#with his big ol' blue eyes who would do anything for his wife including letting her destroy his mind...

[astramachina]

Bill's wife committed suicide.... Luo's wife is still in hibernation.... Bill and Luo are sun and moon coded..... both former messiahs....

You know what this means, gentlemen.

[erin-bo-berin]

Home Run

MASTERLIST

Happy Saturday! I’m back with a THIRD new fic in a row. I just couldn’t wait to post this one either. Requested by @andiebeaword​, this fic was obviously inspired by the baseball scenes from 8x06. This was just so much fun to write and I liked being able to switch it up some and have it be like a huge BAU annual baseball game with past and current agents. It was interesting to be able to write about all these characters together, some of them never even being around at the same time on the show. Also, I had to use this gif cause Spencer’s huge smile in this scene will never fail to make me happy. Sit back, relax and enjoy a nice BAU ballgame fluff piece. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 2,634

It was the arrival of the annual baseball game that started it all.

Every year, the BAU held what was the most well known event outside the office; the baseball game was held on the first weekend in June, infamous for the most competitive game between all different members of the BAU, past and present.

Past members of the team came back every year to play. It was a nice, fun way to see everyone again.

This year was going to be a little...different.

“Guys, come on! You know why I never take part in this!” Spencer Reid whined, ��I had to be exempt from any physical test just to get in the FBI!”

You chuckled at your friend and coworker’s expense. Standing next to you was Derek Morgan, another of your coworkers. Beside the two of you was a baseball cannon, loaded with balls for Spencer’s practice.

“Reid, you know Kevin Lynch can’t make the game this year due to a family commitment. We’re short one player,” Derek hollered back.

“I don’t even know how to play baseball!”

“Which is precisely why we’re here,” you retorted, “All you do is swing, hit the ball and run. It’s easy!”

“Easy for you,” he grumbled, lifting his bat again, “Okay, let’s try it again.”

“Don’t think, just feel it,” Morgan called.

“Feel it, feel it,” Spencer nodded.

The ball went shooting from the apparatus and you saw Spencer trying to follow it with his eyes. You crossed your fingers, hoping he’d hit it.

He swung.

And he missed. Again.

“Reid, that’s not feeling it!” 

“I’m feeling like an idiot!” Spencer shouted back, exasperated.

“Come on pretty thang, go show your pretty boy how it’s done,” Morgan nodded to the home plate.

You cut him a warning glance, your cheeks reddening. You’d had a tiny crush on Spencer since the first day you met him. 

Derek’s nickname for Spencer was pretty boy. When you’d joined the team, you became pretty thang. It was often his joke that Spencer was your pretty boy, which embarrassed you to no end. He definitely rooted for you two as a couple.

Despite all the relentless teasing, Spencer remained mercifully oblivious. You’d rather not deal with that embarrassment of your crush being exposed. Although if it was up to Derek Morgan, he’d shouted it from the rooftops for you ages ago.

“Kid, come here. Watch how she bats, okay?”

Derek put his arm around Spencer’s shoulders as you took your place behind the home plate, bat raised and ready. Morgan loaded another ball and it flew towards you.

A crack of the bat sounded as you hit it high in the air, watching it soar to the further end of the field.

“All you gotta do is swing your hips and hit it!” you called.

“If I had hips like that, I would,” Spencer retorted.

You knew Spencer didn’t mean anything by the remark, but you still felt a tad embarrassed at his focus on your body.

“Grab a mitt big boy, we’re practicing your catching,” Morgan called, running to grab one for you. 

“Can’t wait,” Spencer mumbled sarcastically.

You chuckled, taking the mitt from Morgan and handing him the baseball bat.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that remark of his about those sexy curves,” he teased you as he took your place batting.

“What’s that? You’re gonna take it easy on us?” you chuckled, purposely ignoring his remark.

Derek was a beast at batting and if he was going to bring his A game, Spencer was surely going to be in for it during his first outfield lesson.

“Oh never,” Morgan laughed.

“Guys you know all my unpleasant childhood sports memories happened like this,” Spencer protested.

“Okay, okay,” Morgan relented, “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Thank you,” he huffed.

“Spence, since Kevin was right field, you’re going to be in the right field,” you said.

“Which is where exactly?” he asked, wincing.

You chuckled.

“Well, you know which way is right, correct?”

He nodded, pointing to the right.

“Then that’s where you’re heading,” you grinned, pushing him gently in that direction.

“Isn’t the right fielder where a team can hide their worst player without destroying their defense?” Spencer called, walking backwards to his position.

“You know that yet you can’t play baseball?” you asked, mystified.

“I know information about a lot of things I don’t do,” he replied.

“Good point,” you mumbled.

“Watch out pretty boy,” Morgan called, “Y/N’s a beast at playing center field.”

“As long as I have to play as little as possible, I’m fine!”

The ball shooter let loose another ball and Morgan hit it high in the air. Your eyes never left the ball as you sprinted to catch it, the ball falling perfectly in your glove. If it had been a real game, Morgan would’ve been out.

He whistled across the field.

“Now that’s impressive.”

You peered over at Spencer, who was looking at you, mouth agape.

“What?” you flushed.

“I just didn’t expect you to be able to do that.”

“I played a lot of baseball when I was younger,” you explained.

“How do you expect me to play like that?” Spencer asked, still stunned.

“We’re not expecting you to be a professional, Reid,” Morgan said, approaching him, “Just do your best and have fun. It’s a game for fun anyway.”

“Fun for you guys,” he grumbled.

“Okay, I’m gonna try to go easier on you, to give a little practice on fetching the ball,” Derek said, heading back to home plate.

“I’m not a Golden Retriever!” Spencer said.

You chuckled.

Derek purposely held back, sending the ball in the middle of your area and Spencer’s. He ran for it at the same time you did as you noticed it was close to falling towards the field’s fence.

You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings, only the ball. That was how you ended up running right into Spencer’s chest, falling backwards into the ground. You lost track of the ball, but noticed it fall to the ground a few feet away from you.

“Oh my god, are you okay?!”

He rushed to help you up, but you waved him away, apologizing.

“So sorry about that,” you chuckled, “I should’ve been paying more attention to where I was going.”

Like a gentleman, he offered a hand to help you up, which you ended up taking, trying to ignore the tingling on your skin that holding his hand produced.

“No, I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I’m not that good at this sort of thing. In fact, I suck.”

“Hey, no need to be so hard on yourself,” you smiled, “You’re doing just fine.”

“Unless you two are over there discussing how amazing I am, I’d love for you two to get back to your positions!” Morgan shouted.

“Nah, we were just discussing how we think you’d look in a toupee,” Spencer remarked, making you snort.

Your phone beeped and you reached in the back pocket of your shorts and pulled it out, seeing a text message from team member and technical analyst Penelope Garcia.

“Guys, we’ve got a case,” you announced to the two men.

“Hallelujah.”

Spencer practically sprinted off the baseball field making you and Derek laugh heartily.

“Just you wait, pretty boy!” Derek called out to him, “I’m sure you’ll surprise everyone this weekend!”

•

Saturday was a beautiful day. 

The skies were such a clear blue, it almost looked artificial. The sun shone brightly without a cloud in the sky and the temperature was pleasant, without being too hot. Basically, it was the perfect day for a baseball game. 

The game day also fell on a great day. 

The team had just wrapped up the case that you and them had been called in on earlier in the week. It would be nice to have a relaxing Saturday afternoon with some baseball, good friends and plain ‘ol fun.

“Spencer!”

You waved him over, when you saw him.

“Hey,” he grinned, catching the mitt you threw him.

“We’re first in the field,” you explained, “You ready to play some ball?”

“Stoked,” he deadpanned.

“Oh come on, it won’t be that bad,” you chuckled, reaching up to place his baseball hat on his head.

“You’ll do great,” you assured him, patting his chest as you headed off towards your spot in center field.

Your team was made up of your fellow BAU team members including: Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Luke Alvez, Penelope, Derek, Spencer and of course, yourself.

On the opposing team were friends and fellow coworkers: Matt Simmons, Tara Lewis, Alex Blake, Ashley Seaver, Stephen Walker, Kate Callahan, Jordan Todd, Mateo Cruz and Grant Anderson. 

Last year, they had won. This year, you and your team were ready to take back the reigning title.

The crowd was filled with friends and family, here to support their loved ones.

There was Beth, Hotch’s girlfriend and Jack, Hotch’s teenaged son. Rossi’s wife Krystall, his step daughter Portia, daughter Joy—and her husband and son Kai—were also in attendance. Savannah and Hank were there too, Morgan’s wife and three year old son, cheering their favorite player on. 

JJ’s husband Will and their two boys, Henry and Michael were in the stands as usual; they never missed this yearly game. All of Matt Simmons’ small tribe were also present and accounted for; wife Kristy and their two sons Jake and David, twin girls Chloe and Lily and their newly one year old final child, Rose Mary. Even Emily’s boyfriend Andrew Mendoza had shown up to cheer on his favorite girl.

Alex Blake’s husband James had come, taking a weekend off of his teaching duties so he could travel to D.C. for the game. Stephen Walker’s wife Monica sat with their two teenagers, a son and a daughter, already whooping and cheering for his team. Kate Callahan’s little family was there too; it was nice to see them since you hadn’t seen them in a while. Her husband Chris was seated with their biological niece turned adopted daughter Meg—who was now 18 and so much older than the last time you’d seen her—and their youngest daughter, now five.

Rounding out the group of loved ones was Anderson’s wife, her belly swollen with pregnancy. 

If that sounded like a huge turnout, that didn’t even count the other members of the BAU and other departments of the FBI. The bleachers were absolutely packed. The game really was that big of a deal.

The game started out rather slow, which was pretty unusual for a game between both teams. With two incredibly talented teams, usually someone had scored by now, but in hindsight it also meant the defense of each team was incredibly good as well.

By the third inning, both Morgan and Hotch had hit two homeruns. You’d had a decent hit, but ended up striking out before you could reach third base.

In another inning, the opposite team had tied up. 

Poor Spencer up to this point had struck out every time he was at the bat. You could tell he was incredibly embarrassed, but you kept encouraging him.

“Don’t let it get you down, Spence,” you smiled, after he’d struck out again, “You’re gonna hit it when they least expect it and knock them off their feet.”

He offered an appreciative half smile and you found yourself silently cheering him on throughout the entire game.

Surprisingly, his right fielding skills were pretty great. He had caught on quickly and was able to fetch the balls and throw them to any nearby basemen. He had actually struck out Kate, preventing her from almost scoring another point to take the lead.

“Woo! Way to go, Spence!” you hooted, clapping as best as you could with your mitt.

You saw his face flush and you knew it wasn’t all from the heat.

By mid game, the sun had started beating down on all of the attendees causing lots of red faces, sweaty shirts and bottles of water to be consumed. You were hot and sweaty like no other, but you were having the best time.

The fifth inning brought your team a three point lead which you’d contributed one of those points to and you were rather proud. You high fived all your teammates as you ran across home plate and came to the end of the line where Spencer was. He picked you up and spun you around in his excitement.

“Is it my imagination or is someone actually having fun?” you grinned.

“I’m definitely having fun.”

-

The last inning was the most tense. 

It was tied 5 to 5 and Spencer was up to bat next. If he struck out, the opposing team had one last chance to come out ahead and win the game.

Spencer was a wreck, to put it lightly. He’d already struck out once and Morgan ended up calling a time out. 

Spencer had been pacing and gesticulating wildly as Morgan talked to him, finally putting his hands on Spencer’s shoulders to calm him.

Whatever Morgan said to him, seemed to work. 

You watched from the sidelines as he calmly walked back to the home plate. 

Stephen was the one pitching this inning and he had a pretty good throw. But you believed in Spencer.

“Come on Spencer! You can do it!” you hollered.

You watched his posture change from nervousness to more confident. There had definitely been some sort of change in him.

The ball left Stephen’s hand and went flying Spencer’s way. You found yourself holding your breath and you actually flinched at the sudden crack of the bat hitting the ball.

Spencer seemed stunned for a moment as the ball soared towards the outfield, high above everyone’s heads.

“Run, run!” you and the rest of the team yelled to him, snapping him out of his daze.

Garcia was on second base and Rossi was on third. They went running as the other team scrambled to catch the ball in time. 

Rossi crossed the home plate, causing loud hoots and cheers from the audience that continued on as Penelope made it home right behind him.

Spencer hit first base and second by the time Matt had retrieved the ball. You noticed Spencer pick up speed and whiz past third base, trying to make it in time before the ball reached the pitcher again.

The cheers grew louder as loved ones shouted their encouragement to Spencer in hopes he made it home.

He slid home moments before the ball met Stephen’s glove bringing the game to an end in a 5-8 win.

The bleachers erupted in screams, as did you and the rest of your team. 

Morgan practically tackled Spencer in a hug, Spencer’s grin so big it rivaled the brightness of the afternoon sun. 

You were right behind Morgan to greet Spencer. Morgan had just let him go as you ran up to him.

“Spence, that was awesome!” you cried. 

In your excitement you grabbed Spencer’s face and kissed him hard, not even thinking of what you were doing until after you’d already pulled away.

He stood frozen and stunned, a smile on his face and you grinned, realizing you didn’t regret it one bit.

Everyone else had been too busy to see it, you assumed, so before the rest of the team swarmed him you called to him.

“You deserved that!”

Just then, the other six members reached him, swallowing him up in their excitement. His smile never left his face and his eyes flicked to you numerous times, an almost shyness to him.

You had assumed no one had seen the kiss until you overheard Morgan’s comment to Spencer.

“Way to go pretty boy! You didn’t just get one home run today, you got two!”

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[sabinemorans]

Mission Impossible: Nanny

Quinn McKenna x female reader

Words: 2,679

Warnings: none!

A/N: This was co-written with @nothing-but-a-comedy the title credit goes to @sailorsquadgoals

Quinn was finally starting to get the hang of caring for Rory, but there were some days he wished he had some help. Shared custody with his wife was already a bit of a struggle, and Quinn knew that Rory could use an extra caregiver or two. It eased his mind that Rory was actually the one to suggest this idea since his mother had hired a nanny recently. Of course he said it in his way– very blunt and matter-of-fact– but Quinn enjoyed it actually.

Even though everything had changed after the Predators had come, this was a good thing to come of it. He felt closer to Rory now than ever and it would take a special person to be good enough to watch him, and a very special ad to draw them in. It was a normal ad detailing the basics up until it mentioned protection for his son, including the lines “people with ex-military or security background preferred.”

It took a little longer than Quinn had hoped, even if it was a unique ad, but he finally found the perfect candidate hit. She was educated, well reviewed, and passed a background check on the nanny site with flying colors.

That would have been enough for anyone else, but Quinn knew with his line of work, he’d have to do a deep search just to be on the safe side. He sent her name to Nebraska, knowing he could trust him to find out about any red flags. Surely she would understand, and if she didn’t, then Quinn would know she wasn’t right for the job.                                 

The best part was her suggestion for a secondary nanny as the request had mentioned this was protection for the child as well. The second one, a man, also passed with flying colors and was sent to Nebraska. When there were no red flags to be found after Nebraska had essentially done a deep dive-Quinn emailed them. Cause if Nebraska couldn’t find anything, then there was nothing to find. 

It looked like a solid deal, and Quinn was a little excited to be getting some extra help and a chance to make Rory happy. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was how attached he would become to her. To you. 

~~~

You’d partially given up on finding a new nanny job when finally good news was in your email. Quinn McKenna wanted to interview you! Grinning, you immediately called your backup and very best friend Din, telling him the news. 

“If he wants to see me, he probably wants to see you too, considering,” you said, moving from your kitchen counter to your stove where pasta was boiling. You had your headphones on so there was less chance of you dropping your phone into boiling water which had only happened once but Din acted as if it had happened a dozen times. Honestly, it couldn't have happened after he had left your apartment?

“Good, his was the only interesting job on there. I wonder if he’d be ok with me bringing the baby along at times. Maybe if the kid takes a liking to us, it might be good for him to socialize with a baby.” Din had adopted a baby at the beginning of the year. He’d gone with a mutual friend of yours to an adoption agency and just fallen in love. It had taken forever but as he put it, he’d just known as soon as those big dark eyes had found his that they were meant to be. 

“We’d definitely need to build some trust first. I know my little one doesn’t cry much, but to a child on the spectrum, it can be very hard to handle. That would be the best case scenario though since there’s two of us. Though this McKenna guy mentioned protection, so maybe he’s a political person or something. We don’t wanna bring that dark eyed angel into any danger.” You strained your pasta and dumped it a bowl, pouring sauce on top and beginning to mix.  

“Fair enough. Guess we’ll see, sweet girl, huh?” 

You smiled and shook your head at the affectionate nickname. “Don’t call me that Din, you know better. I always think you want something from me when you call me that.” 

“What me? Never,” came the reply where he was so obviously grinning like an idiot. God you hated him sometimes, it was so hard to love someone so ridiculous but you managed it even with knowing him as long as you did. You could ask for better company than him sometimes but you couldn’t ask for a better best friend. Bastard knew it too. The two of you were bonded for life, for better or worse.

“Smartass. I’ll call you with the details when he emails me back, love you Din.”

“Love you back, sweet girl.” You heard a laugh before he hung up and you pulled your headphones off. 

“Silly man,” you muttered as you began to eat your pasta and homemade sauce on the way to your couch. Turning your TV on, you settled with a comfort show so your brain could wander as you ate. Quinn McKenna...what an interesting name.

~~~

Mr. McKenna had been busy with work over the weekend, so it took a few days for the interview to happen. You arrived with Din by your side, as Mr. McKenna had proposed you had applied more or less as a team and would be interviewed as such. He told you that he liked your forethought to mention a second you already trusted, and that compliment made you smile. Thinking ahead had always been a strength of yours. 

“Should you knock or should I knock?” Din looked at you and you shrugged back with an indifferent look on your face. 

“Do you think it matters?”

“I guess not.”

“...you want to knock don’t you?”

The door to the cozy two story house had an old school knocker on it and Din’s grin gave you all the information you needed. 

“Go on then,” you chuckled, waving your hand at it. 

He knocked three times and sighed, satisfied with that stupid grin on his face. You shook your head. Ridiculous man. 

The man who answered the door looked anything but ridiculous. He was absolutely not what you’d been expecting at what-six foot two? Filled out well too with bright blue eyes you could get lost in, blonde hair shorter on the sides a little bit flopping at the top and a smile that screamed “good ol’ boy” more than anything you had ever seen.

And you were fucking hooked.

But you were a professional and despite the sudden mental images of jumping on him and pressing your body to his (likely muscular and strong and maybe even a bit pudgy) body you simply smiled brightly and hoped that Din would keep his professional manner even though Quinn McKenna was definitely one of your types. 

“Mornin’, thank you both for comin’,” McKenna said before waving the two of you in. 

Din let you lead and he followed both you and McKenna to the dining room table where your possible employer sat in front of both of you. He was prepared, both your resumes sat before him and he had them side by side with what looked like prepared questions written down. Din and you shared a glance that spoke volumes. He was very serious wasn’t he? Maybe he was political, maybe he was a part of the mob or maybe he was some kind of paranoid kook. It was a nice house and it actually reminded you of David Lieberman’s house in ‘The Punisher’ and then a fourth option to what Mr. McKenna did crossed your mind quickly followed by a fifth. 

Either he was a government spook, or he was the Punisher. Either way you weren’t that mad about it.

“Take a seat,” Quinn gestured to the chairs in front of him with a face that didn’t betray much emotion.

You noticed that he glanced at you a few times too many, but he made it hard to read what was going on in his head. He must have noticed the confused looks on your faces, because he gave you a reassuring smile as you sat down before clearing his throat. “You must be wondering why I needed two nannies with your type of background,” he chuckled.

You exchanged a look with Din for a split second before Mr. McKenna broke the semi-awkward silence. “I’m in the military too and I wanted people I could trust with my kid’s safety,” he explained. His answer was still a little vague for you, but you figured you’d ask him more about it later. It was nice to know he would understand the two of you though, you’d worked security for a little while and were amazed at how much people pushed back when asked what you thought was safest. With Mr. McKenna you might fight over strategies but at least he’d understand them.

You found yourself wondering what branch he was in, what his rank was when Din spoke, pulling you back to the present. 

“Well, in that case, you found the right people for the job,” Din said in a professional manner. “We both served in the Marines. I was a Corporal and she was a Sergeant as I’m sure you saw by our records.” Din explained, and you took a moment to admire how well he always pitched the two of you as valuable assets. He went on to detail (as much as he was allowed to) how you’d worked together for years. You did chime in here and there with details Din couldn’t remember and explained your individual special skills. 

Din was a master of stealth, infiltration and quiet extraction were his specialties. You on the other hand were a sniper. Your furthest confirmed kill was clocked at 1110 yards– a near record. The pair of you were well trained in hand-to-hand combat and familiar with most guns that could be thrown at you though with the choice between a gun or a knife, you favored the K-Bar while Din favored his Sig Sauer.

Mr. McKenna  crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving Din an impressed look as he heard his pitch. His eyes had lit up when you said you were a sniper and you smiled back, recognizing the look of a fellow sniper in him. The fact that you had something so specific in common was mind blowing really!  While you both derailed for a moment to talk about things you saw Din smirking a little. Ass. He knew exactly what it meant when you grinned like that. Trying to stay professional (and not give Din the satisfaction of knowing your thoughts too well) you locked down the thoughts of the two of you on a date, seeing who could  hit the farthest target even if it would probably be you. 

“Both of your resumes are impressive, but I’m wonderin’ why you guys left after spending so much time climbing the ranks.” Mr. McKenna quirked an eyebrow at you, so you chose to answer this question instead of leaving it to Din.

“It was just time for us to get out. With all the jobs I’ve had in the world I’ve listened to my gut about when it was time to seek out something else. Din trusted me enough that when I said the Marines wasn’t the right career for us anymore that he put in to leave when I did. A few months after we left we got word that a lot of our unit had been badly injured in an ambush masquerading as a rescue mission.” You shifted your hair from one side to the other and kept eye contact with Mr. McKenna, who let out a sigh through his nose and nodded. Nothing else needed to be said about that.

After that it lightened up. You felt at ease answering his questions; he didn’t seem as intimidating as you initially thought him to be, and the interview eventually flowed more like a friendly conversation than a job interview. You all even laughed about things! Maybe it was the fact that the three of you could bond over your military backgrounds (Quinn as he insisted on being called after the third time he was referred to as Mr. McKenna, was a Ranger Captain), or maybe it was because of the way that Quinn looked at you differently than he’d look at Din. You didn’t have time to put your finger on what kind of look it was exactly before a young boy came walking out of a nearby hallway but it certainly warmed you all over. It was nice to talk so freely with another man besides Din too, someone else who understood.

Din’s face lit up as he saw him, and you couldn’t help but smile as he exclaimed, “Oh hey, little man! Is that Rory?” He asked as he turned to Quinn with a bright smile.

“Yup,” Quinn responded, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gestured for Rory to sit beside him. He ruffled Rory’s hair and pointed in yours and Din’s direction to introduce you to him. “These might be your new nannies, whaddya think of that, bud?”

Din held his fist out for Rory to bump and you shook the little guy’s hand in a greeting, smiling widely at how cute he was. You glanced up at Quinn as Din and Rory exchanged a few words, already acting like they were the best of friends. Quinn was obviously very protective of his son, happily watching the exchange, but you could tell he was watching closely to see how Din would get along with him. Din was being his usual self around children, boisterous but at a respectful volume, which was so different from how he was around most new people. You laughed at a stupid joke Din made which made Rory smile before running your hands through your hair again. Your eyes were pulled towards Quinn in soft glances and you noticed when he glanced at you as well, carefully timed to when you were listening to Rory talk about what he liked to do and how he liked things to be.

Before your eyes could meet Quinn’s and you could really analyze those glances, you heard Rory mention something about a fight. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart what did you say?”  Quinn looked at Rory, stunned and then at the two of you. 

“Now hang on buddy I don’t-“ His father started but Rory kept going anyway. He was definitely determined and had been waiting to say this. 

