#i know this guy who a few years ago got convicted for attempted murder on his mum

[drgnbld]

little bit of a wild rant in the tags. i’m honestly just SO shocked that i’m very much just [ laughs ] what the fuck     tw for murder / death.

[qqueenofhades]

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

[lihikainanea]

What if its Christmas and Tiger is insatiable. They are either at Tigers parents house or the Skarsgard retreat and she canNOT get enough. She wants it 24/7 and Bill is just looking at her exhausted like "Really? You don't care that everyone can hear you?" And Tigers like "Nope!". Lol!!

Okay, I officially hate Tumblr. There was an ask that came in a few days ago about cousin Leila and I saw it, I squee’d in delight, I archived it in my memory because I wanted to talk everyone’s ear off about it, and NOW IT IS GONE FROM MY INBOX. TUMBLE YOU HO.

But then I saw this ask, and I very, very much wanted to combined the two.

Looks guys, cousin Layla, right? God she’s a cunt. And after the whole attempted threesome ordeal, maybe tiger is still not allowed in the same room as her without Bill’s supervision. And it’s not because tiger’s in trouble, not by any means--but it’s because if Layla and her are in a room together, Layla doesn’t stand a chance. Tiger will maim her. Bill would rather not deal with that kind of family drama.

But you know, maybe that makes Christmas a little....tense. Maybe the Skarsgard Christmas was a bit early this year due to filming schedules, so Bill and tiger were back from Sweden by December 23rd which left plenty of time to do Christmas with her side of the family. And maybe tiger’s family went a little off the beaten path this year, rented themselves a little compound in the woods somewhere--a main house, a few guest houses sprawled on the large grounds. Tiger doesn’t have nearly as big a family as Bill’s, so her parents and aunts and uncles take the main house, a few cousins take a guest house, tiger and Bill take the other guest house....along with Layla. It’s a suggestion from both of their moms (Actually, does tiger have two dads? I like that concept). Either way, one of Layla’s parents teams up with one of tiger’s parents to get the two girls talking--god they used to be so close when they were kids, didn’t they?--and Bill just thinks this is like, a terrible idea. He wonders how well tiger’s parents actually know her and HOW they’re so convinced that she’s not capable of murder, because he doesn’t share that conviction.

“Tiger...” he stutters when the living arrangement is announced, “Maybe we should--”

But tiger is stoic, perfectly still, glaring daggers at Layla--who is glaring right back. Two bulls locked in a challenge, neither one of them backing down.

“Tiger,” he tries again, tugging on her sleeve, “We can--”

But tiger’s psychotic, wide smile stops him in his tracks. God it’s terrifying.

“How delightful,” she says and it’s sugary sweet, “It will be great to catch up, won’t it Layla?”

Tiger looks insane. Wide eyes, a psychotic smile. Bill shifts his eyes nervously between the two.

“Indeed cousin,” Layla purrs, the same fake smile on her face. Bill is terrified. But tiger grabs the key from the entrance way, and stalks off towards the guest house. Bill catches up with her after a few strides.

“Tiger--” he grabs her arm and spins her around, but she’s already laughing to herself.

“Stop kid, you’re creeping me out,” he mumbles, “Tiger, you can’t....I don’t want..”

“Spit it out, sunshine.”

Bill frowns.

“No murdering people,” he says sternly, “Or maiming, of any kind.”

“No promises.”

“Tiger,” he says harshly, “I mean it. I’m scared.”

“You’re not the one who should be scared big guy,” she pats his cheek, but she rolls her eyes at his glare, “Look, I promise. I won’t START anything, alright? I won’t start it. But that’s all I’m promising.”

“Fine,” he says, and he holds out his pinky finger, “Swear on it.”

She hooks her finger around his and pulls him down for a kiss.

But like...we all know where this is going, don’t we? Because tiger is just oh so sweet to Layla every waking moment. Really pouring it on thick--and Layla, herself, is a little taken aback by it. She’s not entirely unconvinced that tiger didn’t poison the drink she just offered her, and from across the room--neither is Bill. But the drink is fine, and tiger is just being so pleasant.

Until nightfall.

Because look, tiger? She’s got herself a plan. And Layla retreats first, goes back to the guest house early, and then sometime after midnight--tiger drags Bill back. Except just on the way there, tiger is all over him and Bill can’t keep up--she’s everywhere, launching herself into his arms and pulling him down for a heated kiss, her hands already working to get his scarf off. When they’re on the porch she jumps up into him and he catches her, trying to unlock the door while she bites his neck.

“Tiger,” he moans softly, “We can’t.”

“Oh yes we can.”

And it’s loud. Bill is trying to contain it, trying to bite back any noise he wants to make, but tiger’s going all in. Her moans are loud and guttural, she keeps begging for it harder, and when it’s not hard enough she slams him down and climbs on top. She grabs hold of the headboard for leverage--and to make sure she can whack it against the wall so that it hits the bedroom next door, which is...oh, Layla’s.

And listen, Bill wants to say something--wants to tell her to quiet down, but honestly Bill never had any hang ups with other people knowing he’s having sex. He’s always quiet for tiger’s sake, if other people are in the house. Also, he’s getting it so goddamn good that he can’t speak, and even if he could the only thing he’d likely be able to utter is more. If this is how tiger wants to throw down, then Bill is just holding on and enjoying the ride.

She’s raking her nails down his chest, and when he moans she’s digging them in deep.

“Louder,” she demands, grabs hold of his hair and gives it a solid tug. He obliges with enthusiasm.

The bed frame is thumping against the wall, Layla hears Bill’s deep, guttural moans and the squeaking of the mattress, hears tiger demanding more out of him and uttering the filthiest shit. And listen, the next morning? Tiger thinks a round two (or four) might just be an EXCELLENT way to start off the day, and Bill wakes up to her growling and pawing at him roughly, and before long he’s yelling out cusswords as she rides him into oblivion. And even better? She marks him. Tiger stakes claim to her territory, and when Bill gets up to shower he finally notices--the hickeys all over his neck, some dotted with teeth marks, the scratches on his chest. He smirks to himself just a little as he pulls a turtleneck out of his suitcase, gives tiger a firm swat on her ass as he gets dressed. And tiger thinks--oh, what an excellent idea for tonight.

Layla avoids eye contact with both of them. When they head to the main house for breakfast, tiger takes a seat right beside Layla and Layla promptly gets up and goes somewhere else. Bill is quiet, but tiger?

Tiger likes to play with her prey.

“Did you sleep well Layla?” she asks, but before Layla answers, tiger shoves a forkful of food into her mouth and she moans--loudly, salacisouly, a lot like she did last night.

Bill drops his fork immediately, caught off guard by the sound he’s only ever heard tiger make in the bedroom, and his cheeks go a bit red.

“These potatoes are just...” tiger takes another bite and lets out a loud moan again, “Heavenly.”

Poor Bill is just collateral damage.The two cousins glare at each other, and Bill is suddenly all flustered at having heard tiger’s sex noises in public. His cheeks go red, he’s starting to sweat because he’s getting turned on, and he clears his throat subtly.

When Layla looks away tiger smirks, but Bill squeezes her thigh in warning. He leans in close when the others go back to their own conversations.

“Do that again,” he threatens lowly, “And you’re going to be in real trouble kid.”

So she does it again.

And tigers just kind of revving him up too for later on that night. And sure enough maybe that night Bill and tiger head back early, and when Layla gets back they are already well into it. Bill is punishing tiger for being a brat that day, and the hefty spanks can be heard well through the thin walls.

And tiger is also embellishing a tad. Moaning louder than usual, begging for it harder.

“Daddy,” she groans loudly, “Please.”

“Again,” he commands.

“Daddy,” she moans even louder. Three hard whacks from the other side of the wall are heard. And listen, Bill is not a petty motherfucker. But Bill has younger siblings. Bill doesn’t think too highly of Layla. Bill is still pretty angry at her for all the shit she’s pulled with him, and all the shit she has tried to pull with tiger. And right now tiger is on all fours in front of him, begging him, she’s wet and uttering the filthiest shit and revving him up and Bill is just all in. So he gives her hair a soft tug, and tiger looks back.

“What do you think kid?” he juts his chin at the wall, quirks a brow.

“I think if that’s all you’ve got,” tiger shimmies her bottom at him and smirks, “Then that’s fucking pitiful.”

The next morning, both of them are covered in markings as they sit quietly, smirking to themselves, eating breakfast. 

Both of them raise their heads and smile pleasantly when Layla stumbles in late to breakfast, dark puffy circles under her eyes.

“Coffee?” Bill asks Layla with a smile. Tiger just mimics his smirk, chewing slowly on her fruit as she stares her down.

[aion-rsa]

Spiral: From the Book of Saw Ending Explained

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article contains Spiral spoilers.

After all these years on the force, Chris Rock’s seasoned Det. Zeke Banks still hasn’t figured out that when you play a Jigsaw game, the unwritten rule is you have to lose. Sure, his one-time partner, Det. “William Schenk” (Max Minghella), isn’t actually Jigsaw, nor even a true-blue disciple of John Kramer. However, Will learned the master’s trade, and he learned it well. Which is why at the end of Spiral: From the Book of Saw, Will’s on an elevator that’ll apparently lead him to safety out of this warehouse, and the SWAT team just murdered an innocent Black man.

… Well, as innocent as a man like former Police Chief Marcus Banks (Samuel L. Jackson) can be. It’s interesting though that Will let Marcus’ son, Zeke, live, isn’t it? We’ll get to that later.

For those who want a refresher about how this Saw movie all played out, let’s go back to the moment which set this all in motion. Twelve years ago, Zeke Banks was a beat cop with a crooked partner named Pete. While investigating a crime in an apartment building that apparently involved a cop murdering someone, Pete is taking a witness statement from a man who says he’ll go on the record: yes, he saw a corrupt police officer commit a crime. So Pete pulls out a gun and shoots the witness in the heart.

By the time a younger Zeke gets on the scene, Pete has placed a gun in his victim’s hand and claims he shot him in self-defense. Zeke of course knows it’s a lie, as does the child who watches from a bedroom doorway in the corner. That child grows up to be Minghella’s character.

The twist is actually pretty heavily hinted at throughout the movie. When Zeke and Will go to a church to talk with Pete—who ended up serving nine years of hard time after Zeke turned him in—the former partner even admits what they did was wrong, saying “it was crazy back then” and that the guy he murdered “had a family.”

Throughout Spiral, we are told that these Jigsaw murder games are “too personal” to be another Jigsaw disciple. This copycat is out for revenge. And at least for this viewer, I immediately began suspecting Will, who always talked about his wife and son but never introduced them to his new partner. When Zeke calls Will at home, we hear a baby crying off-screen but never see it.

So when Will then also dies, apparently off-screen, in a murder that wasn’t even apparently a game—it seemed like he was skinned alive in a butcher’s shop—it becomes pretty obvious that Will is actually the son of the man Pete murdered. Seriously, we have a whole scene about Zeke consoling the widow of a buddy on the force who died, but no one thinks to call Will’s supposed wife about the young detective’s death?

But you’re not supposed to think about that plot hole. The point is that as a child, Will only got nominal justice thanks to Zeke turning his partner in. But Zeke is the anomaly: the one good cop who will not tolerate the “code of silence” in cases of blatant corruption.

That corruption in the police force stems from the system itself. While we’re never told exactly what Article VIII is, the citywide law is apparently the PATRIOT Act on steroids, or just Giuliani Time redux, allowing police to deal with perceived criminals at their “own discretion.” One of the apparent architects of it was Zeke’s father, then-Police Chief Banks. Played by a cocky Jackson, we learn in flashbacks how systemic the coverup culture is on his watch.

Hence Marcus dreads Zeke will be killed by other cops because his son did the right thing and turned in a rotten apple. Indeed, one of Will’s future victims, Det. Fitch (Richard Zeppieri), even lets Zeke take a bullet, refusing to answer Zeke’s calls for backup.

Zeke is protected, to an extent, by his father and his otherwise reasonable seeming, if complicit, captain (Marisol Nichols). But Zeke turning in Pete failed to bring any tangible change to corruption among the department’s ranks. Even Zeke’s best friend on the force winds up being the new Jigsaw’s first victim because he lied constantly on the witness stand, getting potentially innocent people sent to prison in order to bolster the DA’s conviction rate. It’s why Jigsaw takes his tongue.

This is Will’s grand idea: take the teachings of John Kramer and apply them to the entire Metropolitan Police Department.

“[The spiral] is a symbol of change, evolution, progress,” Will says. “But why limit that to an individual when you can apply it to a whole system? You got shot for doing the right thing. Let’s face it, these cops aren’t going to clean up on their own. We take a tongue here, a few bones there, they’ll come around. We’re going to fix a broken department. You and me.”

So the boy who saw his father murdered by a dirty cop changed his name to Will Shank, became the top of his class in the police academy, and situated himself as the partner of the one honest cop who’s spent 12 years looking over his shoulder. He also created a fake home life, so no one wondered what he was doing after hours.

Strangely, he isn’t above a little murder himself. A drug addict named Billy Riots is who Will pays to bump into his first victim. Will later kills Benny, skinning him so that it’ll look like Zeke’s new partner died screaming.

In any event, the movie ends exactly how Will wants it to. He sets up a trap where Zeke can try to save the old crooked partner he sent to prison (Zeke fails twice in Will’s eyes, first by attempting to actually save the man and then by not succeeding). Next he gives Zeke the choice to join his crusade by standing by and watching his daddy die.

I’m not sure why Will thinks the best way to win over an accomplice in Zeke is by killing his father in front of him since the murder of a father is what inspired this whole mess. Nevertheless, Zeke winds up in another no-win scenario. He has one bullet he can use to kill Will, if he so chooses, or use it to disarm the elaborate trap bleeding Marcus to death, drip by drip from tubes into mason jars.

Zeke tries to save his father, which fails another test in Will’s eyes. At this point though, he’s already implemented his “full-proof” escape plan: Zeke still can’t win.

When the SWAT team busts down the door, they hit a wire which triggers another fail-safe in Marcus’ trap. Like a puppet on strings, Samuel L. Jackson is pulled back into the air, with the blood draining out. A string also pulls his hand up with a shotgun in it, making Marcus seem like a threatening Black man. The chief is brutally gunned down by his own police force.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The political subtext in all of this is thick. With a story idea originated by Rock—notably before the murder of George Floyd last year—the Saw franchise has returned in the Black Lives Matter era with a potent (if heavy handed) allegory about racism in law enforcement and the institutional menace of authority valuing the protection of their own over the safety of the public.

One imagines the real reason, then, Will lets Zeke live—even after he still tried to save his corrupt daddy from being gunned down like so many other fathers and sons—is so Rock can go head-to-head with Will again in another sequel. It certainly feels like we’re all still on the same spiral downward. So why not a Saw sequel with a recurring protagonist?

The post Spiral: From the Book of Saw Ending Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3ogbgsI

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Love Her (Part 8)

Summary: Dean and the reader are recovering at home when they start to look over the paperwork for her to leave the system. Dean has a strange feeling though and when Sam takes a look, more than a few bombshells are dropped and the reader learns Dean’s still haunts him deeply...

Masterlist

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x foster daughter!reader

Word Count: 3,400ish

Warnings: language, mentions of death/fire, so much angst

______

“Y/N,” said Ana, rushing into your room early the next morning. You took a deep breath and rubbed your face in the dark room. “Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” you said, laying back down, staring at the ceiling. “What time is it?”

“About seven thirty. Why don’t you go back to sleep? Dean’s still passed out in bed,” she said.

“Are the twins up?” you asked.

“They’re finishing breakfast and then I’ll drop them off. You need something? You want some water?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” you said, rolling to your side, back to her. You felt the bed dip and you sighed. “I’m not in the mood for a talk.”

“You know, everyone in this house has nightmares. Everyone here has some kind of trauma. It sucks but those are the cards we all got dealt. But somehow we all wound up together.”

“Your point?” you asked.

“You have three people you trust. Rae and Ryan you know would never hurt you. Dean, you trust him to protect you, even if you’re not willing to admit it to yourself yet. I understand that I’ll have to earn it with you. But give me a little to work with,” she said.

“I don’t have much faith in people anymore,” you said.

“Yeah. I didn’t used to either. Then I met my husband Dan and he reminded me that there are good people out there. He died four years ago. Dean was…” she trailed off. You looked back over your shoulder at her.

“What?”

“He’s just a good man. He’ll put you three kids before the world,” she said. “I know how much he’s done for me. I hope you can put everything that happened behind the two of you and just be family.”

“Do you take care of him?” you asked. She nodded. “Good. I know there’s other things that happened to him. He deserves to be taken care of too.”

“I know you were eavesdropping the other night. Well, I figured it out eventually but those other things Dean and I might have discussed, let him bring them up,” she said.

“He and his dad used to fight a lot, right?” you asked.

“I’ll just say, you kids, and especially the fact that you are back, have helped him heal more than anything,” she said. 

“Ana,” you said. “I do like you. Be patient with me is all.”

“Y/N, I will be as patient as you need me to be,” she said, giving you a smile. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on you. I’m sure we can get to the point of doing our hair and gossiping and eating too much cheese and chocolate in our sweatpants. You two hang out and recover for now, okay?”

“Mhm,” you said.

“Alright. Head back to sleep for me. You need it.”

“Alright, you’re doing better,” said Dean after lunch, putting his flashlight away after checking your concussion again.

“You are such a worrier,” you said as you finished off the last of your ice tea.

“You took a hit that would have landed me on my ass. I’m just a tad concerned,” he said.

“Hey, when I’m all better, can I box again?” you asked.

“Yeah. I missed doing that with you,” he said. “I’m guessing you never kept up with it then.”

“No. I didn’t want to,” you said with a shrug. “Just did school and read a lot. Anything happen around here I don’t know about?”

“I don’t think so. Ryan and Rae play soccer. They’re advanced readers in school which is pretty awesome. Sam got a girlfriend, Eileen. I asked him to hold off on introducing you guys yet. I thought it was a lot of new at once,” said Dean.

“Thanks,” you said. The doorbell rang and you both turned your heads, Dean frowning. He walked over and you followed, Dean opening it to reveal Paula standing there.

“Dean,” she said, stepping inside.

“Paula. Your unannounced visits don’t have the best track record with us,” said Dean, narrowing his eyes at her.

“This is a routine conversation I have with any foster that turns eighteen,” she said. “May I?”

Dean waved his hands and she walked over to the living room, taking a seat on the couch as you crossed your arms in the chair, Dean walking over and standing behind you.

“Well you two look chipper today, don’t you,” she said.

“Whatever you’re talking about, she ain’t leaving,” said Dean.

“Y/N,” said Paula, opening up her bag and ignoring him. “I know your original intention was to stay in foster care as long as you were able to. However, this leaves you in the system technically and given your desire to stay with Dean, I’d recommend you leave the service. As you’re eighteen, you don’t have to have the requirements such as a home or income or-”

“Give me whatever I have to sign. I want out,” you said.

“I figured you’d want that,” she said, sliding over some papers. Dean picked them up off the coffee table. “Your signature isn’t required.”

“I want Sam to read these over first,” said Dean.

“It’s all perfectly standard,” she said.

“Paula. I’m having a lawyer look at these before Y/N signs anything,” he said. 

“Fine,” she said. “Call my office when she’s ready.”

Paula left without another word and Dean frowned.

“That was weird,” you said.

“You ever get a bad feeling about her?” Dean asked you.

“She’s not my favorite person in the world but I guess I don’t really know. Why?” you asked.

“She was always telling me not to contact you and not to tell you about your dad’s custody terms. The stuff with Rae and Ryan getting ripped apart shouldn’t have been that much of a possibility if she was willing to fight it. I always had this weird feeling about her after she took you away that night,” he said. “Even like with the doctor’s office thing. It all seemed odd to me.”

“Maybe you’re just worried,” you said.

“I hope so. We’ll have Sam look at this just to be sure.”

“Y/N, you didn’t sign anything, correct?” asked Sam in Dean’s office that night.

“No,” you said, giving him a look. “Why?”

“There’s a clause in here, a sneaky little one that would block all future adoption attempts, even as an adult. You could always fight back but it would likely take years if you’d...Dean,” said Sam, getting up when Dean left the room.

“I’m gonna kill her,” said Dean when you both caught up with him in the foyer, Sam grabbing his arm but Dean shrugged away and started pacing. “I’m gonna kill the bitch, I swear...she stole Y/N from me, from us.”

“We don’t know-”

“She stole her!” said Dean, fuming as Ana came out from their room and into the foyer. “She along with that asshole murdering convict hurt my kid.”

“Dean-”

“My daughter, Sam! For what? So the sick bastard could keep her? No, he wants to control her. I’d kill him too if I could get to him but I’ll settle for-”

“Dean,” said Ana, looking at you. “Calm down.”

Dean stared at her and laughed, throwing his hands up. You looked to Sam who was shaking his head.

“Last time I calmed down, my brother died,” said Dean, his face hard but you all heard the light waiver to his voice.

“Brother?” you asked. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“We had a half brother,” said Sam quietly. “Dad…”

“Dad snuck out on mom once when we were kids. He got some other woman pregnant. No one knew until this other woman got cancer and died and here’s five year old Adam coming to live with us,” said Dean.

“That’s why you fought with your dad,” you said, Dean nodding.

“Couldn’t even wrap it up when he had to cheat. But mom was a saint through it all and by then, they’d worked their crap out so Adam became our brother. I was so angry with dad, we didn’t speak a whole lot for a few years. When I was twenty, us boys went camping. Adam was only eight at the time,” said Dean, swallowing hard. He opened his mouth to speak but you saw him hesitate.

“We got lost and we ended up getting separated,” said Sam. “I broke an arm, Dean dislocated his shoulder and Adam…”

“Adam fell,” said Dean. “And he got hurt and he didn’t wake up.”

Dean bit his bottom lip and looked away, putting his back to you when you saw him shudder.

“Things got bad,” said Sam.

“Dad thought I did it on purpose,” said Dean, his voice high and cracking a bit. You figured he was crying, even if you couldn’t see. “He was my little brother. I got one killed and nearly got Sam killed too.”

“Dean kind of stopped talking to us after he and dad had their blowout. I got a phone call every once in a while but that was it. It wasn’t until Joanna had her accident that everyone made up again,” said Sam. 

“You’re forgetting the part where dad thought I did it as payback because he got you out of the house first when it caught on fire when Sam was a baby,” said Dean. “I was fucking four and he thought…”

The house was quiet aside from Dean crying into Ana’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around him.

“He’s wrong,” you said, Dean wiping off his face before he looked back at you. “Your dad was wrong. I think he was angry and took it out on you. I’m sorry. I don’t think he thinks that anymore but he was wrong to ever say that. You’re kind and understanding and you care about people. You didn’t deserve any of those bad things to happen to you, no one in this room did. Everyone’s got their own fucked up shit to deal with and you could have forgotten about me. But you didn’t. You protect me and you make sure I’m safe and I know it’s okay to be a complete mess because you’re always there for me and I think your dad should realize that you’re the kind of parent every kid needs. I need you.”

He gave you a smile, one you remembered seeing when Ryan called him dad for the first time. You weren’t ready for that but for the first time since your mom had died, you knew it in your core that someone loved you unconditionally.

“So listen to Ana and just take a breather. It’s okay. I’m okay. We’ll talk to the office and get it all worked out,” you said. He nodded and Ana took him by his arm back to their room, Sam looking down at you.

“Let’s make her life hell,” said Sam. You blinked slowly at him. “She fucked with you, she fucked with all of us. She’s gonna pay for that.”

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“No,” said Sam. “No, he’s not. He doesn’t talk about Adam. It’s too raw for him. But what you said meant the world to him. He will be eventually. I can guarantee he’s going to be holding onto what you said while he rides through this one though.”

“Can you stay over tonight?” you asked.

“Yeah. I wasn’t really planning on going anywhere, kiddo,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks, Sam,” you said, giving him a hug.

“We have to talk some more about this stuff so I can start to work a timeline. You okay to do that now or do you want to wait until tomorrow?” he asked.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m not in the mood right now,” you said.

“Alright. I’m not much either,” he said. “Why don’t you take a hot shower and call it an early night? I’ll be up in the guest room if you need me.”

After your shower, you lay in bed for awhile, watching the clock tick by until it was after eleven. You got out of bed and wandered down to Dean’s room. The door was open a crack and you caught Ana’s face, getting a wave inside from her. Dean was passed out beside her with his head buried in her side, her hand in his hair.

“You guys okay?” you whispered. She nodded and smiled.

“He’ll be okay. I’m going to stay home tomorrow. You?” she said back.

“I’m okay,” you said, giving her a smile. “I just wanted to check.”

You turned around and left, just out of their side of the house when you felt arms wrap around you.

“S’not your job to worry about me, sweetheart,” said Dean quietly.

“We’re family. It’s always my job,” you said. You felt a half-laugh, half shaky breath against your back. He kissed the top of your head and gave you a big hug. 

“Thank you for checking on me,” he said. “Now go to bed for me unless you need me for something.”

“I’m okay, Dean,” you said.

“You sure? That was some pretty big news we found out tonight about Paula,” he said.

“I’m more concerned with you,” you said.

“I’m okay. I will be,” he said. “I never wanted to tell you like that. It’s not something I talk about really.”

“It’s okay. I cry too,” you said.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he said. “Go on now. Bedtime.”

He dropped his arms away and you headed down the hall, spinning back around quickly. He was already gone though and you went back to your room, climbing under the covers.

“Good morning,” you said when Ana and Dean walked into the kitchen. “Sam took the twins to school and I helped make breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart,” said Dean as he went past and ruffled your head.

“Sam did most of it,” you said as Ana grabbed herself a few plates for her and Dean.

“Well thank you sweetheart,” he said, taking a seat at the counter. 

