#i know german is guilty of changing stuff too

[syn4k]

agree on your standpoint of comments - that can and is very disheartening. it feels like putting in effort for nothing sometimes. Yes it can be argued that one should create for oneself but then when it comes to fancontent that one decides to share - its nice to have a feedback and am also guilty of this aka being lackluster with comments - at least when it comes to the english fanfics i read; i comment better on the german side where i read as well (but then i only have the ao3 account since two weeks and i am still writing comments and leaving kudos for stuff i read ages ago) btw your ashes fanfic is on my reading list :D i have read the first chapter a while ago I might come at yall with some questions when i finally finish the current 8 chapters

thank you for the ask!

yeah, even though we are writing this fic primarily for ourself, feedback is not only appreciated but also genuinely helpful. there's this one guy who comments on every single chapter we post with his favorite line, why he enjoyed it, and his speculations on the characters and right now he is carrying the entire work

we're guilty of the not commenting thing as well, but i'm planning to change that when we get done with lunch

honestly, the best way to combat these sort of things is to follow the advice yourself, as is with all things. if you don't do it, then what's the point of speaking about it? go and leave a comment on your favorite fanwork(s) if you haven't already. i promise it's worth it (bookmark notes are also really useful too and the creator can see them unless they're private!)

also, it's genuinely really nice to know that one of our works has landed on your reading list. hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and i hope you get around to the other 8! we'd love to hear any and all theories, questions, ideas, etc you have about it :] we could talk about this shit for hours

[darlingbudsofrae]

Nicky Hemmick Appreciation Post

Foxes Appreciation Series : 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

It’s time for Nicky Hemmick appreciation hours!

I think out of the foxes, I really don’t like the way Nora developed, or lack thereof, Nicky’s character.

He was one of the few POC/LGBTQIAP+ characters in the books and the way he was written just wasn’t it, y’know?

I think out of all the changes we could have, I wish Nora developed him better because his character could’ve gone to so many potentials. 

But let’s get with what we have-

First off, I just want to say I appreciate Nicky’s relationship with Erik so much.

They’re adorable. 

Now, let’s get to the sad and dark stuff-

Nicky’s past is one of the most messed-up backstories I’ve ever read in my entire life. And I read a LOT of sad books.

Dude literally went to a gay conversion camp (the fact that this shit exists is proof that hell is just a place on earth) for a year and had to repress his sexuality his entire life because his parents were homophobic shitholes.

Repressing his sexuality also led to depression. He had freaking suicidal thoughts and he took the first way out of his problems and saved himself by taking the first chance to leave, aka Germany.

I’m not sure if anyone remembers but to get to that- he had to pretend he was something he was not. He had to play the “perfect son” role because he couldn’t afford to be himself in a place where his existence was deemed wrong.

Also, the fact that he had the capacity to do this- to maintain that role until that Germany ticket landed in his hands while combatting suicidal and other morbid thoughts-

Kid, that sucks. Nicky Hemmick needs a hug.

Also, taking note of this fact makes me appreciate his reactions towards his teammates’ tragedies more.

Like at first I was constantly surprised because I thought it’s such an overreaction to feel sad and almost cry as a reflex to other’s misfortunes (lowkey exposing myself here) 

But to realize he went through such a traumatic experience and can still empathize + sympathize deeply with his teammates-

it just makes me really appreciate that aspect of him- to be able to still be that person and have that sense of humanity despite of the horrific things he went though, that’s amazing.

Let’s talk about the fact that Nicky could’ve just live his entire life in Germany with the love of his life and cut off entirely his connections with his family because he had every right to detoxify his life and live happily for himself.

Nicky was about 19-20ish when he learned that Tilda had died and how he reacted to this by going back because he doesn’t want the twins to be raised by the same people who gave him hell- because he knows the twins deserves better- that’s incredible.

He had absolutely no obligation to, he wasn’t even that old to have that responsibility but he took it.

He came back and fought for the rights to become a guardian for the twins (against his own parents), like that takes so much time and effort and the fact that he did it at like a considerably young age is just so mind-blowing.

I’m not going to act like he’s the best guardian. But let’s not discredit where credit is due.

Despite everything- he gave Aaron and Andrew a home. Provided a roof over their heads, helped them at school (he taught them to speak German), worked jobs to provide for their basic necessities, and assuming Andrew spent all that insurance money on the car, someone has to be working to pay the tuition and bills, right?

And that someone was Nicky. 

(He also got Andrew and Aaron gigs at where he worked at).

Like no one talks about this enough but Nicky lowkey raised the twins. Like, he actually raised the twins.

There is not enough words in this world to describe how overwhelming and amazing that is. 

He had no obligation whatsoever to these two who probably gave him a hard time because as much as I love the Twinyards- they were assholes (I mean they were kind of mean to him for crying out loud, and that’s just on the books- imagine how much more he got back when the twins were probably so distrustful of him) and really, they weren’t Nicky’s obligation because most people forget that Nicky wasn’t that old. 

He was pretty young too. 

And by going back, he’s associating himself with the things that lowkey broke him but he still went and stayed anyway even when he could’ve easily just be happy and cut it all off because despite of everything, he wanted to provide the twins with an at least better option than his horrible parents.

He wanted the twins to have a good life- literally wished for them to heal and be okay and succeed and that amount of love- it’s just amazing. Like, I said that a lot by now but it’s just really amazing.

Nicky Hemmick is amazing.

He was also supposedly only going to stay until the twins finished high school but then Coach Wymack happened and with Erik’s support and his hopes of the twins being happy, he stayed.

I’m not sure about Nicky’s exy abilities, I think he got scolded a lot by Kevin but I like to think that he wasn’t that bad. I really wish we got more exy contents, that one time I got invested in a sport and there wasn’t even a lot of it. 

I also like to believe that he’s more mature than he lets on. Like, he actually knows all that adulting shit.

Also, when Neil noticed that Nicky is just playing his energy levels up to compensate for the Twinyards’ walls because despite everything, he wants to be friends with everyone but can’t because he’s with the monsters and that honestly sucks.

But it’s also commendable that he really tries. 

Ignoring the Eden incident aside, he was actually really great to Neil.

Like, he’s one of the few in the foxes that was friendly to him at the start. 

He also taught him a lot of things (like social cues and all) and did whatever he can to help him.

He’s actually a pretty good friend. 

Also, I lowkey feel for him that despite everything, he still wanted his parents’ validation and approval.

I saw a decent amount of people hate Nicky for this because it was what led to the thanksgiving incident, but I just find it sad.

Because at the end of the day, Nicky was just a son who loved his parents even if they couldn’t love everything he was and the things he stands for, and it’s just sad because even if it was kind of obvious, he just wanted to believe that everything could still mend.

He still wanted to be accepted by them.

Some people don’t deserve to have kids.

But when he realized that it wasn’t going to happen and this brought harm to the twins, he was very apologetic over it and guilty even if it wasn’t his fault, and he chose the twins.

He will always choose the twins. 

"It's about family. Not necessarily the one we were born with, but the one we choose. This one. The people we trust to be part of our lives. The people we care about."

Overall, it’s just really amazing that despite everything, he can look for the positive and enjoy life even if it’s really shitty.

Just ✨Nicholas Esteban Hemmick✨ dude.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Hi Kay!

I just wanted to take a moment and say how deeply moving (and overall comforting) I find your writing to be! I've gone through almost the entirety of your masterlist twice in the past month alone and have found myself returning more often to the pieces of literature/poems your reference sometimes. (Especially that one poem by Benedict Smith! I've read a few more by him because of you and they're just wonderfully lovely 💛 so I'm eternally thankful to you for including it.)

I may be wrong in assuming, but I believe you may have studied/are currently studying a degree involving literature. I hope this isn't too foreward of me but I was wandering if you have any other works of literature that you'd recommend? (I'd love to read anything you recommend from poems to plays 💛) I'm slightly embaressed to say but the works I've read are quite limited to a highschool level and since I'm currently studying Pharmacy, there are very few people who can recommend me such moving works. :)

I also feel like I should apologise for writing such a large ask, so please accept this apology as well hehe 💕🥺

Sincerely,

Bek 🌻

Hey there Bek 💚💕✨

First of all... I'm incredibly sorry for how long it took me to reply to this ask, I know you sent it weeks ago and I'm honestly just ashamed of myself for only replying now! I've been taking a bit of a Tumblr break again, or rather a break from literally everything, and I guess not having written anything in a while made me feel guilty whenever I opened Tumblr, so... All I can say for myself really is that I'm sorry you had to wait so long! Again, I never ever ignore anyone, I promise! It just sometimes takes a while for me to reply 😅🙈

Now, I'm so happy to hear that you've been enjoying my writing! 🥺🥰 Hearing that it's comforting and inspiring to you is honestly such a relief and indeed does make me happy more than I can say 💚 It's so cool that you're checking up on all the references I make aaahhh 🥺🥺🥺 I love it 😁 You're always more than welcome, love! I don't think I could stop including references to literature, culture, history and the science around it even if I tried 😅☺️

And yeah, I did study classics and newer literature as a minor for my undergrad degree 😄 But tbh I still work with literally a lot even now (I'm in grad school for media and cultural studies) even though it's technically not something I've been properly taught ☺️ I'm just a nerd who likes to learn on her own, and with media and culture you can pretty much delve into almost anything you want 😂😅🤷🏻‍♀️

Now, it's not forward at all to ask me for literature recommendations! 😁😃 I truly love recommending stuff!!! I have a few up my sleeve, even though you've probably heard of a few already, for obvious reasons: A lot of what I truly enjoyed reading was something Tom Hiddleston has worked on in one way or another! It's truly a magnificent guideline for picking new literature... Just look up the literary origins of his films/shows/plays and you will be in for quality literature most of the time! I don't think I've ever mentioned it on here, but me reading High-Rise (JG Ballard) because I heard Tom would be partaking in the film adaptation was actually what sparked my love and passion for literature!!! Yep, it's that good. Now on to the recommendations though 😁(This... got rather long):

Plays

Anything by Harold Pinter really, but for obvious reasons you'll find a lot of additionally fun stuff for Betrayal, which is lovely and truly funny if you're in on the kind of humour btw

Medea by Euripides (a classic, but I love it nonetheless... You can find translations in almost every language) ((and pls stay away from Seneca's Medea, because ugh... Euripides is far better AND the og story, as much as anyone can say that for Greek mythology)

La Bohème by Puccini (I know, this is technically an opera, but if you read the libretto it's honestly just like a play... And if you're up for it, the og story is in prose and written by Henri Murger... It's better than the opera, but oftentimes more difficult to find) ((this one is hilarious and basically explains an entire cultural subgroup in the 19th century)

Faust by Goethe (many people hate it, but I LOVE this one!!! It's also been translated into any and every language, and it's so interesting philosophically!!! It's also referenced SO freaking often literally everywhere, and the operas and ballets based on it are always my fave) ((there's technically Faust I and Faust II, but you're good to go just reading the first one)

Anything by Shakespeare, obviously... Though I do love me my Hamlet like every other literature enthusiast (Yes, I can do that one famous soliloquy in act 3 scene 1 by heart as well...)

Poetry

Again, anything Shakespeare for the win, but I LOVE the sonnets and keep a copy of them with me most of the time (Yes, I own multiple copies of the sonnets...) ((My faves are 116 and 91, but there's always so much truth to be found in there!!!))

A lot of the stuff William Blake wrote is amazing, though you have to pick carefully with him if certain religious motives aren't your thing... I love The Tyger, which is an individual poem, and the collection of works called Tyger, Tyger which does have many good ones and a few ones that are a little more on the mediocre side

Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas (I know this one by heart as well... It's beautiful, and there's a version of Hiddleston reading it on YouTube, which gives you even more goosebumps than the poem does anyway)

Invictus by William Ernest Henley (same for this one, also read by the one and only) ((I love to read this when I'm feeling down or powerless))

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot (This is another wow piece with many quotable lines and truths... I love it a lot and keep coming back to it! It's also a great example of how literary modernism tried to condense the complexity and passing of time and history into a single frame that had to be intrinsically poetical in nature... As in, this poem could've been a short story in any other period, but modernists loved to make everything a poem so here you go)

Der Zauberlehrling by Goethe (This one sucks in all English translations I’ve found, poetically speaking, but in German it’s such a fun piece! If you’ve ever seen the Disney ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’ with Mickey Mouse or listened to the orchestral piece by Paul Dukas, then this poem proves very useful in truly understanding either! But again, the English translation should only be taken for informational value... The German one is also worded hilariously)

Prose

Short edited by Alan Ziegler (This is a collection of short prose forms that honestly is a must for me... I love this book to pieces and have had it for years now! It’s an international anthology, so you’ll find more and less famous authors from all around the world represented with short stories, prose poems, short essays and just curious and interesting snippets of writing! I draw a lot of inspiration from this book)

High-Rise by JG Ballard (As mentioned above, I owe this book part of my personality... I don’t think I would be the same person without having read it. It’s not necessarily full of wisdom, but if you’re interested in a different kind of portrayal of the human condition, then this is the read you need to take a look at)

The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers (This is another piece that changed my perception of literature, even though this is a more ordinary and ‘fun’-value read... It’s one of my favourite books and it’s endlessly entertaining! So if the classics are a bit heavy for you, this one is perfect for casual readers as well! Its value really does lie more in the realisation of how fun literature can be, and the freedom you have as an author... So really, I could recommend everything by Moers, his style is amazing both in the German original and in the English translation. Yes, I’ve read both.)

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (This is comedic gold, stylistic gold and generally a bloody perfect book. Also a ‘fun’-value read, but it also does a magnificent job at showing you what you can do with literature, and how well-developed characters are supposed to be written)

The Penguin Book of the Undead (Penguin Classics) edited by Scott G. Bruce (This book is basically an education on fifteen hundred years of supernatural encounters and how culture wrote, used and perceived them. You get introductory texts for different periods and social groups, explaining how and why ghost stories were written and used, followed by passages of the prime source texts (eg. ancient necromancy shown on The Odyssey). Really, this book is just for cultural history nerds)

The Earthquake in Chile by Kleist (This isn’t necessarily one of my faves, but it has helped me understand what studying literature and culture can do for you. In case anyone remembers my insistence in Wicked Game that you gotta know what a pomegranate symbolises... this novella is such an instance where this knowledge would prove useful. Generally, it gives many opportunities to think about privilege and circumstance)

The Symposium by Plato (You’ll probably not want to read the entire collection of speeches tbh... But the concepts introduced mainly here and in some of Plato’s other work are well worth looking into! For example, the ‘double being’ introduces a concept that in modern fiction is called soulmates... Just sayin’)

[ithebookhoarder]

Man’s Best Friend (Javier Peña x GN!Reader)

Description: Living in Colombia, you’d come to expect the unexpected. That didn't mean, however, that Javi wasn't able to still surprise you from time to time. And finding a dog on your couch, next to a bleeding Javi? Well, yeah, that was a pretty big surprise. 

Warnings: Swearing, reference to smoking, references to injuries, blood, references to violence, references to death. (Let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist:

----------

“What is that?”

“A dog.”

“I can see it’s a dog, Javi!” you screeched, staring at the fluffy offender sat at your feet. “What’s it doing in our flat?” 

Javi was rarely speechless, yet the way he went silent was almost incredible. Even for him. It was like he was too scared to even try and explain what the adorable animal was doing in your home, wagging their tail and gazing up at you with their big brown eyes. 

Two brown eyed boys? Oh god. You were doomed. 

“We … we can’t keep it. We can’t have a dog.” 

“I know, I know,” Javi babbled, hands raised in defence. “But hear me out, ok? It was fate.”

“Fate?”

“Yes! I was chasing a suspect after a bust today, and as I was running down an alley, this dog came out of nowhere. Like, nowhere, hermosa, and it knocked me over-“

You tried not to laugh at the image that suddenly came to mind of your normally composed partner, legging it down the street in his aviators, only to face plant the floor after tripping over a dog. This dog too - an average sized furball of all things.

No wonder Steve had spent all afternoon laughing. It also explained the impressive gash on Javi’s forehead. 

“-wait, is that why you’re bleeding?”

“-yes, but that’s not important.” 

“Ooook.” You’d still be finding the first aid kit after this conversation, no matter what he said. “If you say so. Continue.”

Javi rolled his eyes, but did, reaching out to gently pat the top of the dog’s head. 

“As I was saying… this dog tripped me, and I was initially ready to shoot it, but as I looked up, I saw the guy I was chasing run into the road only to get hit by a truck. A fucking truck, carino. A truck that would have hit me too if I’d been following but this dog… it saved me.”

As if able to understand the praise being heaped upon it, the dog yipped, grinning ear to ear in agreement. The fact it wagged its tail so fast you thought it was ready to take off, made the whole thing even more adorable. 

