS with a file. The moment with Beverly is momentarily shattered. "No? Meet Roger & Marilyn Brunner. May recognize them from such lists as Most Wanted. He likes to rape and murder. She likes to watch." Jimmy says as he hands the file to Y/N, who quickly looks it over. "We have a DNA match. They falsified the motel registry and were driving a stolen car, so it took a second to identify them." He says looking at Y/N and Beverly, "I wonder how long it took Angel Maker to identify them. He didn't choose them randomly." Y/N says looking between the bodies and at her two friends. Jimmy hands Beverly another report.

"He knows something about them. The murdered Security Guard wasn't actually a Security Guard, He was a convicted felon." Jimmy says with an eyebrow raised, "Could Angel Maker be a vigilante?" Beverly asks looking at Y/N, she shakes her head 'no'  "Vigilantes are pragmatic, purposeful. They don't lay down and go to sleep under their crimes. In his mind, he's doing God's work." Y/N says thinking deeply, "That spells vigilante." Beverly says tilting her head, "Well Playing a God has advantages. One of them is never having to be alone." Y/N says staring at Roger Brunner's body. "So he makes Angels out of demons." Beverly says looking between the bodies and then back up at Y/N. "How does he know they're demons?" Jimmy says confused. "He doesn't have to know. All he has to do is believe." Y/N says with a blank stare

WILL GRAHAM'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT -

Will lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the ALARM CLOCK blinks from 11:31 PM to 3:45 AM. Will doesn't close his eyes. Finally, his eyelids slowly close under their own weight. Will closes his eyes. A distant, muffled BARKING slowly rouses him to consciousness and Will OPENS HIS EYES. 

WILL GRAHAM'S HOUSE - EARLY MORNING -

Will stands on the roof in his underwear. His DOGS BARKING at him through the open window he apparently crawled through.  Will's growing concern for his new "condition"...

HANNIBAL'S OFFICE - EVENING -

Will takes THREE ASPIRIN TABLETS from his palm and slings them back, chasing with a glass of water. Hannibal observes: "It's hard to lie still and fear going to sleep when it's there to think about. You listen to your breathing in the dark and the tiny clicks of your blinking eyes." Hannibal says watching as Will paces, avoiding the patient hot seat. "I dream more now than I used to." Will says looking around as he paces. "Your dreams were the one place you could be physically safe relinquishing control. Not anymore." Hannibal says Observing Will closely. "I thought about zipping myself into a sleeping bag before I go to sleep, but it sounds too much like a poor man's straight jacket." Will says as The STATUE OF THE BLACK STAG near the Patient EXIT draws Will's attention.

He walks toward it. "Have you determined how this Angel Maker is choosing his victims?" Hannibal asks Will with a tilted head, "He doesn't see people how everyone else sees them. He can tell if you're naughty or nice. Or he thinks he can." Will says as he pauses in his steps looking towards Hannibal.  "God has given this Angel Maker insight into the souls of man?" Hannibal asks as he stares at the floor, "God didn't give him insight. Gave him a tumor. He's just a man whose brain is playing tricks on him." Will says continuing his path towards the stag statue. 

"You're not unlike this killer." Hannibal says turning his head towards Will's direction, "My brain is playing tricks on me?" Will says as he reaches out and touches the statue, analyzing every part. "You want to feel such sweet and easy peace. The Angel Maker wants that same peace. He hopes to feel his way cautiously inside it and find it is endless all around him." Hannibal says moving towards Will at a snails pace, "He's going to be disappointed." Will says chuckling knowingly. "You accept the impossibility of such a feeling. Whereas the Angel Maker is still chasing it." Hannibal says as he crosses to study Will as he studies the stag.