“He looks better,” you said quietly as you got him some coffee.

“He is. Mostly. Still upset about the whole Paula situation for the most part,” said Ana.

“I know you two are talking about me,” said Dean.

“Periods, babe,” she said as she spun around.

“Oh,” he said, Ana smirking when her back was to him. “I mean...is something wrong? I’m a doctor and a big boy. You guys can talk about that in front of me.”

“Yes, we were talking about you,” laughed Ana. “Take the hint next time, De.”

“I was buying tampons for her before you,” said Dean.

“I didn’t realize you were an expert,” said Ana. “You guys go bra shopping too?”

“He hid outside the store,” you said.

“Listen, that I have no medical expertise on,” said Dean.

“He tried,” you said with a smile, setting his coffee down in front of him.

“Yeah, I tried,” he said, curling an arm around you waist as he took a sip, giving you a side hug.

“Dean,” said Ana, sliding a plate of food over to him. “Eat some food.”

He released you and you walked around to sit up on the kitchen island, your own coffee in your hands as you watched them eat.

“Are you two gonna stare at me all day?” he said with a mouthful of eggs.

“You got hedgehog hair,” you said, staring at him as he chewed slowly.

“Rabbit,” he said.

“How is that even a tease?” you asked.

“You both look like hedgehogs,” mumbled Ana.

“You’re one to speak,” said Dean.

“I better be a cute hedgehog,” she said. “Wait, I thought I was a fox.”

“Cause you got red hair and foxes are cute but you know, it could kill you if it wanted to,” said Dean. 

“I’m okay with a fox,” she said. “You know foxes come in more than just red. Y/N could be a baby fox.”

“I ain’t a baby fox,” you said.

“That’s right, she’s a baby wolf,” said Dean.

“Why am I baby? I am quite literally an adult now,” you said. They looked at one another and then back at you.

“Baby,” they both said, breaking into smiles.

“I’m not a baby!” you said.

“You’re cute like a baby,” said Ana.

“Come on, baby wolf. Still badass,” said Dean.

“Can I at least be like, teenage wolf?” you asked.

“Baby wolf. You don’t get to pick your own animal kid,” said Dean.

“At least I’m not a baby sloth,” you said.

“Ryan’s a goat,” said Ana.

“Naturally,” you said with a laugh. “He still loves his goats?”

“Oh yeah. I think we’ve gone to the fall festival like every weekend so far this year,” said Dean. “What did we pick for Rae? Crocodile?”

“Yeah. She bit a boy at the park,” said Ana as she ate.

“I was proud but had to pretend to be mad,” said Dean. “Some kid was bullying her so she showed him who’s boss.”

“A bully?” you asked.

“I mean, it wasn’t too long after you left. She and Ry were complaining to another kid that they missed you and the kid started to make fun of them and Ryan started crying and he ran over to me and I just saw Rae bite this kids arm and yeah, our baby of the family is a scrapper apparently,” he said.

“She’s tough,” you said.

“I always thought Ryan was the hard one until you left,” said Dean. “Turns out they’re both hard.”

“Do you still read to them?” you asked. Ana smiled and took a sip of her coffee, glancing at Dean.

“No, not so much anymore. They like to read on their own. They’re both very good. They’re always coming home with books from school,” he said.

“Dean says you’re a big reader,” said Ana.

“The foster kid normally doesn’t get to pick what to watch on TV. Books are free from the library,” you said.

“You want a TV for your room?” asked Dean. 

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“We’ll get you one. Unless you’re a fan of constant cartoons,” said Dean. You nodded and they returned to eating, Ana eyeing Dean every so often.

“Yes, honey?” he asked.

“If I leave you two alone to run to the grocery store for an hour are you good with that?” she asked. 

“Mhm,” he hummed.

“We’ll be okay,” you said.

“Alright. I’ll try not to be too long,” she said.

Fifteen minutes later the house was quiet and you’d gotten dressed, in a pair of leggings and a baggy shirt, wandering down to Dean’s room to find him lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hey.”

You climbed on top next to him, rolling onto your side.

“How’s the cheek today, sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you said. “Are you okay?”

He turned his head and shook it.

“Not really. Go get your jacket,” he said. “I want to go somewhere.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 9 here!

[olboypacman]

2. What is Justice? (Finale, A Cry For Justice)

A Few Months Later, The Day of The People of New Jersey v. Frank Castle

****

“Funny seeing you and the rest of the gang here, Chuckles.”

“Jason. You’re looking well.”

A tense silence manifests itself between the factions of the leather clad couple of Jason Todd and Komand’r and the Titans dressed in their civilian attire.

“Sister.”

“Kori. I see Victor’s holorings still have their uses. But, tan’s a bad tone on you, sister dear.”

“Why you-“ Kori lunges at her sister but is held back by Victor.

“OK,” Said Cyborg, “this is more awkward than I thought it would be. I’m taking Kori into the court room, gonna find us some seats. Who’d a thought this trial would’ve attracted so much attention?”

He heaves the Tamaranean over his shoulder as he walks through the door. She’s spouting off her objections to her treatment in Tamaranean, as she pounds her fists Victor’s back.

“I’m gonna join Cy- I mean Vic. You guys look like you got some stuff to catch up on.” Said a fair skinned, blonde-haired, green-eyed Changeling. “See you guy in court!” He said as waived off the others, following Cyborg.

Raven shrugs her shoulders at the people remaining. “Wait for me Gar.” She intones, coming up the rear.

“Komi,” says Nightwing, “was that really necessary?”

Blackfire gives him a look of mock innocence, “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“Blackfire,” said Jason, “let me talk with Dick alone. Find us a spot will you, cutie?”

“Fine, Jay. I’ve got you.” She pecks him on the cheek, as she makes her way into the court room to find her and Jason some seats.

“You and Blackfire. A part of me may have saw that coming-“

“Grayson,” interrupts Jason. “Is Bruce here?”

“Yeah. Alfred’s here. Babs is here. Tim’s here. Even poor Harley is here. Everyone is here. Are you planning on saying hi to anyone?”

“I’ve said all needed to him or anyone a long time ago.”

At the implication of Jason’s words, Dick sighs and says, “He never would’ve done it. None of us would’ve. For what it’s worth, he’s sorry and he misses you. And despite our recent history, I miss you too. Your family-“

“Stow it, Dick. The fact that it took some cop to do what needs to be done tells me what kind of family I’ve got. Give my love to Babs. Enjoy the trial.” Said Jason, as started to make his way into the court room.

“Wait. Why did you bail out Frank Castle?” Asked Dick.

“Honestly? I wanted to meet the man ballsy enough to properly avenge his family.”

****

“All rise!” Commanded the bailiff as the judge made his way to the bench.

The older, bald, caucasian judge, clad in the dark robes sits and bangs his gavel getting the attention of the full court as everyone present takes their seat.

He creases his brow, as if he’s making eye contact with everyone in the court.

“I know we have a lot of people here today, but I’d like to remind everyone here today we are in a court of law this day. A man is being tried for his alleged crimes and recommend all out bursts be keep to a minimum. With that being said, let’s get started with our opening statements.” The judge motions to his left, “Prosecutor.”

The prosecutor stands upon being beckoned by the judge. He’s small slip of man dressed in a cheap beige suit with an even cheaper haircut. He smiles condescendingly at Frank, practically assured of a conviction as he begins his opening statement.

“What is justice? We in the DA’s office like to define it as set system of right and wrong. Of showing those who break laws there are set consequences for what you do. Today we are here to prosecute Frank Castle for the crime of murder of the Joker in the first degree. We will prove that he did so maliciously and with no regard for our system of justice. And I would like to remind the court that the people of New Jersey are seeking the maximum conviction of life without the possibility of parole.”

A hush goes over the court as the mousy prosecutor finished his opening statement.

The hush turns into murmur as they seemingly wait for something to happen.

The judge bangs his gavel once more to bring the hush back to the court room.

“Mr. Castle, I understand you’ve waived your right to attorney. As a result of that it’s up to you to state the basis of your defense or to counter point anything said by the prosecution in your opening statement.”

Being addressed, Castle rises from his seat and says gruffly, “I decline to make an opening statement, your honor.”

A murmur goes over those present in the court and the judge bangs his gavel again to gain control of the court.

The prosecutor’s sneer returns to his face.

The judge takes a moment to take in his appearance.

Castle’s dressed in a black suit coat with matching pants and tie, with a white shirt underneath the coat. The whole ensemble looks like it’s seen better days, as littered with wrinkles and is poorly creased. There’s a look in defeat his eyes and looks like her hasn’t shaved in a while.

He’s a man whose already been beaten, dressed for a funeral for the fight of his life, thinks the judge.

“Both of you, please approach.” Commands the judge, addressing Castle and the prosecutor.

“Mr. Castle,” said the judge in a low voice, “how prepared are you for your defense?”

“I just thought to show up, your honor. Everything else is formality at this point.” Responded Frank.

“Mr. Castle, I’m telling you this for your own good, but do you recognize without a proper defense you maybe damning yourself to a guilty verdict and consequently to whatever fresh hell I’d imagine a waits a police officer in Blackgate. Yes, Mr. Castle, recognize that my power as a judge won’t save a violent offender from a super max prison, first offense or not.”

“Whatever happens, I’m consigned to the worst of what may come to be.” Said Frank.

“Then why show up at all? Your absence today would’ve defaulted a guilty verdict.”

Frank shrugs his shoulders, “Then that would’ve cost the guy that bailed me out a half a million dollars. I couldn’t in good conscience let him lose that kind of money on my say so.”

The prosecutor attempts to contain his laughs, as the judge shoots him a look of annoyance at his outburst. “You will respect this courtroom, prosecutor.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” he said as he tried to stow his laughs. “This going to be my easiest conviction yet.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, counselor.” Said Castle.

The prosecutor sneers and says, “Unless you know something I don’t, I expect a guilty verdict in less than a few hours, Castle.”

“Enough,” interjects the judge, “let’s get this case underway.” He said, dismissing them.

The judge bangs the gavel again to bring the noise of court down that came up as he was addressing the prosecution and the defense.

“Prosecution, your first witness.”

****

The prosecution had gone through about half a dozen or so witnesses of the police and EMTs that were on the scene of murder. Most testimonies were very brief and consistent outlining what happened that night a few months ago.

To no surprise to the judge and the prosecutor, Castle, acting as his own defense, had opted not to question one witness.

The prosecution had just dismissed the most recent witness, the officer who had been headbutted by The Joker.

No one even bothered to check if Castle had any questions for him, taking ques from earlier.

“The State of New Jersey would like to call Commissioner Gordon to the stand.” Said the prosecutor.

Gordon stands from his seat among the spectators. He makes his way to the stand, dressed in his signature tan overcoat, off white dress shirt with a black tie, light brown pants and black shoes.

He takes a seat on the stand and is sworn in as the prosecutor waits, sneer still on his face.

“May the witness state his name for the record,” said the prosecutor.

“James Gordon,” was the response.

“And what is your profession, Mr. Gordon?”

“I’m the commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department.”

“Do you recognize that man over there?” Said the prosecutor, pointing at Frank Castle.

“Yes, that’s officer-“ Gordon stops himself, running his hand through his white hair in frustration. “Frank Castle.”

“Do you know what Mr. Castle’s vocation was until recently?”

Gordon hesitates for a moment, glaring at the prosecutor, his mouth forming a grim line. “He was an officer under my command in the city’s police department.”

“Do you know what Mr. Castle is accused of?”

“Yes.”

“And can you state what Mr. Castle is he accused of, Commissioner?”

“Murder in the first degree. He’s accused of killing The Joker.”

“And you were there on the night in question, correct?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Well, from what you saw can you tell me what happened?”

“It happened pretty fast. I was speaking with Batman, then I heard one shot and a few officers fingered Castle as the shooter pretty quickly. Joker was already down with one in his chest before I could get eyes on the situation. Castle then fired 3 more shots into The Joker, another to his chest, one to his throat, and the last one to the head, before any officers could get to him. About 4 or 5 officers’ dog-piled him before he can shoot another round off, and that scuffle didn’t last long. He gave as soon as he was tackled.”

“So, you saw him kill the victim?” Asked the prosecutor.

“Yes.”

“Was Frank Castle within his right to execute the victim the way he did? Within his duty as sworn officer of the law?”

"I speak from someone whose family was a victim of the Joker, hell I was a victim of him my damn self. What Officer Castle did, who’s to say it was wrong? Really? I mean after what he did to my girl Barbara, I can't say I didn't think about pulling the trigger myself."

“That’s interesting Commissioner, I had no idea that the police department condones the cold-blooded execution of detained criminals.“

“I didn’t say that!” Interrupts Gordon.

“Well it’s no surprise. You condoned the actions of the Bat-family in our city for years, and they done nothing to stave off the rising crime and supervillains that plague our fair city.” Said the prosecutor, as he raised his voice. “Why not execute them all? It’s only the natural progression of things under your command, right commissioner?”

“No that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Then answer my question Commissioner Gordon; was Frank Castle within his right or his civic duty as an officer of the law to execute the victim?”

“No.” Said Gordon, defeatedly.

“Nothing further.” Said the prosecutor, as he makes his way back to his seat.

“Does Mr. Castle have anything for the commissioner?” Asked the judge.

Frank stood from his seat, scratching his unshaven scruff. “How’s Babs?” Asked the former police officer.

The court erupted into a roar at the question.

“ORDER! ORDER!” Yelled the judge as he banged his gavel. “Mr. Castle, the court room isn’t the social hour. Do you have questions to defend yourself, to rebuttal anything the prosecution established to the court?”

“No, your honor.” Said Castle simply.

“Thank you for your testimony here today, commissioner,” Said the judge.

“The prosecution would like to call one last witness to the stand, Frank Castle.” Said the prosecution.

The court erupted once more.

The judge banged his gavel again to quiet down the court.

Castle makes his way to the stand.

He’s then sworn in.

“Can you state your name for the record.” Said the prosecutor, as he approached the stand.

“Frank Castle.”

“What is your vocation?”

“Former officer of Gotham’s police force.”

“Former,” repeats the prosecutor. “And can you tell the court today what caused you to lose that position, which coincides with what your accused of today.” Said the prosecutor, emphasizing the word, ‘accused.’

“You read the reports and statements, councilor. You tell me.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Castle,” commands the judge.

“Shooting and killing the Joker.”

The prosecutor clicks his teeth, as if processing what was just stated.

He walks back to his table, producing a picture.

The councilor walks back to stand showing a picture to Castle.

“Do you recognize this man, Mr. Castle?”

“I do.” Said Castle simply, as the prosecutor showed the picture to the court.

“That is James Irons, an alleged associate of the Falcone crime family.”

“And what is your history with, Mr. Irons?” Asked the lawyer.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh?” Said the prosecutor, facetiously. He goes back to the table grabbing several pieces of paper stapled together. “In my hand I have a formal complaint filed with the Gotham City police department against Mr. Castle on behalf of Mr. Irons. The complaint being brutality.” He hands it off to the jury, for them to verify it for themselves.

“And what is the point of this?” Asks Castle.

“I believe the phrase your looking for is, ‘objection, on the grounds of relevance.’” Said the prosecutor, arrogantly.

“Watch your tone counselor, but Mr. Castle does have a point. To what relevance is this to the court?” Said the judge.

“I’m only trying to establish to the court a history of Mr. Castle being less than kind to detained suspects. A history that started only after his family was allegedly killed by The Joker.” Said the prosecutor.

“You son of bitch-“ Frank growls as he lunges at the prosecutor and another ruckus stir occurs as he does.

The judge bangs his gavel, to regain control of the court. And the bailiffs are able to restrain Frank before he can get to the prosecution.

“Order! Mr. Castle, you are to control yourself, councilor, please do your best not to badger the witness, or I will hold you both in contempt.”

The prosecutor obviously frazzled by having Castle jump at him, straightens himself out. “As I was saying I’m simply trying to establish to the court a history of misconduct towards already arrested suspects, a history that started,” the prosecutor hesitates as Castle scowls at him, “after the untimely death of his family. As a matter of fact, I have 5 or 6 similar complaints against Mr. Castle over the last few years. So, what were those brutality cases, Mr. Castle? Working up your nerve to kill? Some measure of revenge until you found your desired prey?”

Frank sighs, then goes to answer. “If you saw what Irons did to his wife, you would’ve done the same thing. As far as the others,” Frank paused, a far away look in his eyes, “I don’t know. Things have been difficult since my family was killed.”

“That does not excuse an officer assaulting a person that’s already been arrested. It certainly doesn’t excuse you killing a detained suspect in cold blood.” Responded the prosecutor, he starts to walk back to his table, apparently finished questioning.

“Cold blood,” laughs Frank. “That was the hardest decision I’ve made since they died.”

“What?” Said the prosecutor.

“You’ve been needling witnesses all day to paint as some kind of monster. And all day I’ve listened to you corner my former colleagues and commanding officers to confirm it so. Who am I to deny what you want?” Said Frank sarcastically. “Killing the Joker wasn’t something that came to me easy. I thought about it for a long while. When I finally decided to go through with it, I waited years for my opportunity. Waited for something, anything where I can come across that piece of shit. A transport detail, a detail guarding a door as he’s being interrogated. Literally anything. My opportunity came that night a few months ago. The city’s resident so-called hero had just subdued The Joker and all nearby cars were ordered to report to scene. I happened to be assigned to guard him with another officer while we waited for a high-security bus to come cart him off. I lucked that officer I was pared with was very antagonistic and he managed to get himself hurt leaving me all alone with the Joker. I was unsure now that the time had come to actually go through with it. When I questioned him why he attacked the civic center, his answer steeled my resolve. My only regret is that I didn’t get to empty my entire clip into the son of a bitch. Is that what you wanted counselor?”

“That’s it,” replied the prosecutor simply. “Nothing further.”

“I, um,” said the judge. “The jury maybe excused so they may deliberate.”

****

The court reconvened after only 30 minutes of deliberation.

The judge once again bangs his gavel to quiet the court once more.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” The judge addressed the foreman.

“We have reached a unanimous verdict, your honor.” Said the foreman.

He unfolds the piece of, containing said decision.

“We, the jury, find Frank Castle on the charge of first-degree murder, not guilty.”

At the rendered verdict, the court erupts more riotous than before.

The prosecutor is beside himself at the decision.

He’s yelling and ranted animated in his position at the court, mutterings of ‘mistrial’ and damnings of fifth amendment rights.

The judge is just as animated, banging his gavel attempting to regain control of the court room once more.

“Order! Goddamnit! I will clear this courtroom! Order! Order!” Yells the judge.

The court begins to simmer down at his threat. He chuckles and goes on to say, “Not guilty. Huh. Oh, well. The State of New Jersey would like to thank the jury for their service today.” He then turns his attention to Castle. “So much could be said to you, Mr. Castle. You avoided the obvious despite the overwhelming evidence against the contrary.”

“I’m just as surprised as you, your honor.” Replied Frank.

“Indeed. Mr. Castle, I wish I can say justice, as I understand it as an officer of court, was dispensed. Had it been so, you probably never would’ve been in front of me in this capacity. Commissioner Gordon’s baby girl wouldn’t be in a wheelchair. You would still come home to your family every night. Hell, that can be said of countless families across this city of ours, cause The Joker would’ve been locked away for a long, long time. But it hasn’t. Furthermore, I wish I could pat you on the back for a job well done. I wish I can tell you that-a-boy. I wish I could tell you your wife and children could rest easy now that that piece of shit is off the streets. But again, because of my station I can’t officially. Mr. Castle, the jury has given you your life back. Congratulations. Case dismissed,” he said, banging his gavel.

****

It had been a fight out the court room, as more than a few reporters had managed to find a seat during his case. He had to fight even harder on the courtroom steps, as there were reporters from every newspaper and news station trying to get a quote for this story.

Showing he still had allies in the police station, Commissioner Gordon and few other officers had formed a makeshift human barrier around Castle as they pushed their way though the throngs of journalists.

As they make their way to the parking deck, a well-built clean-shaven, red-haired man in a navy-blue suit is waiting for them. He’s standing by the rear door of limousine. Upon closer inspection, it can be seen that the gentleman actually is dressed in a military officer’s uniform.

The man then makes his own way toward Frank Castle and his escorts.

“I can take him from here, boys.” Said the man.

“Mind telling us who you are.” Said Gordon.

“Captain Rick Flag, United States military. No need to be so defensive,” said Frank, defusing the tension between the police officer’s and the man. “I served with him in the marines. He stayed with military, I decided to go into law enforcement.”

“If you say so Frank. Listen, if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.” Said Gordon, extending his hand to Frank.

“Thanks, Commissioner,” replied Castle shaking hands with Gordon.

The officers and Gordon leave Flag and Castle alone to catch up. “By the way, its Colonel these days, Frank,” said Colonel Rick Flag, extending a hand to greet his old comrade.

Castle scoffs at the Colonel, “Look at you. So, what do want, Rick?”

“I’ve got someone who wants to talk to you. I know with, recent developments you’ve found yourself with a lot of time on your hands, old friend. She’s in the limo, follow me.”

Flag leads Frank to the limo. Upon reaching it, he opens the door, beckoning him to enter.

Frank passes the threshold, fixing himself into a plush leather seat as Flag closes the door.

Sitting across from him is a heavy seat African American woman.

She’s sloshing ice around in quarter filled glass, with an amber liquid inside, alcohol presumably. She’s dressed in a blue suit jacket and pencil skirt. Her hair is incredibly short, styled in a mini afro. Her dark-brown eyes bare a seriousness mirrored in the expression on her face.

“Mr. Castle,” she said, “what do you know about Task Force X?”

[dancingkirby]

Chapter 1: In which things start out awkward and get worse

Long-awaited sequel START!  Yeah, still don’t know if/when it’ll be finished, but I seem to have a pretty clear outline now.

Anyway, I have been frustrated by miscommunications caused by autism as of late, so I decided to write a whole chapter where it was turned up to 11.  It was kind of interesting writing Eska as the “bad guy” for once...but her POV is coming up next chapter.

“Korra?”

“Yeah?”

“We have a situation.”

Korra and Asami had been packing Korra’s things for the former’s long-awaited permanent move to the latter’s mansion.  It was an arduous task, and one that really couldn’t be made any easier by bending. (Korra knew because she had tried airbending, which just made the mess worse.)  Asami had left Air Temple Island to take the first load of boxes to her house, and Korra was just starting to think that she had been gone a long time when Ikki came to her to inform her that she was on the phone.

Korra paused to catch her breath from the mad dash to the phone, and then inquired, “What…kind of situation?”

“Your cousins decided to pay a visit.”

“Desna and Eska?!” As if she had any other cousins that she knew of.

“Yep.  I found them sitting outside the outer gate. They’re on the porch now.  They refused to go inside the house or even say why they’re here until you get here.”

Korra smacked her forehead.  Moving day was stressful enough, but now she had her weird relatives to deal with.

“Okay…okay.  I can do this.  I’ll have them get Oogi ready.  Be there in a bit.  Love you.”

“Love you too. Oh, I almost forgot.”

“Hm?”

“They have a kid with them.”

After a brief stop at the police station to ask Mako for backup (since one never knew with the twins, and she’d prefer not to have to use brute force if there was a problem), Korra punched in the code at Asami’s gate and let the two of them in. Sure enough, her cousins hadn’t budged; they were sitting on hastily-found and mismatched chairs like they owned the place.  And there was indeed a child…a girl of about three.  The child looked supremely uncomfortable, and was holding on to Eska’s hand for dear life.  She had lighter skin than would be expected for a Water Tribe individual, but more importantly, she had very green eyes.  It was almost as if someone had made an exact copy of her father’s eyes and nose, then pasted them down onto Eska’s fine-boned face.  

Hold on a minute. Did that mean that Bolin and Eska…Korra desperately tried to cancel that train of thought.  

Mercifully, just then Mako made a noise that was most akin to a choking komodo rhino.  The child started crying.  Eska shot Mako a murderous look as she pulled the child onto her lap.

“All right, calm down…just calm down...” Mako muttered, presumably as much to himself as to the trio on the porch.  He walked a short distance away and took several deep breaths.

When he got back, he said in a more even tone, “Asami, I will need to use your phone, because Bolin is in big fu…” -he shot a glance at the kid-“freaking trouble.”

“Sure.”

“Do we really need to involve him in this right now?”  Korra asked. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to bring him after all.

“He’s going to find out sooner or later,” was all Mako said.  Korra would still have preferred to wait, but Mako had known for Bolin for longer than she had.  She decided to let him have the final say against her better judgment.

Once Mako had entered the house, Korra turned to the twins and said “Eska.  Desna.”

“Cousin,” they answered in unison.  Eska added, “This is Kinalik,” gesturing to the child.

“Um…hi,” Korra said, not having much experience with small children.  Kinalik hid her face in Eska’s coat.

Eska abruptly announced, “She needs the toilet.”  How she knew that was a mystery to Korra.

“O-of course,” Asami replied.  “Just go up the flight of stairs next to the foyer, and you should see it.”

Eska lifted Kinalik into her arms and slouched off without thanking Asami.  Korra shot her girlfriend a look of sympathy.

“So are you going to tell us why you’re here?”  Korra said as she turned to Desna.

“We thought it would be safer to leave home for the time being, until things blew over,” he replied.  Korra waited for him to elaborate on these “things,” but he didn’t.

“Well…we have plenty of room!” Asami told him, trying to smile and be a gracious hostess even under these trying circumstances.

“We will only require one bedroom,” Desna said.  At the couple’s strange looks, he went on, “I sleep in the tub, didn’t you know?”

It was impossible for Korra to tell whether he was being serious or not.

Having run out of things to say, the trio hung around awkwardly until Mako returned, followed shortly by Eska and Kinalik.

“Bolin will be here soon.  You and him can work things out then,” he said, addressing Eska.  “Meanwhile, it looks like the situation is stable, so my job here is done.”