“I wanna see you guys fight, you know, see who’s better. And the winner can fight my dad! If you can beat my Dad or just hold your own you’re definitely good enough to be my nanny.” The sweet faced little boy was so succinct about his needs that you laughed a little incredulously but with no small amount of humor.

“You know what you want sweetheart I’ll give you that,” you said with a grin and shrug to Quinn and Din. “I’m game, but we probably shouldn’t swing to really hurt each other. Do you have boxing gloves maybe or we could do more Jiu Jitsu and grapple rather than throw punches.”

“Yeah no, no real hits. But if the little man wants to see a fight he’s gonna get a fight.” Din was already standing, making to take off his nice jacket and you were following suit when Quinn stood and waved his hands. Jesus-his hands were huge. How had you not noticed that yet?

“Hang on hang on,” he said looking at the pair of you, both paused with your jackets pooled at your elbows.

“But Daaaaad,” Rory whined, looking up at him.

Quinn raised a brow at his son before smirking and letting out a small chuckle. “You guys shouldn’t fight…” He grinned at Rory before adding, “...in the house.”

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 57: Wasting Time with a New Friend

Lotor makes some new friends. Together, they discover that word of Lance and Keith's union has reached video game developers in the worst, best way.

Featuring Leakira in the role of comic relief (Not to offend Leakira fans, this is meant to be a fun, happy place. I just thought it might be funny little detail) XD

First  Previous  Next

Lotor finds them sleeping in a hallway. A much-needed distraction.

More specifically, it’s an adolescent Olkari with orange feelers, dressed in green and white garb stained with red dust. They’re incredibly small, even for a smaller species. Pretty adorable, like a wolf cub.

So obviously he nudges them with his foot.

“Can I help you?” the kit growls, amber eyes glaring up at him.

“You’re sleeping in a hallway.”

“And? What’s your point?”

“... You know what? I’m not really sure.”

With a groan, the kit sits up, tugging on their feelers. “So what are you up to, Mr. Prince?”

“Oh not much. Wandering around, looking for trouble.” He’s actually looking for a distraction, but that’s almost the same thing as trouble.

“Trouble, huh?” The Olkari smirks. “I’m Pidge. Lance’s resident tech genius and vent crawler- I mean spy.”

“Ah-haha, I see. You’re one of his ‘associates’.” Lotor grins, helps Pidge to their feet.

“Yes. Working for Lance usually involves some level of trouble. What are the princes up to today, anyway?”

“Lance is with Allura. She’s having a hard morning. Keith is with Thace, our emergency medic and reproductive specialist.”

“Oh, really? Making sure his junk works?”

“That’s the idea. Why?”

“It’d be awesome to have some dirt on Keith. He’s just so perfect.” Pidge skips down the hallway, a curious prince following behind them. “The worst thing he’s done is drink a bit too much, find his happy place at a party, and get really snuggly with Lance.”

Following Pidge into what should have been an old, empty storeroom, Lotor’s eyes widen in surprise. The typically ignored room is set up with monitors and a work table covered with Balmeran crystals and a few other tools.

“Where did you get some of these tools?” he asks, eyeing a choice laser of Galra design.

“I crawled through the tunnels underneath the actual labs and stole them. I’m welcome in the labs, of course. I just don’t want to share my work with them. The field of science is rife with thieves.”

“You found the tunnels already?” Lotor stares. There are tunnels all under the mountain, his ancestors making the massive peak into an insect hive. There are escape tunnels and hidden caches and underground pools and even a forge made of volcanic glass that he discovered as a small boy.

He still likes to go down there on the rare occasion he can find the time. Someday, he’ll take his children down there, and tell them all about the stories carved into the ancient walls.

“Yep! Anyway, let’s see if I can hack into Thace’s equipment. And by that I mean give me like, thirty ticks because I can definitely do it.” While Pidge types away on their computer, Lotor sits himself on the floor, eyeing a faint square cut into the stone. Most people don’t notice, don’t know to look for the fine edges carved into the floor. “Ooh… Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Lotor asks. “Is Keith okay?”

“You really care for him, don’t you?” Amber eyes smile at him, intuitive.

“Of course I do! He’s my cousin! And my friend!” And he has more than his fair share of health problems. Lotor himself was not a healthy kit, so he understands the worries that his cousin might have.

“Aw-w. You’re just a big ol’ sweetheart, aren’t ya?” Pidge turns back to their computer. “What’s interesting is that Keith is… surprisingly healthy. His weight and body mass index are good… Thace is optimistic about a successful pregnancy.”

“Why is that interesting?” Lotor scratches his head, frowning a little.

“Because our boys requested contraceptives, probably due to health concerns.”

“Miscarriage risks are higher for him. That’s partially due to his sex, and partially due to his condition. Do you think they’ll use contraceptives?”

“Pfft. No. They’re young, they’re stupid, and they both want pups. I doubt Lance can keep it in his pants.”

“What about Keith?”

“He’s shy.” Pidge shrugs like that explains everything. It kind of does. Keith’s priorities are probably more of the cuddling variety than the ‘aggressive hugging’ variety. “Can I have some of your blood?”

“Hm? Uh… How much blood?”

“I dunno. A few vials? Maybe I’ll swab your cheek too? It might help with my experiments.”

“And what might those be?”

“I’m trying to invent Altean-friendly prosthetics. It’s not going well. Alteans are stupid inside and out.” Pidge gathers their tools to stick him, and Lotor stares. This tiny little Olkari is far more than they appear. “Who do you think will kill Lance for getting Keith pregnant? Krolia or Shiro?”

But they're young, still playful and carefree.

“Hm… My money’s on Krolia. Or the creepy friend.”

“Adam? Oh, he’s softer than he looks. More likely he’ll live vicariously through their children and terrorize anyone who tries to mess with them.” Pidge sticks a swab in his cheek as they fill a second vial with his blood. “Your fangs are adorable.”

“Thanks?” Lotor regards them. “So you do science, you do people… What don’t you do?”

“Relationships.” Pidge cleans the crook of his arm, bandaging the spot where they bled him. “And genders. Those are for more primitive individuals.”

Lotor laughs. “More highly evolved, are you?”

“Exactly. Unlike Alteans. Stupid, scaley assholes with stupid, cranky cells.”

“I don’t get it. What exactly is the problem?” Lotor peers over Pidge’s shoulder as they examine his cells under their microscope.

“Not sure, but Alteans have some odd properties that make their biology incompatible with metal, coral, bone, wood, and other prosthetic materials. When used, the Altean’s cells refuse to accept the forgein material, even if it’s biocompatible. Hence, their cells are stupid.”

“So it would seem. How are my cells?”

“Hm… I'll have to run some of my own, secret tests. I may try to culture your skin cells to figure out how it all works.”

“Have at it. Can I interest you in a secret?”

“Always!” The young Olkari’s eyes shine, eager to learn. To know. A person after his own heart.

“Most of Altea’s technology is rediscovered. Thousands of decaphoebs ago, there was what’s known as The Forgetting. The Altean’s powers were quite suddenly drastically altered, and their society descended into chaos. Much of their technology was lost, then rediscovered within the last few milophoebs.”

“No fucking way!”

“Way. This includes their lauded Teludav technology.”

“Those fakers! How have I not heard of this?”

“I know! It’s their best kept secret. Also, beneath Mount Sil’brana is a petrified forest.”

“Oh, that’s so cool!” Pidge makes a note on their datapad. “I wonder… I don’t know if I could interface with that or not. Probably not, since it’s no longer organic, but then again perhaps I could reach the echo?”

“Echo?”

“All organic life leaves behind an echo. Sometimes, I can reach that echo. I’d be great at solving murders!”

“Well, if ever I am murdered, do find my killer. I’m sure my wife would appreciate it.”

“Unless she did the murdering,” Pidge snickers.

“Some days, it wouldn’t surprise me at all. She’d say it’s my fault, but…”

“Pregnancy.”

“Yeah. How do you think Keith will be when he gets pregnant?”

“He’s relatively mild-mannered as long as Lance keeps him happy, so either unbelievably psychotic or unbearably sweet.”

“He is really sweet. I honestly didn’t expect it when he first arrived. Lance is a little… He’s reserved, but also high-strung at the same time?”

“He definitely can be. But he can also be very playful. Those two are either quiet and reserved together, or cutting up and goofing off together. But Lance is the high-strung one, for sure. Keith just wants to know whose head to crack open. Lance wants to know every single little detail about everything.”

“So he’s a control freak.”

“Little bit, yeah. We’ve all got our thing.” Pidge smiles. “But Lance gave me a home when mine was lost. He had no reason to do that. He didn’t know what I was capable of.”

“I had assumed you were on Altea for research?” Lotor's curious, but won't push.

“No. Though I do enjoy research. For example, I have the new Phantasm Killbot game. I just got to the first visual novel part where they introduce the characters and their little side plots and all. Wanna help me out? For research?” The Olkari holds up a controller.

“Yeah alright. Anything for research.” Lotor takes the controller, waits for the character introduction screen. He’s played this game before. “Player one… Leandro.”

“Player Two… Akira.”

The screen loads.

“Uh… That’s… Interesting. Is that- Does that look like Lance to you?” It really does, at least to Lotor. The only difference is that ‘Leandro’ has brown hair and his scales are a very pale blue.

“Wow, that’s weird. Okay. Let’s see where this goes- Oh my fuck, this is going to be good.”

Lotor can’t help but agree, staring at a screen of a smirking ‘Leandro’ lounging with a wide-eyed Galra presumably named ‘Akira’. The Galra has purple hair and golden irises, dressed in what might loosely be referred to as clothing.

It’s exceptionally weird, even weirder given that Akira is the name of Keith’s father, Lotor’s uncle.

“I cannot wait to tell my cousin about this,” Lotor breathes, coming to the realization of exactly what’s before him.

“Yes! We have to! Right now!” Pidge stands, tugs on his arm.

“Well, let’s not be too hasty.” Lotor stares at the screen, that mischievous part of his brain clicking and whirring. “I mean, we have to do our research, right?”

“You know…” Pidge taps their chin. “You might be onto something.”

“I mean it’s just courtesy, right? Making sure we can give them all the information we possibly can?”

“You’re absolutely right. Okay, so you get first choice for dialogue and it looks like Not-Keith has a prompt for us.”

“Oh, gods. Okay, I am so sorry, Keith… Let’s see, here.”

…

Akira: We can’t keep meeting like this. What if people find out?

Leandro: I’m a prince, my sweet. I do what I want.

Akira: But you could be killed!

Leandro: You’re worth dying for.

Leandro: It’s my fault, anyway. I just couldn’t resist you.

Akira: It’s not your fault. I let you have me.

Leandro: You should let me have you again.

Akira: Please… I need it…

*Kiss Passionately*

Leandro: Oh, my sweet. You’re in season!

Akira: Make love to me, and I will give you a son.

…

“I feel dirty,” Lotor mutters. “This is what’s passing for entertainment right now?”

“It’s so bad! I love it!” Pidge snickers.

“Lance is going to be mortified.”

“No, he won’t.” The two new friends turn to see Adam leaning in the doorway, smirking.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” Lotor asks, one eyebrow almost reaching his hairline.

“Lance is bigger than that. He’ll be filled with a sense of… well-being.”

“Oh, gross! Adam!” Pidge chucks a wrench at the Altean’s head, the trio laughing as he dodges, then retrieves it for them. “I don’t want to hear about my friend’s dick!”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, and I hate it.” Pidge drags Adam to the floor, sits in his lap. “Okay, you can help us. What should Leandro say next? ‘A daughter would be fine’ or ‘Honor me with the gift of your flesh’?”

“Who the quiznak wrote this?” Adam mutters. “And we want ‘Honor me with the gift of your flesh.’”

“I don’t know, but I will find out. And kill them,” Lotor mutters.

“Easy on the instincts, Mr. Prince.” Pidge continues to the next cut scene.

“It’s nothing to do with instincts! I just hate that I had to read that!” Lotor sighs. “At least that cut scene is over. Now we have… Brothers, Sven and Kuron? Lots of new characters for this one.”

Adam blinks, gaping at the screen. “What. The fuck-”

...

Allura sighs, running a hand through her loose curls. It's been a rough morning, one that doesn't promise to get easier. A howling chorus of laughter cuts through her stressed thoughts. Cracking open a storeroom, she spies her husband, Adam, and Pidge laughing away at a video game.

"I wOuLd DiE fOr AkIrA," Pidge mocks, cackling.

"Leandro, please!" Lotor laughs, cutting through a false simper as he pretends to swoon. "I couldn't live without you!"

"That's such a toxic sentiment, honestly." Adam shakes his head, but his eyes are glittering bright.

Shaking her head, Allura leans in the doorway, settling a hand on her slightly protruding stomach. Life is never perfect, not for anyone. But seeing her husband playing around and having fun with their friends -his new friends- suggests that everything might still turn out alright. Or at least, not as awful as it sometimes seems.

[rexsjaigeyes]

Mission Impossible: Nanny - Part 1

Quinn McKenna x female reader

Words: 2,679

Warnings: none!

A/N: this was co-written with @sabinemorans​​ and the title credit goes to @sailorsquadgoals

Quinn was finally starting to get the hang of caring for Rory, but there were some days he wished he had some help. Shared custody with his wife was already a bit of a struggle, and Quinn knew that Rory could use an extra caregiver or two. It eased his mind that Rory was actually the one to suggest this idea since his mother had hired a nanny recently. Of course he said it in his way– very blunt and matter-of-fact– but Quinn enjoyed it actually.

Even though everything had changed after the Predators had come, this was a good thing to come of it. He felt closer to Rory now than ever and it would take a special person to be good enough to watch him, and a very special ad to draw them in. It was a normal ad detailing the basics up until it mentioned protection for his son, including the lines “people with ex-military or security background preferred.”

It took a little longer than Quinn had hoped, even if it was a unique ad, but he finally found the perfect candidate hit. She was educated, well reviewed, and passed a background check on the nanny site with flying colors.

That would have been enough for anyone else, but Quinn knew with his line of work, he’d have to do a deep search just to be on the safe side. He sent her name to Nebraska, knowing he could trust him to find out about any red flags. Surely she would understand, and if she didn’t, then Quinn would know she wasn’t right for the job.

The best part was her suggestion for a secondary nanny as the request had mentioned this was protection for the child as well. The second one, a man, also passed with flying colors and was sent to Nebraska. When there were no red flags to be found after Nebraska had essentially done a deep dive-Quinn emailed them. Cause if Nebraska couldn’t find anything, then there was nothing to find.

It looked like a solid deal, and Quinn was a little excited to be getting some extra help and a chance to make Rory happy. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was how attached he would become to her. To you.

~~~

You’d partially given up on finding a new nanny job when finally good news was in your email. Quinn McKenna wanted to interview you! Grinning, you immediately called your backup and very best friend Din, telling him the news.

“If he wants to see me, he probably wants to see you too, considering,” you said, moving from your kitchen counter to your stove where pasta was boiling. You had your headphones on so there was less chance of you dropping your phone into boiling water which had only happened once but Din acted as if it had happened a dozen times. Honestly, it couldn't have happened after he had left your apartment?

“Good, his was the only interesting job on there. I wonder if he’d be ok with me bringing the baby along at times. Maybe if the kid takes a liking to us, it might be good for him to socialize with a baby.” Din had adopted a baby at the beginning of the year. He’d gone with a mutual friend of yours to an adoption agency and just fallen in love. It had taken forever but as he put it, he’d just known as soon as those big dark eyes had found his that they were meant to be.

“We’d definitely need to build some trust first. I know my little one doesn’t cry much, but to a child on the spectrum, it can be very hard to handle. That would be the best case scenario though since there’s two of us. Though this McKenna guy mentioned protection, so maybe he’s a political person or something. We don’t wanna bring that dark eyed angel into any danger.” You strained your pasta and dumped it a bowl, pouring sauce on top and beginning to mix.  

“Fair enough. Guess we’ll see, sweet girl, huh?”

You smiled and shook your head at the affectionate nickname. “Don’t call me that Din, you know better. I always think you want something from me when you call me that.”

“What me? Never,” came the reply where he was so obviously grinning like an idiot. God you hated him sometimes, it was so hard to love someone so ridiculous but you managed it even with knowing him as long as you did. You could ask for better company than him sometimes but you couldn’t ask for a better best friend. Bastard knew it too. The two of you were bonded for life, for better or worse.

“Smartass. I’ll call you with the details when he emails me back, love you Din.”

“Love you back, sweet girl.” You heard a laugh before he hung up and you pulled your headphones off.

“Silly man,” you muttered as you began to eat your pasta and homemade sauce on the way to your couch. Turning your TV on, you settled with a comfort show so your brain could wander as you ate. Quinn McKenna...what an interesting name.

~~~

Mr. McKenna had been busy with work over the weekend, so it took a few days for the interview to happen. You arrived with Din by your side, as Mr. McKenna had proposed you had applied more or less as a team and would be interviewed as such. He told you that he liked your forethought to mention a second you already trusted, and that compliment made you smile. Thinking ahead had always been a strength of yours.

“Should you knock or should I knock?” Din looked at you and you shrugged back with an indifferent look on your face.

“Do you think it matters?”

“I guess not.”

“...you want to knock don’t you?”

The door to the cozy two story house had an old school knocker on it and Din’s grin gave you all the information you needed.

“Go on then,” you chuckled, waving your hand at it.

He knocked three times and sighed, satisfied with that stupid grin on his face. You shook your head. Ridiculous man.

The man who answered the door looked anything but ridiculous. He was absolutely not what you’d been expecting at what-six foot two? Filled out well too with bright blue eyes you could get lost in, blonde hair shorter on the sides a little bit flopping at the top and a smile that screamed “good ol’ boy” more than anything you had ever seen.

And you were fucking hooked.

But you were a professional and despite the sudden mental images of jumping on him and pressing your body to his (likely muscular and strong and maybe even a bit pudgy) body you simply smiled brightly and hoped that Din would keep his professional manner even though Quinn McKenna was definitely one of your types.

“Mornin’, thank you both for comin’,” McKenna said before waving the two of you in.

Din let you lead and he followed both you and McKenna to the dining room table where your possible employer sat in front of both of you. He was prepared, both your resumes sat before him and he had them side by side with what looked like prepared questions written down. Din and you shared a glance that spoke volumes. He was very serious wasn’t he? Maybe he was political, maybe he was a part of the mob or maybe he was some kind of paranoid kook. It was a nice house and it actually reminded you of David Lieberman’s house in ‘The Punisher’ and then a fourth option to what Mr. McKenna did crossed your mind quickly followed by a fifth.

Either he was a government spook, or he was the Punisher. Either way you weren’t that mad about it.

“Take a seat,” Quinn gestured to the chairs in front of him with a face that didn’t betray much emotion.

You noticed that he glanced at you a few times too many, but he made it hard to read what was going on in his head. He must have noticed the confused looks on your faces, because he gave you a reassuring smile as you sat down before clearing his throat. “You must be wondering why I needed two nannies with your type of background,” he chuckled.

You exchanged a look with Din for a split second before Mr. McKenna broke the semi-awkward silence. “I’m in the military too and I wanted people I could trust with my kid’s safety,” he explained. His answer was still a little vague for you, but you figured you’d ask him more about it later. It was nice to know he would understand the two of you though, you’d worked security for a little while and were amazed at how much people pushed back when asked what you thought was safest. With Mr. McKenna you might fight over strategies but at least he’d understand them.

You found yourself wondering what branch he was in, what his rank was when Din spoke, pulling you back to the present.

“Well, in that case, you found the right people for the job,” Din said in a professional manner. “We both served in the Marines. I was a Corporal and she was a Sergeant as I’m sure you saw by our records.” Din explained, and you took a moment to admire how well he always pitched the two of you as valuable assets. He went on to detail (as much as he was allowed to) how you’d worked together for years. You did chime in here and there with details Din couldn’t remember and explained your individual special skills.

Din was a master of stealth, infiltration and quiet extraction were his specialties. You on the other hand were a sniper. Your furthest confirmed kill was clocked at 1110 yards– a near record. The pair of you were well trained in hand-to-hand combat and familiar with most guns that could be thrown at you though with the choice between a gun or a knife, you favored the K-Bar while Din favored his Sig Sauer.

Mr. McKenna  crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving Din an impressed look as he heard his pitch. His eyes had lit up when you said you were a sniper and you smiled back, recognizing the look of a fellow sniper in him. The fact that you had something so specific in common was mind blowing really!  While you both derailed for a moment to talk about things you saw Din smirking a little. Ass. He knew exactly what it meant when you grinned like that. Trying to stay professional (and not give Din the satisfaction of knowing your thoughts too well) you locked down the thoughts of the two of you on a date, seeing who could  hit the farthest target even if it would probably be you.

“Both of your resumes are impressive, but I’m wonderin’ why you guys left after spending so much time climbing the ranks.” Mr. McKenna quirked an eyebrow at you, so you chose to answer this question instead of leaving it to Din.

“It was just time for us to get out. With all the jobs I’ve had in the world I’ve listened to my gut about when it was time to seek out something else. Din trusted me enough that when I said the Marines wasn’t the right career for us anymore that he put in to leave when I did. A few months after we left we got word that a lot of our unit had been badly injured in an ambush masquerading as a rescue mission.” You shifted your hair from one side to the other and kept eye contact with Mr. McKenna, who let out a sigh through his nose and nodded. Nothing else needed to be said about that.

After that it lightened up. You felt at ease answering his questions; he didn’t seem as intimidating as you initially thought him to be, and the interview eventually flowed more like a friendly conversation than a job interview. You all even laughed about things! Maybe it was the fact that the three of you could bond over your military backgrounds (Quinn as he insisted on being called after the third time he was referred to as Mr. McKenna, was a Ranger Captain), or maybe it was because of the way that Quinn looked at you differently than he’d look at Din. You didn’t have time to put your finger on what kind of look it was exactly before a young boy came walking out of a nearby hallway but it certainly warmed you all over. It was nice to talk so freely with another man besides Din too, someone else who understood.

Din’s face lit up as he saw him, and you couldn’t help but smile as he exclaimed, “Oh hey, little man! Is that Rory?” He asked as he turned to Quinn with a bright smile.

“Yup,” Quinn responded, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gestured for Rory to sit beside him. He ruffled Rory’s hair and pointed in yours and Din’s direction to introduce you to him. “These might be your new nannies, whaddya think of that, bud?”

Din held his fist out for Rory to bump and you shook the little guy’s hand in a greeting, smiling widely at how cute he was. You glanced up at Quinn as Din and Rory exchanged a few words, already acting like they were the best of friends. Quinn was obviously very protective of his son, happily watching the exchange, but you could tell he was watching closely to see how Din would get along with him. Din was being his usual self around children, boisterous but at a respectful volume, which was so different from how he was around most new people. You laughed at a stupid joke Din made which made Rory smile before running your hands through your hair again. Your eyes were pulled towards Quinn in soft glances and you noticed when he glanced at you as well, carefully timed to when you were listening to Rory talk about what he liked to do and how he liked things to be.

Before your eyes could meet Quinn’s and you could really analyze those glances, you heard Rory mention something about a fight.

“I’m sorry sweetheart what did you say?”  Quinn looked at Rory, stunned and then at the two of you.

“Now hang on buddy I don’t-“ His father started but Rory kept going anyway. He was definitely determined and had been waiting to say this.

“I wanna see you guys fight, you know, see who’s better. And the winner can fight my dad! If you can beat my Dad or just hold your own you’re definitely good enough to be my nanny.” The sweet faced little boy was so succinct about his needs that you laughed a little incredulously but with no small amount of humor.

“You know what you want sweetheart I’ll give you that,” you said with a grin and shrug to Quinn and Din. “I’m game, but we probably shouldn’t swing to really hurt each other. Do you have boxing gloves maybe or we could do more Jiu Jitsu and grapple rather than throw punches.”

“Yeah no, no real hits. But if the little man wants to see a fight he’s gonna get a fight.” Din was already standing, making to take off his nice jacket and you were following suit when Quinn stood and waved his hands. Jesus-his hands were huge. How had you not noticed that yet?

“Hang on hang on,” he said looking at the pair of you, both paused with your jackets pooled at your elbows.

