#thoughts brought to you by watching the Italian fencing team

[inkyself]

Hot take but fencing would be better if blood was still involved. sexier

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity. 

-

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

-

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them. 

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now. 

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time. 

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold. 

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor. 

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.” 

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him. 

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis. 

“... Does this mean we get to go home?” 

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

-

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up. 

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her. 

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.” 

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.” 

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.” 

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?” 

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing. 

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.” 

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon.  ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because  Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years. 

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own. 

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him. 

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees. 

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

[deja-you]

ten ways to say (i love you)

t. jefferson x reader

summary: Thomas has never liked the conventional way of saying ‘I love you.’

word count: 6.1k

warnings: a little bit of angst, high school, karen

masterlist

1.

There is no better way to start off senior year than arriving late to your first class.

In Y/n’s defense, she had left her house early. For once in her life she was actually going to be early to school. She was so proud of herself, and was so certain that she had extra time, Y/n allowed herself to stop at a drive thru and pick up a drink as a reward. Everything was going according to plan. 

That is, until the Karen in the car in front of her decided she wasn’t pleased with her order and made the barista redo it. To make sure she didn’t mess up Karen’s order a second time, the barista was extra careful. And extra slow. Y/n groaned as she watched the time tick by minute by minute. Just her luck.

Y/n watched the barista hand the drink to the Karen and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, Karen’s car didn’t move. She had her drink, but Karen continued to talk with the barista. Y/n cursed under her breath and banged her head on the steering wheel. She must have been more aggressive than she was expecting, because she accidentally honked her horn. 

She jumped back in shock at the loud noise. Karen poked her head out of her window and immediately began lecturing Y/n on how rude she was being. At least, that’s what Y/n assumed she was saying, she really couldn’t hear the Karen with her windows rolled up. Y/n bit her lip, gave the Karen a little wave, and mouthed an apology.

Eventually Karen had finished her rant and left the drive thru. Y/n got her drink, no longer a reward, more like a consolation now, and sped to school. There weren’t any other students in the parking lot by the time Y/n arrived, remind her of just how late she was. Y/n shoved all her materials in her backpack, locked her car, and quickly walked into the building. 

Of course, Y/n’s first class just had to be with Mr. Rousseau. Any other teacher would just let her tardiness slide. She opened the door to Mr. Rousseau’s classroom, and any conversation that was being had stopped. More than a dozen pairs of eyes turned their attention to her, and Y/n wanted to melt right there and then.

“Miss L/n, nice of you to join us.” Mr. Rousseau addressed her. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning against his desk as he sized her up. “If you’re done being a distraction to my class, I’d appreciate it if you would take a seat.”

Y/n swallowed roughly, and nodded. Rousseau went back to lecturing the class on how his class would be run, and Y/n did her best to find a seat as quietly as she could. She instinctively made her way over to where her best friends, Abigail and Thomas were sitting. 

Thomas moved his backpack off the desk next to him, and mouthed, “I saved you a seat.”

She gave him a grateful smile and mouthed back a ‘thanks.’ 

Abigail leaned forward and whispered, “Mr. Rousseau wasn’t very amused with you being late, huh?”

“I swear he hates me,” Y/n insisted. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t hate you, hon’.”

“Thomas is right,” Abigail said. “Mr. Rousseau doesn’t hate you especially. Everyone knows he just hates women.”

2.

Late night study session was code for hanging out at John Adams’s house and messing around.

Abigail was dating John, so Y/n was friends with him and his friends by association. Abigail, Dolly, and Y/n were actually trying to study. John and James were discussing the football team’s chances of winning their next game. Martha and George had snuck off to get freaky somewhere. 

“Okay, Dolly.” Abigail held up a flash card. “What can you tell me about the defenestration of Prague?”

“Um, people were thrown out of windows for fun?” Dolly replied lazily. 

“No. Well, I guess you’re not completely wrong...”

Y/n threw her body against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. If she had to stay here any longer, Y/n would throw herself out a window. Not that she didn’t want to hangout with her friends. After a long day of school, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to spend more time with the people she spent the whole day with. If it wasn’t for her fragile social status, Y/n would have already been home in her bed right now.

“Sorry m’late, had to drop my sister off at a gymnastics class. Or fencing. Or Italian. Honestly, I can’t remember.” Thomas walked into the living room where everyone was hanging out.

“Ah, yes. I had almost forgot that the Jeffersons are all overachievers,” Y/n said with and eye roll. 

He wore an easy grin as he made his way over to Y/n, leaning against the couch and staring down at her. “What can I say? We’re just built different.”

Y/n scoffed but refused to dignify him with any further response. Instead, she closed her eyes again, pretending she was back at home under warm covers. 

“I brought you food.” 

This caught Y/n’s attention. She slowly opened one eye to see if he was telling the truth. Thomas held up a bag of fast food he must’ve picked up on his way over. Y/n couldn’t help but smile as she sat upright.

“For me?” She asked.

“Of course, hon’.” He handed her the bag. “I know you didn’t have time for lunch today, and I know you likely wouldn’t have gotten around to eating anything yet.”

Y/n happily pulled out an order of large fries out of the bag. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are, Thomas?”

“Not often enough.”

“Well. You are amazing. So amazing.”

Y/n finished her fries and was looking through the rest of the bag to see what else he had gotten her when John called out to her. 

“Hey, Y/n,” John said, “what are your thoughts on my cousin?”

“You mean Sam Adams?” Y/n asked. 

“Yep. The very one.”

She shrugged. “He’s cute. Why?”

“He thinks you’re cute. Wanted me to ask if you’re single,” John said nonchalantly. 

Abigail took time away from quizzing Dolly to get invested in the conversation. “She’s very single. Right, Y/n? You and Sam would be so cute together!”

Y/n could feel her cheeks begin to heat up, and she suddenly found the hardwood floors very interesting. “I don’t know... he really thinks I’m cute?”

“S’what he said,” John replied. “Can I give him your number?”

She weighed her options before giving a shrug. “Yeah, why not?”

“Y/n and Sam? I totally ship it,” Dolly said.

“Right?” Abigail grinned. “They’re going to be such an attractive couple.”

“Okay, can we stop talking about this now? I’m here to study,” Y/n insisted, pulling out a textbook.

“I’d rather not fail tomorrow’s test,” Thomas agreed.

Everyone begrudgingly went back to their previous activities, and Thomas took that moment to sit next to Y/n on the couch. She was flipping through the pages of her textbook before she came to a stop. Y/n passed the textbook to Thomas and pointed to the painting on the page.

“Look, this one’s my favorite,” she said.

“Wanderer above the Sea of Fog,” Thomas read. “You’re a fan of Caspar David Friedrich, then?”

Y/n shrugged. “I’m just a fan of the Romantic movement in general. Everything was just so creative, and beautiful, and emotional. There’s just so much feeling in this painting. It’s overwhelming.”

Thomas frowned looking back at the painting, and then back to Y/n. “It certainly is romantic.”

She gave the painting one last look before she began flipping through the pages of the textbook again. Thomas watched her curiously as she read over the vocabulary words for that week. Finally, he decided to say what was on his mind. 

“So, you and Sam Adams, huh?” He nudged her gently with his shoulder.

Y/n bit her lip and focused on a peculiar tchotchke the Mrs. Adams had decorated the living room with. “I guess. I used to have a crush on him in middle school, remember?”

“That’s right. Abbie and I spent most of science class teasin’ you about that. No wonder you’re so bad at physics now.”

She frowned and playfully bumped her shoulder with his. “I’m not bad at physics.”

“Really?” Thomas considered her with eyebrows raised. “Remember that botched science experiment that nearly killed Mr. Newton?”

“Can we not talk about that? He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

He hid an amused look. “Whatever you say, honey.”

3.

You’re tired. The sheets are too hot. It’s been a long day, your body is exhausted. The air in your bedroom is too cold. Your mind is tired, too. The sheets are too hot. If you just close your eyes and stop thinking you’ll be asleep in minutes. The air in your bedroom is too cold. Not thinking isn’t exactly easy. The sheets are too hot. Go then if you must, but remember, no matter how -- damn you, Sophocles, and your terribly beautiful words. 

Thomas threw his covers off his body and sat up in bed. He wasn’t going to get much sleep no matter how hard he tried. Thomas rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, if there had been any sleep to begin with. 

There was no doubt that he was tired mentally and physically. Emotionally? His heart was eternally restless. He crossed his room to sit at his desk, fully accepting that sleep wasn’t a viable option anymore. 

The blue light from his computer was a harsh contrast to the darkness of his room, but his eyes adjusted quickly. Thomas didn’t even know what he was doing on his computer in the middle of the night.

His fingers knew. They opened up an application and began scrolling. No, no, no, yes. Perfect. No, no, no, no, no, yes. This is her. And this went on for an hour or so, Thomas lost track of time. He’d be tired tomorrow, but he wasn’t going to get any sleep until he was finished. 

When he actually was finished, he smiled contentedly to himself. A wave of calm washed over him, and before he knew it, Thomas was back in his bed falling asleep. 

He looked terrible the next morning. Well, as terrible as a Jefferson could look. He had still had the sense to dress nicely, collared shirt, sweater, ironed pants, polished dressed shoes. Thomas was still sharp as ever in all his classes, but anyone who really knew him could tell he was a mess. 

“You okay, Thomas?” Y/n asked at lunch in Mr. Locke’s classroom (Mr. Locke was kind enough to let a group of moody teenagers eat lunch in his class, the lunchroom just wasn’t cool enough for them).

“Hm? Yeah. I’m great.”

Y/n cocked her head to the side. “You sure? You seem tired.”

“Don’t worry about me. Actually, I have something for you.” Thomas fished his phone out of his pocket.

“You have something for me?”

“Yeah, I’m sending it now. Check your phone.”

She raised an eyebrow, but Y/n opened up her phone to check the text Thomas had sent her. 

“Sophocles and Serotonin.” Y/n read aloud. “What is this?”

“I made you a playlist of songs I thought you might like.”

“Seriously?” A smile played on her lips; Thomas couldn’t help but reflect it. “When did you have the time for this?”

He shrugged. “I have more free time than you’d think.”

“With all your APs, varsity sport, and extracurriculars? I highly doubt that.” Y/n looked up at him, a teasing lilt transparent in her tone. “I appreciate the playlist even more, knowing you took time out of your rigorous schedule to create it. Thanks, Thomas.”

She leaned forward on the desk she was seated on to press a kiss to his cheek. Thomas froze like a deer in headlights, and if Y/n noticed, she didn’t say anything. He put himself back together before she could notice he was momentarily put-off, and leaned back against another desk in an attempt to look cool.

“S’what do you have planned for after school?” He asked in his best nonchalant voice. 

“Well, Sam and I are going to go see a movie.”

“That’s still a thing, then?”

Y/n shot him a look that had him raising his hands up in surrender. “Yes, it’s still a thing. I really like him, okay? He’s a good guy.”

“But is he good enough for you?” Thomas crossed his arms, his eyes not leaving her’s. It wasn’t that Thomas didn’t like Sam. Sam was great. It was just a fact that no guy would ever be good enough for his best friend. 

“He is.” She said with an eye roll. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Hon’, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh trust me, I know.”

4.

Summer had felt like an eternity ago, when in reality, it had been less than two months ago. The yellow leaves and the updated fall Starbucks menu were enough to convince anyone that it had always been October. 

It had taken a lot of convincing and a little bit of bribery to convince Thomas to attend the Homecoming football game, but with the assistance from Abigail, Y/n had eventually gotten Thomas to cave. She wanted him there, but more importantly, she wanted him to give her a ride there. 

Of course she could have taken her own car, but Y/n would rather not waste her own gas when she could use Thomas’s instead. It’s not like it mattered to him, his parents paid for his car, insurance, and gas anyway. Plus, his Mercedes Benz had a seat warming function that Y/n couldn’t get enough of. 

She spent most of the ride over to the stadium raving over his seat warmers, and Thomas spent most of the ride making fun of how excited she was about seat warmers. Eventually, they parked outside of the stadium, and Thomas paid for their entrance fee into the stadium.

“It’s co--” before Y/n could finish her sentence, remarking on the obvious cold weather, Thomas had handed her a sweatshirt. She looked down at the maroon sweatshirt, then back at Thomas, her mouth slightly open. “You brought an extra sweatshirt for me? I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” he shrugged. She put on the sweatshirt and stared at him with wide eyes. Thomas glanced at, bit the inside of his lip, and shook his head. “Now, don’t go thinking I care about you or somethin’ like that, hon’. Couldn’t have you taking the sweatshirt I’m wearing, then I’d be cold.”

She looked at him with a smug smile on her face that made him regret bringing her the sweatshirt in the first place. “Yeah? Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.” He was doing his best to act annoyed by all her questioning, but he couldn’t help but find it endearing. When he came up with another argument, he added on, “besides, ma would be upset with if she knew I let you freeze. It seems like she loves you more than she loves me sometimes.”

“That’s because she does,” Y/n pointed it out like it was obvious. “Can you blame her? I’m funny and adorable. You’re just a grumpy old man I have to drag to football games.”

“That’s it. Give the sweatshirt back. I hope you freeze.” Thomas was giving her the dirtiest look he could muster. Y/n had the audacity to throw her head back and laugh.

She reached into her purse, and after some digging around, she pulled out a five dollar bill from her wallet. Y/n thrusted the money into Thomas’s hand and pushed him in the direction of the concession stand. “Here. Go get us some popcorn, maybe you won’t be so irritable once you get some food in you. I’m going to go find some seats.”

Thomas grumbled something about “not being irritable” but nonetheless ventured off toward the concessions. Y/n climbed the steps up the stadium and immediately found Abigail sitting in the student section, all decked out in school colors and face paint. Abigail greeted Y/n with a warm hung, then holding her at an arms length, she took note of what her best friend was wearing.

“Is that Thomas’s sweatshirt?” Abigail asked.

Y/n looked down at the the University of Virginia sweatshirt she had wrapped around herself. “Hm? Oh yeah, it is.”

Abigail pursed her lips and mulled over this new information. “What’s going on between you and Thomas?”

“What d’ya mean? We’re friends.” Y/n pursed her lips. 

“And Thomas knows that?” Abigail observed Y/n. “Do you know that?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Yes, of course I know that. I’m dating Sam now, okay? Thomas and I have always just been friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

Abigail held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. If you say so, I’ll believe you. I just don’t want any feelings to get hurt between the two of you.”

“There are no feelings between the two of us,” Y/n said, but she wouldn’t stop thinking about Abigail’s words for the rest of the night.

5.

All week, Thomas had dreamt about the mint chocolate chip ice cream that was waiting for him in the freezer. 

It was his favorite flavor, and there was just enough left in the carton for one last bowl. He had promised himself he wouldn’t eat the last of it until he had really deserved it. After spending a productive hour studying for the test he had tomorrow, Thomas decided he had finally earned that delectable bowl of artificially colored green ice cream. 

He made his way to the kitchen, humming an upbeat tune and sliding across the hardwood floor in his socks. Thomas had made it all the way to the freezer when there was a knock at the front door. 

Thomas paused. He was so close to getting his ice cream. Maybe it was just a delivery? He debated answering the bowl or ignoring and continuing to dish himself ice cream. Thomas was leaning toward his bowl of ice cream when there was a knock at the door again. With a scowl on his face, he abandoned the fridge and any hope for happiness he had left and made his way to the front door.

“Y/n?” He said in surprise when he opened the door.

“Hi, Thomas. I didn’t know who else to come to. Abigail’s out with John right now. Dolly and Martha aren’t good in situations like this,” she was speaking quickly, sniffling between sentences, and trying not to let any more tears fall down her cheeks. “I just--”

He interrupted Y/n by pulling her into his house and his arms. Y/n melted into his touch, her hands gripping his shirt as she hugged him back. 

“What happened?” Thomas asked softly, rubbing circles into her back with his thumbs.

“Sam and I broke up.”

Thomas sighed softly and rested his chin on her head. He bit his lip, weighed his options, and came to a reluctant conclusion. Thomas pulled away just enough that he could look Y/n in her bloodshot eyes.

“I think this is the part where we break out the ice cream, huh?”

She offered him a miserable smile. “Ice cream couldn’t hurt.”

He led her to his kitchen and began digging through the kitchen while she hopped onto the counter to sit. Thomas hid a frown from Y/n while in the process of pulling out the nearly empty carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. 

“So you want to tell me what happened?” Thomas asked, pulling out a bowl from one of the cabinets.

“It wasn’t a bad breakup.” Despite her words, Y/n still wiped at her tears with the sleeves of her shirt. “We mutually agreed it was best for both of us.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “He’s just not... he’s not the one.”

Thomas felt something twist and turn in his stomach, but he knew it wouldn’t be right to be happy when his friend was so miserable. He did his best to hide the smile that wanted to form in the corners of his mouth. “M’sorry about that, honey.”

“I know it was the right decision,” she said, staring up at the ceiling in an attempt not to let any more tears stream down her face. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less, though.”

“It’s normal to be upset after a break up,” Thomas shrugged.  

“You’re not going to have any ice cream?” Y/n asked quietly as he handed her a singular bowl.

“Not in the mood for it,” he lied. 

6.

“You get enough sleep last night, hon’?”

Y/n was in mid-yawn when he asked her the question. She held a hand over her mouth and nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“You look terrible.”

She scowled at him. “Wow. Just what a girl wants to hear. Anyone ever tell you you’re a charmer, Thomas Jefferson?”

“You’d be surprised.” He gave her a teasing smile. “So who’s the cause for your sleepless nights?”

“Napoleon Bonaparte.” She held up her textbook for him to see. “Why’d I ever let you convince me to take an AP class with you?”