As Mako walked back to his car, Eska said something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “But you didn’t do anything.”

“Not the most impressive police officer I have ever seen,” Desna added in a more audible tone.  Korra bit back a retort.

There was nothing left to do but wait until Bolin got here.  Korra took that time to observe.  Something seemed…off about Kinalik.  She hadn’t said anything this entire time, and was now rocking back and forth rather vigorously.  Eska had no reaction.

“Is she upset? Is there anything we could bring her?” Asami asked.

“She is fine,” Eska replied.

“Are you sure? I still have my old toys stored up somewhere; I could try to find them.”

“We all have our difficulties,” was the only thing Eska said in response.

But Eska wasn’t neglectful, either.  Although she didn’t show the traditional displays of affection one would expect from a mother, she kept a close eye on Kinalik.   At one point, Kinalik made a fist with her thumb sticking out, and Eska made an identical gesture and touched their thumbs together.

“Thumb kiss,” she explained when she saw Korra and Asami staring at her.

After a while, Asami rang for some lemonade and refreshments to be brought out.  Kinalik grabbed at a dumpling and took a bite, but she immediately spat the bite back out.

“It’s yucky!” she proclaimed at the top of her lungs.  So she could talk.

Rather than reprimand her daughter for rudeness, Eska said, “Here, give it to me,” and ate it herself, spat-out bite and all.  From the look on her face, it was clear that she shared Kinalik’s opinion, but at least she didn’t verbalize it.

They also ignored Asami’s hint that they might be more comfortable inside the house. Although Eska had removed Kinalik’s coat, she and Desna refused to take off their own.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” Asami asked.

“We like being uncomfortable,” Eska shot back. Korra and Asami glanced at each other and decided to drop the matter.  If they wanted to die of heatstroke, that was their problem.

Finally, they could just see someone approaching in the distance, so Korra went to meet Bolin at the archway.  Please don’t let him have brought Opal!

She shouted out a greeting, and felt a great relief that he had come alone.

“Korra, what’s going on?” he said.  He was somewhat pale.

“Um…what exactly did Mako tell you?”

“Just that Eska was at Asami’s house, and I should get my ass over there right now…and that oh yeah, I’m a dad now.”

“I’d say that about covers it.  Did you tell anything to Opal?”

“Didn’t have a chance to.  She was out shopping somewhere…I think the bookstore?”

Then something appeared to occur to him.

“How do I even know it’s…”

“Trust me. You’ll know.”

Bolin continued to look uneasy.

“She’s not going to hurt you,” Korra assured him with maybe slightly more conviction than she felt.  To tell the truth, she didn’t have a good memory of what had happened between those two in the South, having been preoccupied with her own concerns at the time. There was something about a wedding, she knew that.

“I guess the last time we met she didn’t try to kill me, but still…” Bolin trailed off.

“Look, if she tries anything, I’ll be here to protect you, okay?”

“Okay…I guess.”

And off they went.

Kinalik’s resemblance to Bolin was of course immediately obvious to anybody who could see, which did away with any traces of doubt lingering in Bolin’s mind.   His legs went out from under him, and he sat down heavily on the porch floor.  There was complete silence for several seconds. Desna was pointedly looking away.

“Why didn’t…why didn’t you tell me?” Bolin squeaked once he found his voice.

“There wasn’t exactly an opportune moment,” Eska deadpanned.

“But we met in the hotel lobby just a year ago!  Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“By the time that foolish employee stopped bothering us, you were far enough away that I would have had to shout it across the room.  And anyway…” Eska looked down and appeared uncharacteristically shy, “I assumed that you would have interpreted the news as another attempt to control you and become irate.”

“What’s irate mean?”

“Angry.”

“I wouldn’t have been angry!  I mean, yeah, I was really scared of you, and to be honest I still am, but I like kids. In fact, me and Opal were just talking about…” His torrent of words abruptly ceased as he realized what he’d just said.

“Oops,” he mumbled. Eska raised her eyebrows.

“I was already cognizant of you having another girlfriend, feeble turtleduck. Remember?  Although she is not apparently who I thought she was.”  She tapped her finger on her chin and added, “Opal…I have heard that name before.  Oh yes, she was the one on whom I hung up the phone.”

“Okaaayyy…”

Korra cleared her throat.

“I think some introductions might be in hand,” she prompted.  Eska took the hint.

“Indeed. Kinalik, this is Bolin. Bolin…Kinalik.”

“Hey there!” Bolin said as he beamed and reached for the child as if to pick her up.  Kinalik screeched and hid her face in Eska’s coat again.

“Don’t lunge at her like that!  She’s very sensitive!”  Eska scolded.

“Sorry…sorry,” Bolin mumbled as he backed off a few paces.

“She might not have much understanding of what a man actually is,” Desna opined; Korra had almost forgotten that he was there.  “She decided that Eska and I were both her mothers, and we saw no need to correct her just yet.”

“Agreed.  And her nurse is female, her nurse’s assistants are all female, and her grandfather is deceased. We had intended to introduce her to the concept at a later date, but…we were forced into circumstances that were less than ideal.”

Like Desna, Eska did not say exactly what these circumstances were.

“I have an idea!” Asami stated.  “How about we wrap things up for today and try again tomorrow, once…um…how do you pronounce her name again?”

“Kee-nah-leek.”

“Right, once Kinalik has a chance to get rested and used to the change of scenery.”

“That appears to be an adequate plan.”

“Right,” Bolin chimed in.  “And I have to…tell Opal, I guess, somehow.  How am I going to do that?  What if she thinks I was cheating on her?”

“What date did you meet her?”

Bolin was able to tell her approximately, although he wasn’t sure of the exact date.

“I brought a copy of Kinalik’s birth certificate.  I presume that your Opal know enough about mathematics to calculate that Kinalik was conceived about two months prior to that date.  Should I go locate its whereabouts?”

“No, no, we can save that for later.  Because you all look really tired and, uh, Opal will be wondering where I ran off to. And I have to talk to Mako as well. Fun fun fun. So bye.”

He turned and ran down the steps like someone was firebending his rear end.

“His fear is always amusing,” Eska remarked.

After that, the twins were at last convinced to move into the house.  Asami arranged for the best guest room to be made up for them, with an en suite full bathroom on the off chance that Desna actually did sleep there.

“It will do,” Eska said.

By then, it was too late for Korra to haul the rest of her stuff over, so she would spend the night.

Dinner was just as uncomfortable as the day’s other events had been.  Kinalik revealed herself to be an extremely picky eater, and turned her nose up at anything except for a bowl of plain noodles.  The twins did eat the regular meal of chicken and vegetable stir fry with rice, but Eska in particular picked at her food and hardly actually consumed anything.

Asami tried her hardest to include them in various conversation topics, including the plans for Korra’s upcoming move-in party, the weather (unusually warm for so early in the spring), and even pro-bending  (which was widely thought to never have been the same after Amon’s invasion).  But Eska and Desna mostly kept to monosyllabic answers, and excused themselves at the first possible opportunity.

It broke Korra’s heart to see her girlfriend looking progressively more crestfallen as the evening went on.  After dinner, Asami put on the ugly pajamas, which was code for “No sex tonight,” and went almost directly to bed.

Enough was enough. It was time for Korra to give Eska and Desna a piece of her mind, cousins or not, chieftains or not.

When she knocked on the guest bedroom door, she heard Kinalik start to fuss inside.

Eska opened the door and frowned at Korra.

“We just got her to sleep,” she informed her cousin.

“Sorry about that,” Korra answered.  “But we need to talk.”

Eska sighed, and said, “Fine.  But let us at least do so some distance away.”

Once they had reached the end the corridor, Korra faced her cousin straight on.

“Listen.  This rudeness towards Asami needs to stop right now. She is doing everything she can to make you comfortable-despite you showing up with no notice whatsoever-and you have not so much as thanked her even once.  If you have something against me, let me hear it. Don’t take it out on her.  Are we clear about this?”

Eska rocked back on her heels and looked genuinely caught off-guard for the first time that Korra had seen.

“If you had to endure what we have had to endure over the past thirty hours, then maybe you would be more empathetic,” she all but growled.

“I dunno, I’ve had to endure a lot!”

“You have never had to expel a human being from your nether regions.  Unless that was why you went back South.”

Now it was Korra’s turn to be caught off-guard.

“You. Absolute.  Bitch!  That was not the reason and you know it.”

“Well, at any rate, until you’ve feared for your child’s life, then maybe you should keep your oral orifice tightly SECURED!”

She turned and stomped back to her room.

“Eska, wait…what? What are you talking about?”

Eska paused at the door and said, “I was going to inform you tomorrow.  But maybe now I don’t feel like it.”  She opened the door wide as if to slam it, but caught herself just in time.

[cerulean-seeker]

Human Thundercracker’s Backstory

Cut for length. Mentions of violence, death, and depression. Will tag anything else if needed. This story may change over time, but I will notify you of anything that’s important.

The early life of Trevor Cambell, known as TC by those who know him best, was an unstable one. He grew up in a poor town, ridden with crime and unsafe to walk the streets of alone. His family was dysfunctional, with his father long gone and his mother hardly home, young Trevor learned to look after himself very quickly, from house care to self defense. Despite not having strong moral compass in his life, he still possessed a soft spot for the young and helpless; in his teenage years, he became the unofficial ‘big brother’ to a neighbor’s kid, named Skylar. 

For the rest of their teenage lives, they protected each other while on the streets. Unfortunately, the more they ventured outside, the more the two frequently started hanging with bad crowds, and soon got involved in a black market organization in an attempt to come into some money. Before they knew it, their new boss practically owned them, and their new lives were dictated to them; craftily, the ones in charge worked to make it seem like this work was for some good, and Trevor was pressured into staying because he was just paying back the world for being so cruel. He would convince himself of this for a while, but every now and then, the doubtful feeling inside him would persist in telling him that this wasn’t right.

Years into going down this slippery slope, Trevor’s luck with evading capture ran out, as he and Skylar were soon caught and detained by police in a raid. Bitter with the officers, he reluctantly obeyed everything he was told to do, not resisting or even causing trouble at his sentencing; he stayed quiet and compliant, and plead guilty for a lighter sentence. As long as Skylar was alright and with him, he would cooperate.

Trevor had built up such an image at his old job that it carried into prison life: being tall, muscular, and serious, not many dared start any trouble with him, and he used this to his advantage, protecting himself and his younger ‘brother’. Unfortunately, his demeanor would soon change. Finally away from his fast paced old lifestyle and the dangerous people in it, Trevor was able to actually evaluate his life and where he had taken it, with the help of the prison counselor assigned to him. His conclusion: he went too far. Yes, many aspects of his life were unfair, and people were cruel to him, but what what he did was no better-- if not worse-- than how he was being treated. And worse: he let Skylar fall into the same trap.

It was difficult to really come to terms with this realization, and take full responsibility. The gravity of his choices didn’t fully sink in until a new inmate came in, someone Trevor had worked with on occasion. Inquiring one of the guards how the man got here, he learned that the conviction was murder on multiple counts, the most recent being that of a young boy caught in the crossfire of a fight. Shocked and enraged, he found the inmate and started fighting him, only stopping when the guards pulled him away and threw him in his cell, thus ruining his good behavior record. Alone in his cell, the unforgiving fury was washed away by tears of regret and mourning. These were the kinds of people Trevor willingly associated with, the kind of person he had almost become.

The tough guy facade Trevor had constructed at his old job started to wear away after that, being replaced with a slow and sullen demeanor. His reputation still protected him, but he didn’t feel like there was much reason to be protected anymore. He stopped working out, and sat idly outside until the time came to come in; he hardly spoke, slept more, and became too ashamed to come to even Skylar. Of course, knowing who his brother was, Skylar persisted in getting TC to spill what was on his mind. Trevor eventually caved, telling him the things he was withholding from the prison counselor. It would take much more than what Sky could offer to repair his broken brother, but it was a start.

A few years later, the authorities were on the brink of bringing down the organization that the two had joined, and soon Trevor and Skylar were approached for information. If this were years ago, his lips would have remained shut; now, eager to see and end to the violence and bloodshed, Trevor told them every single thing he knew. His input helped them capture the not only many operative, but even his old boss. No shouts of victory yet, but without the leader to keep things running, the rest of the group will surely fall apart. 

The willing cooperation of the two young men greatly improved their image to the warden, and looking back at their records, seeing only one account of instigating violence on Trevor’s part, they were approved for parole. Already 26, Trevor was more than happy to see the outside world again, and Skylar was thankful to see a real smile on his brother’s face again.

Both men found a small apartment to house them, in a better town than before. Its conditions lack something to be desired, but they’re grateful enough to have a roof over their heads. After some coaxing, Trevor reconnected with his mother, and apologized for having gone so far down a wrong path. His battle with depression is still ongoing, but having a glimmer of hope in his life for the first time is a more than adequate deterrent for sadness.

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 2)

Description: Alodia has returned from wherever she’s been. But celebrations may be premature.

CW: Strong language. Just take that as assumed. 

Chapter 2: The Long Night

Aleister

For a pregnant moment, the only sound is my son, wailing with irritation at having been awakened. Grace instinctively puts her arms around him and bounces from side to side, stroking his back, but even she isn't taking her eyes off Alodia.

“Alodia!” Jake breaks the stunned silence, dropping his glass and racing to take his wife in his arms, sinking to his knees with her tangled in his embrace. Alodia holds him back, pressing her face into his shoulder. Jake's whole body spasms with sobs. The rest of us start to edge closer to the treeline as Jake pulls back to press his mouth to hers, tears streaming down his face. “Alodia...Princess...are you real? Are you here? Please be real...”

“I'm here,” she murmurs back. “I think I'm real...”

“...Holy shit!” Craig finally exclaims. “It worked!”

A part of me can't believe that after five years, anything that comes out of Craig's mouth could be absurd enough to stop me in my tracks, but somehow he keeps finding ways to top himself.

“What in the heavens are you talking about?!”

“Alodia's back, dude! Five years we've been doing this voodoo, and it's finally paid off!”

“Wha...voodoo?! For heavens' sake, it was a ritual of remembrance! A way to honor our old friend, not ressurrect her!”

“I dunno,” Zahra murmurs. “I'm looking at pretty convincing evidence that it might have been a little more than that.”

“I think I'm with Zahra on this,” Quinn agrees.

“Do you honestly believe we've been unknowingly casting magic spells for the last five years?! Why would it suddenly work now?!”

“Aleister, shut up!” My head snaps towards Diego, who is kneeling beside Jake and Alodia, stroking the back of her head tenderly. Something in his voice makes any desire to snap back at him wither. He turns his attention back on Alodia. “...Allie? Are you okay?”

Alodia peers over Jake's shoulder, casting her eyes over her surroundings. She spots the manorhouse on the hill. “Are...are we on Sharktooth Isle?”

“No...we're on the main island...The Celestial...” he trails off. “...Wait...what's the last thing you remember?”

“Th...the last thing I really vividly remember is being on The Celestial's rooftop. I touched the crystal to let Vaanu take me back. ...It...all gets a little fuzzy after that...”

We're all silent for a moment. Then Raj pipes up. “Hey, why don't we go inside and see what's left over from the feast. We can bring you up to speed while you eat.”

Alodia offers us a shaky smile. “I...think I'd like that...” She yelps a little as Jake shifts, wrapping his arm over her shoulder and lifting her up in a bridal carry. “Woah! Jake, I'm pretty sure I can walk...”

“Princess, if you think I'm ever letting you go again, you're nuts.” Alodia doesn't reply, but the way she winds her other arm around his neck strikes me as consent. We all start to file toward the manorhouse. Estela hesitates as we pass the pool bar, where the twelfth cocktail is waiting. I pause, watching my half-sister as she studies the glass. Finally, she plucks it off the counter, marches down the beach and dumps it into the sea.

“What was that about?” I ask softly as she returns.

“It's what we do every year,” she murmurs back. “...Call me superstitious, but with Alodia standing in front of us, it feels like bad luck not to complete the ritual.”

“Do you really think--”

“I don't know what to think, Aleister. I didn't think this island had anything left for us but sad memories. If there's still any magic at all left here...if it's enough to really bring her back...”

“...If there is any magic left, we shouldn't tempt it. ...Perhaps you are right.” She nods, and we silently pick up the pace, catching up with the others.

At least whatever has happened to her over these past five years does not seem to have damaged Alodia's appetite. We get her into the manorhouse and Raj fixes her a plate of leftovers, which she immediately tears into like she hasn't seen a morsel in days. I doubt she even tastes it. Jake and Diego stay close on either side of her, passing glances between them. Jake's arm stays firmly draped over her shoulder. Ocassionally, Diego glances over at me and Grace.

When Alodia starts to slow down a little, I clear my throat. “...I am sure you must have questions about now...”

Alodia pauses, a forkful of citrus jasmine rice halfway to her mouth. She lowers her hand. “I'm sure all of you do, too. ...I'm sure a lot of our questions are the same.” She pauses for a moment. “What year is it?”

“2023. Five years since we left La Huerta. It was January of 2018 when we got back to the United States. ...My father was arrested and convicted of kidnapping as well as several counts of murder and attempted murder. He is currently living in a hospital for the criminally insane. By some miracle, which I suspect Iris had a hand in, Estela and I were named as joint heirs in his will. We each own half of Rourke International, and the whole of La Huerta. ...It's officially a private nature sanctuary now. The Vaanti are left in peace, and the eleven of us have come here every summer since you left us.”

“...Then...the Vaanti survived...?”

“Varyyn abdicated his throne,” Diego adds. “Seraxa is the elyyshar now. ...Varyyn is living with me in London. But yeah, in general, the Vaanti are thriving. ...Though we haven't seen hide nor hair of the Anachronists in five years...”

Alodia's hand finds Jake. “...What about Mike...?”

I see Jake's fingers tighten around her hand. “...He's alive, Princess. We found him Stateside. ...Lundgren, too. But we beat him. He's locked up for good.”

Her free hand flies to her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes. “...I can't believe I managed that...I didn't know if I would be able to...I was basically begging Vaanu to turn back that moment...”

“...Guess that explains why Lundgren got brought back, too,” he murmurs with a rueful smile. “I ain't complaining, long as I got Mike back...”

A tense silence settles over the table. There is a proverbial elephant in the room, the one big question that no one dares to ask, because we somehow know that Alodia will not have an answer for us: how did she get here? And then the follow-up question to that one, whose answer I dread: is she back to stay, or will we lose her again?

It's Zahra who finally braves the unknown. “...Okay, so...you don't remember any of where you've been for the last five years?”

“...I wasn't even sure how much time had passed,” Alodia answers. “I only knew that time had passed at all because you all look different enough that I knew it wasn't the same night I left. ...Plus Grace has a baby strapped to her chest...”

“Oh!” Grace exclaims. “Goodness, you haven't even met Reginald...”

“...Not officially. But I've seen him. In one of the visions Vaanu gave me.”

Diego sighs. “...Jake...I think this might be a good time to tell everyone what's been happening since the Prism Gate incident. And...” he glances at me and Grace in turn. “...it might be time to talk about the Prism Gate incident in general.”

“...Ohhh...” Raj winces. “...Did you guys see that, too?”

“I did,” Craig confirms. “And Z. We...figured it would come up here tonight.”

“Wait...so did everyone see the same thing we saw?” Diego looks around the table. All around, nodding heads confirm it. Alodia slowly raises her hand.

“...Um...I didn't...”

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling nervously. Slowly, I explain about my father's rivalry with Silas Prescott, and Prescott's crystalline-powered project called the Prism Gate, and its failure on the night of its unveiling. ...I slowly fold in my suspicions about the crystal's origins. Alodia watches me silently, her expression unreadable, which is more than a little unnerving. In all the time I knew her, she was never guarded with her emotions. I realize in retrospect that because we needed her to be warm and open then, that was who she became. But the thought of her being different from the girl we knew then scares me.

“...But that doesn't make sense,” Raj points out. “After Alodia merged with Vaanu, the crystals disappeared.”

“The crystals on the island disappeared. Silas Prescott said in his speech that he and his wife discovered the crystal on an expedition twenty-five years ago. And people were coming and going from the resort here well before the eruption...”

“...The island itself existed for millions of years,” Alodia confirms softly. “...I may not have come into being until the eleven of you entered the time bubble, but the island was here.”

“Right. I don't know how much power such a crystal would have outside the island, but evidently, it has enough to cause quite an explosion...”

“...And you think that's the reason Alodia was able to come back?” Michelle asks.

“I don't know.”

“Is she going to stay back?” Sean adds. “...Or is Vaanu basically broken again?”

“Surely you don't think I know the answer to that,” I answer irritably.

“No, I don't, Aleister. ...But it's a question someone needed to ask aloud. We're all thinking it.”

Silence settles over the table again, heavy with dread. Diego finally speaks again. “Look...Jake and I have some news. We were waiting for the right moment to share it. And I don't think we're going to find a better one.”

With obvious reluctance, he stands and retreats from the room. He returns a few minutes later with an old shoebox in hand.

“What is that?” Alodia asks.

“...It's...mementoes from my past. ...From...our past, Allie. I was watching the Prism Gate coverage from my parents' place in Riverside. Over the next few days...things started appearing that shouldn't have existed. ...Evidence of the past we built up for you before the cycle was broken. Our childhood in Riverside together.”

Jake rubs a hand over his face. “...There's...there's also a missing persons report. On you, Princess. It's a cold case. Five years old. Alodia Chandler, disappeared the summer before her senior year at Hartfeld University. My sister's a cop in LA, and she says she found it cleaning out the cold cases. ...I never told her what happened to you, but I did let her know I'd been married to a woman named Alodia...”

No one speaks for a moment. Diego puts the box down on the table in front of us and lifts the lid. One by one, he lifts out pieces of evidence. Pictures of the two of them as children. At their senior prom. A newspaper clipping about a junior gymnastics team, complete with a photo of Alodia and four other small, slim girls holding up medals and grinning into the camera. A friendship bracelet of silky woven threads. A birthday card.

“...The big thing for me is that I can remember growing up with you in Riverside,” Diego says softly. “...And I can remember growing up without you. ...I remember the small disaster that was our senior prom, and I can remember spending my senior prom at home alone...”

Alodia's placid facade starts to crack. With shaking hands, she reaches across the table and pulls the birthday card toward her, opening it carefully. Her mouth twists a little as she starts to read aloud.

“...'Happy 18th Birthday to my favorite dork. Hope it's more fun than a laser battle in space with pirates and dinosaurs. May the force be with you. Love, Allie'...”  

Her voice breaks, catching in her throat. She takes a breath, then another, then promptly dissolves into tears. Jake pulls her into his arms.

“You're okay, Princess. You're gonna be okay.”

He can't know that. But I don't believe I should say that in front of her. Not when she is clinging to Jake as if he is anchoring her to existence, trembling so violently that I can feel the vibrations through the table between us.

I find Grace's hand and grip it, perhaps just a little too tightly, but she doesn't complain. She squeezes back. I glance over and see that tears are slipping down her dark cheeks as well. Quinn and Raj have also given in to the flood of emotion filling the dining room. It feels strangely like grief, even though the very person we're grieving is sitting right in front of us. Then, so abruptly that I don't even register it at first, the mood shifts from heavy sorrow to urgency and alarm. Michelle's eyes go wide.

“Jake, let her go.”

Jake hasn't felt the shift yet. He grips his wife tighter. “I ain't letting her go.”

“Jake, she's about to hyperventilate! Get off her!” She leaps up, running around to the other side of the table as Jake pulls back sharply. Alodia, her breath coming in shallow, violent gasps, abruptly pitches forward, crumpling to the floor.

“Alodia!” Jake cries, barely managing to break her fall. Diego drops down beside her, and Michelle kneels at her other side.

“All right, everyone except Jake and Diego out!” she orders. “Give her some space, please!”

“You heard the doctor.” Estela takes Quinn gently by the shoulders, leading her out. “Come on, everyone.”

We reluctantly trickle out of the dining room, gathering in a crowd just outside. A scream from Alodia follows us out. We collectively grimace. The agony in her voice is unmistakable.

“...Dammit,” Estela growls. “What the hell is happening?”

No one answers. What could we say? It isn't as if we have any idea. For all I know, Craig was right, and our little ritual of remembrance was indeed some sort of magic spell we were weaving without our knowledge. Or...more likely, it has to do with Silas Prescott's Prism Gate. It was after the Prism Gate incident that Diego started to find evidence of her existence before the island.

Another cry of agony goes through us like a knife. Quinn chokes, pressing a hand to her mouth. Of course, Reginald starts to wail again. Grace sighs. “I...should feed him...” She looks hesitantly at the door to the dining room. I shake my head.

“I don't think anyone will flinch if you feed him here,” I murmur. She nods, and sits down against the wall, opening her blouse. I sit down beside her while she exposes her breast and guides our son to latch on. In spite of the fearful sounds coming from the dining room, he settles down, suckling contentedly, his tiny fingertips working the fabric of his mother's blouse. I scoot closer to my wife, stroking my son's head, capped with a dark layer of fuzzy hair. ...Would he exist without the woman screaming in the next room?

The dining room doors burst open. Jake emerges with Alodia cradled in his arms, Diego and Michelle close behind. Sean catches Michelle's arm as she passes.

“What's happening? What's wrong with her?”

“I don't know, Sean,” she answers grimly. “Right now, though, she's in a lot of pain, and all I think any of us can do is help her ride it out. ...I'm going to get my med kit. I don't know if I dare to give her anything, but I need to keep an eye on her vitals.”

Sean reluctantly lets her go as Jake and Diego disappear into Jake's room. Eight Catalysts are left fearful and bewildered in their wake. Eventually, it seems there is nothing else to do but drift back to our rooms and try to sleep.