"If he got close to it, that's where he would look for it again." Hannibal continues, "I've been trying to reconstruct his thinking, find his patterns." Will explains what he's been doing in order to catch 'the Angel Maker'.  "Instead you find yourself in a behavior pattern you can't break. You realize you have a choice." Hannibal tells Will his Observations. "What is it?" Will asks "Angel Maker will be destroyed by what's happening inside his head. You don't have to be." Hannibal says as he stands behind Will, his NOSTRILS FLARE  on the back of Will's neck. "Did you just smell me?" Will asks slowly turning to face Hannibal. "Difficult to avoid. I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave. That smells like something with a ship on the bottle."  Hannibal says with a slight smirk, "I keep getting it for Christmas." Will says chuckling as he runs a hand over his face. "Have your headaches gotten any worse lately? More frequent?" Hannibal asks knowing he smelled more than Will's aftershave, "Yes, actually." Will says walking away from Hannibal. "I'd change the after shave." Hannibal Says realizing there is more to Will's problems than he knows. But Dr. Lecter's nose knows...

B.A.U. - INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY -

Jack Crawford,  Will Graham, and Dr. Y/N L/N sit opposite EMMA BUDISH , a slightly anxious woman unsure why she is here. "Have you heard from him since he left?" I ask Mrs. Budish, "I left him. And no, he hasn't." Mrs. Budish says looking down, I take a mental note of this. "Why did you leave?" Jack asks her, "Because of his cancer. Makes me sound like a horrible wife." She says ashamedly and sadly. "I'm Sure you had your reasons." I say reassuringly, "I took a leave from work to be with him. I wanted to be there for him. But what he wanted was to be alone." As she speaks, Jack  is coming to the unfortunate realization he and Emma have something in common. "He kept pulling away and pulling away. He made it clear he didn't want me there. Then it wasn't clear. Then it didn't matter why he was acting the way he was." Mrs. Budish says as Will and I watch as Jack pours himself a glass of water and drinks, mind spinning. Me and Will realize he has to pick up the baton of the interrogation as Jack is clearly suddenly distracted. "It was weird for the kids. What kind of mother exposes her children to someone who's losing their mind." Mrs. Budish says  "Was he ever violent, Mrs. Budish?" Will asks Mrs. Budish,  Her hesitation suggests more than a yes or no answer. "He was angry. Never hit me or the boys. I thought when he got weak enough, when the cancer got worse, it wouldn't be confusing for them Or at least less confusing. They could just see him as a sick man, and not someone so terrified."  She says sadly, i feel her pain, it feels like it was unbearable to leave him and take her sons away from their father. "Did your husband's faith falter after he was told about the cancer." Will asks her gently, "Elliot wasn't ever religious. Is he doing something religious?" she asks concerned and slightly stressed. "He may believe he is." I say softly as to comfort her and make her a little less stressed or overwhelmed. "Your husband's dying, Mrs. Budish. Soon. We want to find him before he hurts himself or anyone else." The words coming out of Jack's mouth have a larger import than they did only moments ago. "He had a near death experience. Suffocated in a fire when he was a little boy. Fireman who resuscitated him said he must've had a guardian angel." Mrs. Budish explains shakily, "Where did this happen?" Will asks softly and calmly, "A farm where he grew up." She replies, I look at her with pity and empathy.

BARN - DAY -

Will Graham and Jack Crawford stomp through the dead grass as they approach. TWO LOCAL POLICE CARS and their POLICE OFFICERS wait in the background.  Will Graham and Jack Crawford walk through a rolling slatted wood door REVEALING another ANGEL OF DEATH hanging in the rafters, illuminated by shafts of light. A stunned moment as Will and Jack take in the horrific image. Jack heaves an annoyed sigh at another life lost. "This will be the last one." Will says as Jack's FLASHLIGHT BEAM flickers across the Angel's face -- it's the same face on the Driver's License seen earlier. "It's Budish?" Jack states more than asks, "He made himself into an angel." Will says as the  Dripping blood from the flesh of his wings draws Will closer.

Jack crosses to the BARN DOOR and shouts to the LOCAL POLICE OFFICERS waiting in the distant field. "Get the Coroner down here!" Will watches Elliot Budish's angelic form from a safe distance. "It wasn't God, wasn't man, it was his choice to die."  Will states as he Gazes upon Elliot's Angelic Corpse. "His choice?" Jack quirks and eyebrow, Will sighs as he nods is head  "As much as he could make it." He sighs. 