“Because you like spending time with me?”

“Nah, that’s not it.”

“Ouch.” Thomas held a hand over his heart. “You really stayed up late studying for the quiz?”

“Some people have to study, okay? Not everyone’s as gifted as Thomas flippin’ Jefferson.”

“Flippin’?” He stifled a laugh.

“We’re at school. Gotta keep it PG, right?” She shrugged. “So yeah, I stay up and study sometimes. High schoolers aren’t supposed to get a good amount of sleep. S’not a big deal.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I worry about you.”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a small smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Believe me, if I could just shut it off, I would. I’ll make you a Quizlet next time so you can get more sleep.”

Y/n was about to say something in response when her phone began ringing in her pocket. “I should get this.”

She went out into the hallway to answer the call, and Thomas turned back to his lunch, not even bothering to hide his smile. 

“Thomas.”

He jumped at the sound of a voice and turned to see Abigail sitting at the desk across from him. Had she been listening to them the whole time? Thomas had completely forgotten she was there; a fact he would be certain not to share with her.

“Yes, Abbie?”

“Do you have a crush on Y/n?” 

Thomas blinked a few times, certain that he hadn’t heard Abigail right. “Excuse me?”

Abigail rolled her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You heard me right, Jefferson. Do you have a crush on Y/n?”

“Y/n? Where’d you get that idea?” Thomas made a face like he was disgusted by the very thought of it.

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re always following her around and doing whatever it takes to make her happy. Not to mention you always call her “hon’,” seems pretty affectionate to me.” Abigail had a talent for laying out the facts.

“We’ve been friends since I can remember, of course I care about her. So what if I have a nickname for her? Doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s not like you have a nickname for anyone else.”

“I call you ‘Abbie’. I have a nickname for everyone.”

“We both know that’s a load of B.S. Are you really telling me you don’t like Y/n?”

“I don’t like Y/n.” And it wasn’t exactly a lie, because the feelings he had for Y/n had progressed far beyond liking. 

7.

“There’s nothing people appreciate more than a hand-made gift, right?” Y/n said, pulling out a ball of azure colored yarn.

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a wall. “Sure, ‘cept maybe a nice Rolex or a new car.”

She scowled at him. “I don’t know what it is about me that makes you think I can afford a Rolex or a new car. I’m an unemployed high school student. My only income comes from birthday cards from my grandparents.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure Abigail will love the scarf you make for her.”

“Yeah, how hard could it be?” Y/n muttered, staring at the mess of strings in her lap.

Thomas’s eyes widened a little. “You telling me you’ve never crocheted before?”

“How hard could it be?” She pulled up a beginners guide on YouTube, and five minutes later, Y/n had a knotted pile of yarn in her hands. She huffed in frustration and began to aggressively pull at the yarn.

“Let me help.”

“You know how to knit?” Y/n raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Thomas rolled his eyes, sitting next to her and taking the “scarf�� out of her hands. “This is crocheting. You don’t even have knitting needles.”

“Apologies. You know how to crochet?” 

“Lucy went through a stage where she was really into crocheting,” he shrugged. Thomas had quickly untangled Y/n’s “progress” and began to expertly thread together loops of yarn. He held up his work to her once a pattern had begun to form. “See? Perks of growing up with sisters.”

“I hate that you’re good at everything.” 

He snorted and gently began to move the work into Y/n’s hand for her to finish the rest. “’M’not good at everything. Just most things.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Y/n was now laser focused on the project in front of her, determined to get it right this time. Thomas would advise her, but for the most part he let her work on it by herself. She was a fast learner.

“You’re never going to get it like that, hon--” Thomas caught himself, remembering the conversation he had had with Abigail earlier. “Y/n. You’re never going to get it like that, Y/n.”

She looked up at him with furrowed brows. “What?”

He swallowed roughly and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just... You’re going to want to pull the yarn tighter or it’s all going to unravel later.”

“Oh. Thanks, Thomas.”

8.

It was 2 a.m., and Y/n had already came to terms with the fact that she wasn’t going to get more than five hours of sleep. She wasn’t exactly trying very hard to sleep. She had tried to refresh her Instagram feed maybe a dozen times now, but it wasn’t like anyone was posting in the middle of the night. Instagram was doing a poor job keeping her mind distracted. 

Lightly biting her bottom lip, she threw her body back onto her bed with a loud sigh. She wrinkled her nose and caved, navigating to the facetime app on her phone. Hesitating one last time, Y/n tapped his contact with her thumb. Her phone began to hum while she waited for him to pick up.

“Hey, Thomas. I know it’s late,” she said when he finally answered the phone. Y/n frowned when she saw him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, no. Couldn’t sleep anyway,” replied his groggy voice.

“You’re lying. Hey, don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

“I was already up.”

“No, you weren’t. Don’t let me bother you.”

Thomas stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at Y/n firmly through the camera. “Maybe I was asleep, but I’m up now, yeah? Don’t worry about waking me up. I’d rather talk to you any way.”

Y/n pursed her lips, giving him a doubtful look. Thomas was too polite to ever tell someone if they were bothering him. She couldn’t tell if he really wanted to talk to her, or if he was just too courteous to tell her otherwise. 

He noticed the look she gave him and rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you don’t believe me. Would’ve stopped bein’ friends with you years ago if I didn’t find all your annoying habits endearing. Promise.” Thomas shot her a smug smile that made her wish she hadn’t called. 

“So kind of you,” she said sarcastically. 

“I try.” His grin widened, if that was even possible. “So what’d you want to talk to me about?”

Y/n chewed on her bottom lip and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Thomas narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to the camera. After he had examined her carefully, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “Yeah you do. What is it?”

She shifted, uncomfortable by how easy it was for him to see right through her. Once more that night, she caved. “I can’t stop thinking about how you called me ‘Y/n’ earlier today?”

He tensed up but the action was barely noticeable. “What about it? It’s your name.”

“Sure,” she nodded, “but you never call me ‘Y/n.” It’s always ‘hon’’ or ‘honey.’ Always. Did something happen? Are you mad at me?”

Thomas raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “No, ‘course not. Everything’s fine.” He paused. “That really upset you? Me calling you ‘Y/n’?”

“It’s just not normal.”

“It’s not normal for people to call you by your name?”

“It is, but you are supposed to call me ‘honey.’ Okay?”

He laughed through his nose and couldn’t stop an amused smile from spreading on his lips. “Okay, honey.”

9.

“I’m finally going to get to see your mural, then?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “It’s not my mural, Y/n. It’s the senior mural. It’s not like I’m painting it.”

“Yeah, but it was your idea.” She gave him a playful nudge. “I don’t know why you haven’t told me what it is yet. I’m sure if the great Thomas Jefferson designed it, it’ll be the best Senior mural ever seen at Charlottesville High School.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, hon’. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re Thomas Jefferson.”

They turned the corner to see their fellow senior, Henrietta Johnston, working on the mural. The previously beige wall was now covered in black, gray, and light blue paint. In the middle of the painting was a figure made up of colorful hand prints standing above the blue-gray sea.

Y/n stared at the mural with an open mouth. She looked from Henrietta to Thomas, then back to the wall in front of her.

“It was my idea to make the figure all colorful with handprints,” Thomas said. “Thought it would be nice to let our class to literally leave a mark on this school.”

Henrietta smiled at the mural and set down her paintbrush. “It was a good idea. The splash of color is just what it needed. What do you think, Y/n? Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it. It’s... it’s perfect.” She turned to Thomas with wide eyes. “Wanderer above the Sea of Fog. This is my favorite painting.”

“I noticed -- don’t give me that look. It’s not like I care that much. You just never shut up about that painting. It’s annoying, really,” Thomas muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the ground.

She smiled and turned her attention back to the mural. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love this. I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course. It’s worth it, seeing how much you like it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re the kind of person I could fall in love with, you know that?” She didn’t take her eyes off the painting, and Thomas was glad. 

Maybe if she had looked at him, she would have seen his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widen just a little bit. If he was the kind of person she could fall in love with, then why didn’t she? Thomas was flustered. If Y/n had noticed his lack of response, she didn’t say anything. 

10.

Charlottesville High School was filled with rich kids. The Charlottesville High School debate team had a minimal amount of members. These factors resulted in Thomas and Y/n having their own hotel rooms when they attended a debate function in Washington D.C.

After a long day of debating, Thomas and Y/n walked side by side down the narrow corridor to their respective rooms. Every now and then, they spared looks at each other when they thought the other wouldn’t notice.

Thomas cleared his throat. “So that guy in the green shirt asked me for your number.”

She glanced up at him. “He did? Did you give it to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Thought he was out of your league. Told him you snored like an ogre and I gave him Maria’s number instead,” he said with a shrug.

She gasped and shoved his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? I don’t snore like an ogre! He was cute and interested in me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Y/n scowled. “For your information, I’m adorable. I’m funny and enjoyable to be around. Even if I ‘snore like an ogre’ I’m also extremely attractive, so it makes up for it.”

“You don’t need to sell me on reasons why you’re dateable, honey,” he chuckled softly.

“Oh yeah?”

At the same time, Y/n and Thomas turned to face each other. Their teasing banter stopped when they realized they were only inches apart, he could hear every inhale and exhale. His eyes flicked to her lips. It was only for a second, but she hadn’t missed it. 

Thomas took a step back and cleared his throat. “It’s late, we should go to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she echoed. They both hurriedly stepped into their own rooms. 

Had he almost kissed her? Did that really just happen? Y/n leaned against her hotel room door. Maybe she had just imagined it. She shook her head and grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts out of her suitcase. Maybe Y/n could stop thinking about it after a good nights rest. She changed and was about to brush her teeth when she felt some kind of nagging feeling inside.

It was naïve to think she was going to get any sleep tonight if she didn’t confront Thomas about it. Y/n set down her toothbrush and made her way out into the fluorescent lit hallway. She had made it all the way to his door when she paused.

Is this really what she wanted to do? If Y/n brought up their almost-kiss, would they be able to go back to friends? Did she even want to go back to friends? Y/n bit her lip and glanced back at her own room door. She should just go to bed, it wasn’t worth putting their friendship in jeopardy. But then again, Y/n would always wonder what could have happened if she didn’t confront him.

She raised her fist to knock on Thomas’s door, but before she could knock, the door swung open. Thomas and Y/n once more stood face to face. She had a wide eyed expression that mirrored Thomas’s.

There was an accelerated heartbeat. A flutter. Thomas’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Y/n’s hand found its place on the back of his neck and guided his lips to her’s. His eyes were half open, sneaking glances at her to assure himself he wasn’t dreaming. Her overwhelming scent and the feeling of his hands threaded through her hair was all too real. 

Thomas pulled her into his room, kicking the door closed behind them. Placing both hands on his broad chest, she pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. 

Thoughts were racing in Y/n’s mind. She tried to put reason to the way he gripped her waist tightly -- there would be bruises there the next day. She tried to put reason to the way his pupils dilated as she went in for another kiss. Y/n came up empty handed.

There was no way Y/n felt the same way, Thomas told himself. There was no way she loved him the way he loved her. For as long as he could remember, he had been in love with Y/n L/n. And for as long as he could remember, she had only seen him as her best friend.

Thomas missed the warmth of her lips when she pulled away, but he couldn’t help but admire the way her lips were swollen and her hair was a mess. Her bright eyes, and the way light highlighted the softness of her skin. Thomas took that moment to memorize every line and curve of her face, branding the memory into his head. 

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pushed her away this time, sitting up. “Stop. We... we can’t do this. This can’t just be a one time thing.”

“Why not?” Her voice was quiet and delicate.

He felt his heart twist inside his chest and he clenched his jaw. “Because I love you.”

[tony-is-my-daddy]

Dream a little dream of me pt2

The weather was bad, it was getting a bit cold at the middle of October now, but Peter and his little students were outside on the playground. He was pushing one of the youngest little boys in the swing who couldn't do it by himself yet, while watching over the rest of the children around him so no one would get hurt. Of course, you wouldn't think a class of fifteen kids was a lot to look after, but honestly, even looking after one was a challenge for some people.

It was nice, though, the kids were slowly starting to go home with their parents, even the little boy who he was swinging, and after a while, it was just him and Morgan. It was strange, Morgan was usually one of the first kids to be taken home.

"Hey princess. Who's coming for you today," he asked as he sat down next to the little girl who sat on a bench, swinging her legs that couldn't reach the ground.

"Eric..."

Peter frowned. "Who's Eric?"

"My new dad. I don't wike him too much."

Oh. "Your mommy has a new boyfriend?"

"Yes he's gunna be my new dad."

"Well, when did you meet him?"

"Last week..."

"That's a very little tiny short time," Peter said, his thumb and index finger almost touching as he showed how small he meant to the girl. "Why don't you wait until you get to know him better? Maybe you will like him."

"But I wanted you to be my new dad..."

His heart skipped a beat at that. "Now now, Morgan, daddy told you not to talk about this, right?"

"Right... sorry."

"It's okay, bub. Just be nice to Eric, okay? You can't be sure what he's like if you don't know him yet."

"Otay."

Just then, someone walked through the gate, a tall, broad man with black hair and brown eyes. He smiled when he spotted Morgan on the bench.

"Hi Morgan! I'm so sorry for being late, it won't happen again, I promise," he said as he walked over to her and Peter. "Hi um I'm sorry, this won't be a regular occasion, traffic was just a nightmare," he explained to Peter this time. "Eric."

"Peter. It's okay, I gladly spend my whole day with this little angel, ain't that right, Morgan?" The little girl giggled as Peter pinched her cheek. "Alright, now go home with Eric, bub."

"Goodbye, Mr. Parker," she said as she jumped off the bench.

"Bye bye Morgan!"

Morgan and Eric walked out and got in a car, leaving Peter alone on the school grounds. He sighed as he looked around, the playground that was a few minutes ago full of screaming children now so lifeless. It was scary and he didn't like being there without the kids, so he went back to his classroom where he collected all of his belongings. He checked his phone before leaving and saw a message from Tony.

Tony: Ready for tonight?

Peter: Not yet, just got out of work

Tony: You're still beautiful

Peter: Don't make me blush

Tony: ;)

It was Friday again, almost a week after their first date, and now they were going on a second. Peter was so excited about having their second date now, since he very much enjoyed their first one. It all still seemed so surreal, him dating Tony Stark, texting him every single day and seeing him occasionally when he came to get Morgan. He loved it, of course, but he wouldn't be surprised if this all were just some kind of fever dream or a bad joke. Though be prayed for it not to be.

When he got home, he laid down for a while, opening up his chat with Tony again as he put something on for background noise on the TV.

Peter: What should I wear?

Tony: ?

Peter: This is a fancy place

Tony: Not that fancy

Peter: Fancier than what a kindergarten teacher is used to

Peter: So what should I wear?

Tony: I'll be wearing a suit and tie, if that helps

Peter: Then we should match

Tony: You're adorable

Peter: I know :)

Tony: Literally everything you wear will look amazing on you because EVERYTHING LOOKS FUCKING AMAZING WHEN YOU WEAR IT

Peter: You say that because you haven't seen me in my lazy sunday attire yet XD

Tony: What does that look like?

Peter: A shirt that's 3 sizes big on me and sweatpants

Peter: And ugly glasses

Tony: I wear ugly glasses too

Tony: But that's even worse since I wear them because I'm old as fuck

Peter: You're only 10 years older than me

Tony: I'd like to point out that you have daddy issues but then that would seem like I'm not glad that you do so I'll just keep quiet

Peter: Shut up and get dressed XD

Tony: Alright, see you in a bit ;)

God, he loved their banter.

During the past week, they really spoke every single day, for the first two days Tony texted him first, and then Peter got brave enough to text first as well. They got to know each other more, they told each other about their traumas and families - Peter about that one aunt that he still had and loved, and Tony about his dad and mom, then his closest friends who he counted as family. Peter now also knew that Tony loved old school rock, cheeseburgers and liked to work on old cars in his free time, that he went to MIT and graduated early with perfect grades. Tony knew about how much Peter loved to cook and that he loved pets, especially cats, and he was really into the 50's and 60's songs, that he was a nerd back in school and he was part of the decathlon team.

So basically, now they knew a shit ton of things about each other, even just after a week. It was crazy, they wouldn't stop talking to each other, it was like they were fifteen years old in love again.

As Peter's mind was wandering back to Tony and to how amazing of a person he was, he slowly began to get ready for their date. He chose one of his two suits (wow, what a great job) and a baby blue tie that looked good with the light grey. He got dressed, gelled his hair back, and he was ready to go. Thankfully, not long after that Tony texted, saying he's just leaving his place. Peter waited until the doorbell rung again and this time, he let Tony in. There was nothing wrong in letting the man look around, right?

"Hey Tones," Peter greeted when he opened his door for the man. "Come on in, I just have to put on my jacket and my shoes and we can go."

Tony walked in and looked around the small kitchen and dining space. He peeked through the archway to the living room as well, then hummed. "Living cozy up here, I see."

"Very," Peter chuckled. "That's what the landlord said when I was looking around the place as well, I assume because the best was to describe a small ass apartment is ‘cozy’." Tony laughed at that.

"Well it might be small but it's very homey. I like it a lot." The older man leaned over to look at the succulents that stood in a perfect line on his windowsill. "I like the plants."

"Oh there's a lot of them in here, most of them I keep in the living room. Wanna check them out?"

"Yeah sure-" he looked at his watch, "oh wow, maybe not now. We're gonna be late for our reservation."

"Oh sorry, yes, let's go," he said as he pulled up the zipper on his jacket.