* * *

I sleep for an hour or two, and I think Grace does, too. But when I wake again, around two in the morning, she is standing over Reggie's crib, peering down at him. I come up behind her, winding my arms around her waist. She leans back into me.

“...Do you think she's going to be okay?” she asks me.

“I don't know,” I admit. “...I suppose it depends on what we would consider okay...”

“...I'm not sure...”

“If she rejoins with Vaanu and disappears again in the morning, does that make her okay?”

“...I don't know. ...But I know it would make Jake...not okay...”

That gives me pause. “...He has not been doing well. I know Diego said as much, but actually seeing it...”

“What will happen to him if she does disappear again?”

“...We'll take care of him. All of us. For her sake, we'll take better care of him than we have been.” I kiss her cheek. “...Do you want to look in on her?”

“We probably shouldn't leave Reggie alone...”

“He's asleep. And we can turn on the baby monitor.” I reach over to flip the switch on the monitor clipped to the edge of the crib. The light turns green. I pick up the other and gently lead Grace away from our room towards Jake's.

The lights in his room are dimmed, but not off. Jake and Diego lie still on the double bed, Alodia sandwiched between them with her face pressed into Jake's chest. The two men have their arms draped over her and each other. Sean sits on the floor, leaning against the wall. Michelle is curled up with her head on his lap, a throw blanket draped over her shoulders. He rolls his head towards us as we enter, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes.

“Hey...” he mumbles.

“...She's still here?” Grace asks.

“Yeah. She's still here. And she's sleeping, sort of...” Before I can clarify his meaning, Alodia twitches on the bed, whimpering. Jake and Diego both startle awake and immediately set to quieting her, whispering comfortingly and stroking her hair. It puts me in mind of the first time Reggie got sick, when Grace and I kept vigil through the night with our son on the bed between us. After a moment, she stills. Diego glances up at us, nodding briefly in acknowlegment of our presence. Jake doesn't take his eyes off his wife.

Sean sighs. “...I think the pain has eased a little, anyway. Michelle thinks she's still in distress, though. But her vitals are strong.”

“She is still in distress,” Diego mutters. “That's clear from here. ...Goddammit, I wish I knew what was happening. I just feel so helpless...”

“Perhaps a few of us should travel ahead to Elyys'tel in the morning,” I suggest. “Let the Vaanti know what's happening. At least Varyyn ought to know. If she's still struggling a few days from now, it will be difficult to travel...”

“...I don't want him to worry,” Diego concedes.

“Yeah,” Jake sighs. “...Can't have that.”

“...Sean?” Grace asks. “What are you thinking?” I look over at Sean, whose brow is wrinkled with concentration. He appears to be studying intently the socked foot stretched in front of him.

“...Diego...you were saying you have memories of her before the island? ...That they just recently started coming to you?”

“Yeah. After the Prism Gate thing. ...Why?”

“...Because one just came to me. ...Sophomore year at Hartfeld. Second game of the year. The dance team was selling hot dogs and bratwurst at the game. I saw her while I was warming up. She was showing off some gymnastics moves. Using the bleacher as a balance beam.”

“...She was in our European History class...” Grace murmurs. “The one we had together, Sean. With Professor Franco. She got into that argument with him over whether Lady Jane Grey should really be considered an English Queen.”

As they are speaking, a memory drifts to the surface of my mind. A blonde-haired young woman in the campus coffee shop, sipping from a paper cup with a cardboard sleeve while pouring over a history textbook...entering the library a few yards ahead of me and pausing to hold the door open...chatting with Diego on the tarmac outside Jake's plane as we prepared to board in Costa Rica...

“...She was there in Costa Rica,” I murmur. “When we boarded the plane for La Huerta.”

Jake's breath shudders. “Oh, God...Goddamn...I saw her boarding pass...I checked her passport...” Alodia suddenly goes rigid, crying out. Jake sits up sharply, taking her hand. “I'm here, Princess. Just hang on. Everything's gonna be okay.”

Michelle sits up blearily, pushing the blanket off her shoulders and fumbling for her med kit. I'm not sure if she realizes that Grace and I are here before she's stumbled over to the bed and begun examining her patient. Sean sighs.

“She's been doing that all night.” He shakes his head bemusedly. “She doesn't even flinch. She accuses me of pushing myself too hard on the field, but an intern's hours make my job look cushy, even factoring in the risk of head injury.”

“...It's been a long night already,” I murmur. “And I think it's only going to get longer.”

Jake

In spite of Aleister's prediction, Alodia seems to finally fall into a restful sleep not long after three in the morning. Diego drops off not long after, still spooning his best friend from behind while I cradle her head against my chest. I don't get much sleep myself. I'm too scared that she'll disappear the moment I close my eyes. That this is all some cruel dream. I have dreams like this sometimes. The first year or two after La Huerta, I had them a couple times a week. I'd be walking on a beach on the island and she would appear in front of me, tell me how much she loved me, how much she missed me. We would make love and lie together in the afterglow, and she would slowly slip away as my traitor brain forced me to wake up and face reality.

...The others were never with us in those dreams. And she was never suffering, never in pain like she has been all night. But that's not much of a comfort, even if it does seem like evidence that she's real. About the time the sky starts to turn gray with the early light of dawn, exhaustion wins out, and I drop off.

The next thing I am aware of is a hand gently stroking my hair. Followed quickly by the fact that my arms are empty. I gasp sharply, my eyes flying to the face above me. Alodia, seated on the edge of the bed beside me, gazes down at me as she runs her fingers through my hair. She puts the index finger of her free hand to her lips and bends to brush my mouth with hers. She nods at my left. I turn my head to see Diego, huddled on the other side of the bed. She gestures with her head to the balcony, taking my hand and standing. I rise slowly, letting her draw me over.

We've barely made it out to the balcony and shut the sliding door behind us before need overtakes me and I pull her into my arms, kissing her hungrily. She winds her arms around my neck, kissing back. She tastes just how I remember her, fits in my arms so perfectly. The sparks that fly between us, the way the earth shifts under our feet, the fiery heat of our bodies together is intensely familiar. We're both breathless when we break apart, pressing our foreheads together.

“...Five years, and you still kiss me like it's our wedding day.”

“There's five years' worth of missing you in that kiss, Princess.”

“...I haven't been replaced, then?”

“No one could replace you. Ever. I won't claim I've been celibate, or that I haven't loved anyone I've taken to bed. But none of them could hold a candle to you. No one made me think I could stop running like you did. And ain't a one of them loved me back as much as you did.”

“...I almost can't believe you still love me after everything...”

“What do you mean by everything?”

“...Everything I did...”

“You mean saving the fucking world?”

“...I left you.”

“Because you were saving the fucking world.”

She smiles weakly, but it doesn't last. “...No one has really smiled since I turned up here.”

“Yeah, well, we were all kinda shocked at first. And scared you were gonna vanish. Then you started screaming in pain and that didn't exactly put anyone in the mood to tell knock-knock jokes...”

“Did I scare you?”

“Did it scare me to see the woman I haven't stopped loving in five years screaming and crying in pain for hours when I couldn't do anything but try to help her ride it out?”

“...Ask a stupid question, I guess.”

I feel the first ghost of a smile on my lips. I reach up to cup the side of her face in one hand. “At least you seem better this morning.” I sigh. “...I admit, I ain't had the easiest time of it since I lost you. We'd just got married. We were supposed to have our whole lives together. And then just like that...nothing.”

“...There was just no way to have it all, Jake.  Letting Project Janus go ahead would have remade the world in Rourke's image. I could have stayed here with you and the others forever, but that would have meant letting the world burn. ...The eleven of you mean everything to me. ...And the price for giving you all everything you deserved was losing myself.”

“...But...now you're here...” I let the question hang unspoken in the air. She is quiet for a very long time. I don't let go of her for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is low and husky with emotion.

“...I made the choice that I thought was right because all of you deserved everything. I put on a brave face because I didn't want any of you thinking I was doing something I didn't want to do out of fear or panic. ...But don't think for a second that I wasn't fucking furious. It was right, but it wasn't goddamn fair. ...I wanted to exist. I wanted to stay with all of you. I wanted the life that had been imagined for me, and I wanted to have it all without giving up the world. ...I wanted our little cottage by the sea, maybe a few of your kids if you were game. I wanted to look in the mirror one day and see the Endless staring back at me with a wrinkled and balding Jake McKenzie beside me.”

“I'd wince at the image, but it's what I wanted, too. These last five years, I've pictured us slowly growing old together. I wanted to hug you to my beer gut and tell you that you were beautiful while you fretted over every wrinkle and every gray hair. Every liver spot...” I grin a little and tap her chin. “Every hair sprouting where you didn't want it to...”

She laughs. “Never has chin hair sounded so romantic.”

“There'd be hot flashes, digestive distress, hemorroids, flatulence...”

“Don't push it, Top Gun.”

I chuckle, but it quickly dies in my throat. “...I don't think you realize how badly I wanted it. I'd take all the gas and backaches just to have you beside me again.”

“...I gave my energy back to Vaanu so that it could finally leave Earth. ...But after all that time, living as myself, living as the Endless, loving all of you, being loved back by all of you, needing you and being needed by you...I was too much of my own person to fully merge with Vaanu. Trying to take me back with it was like...trying to but a baby back in the womb once they've been born. We broke apart not long after leaving. That is...Vaanu released the part of our consciousness that had become Alodia. I...didn't have a body per se...but my consciousness was always reaching back to the earth. To all of you. ...I couldn't fully get back right away, though. Then...suddenly...I felt energy. The same kind of energy that had willed me into being in the first place. The next thing I knew, I was falling...and then I was here. On La Huerta, and all of you were gathered around a bonfire. And...now I have memories of an entire childhood spent in Riverside, growing up beside Diego, doing gymnastics and dance, majoring in history at Hartfeld...getting trapped on La Huerta...That's why I was in that state last night. ...All those memories rushing back was kind of overwhelming, and...it hurt. A lot.”

“Thank god it's over. But...Alodia...” I take her face in my hands. “...Does this mean you're back? For good?”

She bites her lip. “I...think so...? I mean, I know Aleister was talking about the Prism Gate thing, and if it really is powered by one La Huerta's crystals, then it seems like a pretty safe bet that's what brought me back. If what I remember from being merged with Vaanu is correct, that crystal will still have a great deal of power, enough to do some damage if it's used incorrectly. But nothing on the level of the Island's Heart or Vaanu itself. ...And I don't think that any amount of damage it could to would be undone if I merged with it. I'm not even sure that I could.” She smiles at me. There's something a little anxious in her smile, but it doesn't seem forced. “...As far as I can tell, Top Gun, you're stuck with me.”

Tears seem appropriate right now. I can feel them in my chest and my throat as I grab hold of her and pull her close. But instead, I find myself laughing. I clutch her in my arms and rock her joyfully, laughing like a madman.

“Princess, you crazy fucking miracle. Goddamn, I shoulda known you'd fight your way back if you had half a chance.”

“I love you, Jake. I love you so much.” We pull back and our lips meet in a wild frenzy, everything we've stored up over five years of separation, grief, anger, heartache, and longing turning to desire. She bites at my earlobe, her voice husky as she whispers, “I want you...”

I reluctantly pull back, just enough to press my forehead to hers. “I want you, too. ...But why don't we get the others up to speed? Way you were last night, there's no way anyone's gonna give us any privacy before they know you're okay.”

She laughs. “Right now, they could watch for all I care. ...But you're right. And I do want to see them again now that my head's on straight. I've got five years to catch up on.”

[n0verias]

This is for @nyappykid, I was your Ace Attorney Secret Santa! I hope you like it!

Title: Christmas in Khura’in Pairing: Klavier/Apollo Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of crimes/murders, mentions of death Additional Tags: Made-up Khura’inese words, Apollo is a lovestruck fool AO3 Link

December 22, 2028 Justice Law Office

“Horned Head! I command you to help me this instant!” Rayfa shouted as she attempted, with little success, to hold up a huge stream of prayer flags. Her small frame was barely visible with how much she was holding, and Apollo was actually quite impressed.

“I got it.” Apollo lessened the load for Rayfa by taking half the pile in his arms. “I honestly didn’t think Christmas was celebrated here.”

Rayfa let out a pronounced ‘hmph’. “Is that what you call it in America? Here, we call it Khu’khurist. It’s an ancient tradition brought upon by the Holy Mother herself as a means to celebrate all that we are thankful for. And while you selfish Americans demand gift offerings, we hold a giant festival for all to enjoy.”

“And on the day of the 25th, we conclude by lighting the candles of prayer around the giant hal’abad tree.”

Apollo and Rayfa turned to see Nahyuta entering the Justice Law Office with a box of decorations. “And while we generally don’t hand out gifts as Rayfa said, it is not uncommon for couples to exchange a small token of their love for each other.” Nahyuta chuckled as he set down the box. Apollo took a peek and saw that there were a bunch of unlit candles, as well as holly, a wreath, and…oh god, was that what Apollo thought it was?

“Ah, and I did some research on American customs as well. Apparently, Americans hang some kind of plant called ‘mistletoe’ in a doorway, and whoever ends up under it has to kiss someone.” Nahyuta held up the mistletoe in his fingers and tried to find a perfect spot for it. “I thought it would make Apollo feel more at home.”

Apollo grimaced. So it WAS what he thought. “I don’t think something like that is necessary.” Besides, there is literally no one here who he would want to kiss, and he’ll be damned if he had to kiss someone like…Datz. He shuddered at the thought.

Rayfa crossed her arms. “How barbaric. So this is what America is like during the holidays?”

“NO.” Apollo shouted a lot louder than he intended. “Putting something like that up in the office is just asking for bad luck to happen!”

And as if things couldn’t get any worse, Datz Are’bal burst through the door and almost tripped over the rug. He managed to catch his balance as he skidded to a halt right in front of them. “Did you guys hear?! They managed to get some hot shot musician to sing at the festival!”

Nahyuta and Apollo stared at Datz as if he grew a second head. Rayfa in contrast smirked.

“Ah that’s right! I heard from Mother…I—I mean Queen Amara…” Rayfa blushed at her blunder. “That she sought to find a form of American entertainment, since this would be Horned Head’s first Khu’khurist with us.”

Why did Apollo feel so uneasy? “Dare I ask who this musician is?”

Rayfa pondered the thought. “Uh…I believe it was Klavier Gavin…?”

Apollo was stunned into silence. He hadn’t heard from or spoken to Klavier for more than a year…not since that incident at Themis Legal Academy. And if he were to be completely honest, he thought that Khura’in would be the LAST place he would ever run into the fop. Did this mean that Klavier was reviving his musical career? He recalled last time they spoke that Klavier was going to focus more on his prosecuting, especially after Daryan Crescend was convicted of murder and the Gavinners were disbanded. He recalled that to be a dark time for Klavier, and no matter how much the man showed off a smile, it was clear that underneath it was sorrow. Of course, a lot can change within the course of a year. He wondered how Klavier was doing…he didn’t even think that Klavier knew that he was in Khura’in.

“Earth to Apollo!”

Apollo was snapped out of his thoughts by Datz waving his hand ferociously in front of his face. Apollo slapped the hand away with mild annoyance. “Sorry…just that hearing the name Klavier Gavin brings back old memories.”

“Do you know him?” Nahyuta questioned, to which Apollo nodded.

“After a fashion. He’s actually a prosecutor who I fought against on many occasions.”

Rayfa tilted her head. “So he’s a friend? Maybe it’s a good thing he’ll be the one performing, then.”

Could Apollo consider Klavier a friend? Sure they were on good terms both outside the courtroom and inside, but it’s not like they ever took time out of their busy schedules to have a chat over coffee. Apollo sighed. “When’s he supposed to arrive?”

“Actually, he might already be here. His plane landed yesterday and should be staying at Tehm-pul Temple—” Before Rayfa could finish her sentence, Apollo dashed out of the office, leaving behind stunned and mildly amused expressions.

“Something tells me this will be an interesting Khu’khurist indeed.” Nahyuta chuckled.

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Apollo panted and wheezed as he stopped in front of the temple. He hadn’t run that fast in a while, it felt like; but his exhaustion soon wore off when he caught sight of the familiar silhouette of someone he hadn’t seen in a long while. The purple jacket, those rings…that platinum blond hair.”

“K-Klavier?!”

Said figure turned around, revealing crystal blue eyes peeking out from behind black shades. The look of shock on Klavier’s face was very apparent.

“H-Herr Forehead?” Klavier rushed to Apollo. “Mein gott, why are you here?”

Oh, that’s right. He…never told Klavier that his new residence was in Khura’in. “I’ve been living here for a few months now, actually.” Apollo explained awkwardly. “It’s a long story…”

“Oh? So you’re no longer employed under Herr Wright? What did you do that caused him to fire you?” Klavier chuckled.

If there’s one thing he didn’t miss, it was Klavier’s sharp tongue. “That’s not what happened! I told you it was a long story.”

Klavier grinned. “Well, we have plenty of time to catch up. Maybe over drinks?”

Apollo wanted to protest, but a part of him couldn’t bring himself to refuse. It was probably that smile. That annoying, pretty boy smile. He didn’t like talking about the events that transpired earlier in the year, but he supposed he owed Klavier an explanation for disappearing from the courtrooms in Los Angeles.

They managed to find a small café that sold different Khura’inese pastries and drinks, which they sat down and caught up. Klavier told him about how he visited Germany for a couple of weeks, and how his music was still very popular there much to his surprise. His prosecuting career is still as successful as ever, making sure that no one was falsely convicted and that only the true criminal was brought to justice. That was one thing he and Apollo had in common, and something that Apollo was grateful of. On a more somber note…Klavier also told him of Kristoph’s execution. Kristoph Gavin, Klavier’s brother and Apollo’s former boss, was finally executed via lethal injection about a month ago. Klavier was present, and while Kristoph had no last words, their eyes locked one last time before the deed was done.

And as if things couldn’t get more depressing, Apollo decided to tell Klavier about his adoptive father, Dhurke Sahdmadhi, and the events that sparked a revolution here in the Kingdom of Khura’in. Which, of course, included the details surrounding Dhurke’s death, as well as his biological father’s murder at the hands of the former Queen of Khura’in. It was still rather difficult to retell the events that haunted his memories, but he knew that he would have to get over it eventually.

“I’m really sorry to hear about Kristoph.” Apollo looked at Klavier with sympathy. “Regardless of what he’s done, I’m sure it must’ve been hard for you.”

Klavier sighed. “The past is past. I can’t waste time feeling sorry for myself.” He smiled sadly. “It’s strange, really…he had done some cruel things that ruined him, and I pitied him. But as his brother, I couldn’t help but feel sad. He wasn’t even a supportive brother to begin with.”

“That’s only human nature.” Apollo took a sip of his herbal tea. “To me, he was just my boss; but to you, he was family.”

Klavier chuckled. “How about we change the subject to something more…cheerful.” He rested his chin on his hands and smiled. “So am I to understand that you inherited your adopted father’s law office? You sure are making a name for yourself, Herr Forehead.”

Apollo laughed awkwardly and scratched his cheek a little. “Something like that. I wanted Dhurke’s dream to live on, so I made the tough decision to stay here…at least until the justice system in this country gets revived.”

Klavier hummed. “Do you still keep in contact with Fräulein Magician and Fräulein Cykes? And what happened to Fräulein Detective? I haven’t seen her in quite some time.”

“Ever the romantic, aren’t you.” Apollo rolled his eyes. Ema was probably over the moon over not having to work side-by-side with Klavier. “It’s pretty expensive to talk over the phone, but I send them letters whenever I’m able to. Trucy apparently promoted Athena to her magical assistant.” Apollo thanked the stars that he no longer had that position. “As for Ema…I think she’s here in Khura’in, actually.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow, so Apollo explained further. “The prosecutor in this country has taken a liking to her, so she’s here for as long as I have helping us with cases.”

“I’m amazed that someone could tolerate the detective for too long without stepping on her toes.” Klavier chuckled.

Apollo shot him a deadpanned expression. “I’m sure she was only like that because she had to deal with you on a daily basis.”

Klavier feigned hurt. “Way to strike me where it hurts, Herr Forehead.”

Of course, Apollo knew that the real reason behind Ema’s sour attitude back then was due to her having failed the forensics exam. Now that she was a certified forensic scientist, she was in much higher spirits.

They spent a few more minutes of small chatter before leaving the café. And who should they run into but Nahyuta and Rayfa carrying more supplies, no doubt in preparation for the festival.

“So you must be the musician that will be performing in a few days?” Nahyuta questioned, to which Klavier nodded. Nahyuta smiled. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Any friend of Apollo is a friend of mine.”

Apollo crossed his arms. “Klavier, this is Nahyuta Sahdmadhi. He’s the prosecutor for this country. And the girl next to him is Rayfa Padma Khura’in…crowned princess of Khura’in, as well as a holy priestess.”

Klavier whistled. “You sure have friends in high places, Herr Forehead.”

“Herr…Forehead…?” Nahyuta chuckled, and Rayfa smirked.

“I see that Horned Head has many titles.”

Klavier bowed to Rayfa, took her hand in his, and kissed it. “It’s an honor to meet the princess of this country.”

Rayfa’s face turned a dark shade of red and Apollo thought for a moment that she had short-circuited. And as expected, Rayfa hastily pulled her hand away and pouted. “You will cease this inappropriate behavior at once!” Her voice slightly cracked at the end, which didn’t help her case at all.

“I see you’re still an insufferable charmer.” Apollo rolled his eyes, to which Klavier chuckled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Klavier then took Apollo’s hand and did the same thing. “Unless it’s working, of course.”

Apollo stood there, frozen like a statue. “N-Now you’re just trying to be annoying.” However, the fact that he hesitated to pull his hand away caused Nahyuta to chuckle. Thankfully, Klavier didn’t notice as he stood up.

“Well, I think I will head back to my room. I think jet lag is finally catching up with me.” Klavier smiled. “Good to see you again, Herr Forehead. Maybe we’ll see each other tomorrow. My number is still the same.” And with a wink, Klavier walked back in the direction of Tehm’pul Temple without looking back.

After a few minutes of saying nothing, Nahyuta cleared his throat. “So…just a friend, you said?”

Apollo snapped out of his trance. “Uh…what?”

“You and Klavier Gavin seemed very close.”

Apollo was silent for a short moment, before looking to the side. “He and I have known each other for a while. And while I hate to admit it, he’s helped me out with my first few cases as an attorney.”

Nahyuta nodded in understanding. “So your relationship is strictly professional?”

“…What are you implying?”

“You reacted the same way that Rayfa did when Mr. Gavin kissed your hand.” Nahyuta smiled sweetly. “And unlike her, you’re not a small child vulnerable to precocious crushes.”

“Hey!” Rayfa pouted next to Nahyuta, but he ignored her.

“Hm…maybe that mistletoe will come in handy, after all.”

Apollo wasn’t impressed in the slightest. “You’re just imagining things, Nahyuta.” However, that did nothing to stop his heart from racing at an unnatural pace. He desperately wanted the subject to change. “So if you two are here, who’s watching the office?”

Rayfa crossed her arms. “Datz, of course.”

The color from Apollo’s face drained away and he rushed back in the direction of his office, all while grateful for that embarrassing conversation to end.

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“Whoa, you must be in deep trouble if you’re willing to pay for a long distance phone call, Polly!” Trucy’s voice chimed through Apollo’s cell phone. “You’re not in trouble with the law again, are you?”

Apollo frowned. “No, nothing like that…and what do you mean ‘again’?!” He huffed. “If you must know, Klavier is here in Khura’in. To perform for the Christmas festival.”

He could practically feel the amount of glee seeping through Trucy’s voice. “Oooooh, so that’s where he went! We’re actually babysitting his dog for him while he’s away. I wanted to tell you, but by the time the letter would reach you it’d probably be too late.”

Well, he appreciated the thought, he supposed. Though that still did nothing to calm his heart down. It felt like it was about to explode, and there was no way in hell he would ever admit to the reason for it. “I wonder how Ema would react to seeing him here. She’s been so busy with work that I doubt she even knows about the festival.”

Trucy giggled. “It’s just like you to change the subject like that, Polly.”

“I admit nothing.”

“Well, I’m sure Ema won’t be as grumpy as she used to be, now that she can legally take people’s fingerprints!” Trucy’s voice faltered all of a sudden, and soon after there was a loud crashing noise in the background.

“Are you alright, Trucy?!” Apollo began to worry.

Trucy’s voice sounded distant for a moment, before it came back to the phone. “Sorry about that, I’m practicing a new magic trick but Athena keeps messing up her part. She’s enthusiastic, but she doesn’t have the same charm that you did.”

“And I don’t miss those days for a moment.” Apollo deadpanned. “I hope Athena isn’t bleeding to death right now, otherwise Mr. Wright will not only have to find a new attorney, but also deal with Mr. Blackquill’s wrath on top of that.”

“No no she’s fine! For the most part…” Trucy’s voice trailed off. “Might have gotten a few paper cuts but nothing serious! Besides, Pearl is helping out too. She’s our resident first-aid kit for Athena.”

Apollo sighed. “Stop bringing other people into your convoluted magic tricks.”

“I can’t hear you, Polly!” Trucy sing-songed. “So back to your reason for calling. I think your situation desperately calls for some Christmas magic. Like a clear starry night…or mistletoe!”

“Enough with the mistletoe!” Apollo’s chords of steel made its appearance in the form of a grating shout. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure about tha—”

Apollo could hear a commotion on the other end, followed by some protests from Trucy. Seconds later, a new voice popped up.

“Okay listen up, Apollo, I was listening to the entire conversation!”

Apollo scowled. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to eavesdrop, Athena?”

Athena scoffed. “Whatever, just listen. You can’t keep your feelings inside you for so long. I’m practically on the other side of the world and I can still feel your emotions loud and clear! And if you think I’m not willing to give you a therapy session over the phone, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Alright, alright I get it. So what are your ears picking up, exactly? Because I have no idea.”