“I mean, it saved my life, Y/N,” Javi explained, sounding more passionate than you’d ever heard him before. It was odd, considering this was the man who barely batted an eyelid at anything. Normally he would just sigh and smoke a cigarette, hiding his emotions behind his signature yellow aviators. “It was a divine miracle or some shit, but he saved me and I couldn’t just leave it on the street. Look at him. He’s all skin and bone. He saved one of America’s finest. Idiots have got medals for less, so a warm place to sleep is the least I can give him.” 

Right. 

Had Javi hit his head harder than he’d realised? 

You could barely take it all in, let alone believe it. The story was almost too fantastical to believe. However, whether or not the story was exaggerated, one thing was clear and that was that Javi had almost been hurt. Or even killed.  

You’d always known life down here working for the DEA was dangerous. Hell, you faced death every single day. But there was something harrowing about the idea that something as mundane as being hit by a truck had almost taken the life of the man in front of you… The man you loved. 

Maybe it had been divine intervention, or maybe it had just been the most freaky and well timed coincidence of your lives. Still, Javi was right that you owed his life to this dog.

But taking it in? Keeping it? 

It didn't help that the dog chose that moment to brush against your leg and glance up at you with shining brown eyes. He was all skin and bone, and it made your heart ache at the obvious neglect he’d suffered. Who knew how long he’d been out there on the streets, fending for himself. 

Fuck. You couldn’t be heartless enough to kick him back out. 

You groaned. 

“Ok. I… I’m gonna need a second to get this all straight, Javi. I mean, this is insane, you realise that?” you whined, dropping onto the couch and burying your head in your hands. 

Was he feeling that guilty about this? Was that why he wanted to keep it? A sense of obligation? 

“When is anything in our lives not insane?” 

“Oh, mi amor,” you began, sitting up a little straighter in your seat, almost the way a parent would when delivering bad news to their child. “We… we can’t have a dog, and trust me, I’d love one. I love dogs.”

You did and he knew it. As it was, you’d grown up with a large German Shepherd who’d been your best friend throughout your childhood. When he’d died a few years before, it had been like you’d lost a family member. 

“So why not keep it?”

“Because we’re never here, Javi,” you scoffed, as if it should have been obvious. “We work insane hours and… and you saw what happened to Steve and Connie’s cat. I don’t want this dog to be at risk because we chose him.” 

“After what happened with Steve’s cat there’s no way a Sicario would hurt our pet. They learned that a pet is still a DEA pet and we come through for our own,” Javi grinned, as if it was hilarious. Then again, that had been one of the most absurd moments of your careers down here. 

“That still doesn’t change the fact we might be working late and can’t be home to feed it or take it for a walk-”

“Well,” Javi grinned, looking way too excited about this, as if he’d figured out where Escobar himself was hiding. His hands reached for yours as turned you to look at him. “You see, hermosa, I already talked to Louisa downstairs - the one with the two kids we see all the time going to school and stuff.” 

“And?”

“And she saw me bringing this old boy here inside, and started telling me how her kids want a dog but it’s a big responsibility-“

You smirked. “It is.”

“-But one she would be happy to teach her kids about,” Javi grinned. “She said if we ever wanted it, they can feed him or watch him when we’re busy. She even said she’d walk it sometimes, when she gets back from work for lunch. That way they can practise without the responsibility of having him full time.”  

Seriously? It was almost too good to be true. You loved Louisa and her two young bundles of joy known as the twins. Ten years old, the boys were sweet and would more than likely love the opportunity to spoil a dog rotten and play with them after school. 

"I don't know," you sighed, lifting you eyes back to his. The fact the dog whined, pressing his head against your knee was almost as if he had rehearsed it. "Maybe?... Like you said... And maybe... I mean, if Louisa doesn’t mind helping out…”

A grin split across his face. "I love you. You won't have to do anything you don't want to."

 "Won't I?" you mused with a half smile, half frown. You’d almost agree to keep the dog just for the pleasure of watching Javier Peña actually pick up dog poop. You would be taking photos for Steve to enjoy, that was for sure. "Let's just see how it goes first. Give it a week or so, and then we discuss this some more.” 

“Thank you… you won’t regret it. I promise. Lucky and I already talked about behaving.”

“Lucky? You named it?”

Javi chuckled. “I thought it fit.” 

It did, to be honest and… Oh shit. You knew you’d be in love with this dog before the week was even out. 

“Welcome to the family, Lucky.”

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Tumblr Writers Q&A

Thanks for tagging me @chaoticgeminate

1) How many complete fics/one shots do you have that you have not published (yet)?

One smutty Matt Murdock one Shot that's coming next week

2) How many WIPS do you have right now?

2 I am actively working on, 4 I am procrastinating (I'm only saying I hate writing threesomes and there are some people who know immediately what I'm talking about lmao)

3) Do you take writing requests or write original ideas, or both?

Both? Like I don't really take requests on here cause I get guilty really quickly if I don't write the requests quickly but yeah. It's mostly original ideas or discord plot bunnies lol

4) If you do take requests, how many do you currently have?

zero

5) How many fandoms do you write for?

uh... currently? Five? It changes weekly tbh

6) Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you no longer write for?

Hiddleston and Cavill

7) Do you write for ships, reader inserts or other?

I write almost only reader inserts. There's an OC here and there, bust most is fem. Reader.

8) Niche fandoms/characters you write for?

I mean... Practically everything I wrote in the Keanu fandom that wasn't John Wick is niche? I do love me some Donaka

9) Do you read fics as well as write them?

way to many tbh

10) What is your favorite genre to write for?

fluff that leads to smut

11) What is your favorite trope (to read/write)?

oblivious lovers is my weakness

12) What do you do to get motivated to write?

uhm... I just need the right idea. And comments on the fics do help I won't lie

13) Is there a trope/genre you like to read, but not write?

I don't think so.

14) Any characters/fandoms you want to write for that are never requested?

nope

15) How long have you been writing fanfiction?

for almost... god 17 years

16) Did you read fanfiction before you started writing?

oh yes. Harry Potter fics my beloved

17) Do you only post on Tumblr, or any other sites as well?

AO3. There are some very very old fics in German on a German fanfic site lmao

18) What do you personally consider the word counts of “Drabble”, “One shots” and “fics”?

Drabble under 1k, one shots at least 2k. fics? Like series? uh idk. depends on the outline of the fic.

19) Which do you prefer to write more? HC, drabbles, oneshots/fics, multi chapter stories, other?

I write Drabbles and one shots mostly. Because, again I get stressed out writing multi chapter stories. If I write them I try to have finished writing them before I post them.

20) Are there any stories you have discontinued? If so, why?

there's two. A John Wick Fic I still plan on finishing at some point and a August Walker fic. I just.. I won't write for Cavill anymore.

21) What is one of your main “pet-peeves” as a writer on Tumblr?

the shitty editor that doesn't seem to be working properly since like a week and anon hate.

22) Do you write at a particular time of day?

I mostly write on weekends. Drabbles can happen (lol) whenever I get inspired though. And the Bruce Wayne fic get posted after writing immediately too.

23) Do you listen to music, ambiance/noise, etc. to write or do you need silence?

just the TV in the background

24) Do you outline your fics at all before writing?

well... The first thing I really outlined is everything that is happening over in the Stay universe. Mostly I have a general Idea what I want to write and then write the complete opposite though lmao

25) Do you post your writing as soon as you finish it, or do you schedule it to come out at a specific time/day?

oneshots are scheduled. Javi stuff happens every Monday and all other one shots get posted on Thursday. Drabbles mostly get posted immediately after finishing them.

Tagging: @the-scandalorian @radiowallet @just-here-for-the-moment @phoebe-danvers @ficsnroses @scorpio-marionette

[docholligay]

Chinese Food in The American West

One of the things I frequently come across as a student of the American West* is that people get most of their information from movies and TV and then act like they know things. Wyatt Earp was not a Lawful Good champion who always did his level best even when it was hard to know. (You want Seth Bullock or Bass Reeves). Racism was far more complicated than white vs not white (I’ve talked about this EXTENSIVELY in Strange Empire, so I’m not going to bore you here**). 

And they didn’t just eat steak. In fact, they rarely ate steak. 

Steak as cowboy food isn’t INACCURATE, but it is MODERN. From about the early 1900s on, you had less and less drives and more and more ranchers who were staying put, with less and less hands needed, and so food was grabbed less “on the go.” Cows could be slaughtered and used to feed the family, allowing for more opportunities for things like steak, yes, but also things like chili, a play on sauerbraten, southern-style biscuits. The cattle drives were a real blend of culture and race, and a lot of what we have left as “Western food” owes a great deal to that. 

And if we leave the cattle drives and head into the towns of the American West, as we will today, we find things like oysters, pies, and various things like that. Far more well-heeled than the general expectation. 

I mean, here’s the menu from the Occidental Saloon circa the late 1880s:

Soups

Chicken Giblet and Consumme, with Egg

Fish

Columbia River Salmon, au Beurre Noir

Relieves

Filet a Boeuf, a la Financier

Leg of Lamb, Sauce, Oysters

Cold Meats

Loin of Beef, Loin of Ham, Loin of Pork, Westphalia Ham, Corned Beef, Imported Lunches

Boiled Meats

Leg of Mutton, Ribs of Beef, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Russian River Bacon

Entrees

Pinons a Poulett, aux Champignons

Cream Fricasse of Chicken, Asparagus Points

Lapine Domestique, a la Matire d'Hote

Casserole d'Ritz aux Oeufs, a la Chinoise

Ducks of Mutton, Braze, with Chipoluta Ragout

California Fresh Peach, a la Conde

Roasts

Loin of Beef, Loin of Mutton, Leg of Pork

Apple Sauce, Suckling Pig, with Jelly, Chicken Stuffed Veal

Pastry

Peach, Apple, Plum, and Custard Pies

English Plum Pudding, Hard Sauce, Lemon Flavor

This dinner will be served for 50 cents.

-I got this from the book “Saloons of the Old West” by Erdoes

But none of that is precisely why I’m here, I just can’t stop myself from talking about this, why I’m here is that one of the things I say that often surprises people, is that Chinese food was incredibly common for the, well, common man to eat. There’s very much a conception that we as a non-Chinese American  people did not start eating Chinese food until the 40s and 50s, and its truer that it took longer to catch on in the American East than the West simply as a matter of proximity and choice. 

Not MORE choice but LESS. Part of what made the West so unique, historically, is that the lack of choice and the basic scarcity caused people to work with and patronize people that their general prejudices would have kept them from using back east, because they had CHOICES. But out in the west, less so. There were few choices for a quick, cheap meal on the go. That dinner I just posted above is a lavish affair, and a great deal at approximately $20.00 in today’s money. (Which does not allow for the fact that cost of supplies has gone up and this dinner would most likely be offered for no less than 70 or so today.) 

People desperately wanted something that was cheap and quick, and the other options in the American West were few, far between, and not intensely pleasing. No one had really come up with the sandwich shop as of yet, and in any case, fresh meats and cheeses would have been too difficult for the low-cost supplier. 

ENTER THE CHINESE POPULATION.

If you have read my Strange Empire blogs, I hope you know that Chinese people were a huge presence in the American West, mostly working for the railroad and various mines, but also doing things like laundry, work that was extremely hard but took little in the way of English speaking. They existed in Chinatowns, for a combination of cultural and legal factors, but it’s a misconception that non-Chinese*** people never went to Chinatown. 

People are not new, and it was not unusual for non-Chinese people to use the laundries, tailoring, and other services of Chinatowns while suppressing the rights of Chinese people int he same breath. There were always individual Chinese people any given non-Chinese person liked and did business with. 

In time, they discovered the inherent wisdom of the noodle bowl. 

I don’t mean to suggest that all these early restaurants served was noodle bowls, but that was where it all started. Remember, Italian food had little prominence in America at the this time, as Italian immigration didn’t really get into full swing until the 1870s in America. While there are noodle traditions half of everywhere, and there is nothing new under the sun, what we today would consider a stir-fry bowl was wildly new to most of the non-Chinese folks in the West. That it could be offered up so cheaply, was so filling, and so delicious (more on this later) was a wild revelation. Everyone from simple cowboys (which, fun fact! Was a slur back then!) to mayors were swinging by Chinatowns to try the dishes. 

By the 1920s, chop suey, a fully Chinese American invention derived from the words for “various leftovers” was a hugely popular American food among all sorts. 

Doc, you may ask, was it just that these folks coming through to get medicines or laundry were SO adventurous? Not at all! Chinese restaurants back then actually, in a very short amount of time, realized that their non-Chinese townsfolk were an excellent way to make money as well, and began to adapt and change dishes to better fit the Western palate, leading what we call American Chinese Food today, which is a legitimate foodway I will defend to my death. Unfortunately, none of these menus survive today--the only ones we have are from places in San Francisco, places that were much more posh, and not the subject of this essay. 

There is a scene in Tombstone where Wyatt and his brothers are eating Chinese food, and it’s one of the things people often ask me about, assuming it’s anachronistic. Actually, it isn’t at all--the anachronism is that there’s broccoli in those noodle bowls, which had not yet hit our shores by the time of the OK Corral. Chinese food was a huge hit, Chinese restaurants were doing extremely well, and some Chinese restaurants were even beginning to attempt to print menus in English, with sit down areas, instead of serving simple fare from food carts. 

As the food from these “chow chow houses” grew in popularity, as we can infer from the advertisements of their competitors promising free potatoes with every meal, and other such niceties to entice, there was, as ever there must be, blowback. Anti-Chinese sentiment grew to a fever pitch, and with this came overt pressure for ‘Good Americans” to patronize ‘American restaurants’. The social pressure is actually where we get some of that old racist jargon about Chinese people serving dogs and cats, which people often think was spread by competitors to degrade the Chinese restaurants, which isn’t UNTRUE, but was just as often said sheepishly by someone who couldn’t stop themselves from going and grabbing a noodle bowl or even the American dishes they offered, such as roast chicken or pork chop sandwiches. 

(I won’t comment with anything but an eyeroll on the bullshit of people saying they’re ~allergic to MSG~ okay I’ll believe you when you stop eating processed food, meat, aged cheese) 

It actually kept this type of reputation as being slightly scandalous well into the early 1900s, as being something you ate after the bar, something to be had in the shadows, but it was all for naught, because Chinese food became an important part of American identity. But for all that, no one ever pictures the Lone Ranger chowing down (the American phrase ‘chow’ for food actually comes from these ‘chow chow houses’) on some chop suey, but there’s every reason to believe he would have. American Chinese food is just as American as the Germanically-influenced hamburger. 

(There’s a whole subtopic to go down about Jewish and Chinese communities and Kosher Chinese Food, two marginalized and othered communities coming together, but that’s a WHOLE other topic) 

(Also someone please buy me Chinese food. This shit always makes me so hungry.) 

*The American West is a specific time period, as far as the study of history goes. It covers the period between the end of the Civil War and the New Century, generally, and is, obviously, concerned with the western half of the country. It doesn’t cover stuff like Lewis and Clark (that’s Expansion) or even the Civil War itself, though you cannot possibly hope to study the American West in any level of seriousness without understanding the Civil War. Anyway! I know a lot about America between 1865 and 1900, and am just knowledgeable enough to be dangerous on everything else. Most History nerds are highly specified like this. We’re not as much help to your trivia team as you think.****

**I actually have had little chance to talk about ~European-style xenophobia~ as it played out in the west, because Strange Empire takes a more modern pass at it. But there was a hierarchy of “whiteness” as well, as still largely exists in Europe, land of intentionally clean ethnostates. 

***I use the term “non-Chinese” instead of white because believe it or not, non-white people were not magically free of racism against Chinese people. It was horrific and BASICALLY every non-Chinese person was guilty of it to some level, a wild-ass level of hatred that led to Chinese folks not being able to PURCHASE PROPERTY BY LAW in ENTIRE STATES. Being Chinese or Native in this place and time was your Worst Bet. 

****I actually was on a competitive trivia team, you DO want me.

[soyouthinkucanwrite]

Chapter 3 - Unexpected texts

Synopsys: The name of the series is super random, don't mind me. Reader is a postgraduate student at NYU, made a docuseries on her research, and the show got picked up by Netflix. She goes on a press tour and meets Tom on a ‘chat show’. They get together and she decides to stay for a few days in London with him. This could be an amazing few days or more? It’s been interesting writing how they’ll deal with distance and tight schedules once ‘honeymoon’ is over...

Heads up: my first language is Portuguese, so that might explain some things here - of course, I wrote thinking about myself hahaha

Warnings for the series: mention of illicit drugs, angst caused by distance, smut (next chapters, very explicit), anxiety caused by paparazzi, and rude random people taking photos.

Other than that, this is just my guilty pleasure writing so lots of caring sweet Tom and fluffiness.