They went to a modern place which looked super expensive, but Tony assured him that ut wasn't actually. They sat down at a nice little table for two, a romantic candle lit between the two of them at the center of it. Everything looked so nice and Peter was so excited. They ordered their dinner and began eating as soon as the waiter brought it to them. They were both very hungry already.

"How do you like it," Tony asked.

"Oh it's absolutely amazing. How's yours?"

"Good. I think my mamma made it better, though."

Peter's eyes widened. "Your... mamma?"

"Yeah, my mother used to cook a lot of italian dishes that she learned from my grandmother. She always said that italian food was the best kind of food in the world."

"Wow, I didn't know that."

Tony smirked. "You also didn't know I was half italian."

"No way!"

"Yep."

When they got back from the date to Peter's place, it was already quite late, yet it seemed too early to let the man leave just yet. Peter desperately looked around his house to find something, anything, that could make the older man want to stay for a bit more.

"Hey, I have some leftover wine. It's not Chardonnay or anything like that, but... if you wanna stay for a while and drink some then I think... I wouldn't be very opposed to that."

Tony smirked. "Well how can I say no when you're asking so nicely?"

They took of their jackets, shoes and blazers and Peter grabbed two glasses and the bottle on their way to the living room. They sat down on the couch and started drinking. Tony was looking around the place, the stairs behind Peter's desk catching his eyes and he finally looked up to see a loft bedroom.

"You actually sleep up there?"

Peter laughed. "Yeah, I do."

"There's no walls, aren't you scared of falling off?"

"There's fencing up there, Tones. See, all around the flooring."

"And where's your bed?"

"Oh I don't have a bed. I have a mattress on the floor."

"What the fuck?!"

"Yeah, I mean, it didn't seem like a good idea to have that old hardwood flooring hold up not just my weight but also a bed's weight. So I thought a mattress would be enough. It's actually quite nice up there, I have lots of plants."

"Yeah, and if you come home drunk you might break a leg on your way to your... mattress."

"That's why I mever drink until I get drunk."

They discussed Peter's living situations for some time, and when they finally stopped talking for a minute or two, Tony looked at his watch.

"It's late, isn's it," Peter asked.

"Almost midnight."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here for so long."

"No, it's fine. I didn't really... wanna leave anyway."

Peter smiled, looking away from the older man's eyes shyly. "You know, if it's already so late... and you had a lot of wine now, maybe... it wouldn't be a great idea to drive home."

"Peter Parker, are you asking me to sleep over?"

He glanced up at the older man through his thick lashes. "Would that be okay?"

Tony put the glass half full of wine down on the coffe table and leaned in to capture Peter's lips in a soft kiss. "It would be more than okay," he breathed when they pulled away. Peter grinned from ear to ear and he pulled Tony back in for another kiss by his tie, this one deeper, more passionate than the one before. They ended up making out for about ten minutes on the couch, Peter's arms around Tony's neck and his legs in Tony's lap, the man's arms wrapped around his body and hands stroking his back. It was perfect. Sexy. Until Peter forgot that he still had a glass of wine in his hand and spilled it all over the back of Tony's shirt.

Tony, of course, forgave him, but it definitely killed the vibes. Tony's dress shirt ended up soaking in the sink while the two of them fell asleep, cuddling on Peter's mattress.

After that great second date, Peter invited Tony over on Tuesday the next week to bake a pumpkin pie together. Yes, it was a lame idea for a third date but it was his turn to finally ask Tony out, and he didn't really want to go anywhere, he just wanted to stay in his apartment, bake a pie and maybe cuddle with Tony under a blanket afterwards. Let a man dream!

Tony didn't seem to have any problems with the idea and on Tuesday, after both of their shift was over, he went over to Peter's.

"Hey! So great to see you again," Peter greeted him with a kiss.

"You saw me yesterday night when we FaceTimed," Tony said.

"Yeah, but that was on FaceTime, it's not the same. Come on, get undressed and we can get to it. I hope you're ready for cutting it open because I can't do that."

"Are you serious," Tony chuckled.

"Don't laugh at me! Just help."

No, Peter was obviously not serious. Cutting a pumpkin open was difficult, but he could've done it if he wanted to. But then he wouldn't have seen Tony roll up his sleeves and his biceps flex as he cut the pumpkin open, which would've been a shame. God, the man was so damn hot...

They cut the pumpkin and cooked it for a while for the filling while they made the pie crust together. It was such a great thing to do together, Peter enjoyed it, to be honest, more than he enjoyed their other dates. He loved cooking and spending time with Tony, mixing the two together only made things that much better.

"It says lightly floured hands, Tony," Peter yelled. "You don't have to take a handful of flour!"

"Oh I know what the recipe says, this isn't for the dough. I just thought maybe I could return that you ruined my favorite shirt last weekend." He wiggled his eyebrows while not taking his eyes off Peter.

"Nooo, no no no no, I said I was sorry!" But it was too late. His date threw the handful of flour at him, covering his shirt (he wasn't wearing an apron because he only had one and gave it to Tony, God damn it!) and even a little bit of his neck and chin.

"Yeah, that's what you get," Tony laughed wholeheartedly, his entire body shaking with his genuine laughter. It was adorable, honestly, and if Peter wasn't covered in flour, he would've smiled at how sweet Tony's laughter was.

"You're a meanie! That wine thing was an accident but this wasn't," he said like he meant it, but honestly, he was enjoying it a bit as well.

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear." The older man cupped his face with his floury hands and kissed him. Peter completely forgot about what happened for a minute, but then Tony's hand slipped into his hair, ruffling it so that the flour got everywhere.

They pulled away from the kiss, Tony grinning widely while Peter tried to mask his own smile and look angry. "White looks so good on you, baby."

"Oh yeah? Let's see it on you!" Peter reached into the flour bowl as well and the next thing Tony saw was him blowing the little white particles at him, he had just

enough time to close his eyes before they hit his face. "Aww, so amazing," the younger man laughed, rubbing the flour into his date's beard.

"You're so immature."

"You started this!"

While they fought over who was more childish, constantly throwing more and more flour at each other until there was barely any more left, they almost overcooked the pumpkin and they made no progress with the crust. Tony also told Peter that he was a terrible cook, which started out another playfight between them until they were wrestling on the dirty kitchen tiles, laughing and screaming as they fought for dominance. The older man ended up on top of Peter, straddling his hips while holding one of his wrists in each hand to stop him from fighting. Their laughter soon died off and Tony leaned down to kiss Peter, the kiss tasted like flour, but it didn't matter.

"I forget why I came here now," Tony joked.

"I wanted to bake a nice pie with my boyfriend, but nooo, you just had to ruin it," Peter said, laughing through the sentence and he wouldn't have noticed what he said if it wasn't for the smile on Tony's face changing into pure shock. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I- that was so wrong, I know we've only had two dates so far and we never even talked about where this whole thing was going. I'm sorry for being so forward, I wasn't thinking."

"You really think about me like that?" Tony's head tilted to the side slightly, like an adorable curious puppy's. And Peter would've commented on that if it wasn't for how nervous he felt at that moment. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"Well..."

"Because, you know, I've never... felt this way with anyone before." Tony finally let go of his wrists and scooted off his hips to sit on the tile, now Peter sitting up as well to face him.

"Me neither..."

"It's so weird, I mean, we really haven't spent much time together but this whole thing feels so... natural."

"It does, doesn't it?" He felt so relieved. He wasn't the only one feeling that way! "I mean, talking to you is just so easy and I really like it. You make me happy."

"You make me feel like I'm twenty-something again," Tony joked and Peter smiled slightly, pushing at the man's shoulder. "No, seriously now, you make me feel young, happy, whole. I have never ever felt that before with anyone, and you... like, this is literally our third date and look at us!"

Peter laughed out loud now. "Where are we going with all this, Tones?"

"I think... I think it's a bold move, but how about we just become official?"

"You mean like actual boyfriends?"

"Yeah! I mean, what could go wrong? We both want this and we seem to perfectly match!"

"It's kinda early though, aren't you scared?"

"Hella fucking scared. It's like bungee jumping off a cliff. But everyone who's been bungee jumping and didn't die say it was an amazing experience."

"And what if we die?"

"Then... we'll know not to bungee jump again."

Peter chuckled. "So... boyfriends?"

"Boyfriends." He crawled into Tony's lap and kissed him again, this time it lasted longer. Their first kiss as an actual couple, and it happened nowhere else, but on Peter's dirty kitchen tiles while they were both covered in flour and who knows what else. And the pie was long forgotten.

Tony invited Peter over to his house as well. He said he'd seen Peter's multiple times while Peter had never seen his. So Tony drove him over to the Stark Tower and they went all the way up to the penthouse at the top of the huge building. On their way, they ran into Pepper as well, who greeted Peter with a big smile and told him that Tony had said a lot about him already. Peter was happy and Tony was blushing, but no one saw that (Peter did see it).

When they got up to the penthouse, Peter's jaw dropped to the floor. The living room itself was bigger than Peter's whole apartment and probably just the furniture costed more than his rent.

"Wow, this place was probably a chick magnet," he noted as he walked through the living room.

"It was but it doesn't work anymore. Now I just use it to amaze beautiful doe-eyed teachers with it."

"Well, it fucking works. This place looks great, Tony!"

"I'm glad you like it." His boyfriend stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle. "You know, it's definitely bigger than your... cozy apartment. And it has a bed. A king sized one, actually, that can fit the two of us perfectly."

"What are you saying, babe?"

The older man started peppering kisses on Peter's shoulder and up his neck, making him shiver. "Well, you could spend some more time here, you know. It has a nice working area, a big kitchen where you can cook whatever you want, and I have Netfix, Hulu and Disney+. It's a real dream, you know."

"Tony, babe, this is very nice of you but what if Morgan will get confused? I mean, she already wants me to be her dad-"

The kisses stopped. "She does?"

Peter mentally smacked his own head. "Uh... she might've been saying things to me about that ever since you first asked me out."

"Wow. She never told me about that. I mean, she asked about how you were when I told her I met you again, but nothing about... that."

Peter turned around in Tony's arm to face the slightly taller man. "On the first day Eric came to pick her up, she was all gloomy because she said she wanted me to be her new dad. And she once gave me a drawing where he drew Pepper, herself and you and me."

"Well, maybe that's a sign then?"

He frowned. "What kind of sign would that be?"

"If Morgan likes you then we really were meant to be. If everything's going so smoothly then maybe the universe is trying to tell us that we belong together."

Peter smiled, leaning his head against Tony's chest. "I want this all, Tony. I really do. But I'm so scared something will go wrong," he whispered.

Tony pushed his chin up with his fingers to make Peter look into his beautiful dark brown eyes. "Let's not worry about the future just yet. Let yourself fall, baby, I'm here to catch you, okay?" Peter nodded, and Tony pulled him into a sweet, loving kiss.

The kiss turned into making out, and then soon enough, hands were roaming bodies and their kisses grew more and more hungry. Tony pulled Peter upstairs into the master bedroom where they settled on the king sized bed, clothes flying off and touches becoming bolder, until they were completely naked.

And they made love. It was amazing, better than any sex they've had before, it was sweet, sensual, passionate, loving, and their bodies fit together so perfectly. After reaching their climax together, they laid in each other's embrace for a while, breathing heavy as they recovered from such an amazing orgasm. And those three little words were so close to slipping from Peter's mouth, but he wasn't gonna say it. Not just yet. But someday.

Someday...

[innerpostmentality]

The Return of Mister & Mistress Sinclaire Part II - The Fire

A Choices Desire & Decorum based AU fanfic All rights to characters and settings from the Desire & Decorum fiction belong to Pixelberry Studios Featuring: Ernest Sinclair, Luke Harper, Lady Dominique, Caiden Lykel (oc), Marina Burke (oc) Rating: PG-13   Warning: Angst Word count: Long post, sorry it’s nearly 5000 words This takes place after Part I - Idyll Tagging: @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @speedyoperarascalparty @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet @melodyofgraves @thequeenofcronuts @symonde @ritachacha @hellooliviaolivia @paisleylovergirl @kennaxval @regencylady1810    He was bone weary as he hadn’t been since his days in service to the crown fighting Napoleon. His fortune in being able to get fresh mounts had taken its toll on him keeping him in the saddle for twenty eight of the last thirty two hours. And for the last two hours, Luke’s heart had been in this throat and it took all the restraint he could muster not to spur his horse as he watched the towering plume of black smoke rise from Gretna Green. The flat plains broken only by hedges and occasional rock fences delineating farm borders allowed him ample view of the smoke of a serious fire. Now he was still several miles away and his horse wasn’t fresh so he spoke softly to the horse and urged him into a canter.      The road had been empty this morning once he got in view of the billowing black tower of smoke, everyone living within sight had already sped to aid the village. He could just barely start to see the buildings when a hay wagon with two men aboard barreled toward him headed away from the village. He moved to the verge frowning as they passed in the light loaded hay wagon. The driver snapped his whip over the team of two to urge them to greater speed.  He frowned after the two hale looking men running away from the fire struck village but had no time to pursue them as he made for the town. A few minutes later the strange encounter was forgotten as he pitched in with every man, woman, and child in the village trying desperately to contain the fire and keep it from spreading to other buildings. There were a couple of bucket lines and several men who were using shovels to throw dirt on any embers drifting into grass. It looked like the fire had started at the stable and blacksmith. It was hours later before he could look for the Sinclaires. He finally found Ernest covered in soot and mud deep in conversation with some other men.   Ernest looked startled for a brief moment as Luke approached him then gave him a huge smile extending his hand to him. “Master Harper!! Forgive my state, and please allow me to introduce you to Mister Camran and Master Smith Elliot. We were just discussing this bit of villainy.”  “Villainy?” Luke raised his brow even as he shook Mister Camran’s hand.  Master Elliot nodded. “Tis certain. Gled tae meet ye, Master Harper.” The smith’s hand dwarfed Luke’s as he shook it.  Ernest was frowning. “Mister Harper I am happy that fortune brought you to us in this time of need. But I know that you are not here without cause and I am anxious to know it.”  Luke nodded. “Indeed sir. We need to speak. Is there an Inn where I might acquire accommodations?”  Ernest shook his head. “Mister Harper you will stay with us at the cottage. There are beds in the loft aplenty and I know Lady Sinclaire will be in accord with me on this.” He smiled.   Luke lifted his brow, “I should not wish to intrude. And please allow me to congratulate you on your nuptials.”  Ernest nodded to the other men and patted Luke on the shoulder. “Gentlemen, please excuse us. I know my lady wife will be very happy to see her friend and anxious for my return.”                                 ________________________