 "You feeling a shortage of choices?" Jack asks Will, "I don't know how much longer I can be all that useful to you, Jack." Will says in a realistically wise tone. "Really? You caught three. The last three we had, You and Y/N caught." Jack says trying to reassure Will. "We didn't catch this one. Elliot Budish surrendered." Will says Frustrated, Jack turns to walk out of the barn..."I'm used to not getting information from my wife. I don't need to not get information from you, too." Jack says about to walk out of the barn....but Will's confession stops Jack on the threshold: "It's getting harder and harder to make myself look." Will says frustrated with himself and his mind and runs a hand over his face, "No one is asking you to look alone." Jack says confused as to what Will is saying. "But I am looking alone except for Y/N. And you know what looking at this does. Not only to Me but to her too." Will says almost desperately, "I know what happens when you don't look. So do you." Jack says giving Will a knowing stare.

"I can make myself look but the thinking is shutting down." Will says trying desperately to make Jack understand. "What is it about this one?" Jack asks thinking its just a quick fix sort of thing, News flash its not. "It's not this one. It's all of them. It's the next one. It's the one I know is coming after that." Will states running another hand over his face. "I don't think you want to go back to your lecture hall and read about the next one on TattleCrime.com." Jack states the obvious, "No, I don't. But that may be what I have to do. This is bad for me." Will says acknowledging that he knows that. "Here whats gonna happen.

You go back to your classroom and there's more killing that you could have prevented, and it will sour that classroom forever." Jack says knowingly, "Maybe. Or maybe I find a job as a diesel mechanic in a boatyard." Will says as Jack Crawford studies Will without saying anything, then abruptly turns and walks out of the barn, leaving Will alone. "If you want to quit, quit." Jack says as he leaves Will alone. Will stands there a moment, stung and reeling from the confrontation, debating on how to proceed. Will Graham turns to see that Elliot Budish is no longer hanging from the rafters, but is now within reach.

OMNISCIENT P.O.V. -

Weak from the loss of blood from his self-inflicted wounds, delirious from his tumor, Elliot Budish looks upon Will (not demonic, not distorted, not flaming) and simply states: "I see what you are." He says as he stumbles forward, collapsing in apparent supplication on the floor. Will isn't afraid, his hand calmly goes to his gun as he slowly steps out of reach. "What do you see?" Will asks curiously but unafraid, "Inside. I can bring it out of you." Elliot says as Will raises his gun, training it on Budish but not firing, even as Budish advances. Will continues to back away. "Not all the way out." Jack Crawford is silhouetted in the doorway.

B.A.U. - JACK CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - DAY -

Jack Crawford sits behind his desk, cupping his forehead in his hands as Will Graham ENTERS and quietly takes a seat. 'What do you want, Will?" Jack says exhaustedly. "I'm going to sit here until you're ready to talk. You don't have to say a word until you're ready, but I'm not leaving until you do." Will says sitting beside his friend.

[perllet]

A slight girl sat at the back of the cafe, a smudge against the white linoleum. She was examining a guide book intently, hair falling over her face as she bent over the table, a black apostrophe on a white page. Commander Graham Gore had been sat across the street, on the fading bench, for over ten minutes, watching her. Muscles tensing to stand, (to - what? Enter the cafe, or go home?), before they relaxed, and he continued to watch, letting the roach burn out between his scarred fingers before he tucked another cigarette between his teeth. She was poring over the old travel-book, with a photograph tucked between her fingers, her attention sliding between the two. The waitress had approached twice with the jug of filter coffee, before withdrawing, scowling at the lack of response.

He couldn’t tell what he felt exactly regarding the ferocity at which she was clearly trying to identify his whereabouts - that blasted photo, sent at a moment of weakness, or a moment of courage. She was a picture of everything that he adored and hated in her, a ferocious, calculating, clever little alley cat, who would find a way to track their exact footprints through the wilderness once she decided she would. She was also a woman who was, ultimately, ruled by her devotion, which meant that if she had followed him all the way to the small town they had chosen for its links to Anchorage and the fact that its people all seemed to be living in the past, then he was included within that small bubble of devotion. All her love and devotion, he still hadn’t decided what to make of it.

