#imagine the guy prosecuting you pulling up in one of THESE bad boys

[rose-i-guess]

Been thinking about ace attorney and drew this before I go to sleep

This is sebastian’s primary mode of transportation, I will not be listening to any disagreements on this

[vynsvision]

What if MC wasn't a lawyer?

Originally, this was going to be a list for me to have on hand for self-inserts or if I wanted to adjust Rosa for a fic. It become a brainstorming piece about all the alternate versions or jobs/work positions Rosa could have held instead of being a lawyer for Themis Law Firm.

WC: roughly 1.2k

In my daily checking of the "tears of themis" tag (by recent because yeah duh), I read sdaomine's minific au about vilhelm (svart!vyn) kidnapping his enemy's daughter and proposing marriage. And then another post in the tag was maybe about Marius's assistant minific- not sure bc I didnt read it. [edit: did read it later and no it wasn't, but this is now irrelevant.] But, point is, it got my brain going and thinking and I realized each of the boys have like an alternate place for Rosa to have been instead of Artem's subordinate in the Themis Law Firm.

Vyn:

1. A Svart citizen/person of royalty- someone who was/is also of lineage, and they connect that way. Maybe helping him ease the dislike he has of his home country. This person has the money and connections to get answers.

2. Someone Vyn works with or went to school with for Psychology n stuff. Someone who would also work at Giannovyn. Someone who knows how to observe and analyze the effects of the NXX drug, and maybe is sent from like the govt to discover how serious this is and how hard they need to crack down.

Marius:

1. His assistant. Duh. What more do I say. Not sure how they would be relevant to the nxx investigation but whatever.

2. Heir or high up in a competing company, and they personally are into biology and chemistry outside of work bc mc having two degrees or doctorates or whatever would be hot. Or maybe 3 bc they can have one in business, too. Sexy.

Luke:

1. Fellow NSB agent is the obvious piece. It would, of course, change their dynamic drastically, but I just think MC should be allowed to hot as an agent. Maybe they were kept secret and mc is undercover as Artem's subordinate. Anyway.

2. Even better, (or worse, depending) MC was recruited by some other agency/organization and so when they realize they're on competing intelligence sides...... hhhgg.

Now that I think about it, Artem also has an alternate:

1. Simply, instead of working with Themis, MC works for Baldr. Imagine that. Basically the same, but MC might be harder and Artem and them would be enemies to lovers. Sexy.

Darius: (because this is My Post)

1. Fellow detective. Pretty straightforward.

2. Someone who is in witness protection or is currently a Criminal (boss or second-hand) but isn't going to be pulled in because of a Deal that they and Darius make. Hhhhhhh this is self-indulgent but let me live.

Now, to a degree, I understand why MC is a lawyer. Someone has to prosecute (or whatever) the bad guys or the offending party. But if we went with any of these differing routes, here are some ideas-

1. In biology or chemistry, it would be neat to be able to test chemicals n stuff. Like... seeing how one thing reacts to a different thing, and trying to find the right combination.

2. Business... not really sure, but it could open up more characters and arguments/debates/conversations with people who are shady but you can't just pull them into court.

3. Agent stuff... this is obvious but a fight. This is, of course, the most attractive option, because it wouldn't be something you could skip- the cards would change to be able to be applied to weapons, maybe, or if you could have backup. Like "Clash Royale" from Supercell or something. That would be so cool!! This is. The coolest option so far.

4. Baldr option doesn't change this, really. It would still be debates n shit. Which is fine bc it wouldn't be Themis. Maybe we could debate against Artem in public court. Imagine the fics........ *ahem* Anyway!

5. Svart option... this would probably be similar to the business option. Connecting with government contacts and having a wider range of authority would be an attractive feature. Like, being able to meet with a government official, and then stepping out and checking in with a street contact and comparing the information. Maybe thats too agent-y, but I didn't specify what part of the Svart government MC's Svart family would work for/be a part of.

6. Psychology option (like if mc worked at Giannovyn) could be more specific like figuring if someone is lying n stuff? Watching someone speaking and having been told to look for certain tells, and you have to catch them by taping on them in that spot when the tell happens.

7. While an assistant [to Marius] would have access to the same stuff, they would have access to equals in other places. Someone who is overlooked, and would have a better connection with househands or bystanders, yanno? Being able to use the authority of Pax and being the CEO'S assistant, but also being able to meet regular people and being able to relate to them without the intimidating aspect.

8. As for the Darius mention, a fellow detective would be neat because then you can take part in interrogations or investigations- as someone posted the other day as an irl-lawyer-reacts-to-lawyer-otome said in the post, lawyers don't actually partake in the investigation. It just. Doesnt happen. And they're right!! So let me take part in investigating and interrogating and gathering info beside Darius!!!

9. Or as a criminal having connections under the table n shit. This one i mostly explained before but yeah having connections to who's selling what and oh through the grapevine of Crime or homeless or the overlooked, this is the info I got. Mmmmm. Thinking again of fics we won't get bc mhy are cowards

Honestly, the more I think about this, the more I wonder why the Heck MHY didnt choose these options. "For the cards" makes sense, I guess, but when you dont have to pay attention to the debate and they're just there to get resources and not pay attention to your phone... its disappointing. I do like the story finale debates because you have to choose the right evidence that applies, or the "hmm, no, this evidence doesn't match with that evidence" parts in the main episodes of story... (wow, do I just miss the main story?)

I think the cards could apply in different ways and they could really get more player interaction and giving-a-shit. It would be cool to know the stats of cards better, kinda like in Genshin, where you have to build characters a certain way to get the best results, whereas in ToT im pretty sure you just. Level shit up.

These are just my thoughts, but I'd like to hear if anyone has additional ideas or thoughts!

[Note: this was mostly written in descending order, so if I say "theres not much on this thought" in one place and then later elaborate, its because more came to me later for a different spot on this post.] [It was also typed and posted via the mobile app so please bear with me if there are errors... I'm doin my best]

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XCI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I'd missed this silly goose! tho the actors in hp for some reason look way older so he looks like a baby but pls imagine Erick like this older-looking student bc he should look that way jdhfd -Danny

Words: 2,195

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Six: Talk it out.

"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being —" The door opened. "About t — !" Hermione froze when she found Dumbledore there instead of their friend.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"We — er — we wanted to see Hagrid."

"Yes, I surmised as much," He said in amusement. "Why don't you come in?"

"Oh... um... okay."

Hagrid was sitting at the table, there were two mugs of tea. For the looks of it, he'd been crying.

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.

" 'Lo," he said lowly.

"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, and with the flick of his wand, a tea tray appeared. "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid? Hermione, Mel, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Professor..."

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up to the ceiling with interest.

"Er — right... I just meant — Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that — woman — wrote about you?" Hagrid cried silently, two huge tears falling down his beard.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't cry!" Mel's hand went to rest above his, looking almost comically small.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it —"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time. Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh — yeh're not half-giant!"

"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said in disbelief. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," said Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

Mel looked at her uncle knowing that there was certainly more he could say about their family, but she remained quiet.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione, "please come back, we really miss you."

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," said Dumbledore, standing up to leave. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

When the Headmaster left the cabin, Hagrid sobbed for real, hiding his face behind both hands.

"Great man, Dumbledore... great man..."

"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," said Hagrid. "Ar, he's righ', o' course — yeh're all righ'... I bin stupid... my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'... Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth — he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha' was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances... tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'... well... all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh... there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say — I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I'll give her big bones."

The kids shared nervous glances, but Hagrid kept talking without waiting for a reply.

"Yeh know wha', Harry? When I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it... an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion! Yeh know what I'd love, Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all... yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don' have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?"

"Great," said Harry shakily. "Really great."

"Tha's my boy... you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat'em all..."

"But if it doesn't turn out as expected," Mel was quick to add. "Know that we are all proud of you as well, Hagrid. We love you very much."

"I'll follow Cedric's advice," Harry told her quietly before going to bed that night.

"Blimey, all it took was a crying Hagrid..." Mel raised her eyebrows. "Want help?"

"No," He replied. "Dunno... I'll let you know."

"All right," She sighed. "Good luck."

She had an important matter to attend that day in private and it could only be between her and Erick. She used the pocket watch he'd given her and informed him that she wanted to talk. On Monday, both students met at the far end of the library, Mel had no idea where to start.

"I won't apologize for what I said the other day, I know you hate it when I do that," She began, "but you're hiding something and I would like to know what it is, maybe I can help you?"

She was expecting many reactions, all except the one she got. Erick let out a long sigh and picked out of his bag one of the books she'd lent him.

"Persuasion?" Mel raised a brow.

"I take that you've read it?" He asked.

"I love it," She smiled at it. "The main character's name is Anne, right?"

"Yes," Erick shook his head. "The story... It made me think– What if I'm making a mistake?"

"What d'you mean?"

"What if I don't like Anne the way I think I do?" He elaborated. "I wrote and she wrote back every week, we never ran out of things to say, but the last week before going to my grandad's house she said something that... What if I just like her because she's the complete opposite of what my parents want?"

"I feel like those are unrelated, I'm not sure I follow," Mel frowned. "Since when you've been having doubts?"

"Since Anne and I started to talk more this summer. It's not exactly that I have doubts, I mean, I know I feel something, I just don't know what."

"I don't think there's a reasoning behind the people we like," She retorted. "...Right?"

"If there's no reasoning, then I guess it's all right, but if I'm supposed to have one... I don't have it. I can't tell why I like her."

"Well, you think she's pretty?"

"Yeah," Erick moved on his place awkwardly. "Although I think other girls are pretty too, and I could even get along with them as I do with Anne. If you were to ask me why I'm interested in her, I wouldn't know."

"But that's normal," Mel tried to calm him. "Love has no logic, that doesn't mean is bad?"

"Listen," He put a finger on the book and pointed harshly. "If I just like her because she's pretty and fun then it wouldn't be bad... Yet I think I'm around her because I know it'd make my parents mad, when I'm here, at school, I don't worry about her... I do wonder, but is not constant."

"So? I don't think about Harry all day."

"Aren't I supposed to be dying of solitude when I'm away from her? Maybe this is just a lie I tell myself so I feel like a normal guy, maybe I'm incapable of falling in love and Anne is just my excuse to be a bad son..."

There was a piece of paper coming out of the book, she took it without thinking. Erick kept rambling without looking at what she was doing and her eyes skimmed through the letter. The seams were so worn out that she could tell the boy had read it several times.

"Anne likes someone else..." She said quietly.

Erick's eyes landed on the piece of paper his face turned pale. "Give me that."

"His name's Stuart and he's nice...'" Mel read out loud. "Her boyfriend?"

"No," He said, seizing the letter. "He could be... but she's waiting."

"Waiting?"

"For me."

"And you don't want to say anything," Mel said slowly, "because you're not sure?"

"I can't be with her," Erick said with difficulty. "Not yet... I have two more years of school, even then I don't know when I'll be able to leave my parents' house..."

"But you like her."

"My parents won't approve."

"You don't have to tell them."

"I can't do that!" He said. "Imagine that Harry's parents were alive and they hated everything about you. That every time they see you they'd throw nasty remarks your way, and then Harry'd be out in the street with no money and without being able to give you a good life, imagine you're from two different worlds and nothing you have to offer can get him out trouble..."

"I think... I think we'd both be in pain all the time," Mel said quietly, "...Is that how you feel?"

"That's what will happen if I do the wrong thing," Erick ran a hand through his hair, ruining his neat curls. "I'd love to send a letter telling her everything... but we're young, I wasn't expecting things to move as fast as they did... she's great, she really is, but she doesn't even know I'm a wizard. There are too many secrets and I just think Anne deserves better. Maybe Stuart can do better."

"I think that in a way, you're right," Mel pushed the book towards him. "But I've seen you read and learn, get rid of so many prejudices just to meet her, not even knowing if she'd like you back... that has to mean something."

Erick supported his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead. "All I know is that if I pull her away from this boy without telling her everything... I'll end up ruining one of the best things that have ever happened to me."

"Then?" She frowned. "You're going to... you're just going to leave her?"

Erick swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want her to choose him... I'm not around anyway, I could even mention the ball and Daphne just to... to make her think..."

"You're gonna hurt her," She told him, not in a reproachful tone, but one that had to be said. "I guess this is the gentlest way you can do it... and it's not forever, right? I mean, if everything goes as planned, eventually you'll be able to try. It's meant to be."

"Meant to be?" He chuckled bitterly. "You sound too sure."

"I am," She responded sincerely. "You and Anne will end up together... just like Harry and me, if I'm lucky enough."

Erick gave her a look, a tiny smile on his lips. "Warming up to the idea then?"

"I've been too hard on myself and Harry," She shrugged. "I think life can be a fairytale if we do what we're meant to do."

"How are we supposed to know what that is?"

"Fate will find a way," Mel got up and patted his shoulder. "Just don't lose hope..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

[nexttrickanvils]

MI Fic: Beware of Karen

Title: Beware of Karen

Ships: Guybrush/Elaine, past Stan/OC (if you could call that mess a relationship)

Notes: So this is the result of lots of jokes and headcanon swapping with @captmickey. Hope you enjoy. ;)

---------

Throughout his adventures, Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate(TM) had seen the strange and impossible…

...And yet none of it compared to the sight of perpetual grifter, Stan S. Stanman standing on a dock before the Screaming Narwhal with a sleeping roll and other items in his (still flailing, how does he do that) arms.

“Guybrush! Good to see you! How’s the wife?”

“...She’s fine?” Guybrush remarked glancing at an equally baffled Elaine to his right.

“What...exactly are you doing here?”

“Haha! A good question! Typical of a smart man such as yourself! See, I need a favor and I figured we’ve been such good friends for so long...”

“You sold me a cruddy ship, I locked you in a coffin, scammed your life insurance business, you tried to sell me a timeshare, and tried to prosecute me on false charges. I don’t think “friends” is the word I’d use.”

At that, Stan’s usual bluster and “charming” salesman smile deflated like a really sad balloon.

“Alright alright. I know we haven’t exactly been on the same page but you’re the only one I actually trust with this.”

Okay that got Guybrush’s attention.

“This being?”

“I need a place to stay. Maybe a few days maybe a week. It shouldn’t be too long… hopefully”

Guybrush and Elaine glanced at each other, warriness and a little bit of annoyance obvious on both their faces.

They were planning on sailing off tomorrow and continuing their Multi-Island Anniversary Vacation. Elaine especially was looking forward to this after all the craziness with the Pox Incident… and the LeWalrus Incident before that. Winslow was even nice enough to be willing to stay at Spinner Cay with Anemone and the rest of the Merfolk so the two could have their space.

Then came Stan like a bad penny.

“Stan… we’re-” Guybrush attempted to explain

“We’re in the middle of something. As a couple. As in something for just the two of us.” Elaine added

“Don’t worry! Ol’ Stan here will be quiet as a mouse!”

Guybrush pinched his nose in frustration at Stan’s refusal to take no for an answer.

“Stan… why do you want to stay with us anyway? What? You couldn’t scam yourself a hotel room?”

“I take personal offense to that, my friends!”

“We’re not friends.” Elaine interrupted

But Stan ignored that and continued, “See I’ve been a businessman for a long time and in that field of work, I’ve met many a character, believe you me! I’ve crossed paths with the prickliest pirates, the saltiest of sea dogs, the most brackish of buccaneers...”

Guybrush muttered to Elaine, “What’s “brackish” mean?”

“I think it just means unpleasant, dear.” Elaine responded

“But none of them! None of those pillaging plunderers hold a candle to the most frightening person in the Caribbean… KAREN!”

Was… was he joking?

Is this one of those weird Pirate Prank Plays?

Was there a hidden audience ready to burst out and laugh at him?

“Unless Karen is LeChuck’s first name… which would be hilarious I can’t lie, I don’t think I see the threat.” Guybrush replied

“Who is Karen anyway?”

“Oh… she uh… she’s… err… she’s my ex-wife.”

An awkward silence hung between the three…

“Alright Guybrush, pull up the anchor.”

“WAIT! Listen I understand that I may have a… unique relationship with the truth but please believe me when I say that Karen is the absolute worst person imaginable and if she finds out that I’m on this island, I am a dead man!”

Okay… wow… even after racking his brain, Guybrush couldn’t really remember seeing Stan so… terrified (well okay the coffin thing but that’s uh something else.) He looked over to Elaine and could tell that she was still less than sympathetic.

Not that he could blame her. A guy, known for exaggeration and bullshit, shows up to your ship and tells you how his ex-wife is somehow WORSE than LeChuck? Not a good look.

But obviously Stan was not gonna go away, Guybrush had to think of something.

“Okay, listen, Stan. Elaine and I are trying to have a nice private vacation as a couple. But since you seem so worried, why don’t I just go talk to Karen?”

“ARE YOU CRAZY!? Stronger men than you have buckled before her! No, it’s better for all involved to just get out of dodge!”

Guybrush just gave a cocky grin in response, “Stronger men, but not wittier. Believe me after dealing with you for years, I think I can handle this.”

Stan merely sighed and muttered, “Sounds like I need to go back to the coffin business because it's your funeral.”

Guybrush turned to Elaine and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Don’t worry Plunderbunny, I’ll get this done quickly and we can get right back to our vacation.”

“Oh alright but you owe me a shoulder massage after all this.”

The Mighty Pirate(TM) shot a wink and began to disembark The Screaming Narwhal.

---------

Before long the two were making their way through a marketplace full of merchants, scam artists, and those in between.