Chapter 1 - A new city

Chapter 2 - Show time

Chapter 3 - Unexpected texts

This is 2.4k words (approximately)

Later, you were just laying in your hotel room and watching some tv, or telly how they say over here. You wanted to get some sleep and maybe call your parents to tell them about the day. It was so crazy, you didn’t think they’d quite grasp how crazy, but you wanted to include them anyway. I guess maybe especially because of that. Tomorrow you guys had to be at the station super early for the Radio 1 Breakfast with Greg James. 6 o’clock you thought it was that David had told you. You might as well check with him and set an alarm already. So you went to grab you phone for texting him and got a text from an unknown number.

The contact you had saved as “Tom Holland” (with the air quote marks) was calling on Facetime. Shit. This couldn’t be him. Could it? Have you even given your personal number to the producer at Graham? Shit. Just answer it and kill Lukas. You pressed the green button and the screen was dark. There was some music in the background, but it was a little muffled. And sure enough, there he was. Smiling at the phone slightly bellow his eye level. He’s hot. You look like shit with zero makeup and your hair in a crazy pony tail.

“Hi!” He said laughing. “Do you believe me now?”

“Hi…this is embarrassing. Sorry! I have the worst friends and is just like them to try to pull a prank on me because of this” You answered.

“No worries, darling. I’m a little sad you’d think me texting you is laughable though.” He joked.

“You know what I mean! Like I said, Tom Hanks wanting to work together I would have an easier time believing.” You laughed.

“Maybe I want to work together. By the way, I’m glad you did, but for future reference, you probably shouldn’t use your personal number for these things.” He advised you.

“Well, it’s not like I have more than one number so…” You told him.

“Your agent’s then.” He clarified.

“I don’t have an ‘agent’.” You emphasized the last word.

“Well, you should probably get one then, darling. Trust me on this one.” He was walking and the music got louder for an instant and then muffled again. Looks like a bar or the outside of a bar at least.

“Are you in a bar?” You asked him laughing.

“Excuse me, not a bar, a PUB. And no, I’m on the sidewalk of a pub, actually. Going home.” He said. “And you are…?”

You were kind of getting what he wanted from you and that was kind of annoying actually. He’s a movie star for god’s sake. Can’t he get a girl in whatever pub he’s at right now? “Busy actually.” You answered him.

“Oh sorry. Terrible timing, huh? I asked for your number this afternoon, after the show. But the bloody PA just sent me it right now. He might lose his job for this. Took him a lot of convincing, ya know?” He was talking and walking, you could see he was clearly trying to start a conversation and all that in the middle of the street.

“So you just got it and couldn’t wait to text me huh?” You teased.

“Kind of, yeah. The two pints probably helped me build the nerve. I’m not usually like this. I barely facetime my friends.” He told you.

“And in the middle of the street. If you get mugged, I don’t want to be accounted.” You were relaxing a bit and sat on the bed leaning on the headboard. He laughed at your joke. Maybe he was just drunk and not really after a booty call. “I thought you british were famous for spending nights at the pub. Why you leaving so early, anyway?” You asked.

“Got to get up early tomorrow for a work out.” He answered simply.

“Of course you do” You said.

“And I much rather talk to you too.” He said.

Silence. What do you answer to that? Is he flirting with you? He’s definitely flirting with you.

“Ahem” He cleared his throat. “I really did liked your show, you know? It’s really something.” He said.

“You did? Thank you. Means a lot.” You said. “I’m still shocked it’s getting this much attention, to be honest.”

“Why? I’m shocked no one’s done it before. Is such a good idea. But maybe if they’ve done it, it wouldn’t be the same. Cause your presenting is probably what makes it that good.” He had stopped walking and you could hear keys juggling in his hand. “I live really close to the pub. I know” He laughed and you laughed back. “Hey!” He said to someone outside the screen and started to walk up stairs.

“Do you live with someone else? Your parents?” You asked.

“Uhh…no, no. I mean yeah, my mates Harrison and Tuwaine and my brother Harry. It’s just Tuwaine and his girlfriend downstairs though, I think.” He told you while taking off his shoes.

“Hey don’t go cockblock your friend now” You laughed.

“Never. And always.” He joked back. “Thought you’d be out enjoying London tonight, or were you planning on going out later?” He asked you in a thick accent.

“What? No, I’m a serious business girl. No time for shenanigans” You said laughing, so he’d know you were joking.

“Shenanigans” He laughed back. “Your English is better than mine you know?”

“Oh I’m sure” You answered sarcastically. “Flattering will get you far, but lying will not”

“I’m serious. If you haven’t said it today I’d think you’re American. You kind of have a New Yorker accent” He said.

“Yeah? ‘Fuhgeddaboudit’” You said in a thick accent and you laughed together. It was fun talking to him.

“What other languages do you speak?” He asked you when you stopped laughing.

“Portuguese, English…Spanish, Italian, a little bit, and German” You answered while counting your fingers.

“No way. Say something in German. By the way, I’m still here, I’ll just change these clothes.” He said while putting the phone on the nightstand and getting out of the frame. He was taking off his clothes, you thought. And he wanted you to say something in German.

“Nennen sie das Ärger?” You said, without thinking everything through.

“Now say the same in Portuguese” You heard his voice but didn’t see him.

“É isso que eles chamam de problema?” You said again.

“Yeah, portuguese is defenitely sexier.” He laughed and grabbed the phone again to sit on the bed. He was shirtless and with his head on the headboard of the bed. “What did you said anyway?”

“Excuse me, I wasn’t aware I’d have to translate it.” You mocked being offended.

“Oh so it WAS dirty. I thought I was imagining.” He teased you.

“You’re smooth.” You shook your head. “I’m still not saying it. You’ll just have to learn Portuguese, or German.”

“I’ll learn Portuguese if you teach me.” He said. “How long are you here for?”

“Just till tomorrow.” You said. “Flying back to New York tomorrow night.”

“More interviews?” He asked.

“Tomorrow’s the last one actually. But I’m traveling with David, he makes the show with me, and I’ve kept him from his fiancé long enough. That and we have to prepare for big meeting with executives next week, you know find an agent and stuff.”

“I could talk to my agent if you want to, he’s an actors agent but maybe he knows someone for other kinds of jobs” He said. “You don’t have a fiancé to get back to, do you?”

“No. No fiancé or jobs for that matter.” You laughed. “And I’m not even sure what kind of jobs would those be.”

“Publicity deals. If I had a brand, I’d want you to be the face of it. It’s the face of diversity and youth, isn’t it? It’s a beautiful face” He said.

“The face of diversity and youth?” You laughed. “Now you’re the one confusing me with Tom Hanks” You joked and he laughed out loud. “I could use some friendly recommendation though, on the agent thing. I don’t even know where to start looking and sounds like the type of thing you don’t want to ask the wrong people” You added.

“Yeah, sure. He’ll know someone for sure.”

“Thank you”

“Glad to help! Really!” He smiled at you. “So where you going tomorrow?”

“Breakfast show at Radio 1. Greg James I think” You answered.

“Oh he’s great! We were there today. You’ll have a great time! It’s a bit early, no? Am I keeping you from sleep? Do you want to hang up?” He was cute, all concern and stuff.

“Yes, yes and no. I’m enjoying you keeping me from sleep.” You said. Maybe it was the time, but that was kind of bold Ana. Good job?

“Good. I’m enjoying it too.” He said while you were getting under the duvet, getting cozy. “Are you enjoying London? What’s your favorite place so far?”

“I loved what I’ve seen from the car window” You answered sadly. “And all the studios we’ve seen.” You laughed a little. “But since we’ve landed it’s been go go go.”

“That’s a great song though.”

“I can’t believe you got that reference.” You said surprised. You love The Maine.

“I love The Maine. Honest. ‘Where I come from you learn to make the best of things’”

“‘But honey since we’ve met you know you’ve had the best of me’” You mock singed together and laughed when you finished the verse.

“OH MY GOD DO YOU WANT TO MARRY ME?” He joked while laughing.

“YES! AND WE CAN GET ON THE ROAD CHASING INDIE BANDS ON TOUR?” You joked back.

“I mean, that’s the dream, that’s the dream.” He said. “I can’t believe that you haven’t seen London though. Wish you’d stay longer, I could take you some places. If you’d like, of course” He said.

“Don’t you have work? I though movie stars didn’t have time for tourism in their own home town” You teased.

“I’m sure movie stars don’t. Good thing I’m not one.” He said smirking.

“Ok, and where would you take me then?” You asked. Where you really contemplating extending your trip just right now? Get a grip on yourself woman.

“Uh, I don’t know. Parks?”

“Parks?” You laughed.

“And pubs.” He laughed too. “To be honest those are the only places I go to when I’m home. I take my dog on walks and drink with friends.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad life to me.”

“No, I guess not.”

You guys kept talking for hours about everything and nothing. Favorite music, food, drinks, spots for each of those in different cities. You lived in NY but had lived in Berlin before and he was interested in that and you were very interested to hear about the places he’d been, but mostly about London.

“So you actually live here?” You asked him.

“What you mean? London? Yeah.”

“But don’t you work more in LA and stuff? You have a place there too?”

“Uh, no, actually. I don’t work there as much. No as much to justify getting a place anyway. If I’m honest, I haven’t stayed in the same place for too much time, unless I’m off work. And then I’ll be here. Closer to the family. Friends. You know.” He told you.

“That’s nice. It sucks to be away all the time”

“You probably know what I mean. There was a time I was considering getting a place in LA, you know, that whole Hollywood thing. And I was kind of seeing someone there at the time, so that might have had some influence in the decision. We were looking at houses and they were amazing, huge and crazily luxurious.”

“You were going to move in together?”

“No, she was just helping me look for places. Anyway, it didn’t worked out and in the mean time I found this house here so it was for the better I think.” He was opening up to you. “That’s really not for me. That whole life. Mansions, cars, the paparazzi.”

“Listen, I’m not sure how to break it to you. But you might not have chosen the best work line then.” You joked.

“No joke” He laughed. “I know it’s part of the job. At some extent. But I don’t need to go looking for trouble too. This way I’ll just deal with all that when I’m at the states and here I can focus on something else. Spend that money with something else. Spend my time with people that I actually care about and care about me. You know?”

“I like your mind” You said without thinking and there was a while of silence between the two of you.

“I think that’s the best compliment I ever gotten” He said.

“Shut up. You know what I mean.” You blushed.

“I know. And that’s why.” He smiled. “I like your mind too. I like that you don’t filter it. You’re genuine” You had blushed and closed your eyes at his compliment. When you opened them he was smiling at you. “You have the most amazing green eyes, you know that? They’re beautiful. And smile too. I love your smile.” You turned your head to the side, like you didn’t understand what he was saying, but you did. You were only studying him.

“Where you getting at Holland?”

“Can I see you tomorrow? Will you have sometime after your interview?” He asked.

“Yeah. I have the day actually, my flight is not until 11 at night, I think. When you want to meet?”

“I can pick you up right after and we can grab some lunch, sounds good?”

“Yeah, sounds perfect” You said and looked at the clock, it was 02:38 in the morning. “But I should probably try and get some sleep now, or I won’t be a real person tomorrow.” He touched the screen on his phone, probably looking at time himself.

“Shit, that’s late. Sorry, I didn’t felt the time” He apologized.

“Me neither” You smiled. You wanted to say more, like how amazing it was talking to him and that’s why time flew like that, how you haven’t felt that in many years. But you didn’t.

“Okay, I’ll let you go now. See you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow Holland” He laughed. “What?”

“I like how you call me by my last name. Sounds good. See you tomorrow (y/l/n)”

“I liked how mine sounded in your English accent”

“Yeah? Did I pronounce it right?” He laughed.

“Close enough” You laughed. “Alright, good-bye now”

“Tchau” He said while you hanged up, catching you by surprise.

You couldn’t believe what just happened. Oh boy indeed. You were sure you weren’t even going to be able to sleep tonight, smiling in the dark to yourself like that. Get a grip woman.

[thetriggeredhappy]

I love your idea of scout bein born early. Would it be too much trouble for you to write abt him bein in the hospital? And maybe possibly spy findin out?

this feels like a slightly different angle than the prompt, anon, but in my defense that’s what always happens

(warnings for alcohol mention, non-graphic injury and briefly being in a hospital)

-

The phone rang three times before it was picked up, and Scout used all three of those rings to try and get his story straight in his head. Then it was picked up and a familiar and very pleasant voice said “Hey, this is Pauling,” and he wasted exactly zero seconds to start talking.

“Alright so I kinda need some help, Miss P,” he opened with, because frankly those were some cards he knew were gonna end up on the table no matter how he played this.

“What did you do?” she asked immediately, and fuck, she was on to him.

“I—listen, I didn’t even do anything.”

“What did you do?” she asked again.

“...So, okay, promise you won’t be mad.”

“I’m already mad, Scout. What did you do?”

Scout worked hard for about three seconds to figure out a good way to phrase the next few sentences. “...So I was just at this bar, right, and I was minding my own goddamn business—“

“Scout.”

“I was!” he said, a little defensive. “Seriously! And this guy sees me across the bar, and, y’know, figures out I’m one of those guys from the newspaper who keeps causing trouble—“

“Were you in uniform?” she asked dryly.

“Nah, but, uh, Soldier and Cyclops were there, and some of the other guys were there earlier, and Soldier had his stupid helmet on, so, y’know. Bunch of foreigners and some G.I. Joe lookin’ guy, wouldn’t be hard to piece it together. And most of the guys left, and Soldier and Demo walk off, and I’m left alone just finishing my drink before I head out, like ya do.”

“Like you do,” Miss Pauling hesitantly agreed.

“And this guy goes, hey, three dudes is a lot, but I could take this one guy. And he comes up to me, right, all like ‘Hey what’s up I’m a drunk dude who wants to get in a fight like an asshole’ and I’m like ‘Hey nah I’m good actually’ because like, I’m busy and that’s stupid, right?”

“Right,” Miss Pauling agreed. “Really stupid.”

“Right! So I’m like, ‘Hey, fuck off pal’ and he just takes a fuckin’ swing at me, and I’m like ‘Hey actually fuck this I already paid I’m just gonna get outta here’ and I try to leave, but the dude just like—just grabs me by the arm and breaks my fuckin’ wrist, and I knock my whole glass over because holy shit, and a whole fuckin’ brawl kicks off, right—?”

“So long story short you need me to pick you up from jail again,” Miss Pauling cut in, voice laced with heavy exasperation.

“Nah, bartender saw everything and I didn’t get in any trouble. I, uh. I need you to pick me up from the hospital, actually,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as a nurse wheeled a cart by.

“Scout.”

“Look, I would’a just headed back to base, but it was like two in the morning and Medic was probably asleep and the bartender guy was bein’ all nice about it and how am I supposed to tell him I’ve got this crazy German guy who fixes all my bones and shit and don’t gotta go to a real hospital?” he asked, a little defensive. “Then they wouldn’t let me leave unless someone drove me because I’ve got a cast on and can’t drive, and I figured I shouldn’t wake you up or whatever at like four in the morning, so, I ended up taking a nap on a bench, and now it’s like ten so I figured you wouldn’t be mad.”

“Well, I can’t drive you back to base—“

“Aww, what?” he whined.

“—because I’m currently in Japan on business.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s fair,” he admitted.

“But I’ll send someone to pick you up,” she said. “Be ready to go in two hours.”

“Sure thing. Who are you sending?” Scout asked.

“I’ll send Spy,” she replied, and kept talking before Scout could start to complain. “Look, maybe now you’ll learn not to get in bar fights.”

“Miss P, c’mon!” he whined.

“I’m sending him. Two hours,” Miss Pauling said, and hung up on him, at which point he sighed so hard he got looks from two nurses down the hall.

Spy pulled up in his nice shiny car an hour and forty-five minutes later, and gave him a look that immediately made him feel guilty even though it totally wasn’t his fault that he was in this situation. He shifted on his feet for a second before heading over to the car. Silence.

“Wanna sign my cast?” Scout joked.

“Just get in the car.”

He did, deciding that maybe further hilarious commentary wasn’t going to help him out this time. Silence for a second. 

He reached for the radio. Spy smacked his hand away. “Put on your seatbelt,” Spy said flatly, and Scout did, although it was a bit of a struggle one-handed, and they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

About thirty seconds of quiet again before Spy broke it. “So you’re a hired mercenary, but one drunk man in a bar can break your arm?” Spy asked.

“Go to hell, Spy,” Scout mumbled.

“I just find it interesting is all,” Spy said, tone light. “That we apparently need to babysit you or else you’ll end up in the morning paper.”

“What?”

Spy reached down between his door and the seat and pulled forth a newspaper, which he promptly tossed into Scout’s lap. “Third page.”

Scout flipped the newspaper open and found that there was indeed an article there. A brawl at the bar, minor property damage, five people arrested and several more fined, two sent to the hospital. He wasn’t mentioned by name, but he did see himself in the background of the picture beside the title.