On Erebus, and before, at Navarino, even on the Beagle, he believed the decisions he made were a product of pure logic, boiled and skimmed of any foolish fear or apprehension. These last few months, however…He had begun to see the traces of feeling, of his heart, in every decision he made now. If he didn’t stop to listen to what that peculiar, disembodied voice advised him, he would never have left the safe house in London. It used to be that logic saved his life. Now, he wasn’t sure if it was working for or against him. Like now. The muscles of his legs pulled taut, again, as he considered his options. He could be back at the cabin, bags packed, Maggie roused from her appalling nap schedule, and into the wild of this sparse state before she had even taken the first sip of her cold coffee.

It was this image that made him stand. And all questions of logic and devotion drained away as he stepped into the cafe, moving towards the table at the far end of the window. Unlike the waitress, his presence made her shoulders come up to her ears, and she raised her head slowly, already knowing.

Their gazes caught on a live wire. His arms were crossed, his face void of emotion - it was his last defence. Her expression was the opposite, so many thoughts passing over the ghostly little face that he had equally no clue what she was imagining. She swallowed, and tucked the photograph into the Alaska: Lost Steps guide, folding her hands primly over them both. For a second, the roles were switched - she was the mouse pinned under his feline claw.

“Hello, little cat.”

[a/n: I am devastated at finishing ministry of time and I need something anything to fill this void. it was just perfect]

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Fic: "The Fairy" (Goblin Graham, #12)

"Gwendolyn. What are you still doing in here? Didn't you hear the guards order everyone out? Can't you hear everything creaking?"

"Um - what? Sorry?"

"Something's wrong, cousin. The castle's shaking on its foundations. Has been since early morning. Something strange here, making it go unstable all of a sudden. You didn't notice? There's... Oh my stars. Gwendolyn! Did those bricks fall while you were in here?"

"Maybe? I didn't really notice. The mirror -"

"I know, I know, you were too busy watching the mirror. I mean, look! It's taken out a quarter of the ceiling? What would you have done if it had collapsed on your head? Look, we'll take the mirror with us, but we've got to get out! Did you even hear me?"

---

Perhaps it was the rich overground air, or the long hours spent escaping, or maybe the cold was more comfortable these days. Graham drifted off as easily as any sleeper could wish. As he blinked away his last moments of consciousness, he felt vaguely that he ought to toss and turn now that he’d been told of Manny and the goblins’ siege of the castle. Insomnia felt more responsible. But exhaustion smoothed his fears away before he could wake himself to make a plan. Three quarters asleep, he snuggled deep into his cloak between the roots of a burly yew. 

Mid-dream, something roused him. He rolled onto his right side, meaning to squint at the bedside clock in the castle’s royal chamber. Instead, he found himself eye to eye with a face, glowing blue as midwinter stars. The face giggled.

Untangling himself from the cloak, Graham yelped and scrambled to sit up, back against the tree.

The person before him was close to his own goblin size, and knelt to one side of him with a starry-eyed smile. Unnaturally lithe and dainty-featured she looked, just as he had always heard wood sprites described. He could not see much of her wings, but they appeared to be coolly golden and folded neatly behind her shoulders. Tittering musically, the fairy tapped the end of his nose with one shining finger, sending specks of light he could only just make out skittering over his skin. “Well, aren’t you the wee little goblin man! How precious!”  

Half awake and wholly thunderstruck, Graham could not choke a single word from his throat.

She took hold of his long ears. They twitched away reflexively, despite her gentleness. She laughed in gleeful surprise. “Awww! Did I make you flinch? I’ll be careful. You’ve got such big, swoopy, droopy ears, haven’t you? Yes you have, yes you have,” she crooned, reaching again to stroke them.

“Who are you?” whispered Graham, but his voice was even hoarser with sleep, almost nothing like speech. She did not seem to notice.