“So… how did you and Karen meet?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Yikes, Stan doesn’t want to talk about something? Maybe… this wasn’t a good idea…

...WELL IN FOR A PIECE OF EIGHT!

“Why’d you divorce? Or is that too personal?”

“We began to see each other as competition. And Karen is quite ruthless to anyone she sees as competition.”

Before Guybrush could ask further, a pained high scream rang through the market. A female pirate ran past him and Stan screaming about her eyes as she covered them.

“You’ll thank me when you have to beat the men away with a club!” shouted another woman

“...It’s her.”

Guybrush turned to where Stan was glaring and immediately spotted a woman in a jacket and plaid pencil skirt. Her hair was closely cropped with some parts flared up or sticking out. In her hand was one of those fancy looking glass perfume bottles. Her face was covered in way-too much make-up for one person and she had a pure white salesman smile similar to Stan.

“Karen...”

The woman turned to them and immediately her smile dropped.

“...Stan.”

Hoo boy, Guybrush was wearing a coat and he could feel the chill between these two. Better step in before things get more awkward.

“Um excuse me?”

“Hm?”

Guybrush straightened himself and adjusted his coat.

“I’m Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate™.”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice.” Karen remarked with little enthusiasm

She then turned to Stan and shot him a smug look, “You know Stan, I always said you couldn’t find better than me but wow you really dug rock bottom.”

Stan just continued to glare at her while it took a second for Guybrush to realize what she was saying.

“Oh, oh no! Stan and I are just… acquaintances… who keep running into each other. I’m happily spoken for to the most beautiful ex-government official in the Caribbean.” Guybrush explained, showing off the ring on his finger

Guybrush wasn’t sure what happened next; one moment there seemed to be a glint in Karen’s eyes and then he found himself pulled away from Stan with one of her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Oh you’re married huh? Can’t imagine the Missus being too thrilled to see you spending time with someone like Stan.”

“Uh...I mean… you’re not wrong”

“You look like the kind of guy who’s just one mistake away from the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“I… um… actually Elaine and I-”

“A lady likes to be treated… um… Gasbroom was it?”

“Guybrush… but I’m not here to bu-”

“Of course, of course. And you say she’s ex-government? Well clearly you somehow found a woman of class who deserves only the classiest -and most expensive- items in my collection!~”

Thankfully before Karen could continue with her sales pitch, Guybrush felt Stan pulling him back and he suddenly felt more clear headed. It was almost like a spell had been broken. Or maybe he was now further from the perfume fumes and wasn’t feeling as dizzy.

Karen glared at Stan and crossed her arms.

“Hmph, I see you haven’t changed a bit, Stan. You just can’t stand the mere IDEA of someone buying something from someone other than you.”

“This isn’t about sales and you know it, Karen.”

Guybrush pushed himself away from Stan and faced Karen.

“Listen, I just wanted to talk to you and clear up all… whatever this is!” Guybrush exclaimed, pointing his finger between the two

At that, Karen began to laugh.

“Oh, sweetie, there is no fixing that mess. And that mess could also be in your future if you don’t...”

“I’m not buying anything!” Guybrush snapped

“Oh… no wonder your marriage is on the rocks.”

“HEY! My marriage has survived curses, evil undead voodoo jerks, and my mother-in-law! I think it can survive not buying your stuff”

“See this is what she does! She lies and insults you every way to get you to buy from her!”

Guybrush couldn’t help but side-eye Stan as he remarked, “Isn’t that what you do?”

“Oh no no no. What I do is a little something called Cold Reading. A skill of the trade. All she does is push you down and down until you can’t take it anymore!”

“...Again, sounds like what you do.”

“I agree with Stan, how dare you compare my mercantile skills to this idiot who couldn’t sell a used ship to a pair of monkeys!”

“AT LEAST I DON’T TEST MY WARES ON THE MONKEYS!”

“Still spreading those lies and slander are we? I think we’re done here, Stan. Leave now and if I see your face around here or worse yet, try to set up shop near me. I will have the Island authorities on you like flies on a zombie.”

“BUT! You’re at a marketplace! You can’t have someone arrested for running a business near you!” Shouted Guybrush

Karen smirked, “True but I can if this is what I tell them...”

Instantly Karen pulled out a handkerchief and started crying (without any actual tears, can’t smudge the make-up after all.)

“I-It’s my ex-husband, sir! He-he won’t leave me alone! I just want to run my business in peace but he just keeps harassing me!”

In an instant, the “oh woe is me” act is dropped and that smirk came back.

“Have I made myself clear? Now go on, shoo! You’re scaring off customers.”

Realizing that there was no winning here, Guybrush and Stan began to turn around and walk away. But not before…

“Hey! Goibersh!”

“...It’s Guybru-”

Quickly Guybrush caught a tube of lipstick that Karen tossed at him before it could hit him in the face.

“Consider this a free sample. And when your dear lady inevitably demands more, you’re free to come crawling back to me without Stan.”

With that, Karen went straight back to harassing another “customer” passing by.

“Stan...”

“Yes Guybrush?”

“You can stay on the ship. THIS DOES NOT MAKE US FRIENDS! But I’d feel like a jerk if I just left you to her “mercy.””

“...Thanks. Maybe if we survive this, I’ll give you a ten percent discount on my next business venture.”

“ONLY TEN PERCENT!?”

[cyn-00]

Moreid one shot, 17 - "my hands"

Season 9, episode 3 "Final shot" (this is the one where the team has to catch a sniper: initially they thought the unsub was motivated by racism, and when they discover that the gun was the same used a few months before by "The General" - in prison, ex leader of a white supremacists group - to kill a black councilman - Adrian Clay - AND that in one of the shootings the assistant d.a. prosecuting him for that crime was killed; they decide to interview him. Re-interpretation of the scene where Morgan and JJ hold hands to make uncomfortable "The General" - racist son of a b*tch - during the interrogation... only there's Reid instead of JJ ;)

I believe @amplifreid and @smileythirteen asked me to tag them ❤️

Also, in my imaginary world, Morgan and Reid are a well established couple by season 9, but to illustrate this scene properly I think it was way better to assume they weren't a couple yet. Also with the same intent, the interview to "The General" (Adam Dawson) happens in an interrogation room with the one-way mirror glass and everything. Bear with the divergence from the actual scene - some of Dawson, Morgan and JJ's (=Reid) lines do remain pretty much the same, though

Read it on AO3

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

"Look at the change in his posture when Morgan got in..." Blake sighed, staring attentively at the interrogation room on the other side of the one-way glass. "Cocky. This guy's not gonna give us anything useful."

Rossi gave her an agreeing look, silently mimicking her head-shake while his hands slid in the pockets of his jeans.

"We'll have to work with that. Playing the black agent card is our best and only shot." Hotch replied.

"It's also very much obvious..." Blake added half-heartedly.

"He'll be too blinded by hate to even notice." Reid reassured her with a shrug, finally saying something after being glued to the glass for a few minutes with his arms folded on his chest, concentrated on the interrogation.

-

"Mr Dawson," Morgan greeted the convict with a fake polite tone, closing the door behind his back.

He sat in front of him and crossed his hands atop the metallic table. "Do you happen to have wondered why you're here?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

"I have a few guesses, yes." Dawson answered confidently.

Morgan tilted his head, while his brows shot up. He'd already picked up on what type of attitude the guy was planning to pull off on him for the whole duration of the interview. 

"Would you mind naming a couple of those for me?"

Dawson sighed, nodding his head. "I guess we're talking about my past involvement with the Southern Aryans."

"Past?"

"Past. Look, I even got my tattoos removed." he confirmed, not hesitating to show him the laser scar on the inside of his arm with a self-complacent grin, even if constricted in his movements by the cuffs chained to the table top.

Morgan couldn't bring himself to feign praising at the thought the guy once marked his skin with symbols and slogans to proudly remind himself and others that not only he was a racist son of a bitch, but more than that he also acted upon those retrograde and disgusting ideologies of his. So he just nodded, not even bothering to actually look at Dawson's arm.

-

Hotch's phone rang in his pocket, distracting him from the dynamic slowly - very slowly - unfolding in the other room.

"What is it Garcia?"

"My baby is in there with Dawson right?? Not that you aren't my baby too, sir- I MEAN you guys ALL are my babies regardless of our age gap-"

"Garcia." Aaron reprimanded her.

"Yes! I'm- I'm sorry, back to business: I managed to dig deep and dirty into every single detail about the murder of Adrian Clay, and in general every little, petty criminal activity this group of disgusting bigots have committed." she paused, gulping so noisily they could all hear it through the phone.

"They- they have engaged in a series of, quote unquote, 'harassments of any sort', in those areas of the city principally frequented by the lgbtq+ community through these past couple years. And- and Clay himself was rumored to be homosexual, but there's no reliable source for that." she explained in a rush, like she wanted to get it out of her brain as quickly as her breath allowed her to.

"...don't know about you, but I'm not all that surprised the shitheads are also homophobic. Those things don't sound like anything a group of neo-nazis wouldn't do, am I right?" Rossi snorted. "They'll target anything 'impure'." he air-quoted the word.

"Yes, that's what I had imagined too, I just- I just hoped I didn't have to get to the point of reading proof of it with my poor, pretty eyes! Like these guys weren't evil on earth already..."

"Garcia, is there a reason why you're telling us this?" Hotch furrowed his brows. They were running out of time, and Morgan was running out of questions aiming at making Dawson say what they wanted him to say.

"Actually sir, I hoped you'd ask because YES, there is a reason, and I know that this is not part of my job but I was thinking that maybe...you guys could use his homophobia at your advantage?" she kept it vague and stopped for a second to catch a reaction. Anything at all. But the others stayed silent to digest that idea.

"like, one of you boys could go in there and act a lil? Believe me I would sacrifice myself for that role, but you know-"

"Actually, that's not a bad idea at all. As Blake said earlier, Dawson was probably expecting us to use a black agent anyway, but this could actually set him off because it's a part of the group's criminal activity that's been hidden from the media and the general public. We're not supposed to even know about this." Reid spoke his mind out loud, receiving in response complete silence and three - well, four, if you count Garcia - pairs of eyes staring at him.

He stared back at them with his lips parted. "W-what? I'm right, right ?"

"You are." Blake simply said, raising a brow.

With a little delay compared to the others' - which NEVER happened - Spencer's mind started to process what that whole staring contest was supposed to mean.

"No- guys, I'm- I'm too young he won't- he'll never fall for it! If you take in account that I look way younger than I am, the age gap between me and Morgan is too wide, he's not a fool I can't-" he was starting to stutter and flush and almost hyperventilate to the point Hotch had to interrupt him.

"Reid. You know it has to be you." he gave him an apologetic look.

Reid wasn't trying to dodge the situation because he had a problem with fake flirting - he did not have a single problem with doing that. On the contrary: fake flirting for an interrogation or the like was the only way for Spencer to manage to pull off a flirty attitude with someone, covering it up with the fact that he was simply good at acting, since in actuality flirting wasn't exactly his first natural skill - it was Derek's. Problem was: he had to flirt with Derek Morgan, not someone.

On the other hand, Spencer also perfectly knew why it was their best shot to send him in instead of Hotch. Still, it was worth the try to dissuade him.

"You could do it, right?" he asked apprehensively, the tone of his voice lower and less certain than before.

Hotch knew he didn't need to explain it to him, so he didn't bother, keeping his gaze steady. Blake took on that duty for him, though:

"Spencer, you are exactly Dawson and his followers' stereotype of ideal human being. You're young, educated, intelligent, attractive, and more importantly: white." she paused, seeing that Reid had embarrassedly dropped his eyes when she mentioned him being attractive. Guess Morgan wasn't the only one labeling him as 'pretty boy' then.

"The only thing that parts you from being total perfection in his eyes, is your sexual orientation." she concluded.

"The minute we send you in, he'll think you're there to save him from an uncomfortable interview with a black agent. But when you'll start making avancés on Morgan, the guy will freak out." Rossi added, straight up.

Making avancés on Morgan. Dear God - Spencer knew he could do that with a minimum effort, and certainly without Derek making a big deal out of it; however the issue was: he would never get away with the physical reaction the avancés on Derek 's part would certainly trigger in his body, would he?

"THAT's what I meant!" Penelope's squealing voice filled the room all of a sudden, reminding them that she was still on speaker phone.

"Alright, thanks Garcia, that was a good catch." Hotch's firm facial expression never wavered an inch, even when he complimented her.

"Duty, sir."

"We can't call Morgan out, though. It has to be unexpected." he added, now only talking to his teammates in the room.

Without waiting for the others' agreeing - there was no need for that: he was right - Hotch pressed the button that allowed him to talk into Morgan's earpiece.

-

"Morgan. Guy's not only racist, but also homophobic. We're sending Reid in."

Morgan swallowed, trying not to make Dawson notice that he received an unspoken command he wasn't quite sure whether he'd be ready to obey, nor handle - emotionally AND physically.

When the door opened a second after, though, and he glanced over his shoulder at his tall, lean colleague standing behind him, waiting for permission to come in, Derek figured it shouldn't be all that hard to flirt with that.

"Pretty boy! Have a seat, we're having fun here." he gave Spencer his brightest grin, hand gesturing at him to come closer.

The younger agent smiled awkwardly and closed the door, making his way to the chair only 5 inches beside Derek's - who, by the way, was overly aware that their knees would inevitably touch if he didn't pay attention to keeping his legs glued together.

As Spencer got comfortable in his seat, keeping eye contact with him and subtly brushing his tongue in between his pink lips, Derek wondered if that was gonna come naturally to Spencer as it surely was to him. From the look on his face and his body language, Derek was leaning toward yes as an answer to that question.

"Mr Dawson is sick and tired of me." Derek scoffed, leaning back in his chair to stretch an arm on the backrest of Spencer's. "Guessing you came here with a few questions of your own?" he asked him.

"I did." Spencer replied, squinting at Dawson with an inquisitive look. "Mr Dawson, by any chance you've kept in contact with the other members of the Southern Aryans' group?"

"Agent-"

"Doctor." Derek pointed out dryly. "Doctor Spencer Reid." the way he pronounced his name caused Spencer to shift in his seat. Morgan wasn't quite sure why.

"Doctor, then." Dawson snorted, eyebrows raised in surprise as to why the older agent cared that much about specifying the other's title. "As I was saying: I'm in prison. My opportunities to socialize are...somewhat limited." he replied sarcastically. Which was how he'd been doing it at every single question Derek had asked.

The fact that he was managing to keep that cocky attitude was a sign that he wasn't uncomfortable enough. Everyone had imagined he would've got all jittery the second the nickname "pretty boy" would've come out of Morgan's mouth. Apparently so, Derek had to step up his game.

"Spencer, baby," Derek called him so he'd lean back in his chair as well, drawing his face farther away from "The General" and from under the blinding neon light beam illuminating the area of the table.

-

Reid leaned back as Morgan had implicitly asked him to, crossing his arms on his chest. Spencer, baby. The instinctive part of his brain didn't hesitate a second to recognize the combination of pet name + uncommon use of his first name, associated with Derek's deep voice. Probably because he'd imagined his colleague calling him that a thousand times, along with other names - some less appropriate than others - he couldn't keep his mind from drifting to when he heard that voice of his. The other part of his grey matter though, the logical, predominant one, the one used to Morgan only calling him by his last name or "pretty boy" and "kid" at most; sent a tingling sensation from the canal of his ear where the words reached him, all the way down to his arms and hands.

Spencer kept his gaze on the convict sitting across from them, as he realized Derek had inched dangerously closer to his ear. Dawson shifted nervously in his seat, jerking his eyes away from the two of them.

"You think we should kiss at some point? " the man asked mockingly at last, whispering and with a hand half-covering the motions of his mouth: he was acting like he didn't want Dawson to be able to hear, or read his labial - which, on the contrary, was exactly his plan.

Spencer froze. He tried to keep his look on Dawson unchanged. What he could NOT control, though, was the sensation of heat spreading up his neck, 3 inches from Derek's mouth. Dawson, too, was very noticeably trying to contain his sickened reaction, which turned out to be a mere close-eyed sigh and an irritated clench of jaw.

Reid pulled off the most natural chuckle he could, before answering out loud.

"I don't think it'll be necessary." it was true: Derek had asked only as a joke, and Spencer understood that. But he kinda wished in that moment it were appropriate for him to reply "yes, please, tongue me down during an interrogation."

Derek leaned forward again, finally removing his eyes from that spot of Spencer's jawline below his ear that moved as he spoke.

"Anyway. That's not what we heard." he said, pointing at him and Reid with his finger. "Rumor has it that you're in charge. In fact, you're still known as 'The General'."

"Some folks would like to, uh, imbue me with a great deal of power. But it's a mantle I choose not to accept." The General answered, his voice less arrogant than before and maybe even ever-so-slightly hoarse.

"So you COULD call the shots, you just... choose not to...?" Reid asked, unconvinced and a bit concerned about what kind of annoyingly fake-innocent answer the guy would give this time.

"That's what I said. How can I lead when I no longer believe, 'pretty boy' ?" Dawson replied, back at it with his smug tone, air-quoting the nickname.

Spencer had the abrupt - albeit fictitious - feeling that someone was knotting his guts with their bare hands, when he heard the man pronouncing those two words. Sacred, two words, only reserved to Morgan.

"Doctor Spencer Reid, is my name. Thought you were smart enough to understand it the first time." he said ice cold, leaning forward, knuckles white from crossing his hands too tightly over the table top.

"You're not allowed to call him that." Morgan stated, his black eyes piercing through the man in front of them.

"With all due respect, that's what you called him earlier, agent Morgan."