“But Daaaaad,” Rory whined, looking up at him.

Quinn raised a brow at his son before smirking and letting out a small chuckle. “You guys shouldn’t fight…” He grinned at Rory before adding, “...in the house.”

[tropicalfreckles]

Friends Again CH 4

MASTER LIST found here

B**TLEB*BES DNI

Summary:  Lydia always wondered how everything worked with the ghost-born demon, including how he was able to leave the house without being sandworm chow.

WARNINGS: Spiders, Body Horror, Ommetaphobia

"Adam, Barbara, I'm telling you that this crystal would just bring such positive energy to the room!" Delia exclaimed while throwing her arms into the air in dramatic fashion. Barbara followed close on Delia's heels as the younger, deceased woman clasped her hands together.

"Delia I understand you're having another one of your 'inspiration episodes'. How about we just decorate the top of the fireplace with some of the crystals. Instead of having a giant one placed in the middle of the room?" A strained smile creased Barbara's lips as she tried to compromise with her friend. Adam gave a short nod to his wife's idea.

"I agree with Barbara. It would look a lot more balanced than just having it in the middle of the room." Adam motioned to the whole room as he gave a small smile to Delia. She looked them both over then peered to the fireplace.

"You know, I think you're right Barbara! It probably would get tedious walking around the crystal every time we need to sit on the couch. I'll need to look into which crystals I want to put up there." Delia rubbed her chin in thought. Barbara and Adam exhaled a breath neither needed to hold. Charles had been sitting off to the side and gave the two a subtle thumbs up. The older man's attention turned to the creaking footsteps of the familiar combat boots that came from upstairs. A soft smile crept upon him as he gave Lydia a nod.

"Did you need something, Lydia?" Charles set down the book that was in his hand as he stood up from the chair he had been in. Lydia jumped down the last two steps then looked up to her father.

"I just wanted to go on a walk around the neighborhood. I'll be back." Lydia began heading to the door after giving him a short wave. Charles briefly gazed down to his watch before turning fully to look back to her.

"You have your phone on you, right?" He inquired.

"Yes, dad. Don't worry so much." Lydia waved him off. The young teen gave her goodbyes to the others then made her way out the door. That was easier than she thought it would be. Well, it wasn't like she was going across town. Her dad had been a bit more protective of her ever since the events that followed their move to their new house. Always making sure she had her phone on her in case anything happened. She began to tread down the steps of their front porch. She made sure to be careful of her footing across the unruly grass that needed to be tended to. A gust of wind blew by as she felt the pressure whip around her back. Lydia shuddered while gripping onto her arms.

"Chuck must be the trusting type, huh?" Beetlejuice chuckled. The demon hovered nearby her and gave her a thumbs up.

"I mean telling my family I'm going out for a walk isn't really that suspicious." Lydia shrugged. "So.. about that stuff from earlier." Beetlejuice gave her a hum in response as the two slowly walked down the hill. "Did you actually go look for your dad? Or were you just being dramatic?" Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose.

"Well, yeah. I just wanted to make you feel guilty. Getting sent back to the Netherworld right now is not on my to-do list. Why the hell would I even go look for that deadbeat?" He grunted then kicked his feet to the ground to float away from it. Lydia jumped over a big rock jutting out of the dirt as she watched him.

"So what exactly were you doing there? Did you get in trouble at all for the stuff we did months ago?" Lydia asked. The demon crossed his arms, his eyes traveling away from her.

"They had me holed up in some shithole for two months in 'breather time' I guess. Time works a helluva lot differently in the Netherworld. It dragged the fuck on when they put me on paperwork duty. It was a temp job to keep me there for whatever reason. That's what I was up to for the last couple of months. I don't want to talk about it." He grumbled. Small streaks of reds, blues, and yellows bled into his green hair. Lydia decided it was best not to push the moody demon for now. She was curious why he seemed to be cutting her so short on details yet knew she had to let him open upon it in his own time. Lydia still found it odd to even herself she wanted to work things out with him. Like being around him at all. She figured it was just still wanting real closure with him. Would she keep up hanging out with him like this? She wasn't sure. It was just somewhere to start at least. Lydia moved to playfully punch at the older man's arm.

"Fine, fine. At least you're not stuck there anymore." She waved him off. "Now you get to hear that beautiful sound again." Lydia gave him a wicked smile, Beetlejuice lighting up to her words.

"Now you're talking. Let's go scare the shit out of some chumps!" He gave a sharp-toothed grin then shortly after moved behind her. Wrapping his arms under her armpits he then lifted her up into the air. He flew down to the bottom of the hill after making sure there weren't any breathers that would notice them. Lydia let out a small yelp followed after with a shriek of laughter.

"Don't you dare drop me!" She clung to his arms and gave a kick of her legs. Beetlejuice snorted.

"Please, you weigh practically nothing, Lyds. Thought you wanted to try that trusting crap out more. This is a good trust exercise if you ask me!" He snickered as he flew them over to the closest house then landed them both down at the side of it behind some bushes. Lydia gave him a small scowl when she turned to him as she fixed her dress.

"Give me a heads up next time at least. Asshole." Lydia scolded. She turned to look at the house next to them. Thoughts of what kind of scare they should go with began to run through her head. Should they just wing it? Or come up with a solid plan. Last time they scared together it all just kind of happened naturally. Maybe they should just go with their guts. It would be nice to blow some steam off doing this for an hour or two after. Therapy helped her with more things than she thought it would after slowly opening up. Though this was a thrill that really helped her let loose. Especially with the stress of school, she was going through at the moment. Beetlejuice seemed to notice her overthinking it since he gave her a hardy slap on the back. She grunted then shot him a glare.

"Don't overthink it, kid! Let's just see if the old bat is home first." He smirked at her. Giving her a signal with a wave of his hand the two approached the windows quietly. Beetlejuice phased his head through it then scanned the room. A light was on upstairs so that must be where she was. It would take a good minute or two for her to answer the door if they decided to get Lydia inside the more legal way. He couldn't exactly phase her through the wall as he could. If she was dead that would be another story. However, he wasn't planning on letting her join him on the side of the deceased any time soon. He could always just teleport her inside as well. He was so engrossed with his thoughts he hadn't even hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. He noticed last second when they echoed louder down the steps and made himself invisible once more. Phasing out he pushed Lydia's head down below the window so she wouldn't be seen.

"Hey!" She frowned then swatted his hand away. He hushed her as he narrowed his eyes. Shit, maybe it was the wrong house? Coming down the stairs instead was a man who was definitely younger than the old lady he saw here just yesterday. Either way, they could still scare him. He looked like one of those overly paranoid and religious types. An obvious comb-over on a very pale head. Khakis that made even the ones Adam wear look like they were in fashion. A pale-blue plaid shirt. This man was probably the dullest breather he ever laid eyes on. Which was saying quite a bit. Beetlejuice ducked below after taking note of which direction in the house he moved to.

"Alright, new plan. Either the old bag has another breather living with her or this is someone else's house. We can still work with this. Old bastard looks like one of those old testament fans." He snorted. Lydia crossed her arms.

"I don't remember him living here. I could've sworn it was an old lady, too. I remember dad talking to her more than once this year." Lydia looked up at the window then sighed. "I mean, it doesn't matter either way I guess. I want to scare someone today. Alright. So how do we get me in there?" She swung her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the front of the house. Beetlejuice stroked his chin.

"That's what I was mulling over. I could dress you up to look creepy. Go with the ol' ghost kid scare, teleport you in." Lydia's expression brightened at this new revelation.

"Wait you can teleport yourself places?" Lydia questioned. She couldn't help but let her curiosity peak through.

"Within reason, yeah. I still can't exactly go much further than this damn neighborhood at the moment when I'm summoned. Since the only graveyard around is the one on the other side of your house. I'd need to be invisible to look for another one to go through." He explained while periodically peering through the window. Lydia was intrigued by what limitations his powers held. Lydia tapped her hand on her thigh in thought.

"That why you didn't just up and leave for good? You're stuck here?" Lydia questioned, giving a tilt of her head. Beetlejuice clicked his tongue while his fingers flexed into the palms of his hands as he fidgeted in place.

"Listen if you want a rundown of how I work I'll give you the short version. When I'm summoned directly from the Netherworld I'm stuck with the breather that did it until I can get another sap to summon me. It's some complicated bullshit that goes along with my little shtick." He rambled on. Lydia crossed her legs while sitting on the ground now.

"I remember you saying before ghosts couldn't leave the houses they stay in. How the hell were you able to leave after I summoned you a week ago? Thought sandworms would be waiting out there for you. I actually wondered that when I woke up for my nap." She rested her cheek against her hand. Beetlejuice groaned. Why were kids so fucking nosy. He rubbed his hands over his face as he thought over his next few words.

"Yes, okay, yeah. Typically I can't leave the damn house. The normal way at least. I'm not really housebound as much as ghosts are since demons work on a different set of rules. If I walk out a door I'd be worm chow. If I however can see a graveyard within distance, or if there is one at least sort-of-nearby I can just fly out the window. It's like a way station for demons. I can travel through more when I'm not summoned. Invisible. I also can travel further distances when summoned if I left the Netherworld the way I usually do. However since you summoned me straight out of it; I'm stuck with you until once again, someone else says my name." He was standing now, pacing back and forth as he went listing off how things worked. "Once I leave the graveyard I can also go around to the houses in the area freely without worrying about those worms. I can't leave the neighborhood itself though." Beetlejuice huffed as his gaze traveled back down to Lydia.

"Sooo. What if someone who summons you after me says your name three times again. Do you just become invisible once more or go back to the Netherworld?" Lydia got back up to her feet. Beetlejuice frowned a bit.

"Honestly. Not too sure. I think I just become invisible again. What, you planning on getting Chuck or Delia to do that?" His face scrunched up as he got defensive again. Lydia shook her head with an annoyed sigh.

"No, I told you I wouldn't do that. I promised. So long as you don't try murdering me or my family then we're good." Lydia tapped a finger to her chin. "Okay. One last question then we figure out how to scare this guy. You said you can make me look all creepy. How do we do that?" Beetlejuice rubbed the palms of his hands together as he let out a wicked cackle.

"Leave that to me." A snap of his fingers and Lydia's dress appeared more weathered and tattered, her hair becoming disheveled. He gave another snap as a makeup kit appeared in his hands. He gently grabbed her face with one hand, as another arm grew out of his back to start applying the makeup while his other hand held the case. Lydia stared at the third arm growing out of his back. "Little makeup here, there. Make you paler. Gotta put more bags under your eyes annnd... few scars here." His tongue stuck out of the corner of his lips as he concentrated on his work.

"Done!"

Lydia pulled from him when his hands moved away. With a flick of his wrist, the makeup box was replaced with a mirror he promptly showed to Lydia. She moved the pads of her fingers over her cheek while gazing into it. She definitely looked a lot more dead. He somehow made her eyes look sunken in as well. He was pretty good with makeup to her surprise. She kind of wished he made her look more gruesome and mangled. Oh well, maybe for the next scare. She was getting as antsy as he probably was and wanted to jump into it already. Speaking of Beetlejuice, he seemed to be staring at her as if expecting something. Oh.

"It looks pretty good, Beej. I look creepy." Lydia grinned. Beetlejuice puffed out his chest with pride then held out his hand for her. She grimaced a little. He definitely hadn't washed his hands in ever. Definitely the same gross, creepy old guy she first met. Lydia could grin and bare this. Taking his hand she gave him a nod. He pulled her close.

"So I've never actually teleported a breather before. It might be a little overwhelming...even if it's just literally inside the house next to us." He gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Oh well. Let's just jump into it!" He turned to look inside of the window. Lydia was starting to have second thoughts about this. Too late, however, she felt a wind pressure engulf her as her other hand clung to his arm. In a flash of blinding light she felt weightless. Dizziness washed over Lydia for a moment as she closed her eyes tightly. A second later she felt a hand gently patting her shoulder followed by a quiet voice.

"Hey. Kid. You good?" Beetlejuice muttered. Lydia let go of him then grabbed at her head.

"Yeah. You were right. It was kind of overwhelming. I'm fine, though." She reassured him. Her eyes traveled around the room. They really were inside of the house. The teen couldn't help the rush of excitement bubble inside of her. She didn't feel like she could be in danger since having a demon as her partner was guaranteed her safety. Especially since he's saved her life once before. Though at the same time the thought of getting caught was kind of exhilarating as much as it was worrying. She gently patted the back of her hand against his arm.

"So what now?" Lydia asked in a hushed tone. She was smart enough to not let the person or possibly multiple people living there know of their presence quite yet.

Beetlejuice studied the house. The sun was starting to set more in the sky. Good, this could work for him. He quietly motioned for her to stay low and follow him as best she could. He moved to peer around the corner. First, he figured it would be good to start to get rid of the other lights. With a clap of his hand, the lights all began to dim and flicker. He had to make a good show of it to set the unease in for the occupants of the home. Then all of the light bulbs on the first floor burnt out. A surprised grunt followed by a short string of cursing followed suit. Lydia tried not to snicker while Beetlejuice giddily bounced in place. He rolled his shoulders then looked over to Lydia.

"Okay. I got him warmed up. I think he's the only one in here. So he doesn't think you're an intruder, I'll do some classic shadow scares to get him on edge before you come out. Do whatever comes naturally for ya." Beetlejuice turned to place his hands against the walls. Lydia took a step back to watch in awe as shadows shot out from under them. They bled up into the walls then scattered to the living room down the hall. Some peeled off of the wall to make inhuman long strides around. They were all shaped like him as well. As dusk began to set in all around the house the shadows became more inhuman in form then all slithered out of view. Lydia watched until the last one was out of sight. She then slowly started creeping down the hallway as quietly as she could. Beetlejuice had already phased through a wall off ahead of her. She could hear the pounding of her own heart. Her breath stilled. A panicked shuffling could be heard followed by some clattering of items in the other room. The man was worked up. Perfect for her. Lydia changed her expression the best she could to something eerier than slid her fingers along the corner of the doorway in front of her. Slowly she crept around the corner while jerking her body and making a low moan that echoed into a clicking sound.

"What in the name of Christ-!!" A terrified older man stood before her, a lamp in his hand that he gripped close to his chest. His eyes were wide as he trembled in place. Unable to make a move to even attempt an attack on her Lydia seized this opportunity to scream at the top of her lungs at him while dragging one of her feet behind her. The guy let out the loudest, blood-curdling scream he could muster then slammed the lamp on the ground. He started to run around to the other exit of the room only to body slam straight into Beetlejuice. Who appeared to have made himself noticeably quite larger. Spider legs were growing out of his back and he had multiple eyes opening over every visible bit of skin on his undead body. The man had fallen back onto his rear as he tried backing up from the demon while Beetlejuice dislocated his arms and made a swing at him. The guy just barely managed to dodge him before scurrying on all fours underneath a hovering Beetlejuice. Within seconds the two heard the front door slam as he screamed all the way out of the house. Lydia and Beetlejuice moments later both erupted in a gleeful fit of laughter.

"Holy crap! That was so much fun!" Lydia grabbed at her stomach as she cackled. Beetlejuice shifted his body back to normal as he wiped at a faux-tear.

"I think he legit pissed himself when you came around the corner and made those noises at him! It was great!" Beetlejuice held up his hand to give her a high-five, Lydia surprising even herself, reciprocated it. Both of them grinned wide at the other. "Ahhh shit. We should do some more!" Beetlejuice clapped his hands together. Before Lydia could respond, a repetitive pinging sound erupted from the pocket of her dress. Lydia heaved a sigh then pulled it out.

"I'd love to, however, looks like dad's telling me to come home." Lydia gave an annoyed huff. Beetlejuice frowned as he gave her a 'tsk'. He hovered over to the hallway then looked straight out to the front door.

"Well, looks like guy high-tailed it out of here. Think you can walk out the door. Sure you can't just skip curfew and act like a true rebellious teen?" He peered over his shoulder to her. Lydia considered this for a moment then gave a shake of her head.

"No can do. Normally I would, just... I don't want to get grounded and miss out on more scaring this week." Lydia shrugged as she walked towards the front door. Beetlejuice perked up a little.

"Scare more?" He smirked.

"Yeah, I only got a little taste of scaring again today. I want more." Lydia playfully shoved him then wiped the makeup off her face. "Oh. Could you change my dress back? I actually like this one." The teen grabbed at the edge of her dress and picked it up for emphasis. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, the dress glowing then shortly after returned to how it once was.

"Alright. So. Same time tomorrow?" He grinned at her. "I'll skulk nearby to check in on you earlier in the day so we don't have to cut it short."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan. Tomorrow I don't have school either so it works." Lydia gave him a nod. She closed the door behind them when she walked out after making sure no one would notice her. "I'll meet you outside tomorrow. I don't want the Maitlands to see you on the roof." She held out her hand for him. Beetlejuice took it then gave it a shake.

"Deal!"

[buzzdixonwriter]

Cowboys And Cavemen

This one’s gonna meander, but it’s about cavemen and cowboys and dinosaurs, so some of you may wanna stick around…

. . .

Recently watched the colorized version of One Million B.C. with Victor mature, Carole Landis, and Lon Chaney Jr.

I remember frequently watching the original black & white version of this as a kid; it popped up on local Early Shows a lot primarily because it could be chopped down to fit an hour’s running time without losing too much of the story (Early Shows were afternoon movies with a local host that typically ran only 90 minutes from 4:30-6pm; with commercials and host segments there wasn’t much room for uncut films and as a result they featured a lot of B-movies with 65 minute running times, or else cut out sequences from longer films not germane to the plot).

The colorized version surprised me in a couple of ways.  

First, I’d forgotten just how well done One Million B.C. is in basic film making terms:  Once past the opening scene, in which an archeologist explains some cave drawings to a group of mountaineers who then imagine themselves in prehistoric times, there’s no recognizable dialog; the film is told in purely visual terms.

Second, the colorization was incredibly sloppy:  There’s a lot of weird blue artifacting going on that lays a strange mist-like quality over several scenes, and in several places the colorists inexplicably either colored the actors’ bare legs blue or else overlooked the mistake in the final color correction.

Third, the sloppy colorization doesn’t matter:  If anything, it adds to the weird dream-like quality of the film.  As an attempt to realistically recreate the prehistoric past, it’s gawdawful; taken as the imaginings of an average contemporary 1940s person with no real knowledge of prehistoric times (viz the prolog), and it’s pretty entertaining.

Technically the movie is a mixed bag.  The special effects are pretty seamless (yeah, you can tell when something is a rear screen shot, but then again rear screen shots in every film of that era were obvious)).  A travelling matte shot of a hapless cavewoman buried under a flood of lava is particularly well done and as amazing today as it was then (though the colorists dropped the ball and didn’t tint it a vivid red or orange in the colorized version).

There’s a lot of monsters, but they range from well done to just plaine…well…

The best are a woolly mammoth (i.e., an elephant in shaggy fur costume) and a baby triceratops (a large pig in costume) that really seem to capture the essence pf those creatures.

The worst is a guy in an allosaurus suit who kinda just shuffles along like a grandparent going to the bathroom, and in the middle are various lizards dressed up with fins and horns.

The lizards bother me more and more over the years.  At first it was because they were disappointing -- they don’t look like dinosaurs, dammit, but like lizards with fins and horns glued on -- but now it’s because I realize they were goaded by their handlers into fights and reactions shots.

That’s plain ol’ animal cruelty, even if they are reptiles and not mammals.

There’s an armadillo and a koala-like animal that appear thousands of times their normal size.  The koala-like critter (sorry, but I don’t know what it actually is) is passable as a giant cave bear or sloth, but the armadillo is just an armadillo (there was something about armadillos that 1930s audience found creepy; they’re waddling all over the Count’s hiding place in the original Dracula).

One Million B.C. was produced by Hal Roach and Hal Roach Jr.  The senior Roach goes all the way back to the silent era, so this was not a huge stretch for him.  

Originally D.W. Griffith was to direct the film, but while he did a lot of pre-production work including screen and wardrobe tests, he either dropped out or was replaced on the eve of production.  (Reportedly he wanted the cave tribes to speak recognizable English and left when Roach refused.)

The special effects wound up in a ton of movies and TV shows over the ensuing decades; modern audiences are more familiar with the film through 1950s sci-fi than its original version.

All else aside, the picture is carried by stars Victor Mature and Carole Landis.  Ms Landis in particular is a spunky, charming cave gal with a blonde-fro and while Mature would never be an Oscar contender, he at least has the physicality and screen presence to get his character across.

The scene where he thinks Landis has died in a volcanic eruption may be corny, but you can feel his character’s grief.

. . .

A quarter of a century later it was remade as One Million Years B.C. with John Richardson in the Victor mature role and Raquel Welch in the Landis role.  

No disrespect to Welch, who by all accounts is a nice person, but she never showed one iota the acting chops of Carole Landis.  Welch is beautiful, and as a generic pin-up model cast as a film’s “sexy lamp” (look it up), she presented appealing eye-candy.  She appeared in one good sci-fi film (Fantastic Voyage), one campy monster movie (i.e., One Million Years B.C.), two incredibly campy WTF-were-they-thinking movies (The Magic Christian and Myra Breckenridge), and a host of instantly forgettable spy films and Westerns.  The best movies she appeared in were Fuzz, based on the 87th Precinct novels by Ed McBain (a.k.a. Evan Hunter nee Salvatore Lombino), where she did an acceptable supporting turn as a police detective, and Kansas City Bomber, a roller derby movie that many consider her best role.

Landis never enjoyed the same level of fame (or notoriety, depending on your POV) that Welch did, but holy cow, could the gal act.  It’s a pity Hollywood is crowded with talented, beautiful people because she certainly deserved a bigger career capstone than One Million B.C..

Welch’s personal life certainly proved less traumatic than Landis’, however.  When actor Rex Harrison broken off his affair with her rather than divorce his wife, Landis committed suicide.

The scandal exiled Harrison temporarily back to England.  A few years later One Million B.C. and Landis’ other films started playing on television.

Who knows what opportunities may have opened for her in that medium?

. . .

The original One Million B.C.  is vastly superior in all areas but one (well, two -- mustn’t leave out the catfight between Welch and Martine Beswick):  Ray Harryhausen’s stop motion dinosaurs

Mind you, most of the dino scenes in One Million Years B.C. are underwhelming.  To stretch the budget the producers used close ups of spiders and an iguana to simulate giant monsters, a brontosaurus does a walk through in one scene and never appears again, and the first big dino moment has cave gals poking sharp sticks at a big sea turtle.

On the other hand, the remaining trio of dino scenes are the aces and vastly superior to their corresponding scenes in One Million B.C..  The latter film’s allosaur attack is one of the best dino scenes ever animated, and the ceratosaurus vs triceratops battle followed by the pteranodon grabbing Welch are almost as good.

Both versions of the film had an interesting influence on films that followed.  One Million Years B.C. was followed by a host of prehistoric films, most of which existed only to cast voluptuous actresses in fur bikinis although When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth, a direct follow-up, offered more monsters and a better story.

While One Million B.C. wasn’t the first film to sub real life lizards for dinos, it certainly told budget conscious producers that such substitutions were okay.

The 1959 version of Journey To The Center Of The Earth cast iguanas with glued on fins as dimetrodons, and for once the impersonation proved successful as the two species do bear certain similarities.

Producer Irwin Allen (he of Lost In Space and Towering Inferno fame) hired Willis O;Brien (the animator behind the original King Kong) and his then assistant Ray Harryhausen to do accurate-for-the-era stop motion dinosaurs for The Animal World documentary but apparently frustrated by the time it took to get results opted for lizards in his version of The Lost World (which, ironically, O’Brien worked on in a non-animation capacity despite having done the original silent version of the film with stop motion dinosaurs).

I saw Allen’s Lost World as a little boy and felt grossly disappointed by the obvious lizards, especially since the script identified them as belong to specific dinosaur species when they quite clearly didn’t (had the script said they evolved from such creatures, the way the most recent version of King Kong did, it would have been less egregious).

Allen’s lizards popped up in several TV shows he did, most notably the TV version of Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea.  That show’s co-star David Hedison played a supporting role in The Lost World so once a season they found some excuse to get him out of his Navy uniform and into a safari jacket in order to match footage with stock shots from the movie.