“You’d think you would have the awareness not to get caught in a... brawl, I believe they called it?” Spy asked.

“Hey, I keep my head on a swivel,” Scout defended, closing the newspaper and tossing it into the backseat. “Everything was fine until Cyclops and Helmet-Head ditched me.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Spy hummed.

Scout frowned. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“No, I’m just certain that you’re giving the full unbiased truth, even though I theoretically have no way of verifying anything you say to me about what happened,” Spy shrugged, eyes on the road.

Scout frowned further. “You callin’ me a liar?”

“No, I’m calling you a bad liar,” Spy said dryly.

“Well it’s true, that’s really what happened,” Scout said, a little offended.

“It doesn’t matter to me either way, I just wanted you to know that you need better cover stories if you want to continue getting away with your usual shenanigans.”

“Whatever, Spy,” Scout scoffed, glaring out the window.

About a minute and a half of complete silence. Scout got bored glancing around his side of the car and spent a good minute just picking at his cast before he realized he probably shouldn’t do that. He ended up reaching for the radio.

“No,” Spy droned.

“Aw, c’mon! Can’t we listen to something?” Scout complained. “It’s like forty minutes until we get back to base.”

“If you didn’t get in a bar fight and break your arm, it would be zero minutes. But you did, and I’m not listening to your terrible taste in music for forty minutes just because you can’t keep yourself out of trouble.”

Scout pouted over that for a minute or two before he thought of a good retort. “...Y’know, technically the guy probably only even jumped me because I was alone,” he said.

“Correct.”

“And I was only alone because you and all the other guys ditched me.”

“Succinct.”

“So this is kinda sorta basically your fault.”

Spy’s expression didn’t change. “...My fault?” he repeated.

“Yeah. If you didn’t ditch me, I wouldn’t have gotten jumped.”

Spy’s expression didn’t change.

“So you should let me turn on the radio.”

“Mon dieu, perhaps you should have been a lawyer,” he deadpanned.

Silence. “...So can I turn on the radio?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Spy said, and Scout leaned over to fiddle with the dial, grinning.

He really didn’t think Spy would put up with the sort of stuff he usually listened to in the car, so he ended up putting on a station with something old enough that Spy probably didn’t hate it. And Spy didn’t turn it off or pull over to dump him on the side of the road, so apparently he picked something alright.

Ten minutes without talking. Scout looked out his window and tried to remember not to pick at his cast. Because he was looking out the window, he pretty easily caught sight of a sign advertising a diner.

He looked over at a Spy. Spy didn’t look back.

“Can we get diner food?” Scout asked.

“No,” Spy said.

“Please?” Scout asked.

“No,” Spy said.

“Please?” Scout asked.

“Tell me you aren’t seriously going to try this game,” Spy said, already looking annoyed. “You’re a grown man.”

“I’m hungry!”

“Then get something to eat at the base,” Spy said.

“I’m hungry and I have a broken arm and I’m gonna have to deal with Medic fixing my broken arm and also all the guys making fun of me. Can we please get diner food?” Scout asked,

Spy paused for a long moment. Scout’s eyes kept flicking between Spy and the upcoming exit. Spy sighed heavily and moved to take the exit. Scout cheered. “I can still change my mind,” Spy threatened. Scout shut up.

Scout double-checked his pockets for his wallet twice before they even pulled into the parking lot. It didn’t look particularly busy, but Spy didn’t pull up near the door anyways. He put the car into park and gave Scout the single most unimpressed look of his life.

“I’m giving you five minutes to order and get back in this car or I’m leaving without you,” he declared.

“Did you want anything?” Scout asked, fumbling with his seatbelt.

“Do I want terrible greasy American diner food?” Spy scoffed.

“Look, just thought I’d fuckin’ ask, alright? Jesus,” Scout mumbled, managing to get his seatbelt off. “And that doesn’t answer my question. Do you want anything?”

“Four minutes and fifty seconds,” Spy drawled, and Scout quickly got out of the car.

There wasn’t anyone in line, and luckily the diner was staffed by the kind of people who didn’t ask questions beyond giving a pointed glance towards his cast. He kept his order simple and kept an eye on the clock on the wall, and bolted back into the parking lot with the paper bag of food in hand wondering if Spy would seriously actually ditch him.

Surprisingly, Spy had left on the radio, and raised an eyebrow at him as he tried his best to bundle himself into the car one-handed. He managed to get his seatbelt on with only a minor scare about almost spilling the food, and promptly started digging through it as Spy pulled them back out of the parking lot.

“Here,” Scout chirped, holding something out to him. Spy frowned, glancing at his mirrors and taking what was being handed to him distractedly. They were out of the parking lot and back on the road by the time Spy actually looked at it.

“What is this?” he asked dryly, looking at the paper-wrapped something.

“Chicken sandwich,” Scout replied, pulling his own food out. “I uh, I think I got ketchup in here too—“

“Why did you get me a sandwich?”

“Why not?” Scout shrugged, unwrapping his burger and glancing it over before taking a bite and frowning. “Aw, man, I wanted cheese on this. Damn.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“I mean, if you don’t want it, I’ll probably eat it.”

“No,” Spy said, and hesitated. He waited until they were at a stoplight before moving to unwrap the sandwich, glancing it over with a critical eye. Scout noticed that he didn’t take it completely out of the paper even when he did move to start eating it, instead using the paper to hold it. Probably worried about grease or something on his dumb gloves. Usually Scout would make fun of him about it, but he was pretty sure he was very close to getting kicked out of the car.

He wolfed down his hamburger (even without cheese) and started getting to work on his french fries, being extra careful due to the fact that he was pretty sure Spy would kill him if he dropped a fry in his nice, fancy, very very clean car.

He could only play it cool for so long once a joke occurred to him, though. He grinned, taking a fry and holding it between two fingers up near his face. “Hey, look, I’m you,” Scout joked, pretending to take a drag.

Spy spared him a glance and promptly rolled his eyes, returning to glaring at the road. “Not even close.”

“Aww, what?” Scout complained.

“First of all, I’m better dressed,” Spy quipped. “Second of all, I’m taller, and third of all, I didn’t get my arm put in a case because of a bar fight. Shall I continue? The list goes on.”

“Well why are you gettin’ personal about it?” Scout asked, bristling. “I was just makin’ a joke, sheesh.”

“How was I meant to know? Usually jokes are funny,” Spy said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Scout didn’t have a good comeback for that, just sinking in his seat and moving to look back out the window.

A good ten minutes of silence again, broken only by the radio and the hum of the car. Scout finished his fries and put his trash back in the bag the way that Spy seemed to be doing, then crossed his arms over himself and just looked out the window at all the nothing. Silence. Road.

Surprisingly, Spy spoke first. “You’ve missed two Volkswagen Beetles,” he noted.

Scout didn’t say anything.

“Usually when we pass one of those you punch me very hard on the arm and I almost crash the car because you’re an idiot.”

Scout sunk further in his seat, but didn’t say anything.

“Am I meant to gather from this that the way to get you to stop doing that is by making you angry with me? Because if so, clearly I’ll need to be much worse to you from now on if I want to keep this vehicle in one piece.”

“Like that’s even possible for you,” Scout said under his breath.

“I didn’t need to come pick you up from the hospital, nor did I need to let you turn on the radio, nor did I need to pull over to allow you to get food from the diner,” Spy pointed out. “All things considered, I’ve been very nice to you so far.”

“What a saint,” Scout mumbled sarcastically.

Silence. “Do you have something to say?”

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about this, alright Spy?” Scout finally huffed.

“And why not?”

“Look, I’ve had a shitty night, okay?” Scout snapped, glaring hard at the desert outside the window. “I got my arm broken in a stupid bar because the guys got annoyed and ditched me and I was up until like four in the morning getting my arm set and put in a cast and then I had to sleep on a shitty bench in a hospital waiting room and then Miss P sent the one person on the planet who hates me more than anyone else to pick me up. I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this right now, okay? Just lay off.”

Silence. Thank god for the radio, or he would’ve suffocated in it.

“Surely I’m not the person who hates you the most in the world,” Spy said after a few moments. “There are nine men being paid to kill you on a daily basis. I’m sure they hate you much more than I do.”

Scout didn’t reply to that.

“And I’m sure none of them would have pulled over to let you get something to eat,” he added.

“Yeah, holy shit, your Peace Prize is in the mail,” Scout huffed.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Scout snapped, finally looking over at him. Spy couldn’t hold eye contact for long, needing to watch the road. “What was that supposed to mean?”

Spy sighed hard, looking extremely irritated. “It means that have you ever considered that perhaps the team worries when someone goes missing? And that occasionally your teammates might worry about you?”

“How was I supposed to know? Usually teammates are supposed to be nice,” Scout sassed, echoing Spy’s earlier joke.

He watched Spy take a measured inhale, a controlled exhale. When he spoke a long few seconds later, his voice was level. “Fine,” he said. “Alright. You’ve made your point.”

Scout just turned to look back out the window.

“...And I’m sorry we left you alone at the bar.”

His head whipped back around, eyebrows furrowed. Spy wasn’t looking at him.

“And I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier, and thank you for also getting me a sandwich when you didn’t need to,” Spy continued.

Scout waited a good few seconds for the catch, for the ‘gotcha’, for the punchline. For the part where Spy would twist the words around and hit him with something really biting once his guard was down. But nothing came. Just silence.

He needed a long moment to figure out how to reply. “...Thanks,” was all he could manage, and he knew it was lame, but Spy just shrugged and made no further comment.

Minutes of silence. Scout looked out the windshield, picked at his cast. “Punch buggy,” he quipped a few minutes later, slugging Spy on the shoulder with his good hand, and Spy made an appropriate sound of disgust and annoyance and offhandedly threatened to make him walk the rest of the way, but Scout just laughed.

[mihidecet]

I see You

I’m back on my bs yall. This is meant to be a companion piece to this so if you’re in the mood for some pure and extremely shameless comfort maybe check it out?

I somehow ended up writing 3.8K of Manburg family dynamics, set in an alternate universe where none of the extremely messed us stuff of the canon happened. ((we could have had it all))

Once again do not take this as ship content!! Let’s normalize platonic cuddling and being close with your friends without it being sexual!! Pretty pretty please!!

Contrary to popular belief, Schlatt is not that dense when it comes to feelings. 

His ignorance of other people's emotions is a willing act of defiance. Defiance towards whom, you may find yourself asking?

… Anyway.

Schlatt does notice things. Stuff happening around him. And he does remember them.

He knows Tubbo takes his morning tea with two spoonfuls of honey, and a slice of bread with any marmalade on it except raspberry, which as it turns out he doesn't like. Schlatt stops providing raspberry marmalade, but it never really gets questioned. 

He knows Fundy will get scraped up while exploring during the day, and will always forget to bandage himself up properly, so he makes sure to mention it in passing to whoever is near him at the end of the day - just to know that people will check up on the kid. He doesn't need to go himself, Fundy would never allow him to take care of him directly, and he's not going to subject either of them to that situation. 

Most of all, he notices Quackity - with him being the Vice President, they're around each other a lot. 

Quackity is a bright light in the cabinet. 

While Tubbo is a warm late afternoon glow and Fundy is burning fire, Quackity is sunshine by the seaside on a midday spring day. 

Quackity likes coffee, but only if it's been drowned with sugar. He likes singing, humming tunes to himself as he works or while he cooks - he does it for everyone, whenever he has the time to, and he is one of the best cooks there are. He likes to debate, bringing up topics to talk about during slow times, engaging Tubbo into verbal spars. He makes sure that Fundy has eaten at least three times per day, and that he's gone to sleep at a decent time. 

He smiles to himself whenever he finishes a document. Ruffles Tubbo's hair. Touches Fundy's shoulder to stop him to ask him how he's doing. Taps Schlatt's shoulder to catch his attention.

Quackity is a very tactile person. 

Schlatt remembers him hugging people, throwing arms around shoulders, laughing out loud with tears at the corners of his eyes. 

So it's no wonder that a couple of months into their presidency, with work and paperwork occupying most of their days, Quackity is both overly stressed and constantly fidgeting.

It comes to a point when Schlatt catches him visibly reaching out to people and then backing away, awkward and embarrassed, mumbling excuses before making a joke of being lost in his mind due to work.

That cannot continue. It simply cannot. 

Schlatt finishes his paperwork an hour early that night, then he takes a swig from one of his already opened bottles for good luck and gets to work.

The trip from his study to Quackity's is almost too long - it gives him almost enough time to change his mind, almost enough time to chicken out and just plan something else, maybe unleash Tubbo on him. But before he can formulate the idea in his mind, he's standing in front of the oak door and his hand is already raised to knock. 

Too late to back down. A part of him reasons, despite the fact that it isn't. 

"Come in." Quackity's voice answers after he raps his knuckles against the wood. 

The room inside is dimly lit: the only source of light is a small table lamp that shines a beacon on Quackity’s documents as his pen flies on the paper sheet, the man’s slightly hunched back straightening when he notices him entering, a small tired smile appearing on his face. 

"What are you doing here?" He asks, his head tilting lightly to the side - then bending further, one hand coming up to rub at his neck with a slightly pained expression. Schlatt advances, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging while Quackity seemingly discovers more and more sore spots along his back. 

"I finished my paperwork, I figured I'd stop by."

"Oh, cool. -” he replies with one final satisfied grunt “- I'm almost done with this."

Schlatt nods absentmindedly, gesturing vaguely with a hand towards a nearby armchair: "You mind?" There’s a moment of confused silence as Quackity looks at him as if he’s grown a second set of horns, a mixture of surprise, amusement and incredulity overcoming his features, then he shakes his head and chuckles to himself. To be fair, any other night he’d have flung himself on his bed the instant his paperwork had been done. Still, Quackity recovers quickly, nodding towards him and swiftly resuming his work.

It’s hard not to fall asleep with the sound of his friend’s pen running over paper calming his nerves, the dimness surrounding them and the comfiness of the armchair under him. He remembers when Quackity had brought it in, slightly old looking and covered in a transparent sheet of plastic: he’d called it a lifetime occasion, found in a yard sale, and Schlatt had doubted its usefulness - after all, they had a couch in the livingroom and multiple chairs for each of their desks. 

And yet, there hasn’t yet been a day when the armchair wasn’t occupied by someone. When the days are cold, Tubbo can often be found curled up in it with a mug of hot chocolate and a blanket safely tucked around his shoulders - by whom should be quite obvious. And sometimes, when the nights are too long and sleep avoids Fundy, he retreats there, silently, and turns the armchair so that he can keep a watchful eye over Quackity as he works - that is, until sleep finds him, comforted by the knowledge that they’re all safe and alive. 

There’s a small bookshelf next to the armchair, filled with tomes both bought, found and written - some in English, most in Spanish. Quackity is nothing but fond and proud of his collection, and while Schlatt’s not going to tell anyone, he has read plenty of poems from the books that looked the most used. He’s aware that his Spanish isn’t the best, but it helps with keeping his knowledge fresh. 

His eyes catch on a thin book that he doesn’t remember seeing before - its title along the spine is a mesh of letters, with way too many consonants, and definitely in a language he doesn’t know. Picking it up, he figures it will help with his task of not falling asleep as he waits, but alas, as on the spine, the whole book is filled with too many long words - is that a whole line of just one? Who made this up?

He starts flipping back to the incipit, in hope of at least finding the author’s name. When he reaches it, though, what catches his attention first isn’t the name itself - Goethe, ah, that’s it, German - but a hand-penned inscription just below. 

“Hey Da Dumbass, I heard you like poetry in foreign languages. Try and read this. Fundy.”

Thankfully, the sound of a satisfied grunt reaches his ears and unknots the tightness in his throat and distracts him from the warmth spreading in his chest.

Behind him, Quackity - he calls him dad - stretches his arms behind his back and sighs. 

"Alright, this one's done! -” he starts, smiling proudly to himself before shooting a somewhat guilty look towards the rest of the documents piled up on his desk “- You know, you don't have to wait for me, I figured since it's not so late I could get a bit of stuff done ahead of time-" Schlatt levels him with an unimpressed stare, then claps the book closed and places it back in its original place before standing up and making his way towards his still sitting friend. 

"Alright, that's it." Quackity looks visibly confused, even a bit worried, as he leans back into his chair, but Schlatt is a man on a mission: he won’t be swayed by it, this is supposed to be an intervention. He stops once he’s close, standing up right next to Quackity, and his friend looks nervously up at him, a high pitched self conscious chuckle escaping him. 

"Wh-what- what's up?" Schlatt gives him a quick look just to confirm his theory, but he knows him. And most importantly, he knows himself, he knows he can manage it. 