"With all due respect, Spencer is MY boyfriend, not yours." Derek bit back.

The lack of hesitation in pronouncing the words 'Spencer is my boyfriend' and how good they sounded coming out of Morgan's lips, along with the way he untangled Reid's hands to take one of them in his, warmly and comfortingly intertwining their fingers to loosen the tension in his phalanges - all of it, made Spencer's heart speed up, and his lungs hitch as he breathed, and his mouth water, realizing now more than ever how much he actually wished all of that could be real.

-

"Although I bet you wish he was your boyfriend, don't you?" Morgan added, teasing Dawson even more. The man snorted, but his body language was telling them that he was struggling to keep an unbothered attitude.

"Is that why you killed Adrian Clay? Because he was black and probably had a boyfriend, just like agent Morgan here?" Spencer asked.

Derek looked at him with his brows raised, pleased at how well he was keeping up with his game. Though, that sensation managed to ease only partially the slight but sudden feeling of discomfort that hit in his chest, at the news that the councilman that was killed was black AND gay, just like...him? Was he bisexual? The things flashing in Morgan's mind in reaction to the proximity with Reid's body, and that feeling of having his hand melting in his - the feeling that holding Spencer's hand was right - were making Derek doubt even more his already unclear understanding of his own sexual orientation. Doctor Spencer Reid was making him doubt once again his sexual orientation.

Clenching his hands in tight fists, Dawson made an effort to visibly swallow the expectedly offensive comments he bore on the matter - Derek found himself mentally thanking him for that - and shifted his eyes toward the wall at his left, too disgusted by him and Spencer to keep looking at them any longer.

As soon as he did that, Morgan felt Reid's hand slipping out of his, much to his silent disapproval.

"Alright Derek we- we're wasting our time here." Spencer mumbled, turning his back on Derek with his eyes low and placing a palm on the table top, about to stand up from the chair.

Derek had the impression that Spencer's reaction was somewhat genuine, that he really was starting to get triggered by The General's attitude - righteously. But, as selfish as he knew it sounded, he didn't want Reid to leave his side. His hand. Him.

Before he could effectively get up, Morgan wrapped his hand around that spot on Reid's arm, the crook where his forearm met his bicep, a couple inches below his shirt rolled up sleeve; that spot where his exposed skin was sensitive enough that those curling fingers sprung tickling chills everywhere, intense to the point of Spencer freezing in place and turning his head to give Derek worried puppy eyes and sweet, slightly pouty lips that Goddammit can I just KISS them off his face?

"C'mon baby, I just have a few more questions" Derek settled to say, softly, trying to recover from that fucking look of his.

"No seriously, can- can we just g-"

"Hey, hey, hold tight. We haven't even got to the point yet. It'll only take a second and then we don't have to see this son of a bitch's face anymore alright? Promise." Morgan reassured him; pitch black irises staring straight into hazel brown ones.

Spencer sighed and nodded, as Derek loosened the grip. He leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms, annoyed but ready to listen to more of the man's crap.

Dawson snorted. "You must have quite the nerve to come in here and insult me, tell me I'm a racist and a homophobic-"

"Nobody said either of those things, Mr Dawson." Derek tilted his head. "We asked, and you didn't answer. Not verbally anyway. Seems to me that now you are the one saying those words, uh?"

"What do you know about today's events?" Reid cut it short, not even willing to wait for Dawson's reaction at Morgan's insinuation.

"Today's events?"

"You must have heard about the shootings." Derek specified, carelessly leaning on the backrest, and decided it was the moment to do what he had planned on doing since Spencer entered the room.

-

Reid had his eyes fixated on Dawson, to catch every single twitch of his facial muscles, or minute movement of his body.

Suddenly he felt a hot, broad hand wrapping around his inner thigh. He sincerely hoped the only physical reaction to that were his toes curling up inside his shoes, or at worst how his breath got stuck in his throat for a second, and nothing visible on the outside - because on the inside, he could feel his whole abdomen heat up at a concerning rate.

When the man's hand started stroking back and forth, each time his palm went upwards it seemed to Spencer that it was getting closer and closer to that part of his body he wished so bad Derek wasn't aiming for - at least not in that context. Spencer tightened the grip of his hands bracing his arms, thanking God that shirts were made of cotton and not paper that would start flaking off under the squeezing pressure of sweaty fingers.

He couldn't allow himself to take his eyes off Dawson, especially now that he'd seen Morgan's hand on Reid's thigh and had immediately stiffened up; his temples glimmering with sweat under the neon light.

Dawson gulped nervously and looked away from the whole rubbing of skin on fabric, bringing his gaze back to Morgan's smirking face. "Enlighten me."

"The assistant d.a. prosecuting you for the murder of Adrian Clay was killed." Reid condensed the explanation, realizing that if he wanted to look natural he had to say something. He admittedly did a pretty good job at keeping his voice steady, considering Morgan's hand seemed having no intention to find rest any time soon.

A confused scowl crinkled the convict's face.

"Did you order that hit?" Derek asked. To be fair, both him and Spencer were almost 100% sure by then that the guy had no idea what they were talking about.

"I had nothing to do with it." Dawson asserted without hesitation, his voice deep and unfazed.

By that point, Spencer had relaxed into the other's touch, and he didn't know whether it was supposed to be a good sign or not. He didn't know whether the fact that he melted like jelly under Morgan's hands, even being usually uncomfortable with touching in general, was a good sign because it meant that he felt safe within their friendship and trustful of him; or it was a bad sign because it meant that his body was designed to be touched like that by his colleague and him only. He didn't know whether it was good that if he thought of anyone else - his former crush JJ, for instance - touching him in a way that wasn't finalized to be emotionally comforting, he would picture it as uneasy regardless, be it 30 seconds or 30 minutes long; whereas he was almost certain that that very same kind of touch applied upon his body by Morgan's hands would be in equal parts electrifying and soothing each time, all the time.

He wasn't supposed to try and understand any of it, though. Nobody was asking that of him - Derek wasn't asking and would never ask that of him. There was no need for Spencer to spend hours analyzing how that kind of approach would affect him. Because it was an unrealistic scenario that didn't belong in his future, anyway.

A growing wave of self-consciousness and realism woke Reid up from that thought. All of a sudden he realized he couldn't bear staying there any longer than a couple minutes at best. Hence, he speeded things up.

-

"You had nothing to do with it?" Spencer's calm voice echoed in the room that had been silent for a while. Dawson didn't repeat himself.

Derek was ready to throw in the towel - he was frustrated that the case wouldn't come to a solution as easy and logical as a white supremacist targeting the assistant d.a. prosecuting him, but on the other hand he couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed spending time touching Spencer without the commitment of having to admit he would've wanted to do it regardless of the interview.

With the corner of his eye he saw Spencer finally untangling his arms and stretching one of them toward him. He didn't have the time to take a mental guess on what he was planning to do, that he felt his feather-like fingers slightly brushing against his nape.

Derek's palm stopped moving on the other's thigh, immobilized, the moment Spencer's cotton-hand spread to cup the back of his neck; a lukewarm and soft sensation growing on the very surface of his skin as well as deep inside his chest - nothing short of a cheesy metaphor, if you will, of how Spencer's touch had the power of rocking up both his emotions AND his body.

When Spencer's thumb started tracing slow circles on the side of his neck, Derek found himself imperceptibly tilting his head back to sink into his touch; trying not to put pressure or, way worse, squeeze the other man's thigh, who might've taken it as a cue that Morgan was enjoying what he was doing. He most certainly was, by the way.

"And that would be, because you're not racist or homophobic anymore?" Spencer ultimately asked.

God, he was smarter than he gave himself credit for when it came to pushing all the bad guys' buttons. And they couldn't even get mad, with that face that he had. At least, Derek knew he could never - best case scenario, he would limit to sprinkling said face with kisse- ahem, what?

-

"I'm done talking to you." Dawson claimed, having pulled himself together enough to bring back almost entirely that confident attitude he had when Morgan first got in.

"Oh, we are too." Morgan said arching his brows. He stood up on his feet, regretting detaching from Reid's contact immediately after.

"Mr Dawson, I can't tell you how impressed i am with you!" he added dry-wittingly.

Derek leaned forward over the table and grabbed the man's hands in his own, cuffed to the cold, metallic surface. He kept his eyes no more than 7 inches from his, making sure he couldn't escape them.

"So I'd like to shake your hand, and congratulate you for making such a positive change in your life." he said, his voice low and thorough, resonating in The General's ears.

Dawson lost his cool and instinctively tried to snatch his hands away from Morgan's grip, soon realizing it wasn't his grip he couldn't escape, rather the one obliged by the chained handcuffs.

"I'd be really careful." Morgan advised, a stabbing glare in his eyes.

"Because somebody might think you still believe."

Clearly, Derek had long lost any interest in keeping the boyfriend-play going: he looked furious and quite nauseous - and it was his God-given right to feel as such. Nonetheless, that was nothing but the millionth proof that Spencer had no reason to fantasize about their relationship becoming something more, someday.

Morgan stormed out of the room. Reid followed a few seconds after, which he'd spent shooting Dawson one last glance - not nearly as threatening and blood-freezing as his colleague's, but still.

-

When they got on the other side of the glass, Reid felt all eyes on them - especially on him, for some reason. It was like someone slapped him back into reality.

"Sorry guys, I- I kinda snapped." Morgan finally spoke up, a hand on his hip and the other rubbing his face.

"Don't. It was very much understandable." Blake reassured him, waving a hand and shaking her head.

"Well, what can I say?" Rossi changed the topic. "Great job in there." he added with a hint of smirk, arching a brow and shifting his gaze from Spencer to Derek and viceversa several times.

"Pretty boy here did all the work." Derek's tone was lighter now, as he pointed at pretty boy.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, unable to even say a due "thank you" - it would've come off as pathetic in that moment, to say the least.

"It- it was kinda useless, though...he had no idea what we were talking about." he said instead, sighing disappointedly and crossing his arms on his chest.

"He didn't even explicitly confess anything about his past crimes that we brought up. We literally only managed to confirm that he's a racist, homophobic piece of shit." Derek scoffed.

"We didn't need to put up a show for that though, did we?" he concluded, as his previous frustration arose again; seconds before splitting his way through his standing teammates to get out of the room.

They followed him with their eyes, and once the door was closed - slammed, almost - behind him, they got back to looking at Reid, who was frowning deeply.

After a long silence, Rossi nodded his head toward the door, like he was giving him permission to go and talk to Morgan.

Reid sighed and followed Morgan's previous steps, trying to hide how his words and tone from earlier had someway offended him. Judging by his demeanor and his glances in the interrogation room, Spencer could've sworn Derek seemed to have almost enjoyed it - he didn't care that it was probably more of a mocking kind of enjoyment, rather than a genuine 'I enjoyed touching you'. It was still something. And, at the end of the day, Derek Morgan had rubbed a hand on his thigh 2 inches from his groin, for Christ's sake, how dare he keep complaining?

He was startled awake from his paranoia by Hotch's hand, placed on his shoulder the second Spencer had grabbed the door handle.

"I hope I didn't push you too much. I'm sorry if I did."

Spencer shook his head. "Not me. I don't know about Morgan, though."

-

"Hey" a soft voice awakened Morgan from his thoughts.

He stopped pacing up and down the hallway and raised his eyes from the floor. He truly wasn't expecting Reid to follow him.

"H- hey, kid."

"Everything alright?"

No. Nothing was alright. From how wrong and dirty Dawson's behavior made him feel, to how right he found himself unwillingly thinking the contact with Spencer's body was: NOTHING was alright.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." he answered anyway.

Spencer nodded, unconvinced. And this time it wasn't because of his capability to read his colleague and best friend like an open book, rather simply because Derek didn't know how to hide his discomfort anymore.

Reid made a few steps forward, supposedly to make the conversation more intimate - though nobody was really around, so that left the other a bit confused. Plus, boy was definitely too close now, if it was Derek's to say.

"Look, I- I'm sorry it had to be me, I tried to convince Hotch to do it at my place but- but he said that I was more suited to be-" Spencer almost hiccuped. "...for the role, because I'm younger and-"

"Hey, hey, it's alright, it's not you." Derek interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder, seeing that he was starting to get flustered and even guilty on some measure. He also noticed how he avoided the word 'boyfriend'. He wasn't sure what to think of that, though.

"It's him. How he looked at us- at ME. I just- I don't know, I just can't believe some people out there really think it's not normal to be gay or black or both, that's all." Derek paused. "as if one could help it, right?" he snorted.

Spencer raised his eyes from the floor. "Yeah. I get that." he murmured.

Derek chuckled a little as a thought popped into his head, taking his hand off of Spencer's shoulder and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Honestly I don't know if I could've done it with Hotch. He's my superior, it would've been...weird, lemme tell you."

Reid giggled and...blushed a little? At least that's what it seemed. Morgan didn't take it well, though: he thought he'd made him uncomfortable.

"I mean," he swallowed sheepishly. "I mean, I hope I didn't...mess you up. I know you're not comfortable with touching."

-

Mess him up. That was cute. Derek Morgan had "messed him up" the second he had introduced himself to Spencer on his first day at the BAU. The guy had never known Spencer as not messed up.

"W- what?? No, no absolutely not, it was part of the thing. We- you had to...touch me. Wouldn't have worked otherwise." Spencer replied, furrowing his brows and shaking his head vigorously.

Silence.

"I have to ask you this..." Morgan said, regaining his usual teasing attitude. Reid wasn't sure if he was supposed to be relieved, because it meant the man had relaxed a little; or if he should start worrying about what that attitude would imply. Probably the second.

"Ask what?" Spencer hoped his heart couldn't be heard as loudly from outside as it was inside his ears.

"Was it all...acting?" Derek paused, and Spencer faked a confused expression, because before answering he had to be sure he meant what he thought he meant.

"...cause it looked very natural, if you ask me." Yeah, he did mean what Spencer thought he meant.

Morgan looked around quickly and came even closer. He non-chalantly took Reid's tie in his hands and straightened it - earning a gasp from him - biting his bottom lip like he was really concentrated on the task - which he wasn't. He didn't give a shit if his tie was ok, he was clearly doing it to make Reid's blood pulse out of his veins.

"Was it? Natural?" he repeated, almost murmuring at that point.

Spencer didn't know what to answer: he had stopped the train of thought that would've eventually led to a proper answer to that question when he was in the interrogation room, and he had suddenly realized that Derek would never ask such a thing of him. And there he was: asking it to him.

"I guess, kinda...? I- I'm not sure-" he finally replied, his chin tilted down to follow with his eyes what the man's hands were carefully doing with his tie, taking advantage in the fact that Derek couldn't look at his face in order to do that.

He couldn't stop his mind from drifting to that imaginary place where Morgan's hands would most definitely not stick to adjusting his tie; that place where he was allowed to wonder that if the man was so good at adjusting ties, then what else could those nimble fingers do.

As if that weren't enough already, Derek ran his tongue in between his lips, before speaking up.

"Me neither."

Suddenly, he raised his eyes to look at something that was happening behind Reid's shoulder. He coughed and nodded in that direction, forcing himself to take his hands off Spencer.

Reid turned around and saw it: Hotch, Blake and Rossi were walking their way toward them; luckily chatting instead of looking at Morgan "adjusting his tie" or whatever.

-

"And did you mind? My hands, I mean." Derek whispered in his ear from behind him, making him wince at how those words flowed smoothly in a hot, steamy wave over his neck.

Spencer didn't turn around, nor look at him with the corner of his eye - which he could've easily done. He concentrated on staring forward at their teammates approaching closer, rather than on the inviting heat radiating from the man only a few inches behind him.

"...n- not- not really..." he muttered, not sure what kind of nerve pushed him to give Morgan even the slightest hint that he could've enjoyed it, instead of denying adamantly.

Another breathy, humid whisper tickled his ear.

"Me neither."

[crystalninjaphoenix]

House Call

A JSE Fanfic

Switch AU

Writing for the same AU two weeks in a row isn’t something I normally do, but I feel like this AU needs it because, well, I haven’t formally introduced all the characters yet. So, as a follow-up to the last thing I wrote, here’s this thing! Wherein some of the boys meet each other, and some more characters are introduced!

Jackie didn’t consider himself smart. Sure, he was able to get through medical school easily enough, but he wasn’t a surgeon or a specialist or anything complicated, just a general practitioner. That didn’t require too much book smarts to become, did it? And besides, there were plenty of areas where he had no idea what he was doing. That became evident when he tried to use Rama’s computer to play a video and ended up somehow entirely breaking the thing. He tried for half an hour to figure out what happened before giving in and calling a friend.

“So, uh...” Jackie bounced nervously, standing next to the desk in the study. “Is it, like, completely useless now, or...?”

The guy sitting at the desktop computer didn’t look up at him. He didn’t look like what most people imagined programmers to be like. He wore a black jacket and ripped black jeans, and his brown hair had a streak of green and a streak of black running through it. His eyes were two different colors: green on his right and blue on his left. “Yeah, completely useless,” he said casually. “You broke it all.”

“What?! You can’t be serious!”

“Dead serious. Gonna have to scrap the whole CPU.”

“But Rama has so much saved on here! We can’t just throw it all out! So much of their work is gonna go to waste—wait a second.” Jackie’s eyes narrowed. It seemed the programmer was biting back a smile. Jackie scowled, giving him a hearty shove. “Oh, very funny, Anti. Congratulations, you gave me a heart attack.”

“How many times are you gonna fall for that?” Anti asked through laughter.

“Well, it looks like every time at this point. Now give me the actual news.”