It sounded like Athena grabbed something from the other end. “Glad you asked! Now, as your resident therapist, I suggest you first admit your feelings for Klavier—”

“Wait wait what, WHAT?!” Apollo practically screamed.

“Oh please, Apollo, it was obvious to me since you made that huge tangent about those roses Klavier sent Trucy earlier in the year.” Athena’s voice was flat, and Apollo could just about picture her eyes rolling. “You don’t have to tell the man, but admitting to yourself that you have feelings for him will definitely ease the tight feeling in your chest.”

“………..Goodbye, Athena. Tell Trucy I said goodbye, and if she asks, you are the reason I’m cutting this conversation short.”

Before Athena could protest, Apollo hung up his phone and let out a loud, drawn out sigh. He lied back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

(Feelings for Klavier, huh…)

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December 22, 2028 Wright Anything Agency

“I can’t believe you, Athena!” Trucy huffed with her hands on her hips. “I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to him!”

Athena felt only slightly guilty. “It’s not MY fault he refuses to admit his feelings for Klavier!”

Trucy crossed her arms. “Polly’s a boy, Athena! They don’t admit things like that so easily, if at all!”

Athena frowned. “I would think he would have outgrown that behavior by now, he’s in his mid-twenties!”

“Umm…guys?”

Both Trucy and Athena looked in the direction of the voice to see Pearl standing there with an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just got off the phone with Bonny. She was wondering if you wanted her to get Mr. Hat ready for tomorrow’s Christmas show…”

“Oh!” Trucy ran to grab her notes that were sitting on the coffee table. “Yeah, if she’s able to!”

Athena toyed with her earring. “…Didn’t Bonny mess up Mr. Hat’s positioning during that one case…?”

“Yeah, but I trust her! Besides, Betty is there too to supervise.” Trucy went back to practicing her magic trick, and Athena grimaced.

(Wasn’t Betty actively trying to sabotage you, too?!)

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December 25, 2028 Justice Law Office

It was finally time for the festival, and Apollo was absolutely floored by how beautiful the bazaar was. Candles illuminated every corner of each store; people selling small candies colored in silver and gold. Khura’in even had their own version of Santa Claus, although it was an overly long name that Apollo couldn’t even try to pronounce if he wanted to. Apparently this version of Santa Claus was a holy priest who dedicated his life to making children happy; he awarded those who practiced his religion with devout faith, and punished those by sending them to a dark abyss where they would face eternal suffering. A bit excessive, Apollo thought, but he can’t say he was surprised.

He hadn’t seen Klavier since the other day. He didn’t want to pull Klavier away from his rehearsals for later tonight. Klavier did however text him that he would be performing ‘The Guitar’s Serenade’ after the candles are lit on the hal’abad tree. It was customary for an hour sermon to be recited during the lighting, followed by up to three hours of prayer. Apollo was grateful that he wouldn’t have to participate in that; he wasn’t sure if his back can handle being in a hunched position like that for three whole hours.

He walked through the bazaar, admiring the lights and little trinkets hanging from the rafters with a carefree expression. It wasn’t often that he can enjoy something like this without thinking about a case in the back of his mind. Ever since the abolishment of the Defense Culpability Act, his office has heard no end to cases involving wrongful convictions; and while he was more than happy to right the wrongs done by a twisted government, it was nice to have some time to himself.

His eyes fell upon Nahyuta and Ema by a fruit stand. Ema had a very confused expression on her face while Nahyuta was holding up a bizarre-looking fruit with pink skin and purple splotches, all while making a gesture with his hand. Surely he was giving Ema some kind of lecture about the significance of that particular fruit, and Apollo couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle at the scene. He walked a little further and noticed Datz selling some…were those lizards? Surely not the same lizards that he had hanging in the office at some point?! Apollo couldn’t walk fast enough when he saw that Datz noticed him and egged him to come over.

When he finally made it to Tehm’pul Temple, he stared in awe at the huge hal’abad tree with what looked like thousands of candles on each branch. This seemed like a fire hazard, but who was he to question a sacred Khura’inese holiday? As he walked closer, he noticed Rayfa standing in front of the tree looking at a piece of parchment. He wondered if Rayfa also had an important part in the ceremony; it made sense, her being the royal priestess and all.

A quick glance to his left, and his gaze landed on that of Klavier Gavin, clad in his normal wear and going over some of the vocals for his song. He even had a guitar in hand. Apollo couldn’t help but think about the conversation he had with Trucy a few days ago, and he immediately felt tense. Is this how witnesses felt whenever he perceived them? It was such an uneasy feeling, and it sent a chill down his spine.

Klavier must’ve noticed him staring, for he called him over with a smile and wave. Apollo feigned a scoff and walked over.

“I’m still surprised they decided to get a foreign performer for such an important day.” Apollo commented, to which Klavier chuckled.

“Believe me when I almost refused the offer…until the queen herself asked, and well, who can say no to royalty?”

Apollo shot him a small smile. “Understandable.” His gaze drifted towards the sky, where a bunch of stars danced in the night. “…You know, we’ve known each other for a while, and while I hate to admit it…” He sighed. “…You were part of the reason for me lasting this long as an attorney. Going against you has taught me many things, and…I guess I’m saying I’m thankful.”

Klavier had a dumbfounded expression on his face for a split second, but quickly recovered. “While I appreciate the sentiment, Herr Forehead, that was entirely your doing. I just pushed you in the right direction.” He smiled. “We were both aiming towards the same truth, were we not?” He looked up at the sky as well. “Ach, I do have to say that I miss our days in the courtroom. It’s just not the same without you on the other side.”

Apollo’s heart made an involuntary leap and for a second, he thought he would faint. “Uh…r-right. And here I thought you only saw me as a naïve greenhorn who needed to be spoon-fed evidence.”

The light laugh that escaped Klavier’s throat was intoxicating. “Of course I thought that at first, but that was before I got to know you. I always wondered what kind of attorney you were, after you bested my bro in court…and I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised.”

“…Of what?”

Klavier looked back at Apollo. “Everything, I guess. But most of all, that determination you had to find the truth, and undying faith towards your client. Despite being your boss, you turned out to be nothing like Kristoph.”

He hated to admit it, but he was starting to feeling butterflies in his stomach. He hated it when Athena was right, especially about something like this. “…Listen, Gav—uh, Klavier…”

Klavier raised an eyebrow, and it was then that Apollo realized that this was the first time he ever referred to Klavier by his first name. And upon realizing this, it became much more difficult to form the correct words—

“Hey, Horned Head. I’m unsure of where to put this, but Nahyuta handed it to me and now I’m stuck with it. What are the customs for this in America, again?”

Apollo turned his head up behind him and saw Rayfa standing there, a blunt expression on her face...holding a bundle of mistletoe in her fingers and dangling it above where he and Klavier were sitting. He was mortified. He dared to glance at Klavier, who was merely chuckling, his chin propped up by his hand and staring at him.

“The fräulein wants to know what people do under the mistletoe. Would you like to help me show her, Herr Forehead?” Klavier smiled, and Apollo couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed hold of the front of Klavier’s shirt and pulled him in closer, giving him a forceful kiss that couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. When he pulled away, Apollo got up from his seat and stormed off, not even bothering to look back. Why did he do that?! He was such an idiot, and the worst part was he couldn’t tell which part he regretted more, the kiss or leaving right after. It wasn’t until he heard someone shouting his name that he came to a halt and turned around.

“You know it’s bad taste to leave without a word after kissing someone, ja?” Klavier panted a little. He must have ran after him shortly after what happened.

Honestly speaking, Apollo acted on impulse. It was a spur of the moment decision brought about by everyone taunting him; first Nahyuta, then Trucy and Athena…he let out a frustrated sigh as he turned his head to look back at Klavier, who was running his fingers through his hair.

“I…I just did what people normally do under mistletoe. It’s what everyone wanted of me, right?” Apollo bit out.

Klavier tilted his head with a mildly concerned expression. “I was just humoring the young fräulein—”

“What do you want from me, Gavin?” Apollo cut Klavier off.

Klavier took a step toward Apollo. “I should be the one asking you that.” Klavier reached out with the intent to rest his hand on Apollo’s shoulder, but stopped when he saw how the other man recoiled. “Is there something bothering you? Ach, did I do something to offend you in any way?” He grew more concerned by the minute. “Please talk to me.”

Apollo hesitated. His gaze darted back and forth between Klavier’s face and the hand that was ever so slightly reaching out to him. There is no turning back once he speaks the words he desperately wants to get out. But really, why would someone as famous as Klavier, the rock star prosecutor himself, even think about reciprocating his feelings? Sure he was making a name for himself in Khura’in, but back in the States he was just a defense attorney working under the legendary Phoenix Wright. Hell, Klavier witnessed Apollo’s very first cases as a defense attorney, and all the embarrassments that came with being a greenhorn.

He never could take rejection very well; his mind was already settling on the worst possible outcome before anything even happened.

“Apollo?”

Apollo was dragged out of his thoughts by Klavier’s voice, and when his eyes focused in front of him, he realized that Klavier’s face was much closer to his own than before. He could feel his own face getting hotter and hotter, despite his efforts to stop it.

“…What do you think of me, Gav…Klavier.” Apollo’s voice broke a little. “Please, I need to know.”

Klavier stared at Apollo for what felt like an eternity, before he finally answered. “Words cannot even begin to describe how I feel about you, Apollo.” His expression was somber as he glanced around at the lit candles illuminating the bazaar. “You remember when we first met?”

Apollo slowly nodded. “I could never forget that case…” Although he would be more than happy to forget about stolen panties. “Trucy noticed you standing in front of your motorcycle, waving to a bunch of your fans.” He let out a chuckle. “You were the one who made it possible for me to investigate the crime scene.”

Klavier smiled. “I probably didn’t look like it to you, but I was…suffering back then. Emotionally, and mentally.”

“…Was it because of Kristoph?” Apollo already knew the answer, but wanted confirmation.

Klavier nodded. “My bro was certainly one of a kind. But behind closed doors, he was just as manipulative and scheming as how he was in the courtroom. Every waking hour growing up with him felt like there was a noose around my neck, and he was the judge, jury, and executioner.” He let out a sigh. “And then…that case happened. Kristoph set me up to destroy Phoenix Wright’s career. I had my suspicions of course, but with all my heart I really wanted to believe that there was no way my own brother could do something that cruel. And then you came along and pulled the covers from my eyes. And thanks to you, I was finally able to confront Klavier on equal footing; I was no longer afraid of him.”

Apollo didn’t know what to say, but Klavier continued. “What I’m trying to say is that, in a way, you saved me back then. Without you there to accuse Kristoph and bring him into the courtroom once more, I don’t think I would have ever been able to face my demons.” Klavier looked at Apollo and smiled. “You mean a lot to me, Apollo…more than I’m sure you can even begin to imagine.”

A small breath escaped Apollo’s mouth as he was rendered speechless.

(C’mon, say something, damnit!)

“I would like to know what you think of me, too…if that’s alright.” Klavier asked thoughtfully. He just gave Apollo an opening, one that he decided to take.

Apollo let out a breath of air. “…If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I ever would have made it this far as an attorney.”

Klavier was about to say something, but Apollo held a hand up to stop him. “Before you tell me how that’s not true, just listen for a second. I was a novice, my former boss was sent to prison on murder charges…I had nowhere to go until the Wright Anything Agency phoned me. And the last thing I expected was to be immediately thrust into investigating a murder from stolen noodle carts and panties.”

Klavier chuckled, which Apollo responded with a chuckle of his own. “…Was it your intention to give me all those hints? When we were in court, it felt like you were guiding me along to finding the answer…I might have gotten a Not Guilty verdict, but at the time, it still didn’t feel like a victory to me.”

“I’m sure you’re already well-aware of this, Apollo, but the most important thing for me was to find the truth…it wasn’t about winning or losing, or a personal battle between attorney and prosecutor. And as a rookie defense attorney, I was positive that you probably wouldn’t have understood that.” Klavier explained, to which Apollo nodded.

“You were right, of course.” Apollo glanced away. “Back then, I didn’t know what it meant to find the truth. I didn’t know what it meant for an attorney to be working together with a prosecutor and share evidence. But you helped me see that the way I was brought up was wrong.” He hesitated to bring up the next thoughts on his mind, but it was now or never. He had to do it.

“…I-I know I always acted like you were the most annoying person on the planet, but I want you to know that I never thought of you in that way.”

(Breathe, Apollo. You can do this.)

When his eyes met Klavier’s, he saw the light shining from the candles reflect on Klavier’s pupils. It was beautiful.

“You mean a lot to me, more than you probably realize.”

Klavier smiled. “You repeated what I told you—”

“I’m not finished.” Apollo bit his lip, and stepped closer to Klavier until they were mere inches apart. Klavier’s eyes widened, but Apollo paid no mind as he stood on his toes and pressed his lips softly onto Klavier’s. It didn’t last long, but he just wanted to get the message across.

You…mean a lot to me. More than you probably realize.”

Klavier just stared at Apollo with his mouth slightly agape, before he finally snapped out of it.

“Apollo…how long?”

Apollo shook his head. “Honestly, I probably couldn’t tell you that. But if I had to guess, it probably started developing around the time you invited Trucy and I to your concert.”

“And you never told me?”

Apollo grew frustrated once more. “It’s not that easy, okay?! For someone like you who has people confessing their love to you on a daily basis, maybe. But for someone like me…”

Klavier watched quietly as Apollo tried to stop his body from shaking. When a few minutes had passed, Klavier took the opportunity to pull Apollo in closer. Apollo’s eyes widened.

“Those people who you say confess their love for me? They’re just fans. They probably say the same thing to their other favorite celebrities. Contrary to popular belief, I’ve never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend.” Klavier smiled as Apollo huffed.

“I don’t believe it. Not even when you were starting out as a rock star?”

Klavier shook his head. “Kind of hard to trust people, you know? Are they dating me because they love me, or are they dating me because I’m famous? Trust is one of the most important factors in a relationship…to me, anyway.”

Apollo looked down. “I see…”

He felt a slight pressure on the top of his head; it took him a moment to realize that Klavier had kissed his head very softly.

“I trust you, Apollo.”

“…What are you saying?” Apollo glanced back up at Klavier, who tilted his head and smiled.

“I’m saying that I feel the same way about you…if you’ll have me.”

Apollo didn’t hear anything else; didn’t see anything else. All of his focus was on Klavier. He wasted no time pulling the other man in and kissing him under the candlelight, just as the snow was beginning to fall once more.

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“Happi’raki Khu’khurist!”

A chorus of shouts and cheers as the people of Khura’in witnessed the lighting of the hal’abad tree, welcoming Christmas with open arms and many prayers. The concert was a big hit, with many of the younger citizens practically begging Klavier to visit again, which he was more than happy to oblige…although it was probably mostly due to his new boyfriend being the revolutionary defense attorney in this country.

Rayfa was overseeing the festival of prayers, where everyone knelt down in prayer for hours on end until the candles on the hal’abad tree burn out. It was mildly amusing seeing how serious Rayfa was while looking over everyone, but every now and then she would glance at the children with their parents enjoying themselves and huff. Apollo decided maybe he’ll buy her a festive pastry later.

Nahyuta was helping Rayfa with her duties whenever possible, but for the most part he was done with the festivities and decided to go back to Justice Law Office to rest up. He wasn’t alone, however, as Ema, Ahlbi, and Datz were also enjoying themselves in the warmth of the office. Didn’t Khura’inists enjoy the cold? Or maybe they were just enjoying each other’s company, which Apollo thought was far more plausible.

All in all, the festival was a success. His first Christmas in Khura’in…Apollo now had more memories to share with Trucy and Athena, and everyone else back home in the States. And of course, more memories to come with Klavier.

“So just out of curiosity, Herr Forehead…what did you REALLY think of me when you first saw me up on stage…?”

“OBJECTION! No comment.”

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds S07E05 “From Childhood’s Hour” review

Episode 05 – From Childhood’s Hour

Okey dokey, so I am officially scared because this title is giving me the creeps - I hate episodes revolving around abduction/torture/murder of children ... please tell me I’m wrong.

Let’s see what happens ... I think.

Oh my god, we’re meeting one of Rossi’s ex-wives! That is so fucking awesome! I’ve wanted to meet them for a while.

“Well, I’ve changed.”

He’s not eating fruit for the health of it, the last time I checked he’s a cigar-puffing, meat-loving Italian - just what the doctor ordered for this gal.

“Okay, the cantaloupe is for your benefit.”

“When we were married, you were always warning me about clogged arteries.”

“Nobody lives forever.”

“So how’s San Francisco?"

“You know, I’m really glad you called me.”

“It would be nice if we saw each other more than once every three or four years.”

“Well, there are all those serial killers. They’re pretty serious.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“How about you?”

“Damn it, I …”

“Look, how much longer are you gonna be in town?”

“Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner before you head back?”

“I still make a master cioppino.”

“Great.”

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. I got hung up on something.”

“What do we got?”

“A child abduction in St. Louis.”

“Yeah. Bobby Smith, nine years old, vanished 48 hours ago from a residential area, where his mother, Marlene Smith, claims to have dropped him off.”

“48 hours and we’re just learning about it now?”

“Yeah. That’s ‘cause mom didn’t know her son was gone.”

“She assumed that he was with the grandmother and just left him there.”

“So, she’s not exactly on the short list for mother of the year.”

Ooh, sarcastic JJ. We don’t get to see her that often.

“What about the father?”

“Uh, he was convicted of embezzling form his workplace two years ago. Currently cooling his heels in state prison.”

“If it’s a stranger abduction, the first 24 hours are critical. This kid’s already been missing twice that long.”

“Which is why we shouldn’t waste any more time. Let’s go.”

Edgar Allan Poe: “From childhood’s hour I have not been as others were, I have not seen as others saw.”

Okay, this dude is officially freaking me out. Edgar, baby, who hurt you?

“St. Louis.”

“Oh, probably a couple days.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Bye.”

It’s so cute to see him so infatued with love.

“What?”

Busted.

“Nothing. Just somebody’s got a lot of extra pep in their step this morning, that’s all.”

“Probably doubled up on his vitamins.”

“Oh, he doubled up on something.”

Morgan, you little shit!

“Garcia, what have you got on the mother?”

“Oh, I have so much on the mother, and try as I might, none of it is good. Marlene Smith has a history of erratic behavior, seriously clinically depressed, two suicide attempts in the last five years.”

“Was she being treated for her depression?”

“Oh, my gosh, yes. Like more pill-popping than Elvis. Yes.”

“Depression is one of the few things that can overwhelm the maternal instinct.”

“What about the grandmother?”

“I don’t have anything on her yet, but don’t reach for your remote.”

“I’ll be ba-a-ck.”

She’s so cute.

“Two suicide attempts.”

“Why hasn’t child services intervened?”

“Probably talked her way out of it.”

“Most social service organizations are overworked and underfunded.”

“Things slip through the cracks.”

“If this boy’s mother tried to commit suicide and he’s from a chronically unhappy household, maybe this wasn’t an abduction at all.”

“What if Bobby simply ran away?”

“When nine-year-olds escape, they’re usually home for supper.”

Aww, he used the proper noun for the meal.

“JJ, you and I will talk to the mother.”

“Morgan and Reid, go to the boy’s house.”

“Prentiss, you and Dave assess the site where the mother claims to have dropped him off.”

“This is Agent Jareau.”

“How’s the mother doing?”

“I think you should talk to her alone.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll watch from here.”

“Mrs. Smith? I’m Agent Jareau. Jennifer. I’m with the FBI.”

“Our entire team is here and we’re the best at what we do.”

“We’re gonna need your help, okay?”

“I have a boy of my own. He’s almost three.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

“Can you tell me what happened the morning you dropped him off?”

“And what does one of your bad days look like?”

“Is that why you took him to his grandmother?”

“And you had done this in the past?”

“Cheerful.”

“Depression is a vicious cycle.”

“It frequently manifests itself in the degradation of one’s personal living environment, which is turn fuels the depression, which then worsens the living environment.”

“All right, I’ll take a look around in here.”

“Why don’t you check the kitchen?”

“Ah, the kitchen.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Frankly, I’m not too anxious to see the perishable food version of this room.”

Reid, you little sarcastic poodle! I love you so much!

“You didn’t call ahead before you dropped him off?”

“Please help me understand, Mrs. Smith. It takes ten seconds to leave a message.”

“Four pairs of shoes.”

“Why exactly is that relevant?”

“Come on, Reid, how many women you know only have four pairs of shoes in their closet?”

“My experience in and around women’s closets isn’t exactly extensive enough to really formulate an opinion.”

“The answer is none.”

“You can take my word for it.”

Oh my God, I am seriously starting to look forward to scenes with just the two of them. Oh my god, this is the best.

“Mom has serious financial issues, denies herself even the smallest luxury, and yet …”

“Splurges to take her son to an expensive theme park and then buys a pricey picture frame so he can remember the experience.”

“Based on our assessment, we need to reprioritize.”

“The concern for her son was genuine.”

“Her tone of voice, body language. She didn’t once ask if she was in trouble, under arrest, where’s my lawyer? None of that.”

“Home environment points the same direction.”

“The money’s tight, but mom did whatever she could to create a nice world for her son. Whatever cash she had she spent on him.”

“Only four pairs of shoes in her closet.”

Oh JJ’s look of ... what sort of woman has only four pair of shoes ... this one.

“And she taught her son to be self-sufficient.”

“The kitchen was scaled down to a nine-year-old’s level so he could microwave his own meals, get food and utensils from the pantry.”

“He even had his own little key ring so he could come and go as he pleased.”

“How it’d go?”

“It took a while, but grandma’s alibi checked out. She was with two lady friends in Seneca, other side of the state.”

“Acquaintances, relatives, teachers. So far they’ve all checked out.”

“This is starting to look more and more like a stranger abduction.”

“Yeah, except the area Bobby disappeared from has a decent amount of foot traffic.”

“If he’d put up a struggle, chances are someone would have noticed.”

“My guess is Bobby knew his abductor or trusted him.”

“The trip to grandma’s house was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“The unsub must have been staking out the mother’s house, saw them leaving, and followed.”

“Self-sufficient kids learnt to trust their own judgment.”

“How did the unsub get into Bobby’s life?”

“And what’s he trying to accomplish?”

“There’s something strange about the body.”

“She was slaughtered by someone completely out of control, yet on her wrists there are precise wounds on top of where she already cut herself, only deeper.”

“Like he was trying to replicate her suicide attempts but then lost control.”

“Maybe this was never about the kid at all, but about the mother.”

“Make her suffer for a few days by taking the child, then kill her?”

“It means he knew her personal history.”

“I’ll call Garcia.”

“Hey, baby girl, whatever you’re doing, drop it.”

“Oh, yes, and with pleasure.”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.”

“This is a Lamborghini you’re talking to.”

“You have to drive me.”

“You can’t just leave me parked in the garage collecting dust or I will wilt.”

“Please forgive my neglect.”

“I need you to rev up that fine-tuned Italian engine of yours, then.”

“Revving.”

“Our unsub had personal details about Marlene Smith, so I need you to figure out who might have been in her house recently.”

“Cable guy, plumber, people like that.”

“Yeah, I always wonder about plumbers.”

“You know they peek in your medicine cabinet.”

“You just know it.”

“Maybe try a phone repairman or babysitter.”

“Check computers in the house.”

“Maybe she used one of those techie fix-it type dweebs who make house calls.”

“Hey, watch it. Language.”

“You know I’m just playing with you, but come on, put a rush on it.’

“Clock’s ticking, okay?”

“Rush is the only speed a Lamborghini has.”

“Proud techie dweeb over and out. Beep beep ya.”

Another one.

Shit.

“Morgan and Reid, head over there.”

“Were you by yourself?”

“You told the police you live in McKinley Heights.”

“That’s almost an hour away.”

“You drove your son all the way out here to play?”

“Mrs. Tanner, please don’t take this the wrong way, but exactly what drug are you addicted to?”

“You’re displaying symptoms of withdrawal.”

“Ma’am, we saw two deals going down on the other side of the park when we arrived. You were here to buy, weren’t you?”

“That’s what had you distracted.”

“Your child is missing, Mrs. Tanner. Every minute, every half-minute counts.”

“You need to tell us the truth and you need to tell us now.”

“So we got one mom suicidal and the other addicted to drugs.”

“At least we got a pattern developing.”

“And if the unsub holds to pattern, he’s gonna circle back and try to kill her.”

“We’re looking for a male unsub in his mid- to late 20s, physically fit enough to subdue Marlene Smith and carry out a vicious and sustained attack.”

“We believe he sees himself as a rescuer, taking children away from unfit parents.”

“He may very well have abandonment issues from his own childhood.”

“The impulse nature of committing the murder out in the open suggests that he’s inexperienced.”

“The violence on Marlene Smith went from precision to frenzy, which points to someone with classic psychopathic traits, quick to rage and quick to recover.”

“He also appears to have insider knowledge of the families in these cases, so we need to look for someone who is privy to what went on behind those closed doors.”

“Emergency personnel were called to the Smith house after both suicide attempts and once to the Tanner house after the mother overdosed on prescription drugs."

“That means first responders, child service workers, ambulance personnel.”

“Both missing children apparently went without struggle or protest.”

“And we’ve taken the second mother into protective custody.”

“That’s why it’s critical we find these kids. If they’re alive, he may turn his violence against the children themselves.”

“We got lucky.”

“Whoever took him let him go.”

“Your son was checked out by a pediatrician. There was no sexual or physical abuse.”

“Did you see another little boy there?”

“Is he okay?”

“Good.”

“Were you in a dark place or did it have windows?”

“Okay.”

“So when he took you, did you drive in the car for a long time or a short time?”