  The Dowager Countess of Edgewater took Mister Hartfield’s hand to assist her out of the carriage then took but a moment to smooth her skirts before she proceeded to the grand entryway of Addington Farm the residence of his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury. The door was opened as they reached the top of the stairs by the majordomo who swept into a bow inviting them into the entryway. Servants bustled about taking their cloaks and the gentlemen’s hats.    “Lady Dominique, Mister Hartfield, Mister Konevi please allow me to welcome you to Addington Farm. I am Master Graham at your service. We have prepared rooms for you if you would like to settle and rest before dinner. Or we may set a tea for you in the parlor if you prefer? His Grace has scheduled your meeting for after dinner.”    Dominique smiled at the silver haired majordomo, “Thank you Master Graham. Some tea would be quite refreshing though I cannot speak for Mister Hartfield and Mister Konevi.   I was wondering if Lady Mary is in residence? I must confess that I was hoping that despite the suddenness of this visit I might see my old friend while I’m here.”    Master Graham returned her smile inclining his head. “It is a happy circumstance then that you are here now. Her Ladyship travels to Bath at the end of the week to visit her daughter. She instructed me particularly that if you were to take tea she would join you. Though she would not want to impose upon your rest if that was your desire.”   Dominique turned to Mister Hartfield and Mister Konevi. “Will you join us? You are most welcome if you so desire.”    The men exchanged a look and each bowed to Dominique. Mister Hartfield nodded to Master Graham. “If her ladyship will permit I would retire for a bit before dinner.”  Mister Konevi smiled at Master Graham, “I should most like to take a walk about the lovely gardens I spotted as we approached and stretch my legs a bit before dinner if that is permitted?”    Master Graham escorted Dominique to the parlor. It was a beautiful room with two grand windows faced East providing a lovely view of the gardens. An enormous fire place mantled in Italian marble dominated the North side of the room with a life sized portrait of the archbishop hung above it. A portrait of Lady Mary hung on the East wall between the two large windows and a whole gallery of smaller but exquisite family portraits were proudly displayed on the Southern wall of the room. The Western wall was graced with several large paintings of Addington Farm and the surrounding forest and gardens. Four comfortable couches and four matching armchairs upholstered in dark blue satin brocade were arranged around the room. Rosewood sofa tables graced with vases of fresh flowers sat behind the couches and matching parlor tables sat beside each of the armchairs.  “This is a lovely room, Master Graham.” Dominique spoke softly admiring the thoughtful arrangement and pleasant airiness of the room as she walked about it admiring the pictures.  “Thank you Lady Dominique. I will see to your companions and send for your tea. I’m certain Lady Mary will join you shortly.” He bowed and left her alone.  Mere moments later Lady Mary entered going to her with open arms and a welcoming smile. “Dominique!! It is wonderful to see you!”  Dominique laughed and embraced her friend of more than thirty years. “You are kind and beautiful as ever Mary. I was just admiring your paintings. If my old eyes don’t deceive me these fine pieces are yours.”  Mary laughed. “Ah yes. I found it a thing to do. And once I got started with our first child I felt I must continue with the others.” Her smile softened. “In fact it is why I journey to Bath the end of this week. Our youngest daughter Isabella has had her first child and I want to paint them.” She took Dominique’s hand and told her about each of the paintings until the tea cart arrived. Then they sat in the armchairs close to the fire with their tea.  Mary smiled as she sipped her tea, “But Dominique, I know something must be amiss. You must tell me what is about that you come with two solicitors and but a few hours notice? You know you are always most welcome but I know you and that was very strange. I told Charles that something dire was afoot.”  Dominique nodded. “You are right as always, Mary. I fear I made a horrible mistake and now I’m desperately trying to right it. I know not what you may have heard of the goings on the last several months. But I am…” Dominique pulled her handkerchief from her reticule and covered her face a moment collecting herself before continuing. “It has been so hard. And I have muddled things badly with regard to my granddaughter Rose.”  Mary reached over and took Dominique’s hand. “Dear, now, now, I am certain Charles will help you. It surely cannot be so bad.”    Dominique squeezed her hand. “You are such a comfort to me. Truly. But you do not know the mess I have made.    I sought a match with Duke Karlington for my granddaughter Rose. I knew he was a bit older than her. Still I thought he was a handsome man, and wealthy, and titled. His lands match Edgewater admirably.” She sighed and sipped her tea. “Alas he is no gentleman. He did not deal honestly with me, Mary.”    She shook her head. “And I had no notion of the agreement that had been drawn between my dear Vincent and Mister Sinclaire of Ledford Park. It was not until after my foolish announcement that I had agreed to the betrothal with Karlington that I learned all the details of the agreement between my son and Lord Sinclaire regarding Lady Rose.    Only once we arrived back home after my foolish announcement did Rose show me the marks on her arm where the Duke had bruised her. Even then I still did not know about the previous agreement between my son and Mister Sinclaire. And honestly, it shames me to say I was still too caught up in my own fancies to comprehend how deceived I had been by the Duke. I was working to draft suitable terms for their union providing for Rose’s support. And Karlington was being ever more unreasonable. In the end Rose fled.    Only after... Only after I lost her.. did I learn. When her Solicitor Mister Konevi came to me with Mister Hartfield  who is Mister Sinclaire’s solicitor did I learn of Vincent’s arrangement with Mister Sinclaire.   Mister Sinclaire it seems was so impressed with Rose upon their meeting that he went straight way to Vincent to ask permission to court her; and if she came of her free will to find affection for him, he asked permission to wed her. Vincent thought of Mister Sinclaire much as a son already and with Mister Sinclaire’s proposed betrothal arrangements they came to a happy agreement. But all was kept in secret. After the misfortune of Mister Sinclaire’s first marriage he was adamant that Rose know nothing of the proposed arrangement between her father and him regarding her betrothal. He wanted her affection to be a true one not forced in any way.”   Dominique shook her head. “Had I only known; I never would have undertaken to approach Karlington.”  Mary’s rapt attention was held by Dominique’s confession. And she nodded sympathetically. “You did not know, Dominique. You must give yourself some reprieve for acting in good faith with insufficient information.  Have you found Rose?”  Dominique dropped her eyes from her friend, uncomfortable with dissembling but convinced in this small part it was necessary. The three of them had spoken at length on their journey here deciding their course of action as they approached the archbishop. Her part was to secure the support of the Archbishop’s wife Mary who was her long time friend. No direct mention of Rose’s elopement would be made. The intent was at the end of it all for the Archbishop to insist that as soon as Rose was found she and Mister Sinclaire be wed. That way there could be no conniving by Countess Henrietta as to the legitimacy of the match or the Edgewater inheritance.   Her voice was very quiet. “Not yet. Mister Sinclaire, Mister Harper, Mister Lykel have all been dispatched to search for her. But I have no word yet. And worse, Mister Hartfield fears that in his anger Karlington may have arranged for a bounty to be put on her and possibly Mister Sinclaire as well after I withdrew my consent to the betrothal with the Duke.    The Duke certainly threatened me after he read my withdrawal in the paper. He said he would sue for breach of contract and ask the crown to forfeit Edgewater to him! In truth I believe it is all he wished from the beginning.”   “I went straight to Bishop Monroe with Mister Hartfield and Mister Konevi and the papers drawn between Vincent and Mister Sinclaire that predate my foolishness. As well as all the copies of the rejected arrangements I tried to make with Karlington. And Bishop Monroe wrote his Grace the Archbishop a letter supporting all that I’ve said. I very much hope that Charles can help me and my dear Rose.”

 Mary patted Dominique’s hand. “Charles will help. I know he will after you have told him all that you have told me.”                         -------------------------------------------

   Caiden Lykel absently scratched the scruff on his jaw and glared at the macabre sign depicting a decapitated turbaned head swinging above the entrance of the Turk’s Head Tavern. It had taken him two days he really didn’t feel like he had to locate Miss Burke. He had spent more than a handful of pounds a pence at a time supporting half the street urchins in Leeds to find her. If she wasn’t so vital to his plan he would have gone with Mister Harper. But she really was the only woman he knew who he could trust to pull this off and handle herself in a fight if it came down to it.   If, and it was a big if, he could persuade her.

 He had met her on a trade junket. He grinned with the recollection, “met”, he had caught her stowed away on the ship he’d been sent to return from Calcutta for the East India Company, the Hercules a fine new merchantman on her maiden voyage loaded with spice for the London markets. He caught her the first time dressed as a boy hiding in the cargo hold between crates of spice. Her disguise kept him from realizing that the urchin he dragged from between the crates was actually a woman. He put her to work as a cabin boy. The cabin boy went missing a day later.  The second time he found the stowaway was ten days later.  The urchin was hiding in the stack of empty livestock cages in a used pig cage to be exact. They had cast anchor in Mauritius for recaulking and to take on fresh water and supplies. He had been directing unloading the water barrels and empty livestock crates when he saw the filthy lump in a swine cage. Fearing some mischief had befallen and thinking he was dealing with a dead body he opened the door of the cage and reached in only to have a filthy foot planted squarely into his jaw knocking him back before she rolled from the cage and round house kicked him in the solar plexus knocking the wind from him before dashing for the rail. It was the wrong rail apparently because she stopped and grabbed a free belaying pin before sprinting back across the deck to the seaward side of the ship. One hapless sailor tried to grab her only to meet the expertly wielded end of the belaying pin. Caiden had, had enough and recovered enough he bellowed at the men to catch ‘him’!   She turned long enough for him to catch the flash of her dark eyes and in that moment he was stunned. Somehow despite all the filth and men’s clothing he realized two things about this urchin. He was a she. And She was amused. There wasn’t an ounce of fear or concern in that look. She was laughing at him. She was laughing at him, and the men coming after her had no clue what was happening.  She rolled beneath the reach of one sailor only to headbutt another man in the crotch sending him sprawling and clutching his bruised manhood. The belaying pin thwacked another swabbie in the side as she spun up and over to the far rail. She tossed the pin rather casually in Caiden’s direction before she dove off the rail into the sea. Caiden didn’t even think about the insanity of what he did as he followed after her. Boots, belt, hat, pistol, rapier and daggers all went into the sea with him as he dove twenty feet into the warm Indian Ocean. Caiden could swim but not with his boots full of water and twenty pounds of cutlery and clothing weighing him down. It struck him as somewhat amusing that his crew was cheering him on as he was about to drown. He was trying to divest himself of his belt that held his pistol and blades when he felt her hand grab his jaw from behind. She was swimming behind him, she struggled but managed to pull him up to the surface.  “Idiot.” She hissed in his ear her face next to his as she stroked for the shore. A few minutes later she let him go and he realized he could stand. She swam away from him and he saw her glorious red hair coming unbound as she strode from the sea onto the beach.  “Wait.” He called after her. Only vaguely aware of the calls of his crew as they began to realize the nature of the stowaway.  She turned her head looking at him over her shoulder with a lifted brow. “I don’t think so.” Her voice was low and silken with an accent that wasn’t from any Indian dialect he could place. Her sea cleansed features revealed alabaster skin and a delicate almost ethereal beauty completely at odds with the expectation one would have of someone, anyone, much less a woman who could elude or disable at least six men before rescuing him from drowning.  “You… you have my thanks.” He mumbled feeling almost dizzy from the events of the last few minutes.    She laughed and gave him a bow. “And your dagger which I suspect will be of more use to me.” Her eyes darted to the ship where crewmen were still calling to their captain at the rail.                                                   ***  Caiden’s reminiscing was interrupted as he saw the lad with the cap atop his red hair exit the tavern he’d been watching and heard her laugh. If he didn’t already know, he wouldn’t know at a brief glance that there was a female beneath the clothes. He shook his head amused that two years later she was still posing as a boy. He dashed across the street and saw her posture shift the instant he turned in her direction.  “Wait!”  She stopped and turned her head. The bow of her cap shielded her eyes from him but he saw the dimple of her smile and heard the chuckle in her voice. “I don’t think so, Captain Lykel.”  “Caiden. Just Caiden. Please Miss Burke. I need to speak with you.”  She wiped her face and adjusted her cap. “I’m going to the market to get some chickens for the tavern.” She continued her walk toward the market.  He fell into step beside her. “I need your help. I have a friend in trouble.”  She smirked at him, cocking her head to look in his black eyes. “Well I’m surprised.”  “That I need your help?”  “That you would ask.”  She went to a stall giving a sack to the merchant and picking out three fine chickens which she paid threepence for before taking the sack with the chickens from him. She turned and looked Caiden up and down, assessing before heading back toward the tavern. “What sort of trouble is your friend in that you need my help?”  “I believe my friend and his new wife have a bounty on their heads. Put there because she ran away rather than marry Duke Karlington, an arrangement made by her grandmother without her consent.”  Marina stopped and turned to face him fixing him with her dark chocolate eyes. “A bounty?”  He nodded. “The Duke has some connections that are less than savory.” She arched her brow, “Without agreeing but entertaining my curiosity, what sort of assistance can I provide, Captain?” “I have a plan. It requires someone who might pass themselves off as Mister Sinclaire’s wife; and who I know can handle themselves in a fight.  And I’m not a captain anymore.”  She laughed at him. “Captain there is one thing I know. A Captain is always a Captain.”  He shook his head but smiled. “Miss Burke, I can pay you.”  “Really?” She smiled enough to show perfect pearl white teeth. “What is the bounty on them?”   “What do you mean?”  She cocked her head and there was a mischievous note in her voice. “What if the bounty was more than you are offering?” She shook her head and switched the bag with the chickens to her other hand. “How do you trust me, Captain? You know little of me. We are even. I stowed away on your ship. Beat up your men. Stole your dagger. I pulled you out of the sea. You got me to England. We are even.”  “You stowed away multiple times on my ship.”  “Only because you kept putting me off.”  Caiden smiled at her. “It didn’t deter you. And it’s how I know you can handle this if you are willing. I don’t know how much the bounty is on them. But I promise if we find out I will more than match it.”  “So if I agree what will be required of me?”  “First we must ride with speed to Gretna Green. That will be two or three days in the saddle if we can get fresh horses. Once we are there undercover of night I will send the Sinclaires to catch a boat to Ireland and thence to find passage back to London. You and I will assume their roles and leave Gretna Green as Mister and Mistress Sinclaire. Travelling by coach back to London.”  “So we are to be the bait?”  “Aye. And if we are fortunate we will capture those who may testify to the bounty and who set it.”  “You will have to buy me suitable clothes for this charade you propose.”  He nodded and his grin got big as he realized she was seriously considering helping him. “Done.”  “You must also provide all my expenses, horses, room, food.” She was watching him carefully.  “Done.”  “You must also keep my room above the tavern while I am gone. You must arrange to pay my rent for the next six months.”  His eyes widened but he nodded.  She held out her hand to him to shake. He looked at her tiny hand and resisted the urge to bend over it and place a kiss on her knuckles. Taking it in a surprisingly firm shake feeling the calluses on her fingers that told tales of hard work.  “We have an accord, Captain. I’ll meet you before the tavern in an hour ready to ride.”           ��     ______________________________

    Luke told Ernest of his meeting with Mister Lykel as they walked toward the cottage leading his tired horse. He told him of his friend’s words about the nature of Duke Karlington’s companion Gideon Payne and Mister Lykel’s concern that a bounty may have been placed on their heads.

  Ernest nodded gravely and steered them toward the river that they might rinse the worst of the soot from their hands and faces before going to the house.  

   At the rivers edge they found one bucket filled with water and another laying on its side as though dropped. Both men frowned as what they were seeing registered. Then Ernest turned dashing for the cottage shouting for Rose.

   Luke tied his horse where he could drink but not trod where the tracks by the river were. Then went to look carefully around the river bank.

 Ernest’s heart felt like it would explode in his chest and his vision was tunneling with panic and despair as he burst into the cottage calling for Rose.

 The silence was a knife in his heart as he dashed from room to room. The dishes from their morning breakfast sat unwashed in the tub. The chamber pots were unemptied. He dashed through every room looking, crying her name. Terrified he might find her body. Broken at the thought that she was gone. He abandoned the house and went to the stable calling. The cart horse and cow still secured in their stalls greeted him but no Rose. He stumbled back out howling her name desperately.

 Luke ran to Ernest when he heard the mortal despair in his voice. He found him on his knees in the yard weeping, moaning her name.

 “Ernest,” He put his hand on his back and helped him to his feet leading him into the cottage and sitting him on one of the stools in the kitchen. He looked around and found a bottle of Scotch and poured a good measure into two glasses for each of them. “Ernest, drink.” He watched Ernest take the Scotch and gulp it then bury his face in his hands as he wept.

  Luke’s deep voice was the soothing tone he used to calm skittish horses as he spoke softly to the distraught man.

 “Ernest, you must take comfort that she is alive. Mister Lykel is on his way. And, I believe I saw the men who took her.”

 Ernest’s head whipped up, “What? How? We must go rescue her.” He stood and stumbled toward the master bedroom.

 Luke followed him. “Sir, stop. You must listen to me. If we are going to go after them we have to have a coach and a fresh team. Neither of us are in any shape to chase after them on horseback. The horse I rode in here is exhausted and needs to be cared for. Unless you have some fine horses in that small stable you don’t have a horse that could go after them.”

 Ernest stared at the bed a long moment tears streaking down his sooty face. His voice was soft and broken, “I can’t believe I lost her. I…”

 “You haven’t lost her, sir. Bad men have taken her. Doubtless to collect the bounty we feared. But they didn’t kill her. I saw their foot prints in the soft soil by the bank. I saw wagon tracks. And I remembered the hay wagon that I saw this morning. It was lightly loaded with two men but headed away from Gretna. And the driver was using his whip on the horses. If I hadn’t seen the village afire I would have had words with them for the way they were driving their horses. But I was in haste to get to you. I had no idea that they had Lady Sinclaire until just now. Their horses will not hold to that pace long. So either they are going to have to make camp somewhere close or they are going to be slowing down trying to change or rest their team. What’s more, the right wagon wheel has a smith mark in its rim. I saw it in the print.

 We need food. And we need a coach. We need rest. Neither of us is up to riding after them. I need you to think. Is there anyone here who may be able to help us? It’s going to be dark before we can leave and we might miss any sign of them departing the road if we try to pursue in the dark. So we need to prepare. You need to write to Mister Lykel so he knows what transpired should he arrive after we have left. I can see about packing some food and tending the animals here. I need you to see if you can enlist us some help and find us some horses. We also must be prepared to help Lady Sinclaire should she have any injury when we find her. We will find her sir.”

 Ernest nodded, setting his jaw and pulling himself back in control. He walked over and rinsed his face and arms in the bucket of fresh water that was sitting on the hearth by the banked fireplace. “You are right. Please forgive me. I, I thank you for your support in this dark hour Mister Harper. It means more than I can express.

 Can you show me the tracks with the mark you spoke of? I must go speak with Mister Camran and Master Elliot. I know they will help if they can.”

His blue eyes filled with pain fixed with Luke’s. “She is my life, Mister Harper. I must find her. I will find her.”

  To Be Continued………….

[hufflepuff-ish]

The Skam 11 questions tag (don’t quote me on this, I just wanted to give this a title lol)

rules:

always repost the rules

answer the questions given to you by the one who tagged you!

give 11 questions

tag 11 people

Thank you @hufflepuffsh for tagging me babe x (lowkey would love to know your answers to my questions but don’t want you to be tagged twice lol)

1. Which remake/og sqaud do you think you would personally fit into the most? 

This is such a difficult question, oof. So I’m shy, but I’m also a good listener, and I try to be supportive of my friends, sometimes I’m more with myself between my own shell but I also like loosening up and having fun. I think because of that my answer is Skam NL’s squad (honesly maybe it’s just because I’m biased lol). They’re so accepting and loving, and I feel like their general energy is similar enough to mine (but way cooler), so I think they’d just accept me as I am and they would be easy for me to get along with.

2. What is your favourite remake and why? 

Skam NL. S2 was definitely a journey and I didn’t like all of its aspects, but I just love the dynamics between the characters, the aesthetics, the music choices, the cinematography, and the characters are probably the closest to my heart out of all the remakes.

3. What is objectively the best remake and why?

Probably Druck. They have great actors, they make changes but still keep the main issues of every season, their have great music choices, their social media team is great and that’s just what comes into mind.

4. Opinions on each of the girl squads? 

SKAM NL - where do I even start??? I love each one of them soooooooo much. I love them all together even more. I don't even need anything, just give me scenes of then together and I'll be thrilled. (GIVE US A THIRD SEASON). Each girl is really her own character and they definitely stand out to me when compared to the other remakes.