Anti calmed down, reentering his serious mode. “I dunno how it happened, but you somehow caught a virus on here. Not seriously harmful, but still nasty. Gimme a few more minutes, I should be able to root it out. Hopefully it hasn’t corrupted anything beside your browser, gonna have to reinstall that.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess?” At least it was salvageable. “Do you...need anything?”

“Uh...” Anti looked over to where Jackie was hovering over his shoulder. “I need you to stop being a fucking helicopter.”

Jackie leaned back, taking a few steps away. “Alright, calm your boots. I’ll just go stand in the corner, Blair Witch style. Don’t mind m—”

His snarky remark was cut off once he felt a vibration in his hoodie pocket. He dug around inside and pulled out his phone, a number he didn’t recognize onscreen. He frowned, then tentatively accepted the call. “Hello?”

For a moment, there was nothing. Until: “Hello! You wouldn’t happen to be Dr. Parker, would you?”

“This is him.” Jackie absolutely did not recognize the faintly posh British voice, yet it somehow sounded familiar. Maybe it reminded him of one of his friends’ voices.

Anti leaned back in the study’s swivel chair. “Hey, you mind taking that outside? Concentration, and all.”

Jackie made an okay sign, then left the study, leaning against the wall in the hallway outside. While he was moving, the person on the other side continued to talk. “Right. Um, my name is Jameson Jackson. I don’t know if he told you about me, but, uh, I got this number from a friend of yours. He told me to call you if we were ever in need of a doctor.”

“Wait, you’re the guy who Volt saw do real magic, right?” The incident had happened about a week and a half ago, and ever since then, Schneep would not stop bringing it up. As to be expected, when you discovered that something you thought was impossible was, in fact, possible. “I saw the whole thing on the news, too. Isn’t your stage name, like, Jazzy, or something like that?”

That prompted a sudden burst of laughter on the other end. “Jazzy!” Jameson repeated lightly. “Maybe I should have used that. No, it’s actually the Jaunty Jackson. Adjectives starting with J are scarce.”

“I see,” Jackie nodded. “So, what’s the problem? I mean, you wouldn’t be calling a number that a superhero gave you and told you it was for a doctor if you didn’t need...well, a doctor.”

“Oh, right, the problem. Well you see—” Jameson suddenly stopped. Jackie could faintly hear another voice on the other end, sounding a bit snappish. Then Jameson’s voice said something, sounding like he’d covered the phone with his hand. Jackie thought it was along the lines of “Shut your mouth and let me help you.” Then, Jameson returned. “Sorry about that. Anyway, the problem is that a friend of mine has had a bit of an...issue, a health issue, for a long time. It hasn’t really been looked at, but I thought that, since today is one of the bad ones, that it was about time we got around to that. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“No, of course not.” Jackie was already mentally reviewing the possibilities. “I’m not in my office right now, but can you come over here if I give you my address?”

“Oh. You can’t...come over here?”

“I mean, technically I could. But my spouse is out for once and they’d kill me if I left our daughter without supervision.” Anti didn’t count. He could leave at any minute.

On the other end of the line, there was what sounded like a discussion. A few moments passed. “Alright, where’s your address?” Jameson finally asked. Upon Jackie giving it to him, he said, “Oh good, that’s pretty close. We’ll be there in...hmm, fifteen minutes.”

“Alright. Just ring the doorbell, I’ll answer.”

“Understood. Thank you very much, Dr. Parker.”

“Eh, just call me Jackie. Everyone does. And no problem.”

“Thank you very much, Jackie. We’ll be there soon.” And with that, he hung up.

At that moment, two small children raced past Jackie, screaming. One of them, a taller boy with curly red hair and freckles, attached himself to Jackie’s leg. “Uncle Jackie, help!” he said. “She’s prosecuting me!”

The other child, a younger girl with black hair and eyes, skidded to a halt and whirled around, making the blanket tied around her neck fly in a nice whoosh. “I’m no-ot!” she yelled. “Dad, he stole the treasure of the Bed Plateau! He needs to pay for his crimes! In the Bedroom jail!”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, I can’t help a thief. But I don’t see any treasure. Are you sure you’re not persecuting him, Michelle?”

Michelle stomped her foot. “It’s in his pocket!”

“No, it’s not! You don’t know that!” The boy said, still holding on to Jackie’s leg.

“Well, Will,” Jackie said patiently. “I guess I have to ask you to...turn out your pockets! Show me you don’t have anything to hide!”

Will froze for a moment, then shoved himself away from Jackie and resumed his sprinting, shouting “You’ll never take me aliiiiiiive!”

“Face justice!” Michelle shouted, running after him.

Jackie shook his head, smiling, then peeked back into the study. Anti was still glued to the computer screen, now frowning. “Hey, how’s it goin’ in here?”

“Worse than I thought it would be,” Anti replied, clicking through files on the desktop. “This is gonna take...a lot longer than I thought. Might be here for a while.”

“Okay. But just to let you know, some people are coming over in a bit under fifteen minutes.”

“Really?” The word was half surprise, half groan. “Who? Some of Rama’s friends? Repair people?”

“Well, remember those two guys who Volt gave my phone number to for if they ever needed help? One of them just called me.”

“The magician and his assistant. Got it. Tell me when they leave.”

Jackie sighed. “You need more than two people to talk to, Anti.”

“Does Will count?” Anti glanced away from the screen for the first time. “How’s he doin’, by the way? Playing nice with Michelle?”

“He just stole her Beanie Baby,” Jackie said. “But I think that’s so Michelle can play defender of the bedroom. Nice of him.”

“Good.” Anti turned back to the computer. “Can you, uh, make sure neither of them get hurt while I work on this?”

“Of course, dude. I’ll shout for you if anything bad happens.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two kids had stopped playing defender of the bedroom and were now spread out on the living room carpet, surrounded by markers and crayons and doodling on pads of paper. Jackie was lying on the sofa, watching. And then the doorbell rang and he went on high alert. “I think that’s the visitors I told you about,” he said to the kids, standing up. “You two want to go somewhere else or stay?”

“We’ll go in the dining room,” Will said, already gathering the drawing materials. “Finish in there. Michelle, are you okay with that or do you want to stay?”

“Uh-huh! It’s hard to draw on carpet anyway. Let’s go.” And the two of them left.

“Don’t forget to listen and ask for me if anything’s wrong! And don’t jump off the table again!” That would very much lead to one of them getting hurt. Jackie sighed. Maybe he should’ve kept them in here, but too late now. He sighed, and made his way over to the front door, swinging it open. “Hello! You must be Mr. Jackson and his friend, right? Come in, come in.”

“Oh! Yes, that’s us, thank you.” The pair of them walked right inside. Even though Schneep had given Jackie descriptions of them after the incident at the theatre, he still took a moment to examine them. The one who’d spoken was dressed in a purple button-down shirt, and had a thick black mustache. The other one was wearing a brown jacket and vest, like he’d stepped out of another era, and was carrying a wooden cane. The latter was leaning heavily on the former (and trying his best to look like he wasn’t), and the moment the two of them were inside they made a beeline for the couch. The one in the jacket immediately sat down with a faint expression of relief.

“Right, well, I’m Jameson, as you probably recognize from my voice,” said the one still standing. “And this is Marvin.”

“Pleasure t’meet ya,” Marvin said, nodding. He held out a hand.

“Nice to meet you too.” Jackie shook the offered hand. “Can I get you anything?”

Both of them shook their heads in unison.

“Alright. So. What’s the problem?”

Marvin scowled. “It’s not a problem, per se.”

“Yes it is,” Jameson muttered.

“Jems, lemme speak f’r myself, thank you.” Marvin turned his attention back to Jackie. “Y’see, when I was a little lad, I got very sick. I recovered, obviously, but not without some...after effects.”

“Ah.” Jackie sat down in the nearest armchair. Meanwhile, Jameson took a seat next to Marvin on the sofa. “Like what?”

Marvin folded his arms. “Bas’clly, me legs weren’t ever the same again. Walking can be...difficult.”

“How so? Does it hurt, or does it just take a lot of effort?”

“The second one. The more I stand and walk, the harder it gets. And It changes ev’ry so often, some days bein’ worse than others. But it’s nothin’ I can’ handle. Jems is just overreactin’.”

“Yes, exactly, I was overreacting when I found you sprawled in the middle of the upstairs hallway, claiming you were just ‘taking a break,’” Jameson drawled.

“Yes, you were.”

“And I was overreacting when you had to call me to help you down the stairs, then stumbled into the front room and immediately sat down without eating breakfast or anything, which is an important part of your daily routine.”

“Yep.”

“And I was overreacting when I had to support you getting into the car, then practically pull you up the path to this front door.”

“Exactly,” Marvin nodded resolutely.

Jameson threw his hands up into the air. “Dr. Parker. Jackie. In your professional opinion, is this a problem?”

Jackie pursed his lips. “Most people would consider it one.”

“Look, I’ve had worse days,” Marvin waved it off. “If I can still walk, it’s fine. And last time we tried to go to one of these doctors, they tried to put me in a wheeled chair, which I def’nitely don’ need.”

“I wasn’t about to say that you do,” Jackie said calmly. “Look, you sound like you’re doing okay for the most part. But if, maybe, I could help you make things a little easier, would you listen?”

Marvin looked over at Jameson, who was giving him a pointed look. “...prob’ly,” he mumbled.

“Alright. Well then, first things first, do you remember what got you sick as a kid? I need to know so I can get a general idea of what’s up.”

“Oh. Yeah, I remember it.”

The moment Marvin told him, Jackie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yes.” Marvin gave him a confused look. “Why?”

“There hasn’t been a case of that in thirty years.”

“Oh.” Marvin and Jameson exchanged looks again. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s been basically wiped out. You’re sure that’s what it was?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Marvin sighed, already sounding exhausted.

“Alright.” Jackie decided to store this information away for a later date. It wasn’t the point right now. But later, he was one hundred percent going to call these two again and talk about how, exactly, that could have happened. “Well, I guess we’re moving on. Now, I guess the number one question is to ask you what you want to be able to do. And if there’s anything that you definitely don’t want to happen. Obviously, you already talked about the wheelchair scenario, but is there anything else?”

Marvin narrowed his eyes, obviously suspicious. “Really? T'at’s it?”

Jackie shrugged. “I mean, I could technically tell you what you should be doing, but a lot of times doctors that just tell don’t really take into account the patient’s wishes. And especially in cases like this, dealing with chronic pain and fatigue, they try their best to fix everything through any means, and they don’t really think about maybe some things can’t be fixed. So, tell me what you want to happen and I’ll give you advice on how to accomplish it.”

Marvin whistled, and put his chin in his hands. “Well...Jems has his shows. I wouldn’ mind bein’ able to...the last show I was backstage for the first time, and they don’ have anyplace to sit there. I was lucky it was a better day, but...you get what I’m gettin’ at, yes?”

The whole visit didn’t take any longer than ten minutes. Ten minutes of just talking, with Marvin listing things that had bothered him and Jackie offering ways to make doing those things just a little bit easier. Jameson watched the whole thing, sort of in awe at what was happening. He hadn’t seen Marvin this open with someone else in...well, in all the time he’d known him. Sure, he was still doing his stubborn thing and insisting he could handle some things that JJ wasn’t sure he actually could, but the fact that he was listening was already an improvement. There must’ve been something about Jackie’s casual attitude and clear willingness to help that was helping him put his guard down.

“Is there anything else?” Jackie finally asked.

“No, I t’ink t’at’s all,” Marvin replied. JJ wasn’t sure he was being honest about that, but there’d already been a lot of sharing, and maybe he was starting to reach his limit. Now the question was just how much of the advice he was actually going to listen to and how much he was going to discard in favor of “I can do it, see?”

“Hey, Jackie, I finally fixed the—oh.” Another man had walked into the front room from deeper into the house, then instantly stopped in his tracks the moment he saw there were still other people in the front room.

“...oh, that’s good to hear,” Jackie said, breaking the long, awkward pause. “Um, Anti, this is Jameson and Marvin. I told you they were coming, remember?”

“Yyyeah,” Anti said slowly. “Hey, where are the kids?”

“In the dining room.”

“I’ll go check on them. Will and I need to leave soon anyway.” He turned and quickly walked right back out.

Jameson stared at the spot he’d been standing, then looked right back at Jackie. “What...who was that?”

“Oh, that was Anti,” Jackie explained. “He’s a friend of mine. Good with computers, so when ours broke, I called him over to see if he could fix it. Apparently he just did.”

“He’s a...bit strange, isn’t he?” Marvin asked. “With t’at unusual name, and the hair and eye color.”

“Well, he dyes his hair, and he has heterochromia, meaning he was born with two differently colored eyes. But Anti isn’t his name.”

“Really?” JJ asked. “Do you mind if I ask what the story is behind that, then? Or what his name is?”

“I mean, your guess is as good as mine,” Jackie shrugged. “I literally don’t think anyone knows what his name actually is. He’s insanely secretive about it, which only leads to more speculation, of course. He calls himself Anti ‘cause the name of his channel is antisepticeye.”

“His what?” Marvin repeated.

“Y’know, his YouTube channel. He does let’s plays and walkthroughs, usually a lot of horror games. Sometimes he’ll throw a comedy bit in there. You should check it out, it’s pretty cool.”

“Maybe we will,” JJ said. Marvin didn’t look so sure.

Anti reentered the front room, the two kids trailing behind him, holding their drawings and the supplies. “Well, we were about to leave,” he said, “but Will and Michelle wanted to show off their artwork.”

“Dad!” Michelle bounced forward, hoisting herself up onto Jackie’s lap. “Look! I chron’cled our adventures today!” She started showing off the pieces of paper, decorated in crayon.

“Wow, sweetie,” Jackie said, impressed. “They look really good! I guess we have more for the archives, don’t we?” That was what it was called when Michelle’s drawings ended up on the fridge.

Michelle beamed, then caught sight of Marvin and Jackie sitting on the sofa. “Oh! These are your new friends, right, Dad?” she asked. “Hi! I’m Michelle. Do you want to see my adventures?”

“Adventures? Why, yes, I would!” JJ said excitedly. “What sort of adventures are they?”

“I’ll show you!” Michelle bounded over to the sofa, managing to squeeze in right in between the two of them. She looked up at Will. “C’mon, don’t just stand there! Show Dad and Uncle Anti what you did too!”

“Oh.” Will shuffled his papers. “Well, I didn’t draw anything we did today. Just a lot of stuff that I thought was cool.”

Anti smiled for the first time that day. “More dinosaurs?”

“Yeah. A couple of them are.” He handed the drawings to Anti. “Like, there’s the one with the brontosaurus family that I really liked. But there’s a lot that are just stuff I saw.”

Anti flipped through the drawings. “Did you draw the shop we saw on the way here? That’s very good! Really looks like it.” His smile faded a bit when he reached the last drawing. “Wait, what’s this one?”

“What one?” Will poked up on tiptoes to see which picture Anti had come to. “Oh, that one. I had a weird dream last night. I woke up and saw someone in my room. We talked for a long time, and then I went back to sleep, and when I woke up he was gone.”

“...huh. Jackie, look at this.”

He passed the last picture over to Jackie, whose brows flew up into the air upon seeing it. “Will,” he said softly. “It wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”

“No, I wasn’t scared.”

“Are you sure? This looks kind of scary.”

“But he wasn’t scary. He was pretty nice, and he looked really happy. Or, I remember him looking happy a lot, I think.”

“Hey, can I see t’at?” Marvin didn’t know why the words had popped out of his mouth. He wasn’t even sure he said them until everyone looked his way.

Will shrugged. “Sure.” He took the drawing back from Jackie, then padded over and handed it to Marvin.

The drawing was of a stick figure drawn in gray marker, with squares standing in for clothes and shoes. Darker gray scribbles were done in marker over the stick figure’s head. On top of the scribbles, two black circle eyes and a curved smile mouth were drawn in crayon. The figure also appeared to be crying, but red crayon had been used for the tears. The background was various strokes and sketches done in black and gray crayon.

JJ leaned over to see the drawing. “That’s...a little unusual,” he said slowly. “But I suppose dreams are a little bit weird.”

“...t’s familiar,” Marvin muttered.

“What?”

“I said...never mind.” Marvin rubbed the back of his neck, where all the hairs had suddenly stood up. “I t’ink...maybe I had a dream like t’is once.” He was sure that wasn’t the answer. This felt almost like a memory he’d forgotten. But when would he have seen something like this? Sure, he’d grown used to seeing strange things ever since he’d moved in with a magician, but nothing even close to this. It was probably just his imagination.

Jameson narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t buying this one bit. But this wasn’t the time to get into it. “We can talk about it later,” he muttered.

Jackie and Anti, who’d been quietly talking among themselves, suddenly broke off. “Well, if you don’t need anything else to be fixed or hacked, I think it’s time for us to go,” Anti said. “Will still has homework.”

“It’s just math.” Will made a face. “I’m ahead in that.”

“But do you want to stop being ahead in that? No. But at least it’s only one worksheet, and maybe we can...I dunno, get something special afterwards? It’s close to the end of the school year, after all.”

Will’s eyes lit up. “Alright, then!” He gathered up his drawings. “Bye Michelle.”

Michelle hopped down and gave Will a quick hug. “Bye, Will! I’m gonna put these in the archives now.” And with a skip, she rushed off to the kitchen.

“Oh hey, we’re still meeting at Schneep’s this Saturday, right?” Anti asked.