The Animal World wasn’t the first time O’Brien and Harryhausen worked together, and Harryhausen followed up One Million Years B.C. with The Valley Of Gwangi, an O’Brien project that the older effects artist never got off the ground.

. . .

Let’s back up a bit to discuss “O’Bie” (as his fans refer to him).

O’Brien was a former cowboy-turned-cartoonist around the early 20th century who became interested in animation.

Movies were in their infancy then, and O’Bie shot a short test reel of two clay boxers duking it out.

This got him financing to do a series of short films ala The Flintstones with titles like Rural Delivery, One Million B.C. (the titles were often longer than the films).

These shorts featured cartoony puppets, no actual actors.  O’Bie followed it up with The Ghost Of Slumber Mountain which was the first time dinosaurs were animated in an attempt to make them look real, and that was followed by The Lost World in which O’Bie combined live action with special effects, climaxing the film with a brontosaurus running amok in London.

O’Bie wanted to follow it up with a film called Creation but that got deep sixed.  However, producer Merian C. Cooper saw O’Bie’s test footage for Creation and hired him to do the effects for the legendary King Kong.

While O’Bie followed that success with the quickie Son Of Kong he never got to work on a dinosaur film of such scope again.

War Eagles (a lost-civilization-with-dinos story) was supposed to have been a big follow up epic, but the Depression and the growing threat of WWII caused it to be cancelled in pre-production.

During the 1940s O’Bie pitched a number of stories to studios involving dinosaurs or other monsters encountering cowboys, one of which was Gwangi (he also pitched King Kong vs Frankenstein which eventually got made as King Kong vs Godzilla using two guys in rubber suits, not his beloved stop motion effects).

Gwangi had cowboys discovering a lost canyon inhabited by dinosaurs, chief of which being Gwangi, an allosaurus.  O’Bie never got Gwangi off the ground but decades later Harryhausen did with Valley Of Gwangi.

. . .

I never cared for Valley Of Gwangi and much preferred One Million Years B.C. over it (and, no, not because of Ms Welch).

Growing up in the 1950s and early 1960s, I enjoyed cowboys as much as dinosaurs.

I’ve posted elsewhere how my interest in dinosaurs led me to dinosaur movies which led to monster movies which led to science fiction movies which led to literary science fiction which led to science fiction fandom which led to my writing career, but my genre of choice before age 10 was Westerns.

As others point out, most Westerns are actually crime stories, what with bandits robbing stagecoaches and banks, rustlers making off with cattle, etc.  The climax usually involves a lawman (or a vigilante who carries the weight of the law) confronting the evil doers and bringing them to justice.

Sometimes these vigilantes wore masks (Zorro and the Lone Ranger).  Sometimes those they pursued wore masks, and sometimes those masked villains pretended to be ghosts or phantoms.

They weren’t, and were invariably exposed as frauds.

Westerns based themselves in a rational world.

Other times a criminal in a Western would be after some invention that could bring either a great boon (say an energy source) or great harm (a death ray) to the world, and wanted it for their own selfish ends.

The story would invariably use the invention as a mcguffin device, maybe letting it figure into the villain’s eventual comeuppance, but never really influencing the outcome of the plot.

Westerns and fantasy genres (including science fiction) don’t mix well, The Wild Wild West not withstanding (and The Wild Wild West was not a Western per se but rather what we would now call a steampunk commentary on James Bond filtered through the lens of traditional American Westerns).

(And don’t bring up Gene Autry And The Phantom Empire, just…don’t…)

Dinosaurs and cowboys don’t really go together.

That didn’t stop O’Bie from trying.

In addition to Gwangi, O’Bie had two other projects that he did get off the ground:  The Brave One and The Beast From Hollow Mountain.

The Beast From Hollow Mountain is a standard Western about mysterious cattle disappearances and quarrels over who might be responsible, only to discover in the end it’s really -- surprise!  surprise! -- a solitary tyrannosaurus that somehow survived since prehistoric times.

The movie is constructed in such a way that had the dinosaur element not panned out, they could have removed it and substituted a more conventional ending.

While O’Bie didn’t work directly on the film after he sold the story, it did feature a variant of stop motion animation known as replacement animation.  Instead of building a realistic looking puppet with rubber skin and posable limbs, the dino in Beast was more solid and featured interchangeable limbs that could stretch and squash in a more realistic manner (rather, the movement looked more realistic, the dino sculpture no so much…).

The Brave One started life as a story about a young Mexican boy who raises a prize bull for the ring, only to have the bull face an allosaurus in the ring instead of a matador.

The producers who bought that idea hired blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo to turn it into something filmable, and Trumbo sensibly jettisoned the dino to focus the story on the boy and his bull, much to the film’s advantage (it won an Oscar for best story when released, but Trumbo’s heirs had to wait decades before the award could be recognized as due their father).

The Valley Of Gwangi was yet another variant on the same basic idea, more expansive than the other two in terms of dinosaurs, and with at least a nod in the direction of trying to explain them (a “lost canyon” giving them shelter instead of a mountain plateau or remote island).

It never connected with me, despite having more extensive dino sequences than One Million Years B.C..

O’Bie animated stop motion cowboys fighting a giant ape in the original version of Mighty Joe Young but the context proved different.  The cowboys’ presence in Africa is acknowledge in the film itself as a publicity gimmick, and therefore not a true blend of the American West with a fantastic element.

Mr. Joseph Young of Africa himself, a 12-foot tall gorilla, was also presented as an exceptionally large but otherwise natural gorilla, not a throwback to a prehistoric era.

. . .

Before there were action figures, but long after there were tin soldiers, we had plastic play sets.

They came in all eras and varieties, but among the most popular were Wild West sets, Civil War, World War Two, and dinosaurs.

My father took a business trip to Chicago when I was four, and when he came back I remember eagerly crowding around the suitcase with my mother, grandmother, and aunt as he opened it and brought out souvenirs for us.

I forget what they got, but I remember feeling disappointed and forgotten since their stuff was on top.

But, underneath everything else, sat a large cardboard box, and in that box was a Marx Prehistoric Times playset.

It’s hard to adequately describe the joy that filled my heart when I opened it; it was one of the best presents I’ve ever received.

And while I later acquired a Civil War set and a World War Two set and a bag of what we then called cowboy and Indian figures, the dinosaurs remained my most favorite.

I bring this up because I think the Marx playsets explain the origins of two comics books, Turok, Son Of Stone (an on-again / off-again series from 1954 to 1982 from Dell / Gold Key) and The War That Time Forgot (1960-68 from DC).

In both cases, I’m sure somebody from each company saw some kid combing their Wild West or their World War Two playsets with their dinos and realized there was story gold to be found there.

The War That Time Forgot felt much more my speed, a lost island inhabited by dinosaurs and visited by American and Japanese forces during World War Two.

World War Two effectively ended any hope of their being a lost island with prehistoric monsters; pretty much the entire planet was scouted either on foot or by air.

Turok, Son Of Stone didn’t connect with me.  For one thing, it was too much like a Western in concept; for another, Turok and his brother Andar, being pre-Columbian Native Americans, were already from a neolithic culture, and the various cavemen and Neanderthals they encountered in their lost valley seemed more drab and colorless than their tribal background.

The dinosaurs they encountered always came across as large, dangerous, but wholly natural animals, different only from bears and wolves and bison by size and appearance.

Despite my indifference to Turok, I can absolutely understand why others love it and disdain The War That Time Forgot.

Different strokes for different folks.

. . .

We can’t close this without taking a look at The Flintstones, and we can’t consider The Flintstones without first examining Tex Avery’s The First Bad Man in order to bring this post full circle.

There’s a long history (har!) of contemporary satire using a prehistoric lens.  The Flintstones started life as a knockoff of Jackie Gleason’s The Honeymooners told in a prehistoric setting; the series made no attempt to present itself as realistic in any shape, fashion, or form.

Among the many cartoons and short subjects that preceded it (including Chuck Jones’ Daffy Duck And The Dinosaur) is The First Bad Man by Tex Avery, an MGM theatrical cartoon.

Tex told the story of Dinosaur Dan, the world’s first outlaw, using Western tropes told through a prehistoric lens.

It works, because it’s a parody of the Western form, not a sincere effort to blend it with the caveman genre.  It works because it’s a jarring clash of genres, not despite it.

The caveman genre itself has fallen on fallow times.  Despite films like The Quest For Fire and Clan Of The Cave Bear attempting to do realistic takes on the topic, most people seem to prefer more fanciful approaches, best exemplified by the movie Caveman which sent up the entire genre while not skimping on the stop motion dinos.

With sword & sorcery / Tolkienesque fantasies finally acceptable to mass audiences and thus providing a venue for humans to directly fight giant monsters, there doesn’t seem to be a huge demand for a return to the glories of One Million B.C.

  © Buzz Dixon

[strangewhitegirl321]

Pay No Mind (12th)

{Not my gif}

Words: 4315

Originally posted to my Wattpad account.

   The car bumped and jostled (Y/n) about, causing her to groan and shove the suitcase that stabbed her in the ribs down the seat. Her favourite quilt wrapped around her legs suddenly turned into a tedious task as she began unwinding it from her legs, glancing to her parents' GPS and realising they were almost to their destination.

   The building was humongous, and she had been able to see it for the last thirty minutes as they drove. At first it had simply peaked over the horizon, and was excitedly pointed out by (Y/n)'s mother.

   The building was almost like a child's building blocks made out of a shiny blue glass. The lower level stood on stilts and was larger than the rest, and a giant stairway leading up to the open doors of the hotel seemed to sprout from the bottom of the building. Sleek, white metal bordered the windows that seemed to resemble portals to another world from the outside were clear in view. The second story was also on stilts, held up high above the first and you could spy at least three glass elevators constantly travelling up and down to no end.

   The top level was the tallest, it had a flat roof and stretched high enough to be out of the way for the palm trees growing on the second level's balcony. (Y/n)'s eyes wandered once again down to the second level, taking in the different, private wave pools that somehow never managed to splash over the edge of the building.

  (Y/n) snapped back into reality just as her father pulled into the parking lot, heading straight for the VIP section as he hollered excitedly about practically being a celebrity. Just as they passed through security from the stuffed parking lot into the almost empty section for VIPs she spied a peculiar box out of place next to the modern, expensive building. Before she could clearly observe anything other than its fine wood and lovely blue colour, they turned a corner and parked just out of view.

   Almost immediately, the family was met with three employees who quickly got to work helping unpack and carry luggage up to the hotel. Everything seemed to happen in a blur, and poor (Y/n) barely noticed when her Aunt and Uncle, the owners of the expensive establishment, came to greet them. Hugs and greetings flew through the air, and other customers gawked at the family hugging the rich owners as they passed.

   "So, how are you doing?" Aunt Stella asked after giving a tight (and frankly uncomfortable) hug to (Y/n). The girl shuffled on her feet, frowning as she thought of an answer.

   "Stiff," She finally replied, rolling her neck and cringing as it popped. Aunt Stella let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and grinned.

   "Well, I guess we should get going then," She turned towards her husband, Uncle Louis, who grinned and nodded.

   "We have a big tour to get over with before we can sit down and eat," He explained, taking a bag from (Y/n)'s father and turning around as he marched away. For a moment, (Y/n) thought they would be heading for the large, circular elevators already jam packed with people, but they veered off course and headed for a more private looking corner of the building.

   Deciding not to worry about it until later, (Y/n) took in the inside of the first level. Looking around, it was themed off of a jungle. She was able to glance into different rooms based on the glass walls, and notice that each room looked a little different.

   Upon noticing her curious gaze, Uncle Louis began to explain: "Each level has a different theme: The first is the rainforests of the world; second is the beaches of the Earth; and the third the great forests of big ol' Blue. That's part of the main attraction of our hotel. However, even more interestingly, each hotel room isn't quite a room itself. Instead, we designed it to be more of a house. We frequently get people who come and will stay for months at a time, some people even jump from level to level to experiment. And, each "room" is themed off of a different area of Earth."

   He stopped to point into a room where a family of six seemed to be playing Wii inside a room that was strange in the fact that it had kangaroos hidden in the painted and real brush growing on the walls, "That one is themed off the wild jungles of Papua New Guinea."

   Gesturing to another room, all of them with trees seeming to grow up the sides and different types of waterfalls attached to the walls seemed to glimmer in their own magnificent fashion, "That one is the Ancient Waipoua forest in New Zealand."

   Uncle Louis continued to point out different rooms, naming them in order, "The Amazon. That's the most popular, obviously. Cloud Forest of Peru; the Jungles of Borneo; the Jungles of Kipling in India. All very different, very interesting. Certain rooms, such as the Amazon and Borneo rooms, customers have to sign contracts to stay in because there are living animals in the room. We have caretakers hired, and a customer has to allow a caretaker to enter the room and give the animal its daily needs at least once a day. Children love the toucan, Huracan. He's a real laugh."

   Finally, they continued on to a private elevator for VIPS. (Y/n) about slapped herself. She honestly should have guessed.

   On the way up, they stopped at the second floor. The employees who seemed to trudge along behind the family like shadows were released upon being instructed to continue and drop off the luggage at the required room. They immediately zipped off, not wasting anytime.

   "How do you get them to-" (Y/n)'s father hesitated, waiting till he could figure the correct way to phrase his question. "How do you get such great service from your employees?"

   With a laugh, Aunt Stella was quick to answer, "Oh, well this is a high paying job. And, we try and make it as comfortable a job as possible. Loyal employees are the best employees. You can't expect people to stay devoted to their job if their job is horrible."

   (Y/n) immediately nodded, agreeing with the policy, "Sounds like a good deal to me."

   "Well, I would hope so," Aunt Stella chuckled. She reached up and fixed her hair, before turning around and taking the lead of the group.

   Unfortunately, Uncle Louis hadn't thought to hand off his bag to an employee, and because he tends to talk with his hands he kept quiet and allowed his wife to show off her favourite floor.

   "The beach level!" She exclaimed with joy. "Just breathe it in!"

   (Y/n) cringed as her whole family took a deep breath in through their noses, rolling her eyes at their actions.

   "It smells salty! Like an actual ocean is near!" Her mother beamed. Suddenly, she waltzed away from the group, stopping to admire a flower bed accompanied with a hibiscus tree behind it. Paintings of crabs; sea birds; pirate ships; and mermaids lined the clean and crisp white walls, and against the largest wall stood three aquariums.

   The middle, the largest immediately drew (Y/n) to it. It was large enough to house a little shark, which her uncle pointed out was a bamboo shark dubbed Stitch. There were also millions of other fish, including a small school of blue tangs. (Y/n) didn't need any sort of explanation to know at least one of them was named Dory.

   The other two, were large and round. Jellyfish bounced around the tank, lights changing colour to keep the decoration-vacant tank interesting for those who viewed it. It was beautiful, in (Y/n)'s eyes.

   "Every Wednesday and Saturday, we get a mermaid performer into the large tank," Uncle Louis told (Y/n). He glanced back to his wife, who was excitedly chattering with (Y/n)'s mother about all the different species of tropical flowers in the room. The two women darted around, looking at all the different types. Each time they stumbled upon a new one, an excited squeal left their lips.

   Suddenly realising her father was nowhere to be seen, (Y/n) turned on her heel to search for him. She spotted him talking to an older man who seemed to almost permanently frown. He carried a mop with him, but no bucket or tray to accompany the object.

   "Dad?" (Y/n) asked as she approached the two men. The custodian's eyes caught her attention, they seemed level and firm as they scanned her up and down.

   "This is your daughter, I assume," He stated, offering (Y/n) his hand. She slowly reached forward and shook it hesitantly, glancing at her father. He seemed unconcerned, and continued to carry out his conversation with the man.

   "So, what were you saying about the wave pools?" He inquired, eyes never leaving the water that splashed back and forth in the back of the hotel room he looked into. Once (Y/n)'s eyes landed on them, she could truly see why her father became so curious. The waves seemed so natural, it was unlike anything she had seen.

   "Ah, yes," The man began. "I was saying how they were obviously built by the same company who designed the wave pool located in central California, the Kelly Slater Wave Company. Also obviously, the company was made by Kelly Slater, a world champion surfer. But it was also a collaboration between him and the fluid mechanics specialist Adam Fincham. It's truly impressive. Once it opens, you should at least see it. It won't be beautiful for long-"

   Quickly, (Y/n) cut him off at his strange words, "What? Why? Have you seen it?" His brows raised, and he glanced at her curiously.

   "Yes. And, you humans always have the ability to quickly trash anything beautiful. It's remarkable, really," He stated, earning a scoff from the girl.

   With a roll of her eyes, she muttered, "Yeah, alright. What are you then, a merman?"

   "Oh! No, no, no!" The man replied. "Definitely not a merman."

   Suddenly, he turned away from her to continue watching the pool and he began to explain the mechanics and history, "Based on this year, 2018, wave pools have been around for over fifty years. However, it's easy to calculate how to predictably model a wave a few centimetres tall. All it takes is a few linear equations, and you've got yourself a nice small wave. In the natural oceans, however, the three creating factors are the sun, moon, and Earth itself. The moon is the strongest, however. It exerts about 2.2 times more power than the sun does. The water, being a liquid, is literally pulled up towards the moon. Probably why clothes aren't liquid. That would be a bit horrific. But this-"

   He gestured to the wave at least a metre tall that came crashing down on the artificial sand of the room, "-takes a lot more than that. There are several other factors, from turbulence to oscillations of the entire body of water- which is called seiching. Very interesting topic if you ever want to write a paper to impress your elementary school teacher."

   The man ignored her protest, as well as the chuckle of her father and continued on, "But the first model was gigantic. Seven hundred metres long and one hundred fifty metres wide. So, the fact that they were able to reduce that and make it around 8.75 metres long by 7.5 metres wide is remarkable. They also brilliantly covered the hydrofoil used to actually create the waves, I can't tell where they've hidden it- the left or the right side. I'd be impressed, but I'm mostly suspicious."

   "Suspicious?" (Y/n) tried to stop him to get an answer, but once again he simply continued on.

   "I can however see the gutter off to the right side used to prevent seiching like a damper. It also is what's limiting the bounce-back from the pool walls. So, this makes it seem possible to me that the hydrofoil is on the left side. And then the bottom of the pool- the artificial reefs are what changes the shape of the wave. However, no matter what these waves resemble more of neap tides normally found during quarter moons. Actually, no- they seem more like small tidal waves, don't they? Like a teeny tiny earthquake is occurring beneath the floor." The man suddenly stopped himself, groaning as he reached up and rubbed his brows.

   "Giving yourself a headache there, mate?" (Y/n)'s father asked. The girl however reached forward, patting the man on the shoulder as if to comfort him. At first, he jumped at her touch but calmed once he realised it was a harmless act.

   Just as she was about to speak, the sound of Uncle Louis calling drew both her and her father away, "Hey! Should we get on to your room, now?"

   With a huff, (Y/n) turned to give her uncle a glare before turning back to the man, "I thought it was interesting." She said, before darting off in the direction of her family who were forming a group again.

   The man stared after her curiously, before giving a small nod to the world and turning on his heel, marching down the hall with new passion.

   Upon reaching the third floor, (Y/n)'s face was struck with the fresh scent of the outdoors when walking out the elevator.

   "Wow," She breathed. "It even feels like we're in a real forest." Beneath her feet, she noticed grass and squatted down, picking and playing with it.

   "Ah, the grass is artificial, but the trees standing in the middle of each room and in the hallways are real and living. The rest along the walls and lining the ceiling are fake-ish, however. They were real, were alive. But, you could refer to them as taxidermy trees," Uncle Louis explained. The tall man reached up to brush the leaves hanging from the ceiling, a victorious grin painted on his face.

   "You did a simply spectacular job with this place," His sister, (Y/n)'s mother, complimented. Not-so-humbly, he accepted the praise.

   Small talk began to fill the room, and finding it dull (Y/n) wandered off through the room. She admired the deer painted hiding between the trees, and the circling vultures painted on a sunny day between the tree limbs on the ceiling.

   For a moment, jealousy filled her. She found herself wishing she had invented the hotel, made something so wonderful and creative that everyone wished to see it. With a sigh, she walked around a corner and spotted the balcony. A small running stream swept through it, stones she realised were glued in place lining it. Quickly, she glanced around and took off her shoes before stepping in. The water was cool, but something unnatural caused her to jump out.

   Her feet were dyed a light shade of blue, and they prickled as if they had fallen asleep. Brows furrowed, she reached down to massage them before glancing off to the edge of the "yard." Sighing as she spotted a sign requesting visitors keep out of the water, she quickly slipped her shoes back on.

   Soon after, (Y/n) went to track down her family. She discovered them just as they seated themselves around a feast. The amount of the food on the table caused her feet to falter as she scanned it all. A roasted turkey; lobster; jello; ambrosia salad; sushi; and all sorts of foods set perfectly on the table.

   "There she is!" (Y/n)'s mother cried excitedly. "We were going to begin without you!"

   With a frown, (Y/n) replied, "You definitely can. I'm not hungry."

   "Why not?" Aunt Stella seemed to pounce. Her gaze was suddenly sharp and suspicious, and her expression could only be described as offence. The quick question caused both of (Y/n)'s parents to glance worriedly at the woman, whose eyes were glued to the young girl before her.

   "Relax," (Y/n) began. "I snacked a little too hard on the way here. I'll definitely be hungry enough for breakfast in the morning."

   Slowly, Aunt Stella seemed to physically relax. However, her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head in question.

   "Are you sure?" Her face suddenly burst into a grin, and (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

   "Yes, Aunt Stella," She answered with ease. Then, without a second to waste she began to wander off through the hotel room.

   Just as she was about to turn a corner, she heard her father yell, "(Y/n)! Your room is down the hall, very end on the right!" Hollering that she got what he said, she changed course towards her room.

   Sauntering down the hall, she watched the ceiling as the blue of the painted sky began to shift to hues of orange and pink, purple and then to a midnight blue. A sunset seemed to take place down the course of the hall, and the birds in the trees were replaced with a single owl with piercing eyes.

   For a moment, (Y/n) stopped to try and recognise the species. It took her a moment, but she quickly realised it was just an awkwardly painted barn owl.

   Finally she reached her room and with no hesitation busted in with a sigh. Closing the door behind her, she observed the room. Instead of the blue sky or the sunset in the hallway, the room was painted like the night. Except, it wasn't a regular night with regular stars. Instead a nebula swirling with colour took its place. The picture seemed to reach out and grasp at the air, and the different coloured stars almost twinkled between the fake tree branches as (Y/n) turned her head.

   The bed was a queen, the headboard resting against a glass wall that overlooked the city outside. It was strange to see the fake forestry suddenly open up to the buzzing city below and around the hotel.

   Throwing herself onto the bed, it bounced up and down. Grabbing one of the pillows, (Y/n) dragged it over to herself and shoved her face into it. It was so nice and soft, and just the thought of waking up to grass between her toes and no possibility of bugs joining it excited her.

   "Oh," She gasped as she spotted a strange lamp in a niche to her left. Two large taxidermy trees seemed to frame the opening, and (Y/n) hopped off the bed to get a closer look.

   The lamp looked like the solar system. The sun was smack in the middle, glowing and giving (Y/n) a nice warm feeling. Then the planets were suspended in the air around it, each on the correct placement and orbit.

   Reaching forward, (Y/n) pressed a button that shut off the light of the lamp. Immediately, she switched it back on. A second button caught her attention, and without a second thought she smacked it and hoped the planets around the sun would begin to rotate.

   However, they only seemed to shift before getting caught, and an estranged buzzing filled the room. Disappointed, (Y/n) flicked it off.

   "That sucks," She muttered to herself. "Where's a phone..."

   Planning to call the front desk and ask for a repairman, she turned in a slow circle trying to spot the item needed. Not finding one, she frowned before digging out her own phone.

   (Y/n) spent the rest of the evening trying to avoid asking anyone for help as she attempted to track down the office phone number. She groaned and mumbled curses under her breath as she searched the whole of the hotel room. Not a single phone, or phone number, in sight.