“A sleeeepy goblin, a tuckered out little goblin,” she went on, fondly rumpling his hair. Her hands were kind, but cool to the touch, even to his strange skin. And though it was hard to tell what she was doing, it appeared that every time she made contact, her hands glowed the brighter, just for a moment. “Oh, your pupils are so big right now! Great big eyes to see in the dark. What are you doing up here in the forest? A bit lost? Or were you just too dozy to crawl downstairs to your home? Are you a tiny bit scared?” she asked as Graham made another attempt to speak up. “Don’t be frightened, little friend. I know something that might make you happy.” She spread her luminous golden wings wide, and flapped them so that gleaming dust dropped in their wake. Her grin grew broader. “See that? I’m a fairy! Yes, you know all about us, don’t you? From your games?”

Graham straightened up where he sat, and cleared his throat pointedly. “For your information -”

Enraptured, she paid no heed. “Just look at you, though.Your little tummy, and your nubby little fangs, and those little pink… freckles…” A suspicious look flashed across her face. She poked an interrogative finger at his chin and cheekbones, considerably less gently. “Not freckles,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. “You, good sir, have holes in your skin. Or growths, maybe. That’s human flesh, that is.” She sounded positively disgusted. “Or possibly mould. Comes to much the same thing.”

He had never demanded this of anyone, but enough was enough. “You,” said Graham firmly, “will call me ‘Your Majesty.’”

The fairy leaned back, looking him over from tuft to toe. She still smiled, but her merriment had changed to mockery. “‘Your majesty,’ eh?” she drawled. “A little king, eh? Look here. I happen to know the goblin king, and you ain’t him, sugarplum.”

“I’ve met him too,” said Graham with dignity, squaring his narrow shoulders. “I am the King of Daventry.”

A flicker of doubt passed over her, but she regained herself a moment later. “I don’t keep up much with politics, but even I know the king of Daventry is your standard, garden-variety human. Now, you,” she leaned in again and began connecting the dots on his face with her finger, “are just a goblin with human pimples. Ugh! They’re warm!”

He brushed her arm aside, frowning. “Look, I don’t particularly care if you believe me,” he said, mind whirring, “but if you don’t quit touching my face…” What could he say? “… you’re gonna be going home with spots yourself.”

The fairy recoiled, and turned from blue to something slightly closer to violet. “It’s catching?” she shrieked.

“Like a fishing line,” said Graham brightly. “Take the warning where I didn’t.”

The fairy backed off further and rubbed her hands off her sides, but there still seemed something unconvinced in her. “You’re very well-spoken for a goblin,” she said slowly. “Why did you say you’re the King of Daventry?”

“Because I am. I’m under a spell of sorts.”

“A spell. Oho.” She stroked her chin. “Well, that’s easier to check up on, isn’t it? All right, cupcake, on your feet.”  

“Oh, but my -”

Graham’s body parted ways with the forest floor. He rose three feet into the air, and tilted into a standing position despite himself. His dark hair billowed out as though he were underwater. Even his clothing did not drape in the ordinary way. His green wrists stuck out of his sleeve cuffs without the fabric touching them. His satin-trimmed cloak followed his trajectory up into the air, and then wandered gently and randomly like cream on a hot drink. “Hey!” he cried, throwing himself forward, hoping he could dive back to the ground. But he only found himself turning the slowest of slow-motion somersaults in the air. Head over heels he spun, groping for anything solid, but the fairy had lifted him into the middle of the clearing. Nothing met his grasp.

As he turned right way up, he came face to face with the fairy. She tapped his nose again, with just enough force that he lost momentum and didn’t fall into another somersault. “You know you go cross-eyed when I boop your nose?” She crossed her own eyes exaggeratedly. “Adorbs.”

He had no intention of using his claws on her, but this couldn’t go on. He glared and held up a warning finger. “I’m gonna have to ask you to put me down right this second, or this is going to be a diplomatic incident under Daventry Decree 90983.”  

“Yes, yes, that sounds fun. But now, let’s have a better look at you.” She twirled her finger playfully.