"You, in a moment-" He quips, bending down and quickly scooping the shorter man up, one arm under his legs while the other supports his back and then- 

"Wait, hold on- hold on I-” Quackity starts to protest, but by then Schlatt already has a secure hold on him, so up they go, followed by a yelp by Quackity himself as he is quite suddenly hoisted up into Schlatt’s arms, one hand reaching out and wrapping around the taller man’s shirt with a vice-like grip as he splutters, eyes wide as saucers.

“HOLY SHIT-! HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!" 

And to be completely fair, Schlatt is not one to back down from the chance to boast at this type of thing, so he simply shrugs and squeezes him closer with a self satisfied smirk: "I told you I lift, you dumbass."

"I- I- put me down." Quackity gapes, seemingly still wrapping his head around the sudden switch in situation; the way he leans into the hold is probably unconscious, but it does confirm his theory that his vice president, his closest friend, is in desperate need of being on the receiving end of some care and comfort. And he knows, deep inside himself, that he’s not the best candidate for the job, but if nobody’s going to do it then he is for sure going to. 

"I will in a moment. You need sleep." He replies, tone firm but not loud, reaching out with a hand to turn off the desk lamp - inwardly thanking the low light coming from the torches in the corridor for allowing him not to make a fool of himself by immediately tripping on his feet. 

"I- alright, but I can get to my room on my own!" Quackity protests, sounding flustered, and Schlatt has a moment of hesitation as the sudden fear of having overstepped a boundary hits him. Maybe he shouldn't have done this. Shit, fuck, he's screwed this, hasn't he? 

But as he pauses for a moment to look down at Quackity, to asses the situation, he realises that the man is actually clutching at him, and his head is resting under his chin - the soft fabric of the beanie pushing against his cheek the moment he bends his head to look down. Schlatt lets out a steadying breath: he can do this. 

"I know you can. I don't mind doing this, though." He states, firmly but not unlindly, voice softening, and he holds him close again - one armed as he reaches out to close the corridor's door. A huff of breath warms a spot over his chest. 

"I- you're such a fucking showoff, dude." He murmurs, accepting the situation with what sounds like a small smile on his face.

It takes him a minute, but soon he's opening the door of Quackity's bedroom. The shorter man, who had been slowly relaxing overtime, leaning more and more into his chest, startles as if waking up from sleeping and tenses up.

"Alright, now you can drop me off." He comments, but Schlatt is a bit more preoccupied with losing himself inside his own mind as he thinks about what to do next, so Quackity stays up - it's not like he's gonna wriggle around and risk falling on his ass on the ground. After a moment, he looks down at where Q's hand is clutching at his shirt, and at where his head is still pressed against his chest. A part of him is enjoying this too, and isn't really ready to let go, but still, this isn't about him. It's about what Quackity wants.

So he forces his anxieties down, swallows around the knot in his throat and tries. 

"What- what if I didn't yet, though." Quackity is silent for a moment after that, but his hand doesn't unclench, so he counts it as a good thing. 

"You're not making any sense, man." 

Schlatt is stood in the middle of the room, holding Quackity up, keeping him close, and he feels like he's balancing multiple instincts wanting to drag him in any direction - anywhere else other than here, right now, when stuff is so confusing and worrisome and he's constantly scared of scaring Quackity off with something weird. 

But yet again, he keeps it down, keeps it quiet. For his friend. 

"I've been seeing how stressed you are. Is this helping? Please be honest." If he had a free hand, he would be running it through his hair, a nervous habit he's been picking back up. Yet, his arms are starting to feel the strain of holding a body up, so he's not going to risk letting him fall to the ground. After what seems like an eternity, another sigh in the form of a warm puff of breath hits his chest as Quackity concedes. 

"... A bit …"

Good, he can't help but think. Communication is key in these situations. In all situations really, but he appreciates the fact that Q is opening up and letting him know he is alright with being held like this. Spurred on by this, he ponders his next words perhaps a bit too little. 

"Is it the caring or the touching?"

Quackity visibly flinches at the wordings, leaning back a little - pushing more strain on Schlatt's right arm - to stare at him with a sarcastic frown.

"Shit, man, you are such a wordsmith-"

Too quick, too many variables lost to the moment, and Schlatt is swept up in the frenzy of the situation - he has never, ever been good at smoothing out situations. 

"Will you just answer-"

"It's both! Geeze, are you happy now?!" Quackity's embarrassed outburst manages to at the same time shut him up and quieten the anxious voices in his head - so he was right, Quackity did like this, and he didn't mind it. Now if that wasn't a win in his book … he sighs, squeezing him close.

"Yeah, kinda. See, it wasn't hard. You little bitch." He comments, tone way too fond for him to be taken seriously ever again, but he figures he's allowed to be a bit soft - it's late, they're tired, and they're the only ones in the room.

Schlatt decides he's not going to subject himself to the mortifying ordeal of starting to lose strength in his arms - he has a reputation to uphold - so he quickly makes his way to the large bed, turns and sits down, inwardly relieved that he's managed to get this far. His nerves still haven't betrayed him. Yet. At least Quackity isn't launching himself on the other side of the room the moment he has a chance not to fall on the ground if he moves the wrong way. 

"What are you doing?" Quackity asks, sounding genuinely confused as he looks up at him with furrowed brows, so now it's Schlatt's turn to splutter indignantly, the arm under Q's legs sneaking up to wave confusedly in the air.

"I'm about to murder you is what I'm doing- what does it look like?! I'm trying to comfort you!"

A moment of silence follows, during which Schlatt stares awkwardly at Quackity's shocked face. Then Q's eyes soften and he starts chuckling, shaking his head for a moment before he lets it fall back down against his collarbone, sneaking an arm around his waist. 

"Feeling real fucking comforted, for sure." He comments, humour loud in his voice as he squirms around for a moment trying to find a comfortable position, quieting a moment later and letting out a small sigh.

"I am going to throw you into the river." Schlatt answers, bringing the hand that was holding his back up to the nape of his neck, fingers dipping under his beanie to lightly scratch at his scalp, pressing his friend's forehead against his neck.

When Quackity answers a moment later, his voice is but a murmur.

"I thought you were here to comfort me?"

"Shut up and be comforted, then, you dumbass." He huffs out, but there's a smile on his face despite the way he tries to seem angry. He is still way too soft to be taken seriously, and he'll be mad about it later, when Quackity will keep making coffee for the both of them, but then he'll lean into him while Schlatt's making eggs for Fundy, and he'll call him soft when he remembers to add the herbs the young fox hybrid picked himself; not to mention how he'll suddenly realise who had been bringing Tubbo back to his room after the kid had fallen asleep on the couch. 

But still, it's worth it, as he slowly grabs the hand that is still gripping his shirt, gently pressing against his fingers until he lets go; he places it back on Quackity's lap, rubbing what he hopes are comforting circles into his wrist - he knows how bad it can get when you spend all day writing, and knows his intuition payed off when his friend's shoulders relax even further.

To be quite honest, Quackity hadn't even realised his writing hand had been hurting. 

A joke threatens to rise in Q's throat, a way to diffuse the situation, a mechanism born from ages of repressing wholesomeness because that's the type of things that get you in trouble, because feelings get treated as a weakness, but he squashes it down, closing his eyes with a sigh as he lets himself enjoy the moment.

The warmth of a hug that is truly meant, the comforting weight of Schlatt's head against the top of his, the blissful peace that he associates with having his hair played with - It's been a while since he had the chance to do this, to feel this. 

He could fall asleep like this, he thinks, eyes closing on their own and body melting into the sensation, and he finds himself floating, suspended - but also grounded, tethered by the points of contact between their bodies. 

He feels- he feels like he did when Fundy tried to teach him German, him stumbling over the words while the other laughed with him; or like all the times Tubbo brought him outside in the garden, guiding him through the steps needed to take care of his beloved pets. 

He feels at home. 

And after a moment, he feels Schlatt relax too, his movements less precise, less rithmic, his shoulders sagging a bit as they lean more into each other instead of just Quackity against him - and doesn't that feel poignant, he thinks, but not pointing it out loud feels like a better choice. 

He feels before he hears the low timbre of Schlatt's voice, unusually quiet due to a mix of tiredness and the silent atmosphere surrounding them. 

"I'm gonna lie back. That alright with you?"

It takes a moment for Quackity to realise that he is asking for permission. He wants to nod, but that would jostle their heads. So he hums in what hopes is a notably affirmative way, and just to be sure his message is correctly interpreted, he turns his palm upward, fingers wrapping around the taller man's wrist, and squeezes.  

He feels a chuckle vibrate through the chest under his cheek; again, quiet, toned down, but this time it also feels like he's trying not to move too much - and that right there makes him want to never stop smiling, especially whenever Schlatt pretends he doesn't care. Because if there is one thing Quackity knows is that he cares so much, despite the fact that he still pretends he doesn't know how a doctor found their way to Fundy's room after he scraped his knee, the poor medic armed as if somebody had just lost an arm. 

Schlatt thinks he's so good at hiding his feelings, and then he stops buying a specific type of marmalade because Tubbo joked about it tasting funny. He is nothing but a dork, and this has just done nothing more than confirm his suspicions. 

The hand in his hair gently cups his head as Schlatt leans back until he's laying on the bed, and Quackity has to swallow back a knot in his throat at the pure, unaltered sweetness with which he is being treated - like he's fragile, but not in a bad, diminishing way: like you would treat a fancy ancient vase, or a masterpiece. 

Quackity squeezes his eyes, feeling himself get watery, and focuses on the fact that like this, he's not that comfortable anymore. There's no need for his legs to be both over his friend's body, so he shuffles back until he's more curled up against his side, half laying on his chest, head still tucked under his chin - by god how perfectly safe he feels with that soft pressure against his temple. 

Schlatt lets him wriggle around, the hand in his hair never moving, and once he stills his other one moves back to his own chest, where Quackity's hand rests against his heart, and his fingers gently wrap around his. 

"This alright?" Comes a murmur from above him and Quackity's fingers squeeze automatically in response, finding himself unable to verbalise an answer at first.

"Thank you." He breathes out a moment later, after he's able to reign in his emotions just enough for him to find his voice again.

"Don't- don't thank me." Comes Schlatt's instant response, the fingers in his hair halting for a moment as he pauses, seemingly deep in thought. When he speaks again, his tone is once again slow and hushed, and his fingers are once more rubbing slow circles against his scalp.  

"You can come to me for this. Anytime you want. I want you to know that you can count on me."

And oh, alright, Quackity thinks, eyes widening for a moment - he has to hurry and squeeze them shut before he starts tearing up, fighting against the way emotions squeeze at his chest; pure unadulterated joy at the knowledge that this is true, this is good and this is his. His small, dumb, weird family, made of mostly jagged pieces that somehow fit so well together. Quackity clutches at the fingers wrapped around his, squeezing maybe just a bit too tight, throat thick and feelings running, and then he simply nods into his friend's collarbone. 

Schlatt just squeezes back - and that's just how they are, two dumbass friends holding onto each other, doing their best.

Minutes later, he falls asleep, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his friend's chest and the gentle feeling of being held.

[enkelimagnus]

Literature

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1756 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

Sam falls asleep on the plane over to Madripoor and leaves Bucky and Zemo alone. They actually talk to each other. I would say it's nice.

TW: brief allusion to past rape, internalized homophobia, brief mention of the holocaust

Read on AO3

Part 20 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

--------------

It’s an eleven hour flight from Berlin to Madripoor, even with Zemo’s private jet. Once drinks have been served, food has been eaten and threats have been made, they all find themselves settling.

Sam has dozed off on a seat, seemingly exhausted. After all, they’ve already travelled the eight hours from the states, and the day has been stressful at best. At least, Sam trusts him enough to fall asleep while Bucky watches Zemo. He wasn’t expecting that. Or perhaps his human physiology is betraying him.

Bucky needs less sleep than a normal human on regular days, and he also can survive much longer sleep deprived. He’s well aware of the limitations of his body. Hydra tested them thoroughly and multiple times. Zemo would know as well, that Bucky might look tired but it doesn’t diminish his abilities as much as it seems.

The man in question is at his seat with his book, though he’s regularly looking up through the windows of the plane or around the cabin. There’s something quiet and wistful about the way he stares at a spot where the carpeting is not perfectly set against the wall to the bathroom.

The silence is good, especially after earlier, where Sam and Zemo somehow managed to gang up on him about Marvin Gaye of all people.

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. He just doesn’t like much music. He’s sort of lost the taste for it. His brain is usually unable to perceive it as anything but unnecessary noise that keeps him from being completely aware of his surroundings. And at least 40s music doesn’t have death and rape associated to it.

And he doesn’t need to know what Steve thought of it, whether Steve loved it or not. He’s not Steve. Steve journeyed light into the 21st century. Everything was something new to learn and experience, it was exciting and bright. Bucky is travelling with baggage. And he has memories attached to songs and tastes and sensations and events.

Bucky simply can’t use the notebook the way Steve did.

Sometimes, he wonders if Sam forgets Bucky wasn’t simply on ice for 80 years. The issue with him is that he lived through most of it, and it was all torture.

Or maybe not all . He woke up craving Karpov’s kasha the other week, and it makes no sense. He only tasted it during one specific time of his life, when Karpov and him got stuck in a safehouse in the snow, with no way to reach the outside world, for two weeks. The Soldier’s rations and formulas ran out long before they were able to leave. Karpov was too smart to let him starve, and perhaps that time alone with the Soldier, away from the world, with no way to freeze him or unplug him had made him see he was still a man. The kasha was warm, and thick, and sweet and sometimes, Bucky remembers that feeling and craves it.

The danger with people like him, America’s Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.

Zemo’s right.

In all honesty, Bucky believes he’s forgotten who Steve really was.

Memories become blurry when they age and no matter how desperate Bucky is to crystalize them, to remember them, to be sure of what he lived, all he manages to do is to frame faded photographs and fill in the blanks himself.

Steve and him didn’t have time. He found him after two years of searching, only for Bucky to be back on ice within two weeks. After that, Steve visited a few times during his recovery, when he introduced him to the goats he’d named after the sisters he finally remembered. And then, there was the War, and the Snap and once Bucky was back to life, Steve was shattered. And two weeks later, he was gone.

They didn’t have time to learn each other again. Bucky doesn’t know who Steve is anymore, half of his memories feel tainted by Smithsonian explanations, and he hates it so fucking much.

He hates that he can’t remember right, he hates that Steve’s slipping away from him every second of every day, that all that is left is the fucking shield and Captain America. That Steve’s legacy doesn’t seem to run deeper than that, else Bucky would have less of a single-minded focus on that fucking piece of useless fucking metal.

It’s only been three months. Why does Steve feel like he’s been gone for a lifetime?

Bucky breathes out a shuddering breath.

When his eyes focus again, Zemo is staring at him.

The book is open on his lap. Bucky can read the title. Same Sex Fantasies in Heterosexuals. Fucking hell. He doesn’t need that right now. At all.

“You’re a different man than the one I remember,” Zemo says quietly after a moment. His voice is soft, just slightly above a whisper. He knows Bucky has sharp ears. He knows he doesn’t need to wake Sam up.

Bucky dignifies that with a huff and looks away for a moment. Zemo’s eyes don’t leave him. He can feel them on him, on his face, on his throat, on his hands, on his body. They make him itch. They make him want to punch him for looking at him like that.

Like what?

You know exactly like what.

When Bucky looks back, Zemo’s indeed still watching him.

“You’re old now,” Bucky says eventually, in a vague answer to what Zemo said earlier.

“Eight years have passed, James. You cannot blame a normal man for something he has no control over.”

Eight years. So Bucky was right. Zemo wasn’t dusted. He stayed in that solitary confinement cell for eight years as the world moved on around him, as the world fought and lost half of its people.

Had he wished to be one of the ones that were snapped out of existence? Probably. After all, every second Zemo breathes and exists is a second more he wasn’t supposed to have. He tried to kill himself in Siberia, once his mission was over.

“Do you ever read normal stuff?” Bucky asks, a bite in his words.

Zemo raises an eyebrow, head tilting slightly to the side. His eyes are still glued to Bucky’s face. He still wants to punch him.

“I would need you to define ‘normal stuff’ to answer this question.” There is a hint of mirth in those brown eyes though. He knows exactly what Bucky means.

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Machiavelli, fucking… whatever this shit is,” he makes a motion of his chin towards the book. It’s in German, something about boundaries in relationships. Hilarious, really. It’s not like Zemo has anyone to set boundaries with. Unless those eight years of solitary have somehow driven a rift between Zemo and his own dick. “That’s not normal stuff. Novels, popular stuff…”

“I wonder,” Zemo starts. “Have you any recommendations for titles of ‘popular stuff’ for me?”

Everything Bucky can think of is old. He’d told himself he’d look into acquiring books but… he hadn’t had the time or the energy.

“I see your taste in literature has elected to stay with your taste in music, then.”