   "(Y/n), dear?" A voice startled her. Jumping and turning around, she stumbled and just barely caught herself as she tripped and nearly fell.

   "Yes?" She inquired, meeting eyes with her Aunt Stella. Once again, the woman was looking suspicious of everything (Y/n) was doing.

   Offering a cursory smile, her Aunt asked, "May I ask what you're doing?"

   With a slight shrug of her shoulders, (Y/n) replied, "I was looking to call the front office. The lamp in my room is broken, I really wanted to see it work."

   Nodding slowly, her Aunt began to herd her back to her room, "It's getting late. I'll call someone in the morning, don't worry-"

   "Are you feeling okay?" (Y/n) suddenly asked, cutting her off.

   With a frustrated groan, Aunt Stella hissed, "Yes! I'm doing great, actually. Now please, just get to bed. Your parents have already retired for the night."

   "It's just-" (Y/n) began to insist. "You keep talking weird. Formal, and the like. I wouldn't even be able to tell you grew up in Texas, at this point."

   Pausing, Aunt Stella took a moment before she rolled her eyes, "Yes, well that is the point. I've been working on it for awhile now. Thank you for noticing."

   Without anything else being said between the two, (Y/n) allowed her to shove her into her room just as Uncle Louis walked out and gave her a cheesy smile.

   "I just dropped off your suitcase, you're all ready to go," He explained. "And, I presume you already discovered the bathroom's location?" (Y/n) nodded, and he clapped his hands together with glee. Then, he wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders and lead her down the hall and out of sight.

   Shaking her head, (Y/n) retreated to her room and got ready to go to bed. Sleeping in the bed was comfortable, but something about the hotel seemed to be constantly jolting her mind awake. Every hour she was disappointed to wake up after a magnificent, yet short dream.

   Finally she refused to allow her mind to lull back into a false sense of security. Instead, she stayed wrapped up in her blankets and watched the city below her. The floor was so high up, she couldn't hear any of the obnoxious honks or sirens that usually laboured the city. It appeared so quiet, so peaceful and relaxed without all the noise.

   Checking her phone, (Y/n) groaned as she realised it was only midnight. At least seven hours to go before she could rightfully be up and wandering, lost in her thoughts.

   However, she found herself panicking at the sounds of voices hovering outside her door. She laid herself out in a comfortable sleeping position; buried her head in her pillow; opened her mouth slightly to make it seem even more like she was sleeping; and then shut her eyes and relaxed her whole body.

   Tuning in to the endings of the conversation, she recognised two masculine voices. One of her father, and one she had yet to pinpoint.

   With an angry groan, her father whispered, "Look, dude, it's the middle of the night. She's fast asleep, every hotel we've ever stayed in has always put her in some sort of trance."

   "Then, you'll realise that with my super quiet mechanical skills, and her "hotel-trance," that I won't wake her up," The other voice argued lowly.

   "No! That wasn't my point. Look, if you go in there and wake her up, anything that may or may not happen to your face is definitely your fault," (Y/n)'s father claimed.

   She could practically hear the man on the other side of the door roll his eyes, "Just let me fix the lamp. Seriously, it won't take long."

   A few seconds passed, and shuffling feet could be heard. Then the door slowly peeled open, and (Y/n) heard her father sigh as he glanced in.

   "Well, we haven't woken her yet," He seemed to decide quietly. "Fine. But you do anything to her, I'm right next door."

   "Yes yes, next door. Blah blah," The other man grumbled. His feet shuffled across the floor,  and (Y/n) could hear as he seemed to come right up beside the bed. Rustles and rattles, as well as a few bumps seemed to tell her that he must have picked up the lamp.

   A second sound followed, a weird whirring that seemed to be accompanied by a low, blue, pulsing light that still caused (Y/n) to hold back a flinch.

   She heard her father close the door, and listened to make sure he wasn't still in the room. Then, slowly, (Y/n) peeled open her eyes. Once she was sure the man, who she now recognised as the guy at the wave-pool, was facing away from her, she slowly shifted to where she could see him better.

   (Y/n) watched as he held a strange tool that seemed to be making the funny whirring sound. He held it up to the lamp he balanced on one arm, and moved it up and down both below and over it. She wanted to ask him so many questions towards what he was doing, but instead opted to stay quiet and watch.

   A second later, he put the tool in a pocket and flicked a button after placing it back in the niche it came from. The planets began to rotate calmly around the light. Even the sun changed, it seemed to glow brighter, even shimmer and pulse with warmth.

   A small grin grew on (Y/n)'s face, and she couldn't help it as she muttered, "I've always wanted to see the stars and planets up close."

   The man froze, slowly turning to her. A hint of amusement covered his face, and his eyes seemed to shine.

   "Now, how am I supposed to ignore that?" He squatted down beside the bed, so he was eye level with (Y/n) as she lie in the bed. Getting a good look at her eyes, he nodded in acceptance before standing.

   The man stuck out his hand, and she took it gratefully as he introduced himself, "I'm the Doctor."

   The girl graced him with a smile, and she replied, "And I'm (Y/n). Nice to meet you, Doctor." He never released her hand, but instead yanked her out of bed and dragged her out of the room and over to the balcony. Her eyes widened at the sight of a strange blue box, before the Doctor gave her a slight shove towards it. From there, he opened the door, stepped aside, and let her peak in.

   (Y/n)'s life was never quite the same.

[olicitysecretsanta]

Worth Fighting For

This fluffy semi-canon fic is for you Liz @trippin-over-my-fandoms by @tangled23works!

It’s been a pleasure to write this story even though I’m sure it’s not exactly what you had in mind. I promise, however, there is a method to my madness. Hope you’ll enjoy it! Merry Christmas!

Summary : Oliver has a devious plan in order to charm his wife after a stupid fight. Meanwhile, Felicity may have been blind to the obvious.

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

Word count : 2217

***

The fight had started innocently enough. Oliver had made a rather self-deprecating comment which Felicity now couldn’t even remember and she had exploded like a bomb. A year’s worth of repressed emotions and negative thoughts had violently burst out of her like a swollen river. She had blamed him for things that he had honestly thought they had put behind them with all the drama that happened last year. She had accused him of having one foot out the door, always thinking of ways to leave her like her father. That comparison had hurt him more than anything else. In other words, she had had a major freakout. In her loud voice. 

To top it all off, she had banished her poor husband out of the room. Oliver for his part had accepted her decision, looking stoic as always. His eyes, however, his beautiful, blue eyes that never failed to pull her in had given away his inner turmoil. In a calm and collected manner, he had obeyed her wishes and slept on the couch. 

The morning after, Felicity had woken up on the verge of tears. The huge Christmas tree in the empty living room seemed to mock her. William was still in Cambridge and she missed him terribly.

Feeling desolate and alone, she had made a cup of coffee and had been considering the best way to apologize to Oliver when her phone beeped. Sighing, she unlocked the screen thinking that it would probably be her husband checking on her when she noticed that he had sent her not a message but an email with an attached photo. Intrigued, she downloaded the attachment while shaking her head at the fact that Oliver was incapable of using imessage or messenger or any other app more advanced that good ol’ regular gmail. 

At first she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Did Oliver send her spam?

The moment she turned the device sideways, however, she figured it out. The sneaky vigilante knew that she had a thing for his arms so he had sent her a picture of him flexing his biceps. She couldn’t see his face but she figured out that he was training at the Foundry 2.0, shirtless. It took a few minutes of daydreaming about her husband’s arms around her, caging her in, protecting her before she realized what the photo meant. Oliver was fighting for her, for them, in his own weird way.

Felicity sighed again - a much more satisfied sigh this time - and poured her awful coffee down the sink. The thing had tasted like dirt. Well, she had actually never eaten dirt on purpose but the coffee was dry and stale, hence the dirt analogy. She looked into the empty mug, worriedly. It was as if someone had drowned a cigarette in there. The thought upset her stomach so much that she made sure to stay out of the kitchen and as far away from coffee as possible for the rest of the morning.

At 2 pm, her phone beeped again. Felicity almost tripped in her haste to reach it. Feeling restless and on edge, she opened the attachment and moaned out loud. Her devious husband was shirtless and glistening with sweat on this one. Granted, all she could see was his glorious, scarred back and muscular shoulders but it was enough to make her flush all over. She bit her lip and felt the need to literally fan herself. If he was trying to woo her he was doing a damn good job of it. She ended up woolgathering for a ridiculous amount of time considering that she usually had the actual man in front of her and could stare to her heart’s content, before an unwelcome thought hit her. She furiously typed one simple question.

Who took this picture Oliver? 

His reply came a few seconds later, though it felt like an eternity to her.

Dig. I promised that we would never EVER mention it to anyone. 

Felicity giggled like a freaking schoolgirl at the thought of big, mean Spartan taking candid photos of the fearsome Green Arrow to help him win his wife over.

I also had to give him my precious Starling Rockets vs New York Yankees tickets. 

Aww, you must really love me.

She added several heart emojis to the last message just to tease him. Oliver didn’t reply but she could picture him grumbling to Dig, complaining about her inability to share his love for the Rockets and baseball in general. Happy to miss the diatribe that would surely follow - her husband was surprisingly eloquent when it came to sports - Felicity focused on writing the algorithm for her new and improved security system. It had been a month since the last update and she had work to do.

She had created the system last year after the Lizard’s attack (she refused to call him the Dragon, it was a matter of principle) and she was proud of it. Apart from providing protection for her family, the system had made her famous among tech companies. Several of the biggest names in the tech world had hired her and decided to trust her technology in the months that followed. Including a certain Mr. Dennis, current CEO of PalmerTech, but Felicity had graciously declined that offer. 

She was deeply engrossed in coding the next time the phone beeped. Felicity took a deep breath and refused to hurry, stretching instead to relieve the pressure from her sore back. Let Oliver worry for a few minutes. He wanted to break her resistance but she would not give in that easily. He had to work harder to change her mind. Although to be honest if he was naked in this one, she would definitely fold like a cheap deck of cards. But there was no way that her husband would risk sending a naked pic online. Not with all the Green Arrow media frenzy that followed his every move. Surely she had taught him better than that. Right? Right? 

Okay, now she was officially freaking out.

Felicity grabbed the phone and considered it for a moment. This thing was a bigger threat to her sanity than evil doppelgangers from Earth X. It was more potent than any guilty pleasure she could ever dream of. More potent than molten lava chocolate cake, more compelling than Oliver’s authentic Italian tiramisu, more powerful than creamy raspberry cheesecake… Trying to focus, she stared at the damn device as if it was the enemy.

Felicity huffed in annoyance. She was being utterly ridiculous and it was all her husband’s fault. She proceeded to download the photo and reminded herself that she was made of stronger stuff. She would not cave no matter what. 

“Oh my God!”

The good news was that Oliver was not naked. The bad news was that it was worse. Way worse. He was actually standing in front of the mirror, wearing his tuxedo (including the jacket and an unraveled bow tie) but he had left the shirt unbuttoned all the way down. The suspenders were hanging down making the whole outfit more sexy if that was possible. Adding insult to injury, he had taken a selfie. Not of his face. That would have been too kind. Of his gorgeous abs. 

Felicity enlarged the photo, staring at it, slack-jawed. The sight of his out of this world eight-pack abs caused her toes to curl like they described in romance novels.

“That’s it. I’m gonna kill him this time.”

She heard the front door open before she could finish plotting her nefarious revenge schemes. She couldn’t hear a sound but she knew who it was. There was only one person in Star City who could be so stealthy, moving silently like a ninja.

Felicity turned towards him steeling her spine. As soon as she came face to face with the source of her frustration though she felt her resolution crumble. He looked good enough to eat. Pun intended.

“You’re still wearing your tux!” she accused in a high-pitched voice.

“I know.”

He took one tiny step forward.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

Another step.

“Even if I’m not sure why.”

“I know.”

Another step.

“Oliver, I have no idea what’s going on with me. First, I get so mad that I want to throw stuff at you. Then, I get so horny I want to jump you as soon as you get home. And now, I feel…”

“What? Tell me, Felicity.”

He had almost reached her when he paused, waiting for her answer.

“I feel like crying. Which is unfair because I don’t know why I feel that way. And my coffee tastes like dirt and my back hurts and I’m miserable all the time,” she whined.

Felicity narrowed her eyes when she noticed her husband’s sly smile. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m smiling,” he corrected, “because I know what’s wrong with you.”

“You do?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded and another softer smile adorned his stupidly handsome face.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I’m considering it.”

“Why?”

“Because the moment I tell you, you’re gonna freak out. Because I’m worried you’re not ready for this. Felicity, I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you.”

It was her who covered the remaining distance in the end. 

“Oh, Oliver,” she whispered. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

He looked down, avoiding her gaze.

Felicity took his arms and placed them around her waist. She had to stand on her toes and lean her head back to meet his eyes but it was worth it.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I know I’m behaving like a hormone-crazed teenager at the moment but I swear that you’re not gonna lose me. No matter what.”

He shrugged and didn’t comment.

Felicity put her lips against his. Not kissing him, just that silly thing they sometimes did where they whispered their thoughts against each other’s lips.

“I’m glue, baby. Remember?”

His eyes lit up brighter than their Christmas tree at the reminder. 

“Hi,” he whispered, tenderly.

Felicity caressed the back of his neck adoring the way his scruff felt against her face. They had been through so much and they would probably go through a lot more in the future. But it was okay as long as they had each other. 

“Oliver?” she murmured.

He gave her a slow, wicked smile.

“Why are you wearing your tux? Is it because I got mad at you?”

“No.”

“Because it’s Christmas and you thought that I deserve a present?” she asked hopefully.

“You deserve all the presents. But no.”

“Then why? Are we celebrating anything today?”

She played with his hair while he mulled over his reply.

“Felicity,” he said at last, sounding gentle and unsure, “I think that you’re going to give me the best present of my life in a few months.”

Her eyes which had previously closed because of the safety of his warm embrace, flew open.

“No,” she denied.

Oliver stroked her back smoothly.

“Really?” she asked, unnerved.

“Yes.” 

“How can you know?” To say that she was feeling overwhelmed by the idea would be an understatement.

“Trust me. I know.”

The look in his eyes… In that moment, Felicity would have done anything to keep him looking at her like this forever. Like she was the one constant in his life that would never change. Like she was his anchor. Like she had wrapped the world and offered it to him as a gift.

And that was the thought that broke through her panic. Because Oliver was her anchor as well. He had given her the world from the first moment he had walked in her cubicle and trusted her with his life as the Hood. She might have doubted many things during the past year but she had never, not once, doubted his love for her. And she knew unequivocally, deep in her bones that he would always cherish their child.

“I trust you,” she breathed. 

To an outsider it might have seemed like she was replying to his earlier comment but Oliver understood. She was giving him back something she had kept locked since he had first lied to her about his son. She was giving him back a piece of her heart that she had desperately tried to keep safe.

They got lost in each other for a while, both misty-eyed but beaming.

“Do you think we’ll be good parents?” he said out of the blue. “I mean, William is already a teenager but with the life we lead, it might not always be possible for us to be there for this little one.”

“Then our child will grow up knowing that we did everything we could to protect him. He’ll know that his parents loved him even if we’re not there to show him.”

“Her,” he corrected.

Felicity tried to raise an eyebrow and failed.

“Her?”

“She’s a girl,” he announced in what Felicity called ‘his mayoral voice’. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

She shook her head in amusement. Girl or boy she had no doubt that her child would grow up loved.

“Best Christmas ever,” she declared, feeling happiness suffuse every molecule of her being.

And as Felicity rested her head on her husband’s chest, she realized that they were slow dancing without music.

[momo-de-avis]

tell me more about millais and the whole "steal ur wife and have a happy marriage with her lmaoo" and the whole pedo thing??? im intrigued

At the top of my head and very quickly without bothering myself with checking things online cause I’m a bit lazy sorry (though I’ve been over this story for quite a while, I trust my instinct)

When the Pre-Raphaelites appeared, they were the bad boys of London. Reasons:

1) Fucked around, mostly Rossetti

2) Broke academic rules by painting in excruciating and vivid details that weren’t possible with the naked eye (like Holman Hunt painted every single blade of the grass—your eye can’t see it unless you stare closely at it, so academically, that was ugly)

3) Used redheaded women as models. Now, Victorians were absolute fucking lunatics, but the ideal beauty to them was some corpse-looking Morticia Adams. Black hair and pale skin, was top notch. Blonde, blue-eyed beauty came second, probably. What mattered was the pale skin. It was a trend among Victorian women to paint purple and blue veins to look as dead as possible because the frailty of women in a society that told they literally were good for nothing except breeding was the Latest Trend. Redheads, however, were considered cursed. Case in point: the greatest pre-raphaelite muse, Lizzie Siddal: she was not only a red-head, but her skin was also darker than most prefered. Not that she was anything but a white woman, just not white enough to look like you were already flirting with tuberculosis and ready to die fashionably at 40 (though Lizzie was famous for being constantly sick and bedridden. And addicted to Laudanum, like a good Victorian).

4) Basically what gave them the name: PRE-raphaelite. To explain quickly: academic painting privileged the art that resembled Raphael's paintings: harmonious, made of volumes through precise shadowing, mannerist in its style. Line and drawing prevailed above colour. This is linked to formalism so I’m just gonna wrap it up quickly: drawing was considered the intellectual form of art (because in the 16th century people were like ‘oh, astronomy is a science!’ and 'oh, mathematics is a science!’ and people were like, 'well shit, we gotta find a reason to call arts a science too’ and the Renaissance worked that out by explaining that drawing was basically a form of science. Take Da Vinci). The Pre-raphaelites said: fuck that noise, and privileged colour. They used techniques to brighten their paintings (like a layer of white paint applied to the canvas before they applied the preliminary drawing, which made the colours stand out, and then finished it off with wax varnish, which makes it glow. If you ever see a PR painting live, note just how vivid it is. It looks like it’s never gonna wear off, it’s incredible). So with this, they basically said the Royal Academy was a bunch of piss babies who knew jack shit about painting (the accusation of being dumbasses included).

5) …but to be that guy, you had to LIVE the life. So, if you privilege medieval thinking, lifestyle and theology, what you gotta do? BE that medieval knight Victorians thought were oh so Chivalric. Again, famously, Lizzie Siddal is known to be the bad girl of this revival: she refused to wear crinoline and whatever shit the Victorian ladies wore. She wore loose dresses, no corsets and overall dressed like the engravings on Tennyson’s Idylls of the King. She was actually lauded for her commitment like, even Ruskin at one point saw Rossetti as a piss baby rock star wannabe who never finished his shit, but this girl? She committed.

So you see, when these guys popped up, Victorians scowled. BADLY.

But they knew that, to conquer the hearts of promiscuous dandies and hypocritical high-society, laudanum-ridden, arsenic-eating uptight douches and douchesses, they had to get to the loins of one man: most important art critic of his time, single-handedly responsible for elevating William Turner to the True Genius of English Painting: John Ruskin.

Now, just WHO was John Ruskin?

First of all, this little shit was overtly religious. Protestant kind, so you know what you’re in for. This guy studied Turner back and forth, knew everything about him, wrote extensively of his genius and was responsible, as I said, to consecrate him to the memory of British sea painting. Except he purposefully left a bit out, one particular episode of Turner’s life that, to Ruskin’s mind, would ruin his reputation.

Turner was a freak. My man has ENDLESS erotic drawings that go from curious artist look into the Vagina from full-blown pre-victorian porn. And Ruskin kept it all locked away inside his drawer.

The thing was, Ruskin was brought up surrounded by art. This guy looked at Roman statues of women, with their perfectly waxed peepees and toned arms supporting perky breasts and DEAD ASS though this was what women looked like.

So he married Effie Gray, a woman in everything respectable, a prosperous marriage for the good ol’ Victorian lady and dude.

And for the next five years of their marriage proceeded to REFUSE to even touch her.

When the pre-raphaelites pop up, Ruskin attends their very first exhibition and writes them a glowing review. Immediately they go from nut-heads to pop stars. But among them all, it was clear that it was John Everett Millais who was the most talented. So Ruskin took him under his wing.

His first assignment was: paint my portrait. But the pre-raphaelites did something the British academics didn’t: to paint nature, they went outside and painting the motif by looking directly at it. And Ruskin, who praised this mode of making art, had in mind the precise spot he wanted to be painted on: a waterfal or some shit in Scotland, where he owned a cottage.

This cottage was not big. It was actually rather small—you know, in pretending-to-be-a-peasant-is-so-much-fun! victorian fashion. And what does this absolute buffoon does? He invites Millais and his wife Effie in to paint his portrait.

Now I want you to imagine this woman, who has been pushing down 5 years of Horny, putting up with this dude’s shit, enclosed in a tight space with this man—who was older than herself—and incidentally, a handsome looking young fella who paints nicely.

I insist on this thing that Ruskin didn’t touch his wife because he thought women looked like statues because he actually told her. He told her he found her repulsive because—what do you know!!! The peepee’s got some pubic hair! And women menstruate! And like, we’re real fucking things, not Pygmalion's wet dream forged over and over again! She actually wrote a letter to her father detailing this (if you watch the show Desperate Romantics, the scene were Effie confesses this to Millais, the actress is actually reciting this letter word for word).

So when they return to London after the painting is done, they just… Fall in love. I mean, shit, what was she supposed to do?

The face of a man who doesn’t know he’s about to be shit-whipped by his pupil, painted by none other than his protegée, this same pupil.

But remember: no matter what Victorian fangirls say, and whatever that Victorian TV show tries to show you, this society was absolute utter shit for women. Effie Grey presented an annulment proposal to her marriage, and society collapsed on her. She was actually blamed for the fact that Ruskin wouldn’t consummate the marriage. And because she had grown quite close to Millais, she had to prove before the entirety of Victorian society that she was a virgin. Oh, yes. It’s what you’re thinking.

Those open-your-legs-wide-and-let-me-insert-this-not-at-all-friendly-looking-metal-utensil-up--your-private-canal-to-prove-you-are-a-virgin. This, mind you, was back then as utterly humiliating as it sounds now, and to make matters worse, Mr. I-only-fuck-clean-shaven-pussy claimed she was mentally unstable.

Either way: annulment conceded, and she married John Everett Millais. The two went on to a lifelong of fucking and 8 children. Check Millais’ painting Peace Concluded and tell me those two idiots did not die happy together.

I kid you not: until Millais’ death, Effie was socially ostracized. She was even barred from being present in social events where Queen Victoria was, proclaimed by the Queen herself (because remember kids! Victorian society absolutely sucked because it was none other than our favourite imperialist who made it so!) even after she ordered Millais the first Laureate painter. It was only when Millais was dying that in his death bed he BEGGED to lift that stupid shit and she conceded. I just honestly believe Effie didn’t give a shit at this point, because my girl was happy.

So, you ask, what happened to Ruskin?

Don’t think he got off easy lmao. He had his own demise. He wasn’t seen with good eyes after the whole annulment debacle. But of course, being the pissy adult he was, he had to make things worse.

Enter Rose de La Touche.

You see, Rose de la Touche was Ruskin’s pupil. She is, as far as we can tell from his writings, the only woman he ever called attractive and revealed to be attracted to her. When, you ask?

When she was fucking 9 years old, the first time he met her.

He became tutoring her when she was 14. At this point, this ugly ass vulture was way past his 40s. Rose’s parents actually made it worse if my mind doesn’t fail me, but I’m not certain so I won’t address them. Either way, he pretty much groomed her and she grew infatuated with him. He actually made plans to marry her once she turned like, 18 or something, like a good pedo.

The only reason Rose didn’t marry Ruskin? Effie Gray stepped in. Not that she was that interested in what was to happen. The thing was, the reason for the annulment was that Ruskin was impotent, and if he fucked a healthy girl and she got pregnant, she’d be in the shits. But either way, I think it was easy given that he was like 40 years older or some shit. Rose actually declined to marry because she wanted the marriage to be unconsummated, but this time around, ya big Pedo declined! I wonder why was it so easy the first time, and so hard now that he found himself a neat little child to corrupt, right?