“Can you tell us what the man looked like?”

“Timothy. When this man came to the park to get you, were you afraid?”

“Why not?”

“The phone. You talked to him on the telephone?”

“Can you show us?”

Fuck.

The fucking kids’ phone.

“Garcia, any progress with the 911 dispatcher?”

“I’m going as fast as I can, which is super fast.” 

“There are literally hundreds in the great St. Louis area. Can you help me narrow this down?”

“Refine your search to males between 25 and 30 years of age.”

“And our unsub probably has abandonment issues, so look for backgrounds to reflect that.”

“A history of foster care or someone who was farmed out to other relatives by own parents.”

“Can you trace individual 911 dispatchers based on calls they would have received?”

“Okay, look, let me make this clear. There are a quarter of a billion 911 calls annually.”

“That’s like ten calls every second of every day. And non-emergent calls are disposed of quickly.”

“Well, this operator would have been on duty when both calls came in from the Smith and Tanner families.”

“And he would have been off duty at the time of the two abductions and Marlene Smith’s murder.”

“Oh, my God. This brings needle in a haystack to a whole other dimension, but I will go to that dimension and I will cross-reference and I will call you back.”

“A mother who wants to kill herself. What does that say to a child?”

“That you’re not worth sticking around for?”

“A 911 operator would be why the kids trusted him.”

“The unsub must have gone back to the house to do some sort of follow-up on his own and they remembered his face.”

Hello?

“Rossi?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Uh … Morgan and I were joking on the jet, but something is definitely up.”

“Is there anything you want to share?”

“It’s nothing that … I had breakfast with Carolyn the other morning.”

“Carolyn.’

“Oh!”

“Is that wife number four or five?”

“Look, let’s get our facts straight. I only had three wives.”

“I mean, that’s within the realm of reasonable.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Which one was Carolyn?”

“Numero uno.”

“Use your words, Emily.”

“Uh … there’s always something about the first, in anything.”

“I don’t know, I might be way off here, but I think she’s putting some feelers out to see if that old spark is still there.”

“Is it?”

“I’m having her over to my house for dinner when I get back.”

“I’m crazy, right?”

“We don’t always get second chances in life, Rossi.”

“I say take the plunge, see where it goes.”

“Talk to me, mama.”

“First off, you are on restriction from my inner Lamborghini.”

“Garcia …”

She’s dead.

“I mean it. This high-performance engine may purr like a puma on the prowl, but this time, Derek, you have seriously overheated my engines and I will require some cool-down laps upon your return, if you know what I mean by that.”

“Baby girl, you’re on speaker.”

...

“I knew that.”

“I’m calling to tell you, sir, there are eleven 911 dispatchers in the greater St. Louis area that were on duty when the calls were placed but not working during the murder and abduction.”

“Of those eleven, there’s one that fist your profile …”

“George Kelling, age 27, 1181 Clay Street, apartment 8. Sending his picture right now.”

“You know where he is now?”

“He was scheduled to work today. His supervisor said he showed up for his shift, but then he left early.”

Duh.

“Can you get the log of all the calls he took tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. But there are a lot.”

“Skip to the last one.”

“Last one is a domestic disturbance at 788 4th Avenue, number C.”

“Attempted sexual assault of a young girl. Kelling dispatched the police and then he took off.”

“Let’s go.”

“Clear!”

“It’s clear!”

“The door’s open and the lights are on. The unsub beat us here.”

“What have you got?”

“Nothing. The place is empty.”

“If the unsub’s keeping the kids, he’s holding them someplace else.”

“What have you got, Garcia?”

Come on, baby girl.

“At ten years of age, George Kelling entered the foster care system and I don’t know why.”

“His father abandoned the family when he was a baby.”

“I can’t figure out what happened to mom yet.”

“All right, we need the address of the foster family he was placed with.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He bounced around a lot. Give me a second, I’ll call you back.””

“Okay.”

“Okay, what I don’t understand is why would he keep Bobby but release Timothy?”

“If he wants to get rid of the parent, why not kill them first and then take the child. It’s so much riskier to wait.”

“Unless the children are a crucial part of his killing ritual.”

“How?”

“He needs something from them before he can murder the parents.”

“What could they possibly give him?”

“Their approval. That’s what he wants them to say. He’ll hurt her if she doesn’t, because that means she’s weak, too.”

“Déjà vu all over again.”

“So get this. George Kelling’s mom committed suicide when he was ten.”

“She jumped off a bridge.”

“Before that, she attempted to kill herself multiple times, cutting her wrists.”

“This sounds really familiar, huh?”

“Did you find the foster home address?”

“Those records are still sealed.’

“I got my crowbar out, I’m working on it.”

“The foster family lived on a farm ten miles northwest of the city on Parkhill Road. The rest of the team is gonna meet us there.”

“So what happened to the foster parents?”

“The father died years ago.”

Damn.

“The mother just died last month – heart attack.”

“That must have been the trigger. The last person who rescued the unsub was gone.”

“He assumed the mantel.”

“And now he suddenly has a house to take these kids to.”

“Wait. Garcia, you said the mother jumped off of a bridge, right?”

“Yeah. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Suicidology is an imperfect science, but it’s uncommon for women to kill themselves so violently.”

“For lack of a better word, they tend to choose more feminine ways to die.”

“Men shoot themselves, jump off buildings onto pavements.”

“Women are less messy. They take pills and drown themselves.”

“Reid and JJ and I will take the front.”

“The rest of you take the perimeter.”

“FBI. Put the gun down.”

“Drop the gun. Do it.”

“Like you were strong with your mother?”

“I don’t think so.”

Oh shit. He killed his mom? Damn.

“We need medical.”

Ernest Hemingway: “All things truly wicked start from an innocence.”

Jeez, Hemingway. What the fuck? Why you gotta be so glum?

“We got all the kids back safe. Think about it, Aaron. How often does that happen?”

“Not often enough.”

Word.

“How about ten pairs of shoes? I mean, that has to be enough, right? Ten?”

“Ah, Spence, it’s different with the ladies.”

“We need them to match our belts, our handbags, our skirts, and the fashions change with the seasons.”

“Yes. Boys are so boring.”

“Pants, shoes, out the door.”

I love you, Penelope!

“Although it’s not like men don’t have their things.”

“I dated a golfer once.”

“He had twelve putters in his closet.”

“But this conversation is reminding me I need new boots.”

“They’re having a sale at DeMille’s on those tall-shaft kitty heels. You like those. Do you want to go?”

“Yeah.”

“You getting all this, kid?”

“No.”

Oh my fucking god, he’s so cute!!!! And Reid, don’t feel bad. We, women, are complicated beings. You should never try to understand us.

Ooh, dinner in the  mansion with Rossi. Romantic.

“Done.”

“Sit down, relax.”

“You gotta love any dish that recommends the wearing of a bib.”

Really? Well, I guess it does mean you slurp like there’s no tomorrow and no one can judge you ... so I guess it makes perfect sense.

“You know, I don’t remember you as being a big wine drinker.”

She needs courage? For what?

“When did you ever need that with me?”

“You know, who would have thought that we’d find ourselves on a date again after all these years?”

He’s so fucking cute, taking Emily’s advice and being all hopeful and adorable.

“We joked we were the only couple that had both marriage and divorce vows.”

“Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“Carolyn …”

She has ALS. Fuck.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier? I could have …”

Oh my fucking god, poor Rossi.

So this episode was just the most awful fucking thing ever. How the fuck can you abduct children and then kill their mommies? And how the fuck can you kill your own? I would die before I had to do that. I am going to kill that motherfucker ... oh wait, he’s fictional. Shit.

At least he’s in fictional jail.

And then there’s the whole Carolyn sublot ... and here I was thinking this season was going to be a refresher one.

[woodsens]

The Most Influential People in the fire inside music Industry and Their Celebrity Dopplegangers

Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens music that she wrote greater than a decade ago, the woman who came to get recognised only as being the piano Instructor provided what, in hindsight, seems like an eerie glimpse of her have long term.

Im going absent today to an area so distant, the place nobody understands my identify, she wrote while in the lyrics of a track identified as Relocating.

When she wrote that song, she was younger and vivacious, a piano Trainer and freelance audio writer who liked Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, extended walks and almost everything about Big apple.

On one of those beloved walks, by way of Central Park in the bright Sunshine of the June day in 1996, a homeless drifter conquer her and attempted to rape her, leaving her clinging to everyday living. Following the attack, the phrases to her track came real. She moved away, out of Ny city, from her previous life, and all but her closest close friends didn't know her name. To the remainder of the planet, she was — similar to the additional well known jogger attacked in Central Park seven many years previously — an anonymous symbol of the city nightmare. She was the piano Instructor.

Now, about the 10th anniversary on the assault, she's celebrating what appears to be her complete recovery from Mind trauma. She's forty two, married, with a small boy or girl. She's Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano teacher, and she or he wants to convey to her Tale, her way.

Her doctor told her it could just take ten years to recover, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I sense my everyday living continues to be redefined by Central Park, she said a number of times in the past, her voice smooth and hopeful. In advance of park; immediately after park. Will there ever certainly be a time Once i dont Feel, Oh, Here is the 10th anniversary, the 11th anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch house in the wooded subdivision in a The big apple suburb. She sat in a very eating room strewn with toys, surrounded by pictures of her cherubic, dim-haired 2-calendar year-outdated daughter. A Steinway grand stuffed 50 percent the place, and at one place she sat down and performed. Her actively playing was forceful, but she appeared humiliated to Engage in more than a few bars, and shrugged, rather then answering, when requested the name of your piece. She questioned that her daughter and her town not be named.

She phone calls that working day, June four, 1996, the working day when I was damage.

Hers was the main within a string of attacks by the same guy on four Gals above eight times. The final target, Evelyn Alvarez, sixty five, was crushed to Dying as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleansing shop, and in the end, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to existence in prison.

Nevertheless the attack around the piano teacher would be the just one individuals appear to recollect one of the most. Part of the fascination has got to do with echoes in the 1989 attack to the Central Park jogger. But Furthermore, it frightened folks in a method the attack to the jogger did not because its instances were so mundane.

It did not occur inside of a remote A part of the park late in the evening, but near a preferred playground at 3 during the afternoon. It could have took place to anybody. The tension was heightened with the secret of the piano lecturers identity.

For 3 times, as law enforcement and Medical practitioners tried using to see who she was, she lay inside a coma in her medical center mattress, nameless. Her dad and mom were being on getaway and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Lastly, one of her learners regarded a law enforcement sketch and was ready to identify her from the clinic by her fingers, due to the fact her experience was swollen over and above recognition. The law enforcement did not release her name.

The last thing she remembers about June four, 1996, is offering a lesson in her studio condominium on West 57th Avenue, then putting her prolonged hair within a ponytail and likely out for just a stroll. She would not remember the attack, Despite the fact that she has read the accounts of the police and prosecutors.

To me its just like a reality I discovered and memorized, she claimed. Just as if I were a pupil in school learning history.

She will not think of The person who did it. I may have been offended to get a second, but not a lot longer than that, she said. How could I be indignant at John Royster? He was declared not insane, but I suppose by our specifications he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her health care provider at Big apple Medical center-Cornell Medical Heart, as it absolutely was recognised in 1996, instructed reporters that she had a 10 per cent possibility of survival. Doctors experienced to eliminate her forehead bone, which was later on replaced, to generate home for her swelling Mind. When her mother produced a public attract pray for my daughter, thousands did.

Immediately after eight days, she arrived out of a coma, to start with inside a vegetative point out, then in a very childlike point out. As she recovered, she slept little and talked consistently, occasionally in gibberish. I used to be obtaining mad at people whenever they didnt respond to these terms, she said.

Like an Alzheimers individual, she had very little quick-phrase memory and would fail to remember readers as soon as they remaining the space.

About various months, she needed to relearn ways to wander, costume, go through and produce. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, visited every single day to Perform guitar for her. He inspired her to Perform the piano, from the recommendation of her physical therapists, who believed she could well be disappointed by her lack of ability to Engage in the way she after experienced. Mr. Scherr performed Beatles duets together with her, taking part in the left-hand portion although she performed the right.

Which was my ideal therapy, she said.

In August, she moved back household to New Jersey, with her father, an engineer, and mom, a schoolteacher. She visited outdated haunts and identified as friends, seeking to revive her shattered memory. I was pretty obsessed with remembering, she claimed. Any memory loss was to me a sign of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists assumed her development was great, but her two sisters protested that she wasn't the deep thinker she were.

What bothered her most was that she had misplaced the chance to cry, as though a faucet within her brain had been turned off. Just one evening, nine months immediately after she was damage, she stayed up late to observe the John Grisham Film A Time for you to Get rid of. Just following her father had long gone to mattress, she watched a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on demo for killing two Adult males who experienced raped his youthful daughter.

The faucet opened, and also the tears trickled down her cheeks. I considered my mother and father, my father, and what they went as a result of, she explained. Small by very little, my experience returned, my depth of mind returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back again to highschool and acquired a masters diploma in music education and learning.

Not every thing went nicely. She and Mr. Scherr break up up five years after the assault, although they continue to be pals. She dated other Adult men, but she usually instructed them with regard to the assault instantly — she could not enable it, she explained — and so they never identified as for the next day.

We've got to uncover you someone, her Pal David Phelps, a guitar participant, reported 4 a long time back, before introducing her to Liam McCann, a pc technician and novice drummer. For when, she did not say anything at all with regards to the attack right up until she obtained to understand Mr. McCann, after which when she did, he admired her energy.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who experienced normally visited her at her bedside while she was within the healthcare facility, married them in his Moments Square Business. She wore a blue costume and pearls. Even though she was Expecting, inside of a burst of creativeness, she and her pals recorded Though Were being Younger, an album of childrens music that she experienced penned ahead of the assault, including the song Relocating. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, produced the CD. On it, her spouse plays drums and she performs electrical piano.

Is her lifestyle as it absolutely was? Not exactly, although she's unwilling to attribute the discrepancies to her accidents. Her very last two piano pupils left her, without contacting to clarify why, she mentioned. She has resumed playing classical songs, but simple parts, simply because her daughter doesn't give her time for you to follow. As for jazz, I dont even try, she reported.

She want to drive additional, emotion stranded in the suburbs, but she is well rattled. She attempts to be written content with staying household and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a scientific professor of neurological surgical procedure at what's now called Big apple-Presbyterian Medical center/Weill Cornell Healthcare Middle, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann following the assault, reported final 7 days that her level of Restoration was rare. Shes mainly typical, he explained.

Other specialists, who will be not personally familiar with Ms. Kevorkian McCanns situation, tend to be more careful.

Regaining a chance to Participate in the piano may possibly require an Virtually mechanical process, a semiautomatic remember of just what the fingers must do, claimed Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of clinical rehabilitation medicine at The big apple College School of Medicine. As soon as brain-injured, you are often Mind-wounded, for the rest of your life, Dr. Ben-Yishay mentioned. There isn't any overcome, You can find only intense compensation.

The greater telling Portion of a recovery, in his watch, is psychological, and on that score he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns relationship and little one as a significant victory.

For her aspect, the piano Instructor appreciates she has transformed, but she has made her peace with it. I was form of a hyper —— I dont know if I used to be a sort A, but I was bold, she says. Why was I so formidable? I was a piano Instructor. I dont understand what the ambition was about. I really did come back to the individual Im designed to be.

[ramajmedia]

10 Jokes From Family Guy That Have Already Aged Poorly

As other shows airing right now are changing with the times, Family Guy struggles to shake off the shackles it's worn since 1999. After all, the series was founded on shock value satire and intentionally offensive jokes, and a whole generation was raised on this humor.

Just earlier this year, the showrunners claimed they would "phase out" homophobic jokes. It remains to be seen whether or not that's true. While the show's tried to rectify past errors, it's only after accumulating twenty years worth of objectionable jokes. We can't discuss every single one, but here are ten that have aged poorly.

RELATED: Family Guy: 10 Storylines That Have Aged Poorly

10 Anything Herbert Says

Quahog is full of eccentric, recurring characters, and one of the most notable is someone who has overstayed his welcome. Not living too far from the Griffins' house is John Herbert, an elderly man Chris interacts with regularly.

What's so strange about him? Well, he's a pedophile, to put it bluntly. The show makes no qualms about addressing that either. One joke even in context—"You know, Chris, all my life, I've wanted to see you locked in a basement. But now that it's happened, all I want to do is get you out!"—will make anyone cringe.

9 Bill Cosby

Family Guy has never been too kind to Bill Cosby, even before the world learned of the comedian's history of drugging and taking women against their will was made public. And, after it became common knowledge a few years ago, Family Guy continued to go in on Cosby with no remorse.

Though, at some point, it became unclear if jokes targeting Bill Cosby were actually helping the conversation that needed to be had—sexual assault was not funny. One shocking moment was when the series reimagined the Bill Cosby Show opening. In it, Cosby drugs his costars and then some.

8 Tricia Takanawa

Race has always been a free-for-all opportunity for the show. The number of times the series was offensive about race can't even be counted on one hand much less twenty.

For example, Reporter Tricia Takanawa is a racist caricature. Not only is she voiced by Alex Borstein—an actress with a history of playing Miss Swan on MADtv—Tricia is an embodier of stereotypes about East Asian people's sexuality and culture. When Tricia interviews David Bowie, she succumbs to her carnal urges and proclaims, "I'll take you home; I'll make you fish ball soup." It gets only worse from there.

RELATED: Family Guy: 10 Funniest Running Gags, Ranked

7 The Death of Daniel Karven-Veres

The writers revel in their edgy sense of humor that often earns more gasps than genuine laughs. But at what point is the line crossed? In "Stewie Loves Lois," Stewie unleashes a brutal throwaway joke whose origin people might not be aware of.

First, some background information on why it's messy. In 2000, Ursula Karven's four-year-old son Daniel was attending musician Tommy Lee's son's pool party. Daniel then drowned, and Tommy was accused of negligence. Lee was eventually cleared of wrongdoing. When Lois is ignoring Stewie's suicide attempt, he says, "What is this, a Tommy Lee pool party?" Yikes.

6 Why Peter Only Has Two White Shirts

When Family Guy's writers land its sight on a target, they shoot to kill. Meaning they will obsess over the subject matter or person ad nauseam.

In later seasons, the show was invested in reminding viewers actor Michael J. Fox has Parkinson's disease. One joke that is more awkward now than before is from the episode "Tiegs for Two." In the cutaway, Peter explains why he only has two white shirts. It's a protracted monologue where it seems like the show is trying to feign humanity towards Fox. Then they go ahead and show the offensive clip anyway. Quelle surprise.

5 Quagmire's Abused Sister

The show was slowly shifting in the right direction with "Screams of Silence: The Story of Brenda Q." Previously, Quagmire's sister's abusive relationship was introduced as a gag to shame Brian. The sister, Brenda, later returned in season 10 for a very special episode. She was still being abused by her boyfriend Jeff, and, after she accepted his proposal, Quagmire planned on killing Jeff.

The episode almost works, but there are jokes about the victim. Even ones more or less criticizing Brenda for not leaving Jeff. The story's heart was in the right place, but the execution is still amiss.

RELATED: Family Guy: 10 Funniest Star Wars Gags, Ranked

4 Child Harm

As we learned in season 7's "The Juice Is Loose," the Griffins apparently had another son named Peter, Jr. At the aforesaid infant's grave, Peter says, "I'm sorry, Lois. I thought if I shook him enough he'd stop crying. I was kinda right."

This attempt at gallows humor is similar to Stewie's demand of "Shake me like a British nanny" in "Mind Over Murder." The latter is a direct reference to British au pair Louise Woodward, who was convicted for shaking an 8-month old to death. The only thing shocking about these jokes is anyone would laugh at them nowadays.

3 Quagmire's Predatory Habits

Something definitely isn't right with your show if there once a petition asking you to stop writing jokes about sexual assault. And, in light of the important #MeToo movement, the show said they would address Quagmire.

Well, historically, Quagmire was prone to taking women without their consent. He drugged them, and he even held a number of them captive against their will. In "Quagmire's Mom," he almost experienced the consequences of his actions after unknowingly hooking up with an underage female character. Instead, he got off without serving any time. Nevertheless, jokes revolving around Quagmire's heinous behavior simply aren't funny.

RELATED: All The Times The Simpsons Called Family Guy Out For Plagiarism/Copying

2 Antisemitism

The original seasons of Family Guy had the pleasure of skirting by without too much flack—mainly because the audience was comparatively small. That didn't stop them from getting into trouble for the season 3 episode "When You Wish Upon a Weinstein." Or rather, they could have gotten into trouble had Fox actually aired it.

The network opted to not show the episode out of fear of it being antisemitic. With lines like "I'm sorry, Lois. I just wanted our son to be Jewish so he'd be smarter," Fox's concerns were valid. Nonetheless, it was instead aired on Adult Swim.

1 Transphobia

We first met Glenn Quagmire's father Dan in the aptly titled season 8 episode "Quagmire's Dad." The audience was led to believe Dan was gay. The truth was Dan, now Ida, had come to Quahog to have sex reassignment surgery. The operation is a success, but Quagmire is having difficulty accepting Ida.

Meanwhile, Ida has a one-night stand with Brian. When Stewie informs the unaware Brian that Ida was transgender and was Quagmire's parent, Brian vomits non-stop for half a minute. By today's standards, the episode is hard to watch. The more recent "Trans-Fat" episode handled the topic better, though.

NEXT: The 10 Worst Family Guy Episodes Ever According To IMDb

source https://screenrant.com/family-guy-jokes-aged-poorly/

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Partners in Justice-Platonic!Barry Allen/Flash Imagine

 Requested: No

Warnings: Minor violence, sad back story

A/N: Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. I’ve been working and doing scholarship essays but hopefully I’ll be more active. Also, I might do a sequel to this one since it’s so long.

    In the case of Barry Allen and Y/N Y/L/N, opposites do not always attract. For one thing, it didn’t help that the first time they met was when Joe and Eddie arrested Y/N for homicide. Barry was standing at the front desk with Iris, nerding out about the particle accelerator at STAR Labs, when everything in the station seemed to stop. Joe looked calm but Eddie seemed particularly pleased with himself as they walked Y/N into the CCPD. The young woman in handcuffs seemed rather stoic and at first, Barry couldn’t really believe that she was responsible for the homicide. Sure, she had the same intimidating demeanor as a pit bull and she seemed to glare at all the gaping cops in the station, but there was something not right about her.

   “Who’s that?” Iris asked.

   “That’s Y/N Y/L/N, we think she’s responsible for Walter Goodman’s death.”

   Walter Goodman was the richest man in Central City and also one of the most crooked men in  Central City. He committed high brow crimes such as tax evasion, tax fraud, and money laundering but always got acquitted from the charges. Unfortunately, the old rich man met his fate about a month ago when someone beat him to death with their bare hands. That someone seemed to be Y/N.

   “Wow, she did all of that to him? How?” 

   “She has an extensive background in boxing so she knew just where to hit him and how hard to kill him. It wasn’t a pretty scene.”

   “So, what else makes you think it was her?” 

    Barry scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I found some fibers around Walter’s neck and when I ran some tests on them, I found out they were from a pair of gloves. Ended up tracking the gloves to Y/N because she bought them about two weeks before the murder and Joe found them in her apartment when they searched it. Plus, witnesses saw her leave the building five minutes after she killed him.”

   Iris shook her head. “So how long is she going away for?”

   “A long time.”

   Just at that point, Joe, Eddie, and Y/N were about to pass them and Y/N had been staring Barry down for about a minute. She pressed her feet down onto the floor to make them stop as she glared at them.

   “Don’t you know that it isn’t nice to talk about others?” she hissed.

   “Let’s go, Y/L/N.” Eddie began to drag her but she snatched away from him.

   “You probably think you’re so much better than me because I’m in cuffs and you’re not.” Y/N laughed humorlessly. “There’s a thin line between where you am and I am, kid.”

   “No, there’s an ocean between us,” Barry shot back.

   Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Look who’s got a backbone?

  “Let’s go, Y/N.” Joe pulled her away and Y/N tossed Barry one last glance before fully allowing the detectives to take her to booking.

   “She is…something,” Barry said.

   “Yeah, but she isn’t going to get to listen to you nerd out about the particle accelerator at STAR Labs tonight.”

   “She might be able to see the light from her cell.”

   Iris laughed and playfully hit Barry. “Whatever happened to seeing the good in everyone?”

   “Yeah, well, some people make it hard.” 

   Unfortunately for Barry, that feeling that something was not right with Y/N stayed with him for the rest of the day. There was something in her eyes that said she did what she did for a good reason. However, he wasn’t able to focus on that as he was working on another case in his lab while Y/N was standing in a jail cell in the basement.

    She leaned against the bars, glaring at Eddie and Joe who were sipping coffee as a sort of a congratulations to themselves. It was fine, though, since she was going to be exactly where she wanted to be. Iron Heights was fortress far superior to Arkham and that’s what Y/N was counting on.

     “You’re awful quiet over there, Y/L/N, or should I call you Knuckles?” Eddie taunted.

    Y/N tried not to bristle at her old nickname as she slowly pushed off from the bars and moved to sit on the bench.

    “What? No cute comeback?”

    “Lay off, Eddie, she’s about to go away for a long time and the last thing either of us needs is you taunting her,” Joe said. 

   Eddie held his hands up in defeat. “Fine, but there’s one thing I don’t get: if Y/N’s as great of a hitwoman as her record says she is, then why did she let herself get caught?”

   “She didn’t let herself get caught, no criminal really does,” Joe said.

   Y/N didn’t say anything as she laid down and faced the wall. Fortunately, her lawyer was going to be some public defender that didn’t know the difference between custody and customs. Sure, she was used to the lawyers with the largest service fees in the world, but they always got her out of trouble. If everything went to plan, she would be headed to Iron Heights in a week.