“Uh, unless he suddenly gets...‘injured on the job,’ yeah,” Jackie nodded. “In fact I was thinking...we could have even more people meet us there.”

“Really?” Anti folded his arms. “Who?”

Jackie’s eyes flicked over to where JJ and Marvin were still sitting on the couch. “Oh no,” JJ said. “No, we couldn’t possibly—this sounds like it’s your thing, we shouldn’t interfere with that.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jackie shrugged, adjusting his glasses. “It’s always good to meet more people. And besides, Anti needs more friends.”

“Wh—no, I don’t, I’m fine,” Anti insisted.

Jackie sighed. He looked over at JJ. “You know, sometimes I think he likes to be called Anti because he’s antisocial.”

“That wasn’t funny the first fifty times.”

“I mean...it woul’ be nice t’get outta the house,” Marvin said slowly. “Haven’ done t’at in a while.”

“So then, you should come!” Jackie said eagerly. “Get to know Schneep better, he’ll be happy to see you. He’s got a bit of a...shocking personality, though.”

Anti rolled his eyes.

JJ bit his lip, thinking, then shrugged. “Alright. If you insist it wouldn’t be...intrusive in any way, we’ll come.”

“Yes!” Jackie smiled. “I promise you won’t regret it.” He turned to Anti. “And you won’t either. You’ll see.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll consider it,” Anti scowled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Will has been tugging on my jacket for the last minute, trying to get me to leave.”

Will self-consciously dropped his hand. “You talk a lot,” he said defensively.

“You’ll talk a lot when you’re a grown-up too. But don’t worry, we’re going now.” Anti opened the front door, turning around for one last goodbye. “See you later, Jackie.”

“See you, Anti. Remember: Saturday!”

“Yeah, I got it.” The door swung closed again.”

Jackie turned to JJ and Marvin. “Are you two ready to leave now too? Or would you like to stay some more?”

Marvin pushed to his feet, leaning on his cane. “I t’ink I’m ready to go now. Ah...thank you...for your help, doctor.”

“Jackie, remember. And it was no problem, I was glad to help. Need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine,” Marvin said.

JJ stood up. “Thank you for having us, Jackie.”

“You know, I’m still going to say no problem.” A smile quirked at the edge of Jackie’s mouth. “I’ll text you to remind you about the plan for Saturday. Give you the address. Oh, and lemme get the door for you right now.” Jackie reopened the door that Anti had previously closed.

“Thanks,” JJ said. “C’mon, Marvin. Goodbye, Jackie!”

“Goodbye you two! See you later!”

The moment the door had closed behind them and they were once again outside, JJ turned to Marvin. “What do you think? Good visit?”

Marvin considered this. “It was...certainly more helpful than I t’ought it woul’ be.” He paused. “Jems, would you...mind if I leaned on you for a bit?”

JJ smiled. “Not at all, Marvin.”

[megamanx1994]

Xenoforce III Chapter 1

(2 years after the events of the second book, Michael has become quite attached to his role as Xenoblade. But his responsibilities are put to the test when an alien parasite attaches itself to his body. While it dials up his senses by 110%, it also begins to unleash his darker side. Meanwhile behind the scenes someone steals one of his inventions for their own personal gain, while somebody else uses alien technology for money.)

Chapter 1: A day in the Life (Disclaimer! I own nothing of Xenoblade Chronicles!)

A young teen was looking at a picture of a climatic battle between living legend, Captain Falcon, and the organization known as C.H.A.O.S. “This picture was our only link to some life changing discoveries,” he said, “And now, we’ve found them. Alright let’s get to work!” He had some construction workers scavenging leftovers from a fight. Someone was using normal tools to try and pry something. “No, you can’t use that stuff,” said the teenager, “These people are tough, you gotta use the same gear that they use.” He took one of the weapons and used it to pry the object. “Thanks Mr. Pierce,” he said.”Please, just call me Edmund,” said Edmund, “Just get whatever you can for this shift and we’ll come back. This stuff is gonna make us rich!”

Some other people started to come in. “Hey, hey, you can’t come over here,” said Edmund, “This is property of PierceTech.” A woman showed him a badge. “My name is Amanda Ross, I am the head of the Public Hazzard Crew, or P.A.C, for short,” she said introducing herself, “In accordance with the executive order 75-g, all post battle cleanup will now be under our hands, so thank you for your service.” “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” said Edmund, “This is our property, and I got a contract which states, that I can take anything from this skirmish and use it for whatever I need and/or want.” “I apologize Mr. Pierce, but this is now under our control,” said Amanda, “I suggest turning in any technology that you recovered or you’ll be prosecuted.” “Amanda, you don’t understand,” said Edmund, “I am the heir to this company, and I promised my parents on their deathbed that I would get this company back to its former glory.” “There is nothing I can do about that,” said Amanda. Her men started cleaning up the technology and taking it away. “If you have any problems with how we’re running things, you can take it to our superiors,” said Amanda. “And who the hell would that be?!” asked Edmund.

Edmund was at the mansion next to PierceTech watching the news. Professor Elvin Gadd was responsible for what happened. “Hey boss, don’t let that lady get to you,” said one of his friends. “Mr. Pierce,” said one of the scientists, “We still have another load of technology from a while ago, we should return it.” “Why return it?” asked someone, “We could make some insane armor and shit and showcase it for tourists.” That gave Edmund an idea. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “Keep it.” “But the Public Hazzard….” Said the scientist. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” said Edmund, “The world’s changing. Time we change too.”

4 years later……

PierceTech was looking more high tech with the new gadgets he made using some of the alien technology that was hidden. Edmund had a truck coming in with some mechons. “Business is good,” he said.

I was driving to a wedding for one of my mom’s friends from work. I changed the channel and heard that there was a police chase near the street. I decided to kick it into action. (To the 4th wall) Time to do what I do best. I transformed into my Xeno-Suit and look at my watch. “I got time,” I said to myself.  I parked my car and jumped on my hover board. Some thugs hijacked a truck and was stealing technology. One of them saw me. “Uh guys, we got trouble!” he said. I got a close look at them. They were thugs who worked for Xord who escaped from Prison. “They never learn,” I said. I jumped onto the truck and started fighting off the thugs. “Those aren’t yours,” I said. They all had energy swords similar to my monado. “Ok then,” I said. I got out my monado. “Speed!” I said. The Kanji symbol turned blue and I was able to move fast. I managed to wipe thir weapons away. I then rounded them up and imagined a cage with my digital headband and delivered them all to the police.

“Thank you Xenoblade,” said an officer. “Just doing my job for Los Angeles,” I said. I was listening to my radio. “There have been reports of a jewelery robbery in….”I looked at my watch. “I still got time,” I said. I went back to find my hoverboard and saw somebody messing with it. “Its all ready for you sir,” she said. It was a young girl with a costume similar to mine. “Wait,” I said, “Who are you?” “Well I’m Xenogirl,” she said, “Remember me?” “Wait…. That girl from the comic con contest!” I said remembering, “Congrats again on the costume Xenogirl.” “Glad to know you remember me,” she said, “I’ve taken the liberty of tinkering with the jets inside of your hoverboard, that way you can get to your location faster.” I took a look at it. “Sweet,” I said as I got on top of it, “Listen, I’m not sure if you wanna be around when bad guys are….” “Don’t worry about training me Xenoblade, I know all your moves, fighting styles, pick-up lines and everything!” said Xenogirl, “I’m your #1 fan!” “Thanks again,” I said. I flew away.

There were robbers stealing jewels from people. “Selling these is gonna make me a mint,” said their leader, Grey Mage. “Good, you could use one,” I said behind them, “I can smell your breath from all the way back here!” “Xenoblade,” he said, “How nice of you to join us. Get him boys!” His thugs were about to attack, but somebody threw a smoke ball in the field and took them down in no time flat. When the smoke cleared, I saw her. A new superhero who goes by the name, Purple Haze. “Purple Haze,” I said greeting her. “Xenoblade,” she said. Grey Mage was looking at us. “I got him buttercup,” I said. “Sure, I just softened up the punks for you,” she said. Grey Mage pulled out his wand and cast magic spells at us. (To the 4th wall) This guy isn’t really a magician, he just has a high tech suit. I leaped in and kicked the wand out of his hands. “Listen, the thing is, I got to him before you did,” said Purple Haze. “Well I talked to them first,” I said. “Look, she was he….” Said Grey Mage before he was attacked. “You know, we could share duties as heroes,” said Purple Haze. “I’ve already got a team,” I said. “Well good thing there’s heroes that can work together in this city,” said Purple Haze. She was playing with my mask and almost took it off. “You doing anything later?” I asked. “I’m helping out with a wedding,” she said, “Thanks for taking care of my job for me.” She floated away using smoke gauntlets and blew me a kiss. “Wow,” I said. Later I handcuffed Grey Mage and his thugs to a wall. (To the 4th wall) This job never gets old. I saw Micah chasing a helicopter. “Hey Michael, shouldn’t you be getting ready?!” “I still got time!” I said. I saw explosions in a building.

“That can’t be good,” I said. I flew over to see what was going on. It was Xord using a new kind of exo skeleton with a hammer. “Xord,” I said getting in a fighting stance. “Monado boy!” he said looking at me. “And Xeno Girl,” said XenoGirl. She somehow got to the top of the building. “How’d you get up here so fast?” I asked. “You see, I made these rocket boots triggered by these gloves I made,” she said. “That’s pretty cool, hold that thought,” I said. I was battling Xord. “Please continue!” I said as I was fighting him. “Well, I was inspired by all your work you did, and I wanna grow up to be somebody like you.” “That’s great,” I said, “But even I started out doing small things, maybe you should do the same. You don’t really have super powers.” “True,” said XenoGirl, “But what I lack in powers, I make up with my intellect, and I invented these.” “Pretty good,” I said still fighting Xord. “You keep dealing with this guy and I’ll get the police,” said XenoGirl. “Wait kid!” I said.

“This’ll just take a minute really,” she said. “Not that!” I said, “There’s thugs down there!” She flew over them. (To the 4th wall) How could I be so stupid to forget that she could fly? I jumped down to deal with his thugs who were stealing technology. They had weapons aimed at me. “Guys wait, we should talk this out,” I said preparing a new power I installed in my monado, “Monado SHOCKER!” I said. Using it, I managed to disable their weapons and stun them. “Good talk,” I said. “No it wasn’t,” said one of the thugs. “Now to catch Xord before he…..” I said as I saw him fall down on a car. “…..gets away,” I said. Xenogirl flew down. “He’s all yours Mr. Xenoblade,” she said. “Just Xenoblade,” I said, “Mr. Xenoblade was my dad.” The cops arrived in time. “Well, you finally caught up with him Xenoblade,” said an officer, “And who would you be young lady?” “I’m XenoGirl,” she said introducing herself, “And I helped Xenoblade round up these punks.” “Yeah, you sure did,” I said. “Hey, maybe I can apply to join your XenoForce team,” she said excited, “We could save the world and you could train me taking on small crimes until I’m ready to take it up a notch!” “Let’s not get carried away,” I said. “Oh right, sorry,” she said.

“But hey, if you play your parts right, you’ll be leading your own team of heroes,” I said, “But until then, just stay low and help the little guy and such.” “You got it,” said Xenogirl. “Oh, I gotta give you something for your help,” I said. “Like a reward?” she asked. I thought of something. I got out one of my EMP pistols. “How about this?” I asked, “You can use it to shut down enemy weapons and stuff.” “Cool!” she said as she took it, “Thanks.” “Don’t sweat it,” I said. I looked at my watch. “After all that I still got time,” I said, “Officers, Xenogirl, have a good night.” I drove to the wedding and Micah saw me. “You’re early,” she said. “That’s right,” I said, “Even after all those crimes I still made it with the decorations and stuff.” Later the party was going on after the wedding and everyone was dancing. Ratchet was dancing while looking at the ground. Denise chuckled. “Ratch, you’re not supposed to look at the ground when you dance,” she said. “I gotta Denise,” said Ratchet, “If I don’t I might slip.” He slipped but Denise caught him and giggled.

“Alright your party goers, its time to bring the newly-weds onto the dance floor,” said the DJ, “Let’s give it up for Nayla, and Jeffery!” Mom’s friend, Nayla, and her husband came to the dance floor. “Let’s show these guys how its done,” said Jeffery. They were dancing and we were all amazed. “Hey Mikey, you think you’ll ever open yourself out?” asked Anela, “Cause I got some girls that are lookin’?” “I don’t really know,” I said. Mom was talking with Nayla. “I’m really happy for you Nayla,” she said, “Jeffery seems like such a nice guy.” “Of course he’ll never replace my first boyfriend,” said Nayla, “It was his love that got me to open up my heart again.” I decided to go to the concession stand and get me something. “I’ll just take me a hot chocolate,” I said. “Here you go,” said the pink haired girl. I gave her some money. “You just got the last one,” she said with a smile. I smiled back.

“Its time to take this party down and slow down the music,” said the DJ. I noticed the pink haired girl moving to the music. “Wanna dance?” she asked. “Um, sure I guess so,” I said. She took me to the dance floor. “I can’t recall the last time I slowed dance before,” I said blushing. “No need to be nervous,” she said, “Just put your arm around me and hold my hand like this.” As we danced everyone started looking at us. “Looks like Michael’s macking,” said Micah. Although it was strange at first, I felt happy about it too.

[jillmckenzie1]

Tempest in a Teapot

Cuties is streaming on Netflix

 Take a seat. Better yet, make a nice, hot cup of tea, pull up your nearest fainting couch, and get ready for some information that is sure to blow your mind. Ready?

You sure?

Okay…here goes. *takes a deep breath*

Americans are really, really stupid when it comes to both art and nuance. An example is the kerfuffle that sprang up regarding The Last Temptation of Christ. It all began with the 1955 novel written by Nikos Kazantzakis that examined the life of Jesus. Specifically, it posited the concept of Jesus briefly succumbing to temptation while on the cross and imagining a normal life. One that involved sex, love, and a family.

As you might imagine, a certain stripe of Christian was very angry with the book. This anger turned to incandescent rage in 1988, when Martin Scorsese adapted the novel into an excellent film. Now, you would think people who were taught the Gospels, to live with a love for others, to turn the other cheek, you would think those folks would either try to see the spiritual message inherent in Last Temptation* or love the people they disagreed with in brotherhood.

Nope! Thousands of people called for the film to be banned. Television evangelists denounced Scorsese. In fact, Scorsese received numerous death threats which, unless I missed big chunks of the Bible, is antithetical to the message of Christianity. There was even an attempted terrorist attack on a theater in Paris. A group of radical Catholics (Yes, seriously) set off an incendiary device that wounded thirteen people.

So based on the preceding paragraphs, I must think that conservative Christians are a bunch of gullible nitwits, right? Well…no. As much as I’d like to take a moment to clown on the right-wing outrage machine, the fact remains that both liberals and conservatives tend to live in a black and white space when it comes to artistic expression, and that space is not where nuance lives. Don’t believe me? Let’s talk about the new film Cuties, and why the controversy around it is mostly nonsense.

Amy (Fathia Youssouf) is eleven, and she has just moved from Senegal to a neighborhood in Paris. Things are very different for her. She’s in a new place with new customs and new faces, and she’s expected to help care for her two younger brothers. What about her parents, you might ask? That’s where things start to become complicated. Her mother Mariam (Maimouna Gueye) is already struggling to keep the children stable in their new home. Mariam tries to live as a righteous Muslim woman and feels pressure from her Aunt (Mbissine Therese Diop) to do better. The pressure gets worse when she receives a phone call from Senegal and the news that her husband has taken a second wife.

This is all an enormous amount for Amy to process. She needs support, and unfortunately, Mariam doesn’t have the bandwidth to provide it. So, she seeks out a support system elsewhere, and boy howdy, does she find it. A pilfered smartphone introduces her to social media and the endorphin rush that comes from likes and comments.

A chance encounter at school pinballs Amy’s life in a radically new direction. She meets the Cuties, a group of girls in her grade. They are her neighbor Angelica (Medina El Aidi), the snarky Coumba (Esther Gohourou), and the combative Jess (Ilanah Cami-Goursolas). The Cuties move through the world with the kind of bulletproof self-confidence that only exists within tweens and rich, white men. Their goal is to enter and win a dance competition, one that emphasizes barely-there costumes and dance moves that are…well, let’s go with “suggestive.”

The realization hits Amy like a thunderbolt. The Cuties are everything she isn’t and like nothing she’s ever seen before. At least, that’s what she thinks. How to get in with the cool girls? Proving yet again that the internet was a mistake, Amy dives online and immerses herself in videos. Her plan is to imitate the moves of dancers much older and copy their routines, routines that are wildly age-inappropriate. They don’t just push the envelope, they rip through the damn thing. It’s all in service of social medial likes, realizing a vague dream, and learning that actions have consequences.

A number of prominent individuals have accused Cuties of either being child pornography or sexually exploitative. Senators Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley railed against the film. An op-ed in the conservative website The National Review wrote, “Thus, whatever their artistic intentions, in making a social commentary about the sexualization of children, the filmmakers undeniably sexualized children.” Christine Pelosi, daughter of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, tweeted, “Cuties hypersexualizes girls my daughter’s age, no doubt to the delight of pedophiles like the ones I prosecuted. Cancel this, apologize, work with experts to heal your harm.” It was all outrage, but it never came from a place rooted in liberal or conservative ideology. It was only reactionary.

By now, I imagine you’re probably thinking, “Don’t keep us in suspense, is Cuties offensive trash that comes straight from the Second Circle of Hell?” No, but it is designed to make viewers feel uneasy.