At some point, even fucking Rossetti intervened. Now, Rossetti was the rock star of his time: he fucked everything that moved, he got into affairs with the wives of his pupils while Lizzie lingered between life and death at his home, and it took him some 9 years to finally keep his promise to Lizzie and marry her ass. He was the last person you’d expect to say a thing. But you know you’ve fucked up and that you’re a perverted piece of shit when THIS IS THE GUY who steps in to say 'hey, Ruskin, big fan, but you really gotta tone it down cause even I’m not a pedo, pal’.

Now listen: yeah, there’s a lot of speculation about Ruskin’s 'love affair’ with Rose de La Touche. Did he really fall in love with her when she was 9? We don’t know. We don’t care either, because it doesn’t make him any less a fucking pedo. Like, yeah, good art critic, nice theory on the whole Modern Painting book, but this dude had some serious issues.

And there you go

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: Living the Good Life

A MacGyver ficlet. Jack meets his old nemesis, Jimmy Leroy, at the Oklahoma City Airport again. How he wishes he could just punch the cockroach in the face! Missing scene from episode 213. Jack’s POV.

Jack walks out of the little shop by the Oklahoma City Airport with a smile on his face and a little blue box in his hand. The perfect gift!

He feels bad that Mac lost his little red knife. He knows that Mac doesn’t blame him, they’re still learning how to work around the big hole that Cage’s, hopefully temporary, departure left in their team - over the past few months, they got used to having another pair of hands at their disposal - so it really wasn’t his fault that a damn monkey stole the detonator - seriously, who could’ve taken a monkey into account! - still… Jack feels really bad. Because he knows that it wasn’t just some Swiss Army knife. It was a gift from Mac’s grandfather.

And so, when Jack saw an almost identical knife - just maybe with some more… doohickeys - in the window of the little shop, he simply went in and bought the thing. Sure, Jack’s not Mac’s grandfather but--

“Dalton? Hey, Jack, what are you doing here, pal?” a voice calls after him. A very familiar, unpleasantly so, voice.

Jack closes his eyes and groans silently. Then he takes a deep breath and turns around to greet... James Leroy, Jimmy the Cheater. The cockroach who stole Jack’s crown. Pox on the guy!

“Hey, Jimmy!” Jack calls back, his smile so fake it must be obvious to everyone watching, including Jimmy the Big Ol’ Liar!

Apparently not because Jimmy rushes towards him with his paw outstretched, and grabbing Jack’s hand, he pumps it really hard as if they haven’t just seen each other mere hours ago. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Long time no see!” Jimmy guffaws amicably and punches Jack in the shoulder.

Oh, if only Jack could punch him back, right in the kisser. “What are you doing here?”

Jimmy waves his hand airily. “Oh, you know, our charity organization plans to expand its US based activities, so we’re contemplating setting up something or other in the tornado region around here… But what about you? I thought you were on an urgent ‘bathroom tile business’?” He nudges Jack with his elbow and winks.

Keep calm, keep calm, keep calm, Jack urges himself, though his smile turns even more strained. “Yeah, well, it brought me to Oklahoma City.”

“That’s so great, dude!” Jimmy exclaims, all bright eyes and bouncy attitude. “Come, let’s have a drink together!”

As if! “Sorry, Jimmy, I--”

But Jimmy isn’t listening. He grabs Jack around the shoulders with one arm and shakes him excitedly. “Come on! It’ll be fun! Unless you have a flight to catch--”

“Well, no--” Jack has to admit.

Jimmy whoops with delight. “Then it’s settled! Let’s go!”

Jack can only groan again. Well, he could punch the jackass right in the nose but Matty probably wouldn’t approve if he started a brawl in the airport. That’s why Jack resigns himself to this torture and goes along with it.

“So, tell me about yourself, Jackie Boy!” Jimmy demands as they settle into the plush burgundy chairs of the brightly lit airport bar - seriously, no self-respecting bar would be this brightly lit.

Jack sips his beer. “I told you everything,” he replies, shrugging.

“No, no, no,” Jimmy says, “I told you everything. About my career and wife and kids... You told me you were a spy. Ah, always the class joker.” He shakes his head fondly.

Gritting his teeth, Jack takes another sip. He would prefer something stronger but it’s better to stay sober. Especially in this situation. Definitely.

“Come on, Jack!” Jimmy prompts. “Wife? Kids? Mistress?” He winks again.

What? “No, no wife, Jimmy,” Jack says finally. And he’s about to continue and add “no kids either” but his eyes land on the little blue box that he bought for Mac and that’s now lying on the small glass topped table in front of him. And then he thinks, Why the hell not?

“But I do have two kids,” Jack says, looking straight at Jimmy with a new-found confidence. Because this is the absolute, God honest truth. “I took them under my wing some time back and I watch out for them and I couldn’t love them more even if they were biologically mine.”

Jimmy falters a little, his bright smile dimming. “Oh?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, a boy and a girl. She’s a computer wizard, he’s ex-military, like me, and they both work for one of those government funded think tanks? ‘Cause they are smart, dude, like so smart! And I’m so proud of them!”

“Oh,” Jimmy mumbles again, his smile dimming some more.

Yeah, Jack thinks. You didn’t expect that, did you, Jimmy Boy? Not a complete loser, am I?

The moment that thought pops up in his head, something… changes in Jack. Because it’s the truth. He’s not a loser. He’s… not. He has a great life, fantastic even, and a great family, a bunch of friends that would die for him, who would follow him to hell and back if only he just asked. And that’s more than he thought he would ever have, that he could’ve ever wished for. He’s actually a really lucky guy. Wow.

“That sounds, uh, great,” Jimmy mutters.

Jack grins at him, genuinely happy. “It does, doesn’t it? I mean, sure, my life turned out differently than I expected, I didn’t become a football star or anything, obviously, but I can’t complain. I travel all over the world on the job, I work with my kids on their projects, I have a great place back in LA… I’m-I’m happy, man.”

Jimmy opens his mouth and closes it again, obviously not knowing what to say. “I… ah, I’m glad to, uh, hear that, man.”

Nodding, Jack keeps grinning almost manically because he feels almost giddy now, as if huge weight dropped off his chest and he can finally breathe freely. What was he so anxious about in the first place?

Before either of them can say more, Jack’s cell phone beeps, announcing the arrival of a text message. He checks it and says, “Sorry, man, gotta go. My jet’s ready for takeoff.”

Jimmy blinks. “You have a… jet?”

“My company does,” Jack explains and drains his glass, then he leans closer and winks at his old rival. “You know, the bathroom tile business is booming. We need to keep on top of it.”

Getting up, Jack makes sure his little blue box is stashed safely in his pocket. Then he grabs Jimmy’s slack hand and pumps it hard. “See ya, old man. And don’t be a stranger.”

And then he turns and walks out, whistling. He can’t wait to get home.

[cassandrapentayaaaaas]

Male Trevelyan Compilation (with backstories)

*whips out the wallet which I keep specifically for pictures of my fictional children* good afternoon I have so much to say about my babies

(also- if y'all ever want to share your inquisitors with me like literally at any point ever my sub and ask boxes are always open for cute BioWare-rendered faces <3). These are characters we’ve poured time and effort into, and they are absolutely worth sharing.

Benjamin (Ben) Trevelyan: 30/Warrior/Non-Beliver/Bisexual/Pro-Templar (he’s the newest baby) 

Ben’s motto is “do it now, ask questions later.” Honestly, he’s a lot like Cassandra, minus the whole “devoted to the Maker” thing. He believes firmly in “right” and “wrong,” but he’s willing to learn. If he looks tired, it’s because he is. He didn’t want this job; he was at the Conclave to escort some of the mages who made up a distant part of his family, and now they’re all gone.

He’s built like a monster truck -Varric calls him “Muscles”- he can give Bull a run for his money where drinking is concerned, and really just wants to go home to Ostwick where his family, fiancée, and mabari are (there’s no way he’s uprooting them to bring them to Skyhold). He’s not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but his gut feelings are almost always right. He’s learned to go with it. He’s strikingly kind and loves very deeply. He’s a good man.

Friedrich (Fritz) Trevelyan: 38/Rogue/Questioning Belief/Gray-Asexual/Pro-Mage (I definitely have a crush on this hairy man)

Fritz used to be a Chantry scholar and historian (imagine Bram Kenric, but but less about the Inquisition and more about holy relics, texts, and figures). He’s also studied the history of magic. He was excellent at his job and he’s terribly intelligent, but he flaunts neither of those factors. He’s truly a very quiet man, until you come to him with a question or a topic to discuss. When you do, he’s wonderfully patient, attentive, and never condescending -three of the many factors that make him Dorian’s favorite pal. (He’s also my first inquisitor to personally drink from the Well of Sorrows ‘cause he’s a big ‘ole nerd that wants to know everything).

Varric calls him “Doc,” because of his former profession, and to be honest, he wasn’t much of a fighter until the world called on him to become its leader. In fact, he’d never even picked up an object with the intention of making it weapon until he was 24; someone broke into his rooms at the university to steal an artifact he was examining and they were ready to kill him for it. He fought back with a letter opener, and won. 

About 5 years after that incident, he fell in love with a very sweet chantry sister. She fell ill very suddenly, and the local mother opted for prayer over a healer. It didn’t end well for Fritz’s girl, and he felt utterly betrayed by the Maker. He lost his faith for quite a while afterwards, but Cassandra has done a good job of reminding him why he believed in the first place. 

Fritz’s sexuality is really hard to pin down, but he finds he’s most comfortable identifying as gray-a. He’s pretty head-over-heals for the Seeker. She’s really fond of him, too, but they haven’t quite gotten around to discussing where things are going. Their flirting is the shy, gentle, complementary type, and it makes my heart happy just thinking about it.

Dennon Trevelyan: 34/Rogue/Andrastian/Bisexual/Undecided

Dennon (or “Stubble,” if you’re Varric and can get away with it) is a hard man. He’s the middle Trevelyan boy (out of three), and he’s always had to fight for what he’s been given. He’s not an intentionally cruel person, he just genuinely doesn't think feelings are a thing that should be taken into consideration when conducting business, and his business is now the Inquisition. 

While his directness (or bluntness, if you prefer) has made him rather popular with Cassandra, Cullen, and Vivienne, it’s made keeping alliances a risky business. Josephine has spent many hours attempting to help him navigate the art of subtlety, and every time she winces at his sharper edges, it dulls him down a little more... and to be honest, he’s liking the results (and Josie) a lot.

Maddox Trevelyan: 28/Mage/Agnostic/Homosexual/Pro-Mage

Maddox is constantly on the move. This is his first time out of the Circle, and he’ll be damned before he’ll waste it on idleness. He knows what duty is -the number of responsibilities they heaped upon mages in the Circle taught him that- and the members of the Inquisition are constantly amazed at how he’s able to fulfill all of his duties to the utmost, with time left over to explore.

Honestly, Maddox is an adventurer. There’s nothing he likes better than the rush of seeing or doing something new. If he’s not scaling a mountain, he’s diving head-first into the Waking Sea, or considering joining an Avvar hold. Dorian has done wonders to keep him grounded, when need be; Maddox is a dreamer and his amatus, on the other hand, is a dreamy pragmatist. ;)

Maddox (or Blue Eyes, as Varric calls him) is entirely anti-circle, but he’s still somehow managed to win Vivienne over. In fact, there’s no one within the inner circle who isn’t utterly pleased when he’s around. He’s simply a contagious personality, and he is deeply loved.

Abelard (Abe) Trevelyan 42/Rogue/Andrastian/Heterosexual/Undecided (I’m almost as in love with him as I am with Cassandra)

Abe looks like the kind of guy who would beat the snot out of you for looking at him funny, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Varric has even nicknamed him “Grizzly” just for the irony of the implication. He’s wickedly intelligent and he’s the biggest, softest teddy bear this side of Lake Calenhad. He just doesn’t smile much, anymore.

He lost his wife and daughter about two years before the Inquisition began, and he’s still trying to work through it. He’d turned his back on the Trevelyan family’s money to marry a girl who was below his station. They needed cash, so he had to work. He became part of a crew that was sent to ransom and return captives and slaves taken from the Marches and Ferelden to Tevinter, mostly. While he was away on a mission, raiders sacked his tiny village and killed everyone who looked too weak to turn a profit in the slave market. That meant most of the populace, since two harvests in a row had failed and most people were malnourished.

He’s a quiet man, but his actions speak very loudly. He’ll do anything for anyone, so long as he knows them to be good, and it took the inquisition two extra weeks to get out of the Hinterlands because Abe couldn’t leave the refugees “like this.” He even helped to design and construct the area’s first school house, which now bears his family’s name -a fact he will no doubt blush at, if you mention it.

He really likes Cassandra, and she really likes him, but they’re both grieving (Regalyan’s loss is still fresh). For now, the find comfort in their friendship. Neither one wants to push while they’re unready. She is the one who gets him to smile the most often, though.

Peter Trevelyan 22/Mage/Questioning Belief/Pansexual/Pro-Templar

Peter is usually a little shit, and that’s why I love him. He’s always pulling someone’s leg, and Sera often comes to him for prank ideas –though he never lets her pull one off without him at her side. He’s terribly sweet, and his brand of humor permeates nearly every sentence he speaks. He may be a prankster and an utter clown, but he’s wonderfully fierce and has this innate need to protect everyone.

Before his magic manifested, he wanted to become a Templar. Once he discovered he was a mage, he had to battle a lot of self-loathing as well as some serious self doubt. He saw his magic as a flaw and a weakness, and he clung to his idols, the Templars, upon arrival at the Circle (he was only 12 and they just took him away from everything he knew and loved someone please give my poor baby a hug D,:). He sees the value of the Circle because that’s where he was trained to master the parts of himself he came to hate and fear most. It’s been a slow road to go, but in being around apostates and liberated mages like Dorian, Morrigan, and Solas, he’s learning to see mages (including himself) as people and not as wrong, ill-formed things.

He copes with his own insecurities through self-deprecation and near constant levity. He’s still consistently unsure of himself, and his opinion of his own worth is still relatively low, but his dedication to bettering himself and the world around him is admired by all. Honestly, he’s so good to everyone. I love this boy so much.

Michael Trevelyan 26/Mage/Passively Andrastian/Bisexual/Pro-Vivienne-Style-Mage(so... Pro-Templar?)

Right now, Michael is an asshole, but I love getting to know him. He’s the only son of Bann Trevelyan’s four children, and even though he’s a mage, he’ll inherit the better part of his parent’s estate. He’s been treated like a prince since he was born, and it’s made him horribly self-serving. He thinks he’s the cream of the crop, and advice is the one thing he never takes. But, underneath his haughty exterior lies a true idealist with an amazing work ethic.

His air of superiority often leads people to assume he’s lazy. In actuality, he’s amazing at spotting potential and talent in others, which makes him skilled in delegation. He also does his own work at breakneck speeds. Michael won’t tolerate being hindered in the process of achieving his goals by anyone or anything, and he always does whatever is necessary to see that his ends met.

He hasn’t made many friends in the Inquisition, so far, but he hasn’t even gotten out of Haven yet, so we’ll see. Honestly, he’s not currently someone I’d want to spend much time with, but he’s quite handsome, and I want to see his character develop.

Caleb Trevelyan 15/Warrior(Mage)/Questioning Belief/Heterosexual/Undecided

This is my favorite child, and the first Inquisitor who I actually spent time crafting a personality for. I don’t want to get too into his backstory, because he is a large part of a fic which I wILL DEFINITELY WRITE SOMEDAY WHEN I HAVE TALENT TO DO IT JUSTICE. But he is so incredibly driven. He has such a desire for justice, and he learns like it’s no one’s business.

Everyone loves this kid, but he’s got such a self-sacrificial nature that they all have to stay a little more on their guard with him than any normal warrior, because he will literally bury himself in enemies to keep his friends safe. He has so much potential, and everyone is happy to help him reach it in whatever way they can. Ugh. He’s such a little cutie.

[ofindcmitability]

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandoms: Legacies, Charmed, Asphyxia Characters: Lizzie Saltzman ( @geminislegacy ), William Halliwell ( @ofindcmitability ) Additional Tags: #SUPER LATE #but this fills in the blanks of what occurred in paris #also explains will’s secureness #and the fact he might start orbing more  Language: English

william halliwell

roaming the streets of paris was NEVER something william halliwell pictured himself doing. it was something not even a blimp on his radar. and yet then lizzie saltzman swept into his life and it was, in the words of aladdin, A BRAND NEW WORLD. holding her hand in his, walking through the streets of paris? it was something he never realized he wanted or needed until he was there and suddenly it was the epitome of joy. of happiness. "is that... a theater?"  it was a movie theater, a cinema. except french. it'd be a waste of time to go in there and yet he felt himself squeezing lizzie's hand so her beautiful blue hues would meet his. "wanna check it out?" instead of waiting for an answer, like maybe he should have. he pulled her along behind him, not dragging her too harshly at all but still a little drag. he turned back to catch a glimpse of her behind him, only to stumble upon the step in his path he hadn't seen with his eyes on her. and yet, instead of feeling like a fool or inadequate, he laughed. ( that was all her, he knew that ). he took a step in the theater, holding the door open for her behind him and sending her a look of clear bemusement at his own antics ( antics never before did he think that word would describe him ). the theater wasn't too busy, they seemed to be showing some old movies with french subtitles.  lips pressed together as his eyes set on a poser for a movie and-- "isn't that in your room?" he didn't recgonize the movie but a sudden desire thrust forward.  "let's watch it." he wasn't sure if either of them had money on them but- "i could---" was he about to offer to illegally orb them into the theater? the operative word being there orb. he hadn't orbed since he was a legitimate kid and now the action was something that slipped into his mind just so he could watch a movie his fiance liked along her side in paris. one look at her eyes, at her smile, at her face and will knew. if she asked, he'd do it.(edited)

lizzie saltzman

does she want to go to the random movie theater? not normally, no. with will hand in hand with her, though, she's feeling ready to find even a pebble in a cornerstone to be the most fascinating sight of attraction in paris. so, she does want to, sure, but the question remains of whether they have the time to. there's still a lot left to visit and if they don't rush-- oh, nevermind then. he's pulling her along after him and she chimes in with a laugh, especially when he tumbles over in his rush. " are you kidnapping me, you big ole troll? " she spins through the door he holds open, waving a hand through the pirouette that lands her the entrance. " ah, if it isn't your bridge. " if she's being ridiculous, it's only because she's so, so, so very in love. attention drifts toward the poster he points out, her smile faltering, but directly proportionate to the way her eyes light up. the time traveler's wife? really? in paris? the most romantic place on earth, where she's spent valentine's day with her fiance? ( joy in little things, she supposes, given the way excitement simply stills breathing in her throat. ) he suggests they watch it, but there's an obvious flaw in that argument. " we don't have tickets. " yeah, obvious, lizzie. i could--- he could what? her arms fold over each other as she steps toward him, just slightly bewildered and just slightly still entranced by that poster. " wait, are you talking about that orbing thing? " claudia once told her he can do it  --  just doesn't, for whatever reason. " it's just a movie. " she offers the words softly, a tight-lipped rising smile as her hand reaches and gives his jaw a quick, gentle caress. " maybe we should stop being delinquents. "

william halliwell

"oh yes," and he spun her because he loved her. her hair waving around in the air like a princess he wondered if he knew how much he loved her so much. a princess, a queen, a hero, lizzie saltzman was all one would need for anytime of story and tenfold. a jack of all trades with so much, he couldn't help but always keep them on the mind. he chuckled. "you best hold your nose, my bridge is a smelly one." he teased of her, eyes sparkling with affection in the direction of lizzie saltzman. his fiance, his heart, the person he wanted to live his whole life with. see the world, be with for an eternity, or even not an eternity. but wherever their lives took them. he didn't know the movie the time traveler's wife. if lizzie liked it it was bound to be good, he was sure. he trusted her taste after all. plus it sounded romantic and it was valentine's day after all. if any day was a day to watch a movie your fiance loved-- "we could get tickets." dig into wyatt's trust-fund ( or just, fund because william halliwell should not be trusted with these mass amounts of cash ). "even if they're out, we could get them." but. but the thought entered his mind and it couldn't just LEAVE. he leans into her gentle caress. the only person to touch him in this way ever, and the only person he could imagine who's touch would be so damn inviting. "orbing, yeah." his hand fell upon her own, cupping it over his own cheek. "i could. i might be a bit rusty but i..." his eyes touched her, brown meeting blue. "i would. for..." he looked over to the poster again, needing the movie reminder. "the time traveler's wife." an intense look within his eyes, will continued. "i'd do anything, for the time travelers wife." including facing that fear, that detriment.February 28, 2020

lizzie saltzman

they could get tickets. she doesn't really know how it works around here, but she believes the biggest issue here is the obvious fact that they ran out of pocket money. go back to the hotel, grab some more, get those tickets if they're still available ...  sounds like too much of a hassle for just a movie. even if, to her, it's more than just a movie. it's the source of all her daydreaming for an epic love ( that she was somehow lucky enough to find ). but then again, will says they could just orb inside. and what's she supposed to make of that? there is a glint in his eyes, foggy and carrying a thousand unspoken words. she doesn't know when she got this good at reading people, but she supposes she shouldn't get too ahead of herself. it's probably a feat she manages just for will. she can sense that it's a thought of all kinds of heavy calibers for him. dread, hesitance, faraway ghosts of the past that lurk all around him. this is a big deal. it feels like too much of a big deal, even. ( she's already taken enough from him recently ;  how could she do this to him? ) her mouth hangs agape for a few moments, as she trues to muster a response. " will-- " her head shakes, slowly and hesitantly, hand slipping away from beneath his just so her touch isn't there to influence or to enchant his ration in some way. " i don't -- you don't want to do this. " she finds that pretty obvious. " it's just a movie and i've seen it a million times. let's just go. please? "

william halliwell

he didn't know what possessed him. in retrospect it was just a stupid movie--- wait nope, not stupid. lizzie cared about it. it made it, decidedly, not stupid. even if it didn't mean too much to her, just a little bit of meaning was enough for him to care as well. so will cared. and the words left his lips before he carried the weight of them. it was only a moment he took to process it, figure out DID HE REALLY MEAN IT? and then he looked at lizzie, and he wanted to do it for her. if she wanted it, that is. but, as she begged for him to do otherwise will considered once again. he gave thought and thought and found himself unable to come up with something CORRECT. nothing felt right in lieu of their situation, in lieu of the lives they lead. metaphors done, he decided to give some truth. "it used to be one of my favorite things," he confessed, eyes linking to hers. "before i knew what it was to even enjoy anything, i loved orbing. than it became something that was his and doing it made me feel... i just stopped. and now," his hand stint forward, intertwining with hers. "it used to be one of my favorite things," he repeated such words. "and now you are. and it's small and stupid but-" there was apart of him who wanted to reclaim of what was once something he loved. deep intake of breath, and a brief clutch of their intertwined hands. "i could orb back to get some cash," lower voice register, a lean forward toward the girl to which he loved. "i could orb us in," and a gentle content smile finally followed. "or we could keep walking." because he was okay with that TOO. if they just kept going, kept being HAPPY. william halliwell was happy, with their happiness.February 29, 2020

lizzie saltzman

yes, there was an actual moment of sizzling panic. she doesn't know what else to call it. she feels like she's been walking on eggshells with many things ( him, herself, them, the world ). even a grain of rice on this scale can tip off the balance. so, she's eager to move the topic along. that is, until it seems like will is seeking ...  more from it. he starts talking, actually brings HIM into the conversation, and it feels different. like just a passing mention, while the focus is the way their fingers fit through each other so well, piling on to the reasons why they just come together to be whole. her gaze watches him so carefully, every shift in every crease of his face. she wants to be sure, to know for certain that hat she's faced to is the plain truth and nothing else. ( she doesn't want to misinterpret or be insensitive. ) but he's smiling -- and she finds nothing but frankness there. it feels her chest with a fuzzy warmth and urges her lips into a slight rise to mirror his own. both of her hands intertwined with both of his, she gives a gentle squeeze, a light sigh leaving her, one that slowly deflates the worry on her shoulders. " it's not small and stupid, " she feels the need to clarify, eyes twinkling like stars when she finds his gaze, steady and ...  at home. " i think it's very brave. " he's always been brave to her. just for being able to stand after all he's been through. it'll never cease to astonish her. " and i want to help you take your happiness back. little by little. " another squeeze of her hands and her smile grows toothier, leaning in just slightly to rest her forehead against his, giving nose a little nuzzle. " orb us in. "

william halliwell

it wasn't typical for HIM to be a passing mention. but in this moment ( all moments, if he were being honest ), LIZZIE SALTZMAN was his world. she was the sun and he was the earth, orbiting around her. his father? for the first time in what felt like forever. the man wasn't even a blimp. something will didn't think about or consider, it wasn't something he dwelled on. all his focus was solely pasted onto the blonde before him. simply her, him, and a choice--- an answer. there was something irreversibly perfect about the feeling of her hands in his. it wasn't the way they fit ( even though, in his eyes, that was perfect too ), it wasn't the temperature or the way her skin was always so damn soft. it was the feeling they brought upon him, a wave of safety and comfort. no longer a reminder of what he hadn't taken that faithful day, but now a reminder of the fact he had his whole world right in his hands. ( and no, he had little plans to ever let it go. selfish or selfless, he didn't know which one it was. couldn't care if he tried. ) the clarification warms his chest, that she's so sure in her words, in the feelings he dare not say. "brave." it was like a tingle splaying over his skin at such a simple word as her calling him brave. "i don't think you've ever called me that before." not to his memory, but still. in this moment it felt amazing to hear, he could listen to her say it again and again on a loop-- ( was that silly? childish? ) a smile dawdled on his face. a sweet dawdle because it felt nice, this moment was one he didn't wish to forget. not anytime soon. hopefully, not ever.