A mellow warmth kindled in Graham’s core, kind as hot soup and a blanket when you’ve just come in from the cold. It fanned out through him to the tips of his overlong toes and gnarled, spindly fingers. His eyes widened in shock, and he gasped. Gentle as fog melting off a window, his claws flattened and pulled back into themselves, and his fingertips softened into tender pink skin. 

The forest quieted. His vision dimmed, and the luminescent greens and purples of the night faded into a largely detail-less darkness.

Then he found himself laughing giddily as he changed and changed. He could hardly see a thing, but oh stars, could he feel it! He threw out his arms above his head as though he had just woken up, and stretched. Never had it felt so rewarding, for his arms actually stretched along with him. He could feel his spine and legs doing the same as that warmth spread through every inch of him. Meanwhile, his hands and bare feet shrank, growing less supple but so wonderfully familiar. And yet, remarkable in their unfamiliarity too. He flexed his goblin hand, and then his human hand, which hadn’t deserved that name in so long, marvelling at how new the sensation of closing his own fingers felt after only a few weeks. It all seemed so much more real than anything had since his transformation began. There was a clarity and quickness in his head that made him wonder how much his mind had been damped till now.

And his face, his face which he hardly ever dared touch, thawed into its true self. He ran his fine fingers over his great big nose, his cheeks, his eyelashes.  He knew every line. His fingers came away from his eyes wet with tears. He couldn’t help but smile through them, a smile full of the greatest gratitude he had known in his life. “Thank you,” he murmured, turning to the fairy, hardly able to see her through the mist in his eyes. “Thank you!”

His real voice.

She nodded, smiling wryly. “Well, I guess you are human.” Casually, she snapped her fingers.

Almost instantly, Graham’s whole body reverted. His arms and legs snapped back like stretchy putty released, and he lost half his height. His skin shuddered, rippling and goosebumping. The sensation was something like plunging into a freezing pool through a layer of algae. The warmth inside him extinguished. Then green, and claws, and long, floppy ears flattening against his neck. He plopped to the ground, landing gracelessly on his bottom. 

He hardly processed the jolt his ankle took when he made impact, or the forest’s restored brightness. She had turned him back. Back into a goblin. “What?” he growled, rounding on her and shaking with sudden fury. “Didn’t you see? Couldn’t you tell? I wanted to be myself again! I thought you were helping me!”

“Aww,” the fairy jeered, crouching down to the ground with him and tilting her head to one side. “Are we having a tantrum? Is that the king or the goblin side coming out, I wonder?”

“Turn me back,” he said sternly, stumbling to his feet. “I need to be human. My kingdom’s under attack as we speak. They need me.”

She rose and patted his cheek. Her touch only made him aware that his skin had curdled again. “Take it from me,” she said. “As a human, you’re not much to write home about. Better stick with the twitchy ears, little guy. You’re cute as a button.”

With a surge of ferocity, Graham snarled and shoved her backward. She squeaked and tripped over her own feet into a tall patch of bracken. He started forward angrily, unsure of anything but that he would make her understand the gravity of his situation. But with its customary unfortunate timing, his ankle buckled, and he sank to one knee, wincing and sucking his teeth to keep from snarling further. The voice of reason surfaced. Keep your head. Don’t give in to that side. Anything but that.

The fairy sat up and stared, her jaw hanging open. “Oh. Oh. Did I do that?” There was a long pause as they pulled themselves together. Then the first note of sympathy since her realization that he was human entered her voice. “I see you have a bad foot. Do you… do you want me to put you back up in the air a while longer?” “I’m fine. I’ll just sit down,” said Graham, leveling his voice and grabbing at a branch to support himself. He nearly pitched over. It was a flimsy evergreen, and it wobbled in his hand.

The fairy chewed her lip uncomfortably, and her hands glowed again, though he hadn’t seen her touch anything. “Okay.” 

In a moment, he was steady again. The same unseen power carried his legs out from under him. “None of that now!” he shouted, but he need not have worried. The magic set him down carefully in a seated position, propped up against a generous oak, and his foot elevated on a mossy stone.  