   Of course, nothing went to plan that night because when the particle accelerator exploded, Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon, and Ronnie were not the only ones affected. However, several weeks would pass before Barry and Y/N crossed paths again since Barry wasn’t the only one perfecting and strengthening their newfound abilities.

    Barry sped into a warehouse where several large, black-clad goons were charging a smaller young woman whose back was turned to him. Several other goons were lying on the ground around them, bloody and dead. They all charged the woman but before Barry could help, she punched three of them and they all went flying into the opposite wall and out of the building. She kicked one into the floor and smacked another into another side wall. Then, she grabbed the last one by the neck and held him above her.

     “Tell me where he is!” she hissed.

     “I don’t know anything,” he blubbered.

     “Let him go!” Barry yelled. 

     The woman slowly turned and Barry’s eyes widened: it was Y/N Y/L/N and she was holding a man about a head taller and hundreds of pounds heavier than she was above her. She seemed to have more muscle definition and her y/h/c was glossier than it had been before.

    “The Flash, why did I have a feeling you’d show up?”

    “Just let him go, I’ll take care of him.”     “This is my business, Flash, and I work alone so go and save some cat from a tree.”

    “I can’t let you do that,” Barry said.

    “What’s going on?” Cisco asked through Barry’s comm unit. “Who is she?”

   “That’s a convicted murderer who I helped put away who has super strength,” Barry muttered.

    “Well, it doesn’t look like the guys she’s…dealt with are the best so maybe just get him out of her grip?” Caitlin suggested.

   “Okay.” Barry sprinted over to Y/N and managed to knock the man out of her grip and place him on the other side of the room. Then he straightened up and saw Y/N looking furious.

   “Get out, Flash!” Y/N screamed. “He’s mine!”

   “If you don’t stop, I’ll have to turn you in.”

    Y/N shook her head. “You’ll have to beat me first.”

    Barry shrugged and began charging at her. In the back of his mind, he was anxious but he usually won against the bad guy. However, he was stunned when it felt like he hit a wall and went flying backwards into an actual wall. Once he slid down, he only had a chance to glance up when Y/N took one graceful leap before landing in front of him. He narrowly missed a punch and made a few of his own quick jabs that only made her stumble backwards. However, she still dodged most of his and made her punching movements swift but powerful. Then, she hit him when he was too slow and knocked his lights out. Barry landed about three yards away from her with a thud and though he was unconscious his head was spinning.

    When he woke up, he was in STAR Labs. Cisco, Caitlin, and Wells were at his bedside. Immediately, he felt groggy. 

    “Wh-what happened?” Barry asked.

   “You got beat up by a girl,” Cisco laughed before silencing himself when Caitlin glared at him.

    “He is technically right. Y/N did hit you hard enough to give you a moderate concussion. Fortunately, you were only out of it for ten hours thanks to your advanced healing,” Caitlin said. “Do you know why she attacked all those men?”

    “She wanted to know where someone was but I have no idea who but whoever they are, they’re going to wish they never messed with her,” Barry said as he slowly stood.

   “I might’ve narrowed that down.I tapped into the security camera feed—-which I didn’t know was useful in an abandoned warehouse—-and got this.” Cisco brought up security footage of the warehouse on the big screen in the medic area.

   Y/N walked over to the man breathing, put her foot on his neck, and bent over him. “I’m going to ask you one last time, Evers, where is he?”

   “H-he’s going to th-the Ivy tomorrow night. Pl-please don’t tell him I told you!” the man cried.

  “It won’t matter.” She pressed down on his neck and there was a sickening cracking noise.

   “Ruthless,” Caitlin said.

   “What do you expect from a woman known as Knuckles?” Cisco asked.

    “We did some digging and found out that this Evers is one of the heads of security for a man known as The Joker in Gotham. This guy is like Trickster but much more extreme.” Harrison pulled up a picture of the clownish man with tangled green hair, a white face, and a red scar for a mouth on the large screen. “He is responsible for countless deaths in Gotham as well as about eighty percent of the crime.”

    “But how does Y/N know him?” Barry asked. 

    “She worked for him. She started off as a good kid and a prodigy in boxing. She was the Junior Champion Boxer in Gotham when she was ten years-old but a month later, her mom was killed in a hit-and-run. After that, the good girl persona vanished. At eleven, she was sent to juvie for knocking a girl unconscious but she only spent a year in juvie when someone yanked her out,” Cisco said.

    “The Joker?” Barry asked.

    “No, Don Falcone, a mob boss in Gotham. He got her into good schools and she seemed to clean up her act until at seventeen, she started racking up charges for aggravated assault, assault and battery, and attempted murder—-all charges were dropped, of course.”

    “But, how does the Joker relate to this?” 

    “Falcone dropped Y/N when she was twenty because he thought she was too high risk and the Joker came along with promises of money. But, after two years of being affiliated with him, she left Gotham and came here.”

     “But then she got arrested and when the particle accelerator exploded, she got out of CCPD,” Barry said. 

   “Like a normal criminal with super powers would?” Cisco asked.

   “Yeah, but Y/N isn’t most criminals. A lot of these metas destroy everything and everyone in their wake, but she’s focused on this Joker guy.”

   “What are you trying to say, Barry?” Caitlin asked.

   Barry shrugged. “That maybe, she isn’t as bad as I thought she was.”

   “She knocked you out cold, Barry.”

   “Yeah, but she didn’t kill me. Maybe, I could help her and get her to come here for testing.”

   “That’s a dangerous plan, Barry,” Wells said. “The particle accelerator diminished the myostatin in her body so that she is practically a super human, plus it has only enhanced the agility she gained from boxing all those years. She is certainly a formidable foe.”

   “I know but, what if I could talk her into being on our side or, I could at least help her stop the Joker before he wreaks havoc on Central City?”

    Harrison, Caitlin, and Cisco all shared the same pensive look before reluctantly agreeing with Barry’s plan.

    “Fine, but you’re gonna have a tough time getting into Ivy—-it’s the hottest club in Central City and the list to get in is super exclusive,” Cisco said.

    “I think I know someone who can help me.”

    That night, Iris and Barry entered part of the criminal underworld as soon as they stepped into Ivy. There was a light blue haze all over the spacious club as well as mirrors, lots and lots of mirrors. Most of the women wore crop tops, tight jeans, or body con dresses to show off their figures while the guys just wore button downs and jeans. 

    “I can’t believe we’re at the opening of Ivy!” Iris squealed over Justin Bieber’s “Sorry”. 

    “I can’t believe your job got us in,” Barry added.

   “It’s good to be a journalist. You know how jealous Eddie is? He’s at the police station fuming because he couldn’t come.”

    Barry ignored the stabbing pain in his chest at the mention of Iris’ fiance. As much as he tried to get over her, he simply couldn’t considering that Iris was his first and probably last love. However, if she was happy, he would have to be happy, but she wasn’t making it any easier with that classy but sexy knee-length white curve-hugging dress she wore.

    “Yeah, I bet.”

    “How’d you hear about this place anyway?” 

    “Oh, you know, friends,” Barry said.

    “I thought you didn’t have any other friends besides me.”

    “First of all, ouch, and second of all, maybe you don’t know me that well.”

     ”Okay, enough flirting, Barry, do you see Y/N or the Joker?” Cisco asked through the comm.

     Barry glanced around the cavernous club filled with people dancing and drinking. Off to the far right side of the dance floor was the VIP area where he saw none other than Y/N, wearing a burgundy leather mini skirt and a dusty blue halter crop top, being allowed in by the bouncer. 

    “She just walked into the VIP room,” Barry muttered.

    “Okay, you can probably speed past them, but there’s the issue of Iris,” Wells said.

    “I’ll figure something out.”

    Barry managed to distract Iris by pointing out the club owner and suggesting she interview him. After calling him a genius, Iris made her way over to him and Barry sped into the VIP area. Unfortunately, it was mostly small time thugs and their girls sitting in the main area and Y/N was nowhere to be found. However, a set of stairs on the right wall of the area seemed to be the answer. Barry quickly found the room Y/N was looking for since there seemed to be a lot of fighting coming from it. When he peeked in, he saw Y/N kneeling over the Joker as she pinned him down to the couch.

   “Do it, kill me!” Joker yelled. “Kill me so all this so called insanity goes away!”

   Y/N squeezed her hands harder around his neck. “Shut up! You never stop talking! Get out of my head!” She gritted her teeth. “I got away from you but you just wouldn’t leave me alone. You said you would leave Central City once I did in Goodman but you’re still here!” 

  It was madness that Barry was witnessing and he could do nothing but watch Y/N begin squeezing the life out of this man. Then, he realized that he couldn’t let him die since the Flash never let anyone die. So, he pulled Y/N away from Joker and stood between them. Y/N looked confused at first but when she saw Barry she snarled.

   “GET OUT!” she yelled.

   “Y/N, I know you want to kill him for everything he’s done but you need to turn him in,” Barry said.

    “He escapes from every prison he’s ever put in! But he can’t escape death,” Y/N hissed.

    “Listen to the wise man, Knuckles,” Joker coughed. 

    Y/N growled but Barry kept his hands up. “Wait, Y/N, if you kill him, then you’re no better than he is. You’re a good person who’s done some bad things.”

   “You don’t know me.”

   “I know that if you were as bad as you think you are you would’ve killed me in that warehouse.”

    Something in Y/N’s features began to soften but she didn’t respond until Joker lurched up and held a knife to Barry’s neck while hugging him from behind.

   “This isn’t the first person who’s tried to save you from my clutches, is it, Knuckles? News flash, Kid, she and I are the same person except she still has those pesky guilt feelings and ridiculous morals. Which is why she’s going to back off while you and I walk out that door, isn’t that right, Knuckles?” 

   Something broke inside Y/N that made her step away from the two of them. She thought it was hope as she knelt down on her knees, eyes on the dark floor. For some reason, she wasn’t angry at the skinny white guy who’d just burst between her and the Joker but she was more upset with herself. She should’ve just killed him when she had her hands around his neck.

  “Y/N,” Barry muttered.

   “No use talking to her now, kid,” Joker said as they began walking towards the door.

   When they were right next to Y/N, she swung her right arm against Joker’s leg, breaking it. He cried out and released Barry while Y/N lunged for Joker. Just as her fingers touched his face, Joker wedged the knife into Y/N’s jugular. Y/N gasped and stared at Joker’s sick smile.

   “Knuckles, why so serious?”

   Y/N gasped at him again though she had an arsenal of words that she wanted to spit at him. Swiftly, Barry scooped her up in his arms and got her to the main area of  STAR Labs. Cisco, Caitlin, and Harrison looked stunned.

   “Guys, we have a problem,” Barry said.

   “Take her to the medical area,” Caitlin instructed.

    Barry did and laid Y/N on one of the spare beds. She was still bleeding pretty badly and her eyes were wide. Caitlin met them as soon as possible and had Barry apply pressure to her neck while Caitlin removed the knife. Y/N groaned in anger as Caitlin did so but quieted when Caitlin stitched her up.

   “She should be okay in a few hours, but I’ll run some tests,” Caitlin said.

   “Okay,” Barry said.

   Caitlin began running some tests as Harrison and Cisco came in. Cisco looked at Y/N anxiously while Harrison seemed as calm as usual.

    “She okay?” Cisco asked.

    “She will be. That Joker guy stabbed her but she saved me,” Barry said.

    “Did you ask her?” Harrison asked.

    “Ask me what?” Y/N rasped. 

    Barry jumped slightly when he saw that Y/N was fully alert and staring at him. “Uh, we wanted to know if you would let me help you.”

   “In case you haven’t noticed, I work alone, Flash.” She rolled her eyes when she saw the nervousness in the others’ eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I have more important business to attend to.”

   “Working alone didn’t seem to help you back there. All I’m saying is if you have mine and my team’s help, you probably won’t go to jail.”

    Y/N arched an eyebrow. She eyed him carefully before looking at Caitlin, Cisco, and Harrison. Her eyes wavered longer on the man in the wheelchair before she looked at Barry. “What do you want in exchange?”

     “What?”

    “You’re all goody two shoes who can’t lie. What do you want?”

    “We want you to stay and let Caitlin run some tests on you to help you understand your abilities. Maybe even help us take out the other metahumans in this city?”

    “And if I don’t?”

    “I turn you in.”

    “You do realize that I could basically tap my finger against your head and kill you?”

   “If you’re fast enough to reach it.” 

   Y/N glared at him before relaxing into her place. On one hand, she would be getting rid of the person who had been mentally and emotionally abusive over the years. On the other hand, she was going to be stuck with a group of people she didn’t know fighting other people with abilities, but they were evil. Besides, even if she did go on her own, after she got rid of Joker, she didn’t really have anywhere else to go. There were too many people in Gotham who wanted her dead and Central City was a lot less hostile.

    “What’s your name?” she finally asked.

    “Barry, Barry Allen,” Barry said.

    “Well, Barry, let’s get one thing straight, I’m not your sidekick nor your lackey, we’re allies if anything.”

    “Partners?”

   “Don’t try it.”    “So, this means you’ll work with us?” Cisco asked.

   “If it means I get rid of the Joker then yes, I will work with you.”    Then, Barry and Y/N shook hands and that was the beginning of their heroic partnership.

[wordsonpages1-blog]

Hiya! there are two missing scenes from Riverdale that I'd love fics for, if you wanted! After FP is arrested, the gang in the cafeteria say that the sheriff is interrogating Jughead (again); it would be great to see that happen. And another missing scene is with the social worker talking to Fred about Jughead, before the boys get home. it would be lovely if you were interested ? X

The In-between: 

hey lovely, so I had a brain wave and managed to sit down and finish this for you tonight! I hope you like them and that this is kind of what you were looking for xx

“Jughead, thanks for coming in,” Sheriff Keller’s low voicecut through the stale air of the interrogation room.

The young Jones’ face twisted with cynicism as his liftedfrom where they rest glaring at the table.

“After the hospitality you showed me last time I was here Icouldn’t exactly stay away,” he returned dryly, his voice layered with sardonicdefences, his shoulders hunched and weary.

The Sheriff noted the red tired rims of his eyes. No sleep. Movingfurther into the room Keller paused to pull out the chair across from thebeanie wearing boy. The scrape of its legs scratched at the tense atmosphere. Hesighed as Jughead eyed him with venom. He knew coming in that he wouldn’t getmuch from the kid.

“Cut the crap son. I just want to ask you some questionsabout your dad.”

Jughead leaned back in his chair, arms moving to cross overhis chest. His smug attitude apparent in the quirked brow and dark smirk headorned. The Sheriff eyed him harshly, he didn’t care much for the kid’s snark,and though he suspected it was a defence mechanism it still ground down on hisnerves.

“I thought he already told you everything you needed toknow? Confessed right,” the boy shook his head the dark smirk still in place ashe let out a dangerous chuckle. “Case solved. Nice and neat just the way youwanted.”

Keller glared at him, hands coming out to rest on the tablepalms flat against the metal. Jughead noted the gesture, assertive, meant tointimidate. He rolled his eyes at it.

The juxtaposition to his last visit was stark. The boy whohad sat in this very chair weeks ago was scared, frightened of being convictedfor a crime he didn’t commit and ready for this faux Stepford town to hang himout to dry. Now though he was a far cry from that fear ridden boy. Now he wasscorned man, mocked by his own desire to be happy, robbed of hope and trustdiscarded like yesterday’s trash. He was vengeful and angry, darkness allconsuming. He was drowning.

“Look Jones I don’t have time for this,” the Sheriff triedto reason, sighing and opening a file in front of him.

“Are you sure? Murders been solved remember.”

“Your dad’s involved with the Serpent’s; can you tell meabout that?” Keller pressed on, the question coming out through ground teeth.

Jughead laughed again, sinister and low.

“Wow you really are good. What gave it away? The leatherjacket or the zip code?” He paused, taking a moment to bask in the authorityfigure’s stare- pure distain, any trace of sympathy long gone. Good Jughead thought. He loathed sympathy.“I don’t know anything about my dad’s business with the Serpent’s. Just that hewas one. I didn’t ask, he didn’t care to share,” he continued, his tone lazy,almost bored yet still poisoned with a harsh edge.

“And you’re sure about that? He never tried to share, shallwe say ‘tricks of the trade’ with his son?” The Sheriff implored him with hiseyes, clearly disbelieving his ability to avoid the gang trajectory. Jugheadscoffed.

“You mean did daddy dearest ever try and get me in on thefamily business?” Keller had the decency to flinch at the sarcastic remark,causing the dark boy’s smirk to widen. “I know it’s hard to believe that aSouthside pest like me is capable of avoiding that way of life, but I never gotinvolved. So unless you wanna take another trip down memory lane and rehash mytime in juvie can I go?”

The older man held a hand out in warning and Jughead let outan exasperated sigh, halting his movement to abscond. He settled back in thechair, raising his brows and waiting for the next question.

“Did you ever see the lockbox in the back of the closet?”

“No. I was long gone by then.”

That got Keller’s interest.

“Excuse me?”

Jughead let out another humourless chuckle, the sound eerieand unnerving in the small room. The air felt heavy, the tension palpable.

“Couch surfing.” He offered no more, it wasn’t even the truthbut he didn’t feel the need to uproot his childhood sap story with the man whowas responsible for putting his dad behind bars, and was developing a habit ofshaking him down.

“Okay,” the older man relented, nodding in affirmation. Jugheadalmost thought he was free; until… “And is there anything you wanted to sayabout your father’s character?”

His eyes bulged in disbelief, his upper lip curling back ina snarl.

“What? Murder not enough to convince you of his goldenpersonality?”

“I said cut the sass boy, now are you going to give me areal answer or not?” The Sheriff did his best to keep calm, reminding himselfthe kid was having a rough time and attempting to keep his biases about their kindat bay.

Jughead however, was not managing the same feat. The Sheriff’sreply had triggered something inside him, setting off his last nerve andunleashing the rage brewing beneath his skin.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? The man’s a stand-up guy!Father of the year for Christ’s sake!” He was standing now, his fists comingdown hard on the table, sending tremors through its structure to match theshaking of his resolve. His eyes were hard and pained, his lips quivering everso slightly.

“He’s everything you would think of someone from our side oftown right? A drunk, a deadbeat, a gangbanger. It’s all true. So why not addmurder to his CV. He doesn’t give a shit about his own kid so why would he careabout anyone else’s.” these words were not spoken in outrage, rather they werequiet, menacing and enshrined with a raw grief, sinister deprecation and loathingthat made the Sheriff recoil back.

Jughead’s eyes bore into his.

A moment passed and then he was out the door.

A knock resounded through the Andrews’ residence.

“Coming,” Fred called, throwing the tea towel down on the benchas he moved around the counted and toward the front door.

His eyebrows furrowed in surprise upon seeing a stranger onthe other side of the door.

“Uh Hi,” he greeted, a slight frown forming on his face andan unsettling feeling rising in his bones. The lady whom stood in the thresholdwas dressed in a pressed grey pant suit, her hair neat and a warm smile on herface; it was practiced, part of a routine.

“Mr Andres, hi. I’m Julie from social services,” the womenintroduced herself, her tone professional and polite. Fred felt his stomachsink at her words, he knew what this was about, he’d been expecting it.

“Fred, nice to meet you. Come on in,” he moved aside andgestured for the woman to enter and head toward the kitchen. She did so with agracious nod and he moved to shut the door behind her, taking a deep breath.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No thank you. Now I’m assuming you’ve concluded I’m here todiscuss Forsythe Jones?” The lady checked, the professional tone lingering andmaking Fred feel a little apprehensive toward her. He nodded anyways, affirminghis awareness.

“Jughead,” he corrected though.

“I’m sorry?” her face was contorted in evident confusion.

“ah Forsythe, he goes by Jughead.”

“Oh, well then let’s talk about Jughead,” she smiled, andFred felt a little more at ease; she hadn’t recoiled at the name, seemingly notjudging the kid by a quirk.

“Okay. His dad’s in jail, his mom’s absent so he needs aguardian correct?” Fred asked not one to dance around a topic. Julie nodded hersmile transforming into one of sympathy.

“Yes, an unfortunate situation for any kid. How’s he doing?”she asked, diverting the question but assumingly with necessary questions- and bynecessary Fred thought them to be protocol.

“Holding up,” Fred replied, leaning against the counter.

“Good. Now Jughead’s mother has been contacted but she isunable and unwilling to have him come stay with her at this stage in time,which means he will become a warden of the state,” the lady explained carefullyand Fred felt his blood boil at the thought of a parent abandoning their childin their darkest hour. Jughead didn’t deserve it. He was a good kid who hadbeen dealt a bad hand. It was unfair.

Fred sighed and shook his head, unsure of what to say next.

“My understanding is that he’s been living with you the pastfew months, is that correct?” Julie continued, looking down at a file in herhand.

“Yes, I went to high school with his dad, and my son is hisbest friend,” Fred explained. He hesitated before adding, “the kid’s prettymuch family.” He wasn’t really sure what they wanted from him, if he was beingtested. It made him feel uncomfortable.

“Well it’s nice to know he has people in his corner,” Julieappeased, smiling at him in what he supposed was meant to be reassuring,scribbling on a piece of paper.

“So he’ll continue to stay here then?” Fred prompted, unsurewhere this was going. Julie looked up, her eyes losing their professional sheenand her pep deflating a little. She hesitated before sighing and admitting, “UnfortunatelyMr Andrews, you are not eligible to be Jughead’s guardian, anyone with priorconvictions is excluded.” She looked genuinely sorry and Fred’s gut twistedwith guilt; he was just another person to be added to the long list of them whohad let Jughead down. As if his words the other night, in  a time of distress hadn’t been enough tofracture the trust the kid had in him.

Fred exhaled loudly, his body slumping against the counter.

“Dammit. So what’s the plan then?”

“A foster family on the Southside of town have offered totake him. They’re good people, we’ve worked with them a bit. I think it’s agood fit for him. The only down side is he will have to transfer schools,”Julie went on to explain, her training kicking in again as she orated thesituation with a delicacy that was only complimented and not contrasted by herassertiveness.

Fred nodded, feeling completely helpless and utterlyterrible.

His frustration at himself was only outweighed by the worryand concern he felt toward the reactions the kid’s would have when they gothome shortly. He knew Jughead wouldn’t necessarily be happy about it, but the kidwas used to displacement and disappointment and it was likely he would take iton the chin, pull his walls up and wallow in the darkness later. Archiehowever, was a different story. He would surely argue the injustice of it all,unable to accept the unfairness the world was dictating for them, yet incapableto stop it.

[childsound56-blog]

How Meek Mill Became a Movement

News

One year after being released from prison, Meek Mill is making music, hanging with his celebrity friends, and enjoying the life of a hip-hop star. But his biggest impact might come in a different realm: criminal justice reform.

A look at the life of Meek Mill, one year out of prison. Photograph by Ahmed Klink

It’s the afternoon before Super Bowl LIII in downtown Atlanta, and the College Football Hall of Fame is hosting a party for sports-apparel giant Fanatics. This is no ho-hum affair; it’s one of the biggest throw-downs in a weekend packed with them. A DJ spins hip-hop hits for the cavernous room — decorated in a gridiron theme, complete with turf and a goal post — as a cross-section of celebrities from sports, media and entertainment streams in. You can’t grab a chicken-and-waffle skewer without bumping into someone famous: Peyton Manning and Matt Ryan near the selfie station; Jon Bon Jovi chatting with Patriots owner Robert Kraft; comedian Kevin Hart and CNN’s Van Jones and Yankees phenom Aaron Judge; and a bunch of HOFers who’ve earned one-name status — Julius, Emmitt, Montana.

There are actual models, wannabe models, and nearly $10 billion in combined net worth just between Kraft and the party’s host, Sixers co-owner and Fanatics founder Michael Rubin. Outside on the red carpet, flashbulbs pop as TV hosts pepper incoming guests with dopey questions. And no one causes a bigger scene than one of today’s headlining performers, Rubin’s pal and North Philadelphia’s own Meek Mill.

Dressed head-to-toe in black — jeans, signature “Reform”-themed Pumas, Gucci hoodie — and draped with Mr. T-level gold chains, the rapper poses with Rubin and a new friend — Clara Wu Tsai, co-owner of the Brooklyn Nets and wife of Alibaba co-founder Joseph Tsai. Meek smiles for the cameras and obliges as correspondents from Fox and Extra extend their microphones. There’s so much commotion over Meek that NFL legend Dan Marino, a victim of unfortunate timing, walks by to little fanfare.

I’ve been following Meek for weeks now, hoping to capture what it’s like for him to be in a moment that is — all hype aside — wholly unique. Consider that Meek is one of the hottest acts in hip-hop. In a few days, he’ll drop a video with nemesis-turned-friend Drake, arguably the top MC in the game. Today he’s performing with rap supernova Cardi B and about to launch a 16-city tour, which will include two sold-out nights at the Met on Broad Street. But the lyrics in a song like “Trauma” reveal the less glamorous side to Meek’s story, one that’s ironically placed him in the company of billionaires:

When they label you a felon, it’s like they telling you … not equal 11 years going to court knowing they might keep you or drive you crazy 23 hours in a cell, somebody save me.

As cultural critic and author Michael Eric Dyson sums up Meek’s music, “He’s really the poet laureate of black grief, grime and grit.”

Meek is more than a rapper — he’s become a movement. He went from battle-rapping on the streets of North Philly to prison on drug and gun charges in 2008; then, just as his star was ascending, he was sent back to jail for probation violations in 2017, nine years after his initial — and only — conviction. Meek had reached his nadir only to be lifted up with help from friends like Rubin and Jay-Z, who turned his plight into a cause célèbre and his name into a hashtag: #FreeMeekMill. His release from prison last April made national news. Now he’s in a position unlike any artist who came before him: the face of a new criminal justice reform campaign, author of a New York Times op-ed on the subject, and one of the A-list founding partners of Reform Alliance, which is aimed at changing laws (starting in Pennsylvania) and freeing one million people in five years. “A whole lot of people go to jail,” says Van Jones, who’s also Reform Alliance’s CEO. “Not just rappers — athletes, movie stars. How many have done what Meek’s doing? How many really made the commitment of money, of time, of organization?”