. the small nuzzle on his nose was something that produced a light laugh from his lips, a laugh because he felt joy. ( and how many people could say that? earnestly feeling such joy was rare ). he glanced at their surroundings, making sure no one was watching them too closely. they stood by the entrance, by the shadows. it would work. he leaned in close, squeezed her hand once more and in a swoosh, orbs swept them both up. the darkness, for the first time, not making him think of the past. but rather, he thought only of what was in front  him instead of behind.(edited)March 1, 2020

lizzie saltzman03/01/2020

now that she's thinking on it, she really hasn't called him that before. huh. a truly odd choice on her behalf, given that it's something she's thought ( and known ) since the very first moments they met. " i have no idea why i haven't. early stage dementia? " a faint joke and a playful glint in her eyes that turns more earnest and reminiscent as her gaze falters toward their conjoined hands. " i've thought you're brave since that moment in the library. " a pause, her eyes rolling softly. " not that one. " not the one where he handed himself over to ensure her safety ( there was some crazy involved in that one too ). " when you told me what you are, even if it meant risking ...  everything. " her smile is like a burst of joy when she hears him laugh. a sound like the rustle of trees and leaves in an arid summer or waves rolling along a beach with pristine, white sand. ( a tune she wants to put on repeat -- in her memory, in her heart, in her soul. ) even before anything happens, she feels pretty content in this one belief: they'll be okay. this will be too. she doesn't even notice it when their surrounds warp all around them, her gaze still so intently fixed on him and that aura of pure serenity. it's dark and then it's only slightly dark, courtesy of the dimness of the movie theater. she tears her eyes away at last, notices they're right by the back entrance, with no one to notice them ( thankfully ). she realizes she's been holding in a breath when she gives his hand another squeeze and gives him a smile. she wants to say you did it. i'm so proud of you. but she reckons her face says everything, as per usual ( open book much? ). instead, she opts for something simpler and yet full of so many everythings. " i love you. " her head tilts and she doesn't lose the smile ( or can't, rather ). " you know that, right? "

william halliwell

he let loose a squirrely laugh at this, not even a chuckle, a whole hearted laugh. it wasn't even that funny ( well it was, lizzie was hilarious and he'd fight you on that ) but it was just the euphoria of this moment. how fucking good it felt. how happy he felt. happiness he thought he wouldn't be able to obtain after all that had happened. not his father, his all the horrible things he'd seen, but after their fight ( was it a fight? what was it if not? it's wasn't a squabble ). and he'd been happy in paris, so happy. but nothing compared to the warmth of this moment, pure and unadulterated.  something he had inwardly feared he'd never obtain again. he was happy to be wrong. "i believe you." he said and there was no hesitation, there was no lie. william halliwell looked at lizzie saltzman and believed her every word. she brought up their past, and there was a swell within his chest thinking of how far they'd come from that moment in the library. from him putting it all on the line so he didn't blindside a girl he liked ( a girl he eventually realized he was going to fall in love with, whether he wanted to or not-- there was a point he knew it would happen ). "i remember," and the memory was something he'd never forget. from her telling him what she was, to him refusing a date til lizzie knew all her facts. the orbs are like blurred swirls around them. casting them away in shadows, only to come back with light before their eyes. the light of the cinema, of the movie screen and the opening promotions already playing. no one noticed them, luckily. though if they had will could orb them away somewhere new. he would, if ever needed. fuck, they may not even have to take the plane back ( unless lizzie wanted to, that is ).

. her hand squeezes him, and it doesn't knock him out of his euphoria. no, looking at lizzie saltzman in his arms makes him feel only even better. looking at the blonde hair swinging from her back, those blue eyes he could forever be lost in, and he felt happy. her smile?? was it too much to call it angelic? on her face wrote all the words that it made his heart burn with affection for her. will believed her when she said the words she thought he was brave and he believed her when she said i love you. "i believe you." he echoed his earlier statement in just the same meaningful way. hand cupping her cheek, not to kiss her or even bump their foreheads together. but to spend a simple moment basking in how lucky he was.

lizzie saltzman03/01/2020

god, she really hopes he actually does believe her. it's all she's been trying to do, all she's wanted. in hindsight, she's been craving a return to that time when she believed nothing could ever rattle them, shake them, or break them apart. it was a welcome comfort, which later sprouted safety and confidence. ( for someone who's always thought herself to be disposable, THAT was a feat. ) then came along the things that showed otherwise, that instilled her with the dreadful belief that he could, in fact, some day decide to just let her go. that's all it was, she hopes: a belief. not a fact, not a certainty. yes, right now all she has is hope. there's been a wound burst open that particular evening ;  it can't close that fast. but as long as she knows she's on the road to recovery, she knows, eventually, she will HEAL. he doesn't say i love you too, which at the wrong time can feel ...  cheap. he says something much more important, those very words the band aids that can help her climb out of this pit. she's still smiling, tight-lipped but wide in its arch as little dimples carve joy in its very physical form into her cheeks, right under his hand as it rests there, warmly and comforting. even in this dimness of the theater, she can decipher enough to realize that this is a kind of will she hasn't really seen. sparkling at his core, stomping all over his greatest fears and smiling in their face. she's reminded of how she's started falling for him, among many other reasons, for just how much he INSPIRES her. she thinks if he can tackle on his greatest traumas for a movie, she'll just have to fight harder to defeat her own. and -- she can do it. not because she's strong ;  she still lacks so much. but because she has the pieces to make the picture a whole. .

her eyes shut briefly as she lets her head tenderly lean into his teach. her chest is practically aching from the burst of emotion that rumbles within it and the content sigh that leaves her lungs feels strained for the very same reasons. " good, " she settles on saying, but that single word stirs so many monstrous fears and self-destructive demons that have been making her mind their domain. she draws in closer slowly, like she'll crumble if she puts any more might to her step, and pulls her arms around him and her chin on his shoulder. " good, " she repeats and, because she realizes she in turn believes that he believes her, claws at the fabric of his jacket on his back, fighting back tears of joy ( it's a wonder this is the way all the pent-up emotion manifests itself like this, in the end ). " i'm glad. " she lets out a small laugh because that ...  is an understatement.

william halliwell03/01/2020

he loved her smile. he loved being the one to make her smile, the source. he loved the happiness she graced him with, so pure and sweet and utterly wanted. a smile that could make him smile just by being there, planted upon her face. there were many many things special about that smile, and william halliwell would count them all if he had the time. from the way her dimples lit, to the way her brightness made his own darkness so much dimmer. how, even for a moment, it erased all his pain and suffering. yeah, he loved that smile. it was one thing to willingly choose to put all your angst and hurt aside. it was another thing to forget it completely. there were so many times by lizzie's side he put it away or forgot it in passing, but in this moment? it was gone. the world existed as just them too. no fireworks or rain, no earth or air, just them. so perfectly in tune. more then he knew how to comprehend. so beautiful in a way beyond eyes, sound or smell. something that just was. good. lizzie said and the little world spoke so loudly, as loudly as it should without overshadowing anything else said. a perfect word, if william did say so himself. good. because she was happy, because 'good' was more than enough. the perfect amount. it was funny how they fit, constantly together. constantly making each other whole when he hadn't realized there was left to add. yet, here they stood. being more than he thought they ever could. "good." he echoed her word, not blankly but rather with a grin full of heart and affection pure on his face. light in his eyes, shining in a different way than usual. almost radiant, despite the darkness of the theater.

. there were times lizzie was a bit taller than him. they were the same height typically but when she wore heels she became a slight but taller. like in this moment, as he pushed his feet up to be taller just so he could scoot some of her blonde hair away from her forehead and kiss her lightly upon it. an affectionate and intimate gesture he would proceed to do always when the moment felt right, like now ( he loved kissing her on her forehead, he loved the raw intimacy of it and the feelings it provided, despite how infrequently they went about doing it )."i'm glad too." he lead her to a pair of seats in the back side of the theater, doubting she would mind such a section. as soon as they sat down, he wasted no time in pulling an arm around her, despite the arm chair between them. with her head on his shoulder, he took a moment to breath her in. breath in this new reality of safety this moment brought across. the love he felt for her, so clear in his chest. how could he have missed this before? now, it was something he couldn't picture letting go of.

lizzie saltzman

it's intoxicating. the way he's grinning and radiating a kind of glee, a kind of contentedness that she hasn't seen stamped on his face before. not like this. it's mixed in with contentedness, she realizes, like he's finally allowing himself to smile without fighting an inner battle. ( oftentimes she's felt like she was at the center of some of those battles ;  his apparent liberation is very personal by this logic. ) she only realizes in the heat of this moment, as her own grin breaks into her face and she mirrors the sparkles in his eyes -- something has been ...  different. not off, not wrong ( it could never be wrong with william halliwell, the love of her very life ), just astray from what they've nurtured themselves into. but this ...  this is nice. the childlike joy and that sense like they're just kids against a harsh world. she has nothing else to say ;  the exchange of their smiles is telling enough, as is the relieved flutter in her chest when she feels him press a kiss to her forehead. it's truly wondrous how many different things the myriad of ways you can kiss someone are able to communicate. in this case, with his lips tenderly against her skin, she thinks he's telling her he's staying. no matter what. .

with this newfound peace in her breast, she knows she's probably going to enjoy the movie all over again, with a pair of brand new eyes ( the eyes of a girl so very madly in love ). it's an innocent assumption, though it rides on the fact that she'll be able to actually pay attention to the movie in the first place. she doesn't, not really. she's seen it a million times before, appreciated and also longed for the tragedy for an epic love. given she stood on the very shards of something similar ( might still be standing there ), she sees it all differently. her very own story is sitting right beside her, his fingers through hers and his breathing gentle while her head is resting on his shoulder. she'd be embarrassed to admit that there are plenty of times when she's looking at him rather than the screen, letting herself bask in the admiration and appreciation of all that he is. impromptu, she lets a hand find the side of his face, angling his head toward him as she tenderly presses a kiss to his lips.

william halliwell

it was like getting back to themselves, only something better than that. it'd been unspoken, but felt, among their trip. that extra baggage that filled them with nothing but pain and anguish. yet, they neither spoke of it nor let it go. not until now. and while the words weren't spoken in the way people heard, they were unspoken. perfect, even/ the perfect unspoken words, combined with the spoken right ones. ( "i believe you" "good" ). they made all the difference in the world glided by just them. her eyes seemed filled with stars ( and she was looking right at him, with those starry eyes, what did that say? his grin broadened just thinking about it ). the look on lizzie's face was a reflection of his own happiness. and wasn't that so weird? ( but also, like, amazing? ) they fit comfortably against each other, like two puzzle pieces that complete one strange and large puzzle. they were just two small pieces in the midst of so many other puzzles, but in every one--- will was sure, they would always fit together. wholly and completely. in this world full of people, so many different kinds. will knew, lizzie was the one he needed. you only died--- no, you only lived once. and he wanted to live that life with lizzie. the movie was borning. well, there was some interesting parts. and maybe it was only boring because his blood was still pumping as he looked upon his fiancé i such fascination and fondness.  blood pumping from love, from want, from glee, from joy, all those things that made him restless in his seat. the only calming feeling being her head pressed against him. ( he knows he said it once, but again, they fit so well together. he couldn't dream of fitting against another in this way ).

. his gaze lingers on her and back to the screen a multitude of times. he can't help it. she's... distracting. just the restfulness on her face, the look in her eyes, even as she watched some silly romance movie ( not silly, he corrected, after having seen the ending ). he was finally settled back on the movie when a warm hand fell onto the side of his cheek, a delicate touch. like he was something delicate. will wasn't used to be treated like that, delicate and breakable. ( and just because he was riddled with scars and cracks doesn't mean that he wasn't ). she looked at him like he was her whole world, the way he looked at her. it made his heart beat, just a bit faster. and then, she kissed him. tender, just like her touch. his hand left to grasp her cheek gently in his hand ( a perfect fit ). leaning into the kiss with all himself, with all his heart. "i love you." it was uttered from his lips the moment they disconnected.(edited)

lizzie saltzman

now, in hindsight, she can say that not even paris has been as gloriously stunning as she expected it to be. not that it isn't. there's just the plain fact that she didn't come here to bask in the sights -- not really. every step of the way, the true source of wonder was that she's here with her fiance, with someone who decided, with his whole heart, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. not the now, not the near future, but eternity itself. she really only has eyes for william halliwell ( and she sure as hell hopes he's finally realized that ). she certainly has no doubts of it from his side. there's always been something in his eyes, from the day they met -- something that made her feel special. if she recalls right ( and she does ), he did call her one of a kind. and that's exactly how he's always made her feel ever since. in this moment, with his hand molded so perfectly along the curve of her cheek as they pour their unsaid confessions into a kiss, this is exactly how she feels. breathless, because he never fails to vacuum the oxygen out of her lungs, she lets her own hand rise, resting it against his jaw as she seeks his gaze, hazy and full of adoration. she smiles -- of course she does. she'll never tire of this. of him telling her that he loves her. telling her, showing her, oozing it through his every pore. it's a healing power to even the undiscovered ailments. " enough to pretend this movie isn't a snoozefest? " she asks in harmless jest. ( nothing personal ;  she knows it can't be his kind of movie. ) .

her head twists lightly as she casts another glance toward the screen, one that lets her decide it's not at all a priority. she shifts from her seat and settles on climbing on his lap, one leg on either side as her hands press into his shoulders and she leans in to claim his lips again. " and i love you, " she mumbles into the kiss, contently, but with a small smile of bemusement because, yes, she knows he can't see the movie like this, but that might just be the intention. she likes attention, especially HIS attention. she's going to be petty all the way -- even toward a film.

william halliwell

paris was okay. it was cool, the sights. but will still preferred the san fransicsco golden gate bridge over whatever that eiffel tower was. he preferred everything, from the sights to the food. the only thing paris held over san francisco was it's marvelous company that came in the form of the one and only lizzie saltzman. he could spend days with just her, content. but he did miss wyatt, landon, claudia, even if it was easy to let them loose from his mind for a few days ( more like, two weeks, but shh ). he remembered when they first met, that moment lizzie saltzman made him feel that special way he'd never felt before with anyone before. it was not like how wyatt made him feel, nor how landon eventually made him feel, but something unique and special. not family, not someone he ever wanted to be a friend, in fact she was someone he couldn't be friends with. there was always the want for something MORE. with one sentence she keened his interest and after that moment it was something that simply would never fade. even when he hadn't known her name, hadn't known her beyond the 'mean and funny blonde'. she was something that left a mark on his head, his brain, his very heart and soul. so easily bolding it in colors and remarks and so many things he'd never seen ever before. that was her. the girl who yelled in the library, and didn't like fast food places ( though she didn't mind five guys after he finally got her there, he was fairly sure at least. ( their first date )). the girl who he sooner risked his life for before they even kissed. her. her smile is comfort. will didn't need comfort, not in this moment. yet it was comfort nonetheless. foggy and lost but not. like she was lost in a gorgeous dream. that made him the gorgeous dream. will hadn't an idea how he felt about that. just that... it wasn't a bad thing. possibly, quite amazing. not possibly ( it did feel amazing, coming from her ).

. he let out a loud SNORT at her words, so unexpected of her to say because he had thought she'd liked this movie. she always managed to surprise him no matter what she did and fuck did he love that, he really did. he loved it so damn much. "i thought you liked it." he jested, though there was no objections found in his tone. his index finger tattered with her hair, swirling along it's wave. something he could easily spend hours doing and stay fascinated. finally his eyes reconnected to hers. "i love you," he begun. "enough to watch a documentry," he didn't know if he ever told her his dislike of those. but his tone held his contempt, also his affection. she climbed onto his lap and william leaned back, uncaring if people stared their way. more concerned with the girl right before him. his love. a chuckle sprouted about. "glad to hear it." even though it was something he already knew. part of him wanted to say the words i know but he was unsure if lizzie would get the reference ( and last time star wars was brought up lizzie almost went to war with landon so there was that- ). he slimmed his hand through her blonde locks, bringing her head closer to his so their foreheads connected. it was intimate, not the right place for it ( they were putting on a show when there was one already on the screen, good thing there was no one behind them ). "i love you." a third time, maybe forth time said. yet the words remained earnest and true. something he knew, she knew, and yet... he couldn't help it. he repeated them like a mantra, they were branded on his heart after all.March 3, 2020

lizzie saltzman

she loves it when he plays with her hair. big wonder, really. she loves SO many things that he does, grand or small. he's capable of setting her hear amok with both a glorious declaration and the way in which he twists a strand of her hair along his finger. she loves all of it. ( she loves all of him. ) her smile is properly content as she sits back, with a kind of cozy relaxation that one could only associate with that irreplaceable feeling of home and comfort. " i do like it, " she defends, firmly but not without some playful gentleness. " but i like you more. " she extents an arm, idly fiddles around with a corner of his collar. " i just don't think it's your type. " and that's alright. they don't have to enjoy everything together, have the same tastes, or even the same opinions. ( actually, objectively, they're quite different. as different as they are alike where it matters. ) his documentary comment lets a quiet laugh simmer on her lips, nose scrunching under the weight of that joy. she doesn't know what it is about this moment in particular, finding themselves in this chic parisian theater, with a handful of other people, but she thinks it's a moment of peak happiness for her. ( for him too, she realizes as she reminds herself to observe the way he's glowing. ) " you can't possibly hate ALL documentaries, " she remarks -- and gives his nose a light, ludic tap. " would you hate a documentary about baby pandas? or about the makings of star trek, and star wars, or star lizards, or whatever. " .

glad to hear it, is his response -- and she smiles against his lips. fitting. she's kind of enjoying this new way of responding to the classic i love yous ;  carrying so much meaning and yet still leaving room for creativity and surprise. ( wonder and surprise have always been constants when it comes to her and will. ) she rests her forehead against his, as his hand threads through the golden hair down her back, and she brings her eyes to an open just to grant herself the relaxation of basking into the darkness of his gaze as her thumb glides along his jaw in tender strokes. she hears some shuffling behind them and even though the movie is pretty much all but sabotaged by now, she doesn't quite want to break this spell and move. so, instead of having them disappear in the eyes of the world, she gets about as ambitious as she always is  ---  and makes the WORLD disappear instead. " invisique, " she softly whispers, letting themselves fall out of the sight of those that could not possibly understand or let them be in their own little bubble. she leans in again, into clashing with his lips again, and lets her mind question just when they're going to leave this seat ( if ever ;  she finds it that she doesn't mind an eternity spent here ).

william halliwell

"little old me?" oh yes, he was TEASING and that much would be obvious to even a stranger. william halliwell, formally flynn, didn't typically saying things like little old me? in a southern accent with light deep in his eyes ( that light was something so so uncommon, will wouldn't believe it if he didn't feel it in his very soul ). "well..." yeah, that was true. she was right ( almost, as always ). it wasn't his type of flick, thereby almost impossible for him to truly enjoy. he was far more enjoying his fiance perched upon his lap as she was. there were lots of things they shared together, or bared through for each other, this was more on the side of baring. if lizzie was truly with he rheart fully into the movie he could do a smile she knew was fake but she'd be thankful for anyway. but in this moment there was far more then the movie going on, and he didn't have to do a painstakingly rubbish smile for something he didn't enjoy ( maybe she'd fake it for geek culture and he'd fake it for chick flicks, not even FAKE. a comforting smile but a lack of real knowledge about the topic as one of them went on passionately and will thought it was nice and more then enough ).

. "every. single. one." he responded quite easily. "i don't wanna know about real life, real life sucks." a pause, his gaze upon her. "except, maybe some parts." ahem, lizzie saltzman, ahem. "i don't like non fiction, same as documentaries. i'd rather be lost in the fiction of it all. that way i don't have to get too attached." he did get attached, sometimes, but even then it was easier knowing they weren't real people and things. made life for him easier, just to worry about the reality before his eyes. "baby pandas?" he made an overexaggerated 'ew' face. "the makings of are boring." a pause. "don't tell landon i said that." and then he was laughing because this moment was so nice? he couldn't possibly understand the whole of it but right now he was having fun beyond belief. just talking to her, just being with her, it was nice. her forehead rests against his and his eyes shut, simply basking into the moment as it was. a perfect moment. more then he could believe. perfect, a word he kept using and using and a word that kept fitting and fitting. his hand continued threading through her locks but his eyes remained shut, hoping this moment would forever be branded into his memory and into his heart. any time he felt doubts, he felt fear, he felt lack of confidence, he'd think back to this moment with lizzie at his side, in his lap, in his very hands, ( holding the world in his hands ) and he'd be able to feel okay. lizzie uttered a spell and will didn't dare open his eyes, didn't dare give a concern or care to whatever spell it was because he knew lizzie's good intent behind it. he trusted her inexplicitly. there was no one who knew him better, no one he trusted more ( though wyatt was close ), lizzie saltzman? she was it.

[hottytoddynews]

The sun beams down on a mosque in Sanaa, Yemen. Photo by Paul Crutcher

“There’s a guy here who says he went to Ole Miss,” Mark said.

Mark was a Department of Defense (DoD) civilian employee stationed at the U.S. Embassy in Sanaa, Yemen, in 2013. Mark Shafer, retired submarine driver. A burly, bearded, blunt and highly efficient man with the unblinking stare of a wolf, who moved planes, vehicles, equipment and personnel in and out of country by day and told the most hilarious stories of antics on the high seas your stomach muscles could stand around a blazing fire by night, all while savoring a cigar in the cool mountain air of almost 8,000 feet up.

“His name is Tripp,” Mark said.

“Tripp,” I repeated. “Well, of course it would be Tripp,” I thought to myself. “It’s Mississippi. We go in for names like Tripp.”

I found Tripp later and knew he was “Mississippi” before he spoke. Another big man like Mark. Big sideburns. Big hair. A big chest and even bigger legs. Walked all wide-legged, as if he’d just dismounted a horse after a long day’s ride.

And that smile. Jesus. You can’t describe it. Ear-to-ear? No. Doesn’t cut it. It was bigger than that. It was bigger than anything else he possessed. Bigger than his laugh. Bigger than his face even. It leapt out at you like an attacking big cat in one of those nature shows.

And those deep green eyes came at you with the big smile and just held you in place, the cat to its prey. When he did speak, I had to suppress a laugh. Not because he sounded funny, but because he sounded “home.” I had been away from home since joining the FBI in 1997. On occasional visits to Oxford and Holly Springs, I always noticed how strange the voices were to my forgetful ear. The longer vowels, the bouncing syllables, the doubled-up inflections when a single spike of a note would have killed the word and moved on, like they do in the North, where the sense of hurry is ever-present.