Director Maimouna Doucoure has made a clear-eyed and nuanced film about the raging desire of a child to fit in, and the poor decisions they can make that blow up in their faces. She knows exactly what kind of film she’s making; one about perspectives. When the girls practice their routines, we hear pulsing pop music as they emulate what they have seen elsewhere. I’m not sure they’re fully aware of the meaning of these suggestive dance moves, but they know on a subconscious level that they have raw power. However, watch the same routine later when adults observe. You’ll see some skeezy guys who are into it, but far more adults who are repelled and appalled. In the end, the gaze of the camera is entirely dependent upon context. There are also tiny moments of surrealism that pop in and out, such as a dress that Amy is given to wear at her father’s wedding. Watch how the shape and color of the dress slightly changes depending on Amy’s mood. It’s filmmaking that’s smart and subtle.

Doucoure based her screenplay on her own experiences as a refugee, as well as eighteen months of research regarding how social media influences the behavior of children and young teens. More relevant is her prior experience as a girl. The script is a coming of age tale in which Amy bounces between the expectations of her culture and religion to be a submissive wife, an onslaught of online images lacking in context, and the age-old growing pains we all go through. She ultimately wants to find her people and her place in the world while simultaneously wanting to rebel against the world she’s growing up in. The tragedy is that she makes decisions from the perspective of a child and is judged as an adult.

I think I was most impressed by the natural and honest performances that Doucoure was able to draw out of her cast.*** The younger actors do solid work, and I was particularly impressed with Fathia Youssouf as Amy. She’s asked to do some extremely heavy lifting from an emotional standpoint, and whether she’s about to break from pressure or giggling as she crams gummy worms into her mouth, she always feels believable. The stealth MVP of the cast is Maimouna Gueye as her mother Miriam. She has an astounding scene where she takes a phone call and learns of her husband’s decision to take another wife. Gueye’s tone of voice is all business on the phone. We can only see her feet as she hangs up the phone. For a moment there’s only silence, then we see her feet shaking as she sobs.

You’ve probably heard a variation of the old saying that depiction doesn’t equal endorsement. Odds are that the vast majority of people hysterically shrieking over Cuties either haven’t seen the film or are reading it in the most shallow manner possible. Cuties made me extremely uncomfortable. Since it’s a critique of society’s rampant sexualization of children, it’s supposed to.**** Maimouna Doucore’s film is intelligent and nuanced, and I fervently hope that her next project is viewed with more open-mindedness. Odds are, it won’t be.

  *Whether you agree with the central message of the film or not, consider that the central message is that initially Jesus profoundly does not want to take the suffering of the world entirely within himself. He wants what everyone else wants, but decides to sacrifice himself anyway. That’s far more inspirational and relatable than a savior entirely free of doubt.

**While the film isn’t exploitative, holy hell is the advertising! Someone in Netflix’s marketing department made a series of Very Bad Decisions. You can read more here.

***It bears mentioning that there was a child psychologist on-set during the shooting, as well as officials from France’s child protective services.

***In fact, I think Cuties is far less offensive than some of the odious reality TV programs like Toddlers and Tiaras.

The post Tempest in a Teapot first appeared on The Denver Guide.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/tempest-in-a-teapot/

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Rafael Barba v. Jack McCoy / Order (Part One)

Imagine Rafael Barba and Jack McCoy going head to head on a case! 

This happened because I was waaaaay too excited by the news that Jack McCoy is going to be on SVU next season. I literally am sooo thrilled though guys. McCoy’s first appearance since 2010! So this is just something I imagined up! Part two will probably be up tomorrow. I’m actually going on a tour of the Supreme Court tomorrow sooo this is quite fitting. Enjoy!

He had heard the rumors, of course. 

Who hadn’t at this point? Not when the secrets of the District Attorney’s office leaked worse than a hole-ridden roof in the eye of a hurricane. The secrets came pouring out of somewhere, and ended up on the news one way or another. Reporters were vermin: plug one hole, and they’ll chew two more. And although, Rafael Barba wasn’t the type to rush to judgement, (no matter how ironic that sounded), he couldn’t help raise a few eyebrows at the things that would come to light. He knew that being working in the District Attorney’s office was not an easy position to hold for so many years, even before he worked there. Before anyone’s accepts the position, they must know the consequences that come along with it: constantly scrutinized in the public’s eye for what you didn’t do, and what you did do. And both would remain relevant in the office’s reputation for many years.  

For better and worse. 

Jack McCoy was a no-nonsense E.A.D.A., infamous even before he came into Manhattan for various reasons, as “High ‘em High McCoy.” He quickly became known as the man who would constantly push the law, forcing it forward, whether it wanted to or not. His words would convince even the sternest of judges, and on the occasions they wouldn’t concede to his argument (or his charm for that matter), he would still trudge forward, even bypassing the law at times, landing him in jail over eighty times for contempt. A record unsurpassed by none. He was also a fan of scare tactics, incurring charges that wouldn’t stick, arresting innocent people to testify, and even breaking the law to see the case through. 

Yes, Jack McCoy was about justice through and through, whether it included the law or not. He was the order that reigned over Manhattan for several years. 

Though not everything in his life reflected that same order. 

His daughter and he, for one, had a more than complex relationship, hitting the tabloids during McCoy’s race to become permanent D.A. of Manhattan. He also had a tenuous relationship with his bosses, often disregarding or completely ignoring their instructions. It also had been revealed that his father, a decorated police officer had been abusive, not only towards suspects, but his own son as well. However that was barely a blemish compared to the rest. 

The more “outlandish” things he was known for were his numerous affairs with his A.D.A.s, four to be exact. One of whom he had married, and the other three he had dated. Rafael scoffed at people’s interest in this matter. If they were consenting adults, what did it matter to them? However, he couldn’t ignore the circumstances of one of his relationships, landing an innocent man in jail. No, that wasn’t order, it was disorder if anything. 

But that didn’t erase the good McCoy did the office, up through his retirement from the D.A.’s office. He remained a standard, a beacon of what A.D.A.’s should strive, a keen sense of justice, but also surpass, by obeying the law. But now that standard stood on the opposite side of the aisle, his previous position taken by none other than Rafael himself. 

The silver haired man stood on the other side of the courtroom, buttoning his navy coat, as he approached the jury with a friendly smile. His clothes were the same as always, not as pristine as most wore to coat, certainly not the level Rafael dressed, but he made up for it in charm. “The story of this case is simple, not how Mr. Barba paints it,” He started his opening statement, “Mr. James Delaney is a twelve year old boy, who had spent his entire childhood being beaten and battered by his father, even to the point where hc couldn’t attend school for several weeks, and now he is before you in a courtroom, when he should be in a classroom. He has Pokemon posters on his wall, he still hasn’t outgrown his Spiderman pajamas,” He chuckled, shaking his head at the thought, as he paced in front of them, before gesturing to the boy who sat before them “I will not deny that James killed his father, that he took the gun from his father’s unlocked firearms cabinet and shot him, but what I will prove is that James had spent his entire childhood in fear for his life, including the night he murdered his father, but he is no cold blooded killer.” He stopped in his tracks. “It is Mr. Barba’s stance that James should be sent be prosecuted as an adult for his crime, locked up with hardened criminals. That much speaks for itself, and if all of you decide to place the label of killer upon James, nothing in his life will change. He will just become a victim, to another man much like his father, but perhaps worse.” And unlike Mr. Barba thinks,” Barba’s eyes flickered up from his notes at the mention of his name. Jack turned on his heel to face the jurors. “Jail is no place for a boy like James Delaney.” 

After opening statements, Rafael practically ran into Jack on his way out, and Rafael gave a friendly smile, shaking his hand. “Not bad for being out of the courtroom for a few years?” 

Rafael gave a noncommittal shrug, “A bit preachy, but none worse for the wear,” Rafael slipped his binder into his bag, walking alongside Jack. “How are you, Jack?” 

“Better if I knew if you were open to a deal,” Rafael frowned, slowing his steps, as Jack loosened his tie, causing his collar to go askew. 

“Are you that unsure of your case?” He quirked an eyebrow. Jack McCoy wasn’t the type of man to cut deals, nor was he the type to make them. 

“No,” Jack slipped his hands into his pockets, “I’m that sure that James Delaney doesn’t belong in jail, and I’d like to spare him the trauma of a trial,” 

Rafael considered his, evaluating Jack’s demeanor. He was known not to shy away from smoke and mirrors, but as Rafael took in his expression, he realized there were none, only honesty, and something else. 

Pain. 

“Jack,” Rafael pulled him aside, “I can’t cut a deal, but not for the reasons you think,” He sighed, as he crossed his arms. “This case is too close to you, with your history, I think you should have someone else take over the case,” 

Jack shook his head, a sad smile on his face, “That’s exactly why I have to stay,” And without another word, he walked away, stepping into the elevator. 

Tension only grew as the trial progressed, though Rafael had met his burden of proof, the judge tossing aside McCoy’s motion for dismissal, the battle was far from won. Although, Rafael could see the merits of Jack’s stance and argument, even the defendant’s position, one that Rafael himself knew well. But Rafael couldn’t condone murder. Not even for this. Rafael flinched when he looked at the evidence that he had put in a motion before the judge. Especially not when McCoy wanted to admit images of the abuse that James’s mother had captured of James’s abuse. 

“The evidence only serves to unduly influence the jury into feeling bad for the defendant,” Rafael said, irritation evident in his tone. 

“That is not a determination Mr. Barba can make, and  would this even be an issue if Mr. Barba was trying to show images of a victim to the jury?” Jack added, as Judge Ramirez looked between Rafael and Jack. 

“Good to see you again, Jack, though the circumstances are quite...different,” Rafael felt his stomach sink as Jack grinned at the judge. 

“Different or not, I still stand for justice, Judge,” 

And just like that, Rafael’s argument was tossed aside and the photos were allowed in. Rafael followed after Jack, and before the doors closed, managed to slip in. “You have something to say, counselor?” First name basis has slipped away, as Jack looked quite pleased with himself. Rafael scowled at him, looking at the doors of the elevator shut. “Are you considering my offer?” 

Rafael swallowed his own pride, “Depends on what the offer is,” 

“Nothing less than time done in a mental health facility,” Jack stated, as Rafael’s mouth fell open. “And the charges are expunged from his record after he turns 18.” 

“A slap on the wrist for shooting his sleeping father in the face?” The doors opened and Jack stepped through them, only to run into a familiar face. 

“Detective, or rather should I say, Lieutenant,” Jack shook her hand, as Olivia stepped to Rafael’s side, “How are you? I heard you have a son now,” 

“Yes, his name is Noah, he’s…” She smiled, shaking her head. “amazing,” She shifted her gaze from Jack to Rafael, who had remained silent this entire time. “Am I interrupting something?” 

“Not at all,” Jack waved her off, clapping her on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you two, and I”ll see you tomorrow when I present my case,” And with that, he left out the double doors. 

“What was that?” Olivia blinked, glancing at Rafael who only stared at the doors he had left through. 

“A warning,” 

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Good evening guys!! So sorry about the late post, today has been one of those days for me :) Here is the new episode of Cuba v DR! Thank you guys so much for reading and stay tuned to @missjennifercole‘s blog for another episode tomorrow!!

EPISODE 16

“Hey Posh Spice,” Amber said with a grin as she leaned in the doorway of Rafael's apartment complex. “I wanted to know if you wanted to get coffee or something? I'm going out of my mind at home and I can't go near Nevada and Dama while I'm pregnant. They're a danger hotspot.”

“Oh, sure, um, come in,” Roxie smiled. She still didn't have many friends in America. She was excited to have someone to spend time with. “Rafi went to take Mowgli for a walk, how are you?”

“Pregnant,” Amber laughed.

“Well you're glowing.”

“Thanks, I wish I felt that way, pregnancy has not been as glamorous as I was led to believe.” She giggled and sipped the water Roxie poured. “Do you want kids someday?” she asked curiously.

“Two actually, boy and a girl.”

Amber smiled, “You'd be a good mother Roxie.”

“Thank you, and you as well! How are the preparations coming along? Have you got everything?” Roxie asked, sitting across from Amber.

“Almost everything, I'm letting Omar do all the building, which is a test on our marriage for sure,” she giggled. “But I finally feel ready to have this baby.”

“Good, I’m excited for you,” Roxie replied with a warm smile. “Has Dama or your mother in law begun planning a baby shower or diaper party?” she inquired.

“No, no I don't need any of that,” Amber chuckled. “This is a bit of a different circumstance and I'm sure that they're all busy. Plus if we let Dama plan it, there will be male strippers.”

“Don’t be daft. Of course, you should have a diaper party. We can have it at the bakery, I insist. We’ll go to the baby store and register for anything you still need.”

Amber laughed and nodded, “Sure, why not?”

As the door opened, Mowgli came trotting in, excitedly snorting and nudging his nose against Amber’s feet.

“Hey there, Charlotte.”

“Charlotte was the spider,” Rafael smirked. “What are you ladies up to?” he asked.

“We were just going to go to the baby store to register for Amber’s diaper party,” Roxie replied, giving him a peck on the lips.

“That sounds like fun,” he mused. “How’ve you been feeling?” he asked Amber.

“Hollywood glamorous,” she snorted and smiled at him. “How's life in the LAPD?”

“We’re in New York, Amber. It’s the NYPD,” Rafael replied. “Why do you act so ditzy? It’s not cute.”

“Rafael!” Roxie exclaimed, furrowing her brows at him and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, I got a call from Benson on the way home. They caught a case, a girl at TSU was gang raped last night. Not the way I hoped to spend my Sunday afternoon,” he replied with a frown.

“That's tough,” Amber said softly. “But I'm sure that's not exactly how that girl thought she'd be spending her Saturday night, so maybe you're even.”

“She was brutally raped, Amber, I sincerely doubt we’re even,” he replied.

“You two mind your manners.” Roxie sighed. “I swear, I've never seen two people so weird about exes.”

Amber and Rafael both furrowed their brows at Roxie.

“What are you talking about?” Rafael mumbled.

“You fight like siblings, I can't even imagine what a relationship would have been like.”

“Disastrous,” Rafael mused.

“A fucking nightmare,” Amber chimed immediately after.

“To say the least,” Rafael added, moving to pick up his keys. “Alright, mi amor. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but I wanna get there before these boys decide to lawyer up. I love you,” he said to Roxie, kissing her sweetly. “I can pick up dinner.”

“Love you too,” she smiled and blew him a kiss.

Amber gave him a wave, “Happy prosecuting.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, walking out the door.

“Well, I think that’s our cue. Let me just put some food down for Mowgli, and we can go have a look in the baby store,” Roxie said, smiling at Amber.

“I can’t believe you guys still have the pig,” Amber muses in a chuckle.

“He's family now,” she said seriously.

“I can see that.”

By the time the twins started making noise, you were eager to get up, grabbing them and moving them to the bedroom so they could say hello to Nevada.

They'd been talking about him all day.

“Dee,” Fiona smiled and crawled on the bed over to Nevada, hugging him. “Cuddles!”

NJ followed close behind, mimicking his sister.

“Hey guys,” Nevada mumbled, holding his twins close and playing with their hair. “You guys wanna go eat something?” he asked, offering them a smile.

“Eat?” Fiona smiled and nodded.

“Alright, go with mami. Get dressed,” he replied, moving towards the bathroom again. “I’m gonna shower.”

You took the toddlers with you, letting them follow you to their bedroom to get changed.

Nevada washed himself, lathering his hand with soap and reaching down to rub one out. Closing his eyes, he started to imagine the filthiest things he could think of, groaning softly and panting.

You moved to the bathroom after getting the kids dressed and letting them play so you could get ready. You grabbed your lipstick, hearing the moans and biting your lip, heading to the closet. You wanted to join in suddenly, clenching your legs together.

Nevada groaned again, tugging harder and holding himself up with his free hand against the wall in front of him. Finally, he grunted a final time and let his release flow through him. Rinsing himself off, he shut the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist. Walking into the bedroom, he started getting dressed.

You blushed as you watched him for a second before tugging on your dress and heels, smiling at him warmly as you looked him over.

“Hola guapo.”

“Hola, mami,” he replied, smirking back at you as he out on his shirt. “You look nice,” he added.

You smirked and walked over, tangling your fingers in his hair and giving him a kiss.

“All for you, mi vida,” you whispered as you pulled back and smiled, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” he replied, putting his hand on the small of your back and leading you out.

Rafael watched from Liv’s office while Fin and Rollins questioned one of the boys their victim had named.

“Another frat party gone bad,” he mumbled to himself. “So they’re all claiming it was consensual?” he asked, looking over at Liv.

Liv nodded, “Another party girl with the morning after regret.” She rolled her eyes and looked through the window. “Two of them lawyered up already.”  She crossed her arms and turned to Rafael. “The alpha’s in room three, he's clearly running things, the other two look like dogs who peed on the carpet.”

“And the victim, Jodi, what’s her story?” he asked.

“Uh, she was invited by her roommate to attend a TAO Omega frat party, she had a couple of drinks. One of the boys, Jeff, lured her into one of the upstairs bedrooms. He kissed her, she was okay with that, but when she pulled away, the other two boys, Ryan and Dave, had come into the room. She tried to leave, they forced her onto the bed, and took turns raping her.”

“Rape kit?”

“Her injuries are consistent with her account, she has bruising on her thighs, her wrists, anal fissures, vaginal tearing, and they also found a pubic hair in her throat…”

“Okay. Anyone else hear or see anything?” he asked, looking back at her.