Fucking ass. Bucky closes his eyes and sighs so heavily he’s pretty sure Sam’s going to wake up.

“To answer your question, James,” Zemo starts, conversationally, as if they aren’t enemies, as if they are just old friends, so old they have become strangers. “I do read normal stuff.” The phrasing is foreign in his mouth, in that accented voice of his. “I’ve read all the classics, and children’s literature. Eight years are long. I practiced my Russian with translations of Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings at first.”

Bucky hums, looking up at him for a moment. “I noticed your pronunciation had changed,” he says quietly. “Did you read it to yourself out loud? Pretended someone was telling you a story?”

It’s cheap. They’re both aware of how lonely the past eight years must have been. It’s cheap, and it’s low-hanging and Bucky almost feels guilty.

Zemo’s small smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Have you read Jules Verne?” Bucky asks, trying to erase his taunt with some more literary conversation. “Was obsessed with his work as a kid. Kinda like Tolkien, but even better because it was… full of invention, not of magic.”

There’s a floating moment, a few seconds of Zemo just watching him with that slight sadness in his eyes before it is washed away and replaced by a hum.

“I’ve read those books, yes. In the original French,” Zemo points out and Bucky is almost grateful for the boasting. “You should seek a new translation, if you’re not adept at the original language. The one I assume you read was a descendant of 1870 translations, riddled with errors and political censorship. They fixed that in the 60s. You’ll like the new ones better.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take that under consideration, I guess.” He’s so sure he’ll like it.

“And if you find yourself in the north of France one of these days, you should stop by this little city called Amiens,” Zemo continues. “A fine place, old and new, in the way only Europe can be. Jules Verne died there. The city’s positively themed after the man and his work. You can even visit his house.”

Visiting a dead man’s last residence? “That’s kinda morbid,” he mutters and Zemo has a small chuckle.

“People visit Anne Frank’s house as if the walls aren’t hollowed with fear,” he points out. “Dying makes one the public’s intimate friend. You know that better than anyone else.” He gives Bucky a sidelong glance. They both know he’s talking about Steve, and the documentaries and exhibits and think-pieces.

Bucky nods quietly and looks back through the window. The sun is painted indigo and pink. It’s beautiful. He’s forgotten the sunset could be this beautiful.

When he looks at Zemo again, he notices the exhaustion written all over his face, in the small wrinkles and under eye bags and the way his eyes won’t settle on anything for too long, desperate to stay awake.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Bucky says after a moment. “We need you.”

Zemo chuckles tiredly, a soft and muted sound. “If that is the one thing that is keeping me alive… I believe I shall keep myself useful, then.” It’s almost sarcastic. A man living on borrowed time, wishing desperately he could be executed.

“You do that.”

[extraordinarymage]

lmao i havent posted on my DA account in awhile, but with the wayhaven chronicles book 2 coming out, i wanted to post about some OCs

B A S I C S

Full name: Iona Gray (Langford)

Gender: Nonbinary 

Age: 31 (at start of book one)

Sexuality: Bisexual 

Pronouns: They/them/theirs

Faceclaim: /

O T H E R

Family: Rebecca Langford (mother), James Langford (father)

Birthplace: Wayhaven

Ethnicity: English (Rebecca’s side), German (1/3 on father’s side) 

Job: Detective with the Wayhaven PD & human liaison to “The Agency”

Phobias: Fear of not being in control. Whether losing their senses, being unable to control their own fate, or anything that catches them off guard. Iona operates in facts, statistics - when that fails them, it makes them incredibly uneasy. In addition, Iona vaguely just has an issue with intimacy, but that’s less a fear than a fast and loose comfort thing.

Guilty Pleasures: Singing / music? The detective cannot play or sing to save their life, but they love experimenting with sounds and listening to all kinds of music. It’s liberating to them. 

Hobbies: Collecting! Anythng really, whatever catches their interest for a few months at a time, Iona will go antiqueing, stay up late to win Ebay auctions, and whatever else to amass a collection of junk. After getting to know Mason, they even started collecting snuff boxes, even though they don’t smoke.  Plus, photography! Originally, they were on the newspaper in high school, but it grew further into their police work and then a side job. An amateur wildlife photographer, mostly gets pictures of Wayhaven’s local rock doves rather than anything exotic - until the supernatural comes to town. 

Languages: English primarily, but studied German and French for about a decade. A little rusty due to disuse. 

M O R A L S

Morality alignment: Chaotic Good

Sins: Wrath/Pride

Virtues: Kindness/Patience

S T A T S

Charming vs Intimidating

Impulsive vs Cautious

Sarcastic vs Genuine

Friendly vs Stoic

Easygoing vs Stubborn

T H I S  O R  T H A T

introvert / extrovert

organized / disorganized

close-minded / open-minded

calm / anxious / restless

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient

outspoken / reserved

leader / follower / flexible (more of a mediator / into delegation)

empathetic / unempathetic

optimistic / pessimistic / realistic

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

OTP: Iona/Mason

OT3: Natalie/Iona/Mason if that was possible I guess? 

BroTP: Iona/Natalie, Iona/Ava, Iona/Felix (I just want everyone to be friends wow) 

NOTP: Iona/Bobby (Bobby thinks it can still happen, but Iona has smoothly moved on from that. Mostly.) 

5  F A C T S

The detective is trans and changed their name a few times throughout their life, but landed on Iona Gray as their full name - legal and all. Rebecca does have a different last name because of this too. 

The detective is a hoarder. They manage to keep it under control, but if a bad mental health day hits or work piles up - Iona can get overwhelmed with all their stuff. 

Iona wants a dog desperately, but simply does not have the time currently. So they volunteer to walk and dogsit their neighbor’s pets all the time. (Perhaps they only talk to their neighbors to get access to their animals?)

The detective almost flunked out of college (around the time they were involved with Bobby) and they were a wreck during that time. Eventually, with some assistance with their mental health and learning disability, the detective was able to finish their studies in sociology and forensic criminology. 

Iona honestly wanted to work in the forensics area of the precint, but as Wayhaven is a smalltown, they were needed much more in a field position and later on, as a detective. Iona still likes to sit down with Dr. Verda to discuss cases or help him out with processing lab tests. 

[georgefancys]

police violence and propaganda in ITV’s Endeavour

“That’s not what my dad says... he says you’re all bastards.” - Tommy Cork, Endeavour, ‘Neverland’.

- first of all, I’m white, so if any black people or other poc want to weigh in, please please do. this isn’t going to be a post about race specifically (mostly because there’s barely anything to talk about, Russell Lewis loves him some white characters) but obviously since a hugely disproportionate amount of police violence in real life is towards black people, that has to be a part of the conversation.

- second of all, all cops are bastards. yes, in the uk too.

- it’s not like i’ve seen anyone in the fandom defending fictional police officers or anything (unlike, say, some people in the brooklyn 99 fandom), so this isn’t a response to anything i’ve seen, but if we’re all going to be stanning a cop show i think this needs to be addressed.

- i’m not any kind of expert, i’m just taking information i’ve learnt elsewhere and applying it to Endeavour.

- i’m very willing to debate on stuff, but read the whole post before you do.

Police corruption

so, the overarching plot in Endeavour, from the pilot to the season 6 finale, is police corruption. However, the corrupting influence is not the police force itself. Instead, it’s the Freemasons, a “secret” society. All the corrupt police officers in Endeavour, from ACC Deare to DS Chard to DS Lott are either Masons themselves, have Masonic connections, or are being bribed/blackmailed by Masons. The point of the corruption plotline is that the police are not corrupt themselves, it’s an external influence that is causing the police force problems. Our main characters are the good police officers!! They hate corruption!!

Fred Thursday

Fred Thursday is a narrative foil for Morse. His family life is a reflection of what Morse doesn’t have. This is a large part of season 1, mostly in Fugue and Home. However, he also does morally ambiguous things that Morse doesn’t agree with. For example, in the season 1 episode Rocket, Thursday is xenophobic towards a German engineer, which Morse is vocal about disagreeing with. We the viewers aren’t supposed to agree with Thursday about this, but there’s never a point where Thursday goes ‘oh yeah I probably shouldn’t hate this German dude who obviously isn’t a nazi’. He keeps his views, and this is never addressed again.

In the season 5 episode Quartet, Thursday covers up for a woman who pushed her abusive husband down the stairs, saying that he must have tripped. Morse also vocally disagrees with this. However, I think the writer intended Thursday’s actions here to be more sympathetic. Which yeah, fair enough, right? The wife doesn’t deserve to go to jail for defending herself. But the problem here is Thursday’s interpretation of justice. At no point, even after seeing evidence of domestic abuse towards the wife twice (and it’s implied that there was more that occurred prior to the episode that he knew about) does he arrest or question the husband. He thinks that because the husband died, that’s justice done. He didn’t actually try to carry out justice using the legal system. And I know that legally domestic abuse can be a tricky thing, especially in the 60s, but Thursday essentially ignores his duty as a police officer to intervene in the obvious domestic abuse situation, and then covers up for the wife. And the line that genuinely bothers me so much, and is what makes me think we’re meant to interpret his actions as good:

Thursday: God was out, he left me in charge

Like, no, Thursday, you’re a police officer and it’s your job to carry out the law, not allow an abuse situation to escalate to the point where the wife is forced to kill her husband in self-defence and then lie about it. And i’m positive that this was a quote featured on the official Endeavour Twitter page when the episode aired, so I think we’re meant to be like ‘oh yeah, that’s reasonable’, not ‘uhhhhhh wtf’.

Another, more recent example: season 7. During episode 1, ‘Oracle’, Thursday believes that Carl Sturgis is guilty of the murder of Molly Andrews - his girlfriend - on the towpath. He is questioned. He says he is innocent, and also has an alibi for the murder. Morse believes that Sturgis is innocent; Thursday believes he is guilty.

[SEASON 7 SPOILERS]

Thursday then spends the rest of the season following Sturgis around, trying to find evidence that he’s the towpath killer. Morse finds out about this and tells him to stop. He doesn’t stop. A different man is caught in the act at the towpath, and after being chased by a group of young women, is hit by a car and dies. It’s decided that he was the towpath killer.

Then, Strange searches a house that turns out to be owned by Sturgis. During this search, Strange finds a kidnapped woman, Jenny Tate, in an upstairs room. It turns out that Sturgis did kill Molly Andrews, and all of the other young women at the towpath, and that the man who died at the towpath was a copycat killer. Thursday’s actions here - stalking Carl Sturgis - are justified by the narrative because Sturgis was guilty all along, despite there being evidence to the contrary, and lawfully Thursday should not have been pursuing Sturgis after he was released from police custody.

But the worst thing Thursday does is literal police violence - and on quite a few occasions.

The “Good” Police officers

Now, I’m going to talk about two instances within the show where Thursday uses unlawful violence, and people within the CID cover up for him.

1. Coda.

(disclaimer: i haven’t watched this episode in ages, so if i get a fact wrong i’m sorry but i know the general gist is right)

Thursday is interrogating Bernie Waters, a young man with connections to the Matthews gang. He wants information about... something, I think it might be regarding a possible power struggle within the gang, or a crime somewhere. Morse is waiting outside, unaware of what Thursday is doing. He goes into the warehouse where Thursday and Waters are, to find Thursday... it’s unclear what he’s doing, honestly, the scene is framed so we can’t see properly, but it’s enough to cause Waters pain, and when Thursday lets go, Waters is bending over and breathing heavily.

Now, Morse doesn’t agree with this, and tells Thursday so. Morse: ‘I don’t remember anything about that in the Sergeant’s training manual’. He knows that Thursday isn’t above iffy conduct (he punches Teddy Samuels in the face in the pilot, and pays a newspaper salesman for information in Home). But in the end, out of loyalty to Thursday, Morse doesn’t mention it to Bright. (Similarly, in the pilot, Morse is outright asked by the CS if Thursday punched Samuels, and Morse says no, he didn’t.) Thursday gets away with it.

So, Morse is the so called “good” police officer. Telling Thursday he doesn’t agree with his methods isn’t going to get him to stop. He’s the one who people say, oh, but he doesn’t commit acts of violence towards members of the public. He just turns a blind eye to the officers that do do that.

And I don’t care that Waters is a criminal, or has connections to this gang. Police officers don’t beat up people so they give up information. That isn’t lawful.

2. Prey.

I had a conversation with another member of the fandom about this recently, and we both agreed that it really bothered us. For a large portion of the episode, the CID has in custody Mr Hodges, a park warden who offered a lift to Ingrid Hjort, a missing young woman. He’s also implicated in a similar case from around a year ago, in which a woman was sexually assaulted and left in a coma. He’s in custody for much of the episode, constantly changing his story about Hjort, but maintaining that they can’t prove his guilt. In a search of his property, Strange finds underwear belonging to the woman from a year ago, which would prove his guilt in that case. However, before Strange can return and present this evidence, Morse and Thursday are questioning Hodges again. Hodges says ‘I didn’t do it, and you can’t prove that I did’, while leering at Thursday. Thursday says ‘Can’t prove it, he says’, stands up and starts beating Hodges.

Again, this isn’t presented as a good thing. Morse attempts to pull Thursday off Hodges, and afterwards CS Bright yells at him, saying they’d just received evidence from Strange.

However, a plotline in this season is a bullet in Thursday’s lung, left from when he was shot at the end of the previous season’s finale, Neverland. This causes him pain and frequent coughing fits. And, you know, he’s dealing with a lot at home, like his son saying he wants to join the army. Bright understands this. Thursday is under a lot of pressure.

Then, Bright tells Thursday that he will write in his report that Hodges fell down the stairs on the way back to his cell.

So this time, instead of having a junior officer showing loyalty by not reporting an incident, we have a senior officer lying to protect his subordinate. And again, it’s framed like Bright is proving his loyalty to Thursday, but... police officers should not beat up people they’re questioning. Like Bright said, they had just gathered enough evidence to charge Hodges, so this was unnecessary.

Other incidents of note

There’s a lot to talk about in Inspector Morse and Lewis too, but I’m not going to elaborate on them in this post. If you want me to, drop me a reply or DM and I will. These include:

- Morse lying about his identity in order to gain entry to a suspect’s college rooms (Inspector Morse, ‘The Dead of Jericho’)

- Morse and Lewis entering a possible suspect’s flat without a warrant (Inspector Morse, ‘Last Seen Wearing’)

- Lewis entering a member of the public’s house and threatening her child by shouting in his face and grabbing his arms (Lewis, ‘Expiation’. This is called out in the episode by CS Innocent, however she doesn’t actually punish him in any way, and it’s framed as if Lewis’s actions were perfectly reasonable because the child was withholding information. It’s also worth noting that this child is black.)

- Hathaway threatening a teenager after he possibly is lying during a murder investigation (Lewis, ‘Intelligent Design’. The teenager commits suicide soon after, and it’s strongly implied that while the threats weren’t the sole cause of him killing himself, they were the breaking point for him.)

- Lewis and Hathaway hounding a suspect for the entirety of an episode despite him not being guilty of anything (Lewis, ‘The Mind Has Mountains’)

- Edit: Morse lying about a woman's involvement in several murders in order to get her a lesser sentence (Inspector Morse, 'Service of All the Dead')

General points

Often in police shows, the police officers commit actions which, while illegal, are framed within the show as being necessary evils. For example, two detectives have strong reason to believe a suspect is guilty. Instead of obtaining a search warrant, they enter the suspect’s house without one and search the place for evidence. They end up finding evidence that the suspect is guilty. Despite the fact that the detectives broke the law by illegally searching the house, they are justified by the fact that they found enough evidence to prosecute the guilty person. We, the viewers, are meant to find these illegal actions reasonable because they ultimately lead to justice being served; the ends justify the means. Well, no. In the case of police officers breaking the law, they don’t.

Conclusion

Endeavour is hardly the worst example of ‘copaganda’, i.e. propaganda specifically designed to paint the police force in a positive, rosy light. It’s set in the 1960s, it isn’t relevant in the 21st century. Nevertheless, I believe that any show where the main characters are police officers is a form of copaganda, even if unintentionally. We are meant to side with the protagonist in any media (unless they’re an antihero, which is not the case in Endeavour). In Endeavour, the protagonist is Morse, who is a police officer. The majority of the main characters are also police officers. No matter how morally grey Thursday is painted as, he is still a protagonist.

I’m not saying we should stop watching Endeavour. It’s one of my favourite shows. But, when a show incorporates police officer characters and police violence, we need to think critically about it. We need to challenge the ideas put forwards in the show instead of just accepting them. Yes, there are more important things to be worrying about right now, but I wanted to make this post because the murder of George Floyd and the ongoing riots in Minneapolis made me consider the implications of television shows which paint the police force as the good guys, because we live in a world where the police force are not the good guys. And when our media is telling us that they are, we need to stop, take a step back, and think about why that is.