SKAM ITALIA - I have a complicated relationship the squad. I love them but it feels like I’m watching a group of college girl. Silvia isn't a character that I like too much, though the actress is cute. I like Eleonora, but that's pretty much it. My favorites are probably Eva and Federica (I relate a lot to Fede because of her looks). They have a good dynamic, though not as much as the Italian boy squad. They maybe feel a bit less close in my opinion. Also, the writers always make me feel like Federica is only there to give them information on stuff and make a joke here and there, so if they would have put more thought and effort into her character maybe it’d feel like the squad is more,,, real if you will.

DRUCK - hi, I'm controversial on main. I... don't really care for them as a squad?? They're cute but I don't feel much of a connection to them (as a squad), or to their friendships. No idea why. I do find them interesting as individual characters, though and seeing them happy at the end of s3 was great. I'm definitely excited for s4.

SKAM FRANCE - s4 ruined them for me. I liked Emma in s1, Manon was always nice in my opinion, Daphne was getting on my good side in s3, Alexia has always been one of my favorites in this remake, and Imane is absolutely great. Then their friendship got ruined. But, if I'll ignore s4, they were a squad that I enjoyed watching and I really felt like each girl had her own thing, and that they were more of a group of random girls brought together than the og squad.

SKAM AUSTIN - I honestly love them more than I realize. Their friendship has a lot of growing to do, but I loved the scene when Grace confessed to them about Daniel's brother. Within the squad I probably like Jo's relationships the most, partly because she's my fave and partly because she just has a really loving heart. The other girls aren’t may favorites out of all the remakes but they have a warm corner in my heart.

SKAM ESPANA - They’re my Spanish babies. I love them and they just seem like this cute and cool girl squad. They’re not perfect and there are definitely things to come, no matter who’ll be the main of s3, but they love each other a lot and I think that they’ll grow together as individuals. 

WTFOCK - I'm not the best person to talk about this remake because I missed like half of s1, but whatever. They remind me a bit more of the og squad, and I love the friendships between Hanna and Zoë, and Zoë and Yasmina. I don't really like Luka, I can't really explain why but she doesn't really feel as part of the squad to me, and Amber is just okay. 

5. Favourite hairstyle out of all the remakes? (this includes any hijab styles of the Sanas)

I love Cris with her hair in a low ponytail, and I love the half up hairstyle that Skam NL uses a lot. When it comes to hijabs, so far my favorite was Sana’ s in the og’s s4 when it was a bit loose under her chin because it really fit her well.

6. Who do you think from og/remakes would have a youtube channel and what would they post about? (not including hei briskeby or lucas rubio’s yt channel)

Liv could totally have a music youtube channel because I feel like that’s realistic to starting musicians these days.

I can see the Italian boy squad having a youtube channel where they post vlogs and pranks lmao.

Sam could totally have a beauty channel where she does hauls and stuff.

Basile would have a youtube channel for pranks and magic tricks (idk why but I can really imagine him doing magic tricks????? lmao)

7. Pick someone you think is underappreciated from og/remakes and explain why you think they should be appreciated more.

Hmmmmmm another difficult question. I’m going to ignore the fact that I’m only supposed to mention one character.

The balloon squad - they’re honestly the most refreshing Muslim representation that I’ve come across because they’re just this bunch of dudes who run a hilarious youtube channel and love to have a good time. I love them SO MUCH and I wish we got an Elias season so we could get to know them better. Highkey my favorite boys from og Skam.

Federica - I probably talked about it enough times but she’s so underappreciated. The actress (Martina) is gorgeous and Federica is a ray of sunshine that the fandom tends to ignore. Also, I want to know how she knows so much about almost everything that’s happening in their school.

Shay - She’s definitely the most underrates Isak. Hopefully s3 will happen and she’ll be the main, so she’ll be more appreciated. Personally, I’m on the fence about how I feel about Shay, but I would watch the hell out of her season and getting more music from her, Marlon and Tyler would be amazing!

8. Favourite outfit/clothing item?

Isa’s green scarf, and honestly, any scarf/coat that the og girl squad wore because they always seemed fluffy, warm, comfortable and had pretty pastel colors.

9. Which character do you think is most similar to you?

Physically, it’s definitley Federica in terms of height and her and Hanna in terms of body size. Aside from that, the characters that I feel I'm most like are Hanna, Martino and s1 og Eva. The three of them are pretty simple, dare I say “””boring”””, and that’s how I see myself, lol. Also, Martino has this keeping things to himself things that he does and I relate to the hell out of that. Hanna has a really soft and nice vibe, which I think can be said about me haha.

10. Do you like the Eva season (season 1)?

Yes! The more remakes I started watching, the more I realized that I actually really like s1 because we get to see the girls becoming friends, and there are a lot of iconic scenes in s1 (Noora dragging William, the girl squad fighting with Chris’ girlfriend) and I learned to appreciate Eva’s journey to becoming her own person.

11. (Insert your own question that you’d like to answer!) Which representation do you think Skam should show other than the existing ones?

I don’t remember if I ever posted about this, but I would LOVE to see a Jewish character in one of the remakes. I think this idea can have so much potential (and I’m part Jewish so I’m biased) because there are really interesting things that could be discussed and shown - anti-Semitism from what I know is becoming more popular again and I’m always waiting to see if one of the remakes (especially Skam France, Skam Austin and Druck) will discuss it, and a Jewish character could have a really interesting relationships with the Sana character and they could have great conversations about the expectation from them and that judgement they get from people inside and outside of their religion.

My 11 questions:

If you could create an ultimate girl squad, who out of the skam universe would be in it and why?

If you could change one thing in each remake, what would it be?

What is one plotline that you wish to see in a remake of your choice? (go wild lol)

Which side character would you want to have their own season?

What do you wish the fandom would appreciate more in each remake? (could be a season, a character, a scene, anything)

If you could create a crossover between the og/one of the remakes and a movie/tv series/book, what would it be?

A crack ship that you wish would happen?

Is there a character that is very different from you/you never thought you would like, but you ended up loving?

What is your favorite friendship? 

Do you read any og/remakes fanfiction and if so, do you have any favorite fanfictions?

Would you have preferred if Skam worked a bit more like Skins did, in terms of every character gets a full episode from their pov instead of an entire season?

I’m tagging: @lonelyfridays , @matteohnah, @feelinsorad, @amystylezz, @eliottlallemant, @xxviii-xi-mcmxcviii, @lil-milkovich, @spockhasfeelingstoo, @miaundalex, @pampammmxum, @vnesshudgens, @promisethestraz but of course only if you want to and if anyone who’s not tagged wants to answer these consider yourself tagged!

[xhxhxhx]

I first met Orde Wingate in James Barr’s A Line in the Sand (Bloomsbury, 2011), where he’s introduced as a “young, well-connected and faintly unhinged army officer” who had just been assigned to Palestine:

He admired the Jews’ industry (a Jew was ‘worth twenty, thirty or even a hundred’ Arabs, he believed) and he instinctively sympathised with their predicament because he had been an outsider all his life. The son of Plymouth Brethren, he had been ostracised at boarding school where, as a day-boy who disliked team sports, he acquired the nickname ‘Stinker’. It was only after he scraped into officer training that he realised he could turn his unsettling, cadaverous looks to his advantage – when he was challenged to run the gauntlet of his fellow cadets naked, Wingate walked up to each in turn and dared them to strike him, and thus made it through untouched. ‘He had fiery, searching, unsmiling eyes – extraordinary deep-set eyes that penetrated into your inner being in such a way that you could not conceal the slightest of your facial movements or say a single superfluous word,’ said David Hacohen, the man who had built Tegart’s fence. ‘He was fanatical,’ recalled the man who had shared an office with him in Jerusalem. ‘I liked him very much. I got on very well with him. But I must admit he was a fanatic.’

He requested permission to set up ‘Special Night Squads’ with British soldiers and Jewish auxiliaries to police the rebellious Arabs:

Fit, working in silence and trained in ambush tactics, they would try ‘to persuade the gangs that, in their predatory raids, there is every chance of their running into a Government gang which is determined to destroy them, not by an exchange of shots at a distance, but by bodily assault with bayonet and bomb’.

Wingate did not think it would take long to persuade the Arab gang-leaders to stay in at night. ‘In person they are feeble and their whole theory of war is to cut and run. Like all ignorant and primitive people they are especially liable to panic.’ Once the threat of the gangs had gone, the villagers would have no excuse for silence. At that point, Wingate argued, the British could more reasonably put the villages under pressure, because non-cooperation could only imply complicity with the gangs.

In 1938, the first Special Night Squads were set up. One of the Jewish recruits was the young Moshe Dayan, who thought Wingate -- who was now teaching himself Hebrew using the Bible -- rather strange:

[Dayan] was both inspired and intimidated by Wingate, who initially addressed his recruits in broken Hebrew, revolver in one hand, Bible in the other. ‘After a while we asked him to switch to English,’ said Dayan, ‘since we had difficulty in following his strange Hebrew accent and could understand only the recognisable biblical quotations in our language.’

In June 1938, the Squads began their raids, and Wingate went with them:

He struck one member of his squad across the face with a stick when the man failed to shoot an Arab horseman silhouetted against the skyline. On another occasion he interrogated one of four captured Arabs by choking him with a handful of grit and sand he had scooped up from the ground. When his prisoner still refused to talk, he turned to one of the Jewish recruits. ‘Shoot this man,’ he ordered, but the recruit hesitated. ‘Did you hear? Shoot him.’ The recruit did as he was told. Wingate turned to the three surviving detainees. ‘Now speak!’ he bellowed. Back at camp, Wingate’s men were bemused by his behaviour. He would sit in his tent naked, reading the Bible and scrubbing himself with a brush, or eating a raw onion as if it were an apple.

After a failed attack on an Arab gang in July 1938 -- Wingate had set up ambushes around the wrong village -- the Squads were disbanded. At this point, Wingate disappears from Barr’s narrative. He does not reappear. 

Today, however, Wingate returned to me, in Artemis Cooper’s Cairo in the War (Hamish Hamilton, 1989): 

In the summer of 1941, a remarkable soldier mounted a campaign against the formidable bureaucracy of GHQ, a campaign that nearly culminated in his own death. The imperfect instrument of a severe Puritan God, who had marked him for great things, Charles Orde Wingate had first come to Wavell’s attention in Palestine in 1936. The latter thought him brilliant but dangerous, with his passionate Zionist opinions which echoed the thunder of the Old Testament; and, like all fanatics, Wingate was short on both tact and humour.

In 1940, to increase pressure on the Italians in Abyssinia, Wavell asked Orde Wingate to organise assistance to the supporters of Haile Selassie. From a base in Khartoum, Wingate managed to form his unit, with little help from an obstinate and sluggish military administration. He was a difficult man whose eccentricities were famous: he carried an alarm clock rather than a watch so as to time appointments, and instead of taking baths to keep clean he brushed himself all over with a hairbrush.

By January 1941, his mixed band of Sudanese, Ethiopian and British troops named ‘Gideon Force’ was ready; and, accompanied by Haile Selassie, they crossed the frontier into Abyssinia. As Gideon Force made its way over the mountains, Italian garrisons fell and patriots flocked to the Emperor. It was a brilliant military operation, which enabled Haile Selassie to return to Addis Ababa in triumph at the head of his troops.

[Wingate had wanted to call his Palestinian Special Night Squads ‘Gideon Force’ too -- he even set himself up in Ein Harod, where Gideon had picked the three hundred men who would scatter the Midianites -- but the higher-ups hadn’t allowed it.]

Apart from the addition of a bar to the DSO he had won in Palestine, the congratulations of Wingate’s superiors were brief. In Harar, he was told that Gideon Force was to be disbanded. He appeared to take the news calmly, and said he would return to Cairo to lobby for permission to raise a Jewish army in Palestine.

In June 1941, GHQ was still recovering from the three defeats of Cyrenaica, Greece and Crete. No one had time for the guerilla hero of Abyssinia. He was ordered to revert to the rank of major; and, when he tried to get the allowances due to his volunteer soldiers in Gideon Force, he was informed that this was not possible because the claims had not been submitted at the correct time. The final straw was to be told that, because his men fought behind enemy lines, they did not qualify as ‘a unit in the field’.

What happened next was gracefully passed over by Wavell, when he came to write up Wingate’s life for the Dictionary of National Biography; but the incident is described at length in Christopher Sykes’s book. Sykes was well-placed to find out about it, for one of those involved in the story was his old boss Colonel Thornhill, for whom he had worked in SOE. Thornhill was an amiable, indiscreet man who was often to be found propping up the bar in Shepheard’s or the Continental, and who had been so disastrously involved in the Aziz el Masri affair.

Wingate took a room in the Continental Hotel. There he wrote a blistering report on the treatment of Gideon Force, and how it had been hampered and obstructed by those he chose to call the ‘military apes’. It did not make him any friends at GHQ, and Wavell – though he sided with Wingate on the subject of allowances – was heard to say that the report might almost justify placing him under arrest for insubordination.

Wingate was now seriously ill with malaria, but would not see an army doctor for fear of being relegated to a staff job. However, he did manage to visit a local doctor, who prescribed a drug called atabrine to reduce his temperature. He over-dosed himself liberally which inflamed his nerves, already ragged from brooding alone in his room. In the struggles he had had to set up Gideon Force, and the way the military administration had dealt with it, he saw a plot to absorb Ethiopia into the British Empire. It was too late to do anything. He had failed himself, his men, the Emperor Haile Selassie, and God.

On the afternoon of 4 July Wingate’s temperature stood at 104° and he had run out of pills. He made his way out of the hotel in an effort to find the doctor and get some more atabrine, but so feverish was he that he could not remember the way, and thought he was going mad. He went back to the Continental, and decided to kill himself. On the way to his room, Wingate met the floor steward who brought him his food; and rather than arouse the man’s suspicions, he closed but did not lock the door to his room. He had already stabbed his throat once with his hunting knife when he staggered back to the door, locked it, and then returned to the bathroom to try again. He plunged the knife into what he hoped was the jugular, and then collapsed on the floor.

As luck would have it, the next door room was occupied by the inquisitive Colonel Thornhill. Having heard a number of very strange noises coming through the wall, Thornhill knocked on Wingate’s door. There was no answer. Thornhill alerted the manager. With the master key they got in, and Wingate was rushed to the 15th Scottish Hospital. He was operated on immediately and, thanks to Thornhill and the surgeon’s skill, his life was saved.

The story provoked mixed reactions at GHQ; but as one brigadier put it, whether he was court-martialled or put in a lunatic asylum the career of the troublesome Major Wingate was over. Major Simonds, who had been part of Gideon Force, visited Wingate in hospital and asked the reason for his attempted suicide. The reply was: ‘I did it to call attention to our wrongs.’

There was a verandah at the end of the ward and, as Wingate became stronger, he walked up and down it of an evening. Once, he heard a woman call him by name from the private wing. It was Pistol-Packing Mary Newall, whose No. 11 Convoy was soon to be amalgamated into the ATS. She was in hospital with duodenal ulcers.

In her straightforward, no-nonsense way, she told him that there had been a suicide in her own family; and that if he wanted to talk, he should talk to her. From then on Orde Wingate spent many hours sitting with Mrs Newall, talking and reading his Bible aloud. ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’ said Wingate, as he finished reading the Book of Job. ‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Newall. ‘I’ve been asleep for the last half hour.’ Since she had many visitors, Wingate began to meet people again. His spirits lightened, and he began to feel that God had forgiven him. One visitor was rather taken aback, however, when Wingate remarked that anyone who wanted to slit their own throat should have a hot bath first, otherwise – as he had found – the muscles would be too tense to cut.

What a character! What a lunatic!

[thetullybadger]

Quantum Deep.

Part One

“Ahhh here man, what is this shite?!”

The statement was quiet, but audible enough to inform everyone of his boredom. His not so dulcet Geordie tones were carried on the stifling air. Everyone looked. Everyone of his team mates giggled, bar the manager and the tour guide. The tour guide looked annoyed. This was probably just due to the amassing number of years both in the sun and fighting gravity, than actual annoyance. Her dearly departed husband had developed problems with his nerves, always believing he was in for a bollocking when their eyes met. Scotty, the vocalist of this exclamation didn’t care about her sun bleached, gravitational drooped facial structure, nor her dearly departed, anxiety ridden husband. He was just a bit pissed off. Righty so, and he wasn’t alone. They were all thinking it. To be fair to them all, this exhibition was a bit shit.

The museum wasn’t on any tourist maps, nor was it immediately obvious from the outside that it was in fact a museum. It was a large wood and tin warehouse, with all the function over grace styling famed by World War 2 architects. From the outside could see the outlines of fences and outposts that once stood in the rocky crops of the Badlands. The once prestigious, yet secretive, military research facility had been purposely built in the arse end of nowhere, South Dakota. It had been the epicentre of ground breaking research into super soldiers and world beating athletes, before abruptly closing down and almost drifting out of existence in the early 80’s. It had but one Trip Advisor review which read, ‘Bad coffee - 2*’. Despite this, their manager, eager for anything that would help prevent another relegation battle and stave off his impending p45, decide they were going.

Said manager, Claudio by name, had sneakily arranged for his Gateshead F.C team to do a training camp in America, to improve the squad for the coming season. The Crafty Italian’s purpose was finding this centre. He came across it on a Instagramer’s conspiracy page. This page, however, also claimed that U.S president Donald Trump and North Korea’s Kim Jong-un are the same person, cleverly disguised with different shades of fake tan and Just for Men. Stranger things have happened, thought Claudio.

When Claudio announced the day long tip North from Sunny Los Angeles to the Badlands there was much disgruntlement among the team who were keen to just sun bathe and knock up a few of the locals, ideally at the same time.