“No witnesses so far but we’re looking for one of the pledges who was supposed to be watching the house. He's not accounted for yet.” Olivia looked down at her phone as it buzzed. “Until now, perfect timing. I'm going down with Carisi to talk to him. In the meantime, can you get us a warrant to search the frathouse? Jodi said one of them put up a camera and recorded the entire thing.”

He nodded his head, picking up his briefcase and moving with her out of her office.

“Keep me updated. I’ll call you when I have the warrant,” he answered. “I’ll include their laptops and any flash drives in there as well, just in case they’ve tried to cover their tracks.”

He went to his office and drafted the warrant before he called in a favor from a judge to sign off on it. Dropping it off with Liv, he went back home to check on Mowgli’s food and water.

“Mowgli!” he called out softly, moving into the kitchen and refilling the piglet’s water bowl.

The pig was eager to greet Rafael, hopping around like a puppy as he rubbed against Rafael's leg. Putting some food down for the piglet, Rafael scratched behind the animal’s ear.

“Hey, mijo...mami still not home?” he asked softly. “I’m sorry I had to work today,” he mumbled.

“Rafi, are you home?” Roxie said from the other room, coming out of the bedroom in one of his button down shirts. “Hey you.”

“Hey you’re home,” he replied, standing upright and walking to her to kiss her mouth. “How was the baby store?”

“I bought something,” she confessed it like it was a dirty secret, blushing.

“For Amber?” he asked. “That was nice of you, mi amor.”

“Well I did buy things for her but...also for us. I know I'm way ahead of schedule here, we aren't even married yet but…” she helped up little socks in her hands, looking at him with eyes like she'd gotten her hand stuck in the cookie jar. “You can't say no to these, look at them.”

He smiled softly down at the socks, feeling the fabric between his fingers. Snorting softly, he kissed her forehead and pulled her into a hug.

“Yeah, they’re cute,” he replied, pulling back to look down at her. “One day out with Amber, and you’ve already caught baby fever?” he teased.

“Look at them,” she whispered. “Itty bitty stockings,” she mumbled. “For itty bitty baby feet. These belong to a little person that we would make,” she smiled.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Is that all you bought was the socks?” he asked with a smirk, arching a brow suspiciously.

“Well...you can't buy socks without an outfit…and some binkies, a feeding pillow...mittens, some hats...just a few.”

His brows shot up on his head as he nodded, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“Wow,” he mused, pausing for a moment before adding, “Can I see the outfit?”

She nodded and moved to the bag, pulling out a onesie that was decorated like a business suit. It looked incredibly similar to one of the suits Rafael had.  His eyes softened, heart melting as he smiled at the little onesie.

“It’s a little suit,” he said softly.

She nodded with a smile, “You should see the bow ties and suspenders I bought,” she whispered with a giggle. Her fingers moved to hold the fabric again. She couldn't help but beam. “Rafi, I want to have a baby with you,” she whispered. “It doesn't have to be right now, but, I’d like one sometime soon...in a year or so.”

He nodded softly, running his fingers through her hair.

“I wanna have a baby with you, too,” he replied. “We can still practice making one right now,” he mumbled against her ear, nibbling on the lobe.

She giggled and moaned, “Mmm, that idea sounds very nice, but I have to talk to some suppliers,” she whispered. “Technically I'm on the clock.”

He groaned in protest but still nodded his head, kissing her cheek and taking the onesie from her.

“That’s okay, I’m waiting on a call from Liv anyway,” he said softly. “Where were you planning to keep this...outfit for our non-existent baby?”

“I don't know,” she said thoughtfully, then smiled excitedly. “Did I tell you I met someone who is a potential partner? I'm thinking of bringing him on as a third party investor. Jacob runs the London edition very well, I've decided that he can continue to run it, but he will only run the London location. He's no longer in charge of press or finances or bookkeeping.”

“That’s great, honey,” he replied, smiling at her. “You know as far as press and management of finances, there are professionals out there that can handle that for you. That way, you’d just have to find someone to partner with and take care of the book keeping,” he suggested.

“Well if I take on another investing partner, I can expand, I'd like to put another location possibly on the little fairy island? With the statue?” She mimicked the Statue of Liberty pose.

“Liberty Island? There are only seven businesses there, they’ve pretty much cornered that market. It’s risky. Maybe you should tall with a financial advisor about it,” he replied.

“No the one next to it, where you can see the statue, that you take the fairy to? What do you call it? Stratus island? Stanford island?”

“Staten Island?”

“Yes! That one! I've been looking at locations there, or analytics have shown that there's a large bakery market towards New York Library.”

“That’s great, cariño,” he replied as his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered  “Liv, what did you find?”

“Well, we found the footage...and a few more videos, you might wanna take a look.”

He sighed heavily, nodding his head as though she could see him.

“Alright, I’ll be right there,” he replied, hanging up. “I have to go. They found a video of the rape, but whenever there’s more to find, it is hardly ever good.”

She nodded and pulled him into a big hug, kissing him. “Be safe, I love you so much,” she whispered with a smile before waving goodbye as he headed out.

“Hi!” NJ said to the fourth or fifth person that walked by their table.

He had talked to everyone who came within ten feet of them. Fiona had stayed focused on the food, eating each bite thoughtfully and without mess. Anytime she got anything on her hands, she'd stick them out to you to wash. It made you giggle.

“Hi!” NJ tried again, looking at an elderly couple who seemed less than excited about the toddler as they ignored him.

He didn't seem deterred.

“Hi!” He smiled up at the waitress who brought yours and Nevada's meals.

“Hi cutie,” she cooed and stroked his hair, making him smile.

Fiona looked up at her briefly before going back to eating her food.

“You guys need anything? Sir? Another scotch?” the waitress asked.

“Yeah, thanks, mami,” Nevada answered, downing the rest of his drink and handing her the empty glass.

NJ watched Nevada, sipping out of his sippy cup the way Nevada drank from the glass.

That's when you frowned, they watched his every move. You just hoped he wouldn't drink too much.

Nevada looked over at his son and winked, passing a hand over his hair before he pointed to the toddler’s food.

“Eat your dinner, mijo,” he said, picking up his own fork and consuming more of his baked potato.

To everyone who didn’t know him the way you did, he appeared normal, but you knew better. You could see how he was retreating back into his protective shell, though he put up a convincing enough front.

“You gonna eat, Dama?” he asked you softly, gesturing to your plate as the waitress brought him another scotch.

“I'm gonna take mine home,” you said softly with a smile. “Why, did you want anything on my plate?”

You hated that he was disappearing right before your eyes. It scared you, absolutely terrified you. But he was hurting, you just had to give it time. You prayed that's all it was.

“No, I was just asking,” he answered, eating more of his own food before he took a gulp from the fresh glass of scotch. “I’m gonna take the rest of mine to go too.”

“All done!” Fiona announced, holding her plate up and handing it to you.

“Oh my goodness! My big girl ate all her food!” You covered her in kisses as she giggled and squirmed. For a baby that never smiled, all she did as smile as a toddler.

“All done!” NJ said too, his plate still full but he was determined to imitate his sister.

“You still got food on there, mijo,” Nevada mused, arching a brow at his son. “You wanna take it home?”

“Yes, home,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Mama I get down?” He wiggled in his high chair.

You grabbed him and let him sit in your lap, where he hid his face in your cleavage. You chuckle and stroke his hair gently.

You look at Nevada and bite your lip, trying to read his mind. But for the first time in a while, you can't. You have no idea what he's thinking.

“Bueno, let’s grab the check and get outta here then,” he mused, calling the waitress over to ask for boxes and the check.

After he paid, he finished off his scotch before the four of you piled into the SUV. You took the keys from Nevada and moved into the driver's seat, looking back at both kids who had already fallen asleep.

“You’re pretty quiet, you okay?” he asked.

“I've been better, you?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, deflecting your question.

“I'm worried about you,” you answered. “You shut me out like this and I lose you for who knows how long,” you sighed as you pulled up to park and unload the kids.

“What are you talking about? I’m fine,” he answered, getting NJ out of the backseat and carrying him into the building and holding the elevator door open for you and Fiona. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

You didn't say another word, just took the kids to their room and tucked them in before crawling into bed, completely dressed, wanting the clothing to wrap around you the way his warm touch normally did.

“Oye, I think I’m gonna go blow off some steam with OJ,” he said, poking his head into the bedroom and furrowing his brows when he realized you were still dressed. “You’re gonna sleep in your clothes?”

“Yeah, have fun,” you waved a bit.

He looked at you for a moment, tilting his head to try to meet your eyes.

You hugged your arms tighter around yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know sometimes you gotta blow off steam with the boys but if it's something I can help with...I'd love to,” you said gently.

“I know,” he answered. “I’m fine, mami,” he said again with a smirk.

His words broke your heart. He didn't lie to you often. But you nod, giving him the best smile you can muster and laying back down.

“Say hi to OJ for me.”

“Okay,” he replied. “Wanna wait up for me? I can give you a nice deep dicking before bed,” he added with another smirk.

“Sure,” you said as you turned on the tv. You'd rather be close to him in some way than not at all.

“Don’t look so happy about it,” he mumbled sarcastically, walking down the stairs and towards the door.

The second you heard the door close you twisted your fingers in your hair, giving it a firm tug. Great. This was all fucking great.

[come-join-themurder]

Obsessive - Part 28

Clay knows who the stalker / attacker is. What happens next? (This will be multi parts so check back for my next installment. As always, if you want to be notified of my updates just let me know and I will message you when I post new chapters) **Disclaimer: I do not suffer from OCD so I cannot begin to imagine what it is like. Any and everything that I am writing is what I’ve learned from people I know and the internet as well as asking advice from friends who know more about it than me. If anything is wrong or inaccurate of someone with OCD, please excuse my ignorance, as I said I am asking questions to help with the descriptions but I’m sure I will get something wrong eventually.

Juice Ortiz x Reader

(GIF isn’t mine) __________________

“Come on.” Happy was walking towards you and motioned with his arm for you to stand up, “Gotta go pack a bag.” You started to protest but Happy kept talking, “Clay’s orders (Y/N). You don’t have to like it, just gotta do it.” You sighed, knowing there was no way you could tell the Unholy One ‘no’. Chibs patted you on the leg and stood up, clapping Happy on the shoulder and steering him away a few steps, “How’d Clay take seeing Juicey boy? Didnae hear any yelling so I assume it went okay?”

Happy nodded, “They got some threats--” he began but Chibs nodded, “Aye, (Y/N) tol’ me. What else?”

“Needs you to call everyone and get’em up here.” Happy rasped.

“Now? Its almost 9…” Chibs questioned but Happy only nodded his head in response, “Must be big….” Chibs exhaled heavily and turned back to you, “...Alright, I’ll give everyone a call,” he raised his eyebrows at you and extended his hand to help you up.

“What do I need to pack exactly?” you huffed at Happy who stood behind you, hands in his pockets as you pulled several neatly folded shirts, jeans, and dresses out of your dresser.. He shrugged as if to say he had no idea and you sighed, “Hap, do you at least know how LONG I need to pack for?”

Another shrug.

You grumbled at him as you stomped past, walking out of your bedroom into the hallway. If it hadn’t been for all the time you had spent with Happy recently, you never would’ve felt so comfortable giving the Killer attitude, but now you knew he’d never hurt you so you had no problem expressing your true feelings, even if they were unfairly directed at him. You opened the hall closet to pull out some sheets and a few towels, if your dad was gonna force you to sleep at the clubhouse, you’d need clean towels and linens in order to make yourself feel less unclean. You gathered a fitted sheet and a flat sheet that had fallen off the shelf and re-folded them, placing them in your bag and grabbing a couple towels as well.

“John Howard?” Juice questioned Clay, “How do you know who he is?” “Its a long story, Juice, one that I don’t want to have to tell twice. Just get all the info you can on the guy before church, and a current address if there is one available,” Clay sighed a deep, stressful sigh, “I’ll give you and everyone else the rundown when they get here.” Juice nodded and turned to walk off to the bedroom in the back of the clubhouse, but halted and spun back around, “Hey Clay?” he spoke, getting the older man’s attention, “I’m sorry you found out about me and (Y/N) the way you did….” he trailed off for a moment, “...It wasn’t my intentions to keep any secrets from you, but things got complicated really fast and--” “--It’s okay Juice,” Clay cut him off, “I forget sometimes that when it comes to her and Gemma… they’re not club business…. I can’t just keep her away from you all. But she’s my little girl, and I love her. I just want her to be safe. You get that, right?” “Alright, yeah…” Juice replied before smiling to his President and marching down the hall with purpose.

Juice stared at the mugshot of the man Clay had ordered him to research. The man in the picture was young, so the photo couldn’t have been taken long after the picture of ‘Emily’ had been, who Juice now was completely convinced was actually you as a baby. He pulled up the perpetrator’s rap sheet, a long list of misdemeanors and small offenses, all relating to drugs or prostitution, except for one, the last one. First Degree manslaughter, 25 years. He took a deep breath and exhaled, this guy had just gotten out of prison 6 months ago, it made sense now why the stalking had seemed to just begin out of nowhere, but there was no current address. Juice gathered the info he had printed, including the mugshot, and closed his laptop just in time to hear voices drifting down the hall. It was time to go to church and learn the truth about (Y/N)’s stalker.

“She was just about to wrap her lips around my dick when Chibs called. It better be worth a skipped blowjob man…”  you heard Tig telling Bobby as he followed behind you and Happy walking into the clubhouse. You rolled your eyes. Of course it was important, it was about your stalker. Happy had your bag slung over his shoulder as he guided you to the bar and set your things on the counter top. Non-members weren’t allowed in the Chapel during a meeting unless it was absolutely necessary. You grabbed a seat on the stool and watched as Tig, Bobby, Chibs, Happy, Jax, Opie, and finally Piney and Juice filed into the chapel. Before closing the door behind him, Juice turned to look at you, his expression unreadable as he nodded in your direction and you smiled softly back, wondering what was going on inside.

The gavel slammed down, marking the beginning of church for everyone inside. Clay gazed around the room, landing on Juice as he took a deep breath and sighed heavily. Juice could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he awaited the information, but he felt bad that the one person this affected the most wasn’t able to sit in.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Clay asked to the room, but was looking at Juice as he spoke. Happy was the first to respond, “I… uh, She’s...not a member, boss.”

“This is about (Y/N)?” Jax and Bobby asked to a deaf ear as Clay shook his head, “Go get her, someone, please. She needs to hear this.”

You were looking through your phone, when the chapel door opened and Chibs called to you, “(Y/N), yer dad wants ye in here, love,” he winked at you as you stood from your seat, and walked over to the door, trying to fight back the grin that was on your face. You were a little too happy to be sitting in on a club meeting. You stepped past Chibs who closed the door behind you as you scanned the room. All eyes were on you, but your eyes caught Juice’s and you walked around the table, behind Piney, to pull up a seat beside him. Your dad smiled at you half-heartedly as Chibs sat back down and he began to speak. “You all know that some piece of shit attacked my little girl about a month ago,” Clay paused as there was a chorus of nods and mumbles throughout the room, “and today I got some information about who it might be. Juice..?” he trailed off prompting Juice to stand and hand a picture with a mugshot on it to Jax and another to Clay.

“John Howard.” Clay said and Tig and Piney both sucked in a harsh breath, cursing in whispers swept around the room as you sat, not understanding what some of the people in the room obviously already knew. Juice passed another sheet of paper over to Jax as the mugshots circulated around the table and began to speak, “He did 25 years in a state penitentiary for first degree manslaughter in the death of a woman named Rachel Smith, court documents say prosecution was going for second degree murder at the time, and even with all the evidence really stacking up that way, Howard had apparently hired the best defense attorney in the state and they got it bumped down to manslaughter. He got out six months ago, but his release is where his trail goes cold.” Juice stopped speaking and sat down beside you, taking your hand in his as the room filled with more whispers. “Why do we think this is the guy that’s been following her?” Chibs asked, leaning his elbows on the table top.

Your father sighed and leaned back in his chair, “Someone sent a photograph to her….” he trailed off, hesitant to continue talking, “....of John Howard and her when she was an infant.”

You weren’t honestly surprised, at this point you had figured out that the infant in the old Polaroid was you. You were just relieved that the club knew the person who had been tormenting you. “Because of the threats that were sent to Juice, I have reason to believe that he is the--” “--Boss,” Happy interrupted Clay, standing up from his seat at the end of the table, “I’ve seen this guy,” he was clutching one of the mugshots in his hand. “He’s (Y/N)’s neighbor.”

[thebachelordiaries]

Getting Out The Campzone: The Bachelorette Season Premiere Recap

Sweet. Sour. Sassy. Classy. 

That’s our girl, Rachel.

Rachel is more beautiful than Cinderella. She smells like pine needles and has a face like sunshine.

The journey for Rachel to find a mate is officially underway and even though these men were hand-picked for her, she will still need to weed through the losers to find the love of her life.

And there are losers galore: a ticklemonster, a Whaboom! guy, an aspiring drummer and a dude named Jamey who hates women.

Some of these aforementioned were among the lucky few to get their own video packages.

-Kenny is a father to his beautiful 10-year-old daughter by day, and a professional wrestler called the “prettyboy pitbull” by night. So essentially, he barks, he bites and he’s good at cuddling.

-Jack Stone is a lawyer from Texas who has the potential to be the world’s most boring speaker right behind Ben Stein. His mother passed away from cancer when he was in high school, so he has a tragic story. The best part about him is that he has a labradoodle.