Resources:

Official George Floyd memorial fund: https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd

Minnesota Freedom Fund (raising money to pay bail for those arrested in the Minnesota riots): https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/donate

Change.org petitions to hold the police officer who murdered George Floyd accountable: https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd?utm_content=cl_sharecopy_22414602_en-US%3Av4&recruited_by_id=2b2e5010-a181-11ea-8693-a9223455fd7b&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf_combo_share_initial

 https://www.change.org/p/minneapolis-police-dept-hold-minneapolis-police-accountable-for-killing-george-floyd-as-he-begs-don-t-kill-me

Black Lives Matter website: https://blacklivesmatter.com/

A report of the independent review of deaths and serious incidents in police custody. This is very long, and even so only a general overview, but I would recommend Trends in deaths in police custody and suicides following police custody and section 13, Police Misconduct: https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/655401/Report_of_Angiolini_Review_ISBN_Accessible.pdf

Some graphs showing deaths in police custody in England and Wales over the past decade: https://www.inquest.org.uk/deaths-in-police-custody

Article about increase in deaths in police custody in the UK: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/police-custody-deaths-uk-latest-increase-2017-a8462616.html

[teflonsos]

⌠ MIGUEL HERRAN, 21, CISMALE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, RICARDO ‘RICKY’ ALONSO! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in DRIVER’S ED; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (5 a.m. cigarettes after a sleepless night, the smell of burning rubber after driving so fast you break the sound barrier, cheap vodka in an expensive shotglass, scraped knees and elbows from reckless parkour). when it’s the (scorpio)’s birthday on 11/04/98, they always request their CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ kati, 23, est, she/her ⍀ @gallagherintro

STATS / PINTEREST / CONNECTIONS / CLASSES

INSPIRATION.

fernando alonso – formula 1

james hunt – formula 1

jp – redline

peter quill – guardians of the galaxy 

emmett cullen – twilight

mercutio – romeo & juliet

han solo – star wars

charlie pace – lost

vert wheeler – acceleracers 

BACKGROUND + CLICK FOR FULL BIO.

when ricky is born, there are expectations as the firstborn male but they are expectations that ricky refuses to meet. he’s stubborn, insolent, and straight up annoying. his dad is mysteriously never around and his mother suffers from chronic illness, so he generally has free range of the house and...free range to harass and drive out nanny after nanny

his younger sister is the balancing force in his life, proper in all the ways that he’s a mess and polite in all the ways that he’s uncouth. however, they get along really well and she’s his best friend in an otherwise large, empty house.

as he gets older, his father’s comings and goings are more noticeable to ricky and he realizes that he doesn’t really understand what his dad’s job actually is? and his father won’t answer his questions about it either. one night, when ricky is about ten years old, he sneaks downstairs to find his father covered in blood. at first he screams until he realizes, that’s not his father’s blood – it’s someone else’s.

put the pieces together, his dad is a blackthorne alumn, assassin, and...brotherhood member. 

ricky doesn’t really get the chance to be close with his parents, but he is super close with his grandfather. his grandfather is a big man with a full laugh who used to race formula one like, back in the sixties. he’s a big name, and ricky wants to be like him, and his grandfather is the one that gets ricky really into the sport. racing. 

ricky starts off by racing t cars, and when he’s fourteen and sneaking out to the track with his sister, things go awry. they’re stopped and kidnapped by brotherhood members. from conversations by the kidnappers, he can surmise that his father has something to upset the brotherhood and the kidnapping is a move to keep his father in his place. ricky have to listen to his father tell the kidnappers he doesn’t give a fuck about him (likely a bluff, but still stings) over the phone.

ricky’s father’s move doesn’t work, and he doesn’t get to them in time. ricky has to beg on the phone for his life. a gunshot rings out. everything else is a blur.

ricky wakes up the next day with a million questions, but there’s one answer: his sister will never walk again. a gunshot has left her without the use of her legs, but otherwise she’ll make a full recovery. she encourages ricky to continue his racing and tells him how much she believes in him.

he takes home trophies year after year while t car racing and people start to learn ricky’s name, to see him as an up and comer as they associate him with his grandfather. the next four years are hard work, but he’s healing from trauma with a new passion and a great support system.

ate age 19, he’s on the podium after his third formula three race, and he wins the championship, raining champagne on his teammates and laughing. his nights are busy, filled with parties and clubs, pretty girls and people willing to give him whatever he wants. 

he awaits the next season and the rise into formula two, but he’s getting ahead of himself. late nights spent partying before the race take their toll on him, and his sister says it best. “you shouldn’t go out there,” she says. “i have to go out there. it’s fine, i’m just a little hungover. besides, it’s raining today. i have the advantage.” but he never learns.

ricky crashes hard, lucky to get off with a tbi and some broken ribs, but the drugs in his system render him a pariah and no one will really want to sponsor him after that. everyone had high hopes for him, but now he just looks like another stupid kid. he’ll never forget the disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes. 

he spends most of the year blowing previous winnings.

after all of that bullshit, his grandfather sits him down. “you’re going to apply to gallagher academy,” he says. and that’s when he tells ricky everything, about his father’s profession, just like his grandfather’s brother and father before him. the legacy, the brotherhood, blackthorne academy, and ricky’s both riveted and horrified. “that’s what my sister got shot for?” 

ricky passes the test while the brotherhood still has its claws clenched tightly around the reigns of gallagher academy somewhere. he’s a good driver, the fastest, and he might’ve been the best if he wasn’t so irrational and drunk on his own pride (among other things.) 

before he can gain the skills to stop his father himself, someone else does. the news comes on ricky’s very first day of school: “dad’s been arrested.” and it’s like his whole world stops, because he always knew his father was bad, just someone else got to him first. 

PERSONALITY.

ADVENTUROUS: ricky is not afraid of risks, and actually, this is usually in a good way. he pushes himself to want and pursue fulfilling life experiences, so while he’s made stupid decisions, he never lets fear stop him from taking chances and trying new things, so he’s pretty open-minded 

CHARISMATIC: pretty good at putting on a smile and making himself likable when he needs to be, he has a nice smile and a good-natured spirit even if he can be a bit MUCH at times ! the kind of asshole that you can’t help but like anyway, he means well 

FLEXIBLE: one of his great strengths is his ability to go with the flow, it doesn’t change him around or turn him inside out when things don’t go his way, he’s pretty adaptable and able to adjust when there’s a wrench in his plans

SELF-DESTRUCTIVE: ricky has a habit of ruining things when they’re going good for him, he’s notorious for self-sabotage and it probably comes from a mix of feeling like he’s invincible so he pushes limits and because he’s almost comfortable in the label of fuck-up at this point, not wanting to get his hopes up too high

ENTITLED: whether he likes it or not, he comes from a good family and a past where most things have just been handed to him. so, while he’s worked hard, he’s never had to work...that hard. he feels entitled to success and certain things in life and he can be a bit of a dick about it, even out of touch with other ways of life. he tends to feel like he deserves things, such as his gallagher education or another chance at racing

SELF-CENTERED: apart from his sister, ricky very much puts himself first and can be a bit selfish. it’s mostly out of self-preservation, but most of his thoughts revolve around him. he actually puts a lot of pressure on himself, which is why he turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms and doesn’t look at how his actions affect others in his life

HEADCANONS.

when it comes to his memory loss, it’s pretty manageable. he keeps up with medication and IF he gets a good night sleep/eats well...it’s good on his brain. but sometimes he’s not so great about it! his most common habits are: putting something down and forgetting where he just put it, asking you a question he’s already asked, and he’s bad with names

used to be good at fighting games but now he isn’t and he still tries and it’s sad :(

as you can guess, he’s really bad at card games but he likes to gamble so he’ll just bet on other stuff. always ready to put money on the results of a sports game or something, loves to do fantasy brackets

really likes anime movies! watches a lot, but his faves are obviously redline, akira, princess mononoke, perfect blue, and ghost in the shell. he watches anime too and tbh probably a lot of anime i’ve never seen like naruto, one piece, and cowboy bebop. for my sanity please don’t talk to much about them with him bc i won’t know what to write.

loves to skateboard and snowboard, and is pretty good at it because really the main thing is confidence and he has plenty of that! 

loves to play pranks in class or on people, he’s got a whole repertoire of tricks he used to play on his nannies growing up and has no issue with playing them on a teacher with a stick up their ass

his primary coping mechanisms are 1) hating his father 2) cocaine and 3) acting stupid 

is bisexual and honestly doesn’t give a fuck! guys, girls, whatever, sex is sex and he’s gonna like who he likes. has never come out to his parents but has never known them well enough for it to matter. 

had a steady long term girlfriend but she broke up with him when he started to tank his future and started partying more, probably as self-preservation for herself and ricky feels guilty about how he treated her, doesn’t want to put anyone else through that

really likes german cars so it’s a bummer that he missed out on the berlin trip, he’s going to geek out and cry any time someone mentions berlin to him, he’ll be so jealous of their semester

has wicked good eyesight, 20/20 vision which is great on the track but he also has really good aim on a shooting range, he’s a pretty observant person as well 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

BROTHERHOOD CONNECTIONS. Someone who also had someone close to them (likely a family member) that was also arrested for being involved with the Brotherhood by the strike team. Both Ricky and your muse are dealing with the shock of this together. 

FAN? SOMEONE WHO FOLLOWS RACING? Someone who watched Ricky’s rise and fall from grace by being invested in F1. It would make sense if they were a big fan of Ricky’s grandfather...and Ricky is the disappointment. Idk someone with predisposed opinions on Ricky. 

PARTNER IN CRIME. The two of them just vibe like immediately they both have the same chaotic energy and encourage each other’s recklessness to take chances and do stupid shit, are probably hilarious and can’t take anything seriously when they’re in the same room together, the kind of friends that other people can’t stand to see them together.

WHOLESOME FWB. They get along really well as friends and mainly just need to scratch an itch sometimes. None of that toxic shit, they probably lay around and talk about their crushes and are actually friends.

CONFIDANT. Late night rooftop conversations, this person can get Ricky to open up, is probably someone who is really chatty and comfortable with their own emotions and they encourage Ricky to be open about his. 

INFATUATION. Ricky doesn’t know your muse at all, just sees them in the hallway and thinks they’re super hot, probably an older and unattainable student that wouldn’t give him a second glance but he’s like...this is my future spouse. They just don’t know I exist. Has never talked to them and they might not even vibe if they ever spoke lol. 

ENEMIES? They simply don’t! Get along? Hate at first sight? They see Ricky smoking a blunt on campus and think he’s stupid irresponsible? He doesn’t remember their name when he should have? He makes a stupid immature comment that rubs your muse the wrong way? Any of the above, ready to fight at any moment. 

RACING BUDDIES. Another driver’s ed student who is willing to race with him after hours or practice together, they both wanna fuck the cars, they both are super competitive and bring that out in each other. 

OLD FAMILY FRIENDS. Their parents knew one another, likely on his dad’s (Blackthorne/spy) side, and they grew up closely. After the kidnapping happened, your character’s parent stopped speaking to the Alonsos and distanced themselves. Your character is probably the only one who knows about that part of Ricky’s past in any detail. 

GOT OFF ON THE WRONG FOOT. Ricky tried to flirt with your character but actually wound up pissing them off by seeming like an entitled white boy, which he is. He’s trying to prove to your character that he’s not so bad! This connection has nothing to do with feet I just had no better ideas for a name I hate feet. 

REALLY BAD SEX. your muse has ricky saved in their phone like [link]...prob a hookup that happens on one of the first days after he heard about his dad but...he’s fucked up and sad and he can’t get it up! It’s literally so embarrassing, maybe they’re both embarrassed, he wants to die when he sees ur muse around bc they saw his limp ass sad boy dick.

CAT AND MOUSE TYPE THING. essentially ricky has a bunch of attempts to flirt with your muse & your muse fucking hates it. Tom and jerry but like, if tom wanted to fuck jerry. I think of this gifset. 

[balfecaitriona]

CHAPTER UPDATE! Hello! It’s been quite a long time since I last updated this story and I just want to apologise for the long wait, I hope not to take so long again but life happens! I have a good idea where I’m going with the next few chapters and I’m very excited to continue. I just want to thank everyone who’s stuck by me with the story and the lovely words I’ve received about it, I really appreciate it everyone of you and I hope you enjoy this long awaited update!

CHAPTER NINE | END OF THE WAR

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION

CHAPTER SUMMARY:

The war is finally over and Claire's feelings only deepen for Jamie.

PAIRING: Claire x Jamie. RATING: Mature. WORD COUNT: 2832.

CHAPTER NINE

END OF THE WAR

The past few days felt like a dream. Claire had now invited a full, six-foot tall Scotsman to live with her and she didn't give a damn what anyone had to say about it. She was never before so impulsive, but she wondered if in fact it was the war making her behave so, that no one could perceive just how long they had left and it was better to grab life with both hands and enjoy every second of it than spend her time worrying with regret.

Frank was gone, lost to the battlements of war and while that had been a rather difficult pill to swallow, the fact that Jamie remained by her side was not. At first she had felt so terribly guilty, every time she caught a glimpse of the shimmering gold band on her finger. What if Frank had returned? Could she have allowed Jamie to leave her life so easily? Or perhaps she would have never allowed her feelings to deepen so quickly. But every time she had the same horrid thought that made the pit of her stomach feel heavy with guilt, she remembered the night she had taken Jamie to the Craig Na Dunn and what she had felt in the car, the thought of losing him forever to the past and the feeling in her stomach settled. She had never felt that way for Frank, even as he boarded the train for war.

Claire was moved from thought the moment Jamie entered the living room and found her at her writing desk. Her face immediately softened and she grinned at the sight of him, and the warmness that filled her belly knowing he had no intention of leaving her now.

"There ye are sassenach..." Jamie said carefully, trying to juggle two cups of tea. The fine bone china looked so awkward and delicate in his enormous hands.

He set the tea down on the desk, some of the contents swishing from the cup, leaving splatters on the dark mahogany.

"I think I got it right... two sugars?" He raised a brow, and Claire nodded with a toothy grin that turned into a laugh, her eyes warm and besotted with him.

Jamie sat on the edge of the armchair, bringing the cup to his mouth and swallowing half the contents in one sure gulp.

"I dinna ken how ye can drink this stuff, sassenach..." He glanced down at the cup with furrowed brows. "The English always did confuse me..."

Claire let an airy laugh leave her before she brought her own cup to her mouth and almost spat the contents out at the bitter taste that stung her tongue. She made a face akin to a vomiting baby.

"No wonder... What on earth have you put in this?" Claire said with disgust, setting the tea down to go and investigate in the kitchen.

"Well I boiled the water, and let it stew with the tea bag in the pot like ye said..." Jamie was quick to defend, getting up to follow her, his eyes sheepish like a scolded dog.

"Then why does it taste so vile, it's definitely not supposed to taste like that..." Claire said, looking around at the rather messy worktops. Jamie always did have the impression of a bull in a china shop. This kitchen was much too small for him, and even though she didn't mind doing the domesticated things, Jamie insisted that he make the tea today, and she soon realised it was something he had never done before.

"Then I just added the sugar... See?" Jamie said, and Claire realised he was holding a small salt shaker in his hand, to which she began to laugh, much to his dismay.

"That's not sugar!" She made to take the shaker off him. "It's salt!"

"Oh..." Jamie scratched his head, his cheeks flushing a bright pink. "I thought the S stood for sugar."

"No, the sugar's over here..." Claire proceeded to pull a little blue tin from her cupboard, and sure enough, inside where the dazzling sparkles of sugar grains.

"Go and sit down, I'll make us a proper cup of tea." Claire shooed him from the tiny kitchen as Jamie sat down in the chair by the desk and pawed through one of the books that sat there.

"Ah well... I suppose I'll stick to what I know in future." Jamie said, with a defeated sigh, but there was humour in his tone.

"I appreciate the offer!" Claire said, laughing to herself as the kettle boiled. She moved to lean on the door frame, arms folded, looking at Jamie lovingly, as though he were a small child who'd tried their best.

"I don't think tea-"

There was an almighty crash that broke Claire's sentence. The sound of loud cheering and banging outside. Jamie's head turned to look toward the window to see a crowd forming, moving steadily down the hill outside.

"What are earth is going on..." Claire exclaimed, running to open the front door, Jamie right behind her.

On the street there was a great buzz of people chattering and laughing, Claire felt a little relief to understand nothing terrible had obviously happened but she was still curious.

Front doors lay wide up, people where crying, shouting and cheering. Strangers grabbing each other in tight embraces, throwing their heads back in euphoric laughter. Claire and Jamie merely stood at the doorway watching, more confused than ever before.

"It's over!" Shouted a red haired woman, leaning over Claire's gate. Her hair was in rollers, kept in place by a hairnet. She looked as if she might jump over the gate altogether with glee. "The war! It's finally over! The Germans surrendered!" She cried, before she moved along to join the crowd of happy people.