She settled herself on the farthest side of the clearing from him, folding her hands in her lap. “I don’t like seeing a little goblin hurting,” she mumbled, hanging her head and sounding a bit ashamed. “Even if they’re actually a human king.” She spoke more slowly. “I won’t touch your foot if you don’t want me to, but I’d like to make this better, if you’ll let me. I mean, not magically. But I could find food, or a change of bandages, or something.”

Graham took a deep breath, and pushed away the sneering, angry remarks he could have made. “I… am grateful you want to help me,” he said carefully. “But you would help me and my people a lot more if you worried less about my foot and more about the spell I’m under. You’ve already shown me it’s easy for you to break it. So…”

Yet again, she interrupted him, twiddling her thumbs and shaking her head with a doleful smile. “I think you’ve jumped to conclusions here, um… What’s your name?”

“Graham.”

“Graham. Mine’s Orri. Yeah. So, I didn’t break any spell just now. I just took a quick peek at your real form. It’s a pretty basic magical maneuver, and it doesn’t actually change anything.”

“Well, it certainly felt real,” Graham said, rubbing his ears.

“I guess it would. But it would have undone itself in a few seconds anyway. It’s just a peeling back of the magic for a moment to get a glimpse. It’s not a transformation.” Orri looked up and met his gaze with a disheartened shrug. “I couldn’t turn you into a human if I wanted to - not without a wish, and those are, um, pretty serious.”

“A wish?” Graham stiffened, and he stared at her fixedly. “You mean you could grant a wish?”

Orri heaved a sigh that was more sincere than anything she had said thus far. “Full truth here for a second? I’ve never done wishes before, exactly. Humans aren’t really my thing, if you couldn’t guess. I mean, technically I could probably do it. But it’s messy. Messy for you, messy for me. And give me another ten minutes and I won’t feel so bad about hurting your foot, and I’ll just be mad at you again for not being a real goblin.” 

Something crinkled in the corner of her eye. A new light came over her features, literally, and traveled all the way to the ends of her hair. “I mean, I suppose I could make you into a real goblin. That’s loads easier than going the other way ‘round, and it wouldn’t take a wish!” Orri's enthusiasm grew with every word. She practically bounced up and down where she sat.“Oh man. Oh man, I could totally handle that! We’ll just sand down your mind a bit, make a few simplifications …”

“Oh, no, no! That won’t be necessary,” stammered Graham. He forced himself to stay calm, trying to pull her back to her more collected state. “Er, ouch, my foot, my poor foot!”

But Orri  was back in full swing, already leaping into his personal space again. “Oh Graham, that would solve everything! Just a few tweaks in that little head of yours, and no more sad king. Your mother taught you all your nursery rhymes and fairy tales when you were a boy, I hope?”

“M-my sister, actually,  but that’s -”

“Then you’re ready! You’d be so happy. I mean, you could still be a little grumpypants if you wanted to. It’s not like they don’t get mad sometimes. But most of the time, they just act out stories, and make costumes and stuff. Not a care in the world.” Her fingers began to glow an intense white, and she wiggled them playfully in his direction. “Why don’t you just give me your hands, and I can - ”

In spite of his resolve to stay even-keeled, Graham started crawling backwards, crab style, trying to put the oak between himself and Orri. “Oh, I’m sure being a goblin is a real barrel of laughs, but um, I can probably help my kingdom better with my mind intact. So let’s just reroute and-” 

He cried out as she leapt, making a deft grab for his hand. Even before they made contact he could feel power surging from her fingertips like static, connecting with his.  Something vital in him wanted to grab hold of her hand and draw that energy in. But he wrenched himself away in a side roll, panting nervously as he came to a halt lying on his front. He tucked his hands under his stomach as she fluttered down beside him, the blue-white of her skin more intense than the fullest moon. Again, the instinct to use his claws came, but not only would that set him further down the goblinification track, probably, it would only give her access to his hands.

She clicked her tongue consolingly. “You know, little friend, your mind’s already changing to match your body. I took a peek at what you really are, remember?  You don’t have a duty anymore. That’s for humans. You couldn’t help your kingdom for much longer, anyway. Just give me your hands now. It’s just the human side of you being stubborn.” She prodded his side with her foot.