Here in one room, the worlds of hip-hop, Hollywood, Wall Street, sports and social consciousness form a bizarre cultural Venn diagram, with a Philly rapper standing at the center.

Now, though, Meek is about to do what comes more naturally — grab the mic and hit the stage. Rubin introduces him by harking back to the Fanatics Super Bowl fete in Minneapolis a year ago, with his hometown Birds on the verge of a title. “You know what?” Rubin announces. “We were only thinking about how to get him out of prison.” Here in one room, the worlds of hip-hop, Hollywood, Wall Street, sports and social consciousness form a bizarre cultural Venn diagram, with a Philly rapper standing at the center. Bass thumping through the speakers rattles my rib cage, and the ever-expanding Meek Mill industrial complex swirls around us both.

•

Before the doors of the Martin Luther King Jr. Rec Center open at noon on Christmas Eve, there’s already a line of kids and parents stretching across Cecil B. Moore Avenue and around the corner along 22nd Street. Inside, Meek’s throwing a holiday giveaway with support from some 20 friends, family members and employees, along with an army of volunteers. Five hundred bicycles in boxes line the gymnasium walls, and a table overflows with sneakers from Puma, one of his sponsors; a slightly edgier partner, the Philly-headquartered delivery service GoPuff, is also here, and its CEO and Meek share a bro hug. State Senator Sharif Street and City Council President Darrell Clarke are working up as much of a sweat as anyone, sliding long bike boxes across the well-worn hardwood floor to waiting kids. Clad in all black, with a woolly red ski mask in his back pocket, Meek stands in a roped-off area and gets pulled in every direction — by people he knows from the neighborhood calling to him, requests for pics, chats with his crew, and he’s keeping an eye on his seven-year-old son, Rihmeek. Amid the chaos, he laughs with his pals and stays chill.

“His involvement is significant,” says Clarke. “You see how these young people and parents love him. First thing he asked this young kid, ‘Who do you live with?’ He understands that not everyone comes from a two-parent household. His ability to carry on a conversation, give sound advice — people listen to him.”

The crowd here knows that Meek is a product of these streets, for better and for worse. He was born Robert Rihmeek Williams in South Philly; his father, Rob, was shot and killed during an attempted robbery at 31, the same age as Meek is now. Meek was five, and his mother, Kathy, says he barely spoke for a decade after that. She then moved Meek and his older sister, Nasheema, to North Philly, eventually settling at 18th and Berks, a tough stretch just blocks from the MLK rec center to the west and Temple University to the east. “He was a good kid at one point,” says Kathy, who worked three jobs to support her family. “All I had to do was give him a video game and I could go to sleep and wake up and he’s in the same position.” But without a father figure, Meek felt the burden at a young age to be the man of the house. His first run-in with the police was around sixth grade, when he showed up at school despite being suspended and was charged with trespassing; young Meek was just afraid that Kathy would miss work to watch him and had nowhere else to go. He’d eventually drop out of Strawberry Mansion High, one of the most dangerous schools in the country.

Meek broke out of his shell through rap, as if the heartbreak of his father’s murder and the crucible of the street corners where he hung out unleashed something deep inside him. Kathy helped him burn CDs of his music and watched from her window as he’d compete against other aspiring MCs, aggressively trading rhymes with their faces just inches apart. “I worried a lot,” she says about Meek’s battles. She knew, like Meek did, that the rappers and their crew were carrying guns.

His life changed one night in January 2007, when a Narcotics Field Unit raid of Meek’s cousin’s house ended with the then-19-year-old in handcuffs, his left eye swollen shut, a bandage over his right eye and a braid ripped out of his head, leaving a bald spot he still carries today. (Meek would later use his Philly PD processing photo as an album cover.) He was hit with 19 charges, convicted of seven offenses — including two felonies, drug possession and carrying a firearm without a license — and sentenced to two years in county jail with eight years of probation; he served seven months in prison before being released to house arrest. Meek wouldn’t be convicted of another crime, but his struggles with the justice system, along with his success as a rapper, had just begun.

That Meek Mill seems like a completely different person from the guy handing out Christmas presents, especially given the company he keeps now — two powerful city politicians are in this gym, along with his high-wattage Reform Alliance partners. In a photo Kathy took of her son in lockup in 2008, Meek was a beanpole, with toothpick forearms and sculpted cheekbones. The ferocity in his eyes from those rap battles had been replaced by shock and fear. Today, Meek’s six-foot-two-inch frame is full, and an aura of confidence surrounds him when he walks into a room. He’s still angry at the cops who testified against him, but not at the police as a whole; he jokes with the officers at the rec center and joins them for a selfie. When a young boy asks for a pic, then hops up on a bike box and throws his arm around Meek’s shoulder, the rapper can’t help but laugh at the kid’s moxie. “Being as though I got the platform to help out my community, why not do it?” Meek says to a TV news scrum gathered around him. “We wanted to bring our Christmas back to our old neighborhood.”

The giveaway was scheduled to end at 2 p.m., yet it’s almost three and Meek is still here, posing for a photo with the grinning volunteers. It makes sense to see him so at ease in the environment that shaped him. Next month, though, he’ll be in New York for a week he’ll describe in video-game terms as a personal “leveling up” — one that the young Robert Williams never could have imagined.

•

Meek is in Manhattan in late January to rehearse for his debut performance on Saturday Night Live. That’s a milestone in any musician’s career, but it’s not even the most significant date on his calendar this week. On this Wednesday morning, at a packed theater inside the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, he’s helping to launch Reform Alliance with a lineup that CEO Van Jones will liken to the Avengers. Along with Rubin, Kraft and Tsai, Meek is joined by billionaire businessmen Mike Novogratz and Dan Loeb as well as a guy in a gray crew-neck sweatshirt and a Yankees cap who’s best known as Jay-Z; his Roc Nation management company handles Meek. It’s been a long time since Jay-Z roamed the Marcy projects in Brooklyn, where he sold crack as a teenager. Meek’s days in the ’hood aren’t nearly so far behind him. The combined start-up investment of the Reform founders is $50 million, including $10 million from Rubin alone. (Meek hasn’t disclosed his contribution.)

Before Meek and his partners take the stage, a short film rolls, featuring story after story of ordinary people living under the “long tail” of the criminal justice system — a man who served 90 days in jail for making an illegal U-turn while on parole; another who missed a meeting with his PO because of a new job he’d started and was sent to prison; a young man who couldn’t take a job in New Jersey because his probation confined him to the five boroughs. To get a sense of the support for Reform Alliance’s mission, consider who’s here in the front rows: Pennsylvania Governor Tom Wolf, Attorney General Josh Shapiro, State Senator Tony Williams, district attorneys from New York and Illinois. Jones acknowledges them by name and says their presence is meaningful. “Elected officials,” he notes, “do not come to events where they do not get to speak.”

The launch of Reform Alliance in January. Photograph by Kevin Mazur/Getty Images

The founders take their seats on the stage beneath a stark black-and-white REFORM logo on a screen, and the moderator asks Jay-Z why he’s doing this. “I think the attention that Meek brought to this issue because of his celebrity and the egregiousness of the [consequences of his probation violations] … is what sparked the match for the nation,” he says. “But for me … I am from Brooklyn, and this has been a part of my life.” Rubin breaks down the math — there are 2.2 million people in jail and 4.5 million on parole. Those numbers became real to him when his friendship with Meek began courtside at Sixers games and was cemented when Meek was imprisoned last fall. “When I hear these stories that a guy like Meek needs permission to be here today or a guy needs permission to see his son … the laws are so antiquated and don’t make sense,” Rubin says. “I think you can dramatically reduce that population while keeping communities safe.”

Among Reform Alliance’s priorities is putting limits on probation in states, like Pennsylvania and New York, where it can stretch indefinitely. That issue is at the heart of Meek’s boomerang relationship with the system and the Philly judge who’s been on his case since the beginning. To this day, Meek admits having a gun and selling weed when he was a teenager but insists he never pointed his pistol at the cops the night he was arrested in 2007, using logic that’s hard to argue with — young black men don’t pull guns on police and live to tell about it. (“That’s suicide,” he’s said.) There’s also a laundry list of troubling issues with the original conviction, ranging from no physical evidence of the crack Meek was alleged to have dealt to the testimony of the arresting officer, who is among 29 cops now barred from testifying in court due to alleged misconduct. District Attorney Larry Krasner has said there is a “strong showing of likelihood of [Meek’s] conviction being reversed.” Meek’s legal team is awaiting a ruling from the state Superior Court on their request for a new trial.

Meanwhile, Meek’s probation violations kept dragging him back before Judge Genece Brinkley. In 2012, a day after reaching number two on the Billboard 200 with his debut album — featuring “Dreams and Nightmares,” the song later used by Eagles players as their Super Bowl season anthem — Meek was pulled over on the way to the airport and arrested on suspicion of marijuana possession. He passed two drug tests ordered by Brinkley, but the judge ruled he was no longer allowed to tour. (Brinkley sets the terms of Meek’s probation and has broad discretion over how to enforce them.) Meek lost nearly $1.5 million in endorsements from Puma and estimates several million more in performance fees as a result.

What followed was a series of missteps and punishments that shows that while Meek is no Boy Scout, the system is, to be generous, nonsensically unforgiving of even minor slip-ups: Meek books concerts out-of-state and gets grounded; he’s denied a request for a new parole officer and ordered to take etiquette courses after complaining about his PO on social media; he serves five additional months in jail for more unapproved travel and testing positive for Percocet, which he’d used after getting his wisdom teeth pulled. (Meek was eventually given permission to attend rehab, where, he says, he successfully kicked his pill habit.) In 2016, with then-girlfriend Nicki Minaj sitting behind him, he apologized to Brinkley for “embarrassing” the court with his behavior and angry lyrics in his songs about his case. “Early in my career,” he said, “I was caught up between money and success.” Meek’s life coach, Dyana Williams, who’s worked with rapper T.I. and singer Mary J. Blige, testified that he was a changed man. Unmoved, the judge gave him 90 days of house arrest and, worse, extended his probation for another six years. The leash first placed on him in 2008 now extends to 2022.

Meek has a knack for both finding and creating drama, which isn’t a great trait in a guy who’s being watched by a judge and TMZ. The last straws snapped with two arrests in 2017, when Meek broke up a fight in the St. Louis airport, then popped wheelies on a dirt bike with some kids in Manhattan before an appearance on The Tonight Show. The charges were dropped in both cases, but any run-in with the police is considered a probation violation. In November, after those incidents and a disputed positive drug test for Percocet, Brinkley ordered Meek back to prison for two to four years.

Her decision proved to be a flash point that Brinkley likely never anticipated. In the courtroom that day were Rubin and Roc Nation COO Desiree Perez, who both vowed to get Meek out of prison. They weren’t the only ones dumbfounded, says Brian McMonagle, one of Meek’s attorneys. He’d never seen a judge ignore a recommendation when the defense, the prosecution and the DA were all in agreement — in this case, that Meek didn’t deserve jail time. “It was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had,” McMonagle says. “To have his life turned upside down by an unjust ruling — I was sick to my stomach.”

The #FreeMeekMill campaign launched immediately, sweeping across social media and leading to a rally at City Hall a week later with Dr. J, outspoken Eagles safety Malcolm Jenkins and rapper Rick Ross. Kevin Hart, Joel Embiid and Robert Kraft all made visits to Meek’s medium-security prison in Chester. Some less famous folks also showed their support, including Chad Dion Lassiter of the Pennsylvania Human Relations Commission, who’d never met Meek before visiting him in jail. Lassiter says most of their conversations in more than a dozen visits focused on how to improve education and the criminal justice system. “I found him to be very genuine, very sincere,” says Lassiter, who gave Meek The Souls of Black Folk by W.E.B. Du Bois and other books to keep his mind sharp. “I often left choked up with emotion because I saw he had a unique calling on his life.”

Another new friend was former Goldman Sachs exec Howard Brown, who runs a finance firm while teaching entrepreneurship at Northeast High. Brown had given Lassiter a primer on Meek’s music before they met, and in turn, Lassiter encouraged Brown to visit the rapper. “It exceeded all my expectations,” says Brown, who bonded with Meek over their kids. “He did have a genuine interest in improving the community he came from. I was skeptical at first, but I believe he has a genuine passion for prison reform.”

The efforts of Rubin and Perez paid off last April when the state Supreme Court ordered Brinkley to release Meek on bail after he’d served five months. Rubin picked Meek up from Chester in his company’s helicopter — fulfilling an actual dream Meek had in prison — and flew him to ring the opening bell at the Sixers playoff game that night. The sellout crowd erupted as the PA announcer shouted, “Welcome home!” and Meek appeared, hammer in hand and a wide grin on his face.

Today in New York, after the Reform Alliance kickoff ends, the crush of media that follows Meek into a press room speaks to the enormity of his situation. Morning-show anchor and Oprah bestie Gayle King is here, as is Lester Holt; word is that NBC News is planning a justice reform series with Meek as its centerpiece. A film crew working on a documentary for Amazon that’s scheduled to debut sometime this year hovers.

Later tonight, Meek will end up in the studio with Alicia Keys and Swizz Beatz before heading directly to a Good Morning America interview with Rubin on no sleep. Two days later, he’ll perform three songs on Saturday Night Live, then fly to a vacation in Jamaica, posting clips from a strip club there of twerking booties and dollar bills flying everywhere — something you’ll likely never see on Al Sharpton’s Instagram.

Even on a far-away island, though, he’s still looking over his shoulder. Meek records a video from the side of a road where a few Jamaican cops have pulled his car over. He’s worried he’s in trouble for something, with who-knows-what consequences to follow back home. Turns out the traffic stop is just to ask for a photo.

•

This is where the situation in Atlanta gets really weird — which is saying something, given that I’m presently at a Super Bowl party and just exchanged concerned glances with former Cowboy Emmitt Smith as Meek’s security detail and surrounding photogs nearly crushed both of us. Meek performs for about 15 minutes, as does Cardi B, who says she needs to leave to visit sick kids in the hospital. (Michael Rubin also shouts her out for donating to Reform Alliance.) The viral highlight of the party turns out to be when Robert Kraft — who will soon win his sixth Super Bowl and then face solicitation charges in a Florida sex-trafficking ring — gets pushed onto the stage and dances to Cardi B’s hit song “Money.” As shots are flowing (largely thanks to Kevin Hart) and crews are growing, Meek asks if we can reschedule our planned interview. It’s clear that this is possibly the worst time in his life to get his undivided attention — he’s free from jail, cameras and the court are watching his every move, he’s trying to make up for lost time and lost money and, while he’s at it, change the American justice system and occasionally get a lap dance.

Meek Mill hanging out at the Fanatics Super Bowl party with Michael Rubin, Kevin Hart and Robert Kraft. Photograph by Kevin Mazur/Getty Images

So I find myself in a downtown Atlanta ballroom later that night, at a front-row table for Kraft’s invite-only pre-Super Bowl gala. Kraft and his girlfriend are at the table next to mine; Bon Jovi’s seated within arm’s reach over my shoulder. Uber founder Travis Kalanick sits between me and Rubin. Meek is scheduled to show up soon and say a few words; his friendship with Kraft has only deepened since his release. (When Kraft was announced as the recipient of Israel’s peace prize, Meek sent him a text that Kraft called “moving.”)

Meek arrives midway through a set by comedian David Spade and sits down at our table. He’s looking relaxed and in good spirits, with a silky black shirt unbuttoned enough to flash some chains, including a “Championships” medallion he’ll end up gifting to Kraft after his win tomorrow night. When Spade’s set ends, Rubin grabs Meek and me to retreat to a small couch in the lobby near the open bar. I’m hoping to finally get some perspective on this moment in Meek’s life. A year ago, he watched his beloved Eagles win the Super Bowl on a jailhouse TV. Tomorrow, he’ll be at the game, celebrating with his billionaire buddies, and later he’ll fly to Los Angeles for a Roc Nation Grammy party with Jay-Z. Meek tells me he texted his mom in disbelief the day after Reform Alliance’s launch. “To have that many people with powerful names and voices who come from different walks of life, it was mind-blowing — I was at that table,” he tells me, moving my recorder closer to him. “She was like, ‘Yeah, I couldn’t believe it.’”

But the interview turns out to be less of a conversation and more of a filibuster on the particulars of his case, which, in his mind, hasn’t received enough attention (aside from a deifying Rolling Stone feature that savaged Brinkley, a Dateline special, and the 692 articles mentioning Meek Mill on Philly.com, for starters). Halfway through answering my second question, about his SNL debut, he takes a hard turn.

“For people who have been following my story,” he says, “because I always get kickback about, like, me being on probation 11 years and if I deserve to go to jail or not, I just want to start from the beginning of everything. South Philadelphia, the place where my father was killed at, many of my friends were killed at. Do you have any friends that was killed by gunfire?”

“No,” I reply.

“It’s kinda normal in your world. In my world, it’s normal for 30 of your friends your age to die by gunfire.” (Fame hasn’t inoculated him against this phenomenon: Two and a half years ago, his 21-year-old cousin was fatally shot in South Philadelphia.)

From there, Meek dives deep into his case. There’s the police-brutality aspect that he thinks, fairly, gets lost in the retelling; he claims to still have scars from the handcuffs clapped on when he was arrested in the raid and says police used his head to bash in the front door of the house. There’s a neighbor who was swept up in the raid, was arrested, and is also still on probation to this day, even though Meek says she’s a law-abiding mom who used to hassle his crew for sitting around that house smoking weed.

He also wants to know why one of the cops who arrested him, Reggie Graham, is barred from testifying in court because of “alleged acts of corruption” but still insists he didn’t lie about Meek’s arrest, particularly the gun details. Meek argues that you have to be “criminal-minded” to even think about pointing a pistol at a cop, and that community pillars like Rubin wouldn’t stand with someone who possessed that mentality. He does admit to carrying an unlicensed gun that night. “I don’t regret carrying no firearm in Philadelphia,” he says. “If I didn’t, there’s probably a 99 percent chance I would be dead. Everybody I grew up with, every person you see me with at these shows, have bullet holes in them. … If you was in a neighborhood and had 16 Freddy Kruegers, 17 Jasons, 10 Michael Myers running around, you would carry a gun.”

“Why is a woman of color sitting on the bench calling me a threat to society?” Meek asks. “Why do she view me as that?”

This is a side of Meek I haven’t seen before, one that contradicts the stories from his prison visitors who were amazed by how positive he remained despite his circumstances. It also contradicts Meek’s frequent admission that he feels guilty about being the face of Reform Alliance, knowing there are so many stories like the ones in that film — and that but for the grace of God and Twitter and rich friends, he’d likely still be in jail. Yet he’s not done talking about his own situation, expressing frustration that stops short of rage; he’s simply incredulous, as though his mind, so fit from the mental gymnastics required to spit lyrics, is still trying to untangle how he ended up in a legal nightmare 12 years long and counting. How the system — and a black judge — could do him so dirty. “Why is a woman of color sitting on the bench calling me a threat to society?” he asks me. “Why do she view me as that?”

If that sounds like bullshit — hey, this guy can’t stay out of trouble, he deserves what he got — consider the distinction Van Jones makes when talking about Reform’s mission. “If you’re on probation or parole and you go jack a car, that’s a new crime for which you should be punished,” he says. “But we are talking about ‘technical violations.’ I’ve learned that no one knows what that means. We’re sending people back to prison for non-crimes.”

Meek’s sincerity about helping other people caught in the same revolving door he’s spinning through — that’s harder to question. He peppers our conversation with references to other criminal justice outrages in the news: Did I see the video of the guy who was shot in his car by a cop when he reached into his glove box, after the cop told him to reach into his glove box? Did I hear about the prison in Brooklyn where the power and heat went out for a week? He can relate, he tells me — one of his cells had a broken window, so Meek slept in every piece of clothing he had. Studies have shown that people who’ve experienced urban trauma display symptoms of PTSD. Meek agrees — he can still describe, in vivid detail, the night of the raid, or the sounds of inmates howling when he was placed in a psych ward for several days because prison officials thought his celebrity would make him a target in the general population. “Two years ago,” he says, “I swear on my mother’s soul, I used to say I’d rather die than go back to jail, because it’s been going on for so long in my life. It’s gonna ruin everything I worked for.”

There lies the great irony in the Meek Mill story. Michael Eric Dyson sees it through the lens of Scripture: “In Genesis, when Joseph was jailed, he said, ‘You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good.’ His misfortune has been transformed into a powerful opportunity.” Being sent back to jail was the best thing for Meek’s career and might turn out to help millions of people, thanks to his determination and a remarkable social justice awakening buoyed by a group of wealthy superheroes who would never have otherwise united. When his Wikipedia page is complete someday, his legacy as a rapper might pale in comparison to his impact on the prison system.

Meek Mill performing at the Fanatics Super Bowl party. Photograph by Kevin Mazur/Getty Images

Rubin ends the interview by yanking Meek back inside the ballroom to say a few words. It’s an awkward moment that Meek fully recognizes — he’s interrupting a party to thank Kraft for his support. “This is about Robert Kraft, not Meek Mill,” he says, keeping it brief and begging off Jamie Foxx’s insistence that he perform “Dreams and Nightmares.” “Give it up for a gracious Meek Mill,” Foxx says, quickly pivoting. It’s a perfect read of the room by Meek, who later admits, “Why should I be screaming the N-word in front of older white people?”

The hip-hop-superstar-slash-change-agent leaves the party and heads out into the Atlanta night for a lucrative club appearance in the wee hours of the morning that requires him to stick around for an hour. I told you this was a weird scene — one that’s now just another day for a guy who’s both larger than life and one slip-up away from heading back behind bars, at least for now.

•

My last attempt to see Meek in person fails because he’s still in Atlanta, then performing at the NBA All-Star Game in Charlotte before flying to Miami for the kickoff of his tour. I’m finally able to catch him for a tightly monitored 20-plus-minute call from his hotel in North Carolina. He was at the arena for rehearsal this morning at 8:30 a.m. and found time to do an ask-me-anything chat on Twitter. Meek also did an interview for The Ellen DeGeneres Show, with a young fan who, unlike me, was probably not asking for his thoughts on Donald Trump.

This isn’t a clickbait question I’m posing. The president is a Kraft pal and in December signed the First Step Act, a sweeping bipartisan justice reform bill aimed at reducing recidivism and adjusting sentencing laws. Van Jones was among those who praised Trump for what’s been hailed as a generational initiative. But Trump also took frequent aim at Meek’s pal Colin Kaepernick and supporters like Malcolm Jenkins. Meek’s U.K.-born friend 21 Savage was jailed in Trump’s anti-immigration crackdown. More bluntly, many people view Trump as a racist. How does Meek reconcile all of that?

Simply put, he doesn’t. It’s true that he encouraged rapper Travis Scott not to perform with Maroon 5 at the Super Bowl, but only because Meek felt hip-hop always plays second fiddle in those halftime shows — headline it or don’t do it, he advised. For all the nuanced ways Meek can discuss the criminal justice system, he has no interest in the politics that shape it. “I don’t really care about none of that,” he says. “That’s like the other side of America. I come from the streets. I’m dealing with murder in my neighborhood, the drug-infested areas, people’s self-hate, everybody’s strung out on drugs. That’s really my reality. I never really paid attention to politics. I don’t think no president who’s ever been in the White House has represented what I represent.”

It’s not surprising that this newly minted activist isn’t watching C-SPAN. Meek just wants to record club bangers or take his son to Dorney Park or visit his mom in South Jersey without violating a court order. And as someone who’s on Twitter every day, Meek also knows that weighing in on Trump might backfire. “I could get caught up in an interview and say the wrong thing,” he says. “You’re talking about the president of the United States to someone from the ghetto of North Philadelphia. I don’t even know. All I know is, I’m just doing what’s right by my friends. I represent Kaepernick; I stand for what he stands for. I was beat by police before, brutalized by police, falsely accused by police. And I stand for Robert Kraft. He came to see me while I was in prison, put his face on the line, spoke well about me being as powerful as he is. I stand with Michael Rubin. I stand with Jay-Z.” (When news of Kraft’s prostitution charges surface two weeks later, the closest thing to an official statement from Meek is a cryptic tweet with three thinking-face emojis.)

In the days that follow our last conversation, Meek opens the All-Star Game and then his tour in Miami, where paps catch him on the beach with three women in very small bikinis. The role of chart-topping hip-hop star is the one he wears most comfortably, but it doesn’t mean the others — activist, ex-con, son, father, friend — are less genuine. I think back to my conversations with Lassiter and Brown about how much Meek means to the community, and also how neither of them needs anything from him. They’re in the minority — almost everyone in his orbit wants to take his time or protect it; snap a pic or get a quote; shake his hand or help him hand a backpack to a needy child.

Everyone I spoke with agrees on three things — Meek cares about criminal justice reform; he’s authentically himself; and the newfound demands of fame pale in comparison to what he’s already overcome. “What we have is a moment that turned into a movement,” Lassiter says.

Both he and Brown end our interviews excited about what’s ahead for Meek this year, which could include a new trial or a recusal that would end his legal nightmare altogether. They also separately make the same request, asking me to tell Meek to holler at them. It’s been a while since they’ve talked. Maybe he’s changed his phone number. They know he’s been busy.

Published as “Meek’s Moment” in the April 2019 issue of Philadelphia magazine.

Source: https://www.phillymag.com/news/2019/03/14/meek-mill-social-justice-reform/