-Alex is a self-described beefy nerd. He says he likes to hit the weights at the gym but also code on the computer. He grilled some kebobs with his Russian mother, who said in Russian that he is only allowed to kiss Rachel on the cheek.

-Mohit is a startup guy, so I am assuming he must be really good at ping pong. He likes to bollywood dance with his family, and they all seemed like a fun family to be around.

-Lucas, aka Whaboom! I respect his dedication to the brand, but he’s going to have an aneurysm shaking his head that aggressively one day, and I don’t want to witness it on my television screen.

-Blake says he’s a personal trainer but his bio says drummer boy, so I already can’t trust him. Blake claims that since working out increases his testosterone, he is great at sex. I’m sorry but I don’t care about his (probably small) penis.

-Diggy is a nickname this man (I don’t know his real name) received after someone complimented his style. “Hey, I like your digs,” they said. Some may say having 500 pairs of shoes is materialistic, but Carrie Bradshaw would say it’s a lifestyle.

-Josiah probably had the most heartbreaking story. At age seven he cut his dead brother down from the rope he used to hang himself. As a troubled youth, he decided to get into crime and was arrested at age 12 for burglary. He was inspired by the people who helped him turn his life around, so he became just like them. Now he is a prosecuting attorney at the same center that helped him. How can that story not warm up your heart?

The Squad Gets Back Together

Usually the show brings in former Bachelorettes to give advice to the new one. Instead, they brought in some of Rachel’s friends from The Bachelor like Whitney, who tried to convince us that she actually knows how to speak. I for one am not buyin’ it.

The robot pretending to be Whitney said she heard the second guy Rachel met on After The Final Rose has bad intentions. It was either Blake or Greg. I am unsure.

This is Raven adorably getting emotional when discussing Rachel’s journey to find love.

Imagine Rachel did get to meet the former Bachelorettes, though? Her, Andi and Kaitlyn could all go into a corner and talk shit about Nick Viall. I would love to be a fly on that wall.

Limo Entrances

I am going to discuss ones that deserve discussing. Obviously the first person out the limo is typically a big interest of the lead and that person usually (not always) plays a big part in the season. Let’s meet first-out-the-limo guy and everyone else worth talking about:

Peter, aka “Daddy,” was first out the limo. I normally wouldn’t like a guy wearing an outfit that belongs on a waiter in Las Vegas, but Peter can wear anything. I just want to thank him for existing.

He looks like a movie star from the 1940s. Is this love at first sight?

Bryan went up to Rachel and started speaking Spanish. Apparently he’s a Columbian guy who called himself “trouble.” I’m into it, and apparently so is Rachel.

Will came out the limo as Steve Urkel, slipped on the ground and said “Oh, did I do that?” He ran back into the limo and came back out as Stefan Urquelle. It was probably the most creative limo entrance ever. Rachel got the reference right away because she’s Rachel. Will is probably already in love.

Fred had the most hilarious entrance I’ve ever seen. Rachel was his camp counselor 15 years ago, so he brought out a yearbook and showed old pictures of him and Rachel. Rachel said Fred was a bad kid growing up. Most people get friendzoned at some point in their lives. Some even get sexzoned. Fred, however, got campzoned. What will it take to get Fred out of the camp zone? Stay tuned...

Jonathan, in typical ticklemonster fashion, tickled Rachel. Apparently he is a doctor in real life. I feel like tickling someone is some sort of violation. Like I said earlier, we will see this guy on the sex offender registry in due time.

Alex came in with a vacuum and I literally JUST understood his reference as I am typing it out. His entrance was an homage to Rachel dancing while vacuuming in her video package on The Bachelor. Well played, sir, well played.

Matt wore a penguin outfit and was quite adorable. He explained that penguins mate for life, which is what he says he wants to do. He said he’s gonna “waddle right into her heart.”

Mohit used the most basic best man wedding speech in existence as his opening line. If you didn’t work at a wedding hall for three years and haven’t heard this at basically every wedding ever, let me explain. Almost every best man at a wedding has the groom put his hand over his wife’s hand. He then says “This is the last time you will ever have the upper hand in the relationship. Enjoy it.” Negative 10 points for originality.

Lucas, the Whaboom! guy, was all sorts of extra. First he rolled down the window with a megaphone and did his best Bruce Buffer impression. I didn’t want to know that Lucas has one testicle bigger than the other, but now I do. What will I do with this source of information? Suppress it, probably. Lucas then shows us what Whaboom! really means, and it’s not pretty. Let’s just say there’s a reason why Lucas looks like he is recovering from a stoke. Whabooming! is a violent activity.

My reaction after witnessing what a Whaboom! is.

The Goings On In The Mansion

Some worthwhile observations...

Blake is clearly this season’s villain and Whaboom! guy is the token weirdo for the first few episodes. Blake’s presence already annoys me. He’s no Chad. Chad was at least funny.

Mohit took one for the team and was the one who got completely hammered on night one. He was so drunk that he grabbed someone else's drink out of their hand and started drinking it.

Josiah, Alex and DeMario have already developed a friendship. I hereby name them the “Goon Squad” for being a bunch of clowns. DeMario keept calling Rachel his future wife and Josiah was announcing that he probably will get the first impression rose. I believe at one point Josiah asked, “Who has had time with my wife?” Alex is just guilty by association.

Fred by far had the best interaction with Rachel: 

Rachel: “Frederick. I can’t”

Fred: “Yeah, you can.”

Rachel says she knew Fred as a third grader and can’t get past that memory. If the guy is hot enough, I think she could do it. If she can’t get past it, that probably means she’s not interested and Fred will remain forever in the Campzone.

Bryan pulled Rachel to the side to have a private talk. Right out the bat, Bryan tells her he is 37 years old, wants something serious and doesn’t want to waste her time. Oh, he also says “I’m good with my hands.” Ya know, because he’s a chiropractor. 

Just showing some appreciation for Bryan’s face.

The two were flirting back and forth. It felt really genuine like they met at a bar or something. Bryan just went for it and grabbed her face to give her an aggressive face readjustment. A+ for grabbing her face like that. You go, Glen Coco.

Peter said in an ITM that he likes Rachel because they both have a gap in their teeth and honestly that is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. He brought chocolate from Wisconsin for her and she confessed that she didn’t like chocolate but said she would eat it anyway. Why? Because Peter is fine as hell so you gotta do what you gotta do.

I also observed that Kenny is hilarious. For example, this line: “If she chooses Whaboom! guy, we need to re-examine what we think is fly.”

When the time comes for Rachel to give out her first impression rose, she doesn’t give it to the over-confident Josiah, she gives it to Bryan. They kiss again with a hammered Mohit accidentally witnessing the entire thing. 

Here’s a shot of them kissing that didn’t look like Bryan’s tongue was searching for the Chamber of Secrets down Rachel’s throat.

Good thing Mohit was blackout drunk so he was likely physically incapable of snitching. Too bad Bryan later snitches on himself on the Ellen date. 

Rose Ceremony

The first rose is always super important. That person usually plays a big part in the season.

Peter got the first rose. This, on top of him being first out of the limo, is pretty big. Producers are pushing Peter on us hard. 

Will aka Stefan got the second rose. Soft-spoken Jack Stone got the third. I think Anthony, the deep-thinking bald guy, got the fourth rose.

Producers picked Whaboom! guy to stay to 1. entertain us and 2. piss off Blake. I’m just scared Lucas is going to hurt his neck Whabooming! At least Bryan will be there to work his chiropractor magic if need be. Imagine getting adjusted by Bryan? There is no way I’d be able to relax. 

By the time several of the guys get eliminated, it’s daylight outside. It looks like it’s around noon. 

Blake K. the hot asian went home. Apparently he asked to leave early because his grandfather is sick. Dammit, ABC, put him on Paradise. He might be too good for the show, but I still need to see more of him.

Grant, the ugly Dan Humphrey also went home.

Follow me on twitter, @thebachdiaries 

Another eliminated guy cried about how he spent so much money on outfits and now no one will be able to see them. It was kind of funny but, I hate that I was able to relate to this so much.

So there you have it folks. The real fun starts on Monday once the group dates are underway. I also promise the upcoming recaps won’t be the length of a short novel. I need to get back into my blogging groove.

Prediction Corner: Top 5

Peter

Bryan

Kenny

Will

Jack Stone

Who do you think will get the 1-on-1 next week? 

[biofunmy]

Justin Trudeau’s Blackface Is Further Proof The Canadian Election Is A Disaster

Sebastien St-Jean / AFP / Getty Images

Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau

My editor, loath though I am to hear it, routinely tells me that typing I TOLD YOU SO is not a great way to start an article.

But how else do you expect me to jump into a conversation about Justin Trudeau? Our Nice Guy, cutie-patootie, gelled-hair, blue-eyes-like-the-deepest-ocean prime minister, who plenty of Canadians (me, I am talking about me) told you was actually far from the progressive sweetheart he presents himself to be. (Even BuzzFeed was not immune.) Our time to gloat has finally come. He’s been revealing in the past, but most people chose to ignore it: like when he sniped at an Indigenous activist asking him for clean water or when he was accused of applying political pressure on the attorney general (the first Indigenous justice minister ever) to defer prosecution against a major engineering and construction firm based out of Quebec and, look, we’re both bored now, so let’s get to the blackface.

Did we expect the latest news coming out of Canada to be that Trudeau is embroiled in some racist scandal? Not specifically — and this is about as mundane as racist acts go — but clearly only because he lacks imagination. The real question isn’t “How did this even happen?” but rather “How did it take so long for someone to dig this up?”

Yesterday afternoon, Time published a photo from a 2000–2001 private high school yearbook showing Trudeau, who was then a 29-year-old English teacher at this school, wearing brownface for an “Arabian Nights”–themed party, replete with a turban and Genie-esque cinched robes. Hours later, a photo of him in blackface from his own high school yearbook went public too. Then, my god, another photo showing him at that same “Arabian Nights” party in brownface flanked by two Sikh men also appeared online. Then, a video of him in blackface was published by the Global News. In one evening, Trudeau went from Our Prime Minister Who Has Never Worn Blackface to Our Prime Minister Who Has Worn It More Than Once. I mean, who has the time?

Is this all made worse by the fact that Trudeau wasn’t just some random teen messing around, but rather the son of one of the country’s most popular and beloved prime ministers, and therefore he should have known he would forever be under an unprecedented level of scrutiny? It does! It absolutely does. His past actions are so hypocritical when compared to his current public persona, and it is infuriating. His 2018 family trip to India, where he sported what looked like elaborate bridal clothing, was cringeworthy then — but watching him piously press his hands together in prayer appears even more jarring now.

It’s bad on its face, but it’s made even worse by the very important fact that the Canadian federal election is in just over a month and citizens are left with four choices so unsavory it’s hard to remember a time when it was this bad. Except, I guess, for the last time.

Nearly everyone running appears to be an AI simulation of what the worst-case scenario would be for the country. UK and US politics are so loud, so garish and tacky in their racism, that it makes Canada look quaint — but only by comparison. Canadians, namely white Canadians, still have trouble grasping that racism could even be a constant, daily part of someone’s life.

Getty Images (3); AP Images

Trudeau’s prime minister challengers, from left: Andrew Scheer, Jagmeet Singh, Maxime Bernier, and Elizabeth May.

But with the brownface and blackface revelations about Trudeau, along with him admitting that in high school he sang Harry Belafonte’s “Day-O (The Banana Boat Song)” in blackface for a talent show — Jesus Christ, Justin — this election cycle has had an unprecedented number of proven racist incidents, even on the supposedly progressive side of the aisle. Progressive Canadians were so worried about Andrew Scheer, that they didn’t have time to pay attention to what Trudeau was up to. Scheer, leader of the Conservative Party, and also a robot who just learned how to smile, has previously been associated with Rebel Media, a media organization that traffics in largely anti-Muslim and anti-immigrant speak. Earlier this year, he spoke at the same conference as Faith Goldy, a well-known white nationalist. He’s tried to block marriage equality and has compared same-sex marriage to counting a dog’s tail as its leg, and more recently, has been mimicking Trump with his concerns over “illegal” border crossings.

The face of the leader of the People’s Party of Canada, Maxime Bernier, was all over billboards in Quebec and beyond next to the tagline “Say NO to mass immigration,” as if Montreal is Ellis Island. His party allegedly doxed a Muslim activist and called him a terrorist; Bernier reportedly employed “a white supremacist who, for a time, led a seminal neo-Nazi operation,” and has a lot of alt-right support.

Bernier is an insignificant part of the election but, like a lot of fringe candidates who are louder than their actual tangible influence, he gets an outsize amount of coverage. On the heels of Trudeau’s brown- and blackface scandals, he tweeted, “[Trudeau] is the master of identity politics and the Libs just spent months accusing everyone of being white supremacists. He definitely is the biggest hypocrite in the country.” I do not know if I have ever experienced a pain quite like having to whisper, to myself, in a darkened room in the middle of the night when I first read this tweet: I guess technically Maxime is right?

What’s really infuriating about this news cycle is how much insincere virtue signaling will and has come from the details of Trudeau’s past behavior. People who should otherwise be preoccupied with cleaning up their own house now have a way to shirk their own responsibility.

Jagmeet Singh, the greenest, newest face in the leadership campaign, is another option for the leader of the New Democratic Party, and is currently third in the polls. But Singh himself is flawed on issues of race — he’s been criticized in the past for speaking at a 2015 pro-Khalistan rally. (It is worth noting, though, that being a brown man who advocates for his own community is somehow more threatening than a white man doing the same.) He also comes off as woefully ill-prepared to speak on his own party’s platform; as the third-party candidate in this election, Singh is likely to just split the vote, thereby giving the Conservatives a back door in with a minority.

Though Singh may be flawed, he’s done the best job of all the candidates at responding to Trudeau’s latest scandal. “The kids that see this image, the people that see this image, are going to think about all the times in their life that they were made fun of, were hurt, that they were hit, that they were insulted, that they were made to feel less because of who they are,” Singh said in a press conference yesterday. “I want you to know that you might feel like giving up on Canada. You might feel like giving up on yourselves. I want you to know that you have value, you have worth, and you are loved. I don’t want you to give up on Canada, and please don’t give up on yourselves.”

But Singh — a Sikh man who wears a turban and is actually brown as opposed to whatever shade Trudeau’s brownface is supposed to represent — is facing an uphill battle. Is Canada ready for a nonwhite prime minister, one who wears his religion on his head, no less? Everyone seems to be asking the question, which is idiotic — because if you have to ask, it’s likely you’re not “ready.”

Instead, it seems Canadians are more accepting of a prime minister who dresses up as a brown person than they are of an actual brown person. Regardless, what kind of sincere conversation can we even have around Singh if nearly everyone in the federal election press pool is white?

Finally, there’s Elizabeth May, the leader of the Green Party and the only woman leader in this election. Her big scandal is being “overtired” at a press gallery dinner and cursing in her speech. It is, comparatively, adorable insofar as governmental scandals go. Cute! It’s practically cute.

The bar for this election was always set laughably low. Trudeau, an attractive white man with a pleasing public profile who is not President Trump, and who is running a country that has a somewhat steady economy, had to do very little to skate by in this election. No one is defending Trudeau. There’s nothing to defend. Our prime minister has built his reputation on being the Reasonable One, the Non-Trump, the Good Boy (except, of course, when he and his advisers are browbeating the attorney general to go easy on a company in order to help their election chances). He’s the one Melania actually wants. He looks like Prince Eric, and I have seen the greatest minds of my generation driven to madness at the sight of his forearms, set free from his button-ups when he rolls up the sleeves. We know you wanted him to be good, an obvious antidote to Trump. But, unfortunately, though Canadians tend to do things with less zeal, it seems our leaders are pulling the same shit anyway.

Sean Kilpatrick / AP

Trudeau responds to the 2001 brownface photo during a scrum on his campaign plane in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Sept. 18.

This is not to say that Trudeau will lose — there are lots of people who find what he did objectionable, but not enough to vote for the far more objectionable Scheer. And there are brown people who don’t like the fact that Singh is unwilling to assimilate, and they likely won’t give him their vote. Such is the far reach of white supremacy and the desire to remain proximate with whiteness. (Never underestimate the power a clean-cut white man from a rich family has over immigrants who are still struggling to find their place in a country that repeatedly tells them they’re not wanted unless they’re cheap.)

I moved to the US in January, and I have spent most of my time telling people that I didn’t really miss Canada. Except that I do miss Coffee Crisp and Eat-More bars and being able to go to the doctor and not worry too much about how much it will cost. What I don’t miss — and have never missed — is how little awareness there is of the quiet bigotry in our politics.

One benefit of Trump is that he gave a clear and present symbol of what a lot of marginalized people had been talking about in the US for eons. So here. You wanted something more direct, something clear to hang your hat on? You got it.

The federal election is on Oct. 21. Canadians can vote for a man who wore brownface and blackface on more than one occasion, a man who was associated with far-right figures and opposed same-sex marriage, a man who wants Canadians to say “no” to immigrants, a man who, at best, seems ill-equipped for the job, and, at worst, will be plagued by racism for the rest of his political career, or a woman who has a pretty minimal chance of winning much to begin with.

Which of five choices, ranging from less than ideal to truly personally offensive, will Canadians pick? It’s not a Canadian election unless citizens are marching themselves to a polling station with a pit in their stomachs, aware that it never gets better. Because it only gets worse.

It’s fun, most of the time, to say I told you so. This time, however, I could’ve done without the satisfaction. ●

Sahred From Source link World News

from WordPress http://bit.ly/30AvjVw via IFTTT