Graham swallowed and dug his fingertips into the patch of soft earth beneath him. “But if I can help them even for a bit, I’ve got to go for it. You said you technically could grant wishes. Can’t we try that first? Nothing to lose, right?” This felt utterly ridiculous, to fight a fairy by lying flat on the ground. But what choice did he have? To this overenthusiastic sprite, he was more or less just a cuddly puppy who was going to the vet’s, whatever he might think about the matter. What would he do if she flew him up in the air again, and he couldn’t hide his hands anymore? Play the world’s highest stakes game of ninja slap until she caught him?

Orri hunched over, and whispered in his enormous ear. “Graham, I don’t have ideas I can be proud of very often,” she said, almost confidingly.  “Just let me have this.” Then she seized his ear, and twisted it where it attached to his head.

“Augh!” It was more than he could stand. He didn’t have much understanding of goblin biology, but he did know that twist was about ten times more painful than he would have expected. Before he could think, he pawed wildly to yank his ear out of her reach, to pry her fingers free.

Her hand clasped his. She didn’t seem to care about the claws. She just held on tight, and twined her fingers through his. He felt the magic lock on to him.

Graham’s thoughts windchimed off each other, too fleeting to follow. His head grew light. She pulled him to his feet. The ground seemed to shake underfoot, but all that felt faraway. Everything outside himself was irrelevant, because it felt like his mind was turning inside out. Something surfaced in his head. Something dauntingly clever and complicated and warm and royal red, and everything in him knew it didn’t belong here in his head. He had to get rid of it now before it could struggle. But it hung on awfully hard as he tried to reject it. But here was something else, edging it out, filling his mind. Yes. Something. Pushing it out for him. Something… good. Something yes. Yes, yes. Something something something rum-tee-tum-tee-tum, yes yes yes. Oho, filling up the corners. Hehehehehehehehe! Yes yes yes!

And then ow! Ow! Hand gone. No more hand! No more yes! Rage! Not fair! Ow! Whack you! Whack you! Someone grabbing. Someone pulling him away. No more magic. Turning it all outside in again. Everything spilling over again. Maybe a touch of nausea - in his mind? If that made sense? Nothing made sense, but it was coming back. His feet weren’t touching the ground, but neither was he floating this time. There were huge, pudgy arms lifting him up. No, not arms. Gigantic fingers. 

Clarity shot through him. Olfie had him in his careful grasp, and the forest clearing below was a good twenty feet beneath him. Even with dark vision, Graham couldn’t see Orri anywhere. He craned his head back to look up at the bridge troll’s honest, hideous face. “Olfie!” he cried, overwhelmed with relief. “Oh, Olfie!” Olfie smiled, not without concern, lifting him up to look at him straight on. “You okay, King Goosie? Saw you were havin’ some fairy trouble down there. Did she try something?”

“No, I’m good.” Graham said, his chest still tense with stress but trying to let it go. His head bobbled on his neck and the world swam a bit, but fixing his eyes on Olfie’s face gave him a point of reference to stabilize from. “I think you didn’t arrive a moment too soon, though! Is she - did you see where she went?”

“Disappeared as soon as I got a hold on you.”

“Praise the consultations.” Graham muttered as Olfie propped him up in his palm. “I mean the consolati- no, the constellations. Sorry. She tried to mess with my head, and I might still be coming back from it.”

Olfie nodded, about as sagely as a troll could. “Gotta watch out for them. Always pulling tricks. One time they got Pillare thinking she was croissant, and you don’t want to hear how that went down at the meeting. Glad it’s all okay for you. So, I went and got them like you said. You ready for this?”

Graham tried to collect his disoriented thoughts. “You went and got who, now?”

“You told me to get them,” said Olfie. And before Graham could ask any further questions, the troll brought his two hands together - the palm where Graham leaned against his fingers, and the other - where to Graham’s astonishment, sat two of his royal guards, cross-legged in full uniform. Numbers One and Two. 

Number One gasped.