The journey there would be enough to make most sane people get off the bus, walk into the nearest undertakers and climb into a coffin. This is unless you had really bad piles which needed to be bumped back in. And bumped they would be. This road in the badlands had more holes than the British Governments competitive Corporatation tax regime, which as we know, the word competitive in this sentence means absent. Absent also, was most of the road. Still though, anything that gives you an edge, thought Claudio. Their coach driver, who preferred to be called a executive destination agent, had wanted to turn back. Fearful his coach (destination delivery unit) would become filler for some of these potholes. Claudio insisted they press onwards, much to the displeasure of everyone’s bottoms until finally, they arrived.

Claudio, who seemingly struggles at the best of times with his English, piped up in defence of the tour insisting that they could be something here to help them in their careers. Looking around at the rusting pieces of equipment and dated dusty books, the team stood amazed. Not because all the crap in here was about as much use to the modern game of football, as a paralegal is to you getting your mortgage through on time. But rather before now, they all believed Claudio’s English was limited to ‘get the ball’, ‘fuck off’, and ‘4-4-2’. Coincidentally similar to the English used by parents watching their kids play on a Saturday morning.

‘It’s a bit wank though isn’t it gaffa’, muttered Scotty to Claudio when they were nearing the end of the tour. The expression was seemingly lost on on him, but Scotty thought Claudio was probably thinking something similar, in Italian. Claudio wander off to contemplate his fate.

‘Nothing you like?’ Said a voice from a unnoticed doorway in the corner of the room. It was the unfortunately annoyed face of the tour guide, in an now almost suspect German accent. Looking at her now, Scotty noticed she was even older than he first thought, she was like a walking fossil. He wasn’t the first person to wonder if she was actually dead. For some time rumour had circulated that she had died, but being fed up of lying in a box all day, dug herself out and became a tour guide, like many other dead people before her.

“Boredom is often the sign of a great mind,” the tour guide followed up with, staring intently at Scotty. Scotty was flattered by the comment, he’s always thought of himself as being a great thinker, although he chose not to disclose the fact he could probably spell Dundee twice with his GSCE grades.

“The secret to being happier lies in here,” said the tour guide, pointing to the the door behind her. The horny old bat thought Scotty, giving the idea some seriously contemplation. The fossil then walked off in the other direction, leaving Scotty with the kind of conflicting emotions only found in teenage lads between 16 and 19 years - disappointment and relief.

The door creaked open slightly and the dim light struggled to illuminate the dusty descending stair case. Having seen one to many horror films, Scotty’s grey matter was screaming a big ‘fuck no’ and he was about to close the door, when he heard the faintest sound. A cracking old electronic tune with the distinct repetitiveness that could only be a computer game. So, without further thought, off went Scotty down the stairs, almost taking the door off it’s hinges in search of another form of instant gratification. His brain wondered if it was possible to list Scotty on Purple Bricks and find another body to occupy.

The stairs creaked and moaned with all the irritability of arthritic old man in the morning. The air, stuffy with dust from the generations before, suddenly stirred into life and hitched rides on the air currents brought down with Scotty. The light from upstairs raided down the staircase into the vast darkness at the bottom but yielded quickly. Outlines of objects played tricks with Scott’s eyes as he fumbled his hands across the walls in search of a light switch. Old chairs seemed to jump out of nowhere with one sending him careering to the ground, knocking him unconscious in the process. This was just as well, as prior to losing consciousness, Scotty emitted a terrified scream so high pitched, to hear it, you would have though someone, somewhere, had just stood on a sleeping dog. Had that been attributed to him, he would have had to retire from life due to the ribbing he would have relieved from his teammates.

Coming to a short time later and lying spread eagle on the floor, Scotty wondering if he was about to soddomised by whatever had attacked him. He then found himself wondering how he would respond if the sodomiser politely requested he squeal like a pig. A TV suddenly tuned on though and put an end to the thoughts of buggery. It scattered a dim green light through the darkness from which the dust seemed to dance around, the electronic jingle was back. Scotty could now see his attacker was a kitsch velvet dinning chair. The shame of it.

Having uprighted himself from his crumpled heap, Scotty made his way towards the tv. There was another kitsch velvet dining chair in front of the TV. The TV, as deep as it was tall, was perched on a teak sideboard. Resting next to it, a small box. The box was grey, familiar and memorable. On closer inspection it was non other than a first generation Nintendo. ‘Result’ thought Scotty. There was an old cartridge game poking out of it. Scotty pulled out the cartridge for closer inspection. Quantum Leap was the name of the game, not one he was familiar with, but he vaguely remembered the TV show with that lad Sam someone or other. Looking about, his mild concussion fogging his decision making, Scotty exclaimed, “What’s the worse that can happen!” He popped in the game, booted it up and took a seat. Had Scotty had paid closer attention, or even just found a light switch, he would have noticed that this Nintendo was connected to a massive grey, Cold War relic of a machine at the back of the room. The machine clunked into life. The banging and clattering of old pistons was deafening. They heaved and forced movement into the rusting steal clogs that has once had been as lubed as the playboy mansion, now rusted with the arid dryness of Gandi’s unattended sandals. The grinding and banging caused Scotty’s sphincter to tighten so much he had no choice but to stand up to prevent himself being turned inside out.

On the TV screen a large pixilated cartoon was waving to come on in.

PRESS START, loomed on the screen.

Conclusion in control, Scotty pressed start. The Screen flickered for a few moments and then, with all the plagiarised visual effect from the film Tron, Scotty was turned into strips of light and suck into an electronic blackhole to the delightfully reminiscent sound of an internet dial up tone.

Moments later, Scotty rematerialised to find himself bollock naked in a glass tube. Soft blue lighting give a calming glow to an otherwise sinister laboratory. A woman stood in front of him.

As elegantly and as calm as Scotty could be in this situation, he said

“Here man, what the fuck, ye draft cunts. Where am a? Ye kna who I am. Get me oot of this tube or I’ll fuckin knack the lot of ya!”

With that out of the way and indeed with no-one responding, Scotty took in the room and noticed the woman look at him.

Now feeling a little exposed he muttered, “What ye looking at eh?”

“Hello, my name is Twiggy” said the woman.

It was of course not the real Twiggy, the London model and self styled ambassador for the UK, but more a physical representation of her. Twiggy explained that her image had been burned deep with Scott’s genes and this is why she was there, she was to be his guide.

“Hadaway an’ shite! Guide for what?” Demanded Scotty.

The two things Scotty had yet to understand was that his father had and spend most his 20’s and 30’s wanking over Twiggy and was thinking about her the night Scotty was conceived.

‘It’s probably why you like more mature women”, Twiggy later explained.

Scotty protested, he was no Wayne Rooney.

The second thing Scotty failed to realise was that he was now trapped in the the Quantum experiment. An experiment to put the greatest minds on the planet into those in great peril; in order to make decisions and achieve things their own mind wasn’t even capable of grasping. It was designed to help make the world a better place, put a brilliant mind into somewhere where wars could be won, world end events could be prevented and to stop pedo’s making it beyond the 80’s. Instead, sadly, the experiment was highjacked by old scientists, politicians and pedo’s who wanted to live forever.

“Are you ready?” Twiggy asked.

If Scotty was confused about what he was to be ready for, then his mind was about to be blown out of this tube as he, and everything about him, was once again turned into an scintillating electronic light, then sucked into a blackhole. Internet dial up tone jingle to boot.

Everything was now black. Twiggy was speaking.

“Some say that Jumanji, Tron and quantum leap were all written by those who made it of out the Quantum experiment. Those who bettered the thing they became. Many never did and live out there lives in whatever soul and time period they occupied. Some were happy about this, deliberately failing so they could live out lives a rockstars, astronauts or Honey Badgers. Others met a not so happy end as Dung Beatles, farmed salmon or country singers.

“You must better the life of that which you occupy, for both them and the world they inhabit. Succeed and you will move on, fail, and that will be you forever. I ask again, are you ready?”

“Eh?! What the fuck are ye on aboot man?”

“Good, then we’ll start”, replied twiggy.

[maealbert]

I Like It, I Love It.

Song Fiction

Characters: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Requested: NOPE :)

A/N: My first Aaron Hotchner x Reader fiction EVER! Breaking ground here! Hope you enjoy it! The Atlanta Braves are mentioned in the lyrics and I brought up the Chicago Cubs not realizing that they actually play each other today in Atlanta at noon. LOL

Song: I Like It, I Love It - Tim McGraw

Master List

Spent forty-eight dollars Last night at the county fair, I throwed out my shoulder But I won her that teddy bear. She's got me saying Sugar-pie, honey, darlin', and dear, I ain't seen the braves Play a game all year. I'm gonna get fired, If I don't get some sleep, My long lost buddies Say I'm gettin' in to deep.

You leaned up against the fence watching Aaron and Derek compete each other against the sledge hammer game. Emily stood on your right and JJ on your left. Both women rolled their eyes shaking their heads as they watched their fellow coworkers act like little kids. “Come on, Hotch!” Derek laughs. “All this time away from the BAU and you didn’t once lift a weight? They have weight benches in the protection program too, you know..” He said handing the sledge hammer to Aaron.

Aaron shook his head laughing as he took the hammer from Derek. “Well you have to build those muscles up if you want to take down Peter Lewis.” Aaron said as he lifted the hammer over his shoulder. “Watch and learn..” He swings the hammer back and throws it forward hitting the panel below. The metal ball flew up the board illuminating light bulbs as it climbed higher. You could see everyone’s jaw slowly drop open as it got closer to the bell. Metal combined together creating a loud high pitched ringing sound to resonate from the bell.

“There’s no way.” Derek said as he stared at the neon lights shine brightly as the bell continued to ring.

“Don’t underestimate me..” Aaron said as he dropped the hammer. You pushed off the fence and ran over to him throwing your arms around his neck. He winced and you quickly pulled away.

“Did you hurt yourself?” You ask. He nods his head.

“I think I threw out my shoulder.” He groans rubbing his shoulder.

“Well I’ll make sure to give you nice a massage when we get home tonight.” You say placing your hands gently on his shoulders. “Preferably when Jack’s in a deep sleep.”

A smile spreads across his face and he leans down to kiss you. “Your prize sir.” The volunteer said handing a black teddy bear to Aaron.

“But the pain is so worth it if that means I get to see you smile holding this teddy bear.” He says the handing the teddy bear to you. You giggle holding the teddy bear in your arms.

“Guys, the Braves game is on.” Luke said rushing over. “They have it on inside the bar.”

Everyone agreed to watch the game but Aaron shook his head. “I don’t watch them anymore.” He says.

“Oh come on, Hotch.” Derek said. “Since when do you not watch baseball?”

“I still watch baseball, just not the Brave’s.”

“Neither do any of us but we’re going anyways.” JJ said.

“I’m a die-hard Chicago Cubs fan but I’m still going to watch the Brave’s.”

“Come on!” You say grabbing his hand and dragging him after the other team members.

“You don’t even like the Braves.” Aaron said.

“None of us do!” Luke called over his shoulder.

“I’m a Cleveland Indians fan here, but you don’t see me complaining.” You say earning weird looks from the others.

“Aaron, remember when I said that I like your new girlfriend?” Rossi said turning to face Aaron.

“Yeah.”

“Well I take that back.” He said. All you laugh as you smile rolling your eyes.

“You beat the us in the World Series last year!” You say laughing.

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it, I try so hard, I can't rise about it. Don't know what it is 'Bout that little gal's lovin', But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it. My Mama and Daddy Tried to teach me courtesy, But it never sank in 'Til that girl got a hold of me. Now I'm holding unbrellas And openin' up doors, I'm taking out the trash And I'm sweepin' my floors. Crossin' my fingers, And countin' every kiss, Prayin' that it keeps Goin' on like this.

You walk into the apartment to see Jack dusting the shelves as Aaron vacuuming the living room carpet. Setting down your things on the hall table you lean on the doorway as you watch the two of them clean. Aaron turned off the vacuum upon seeing you standing in the doorway. “Hey how was the run with JJ and Luke?”

“Relaxing. What made you guys want to clean the apartment?”

“Well I could see how irritated you were getting with all the dirty dishes in the kitchen so we started to clean the kitchen but then Jack thought we’d clean the living room.”

“You don’t have to do it just because I get irritated.” You say shaking your head. “You are males. Males tend to be a messy species.”

“Yeah well I’ve learned from Haley and Beth that I shouldn’t believe everything you say.” Aaron says as he walks by with the vacuum and leaves a kiss on your cheek. “I still love you.” You clear your throat. Pointing to your lips he chuckles and leans down to kiss your lips. “Your kisses are so sweet. Tastes like chocolate.”

“I cheated.. Ate a brownie from the coffee shop on my way home. Don’t tell JJ or Luke.”

“Secret is safe with me as long as your lips always taste like chocolate brownies.”

You laugh shaking your head and push him away.

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it, I try so hard, I can't rise about it. Don't know what it is 'Bout that little gal's lovin', But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it. Got to wash my truck and dress up To pick her up to watch tv. And she sits down on the sofa, She'll move a little closer... She can't get enough of me.

Opening the front door you raise in eyebrow. Pointing at him you cock your head. Standing on the front porch was Aaron dressed a nice pair of jeans, a buttoned up black shirt, nice Italian, leather shoes. His hair slicked back and parted to the right side of his head. “Looking a little too nice for a simple dinner at your place?”

“Too much?” He asks.

You giggle shaking your head. “I like it. Shall we go?”

You both sit on the couch watching a rerun episode of The Big Bang. His arm resting on the top of the couch behind your head. Scooting a little closer to Aaron you rest your head on his shoulder as your drape your legs over his lap. He turns his attention away from the television to look at you. You look up at him. “Yes?” You say.

“Can’t enough of me, can you?”

“Oh good gosh..” You groan before laughing. “Quit letting Derek invade your mind!” You sit up and move closer to that your noses are nearly touching. “but yes.. I can’t get enough of you.” You say before kissing his lips.

And I like it, I love it, I want some more of it, I try so hard, I can't rise about it. Don't know what it is 'Bout that little gal's lovin', But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it.

Grabbing the remote off his lap, Aaron turns the television off and pulls you on top of his waist that your legs are straggling both sides of him. “I want more...” He says between the kisses.

“Jack is asleep..” You whisper shooting him a smirk.

My first ever fic centered around Aaron Hotchner! Did you all like it? Then be sure to like this, reblog this, and leave your feedback! :)

[tumblngdice]

Chelsea’s Tuscan Son

By Rory Smith, Aug. 10, 2018

Maurizio Sarri cut his coaching teeth at tiny clubs in the small towns near where he grew up. He’ll carry the lessons he learned into his first season in the Premier League.

STIA, Italy — The road from Faella, down in the Arno valley, winds up and up into the hills, beyond the vineyards, with their military precision, beyond the tangled olive groves and into the woods, thick and dark and untamed. At Consuma, the highest point of the pass, the view stretches all the way west to Chianti; Arezzo lies south, Florence north.

Consuma is not where the journey ends. It takes an hour, and countless tight hairpins shaded by slender cypresses, before the road descends into the village of Stia, its terra-cotta roofs nestled in an ocean of green, a little Tuscan idyll nestled in the valley. The soccer field, overlooking the river and screened by a chain-link fence, is the first thing you see as you arrive.

Most days, for more than a year, Maurizio Sarri made the trip twice. Usually, he would do it after a full day at work, leaving Faella at 5 p.m. and not returning home until late. Often, he would car share with a handful of others based in the sleepy cluster of towns that line the Arno valley, to help spread the fuel costs. Every other week, he would do it on Saturday for a brief training session, drive back, and then do it all over again on Sunday, game day. Stia, then, was the end of his journey.

In hindsight, it is where it all began.

On Saturday, Sarri will take charge of Chelsea for the first time in the Premier League. A 59-year-old Italian, he is the 13th managerial appointment of Roman Abramovich’s impatient tenure at Stamford Bridge, and he is hardly the first to lack a garlanded playing career: of his predecessors, much the same could be said of José Mourinho, Andre Villas-Boas and Rafael Benítez.

Sarri is, it is true, a little older than most of his peers: though hardly ancient by managerial standards, he had to wait for his chance among the elite. He was 55 when he first coached in Italy’s top division, Serie A, with Empoli, and 56 when he was given a chance by a major team: Napoli, the team he had supported from afar as a child.

But it is not the length of his back story that makes him stand out so much as the locations in which it is set.

There are, by and large, three routes into elite management in soccer: as a former player (Pep Guardiola); rising through the ranks at an academy (Benítez); and serving an apprenticeship under an established, respected patron (Mourinho).

Sarri took none of them. He is, by the standards of his peers, an outsider: he spent the majority of his career not only working away from fully professional soccer, in Tuscany’s regional leagues, but doing so part-time, while holding down a full-time job in wealth management for Banca Toscana and, later, Monte dei Paschi di Siena. That background has, at times, been held against him: he has said that he has been witheringly referred to as “the employee” by some critics, simply because he has done another job.

It is that unconventional route, though, that has defined Sarri. It was at all of those teams in quiet towns and sleepy villages, teams made up of enthusiastic amateurs and semiprofessionals, that Sarri the manager was shaped.

The Arno cutting through Figline Valdarno. Nadia Shira Cohen for The New York Times

And it was in all of those places — all within an hour or so of Figline Valdarno, the town where he was born, and Faella, the town where he lived, all in and around the Arno valley, all in the Tuscany of romantic imagination and travel brochures — that Sarri honed his unique coaching style, the technical, expansive approach that no less an authority than Arrigo Sacchi, the former coach of A.C. Milan and Italy, has said is “immediately recognizable.”

Sarri has always said he does not “feel” Tuscan; just that he is Tuscan. In a globalized, rootless game, he is a product of where he is from, of the places he has been. Tuscany is embedded in his politics — this was, for a long time, a stronghold of the Italian Communist Party — and in his sporting philosophy, too.