Claire couldn't quite understand what she was hearing. It didn't seem to hit her as violently as she thought it would. All those years, cooped up alone in the wards of the hospital, she imagined a day where all of the fighting might stop and how she might feel.

She gasped loudly, her face breaking out into a smile. It was finally over. She looked up at Jamie, who still seemed confused but smiled back at her nonetheless, catching her infectious happiness.

"Oh Jamie..." She whispered, the words seemed to flutter out of her in an airy laugh. Over five years this war had slogged on, and many began doubting if it would ever end at all. But it had. It was now. It was over.

Claire threw her arms about Jamie's neck, feeling lighter than she had in years. It was like a wash of relief ran through her body, assuring her that now everything would be all right. The dark gloomy clouds that refused to let her look to the future where vanishing and the world seemed lovely again, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy merely to be alive, but most of all to have Jamie here to share it with.

Jamie patted her back, leaning in to smell the sweetness of her hair. Although he had not been here long to see the full affects of war, he had been here long enough to see how awful it was, unlike any war he had ever known. And like any war, the relief and happiness felt when it had ended were the same, no matter the century.

"Aye Claire..." He muttered back into her hair. "The fighting is done." Was all he could manage to say. Jamie understood what this meant to her. He had watched her exhausted form drag out of bed every morning and sludge back home every night. Now, it was done, there was light at the end of the tunnel at last.

Claire pulled herself from him, laughter leaving her lips as she turned to walk up the garden path but not before she made to grab Jamie's hand, taking her with him. They left the little yard and ventured out into the joyous crowds. Immediately someone thrust a bottle of champagne into her hand and she made to gulp it, long and hard before thrusting it into Jamie's chest.

He too took a generous swallow, but not before making a face of bitterness as the fizz stung his nose. "Aye it's no whisky, sassenach..." He remarked, but Claire was too enthralled about what was going on around her to take notice.

People where hanging out of open windows, children skipped around their feet with little Union Jack flags in their hands, waving them and laughing ceremoniously. Someone was blasting the delightful tunes of Glenn Miller's 'In the Mood' on a radio to the crowd. Strangers hugged strangers and people had erected tables with food and drink that seemed to appear from nowhere. And Jamie and Claire where in the middle of it all, a celebration not to be forgotten. The war was finally at an end.

***

Some hours had passed, day had turned to night and the party didn't seem to end. People were growing merrier on the copious amounts of alcohol being supplied. Merchants left their shops to join the celebrations and all in all, the good atmosphere was infectious. Winston Churchill had announced the end of the war in Europe, and for once Claire could feel weightless and happy again, even if deep down her heart did sink for Frank, who had never lived to see this day come to pass.

"Aye... War doesn't seem to change in the passing of the centuries." Jamie seemed to conclude after a long moment of thought, he had spent a great deal of time just watching people. "At least the celebrating a victory is verra much the same." He commented to Claire who had now lost count of the drinks she had consumed.

"I was beginning to think this war would never end." Claire replied, taking a swig of whisky, no longer did she wince at the sour taste and the burn it left in her throat that made her want to gag, she had grown used to it's flavour now.

"I think ye've had enough lass..." Jamie tried to say, moving to attempt to try and pry the glass from her hand, but Claire tugged it away before he could get it.

They had found themselves sitting on bar stools in one of the numerous crowded bars in Edinburgh. The sound of people laughing and singing merry songs was music to Claire's ears, it had been so long since people were so happy and carefree and Claire wanted to revel in it while it lasted.

"Don't start." Claire said, rolling her eyes. Although she couldn't deny the slur in her words and the fact that the room seemed to be spinning. She attempted closing one eye to see Jamie clearly. His red head was fuzzy in her vision but there was no denying it was him.

"Aye I've seen that look before, sassenach and it usually means it's bedtime." Jamie said with a smirk, moving to pull the glass from her grasp this time and downing it's contents himself. The Scottish had a reputation for being able to handle their drink remarkably well, and Jamie was no exception.

"How dare you!" Claire scowled in an exaggerated rage, irked that Jamie thought to do such a thing. "Don't you dare tell me what to do!" She slurred. "If I want to sit here and drink until daylight then I fucking will!"

"Aye, sassenach." Jamie said carelessly, ignoring her words. Every time he made to try and direct Claire from the pub to take her home, she would dart away. That was until Jamie managed to grab her, and he lifted her tall, slender form with ease and slung her over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" Claire started shouting, kicking her legs and wriggling. "Put me down you god damn bloody bastard!"

Jamie merely laughed, as did the many other people he passed along the way as he brought a very drunk Claire home to her bed.

***

"Here we are..." Jamie said finally, slumping Claire down outside her garden gate. He had came to know the area well enough to be able to get to Claire's house and back. "In ye go." He directed her, the front door still wide open from before.

"No!" Claire replied like a defiant child, head spinning from the alcohol but she refused to take orders from Jamie.

"Aye ye will, or I'll lift ye again." Jamie replied calmly, folding his arms and looking at her with a smile at how she was behaving. He had never seen her mad with drink before, her hair seemed to stick out in a fuzz that made her resemble an irked hedgehog.

Claire made to walk away, but staggered and fell. It was then an almighty laugh left her lips. The anger at last had seemed to leave her, and now the infectious giggling set in.

"Come on... Ye bloody fool." Jamie laughed, grabbing her and lifting her up. This time she gave in and held her arms around his neck, like a tired child being carried to bed. Giving in to the defeat, too lethargic to want to argue or fight back. Suddenly, a warm cosy bed seemed to sound heavenly.

Jamie set her down the on the bed and she lay back, hair askew and laughed some more, it was breathy and easy and he knew the tired groans of sleep where not far off.

"I take it ye had a good day then sassenach..." Jamie whispered, a toothy grin on his lips as the answer seemed obvious.

"Wonderful!" Claire replied with a loud sigh, stretching her arms out on the bed. It had been a very long time since she was able to let her hair down and enjoy herself without any fear at the back of her mind or stress from her constant shifts at work. Work hadn't even entered her mind today, but she would deal with the repercussions tomorrow, the thought of now made her head spin again.

"I'll bid ye goodnight then Claire." Jamie said, making Claire sit up in sudden alarm to see him leaving the room.

"Don't be silly..." She groaned, outstretching an arm. "Sleep here." She patted the quilt beside her.

"I'm fine with the sofa, still." Jamie replied, but seen Claire was defiant again. She had rose from the bed to move to grab him in the dark, suddenly being without him seemed truly unthinkable.

Her hands moved to grab his stubbled chin, forcing his lips against hers. For a moment, Jamie gave in and moved his lips against her own, but he soon knew this was a different kind of kiss, and one she had not given before. Without realising, Jamie was being pulled back to the bed. Claire's nimble fingers moved down his shirt, never before did buttons seem to irksome as her hands struggled awkwardly trying to remove his clothes.

A gentle grasp from Jamie made her drunken recklessness stop for a moment, but only to protest. Jamie seemed to know where this was leading, but Claire had a desperate longing for him, as he had all along, but the alcohol had only seemed to heighten it. She had to have him now. The flame within her would not be silence by his honeyed words.

"No sassenach..." Jamie whispered, moving to push her eager hands away.

"But I want you..." She muttered back against his lips with impatience, her forehead touching his.

Jamie smelt the strong stench of whisky on her breath, and although he fought with himself for rejecting her like this, he knew her head would perhaps ache with regret all the more tomorrow if he allowed her to explore her passions. He could not have her like this, until he knew that is what she wanted, with a sober mind.

"Yer drunk out yer mind Claire..." Jamie replied almost sorrowfully. He didn't want her to think he didn't want her, it was quite the opposite.

"I'm not!" She said with a defiance, though there was a rueful whine in her voice that knew it to be true.

"I want ye Claire..." Jamie whispered, wanting her to know how true it was. "But I canna have ye like this..."

Claire seemed to understand then. For a moment the drunkenness seemed to vanish, and she felt open and ashamed. She moved back on the bed, clutching the top of her dress with a shy embarrassment, her face looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment.

Instead of saying anything more, she lay down on the bed, curled up like a kitten and Jamie felt his heart ache for her.

"Sassenach..." Was all he could muster, opening his mouth to say more but nothing would come out.

"Goodnight Jamie." She whispered with a tired sigh, and Jamie took his leave to the cold sofa downstairs.

[insanityclause]

When the veteran actress Felicity Kendal dismissed stalking as something her profession simply had to put up with she may have won admiration in some quarters for her matter of fact ‘un-PC’ attitude.

But the threat faced by her fellow performers has become so serious that their union has for the first time felt the need to issue a set of guidelines to help actors protect themselves from obsessive fans.

Equity has warned that far from being the sort of minor irritation suggested by Kendal earlier this year, it in fact has an all too “distressing and life changing” impact on its victims.

The union warns TV, film and stage actors are particularly vulnerable because their visible public profile lends some fans to convince themselves they enjoy a special “connection” with the target of their obsession.

Performers have reported stalkers lurking outside their home or workplace and pestering them with unwanted gifts, notes and photographs.

The number of performers wanting advice about dealing with stalking has gone up since the #MeToo revelations, as actors have grown in confidence over talking about sexual harassment in the industry.

Among the actors stalked in recent years has been Keira Knighltey, whose stalker left her terrified to leave her north London home before he was detained at a psychiatric hospital indefinitely in 2017, and the Coronation Street star Kym Marsh, who was sent pornographic material through the post.

As part of its advice Equity has warned performers who fear they are being stalked to turn off GPS and location tagging on their mobile devices which might allow their movements to be tracked; record unwanted telephone conversations, answer the phone by saying ‘hello’ rather than giving their name and not show emotion in the face of a stalker.

Urging victims of stalking to report the matter to the police immediately, Equity advises performers to keep a diary of any incidents and save text messages, emails and screenshots as evidence.

The guidelines, which are being distributed online and to the union’s branches, also advise actors who receive even non-threatening letters or gifts to keep them as proof of unwanted contact.

“If any of these items contain frightening or upsetting messages, again do not throw them away and handle them as little as possible. It is important that you pass these items to the police,” it states.

Earlier this year Kendal was criticised after saying that although she had experienced stalking by a number of fans early in her career, actors who found it too distressing should simple give up the profession.

The star of The Good Life and Rosemary & Thyme said of being pestered by stalkers:  “I think everybody did in those days. It was just a couple of people who came to every show and then they followed me home and they were always outside my house.

“It wasn’t serious, though. One of them was quite a sweet guy. Perhaps he was just lonely.

“Some people might be traumatised by that, but I think: ‘Well, don’t be an actress then.’ It goes with the territory to an extent. Obviously there are limits beyond which it’s frightening and terrible.

“You don’t want to be shot and you don’t want to be dragged into the bushes, but I think you instinctively know as a human being what the threshold is.”

But the guidelines, which were produced after several Equity members in its East of Scotland branch reported feeling threatened and intimidated by the obsessive activities of some fans, state: “If you are being stalked you should take action as soon as possible. Victims often delay because they feel they may be overreacting or that they may have encouraged the stalker in some way; or that they will be blamed for the situation.

“Remember you are not to blame for your stalker’s behaviour and you are not alone in having to deal with this experience.”

Matt Hood, Equity’s Assistant General Secretary, told The Telegraph: “Since the #MeToo revelations we have seen an increase in members wanting advice regarding stalking. The majority of our members are performers and it’s clear that their public profile, through television, film, stage or in clubs makes them more vulnerable to stalking than the average working person, plus the line between performance and person can become blurred.

“Our new guide aims to give our members the tools and confidence to report stalking, which is a very distressing and in some cases life-changing situation.

Although reports of stalking trebled last year, prosecution rates have plunged, according to government figures, with only around 25% of cases reported to police resulting in stalkers being charged with a crime.

BETH RYLANCE: 'There’s a part of me that will always be looking over my shoulder'

Beth Rylance, the comedy actress and star of Ministry of Curious Stuff and Sick Note, was stalked by an obsessive fan who first began pestering her on Twitter.

The man, who would tweet continually about her, reply to all her posts, call her his “woman” and post videos of her, then turned up on the doorstep of her London home in December 2014.

Rylance was left terrified.

“The panic was overwhelming and immediate. I screamed in terror, then slammed the door and ran upstairs and called the police,” said the 28-year-old. “When the police arrived he was sat on my doorstep, tweeting about me. ‘When you get over your shock, why don’t you come back down and we’ll go for coffee?’ he’d written.”

The man was arrested and eventually put on trial, where he claimed he had a secret relationship with the actress.

He was found guilty of stalking and harassment and given a two-year-long restraining order, preventing him from contacting Rylance, who first made her name in School of Comedy.

“I know I was one of the lucky ones: I got a conviction. Far too many victims of stalking don’t get any justice,” she told the BBC. “Even though I’m moving on with my life, there’s a part of me that will always be looking over my shoulder. Stalking changes you - and it changed me.”

EDDIE REDMAYNE: 'She left us distressed, unsafe and deeply unsettled'

Eddie Redmayne was stalked by a German translator stalker who bombarded the actor with love letters. Gaby Stieger, 49, was even convinced she had been married to the Oscar-winning actor in a previous life.

During her five-year stalking campaign the mother-of-two hung around the park near Redmayne’s Southwark home, tried to touch him when he was there with his daughter and spied on him through the window while he undressed.

During Stieger’s trial in 2017 the 35-year-old actor told the court how her face would “contort with rage” when she spoke about his wife Hannah Bagshawe.

Stieger first met Redmayne after seeing him on stage at the Donmar Warehouse in Covent Garden in 2012.

The following year she began visiting the set of The Theory Of Everything and trying to get Redmayne to pose in a picture with her.

She also followed him and his wife to a carol service at Eton College in December 2013.

The stalking continued and in August 2017 Stieger approached Redmayne outside his house, while he was with his baby daughter, and tried to touch his arm.

Stieger, who had moved from Germany to London to be near Redmayne, admitted one count of stalking involving serious alarm and was sentenced to four months imprisonment, suspended for two years. She was also banned from having any contact with, or coming within 200 metres of Redmayne or his immediate family.

In a statement to the court Redmayne, 37, the star of The Danish Girl and the Fantastic Beasts series, described the distress Stieger had caused him and his family, saying: “I always try to be open and friendly as support (from fans) is what gives me a career.

“I deeply regret having met Gaby Stieger - she harassed myself and my family intermittently over five years, leaving us distressed, unsafe and deeply unsettled.”

I went looking for info on Eddie Redmayne’s stalker when thinking about Sam’s legal stuff, and found this article from last year about Equity giving actors advice on dealing with fans.

[abcd-adventures]

I feel like I am breathing a little easier today. Thanks for all the support/words of encouragement yesterday! Parenthood/relationships--they’re a roller coaster for sure. I never had any kind of overwhelming urge to be a parent when I was younger; I actually never thought I would have kids at all. I’m SO glad I do; I wouldn’t change it for anything. It is not always easy, though! Neither are relationships, but I wouldn’t trade my husband for anything either. I am often reminded of what one of my professors said in college, “If you are in a healthy relationship; you have to approach any situation with the belief that your {SO} has your best interest at heart--that they mean well and are coming from a place of love.” It’s SO TRUE. Yes, sometimes my husband isn’t perfect at reading my mind and reacting in exactly the way I want him to--who is--but I know without question that he loves me and wants to make me happy/feel better. Even on the rare occasions I want to throw a slipper at him, I know it absolutely to be true. We talked last night, and it helped so much.

I also realized that I need to let my mom help more. She’s always offering to babysit, but I feel guilty about it because we live an hour away and she has her own challenges right now. When I had C, she was super close. She was also sixteen years younger and had my dad to help her. She and I also talked yesterday, though, and she said that she WANTS to spend time with her grandkids and she also wants to be able to help. I still don’t intend to take advantage, but saying yes to some babysitting on occasion isn’t awful (repeats this to self several times). She’s coming over on Saturday so the husband and I can go to the Oyster Festival. We’ve been almost every year since it started (except last year, obviously), and we really enjoy it. It’s going to be 71 degrees and beautiful on Saturday, and I feel SO excited just thinking about having some time with just the husband doing something we enjoy. I’m going to show her how to use an edger (she wants to be able to edge around her garden) and then give her ours to take home because it’s newer, lighter, and easier to use than hers and we never really use it since we hired a lawn crew. Being able to do something for her makes me feel less guilty.

We have to go to Houston to the German Consulate for some stuff for B’s dual citizenship and to get him a passport, so now that we don’t have two babies in March, maybe we can do it then and make it a mini vacation over spring break. I have a cousin in Houston and a couple of friends, so it could be really nice! I would NEVER want to live in Houston, but there are some fun things to do there and the weather shouldn’t be too unbearable in March.