Vanni Bergamaschi, a former teammate and the man who set Sarri on his path into management, calls his friend’s journey through Tuscany’s minor teams his “Calvary.” It was slow, meandering, winding, but it was formative, too. It was here that Sarri sharpened his eye for detail, here that he developed his style, here that he became the manager who would make it all the way to Serie A and, now, the Premier League.

Stia was simply the first stage.

“He came here as a player in 1990,” said Bergamaschi, 60. “He was a defender, but he had a lot of injury problems. That year, the coach was not so good, and the club decided that it wanted to change. I was captain, so they asked me what I thought. Maurizio was half a coach when he played anyway, so I suggested him.”

Sarri himself — as is traditional in these origin stories — was less than convinced. “He asked me if he should do it,” Bergamaschi said. “I just told him that at least he knew all of us, so he stood a better chance than someone coming in from outside.” Of course, he took the job, and thrived.

“He started to watch the games of the teams we were about to play,” Bergamaschi said. “He wanted to know everything about everyone. This was at the lowest level, remember: we had never had anything like this. None of the other coaches, even the good ones, had anything like his vision.”

There is an image in Italy of Sarri as a chain-smoking, Bukowski-reading eccentric: he has become known as Mister 33, after the alleged number of set-piece routines he teaches his players, each one named after a member of his staff. It is a characterization he rejects: there are only, in reality, half a dozen or so, he has said. But that sort of planning has been a cornerstone of his approach from the earliest days. “We had a few schemes for corners and for free kicks even then,” Bergamaschi said.

Sarri’s eye for detail stood him in good stead. After a year at Stia, he was poached. “He had so many clubs,” Bergamaschi said. “But they were always small steps.” The first was Faellese, based in the town where he lived, a team of slightly grander scale than Stia (and a shorter commute). Its stadium has two stands, rather than one, both of them neatly painted in the club’s colors; even in the height of summer, in the searing August heat, when Stia’s field is locked up, there is someone tending to the grass at Faellese.

From there, he went to Cavriglia, Antella, Valdema and Tegoleto: small steps, small journeys. Only on his fifth job, at Tegoleto, did he decide — in consultation with his family — to give up work at the bank and pursue soccer full time. At Sansovino, he finally won promotion from Italy’s regional fifth tier into Serie D, its fourth.

And then, at Sangiovannese, 13 years after he started, he finally found “a really serious project,” according to Francesco Baiano, one of his players there.

The presence of Baiano was, in itself, proof of how far all of those small steps had taken Sarri. In his prime, Baiano had played for Napoli, Parma and Fiorentina. He had even represented his country twice. In the twilight of his career, he had been brought to Sangiovannese, in the town of San Giovanni Valdarno, by Arduino Casprini, the club’s president, who was determined to take his team from Serie C2 into Serie B, Italian soccer’s second division.

Sarri was brought in with the same aim. Though he had never traveled far, word of his abilities had spread. “The president talked to me, as one of the most experienced players,” Baiano said. “He told me he was appointing a coach from the lower leagues, but that he was really smart, really well-prepared. That is exactly how I found him. I’d had a lot of coaches in Serie A by that stage. Even then, Sarri was already a great coach.”

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[thekryptonianandthecitygirl]

Chuckling as Chloe goes to get them a couple of beers, equally outraged and disgusted by her neighboors dancing like no one is watching, her eyes wander next to the dance floor again, settling on one of the tables left to the stage.

And here he is.

Expression focused on what Tom is saying, he nods, both arms crossed on the wooden table as people move around them, wiggling to get to their own table, to the crowded bar or towards the front of the scene where Eddy and his band are letting loose.

He's changed a lot, since she last saw him.

Saw him fo real, that is: God knows she sees him a lot, on the news. Everytime, it brings a smile to her face: despite his father's advice, he'd been wanting to use his powers for good for years, and now, he's finally doing it. Deep down, she's always known he would.

Physically, he's the same, with his mop of dark curls and his gigantic frame softened by the flannel shirt and the sincerity in his blue eyes. His strong jaw and perfectly shaped face still betray his God-like heritage, though. At one point, he chuckles at what his companion says, beer in hand, and it occurs to her that she forgot just how beautiful he is. Not just cute, or sexy -

Truly beautiful.

He's still the same, and yet, something's changed. The boy she knew was lost, confused. Haunted by so many questions he couldn't get answers to, it was eating him alive. The boy she knew was scared – of others, of himself. The boy she knew struggled under the weight of so much interrogations, so much responsability and, later, so much pain brought by the loss of one of the two people he loved the most on this planet. Tonight -

Tonight, the man she sees seems - liberated. At peace.

And maybe it's because the world has accepted him now. That most certainly plays a part, in fact: after so many rejections, so much trouble fitting in, it seems he's finally found his place and purpose. Yes, she thinks, that is indeniably part of why the man she has before her tonight is so different from the one she knew, but she also knows that that change comes from something else.

Someone, really. It's not that hard to notice, when you look.

She comes back to the table discretely, smiling at Clark when he looks up at her before sliding on her chair next to him. His eyes light up.

Not just his eyes, really – his entire face does, and even if he was already smiling, she can still see a change. She's pretty sure it doesn't come from the fact that she knows him that well, it's just – oh so obvious.

For a reason she pretends to ignore, that sight both warms her heart and makes it ache.

She's heard about her, of course – through Martha, who was kind enough to simpy carefully mention her when she asked about Clark, but didn't elaborate much, but also from, well, everyone. Since day one, Superman's story has been linked to the name of Lois Lane.

She had never seen her, though. Not before tonight.

The first thing that jumped to her eyes when they first entered the bar was her confidence. It wasn't cockiness, or self-satisfaction, far from it, but – she hoozed confidence. Assurance. It's a trait that transpired throuh her writing, she thought. So sure, so completely sure, even in her words. Of herself, of shat she believes in.

Of him.

In a lot of ways, Lois seems to be a lot like him. The articles she read clearly showed how sharp and blunt and in your face she was, but there was also a profound goodness there, a sense of fairness, a quest for justice. Some they that opposite attract, others that birds of a feather flock together, but in their case, it seemed that both sayings were valid.

And she's beautiful. She really is.

Long auburn hair framing her face, her crossed arms brush his on the table. She's answering to something Tom just said, and, as she rolls her eyes for drama effect, both men smile. It's another thing she's noticed, tonight.

He smiles a lot with her. Laughs a lot, too.

"Jeez! Sorry it took that long, but the bar is packed," Chloe suddenly re-emerges from the crowd, two beers in hands, startling her as she quickly yank her eyes away from them. Her friend frowns. "You okay?"

Forcing a smile, she nods. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Lana?"

Startled, she looks up from her purse and turns around.

Oh. As he realizes it's indeed her, a smile makes its way on his face and, despite her surprise, she can't help her own. "Hi."

"Hey," she answers, hoping he doesn't notice how slightly higher her voice is. Chuckling awkwardly for a couple of seconds, they stand there like two idiots before he leans in and hugs her, and Lana focuses very hard not to ler her heartbeat skyrocket.

She knows that he can hear that, too.

Breaking the embrace, he shakes his head, beaming at her.

"I didn't know you were here tonight," he admits, and a part of her can't help but think that once upon a time, he could always tell where she was. "It's been – forever."

"Yeah, Eddy would have killed me if I hadn't shown. And I saw you, but you were busy, so. I thought you left, actually," she frowns, eyeing the door behind him.

"I did, yes, but – left something behind," he explains, lifting his arm to show her the black and orange Indian scarf he's holding. Pursing her lips, she nodds seriously.

"Well, it would have been a shame: orange is such a good colour for you." Playing along, he sighs.

"I know – It would have broken my heart." Chuckling with her, Clark nods towards the road. "Can I walk you back to your car?"

"Yeah, sure," she smiles. Clark Joseph Kent – still the perfect gentleman.

Both digging their hands in their jackets, they start walking side by side.

"So: how is Europe? My mom told me you moved over there a couple of years ago."

"Three, actually. And it was fine – good even. But I'm not going back, though."

He looks at her, a little surprised.

"Really? Why?" She shrugs.

"I don't know...Homesick, maybe? It feels like the time to come home, I guess. Plus, I just broke up with someone, so it's not like there's anything tying me up back there."

"I'm sorry," he says, and she knows that he really is.

"Thanks. It's fine, though – It wasn't a big love thing or anything, so. And hey, now I'm back!" she cheers, and he chuckles.

"I'm sure your parents are over the moon," he tells her knowingly, well aware of their over protective and over loving side. She rolls her eyes to confirm, and he chuckles again.

She takes the opportunity to glance at him, his perfectly defined strong jaw lightened by the lamps on the sidewalks. She makes herself look away when he speaks again. "Are you planning on moving back to Smallville?"

"I don't think so. I don't think there's much for me here. Literally, actually: there's not exactly a lot of marketing agencies that can get me a job in the area, from what I hear."

"I'm sure the iHop would love to employ you in their marketing team or something," he smiles as their eyes meet. "If you don't want to go too far from home, Metropolis is good. It's dynamic, it's a good place to live. There's marketing agencies," he raises his eyebrows at her. "And I can give you the adress of the best Italian restaurant in the world."

"Well, if you put it like that," she beams, feigning awe.

They take a few more steps before she speaks again, a little more serious this time despite the smirk she gives him. "I hear their hero is kinda cool, too." He smiles back, and although it's a little shy, it's genuine.

He's finally embraced who he is, and is at peace with it.

"I don't know about that, but - I hear he's doing good, yeah.""

"Isn't it hard, sometimes?", she dares to ask, because she wants to know. Superman never lets it show – no matter how bad the situation, no matter how hard, how horrific, how heartbreaking, he's always reassuring, always standing up to help, never weavering.

Always the hero they need him to be.

But she knows that he's not unaffected by all of this. Nobody could be, least of all him.

Eyes on the ground before his feet, he shrugs, then speaks again. "It can be. But there's also the bright sides, you know? The people that do get to live. The ones that get to keep their family. And it's not easy, even with that, but -"

He thinks for a few seconds, then says simply. "I'm not alone."

And he's not. His whole life, he had been, had felt completely lost and lonely and alone, so alone, and now he doesn't have to and God, how she's grateful. Now, he has a whole city behind him – a whole world. He has friends among the elected and among the people, he has superheros friends that have his back.

He has a family, and even if the thought always makes her heart ache sometimes, she's happy because she knows that he's finally found where he belongs. His home.

"She looks really great. I mean, from what I read and heard and saw from afar – she sounds amazing." Clark looks at her, careful, and she smiles to let him know it's okay. "And she has very nice taste in scarf," she jokes as she points towards the piece of fabric still in his hand. He chuckles, a little relaxed.

"She does. And she is," he confirms as they arrive to her car. They both silently agree to lean on the fence boarding the corn field she's parked next to. "She doesn't have any interest in football," he says with a sad expression, and she makes an overly shocked face.

They both loved it so much growing up, their parents actually started making secret plans to engage their interest in anything else, at one point. "But she's – I don't think I would be able to do it without her."

Lana knows he's not telling her all the ways she's perfect to him, all the ways he loves her because he cares about not hurting her own feelings, and yet, it's that simple sentence that stings the most, somehow. She doesn't want it to. And with time, maybe it will pass.

Despite all that, she's still happy for him.

"Then I'm glad you found her. Or that she's found you, from what I understood," and he chuckles. "And very late congratulations, by the way: it's a pretty handsome kid you two made." She watches as his face lights up in the night.

"Did my mother show you pictures of him for half and hour?," he winces, but there's more pride than embarassment in her tone. "Because she tends to do that." Lana chuckles.

"No, I just saw them from afar at the fair this afternoon. I didn't get a chance to go say hi, but yeah – she definitely was showing off, proud grandma style," and he rolls his eyes, amused. "Come on, let her brag. He is really cute, after all."

"He is. Runs far too much for a two year-old, if you ask me, but - he's great."

"What's his name?" He looks at her, smiles.

"Jon – Jonathan," and she smiles, too. "Her idea, actually."

"Does he know? That his dad wears tights, I mean," and throwing his head back, he laughs.

"He doesn't, no. He's too young to even properly understand what's happening, anyway. We don't know when or how to tell him, to be honest - although if he's anything like his mom, and he is, he'll figure it out by himself, anyway."

She chuckles, and then she keeps on laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. "What?" he enquires, amused.

"Nothing, it's just – I can't believe you're a dad," she smiles, head turning to meet his blue eyes. To this day, she still hasn't seen more deep and intense ones.

When she speaks again, her voice is a little softer. "I can't believe you've become Superman. Slash reporter Kent, of course", she adds with a chuckle. Eyes not leaving hers, his smile is gentle, and, just like before, just like he always have, she thinks he knows exactly what she thinks, what she feels.

What she's not saying.

"I know. Still feel a bit surreal, sometimes."

"I believe you. But I'm really glad you're okay, Clark."

They smile at each other for a few seconds, after so many years, she lost track, and, as they stand there in the moonlight, Lana is grateful she at least got to see him again. Got to speak to him again.

Dropping her gaze before she gets too emotional, she frowns, then looks back up at him, arms crossed against her chest.

"So, about the Batman thing: is it like, Matt Damon or something? Or Ben Affleck? Because I really think it's one of them, but if it isn't, I have so many theories."

He laughs out loud.

[thezerolevel]

Cheapskate Reviews The Devil’s Cavaliers

The opening credits play over shots of dudes galloping across the countryside: a few of these shots repeat themselves. This is supposed to be southern France in the 1550s, but looks like it’s undergone a dry spell. Once the credits end, we get the first line of the movie: “Hey Captain, look there!” Shades of the beginning of Hamlet! A guy in black (the captain) sets off on horse-pursuit of somebody else whose horse reared up and whinnied. That’s a crime, I guess. The second rider falls off and is revealed to be a woman in a shot that contains the glissando harp that tells you she’s beautiful.

She’s Louise and he’s Richard Stiller (unusual surname for a Frenchman) and they’re in love. Or at least Louise is, all dreamy and stuff. Richard’s got the expression of a coach giving a postgame conference. Louise is traveling with Baroness Elaine (Fairchild?) who’s come to visit from court, “where she knew the queen’s magician, Nostradamus, and apparently he taught her a few of his secrets: she actually predicted your return!”

Elaine called Richard the jack of spades upon meeting him.

RICHARD: My lady has trumped the jack. But may I ask, why the jack of spades? ELAINE: The sun of Spain has given that shade to your features, my cavalier, and every time I read the cards, you always come out between two hearts.

Awwww yeahhh, we’re gonna have some Hercules-quality dialogue here. (And Richard is no darker than Elaine.) The actress who played Elaine, Gianna Maria Canale, may look vaguely familiar to fans of doofy adventure films (e.g. me): she was the Amazon queen in the Steve Reeves Hercules.

Their banter is interrupted by a group of dudes who ride in and accuse Richard of being a brigand, kicking off our first sword fight: guys wielding fencing swords on horseback attack Richard, who fights back with his sword at head-level. I’ve seen a lot of fencing scenes in movies, and I’ve seen a lot of horseback fights in movies, but I’ve never seen a horseback-fencing scene before, and for good reason: the riders just go around in circles and the women stand in the middle, as confused as I was. Fencing seems like it would just forfeit all the advantages of being on horseback. You’d prefer to just ride in and spear your opponent before they can get away. Likewise, fencing is all about fancy footwork, which is in short supply among horses. Then again, this film had a pair of fencing masters coordinating the fight scenes named Andrea and Franco Fantasia. And I’m not prepared to doubt a guy with a name like Franco Fantasia.

The Baroness orders Richmond, the captain of the guard, to knock it off and apologize. (The voice that says “apologies accepted” is completely weird.)

Our hero, who seems to be self-conscious about his teeth, and our heroine, whose hat angle is midway between “jaunty” and “rakish.”

Richard’s headed home to rebuild his house, which was somehow destroyed. He’s been away for a while:

LOUISE: Do you need to say that it was my influence that brought you back to the land of your childhood? RICHARD: I’m out of practice with madrigals. I was a little clumsy.

Try inserting that line into the suggestion box next time you go to an improv show.

They’ll be headed to the palace for a ball tomorrow. Cut to Richard’s castle, which looks very medieval and totally inappropriate for the 1550s. Richard is a mercenary at heart and doesn’t want to settle down, so he wants to sell the castle to the king and go off adventuring. The king would want to buy the land because “heresy is spreading rapidly.” Presumably he’s talking about the Huguenots, the Calvinists who were a few years away from launching a protracted civil war.

Richard’s traveling with a retinue of his former soldiers. For some reason, one of the guys in Richard’s retinue doesn’t hear very well and it’s a joke. Anyway, off to the tavern. Richard’s been smiling more around his dude friends and the tavern people than he was around his girlfriend. Maybe he just can’t be tied down. Richard gets a super awkward line about his father:

RICHARD: Is it possible at your age that life hasn’t taught you that it’s useless to waste tears on a dead and buried past?

He gives the tavern keeper a gift of the tavern to show us that he’s the good guy, and there’s a round of totally unconvincing laughter that runs just a little too long.

Cut to a four-piece ensemble in front of a tapestry. I thought for a moment that the tavern had really splurged on entertainment, but no, this is the palace. The two sets aren’t different enough from each other visually to tell the difference. There’s some of that fancy cultured dancing going on, one of them quadrilles or some shit that I would know if I wasn’t a yokel from the sticks.

Richard says he hates the dances, but he smiles through them anyway. (The incessantly-smiling hero is another element borrowed from Hercules.) Elaine is here, dancing with the duke. The duke is not a fan of Richard and Louise getting together.

DUKE: They may have grown up together. They may be no more than childhood playmates. But this is a little game I don’t like at all!

Our villains, Elaine and the duke.

The duke is dismayed because he is, in his words, “a jealous man. Louise’s absurd flirting upsets [his] plans and a strange childhood friend returned home at a most inopportune moment could easily become a serious obstacle.” I guess he wants to marry her, but I’m not sure if it’s out of lust for power or lust for… lust. As the courtly dance continues, Elaine echoes my thoughts:

ELAINE: This ball is on the verge of becoming extremely boring.

Elaine and Richmond are competing for opportunities to take out Richard. They agree to give Richmond first crack. Meanwhile (do you always hear this word in your head in Allison Pregler’s voice when it leads off a sentence?), as Louise speaks of how entranced she is by the wonderful evening, she gazes off into space, looking kind of like the portrait of the Queen on the back of a Canadian quarter. Richard pitches woo for a while and then a guy with a mustache (repeated viewings, plus IMDB, convince me that this guy’s name is Duneil) purposefully bumps into him. When mustache guy says Richard should watch his feet, Richard gives an ever-so-pithy reply:

RICHARD: From the looks of you, I should put at least one of them in a certain part of your anatomy… the presence of a lady forbids my naming precisely.

I know what he’s getting at, but it’s funnier to imagine he’s referring to the pisshole. Anyhow, it’s time for a duel, which breaks up the party as everyone heads outside to watch. And this one is going to be a treat, because Duneil is portrayed by the one, the only… Franco M. F. Fantasia.

Signore Fantasia is not amused.

Some guy tells Louise she shouldn’t have invited Richard because he’s a vagabond, but she thinks he’s the hero she’s been waiting for. The fight kicks off in the garden, in front of a pool. Franco M. F. Fantasia is pretty damned quick. Some of his best moved are parried when Richard is off-screen. Sadly, there’s no music in this scene, just crickets. And the fight scenery is pretty dull. Nobody watches swashbuckling sword fights just for the swordplay: they want to see people slash candelabras and slide down bannisters and swing from chandeliers and trade quips. They at least attempt the latter, but the quips here have lost something in translation:

DUNEIL: I hope you have a piece of land left where your friends can bury you! RICHARD: They won’t bury you! They’ll leave your body for crow’s meat!

Not exactly “you fight like a cow” territory, here. It’s also disappointing that the dubbing team isn’t reading the lines like they’re in the midst of a fight: nobody’s out of breath.

Did you guess that Duneil would be going in the pool? You guessed correctly. The whole fight runs about two and a half minutes, and while students of stage fighting might enjoy it, it’s not thrilling enough to keep the general audience engaged.

The next day, Richard and Louise are out chilling in the countryside, wearing their Sunday best, as you do. The music is a bit too loud here as Louise suspects that Richard’s just running away from his soldierly responsibilities (which haven’t been defined as of yet—I thought he was a mercenary captain). Louise wants him to find adventure closer to home by overthrowing the Duke. Richard demurs.

RICHARD: You’re expecting your St. George… and you find only a tired soldier.

But he was just talking about how much he loved adventure! On the other hand, I guess it’s more fun to have a daring adventure in a faraway land than in your hometown. I’d much rather carry out a secret spy mission in Vienna than in Dubuque.

This lasts right up until Louise mentions that they’re trying to promise her to the Duke as a bride, which gets Richard to flinch. Louise wants to beat the Duke with his own weapon—scheming—and she says she has Elaine on her side. This may not end well for her. This whole conversation takes place while they’re standing dead still in front of a waterfall, facing away from it. Perhaps there’s something even more scenic behind the camera, like, I dunno, the Chrysler Building standing atop Mount Fuji.

You’d think Louise would be impressed by this, right? See her next line.

LOUISE: What do you think you’ve solved by doing that?

If I heard that after kissing a woman, I would probably be so embarrassed that I would go stand in the waterfall and wait for it to carry me to a merciful death. Some dude rides up—I can’t tell who it is at this distance—and it seems it’s bad news because Louise expects an argument and Richard wants to go help in whatever useless way he can. Nope, she’s going along.

Ominous gong and drumroll at the castle, where Elaine and the duke are trying to cut a deal. Elaine thinks the duke’s pride will be the death of him. Seems she tried to use a love potion to make Louise fall for the duke:

ELAINE: The potion that is able to put out the flame of love has not yet been invented.

Their ultimate goal is to overthrow the king. I guess they’re Huguenots. Elaine doesn’t like the duke, but she thinks the duke can take out the king, and she’s going to avenge herself on the king because it seems the king is not a good guy. Elaine promises to deal with Richard in her way, and the duke decides that this is a good time to get flirty.

DUKE: But in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt you to make an effort to be a little kinder to me…

Elaine leans way the hell back when he says this. and shoots him down.

Back at the tavern, Richard’s doing some paperwork (with the only guy who’s faking a French accent) when Giselle, Louise’s handmaid, comes in to buy supplies for Louise’s engagement ceremony. Even after she’s said, several times, that Louise is getting engaged, Richard acts like he doesn’t understand what’s going on. Maybe he took a few polearms to the head. Giselle straight up says that Louise is marrying the duke, and that Louise is preparing for the wedding. Richard’s response?

RICHARD: I don’t understand why you’re being so mysterious!

They’re going back to the palace together, plus one of Richard’s hangers-on, apparently because he has the (understandable) hots for Giselle.

I challenged braid enthusiast Jill Bearup to tackle this hairstyle.

Giselle and Louise meet in a garden and Giselle says she’s got a plan: if the guitarist stops playing, run like hell. Now off to talk to Richard again for a while, after they just did that a few minutes ago. There wasn’t really an engagement, this was just an attempt to lure Richard to the palace to make out. But now the duke sees that Richard is here, and he’s got Franco Fantasia with him who’s looking for revenge!

Louise’s plan is to “denounce [the duke’s] dissolute ways before all the nobles of the province,” with Elaine helping her. Richard puts on a goofy grin as he complains that nobody trusts Elaine. That’s her plan, and she’s sticking to it. Once she leaves, Franco Fantasia meets him with two guys who have to be German, based on their clothes. A three-on-one fight begins, with the two Germans acting in concert sometimes, and other times applying the one-ninja-at-a-time rule. Again, there’s very little use of the scenery.

After Louise sees the fight, Franco draws first blood, and we get our first swashbuckling dirty trick: Richard grabs some foliage, throws it in Franco’s face, and runs. Somehow, they didn’t have him surrounded, and he runs to Louise. Which is weird, because the camera angles used implied that Franco was between Louise and Richard, but somehow Richard ran offscreen in the other direction and wound up with Louise. Louise sneaks him into the palace.

Elaine is unhappy to learn what happened:

ELAINE: What is the thing you have done now? And I’m really astonished at you!

Elaine��s learned that Richard is in the castle (somehow) and clues in the guards. But she doesn’t want their help, because she has a plan.

A kid named Henri arrives to meet with the duke. He’s Louise’s brother, and he’s prepared to help the duke court her. He’s even providing a bit of love advice.

HENRI: As a rule, young girls of her age are fond of the unexpected, monsigneur.

Women readers: how would you react to your brother saying this about you?

After some more talkity-talk scenes that don’t really add anything to the plot, Giselle shows up at the tavern and tells Richard’s posse that Richard is a prisoner in the castle and needs rescuing. Then, back at the castle, Elaine cleans up Richard’s wounds and plots with Louise and Richard to escape tomorrow. She then reports tomorrow’s escape attempt to Richmond, who’s going to try and capture Richard with the help of… Franco Fantasia. Again. Elaine is not impressed.

ELAINE: If there’s absolutely no one else available whom you can use.

Despite being a grand schemer and a master of deception, Elaine is awfully loose-lipped about her disdain for the duke in this scene. She calls him a “blusterer” and a “mediocrity,” and she thinks it’s time that the duke get deposed and replaced with a man who can really inspire the people. You know, like Richard.

RICHMOND: You are ambitious. ELAINE: I know what I’m doing.

She distracts Fantasia, then invites Richard back to her room, where she offers him some wine. If you’ve seen a Hercules film, you know what happens next.

RICHARD: This wine is full of fire. What kind of vineyard could have produced the grapes for such a powerful wine?

He’s knocked out as Giselle reports to Louise that Richard is toast. Louise heads out to do… whatever (sadly, she’s not getting in a sword fight). Henri is waiting in Richard’s room and delivers the most wooden line reads of the whole script as he insinuates that bad things are going on. He busts into Elaine’s room, reveals them in what kinda looks like flagrante delicto but not really, and… shoots Elaine? I don’t understand this at all. Elaine dies, a victim of “a dream that was too great for [her],” and now we have sword fight #3.

Scandalous!

Now, in a good swashbuckling film, the environment has to come into play during a fight. This fight takes place in a room full of furnishings. I want to see the drapes thrown on a guy’s face, or somebody get whacked with a candelabra. But it’s just sword fighting here. One table is kicked over, but otherwise, bupkis. Richard ends the fight by turning Franco’s sword on himself. Meanwhile, Louise traipses off unnoticed.

The escape day-for-night is so dark that you can hardly see a thing except Richard’s white shirt. Thankfully, the only thing they do here is have Richard horsejack a dude and ride away.

Richard rides into the tavern the next day and tells his sidekicks (one of whom is doing a really awful Danny Kaye impression) to barricade the door to make it more defensible. You may remember that Richard also owns a castle, which is a structure that is generally well-suited for defense. Perhaps the plan is to wait for the guards to besiege the castle, then burst out of the tavern and attack them from behind.

No, actually. It seems that the guards knock down the barricade without much effort, only for the tavern denizens to vanish. Here begins a reprise of the horse chase from the intro, with chase music that isn’t so bad, really: the short bursts of percussion remind me of the chase music from Planet of the Apes. But it doesn’t match the tempo of the chase. The music is faster and more energetic than the horses are.

When our heroes arrive at a place with a gate that they want to go to (it’s a convent), they can’t get it open in time, and we have another patently absurd horse-fencing scene. There seems to be a gentleman’s agreement not to stab anybody’s horse. Richard gets to try out a one-liner:

RICHARD: I surrender only to God, and he’s not on your side!

The nuns just stand around watching the carnage, wherein Richard finds himself occasionally getting the worst of a one-on-one fight for the first time in the movie. Eventually the Mother Superior drops in to figure out if they want to give Richard & co. sanctuary, but she needs to know if they’re heretics. The nuns get the first decent joke:

NUN 1: We’ve heard them say their prayers. NUN 2: In their own way, but with great devotion, Reverend Mother.

The comic relief guys get subjected to a CCD exam by the nuns as they fight with their backs to the wall. That’s enough to get the good guys admitted and the bad guys somehow get the gates shut in their face, even though Richard was very clearly behind some of those bad guys just a shot ago.

It’s OK to get in a fight in front of a convent now and then, as long as you don’t make it a habit. *RIM SHOT*

The next scene is at court, where Henri and Louise are on trial for murdering Elaine. Henri’s defense is that he tried to kill Richard instead, but it seems that killing a baroness is a strict liability offense and doesn’t require proof of motive. The duke won’t reveal the deal with Henri to kill Richard, so it seems that Henri is dead meat.

LOUISE: You have never known how to select your friends.

At the convent, the men are welcome to stay as long as they’re in danger, but they’re going to have to work for it. Exciting scenes of swashbuckling minor construction work follow! Laugh (or not) as the guy who wants to be Danny Kaye and who has no trouble going to war, for crying out loud, tries to get out of building a dove pen!

Louise and Giselle have a stitch-and-bitch party. Louise is convinced that the duke will offer her a pardon in exchange for marriage. She’s lost her faith in Richard at this point because of Elaine’s tomfoolery, and boldly proclaims, “I want only to die.” (Her line read doesn’t sound all that sad to me, but whatever.)

The duke shows up, as predicted, and demonstrates his inability to flirt.

DUKE: It is your obstinate attitude that exasperates me. Despite all my excesses, I think I am less inhuman than you are.

He has no choice, you see, he has to put somebody to death for killing Elaine or else the king will be mad. And once she gives him a chance, she’ll start to love him eventually (as so many heavyset men with unflattering haircuts and beards have said over the years).

It’s time to break out of the convent, but it’s surrounded by enemy soldiers. Richard asks the mother superior about a disguise. Meanwhile, Richmond explains that the duke needs to do something grand and showy to convince the provincials that the duke is worthy to be king.

Richard’s bold plan is to put on a guard outfit and ride right up to Richmond’s castle. He didn’t even shave his mustache! Admit it, you were expecting him to disguise himself as a nun.

”I mean, I, of course, am a master of disguise. But he, on the other hand, looks like a dink.”—Die Fledermaus

The duke is going to have a grand and showy tournament to demonstrate how great he is. (Or rather, a “tourney.” This is a dubbing decision to cover for the Italian “torneo.” I wonder if George R.R. Martin insists on “tourney” because he’s trying to emulate the atmosphere of low-budget Italian films, or whether he’s iffy on the spelling of “tournament.”) He’ll face Henri in a joust: if Henri loses, Henri is guilty. (So we can now place the time of the film: it’s between 1555, when Nostradamus went to Paris, and July 10, 1559, when France held its last jousting tournament—a tournament that killed King Henri II.) Henri’s never jousted before (the Henri in this movie, not King Henri), so this may not end well for him (but it didn’t end well for King Henri either). The duke claims the weapons will be totally safe.

Richard’s infiltration plan has a fun shot in which the camera sits in the middle of a spiral staircase and follows him around. He’s immediately recognized when he gets to the top. Shoulda shaved the mustache. When you have a brief scuffle in a swashbuckling movie next to a staircase, you gotta throw somebody down the staircase, right? But it doesn’t happen here.

At Louise’s apartment, Giselle wants to stop the tournament (or “tournée,” as she calls it). Louise thinks it’s no use. Then, just out of the blue, Richard bounds right in and Giselle matter-of-factly greets him. Louise is still sore about the whole arms-of-Elaine thing and isn’t prepared to escape with him, and it’s time for a one-on-three sword fight as the guards burst in. This doesn’t last long, as a guard threatens to kill Louise unless Richard drops his sword. He complies.

Henri walks in after the guards and Richard leave (maybe they nodded to each other in the hallway). Henri thinks he can take out the duke at the tournament. Now Louise wants to escape, and she sends Giselle off to the tavern to get the guys to do… something.

Cut to a girl doing a belly dance at a feast. You know, a belly dance of the kind that was so popular in France in the 1550s (or, rather, of the kind that no proper Hercules movie could be without). The dance is interrupted when Richmond tells the duke that Richard is in the dungeon. As they leave, a group of hitherto unidentified noblemen complain that more men are siding with the duke these days and that they’ll probably lose the tournament.

In the dungeon, Richard notes how unusually laconic the torturer is: “men in your profession usually ask a thousand questions.” The torturer explains his system: if he sees a red hanky in the window, Richard dies slowly. If it’s a white hanky, “we’ll pass the evening playing cards.” The arbitrary nature of early modern justice must have driven this guy nuts, but his work-a-day attitude towards his job makes him the funniest character in the film.

The duke is going to taunt Louise by explaining the hanky code (not that kind of hanky code) and letting her know that she only gets the white one if she agrees to marry the duke. She takes the deal, and Richard will get to go to the wedding.

Meanwhile, the rest of the soldiers escape the convent on a rope that’s been tied to a tree. It’s too dark to see, but the plan is successful. Giselle seduces a guard (“from my window, you can see everything”) and much as you suspected, Richmond reveals that the lances for the tournament are real, but disguised to look like wood.

Time to bust into the castle and save Richard. There’s a great moment where our heroes find themselves at the business end of an arquebus and hit the deck in unison, but the fight is otherwise undistinguished as they dispatch their opponents quickly and get right to Richard. They’re set upon by guards again upon leaving the cell, and this fight turns into a real scrum, complete with flipped tables and (finally) a guy getting thrown down the stairs.

The only way out is through the roof, which Richmond is patrolling with more goons. This fight has great energy, but it’s shot from so many different angles that it’s hard to tell where the characters are in relation to each other. And Danny Kaye guy keeps acting as ineffective comic relief right up until he gets a Chaplinesque kick in the ass. Rather hilariously, the sidekicks form a circus-style human tower to leap over the wall and unlock the gate from the outside.

Quickly, men! Climb the wall, then hop onto your unicycles and speed away!

Richmond and Richard get a climactic sword fight on the stairs. At least, it would have been climactic if we’d seen Richmond’s swordfighting skills at any previous point in the film: even just a quick scene to establish him as a dangerous opponent. Team Circus gets the gate open, and Richard wins his fight with a really disappointing finisher: he jumps over a short obstacle, and when Richmond follows, Richmond leaps right into his enemy’s sword.

RICHARD: To the tournament, men!

…

The things that make a peplum movie entertaining are bizarre dialogue, good looking people wearing very little clothing, and goofy fight scenes. This film has one out of three: the dialogue is appropriately silly, but the 16th century setting means that everyone’s covered up, and the fights leave too many buckles un-swashed.

The Good: I’m going to need to find an excuse to say “Is it possible at your age that life hasn’t taught you that it’s useless to waste tears on a dead and buried past?” more often. Some real athleticism from the sidekicks in the fights. Loved the jailer.

The Bad: Sword fights on horseback are really awkward. Utter lack of characterization among secondary characters makes them easy to confuse with each other. Scenery rarely changes, making the adventure seem less grand.

Watch It If: You’re a swordplay addict or a peplum completist.

Cheapskate Reviews The Devil’s Cavaliers was originally published on Channel Zero