I soon saw that Tripp McCullar was a very busy fellow as an Army Green Beret at the Embassy, with duties that kept him hopping from dawn into the night. But Tripp was never in a hurry, and that big smile was never diminished. Watching Tripp in action, I often recalled the admonition of a beloved firearms instructor at the FBI Academy at Quantico, Virginia, who said, “Smooth is fast.”

“Let’s say you got a hot date with you in your pickup truck,” the instructor would tell a class of New Agent Trainees as he schooled them on how not to pull a trigger. “You got a cup o’ dip sittin’ on the dashboard. You got a speed bump comin’ up. You go over that speed bump fast, you gonna spill that cup all over your date’s lap. You’re done. So you take it smooth.” 

Tripp never spilled the dip. Tripp was smooth.

A marketplace in Sanaa’s Old City, the oldest inhabited city in the world. Photo by Paul Crutcher

Well, there was that one time. Tripp and I were the honored guests of a tribal sheikh in Yemen. There we were, sitting cross-legged on the gorgeous carpets in the sheikh’s home as our host served us big round plates of freshly baked flat bread oozing with wild Yemeni honey, the best in the world. As a Green Beret, Tripp had needed to learn more than one foreign language. Before tackling Arabic, he had taken on Turkish, and sometimes he got the two tongues twisted.

“This is great BAL,” he told the sheikh with emphasis, using the Turkish word for “honey” instead of the Arabic one. The trouble was, the way Tripp pronounced it, with his Mississippi drawl, “BAL” came out a lot closer to “BOL,” which is the Arabic word for “urine.” The sheikh and his entourage roared laughing and had to push themselves away from the feast to dry their eyes. When I told Tripp what he had said, his red face looked like the lights on a Christmas tree next to his big green eyes.

“Boy, you’re a long way from Oxford,” I whispered into Tripp’s ear.

Sanaa, Yemen and small-town Mississippi have more in common than some might think. Photo by Paul Crutcher

Tripp immediately gave me a gift that day when we met in the hall of the Embassy in Sanaa. It was an Ole Miss lanyard, the kind you attach to your Embassy security badge and show to the guards when you enter through the gates. Red and blue with the big “M” and the cursive “Ole Miss” repeated down the strand. I never took it off while on duty at the Embassy. I carried it home with me to Virginia in 2015. I took it back to the Middle East on a tour in Oman later that year, on another one in Saudi Arabia, and then back again to the U.S.  I still wear it today. I’ll wear it for as long as I am working anywhere.

Tripp graduated from Ole Miss in 1997. I finished in 1983. I never asked, but it seemed like he had grown up needing to work. He had a job at the Oxford Airport. He had a job as a “house boy” at an Ole Miss sorority, where you got your meals for free. He made money playing gigs in a band in Oxford.

I didn’t need to work. I played the guitar for fun. I served as a “house boy” for fun.

Tripp was a soldier – and a soldier’s soldier at that. He had been places and done things most people could not relate to, including me. I never served. Tripp had that quiet confidence about him, “something conservative and guarded,” as Tom Clancy put it in “Rainbow Six.” I always admired men like that and wished I had been one of them. The guys who walk into a room and seem to have all the answers, even when they don’t. The guys men follow into battle.

Photo by Paul Crutcher

Despite the difference in our ages, and the differences in who we were and how we got to where we were, we bonded over two things we had in common: Ole Miss and our shared love of the Arabic language and culture. “Man,” Tripp said to me once, “what are the chances of two dudes from Ole Miss meeting up in Yemen and both speaking Arabic?” I admitted they were small. 

But then again, maybe not. The thing is, both Mississippi and Arabia are tribal. In Mississippi, it matters who your mother and father were. You’re not just you. You’re so-and-so’s boy or girl. It matters if you have children. In the Arab world, a man is called “Abu,” which means “father of.” A woman is called “Om,” which means “mother of.” Tripp’s mother died in 2009. He used to tell me about what a beautiful lady she was.

It matters what family you come from. “McCullar? Ohhh. He’s from the Batesville McCullars.”

It matters where you worship. It matters that you grew up saying “sir” and “ma’am,” and that your children have grown up saying “sir” and “ma’am,” too. Old people aren’t “old.” They’re “elders.” There’s a respect which abides in that word, and that cannot be removed.

In Yemen, in Arabia, those things matter, too.

Paul Crutcher in 2014

Tripp turned me on to a movie made in the early 2000s called “A New Day in Old Sanaa.” We watched it one night at the Embassy. It’s a love story about a well-off boy from the Old City of Sanaa, which is said to have been built by Noah’s grandson and parts of which pre-date Moses. He sees a peasant girl dancing alone in a dimly-lit street one night from his window high above the gingerbread facades. The boy is engaged to a girl from his social class, a beautiful and proper girl with a dowry and a name. He wants to leave it all and run away with the dancer, and he promises the dancer he will come for her, but in the end he conforms and honors family and tradition, the unspoken, unseen things he can’t escape.

As I watched the movie, I thought of Faulkner’s line from “Light in August,” where Byron Bunch says, “A man will talk about how he’d like to escape from living folks. But it’s the dead folks that do him damage. It’s the dead ones that lay quiet in one place and don’t try to hold him that he can’t escape from.”

Tripp and I talked for hours around fires, playing Led Zeppelin tunes on beat-up old acoustic guitars, and remembering places that were part of our Oxford pasts: The Hoka Café, The Gin, Taylor Grocery, and Vaught-Hemingway Stadium. Even the Oxford Airport where Tripp worked was also a fixation of mine, and one of my earliest memories.

My grandfather, J.D. Williams, was in his last years as Chancellor at Ole Miss when I was just a few years old in the 1960s. I remember visits to “J.D. and Nana” (his wife, Ruth Williams) at the old Chancellor’s House just off Sorority Row. I loved getting to stay up at night in my bedroom at the Chancellor’s House and watch the Airport beacon slice the big black sky in wide, sweeping beams of faded light, circling back on itself, repeating and dying again. I used to look at that beacon and imagine all the far-off places J.D. had been. J.D. was always traveling. Like Bilbo Baggins in “The Lord of the Rings,” he was always off on another adventure. It was from him that I got my wanderlust, my desire for the open road that led to Germany, Saudi Arabia, Oman and Yemen, and, like the Airport beacon circling back on itself, to Ole Miss and Tripp McCullar.

Tripp married late, and, of course, when he did marry, he married a girl from a foreign land, a shockingly beautiful girl he met while on tour in another one of the ancient world’s inscrutable capitals, a place where history is measured in millennia, and everything else is just details.

I’ll never forget watching Tripp’s massive frame bolting through a heavy Embassy door and into the Yemeni night. He had just received word that his wife was going into labor. She delivered twins. A couple of years later, Tripp posted his daughter’s picture on Facebook, and someone who knew his mother commented on how the girl looked just like her, especially the swept-back mane of hair. He agreed. 

Tripp is now with the National Security Council at the White House.

“Om Tripp” is smiling down, brother.

Paul Crutcher is a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI living and working in Virginia. He was in Yemen from 2013 – 2015.

The post Top Stories of 2017: Two Ole Miss Alumni Forge Bond in Faraway Yemen appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

[hottytoddynews]

The sun beams down on a mosque in Sanaa, Yemen. Photo by Paul Crutcher

“There’s a guy here who says he went to Ole Miss,” Mark said.

Mark was a Department of Defense (DoD) civilian employee stationed at the U.S. Embassy in Sanaa, Yemen, in 2013. Mark Shafer, retired submarine driver. A burly, bearded, blunt and highly efficient man with the unblinking stare of a wolf, who moved planes, vehicles, equipment and personnel in and out of country by day and told the most hilarious stories of antics on the high seas your stomach muscles could stand around a blazing fire by night, all while savoring a cigar in the cool mountain air of almost 8,000 feet up.

“His name is Tripp,” Mark said.

“Tripp,” I repeated. “Well, of course it would be Tripp,” I thought to myself. “It’s Mississippi. We go in for names like Tripp.”

I found Tripp later and knew he was “Mississippi” before he spoke. Another big man like Mark. Big sideburns. Big hair. A big chest and even bigger legs. Walked all wide-legged, as if he’d just dismounted a horse after a long day’s ride.

And that smile. Jesus. You can’t describe it. Ear-to-ear? No. Doesn’t cut it. It was bigger than that. It was bigger than anything else he possessed. Bigger than his laugh. Bigger than his face even. It leapt out at you like an attacking big cat in one of those nature shows.

And those deep green eyes came at you with the big smile and just held you in place, the cat to its prey. When he did speak, I had to suppress a laugh. Not because he sounded funny, but because he sounded “home.” I had been away from home since joining the FBI in 1997. On occasional visits to Oxford and Holly Springs, I always noticed how strange the voices were to my forgetful ear. The longer vowels, the bouncing syllables, the doubled-up inflections when a single spike of a note would have killed the word and moved on, like they do in the North, where the sense of hurry is ever-present.

I soon saw that Tripp McCullar was a very busy fellow as an Army Green Beret at the Embassy, with duties that kept him hopping from dawn into the night. But Tripp was never in a hurry, and that big smile was never diminished. Watching Tripp in action, I often recalled the admonition of a beloved firearms instructor at the FBI Academy at Quantico, Virginia, who said, “Smooth is fast.”

“Let’s say you got a hot date with you in your pickup truck,” the instructor would tell a class of New Agent Trainees as he schooled them on how not to pull a trigger. “You got a cup o’ dip sittin’ on the dashboard. You got a speed bump comin’ up. You go over that speed bump fast, you gonna spill that cup all over your date’s lap. You’re done. So you take it smooth.” 

Tripp never spilled the dip. Tripp was smooth.

A marketplace in Sanaa’s Old City, the oldest inhabited city in the world. Photo by Paul Crutcher

Well, there was that one time. Tripp and I were the honored guests of a tribal sheikh in Yemen. There we were, sitting cross-legged on the gorgeous carpets in the sheikh’s home as our host served us big round plates of freshly baked flat bread oozing with wild Yemeni honey, the best in the world. As a Green Beret, Tripp had needed to learn more than one foreign language. Before tackling Arabic, he had taken on Turkish, and sometimes he got the two tongues twisted.

“This is great BAL,” he told the sheikh with emphasis, using the Turkish word for “honey” instead of the Arabic one. The trouble was, the way Tripp pronounced it, with his Mississippi drawl, “BAL” came out a lot closer to “BOL,” which is the Arabic word for “urine.” The sheikh and his entourage roared laughing and had to push themselves away from the feast to dry their eyes. When I told Tripp what he had said, his red face looked like the lights on a Christmas tree next to his big green eyes.

“Boy, you’re a long way from Oxford,” I whispered into Tripp’s ear.

Sanaa, Yemen and small-town Mississippi have more in common than some might think. Photo by Paul Crutcher

Tripp immediately gave me a gift that day when we met in the hall of the Embassy in Sanaa. It was an Ole Miss lanyard, the kind you attach to your Embassy security badge and show to the guards when you enter through the gates. Red and blue with the big “M” and the cursive “Ole Miss” repeated down the strand. I never took it off while on duty at the Embassy. I carried it home with me to Virginia in 2015. I took it back to the Middle East on a tour in Oman later that year, on another one in Saudi Arabia, and then back again to the U.S.  I still wear it today. I’ll wear it for as long as I am working anywhere.

Tripp graduated from Ole Miss in 1997. I finished in 1983. I never asked, but it seemed like he had grown up needing to work. He had a job at the Oxford Airport. He had a job as a “house boy” at an Ole Miss sorority, where you got your meals for free. He made money playing gigs in a band in Oxford.

I didn’t need to work. I played the guitar for fun. I served as a “house boy” for fun.

Tripp was a soldier – and a soldier’s soldier at that. He had been places and done things most people could not relate to, including me. I never served. Tripp had that quiet confidence about him, “something conservative and guarded,” as Tom Clancy put it in “Rainbow Six.” I always admired men like that and wished I had been one of them. The guys who walk into a room and seem to have all the answers, even when they don’t. The guys men follow into battle.

Photo by Paul Crutcher

Despite the difference in our ages, and the differences in who we were and how we got to where we were, we bonded over two things we had in common: Ole Miss and our shared love of the Arabic language and culture. “Man,” Tripp said to me once, “what are the chances of two dudes from Ole Miss meeting up in Yemen and both speaking Arabic?” I admitted they were small. 

But then again, maybe not. The thing is, both Mississippi and Arabia are tribal. In Mississippi, it matters who your mother and father were. You’re not just you. You’re so-and-so’s boy or girl. It matters if you have children. In the Arab world, a man is called “Abu,” which means “father of.” A woman is called “Om,” which means “mother of.” Tripp’s mother died in 2009. He used to tell me about what a beautiful lady she was.

It matters what family you come from. “McCullar? Ohhh. He’s from the Batesville McCullars.”

It matters where you worship. It matters that you grew up saying “sir” and “ma’am,” and that your children have grown up saying “sir” and “ma’am,” too. Old people aren’t “old.” They’re “elders.” There’s a respect which abides in that word, and that cannot be removed.

In Yemen, in Arabia, those things matter, too.

Paul Crutcher in 2014

Tripp turned me on to a movie made in the early 2000s called “A New Day in Old Sanaa.” We watched it one night at the Embassy. It’s a love story about a well-off boy from the Old City of Sanaa, which is said to have been built by Noah’s grandson and parts of which pre-date Moses. He sees a peasant girl dancing alone in a dimly-lit street one night from his window high above the gingerbread facades. The boy is engaged to a girl from his social class, a beautiful and proper girl with a dowry and a name. He wants to leave it all and run away with the dancer, and he promises the dancer he will come for her, but in the end he conforms and honors family and tradition, the unspoken, unseen things he can’t escape.

As I watched the movie, I thought of Faulkner’s line from “Light in August,” where Byron Bunch says, “A man will talk about how he’d like to escape from living folks. But it’s the dead folks that do him damage. It’s the dead ones that lay quiet in one place and don’t try to hold him that he can’t escape from.”

Tripp and I talked for hours around fires, playing Led Zeppelin tunes on beat-up old acoustic guitars, and remembering places that were part of our Oxford pasts: The Hoka Café, The Gin, Taylor Grocery, and Vaught-Hemingway Stadium. Even the Oxford Airport where Tripp worked was also a fixation of mine, and one of my earliest memories.

My grandfather, J.D. Williams, was in his last years as Chancellor at Ole Miss when I was just a few years old in the 1960s. I remember visits to “J.D. and Nana” (his wife, Ruth Williams) at the old Chancellor’s House just off Sorority Row. I loved getting to stay up at night in my bedroom at the Chancellor’s House and watch the Airport beacon slice the big black sky in wide, sweeping beams of faded light, circling back on itself, repeating and dying again. I used to look at that beacon and imagine all the far-off places J.D. had been. J.D. was always traveling. Like Bilbo Baggins in “The Lord of the Rings,” he was always off on another adventure. It was from him that I got my wanderlust, my desire for the open road that led to Germany, Saudi Arabia, Oman and Yemen, and, like the Airport beacon circling back on itself, to Ole Miss and Tripp McCullar.

Tripp married late, and, of course, when he did marry, he married a girl from a foreign land, a shockingly beautiful girl he met while on tour in another one of the ancient world’s inscrutable capitals, a place where history is measured in millennia, and everything else is just details.

I’ll never forget watching Tripp’s massive frame bolting through a heavy Embassy door and into the Yemeni night. He had just received word that his wife was going into labor. She delivered twins. A couple of years later, Tripp posted his daughter’s picture on Facebook, and someone who knew his mother commented on how the girl looked just like her, especially the swept-back mane of hair. He agreed. 

Tripp is now with the National Security Council at the White House.

“Om Tripp” is smiling down, brother.

Paul Crutcher is a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI living and working in Virginia. He was in Yemen from 2013 – 2015.

The post In Faraway Yemen, Two Ole Miss Alumni Forge an Unforgettable Bond appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

[hottytoddynews]

The sun beams down on a mosque in Sanaa, Yemen. Photo by Paul Crutcher

“There’s a guy here who says he went to Ole Miss,” Mark said.

Mark was a Department of Defense (DoD) civilian employee stationed at the U.S. Embassy in Sanaa, Yemen, in 2013. Mark Shafer, retired submarine driver. A burly, bearded, blunt and highly efficient man with the unblinking stare of a wolf, who moved planes, vehicles, equipment and personnel in and out of country by day and told the most hilarious stories of antics on the high seas your stomach muscles could stand around a blazing fire by night, all while savoring a cigar in the cool mountain air of almost 8,000 feet up.

“His name is Tripp,” Mark said.

“Tripp,” I repeated. “Well, of course it would be Tripp,” I thought to myself. “It’s Mississippi. We go in for names like Tripp.”

I found Tripp later and knew he was “Mississippi” before he spoke. Another big man like Mark. Big sideburns. Big hair. A big chest and even bigger legs. Walked all wide-legged, as if he’d just dismounted a horse after a long day’s ride.

And that smile. Jesus. You can’t describe it. Ear-to-ear? No. Doesn’t cut it. It was bigger than that. It was bigger than anything else he possessed. Bigger than his laugh. Bigger than his face even. It leapt out at you like an attacking big cat in one of those nature shows.

Paul Crutcher shot this photo of Sanaa’s gingerbread houses set against the Yemeni mountains around 2008 or 2009. Photo by Paul Crutcher

And those deep green eyes came at you with the big smile and just held you in place, the cat to its prey. When he did speak, I had to suppress a laugh. Not because he sounded funny, but because he sounded “home.” I had been away from home since joining the FBI in 1997. On occasional visits to Oxford and Holly Springs, I always noticed how strange the voices were to my forgetful ear. The longer vowels, the bouncing syllables, the doubled-up inflections when a single spike of a note would have killed the word and moved on, like they do in the North, where the sense of hurry is ever-present.

I soon saw that Tripp McCullar was a very busy fellow as an Army Green Beret at the Embassy, with duties that kept him hopping from dawn into the night. But Tripp was never in a hurry, and that big smile was never diminished. Watching Tripp in action, I often recalled the admonition of a beloved firearms instructor at the FBI Academy at Quantico, Virginia, who said, “Smooth is fast.”

“Let’s say you got a hot date with you in your pickup truck,” the instructor would tell a class of New Agent Trainees as he schooled them on how not to pull a trigger. “You got a cup o’ dip sittin’ on the dashboard. You got a speed bump comin’ up. You go over that speed bump fast, you gonna spill that cup all over your date’s lap. You’re done. So you take it smooth.” 

Tripp never spilled the dip. Tripp was smooth.

A marketplace in Sanaa’s Old City, the oldest inhabited city in the world. Photo by Paul Crutcher

Well, there was that one time. Tripp and I were the honored guests of a tribal sheikh in Yemen. There we were, sitting cross-legged on the gorgeous carpets in the sheikh’s home as our host served us big round plates of freshly baked flat bread oozing with wild Yemeni honey, the best in the world. As a Green Beret, Tripp had needed to learn more than one foreign language. Before tackling Arabic, he had taken on Turkish, and sometimes he got the two tongues twisted.

“This is great BAL,” he told the sheikh with emphasis, using the Turkish word for “honey” instead of the Arabic one. The trouble was, the way Tripp pronounced it, with his Mississippi drawl, “BAL” came out a lot closer to “BOL,” which is the Arabic word for “urine.” The sheikh and his entourage roared laughing and had to push themselves away from the feast to dry their eyes. When I told Tripp what he had said, his red face looked like the lights on a Christmas tree next to his big green eyes.

“Boy, you’re a long way from Oxford,” I whispered into Tripp’s ear.

Sanaa, Yemen and small-town Mississippi have more in common than some might think. Photo by Paul Crutcher

Tripp immediately gave me a gift that day when we met in the hall of the Embassy in Sanaa. It was an Ole Miss lanyard, the kind you attach to your Embassy security badge and show to the guards when you enter through the gates. Red and blue with the big “M” and the cursive “Ole Miss” repeated down the strand. I never took it off while on duty at the Embassy. I carried it home with me to Virginia in 2015. I took it back to the Middle East on a tour in Oman later that year, on another one in Saudi Arabia, and then back again to the U.S.  I still wear it today. I’ll wear it for as long as I am working anywhere.

Tripp graduated from Ole Miss in 1997. I finished in 1983. I never asked, but it seemed like he had grown up needing to work. He had a job at the Oxford Airport. He had a job as a “house boy” at an Ole Miss sorority, where you got your meals for free. He made money playing gigs in a band in Oxford.

I didn’t need to work. I played the guitar for fun. I served as a “house boy” for fun.

Tripp was a soldier – and a soldier’s soldier at that. He had been places and done things most people could not relate to, including me. I never served. Tripp had that quiet confidence about him, “something conservative and guarded,” as Tom Clancy put it in “Rainbow Six.” I always admired men like that and wished I had been one of them. The guys who walk into a room and seem to have all the answers, even when they don’t. The guys men follow into battle.

Photo by Paul Crutcher

Despite the difference in our ages, and the differences in who we were and how we got to where we were, we bonded over two things we had in common: Ole Miss and our shared love of the Arabic language and culture. “Man,” Tripp said to me once, “what are the chances of two dudes from Ole Miss meeting up in Yemen and both speaking Arabic?” I admitted they were small. 

But then again, maybe not. The thing is, both Mississippi and Arabia are tribal. In Mississippi, it matters who your mother and father were. You’re not just you. You’re so-and-so’s boy or girl. It matters if you have children. In the Arab world, a man is called “Abu,” which means “father of.” A woman is called “Om,” which means “mother of.” Tripp’s mother died in 2009. He used to tell me about what a beautiful lady she was.

It matters what family you come from. “McCullar? Ohhh. He’s from the Batesville McCullars.”

It matters where you worship. It matters that you grew up saying “sir” and “ma’am,” and that your children have grown up saying “sir” and “ma’am,” too. Old people aren’t “old.” They’re “elders.” There’s a respect which abides in that word, and that cannot be removed.

In Yemen, in Arabia, those things matter, too.

Tripp turned me on to a movie made in the early 2000s called “A New Day in Old Sanaa.” We watched it one night at the Embassy. It’s a love story about a well-off boy from the Old City of Sanaa, which is said to have been built by Noah’s grandson and parts of which pre-date Moses. He sees a peasant girl dancing alone in a dimly-lit street one night from his window high above the gingerbread facades. The boy is engaged to a girl from his social class, a beautiful and proper girl with a dowry and a name. He wants to leave it all and run away with the dancer, and he promises the dancer he will come for her, but in the end he conforms and honors family and tradition, the unspoken, unseen things he can’t escape.

Photo by Paul Crutcher

As I watched the movie, I thought of Faulkner’s line from “Light in August,” where Byron Bunch says, “A man will talk about how he’d like to escape from living folks. But it’s the dead folks that do him damage. It’s the dead ones that lay quiet in one place and don’t try to hold him that he can’t escape from.”

Tripp and I talked for hours around fires, playing Led Zeppelin tunes on beat-up old acoustic guitars, and remembering places that were part of our Oxford pasts: The Hoka Café, The Gin, Taylor Grocery, and Vaught-Hemingway Stadium. Even the Oxford Airport where Tripp worked was also a fixation of mine, and one of my earliest memories.

My grandfather, J.D. Williams, was in his last years as Chancellor at Ole Miss when I was just a few years old in the 1960s. I remember visits to “J.D. and Nana” (his wife, Ruth Williams) at the old Chancellor’s House just off Sorority Row. I loved getting to stay up at night in my bedroom at the Chancellor’s House and watch the Airport beacon slice the big black sky in wide, sweeping beams of faded light, circling back on itself, repeating and dying again. I used to look at that beacon and imagine all the far-off places J.D. had been. J.D. was always traveling. Like Bilbo Baggins in “The Lord of the Rings,” he was always off on another adventure. It was from him that I got my wanderlust, my desire for the open road that led to Germany, Saudi Arabia, Oman and Yemen, and, like the Airport beacon circling back on itself, to Ole Miss and Tripp McCullar.

Tripp married late, and, of course, when he did marry, he married a girl from a foreign land, a shockingly beautiful girl he met while on tour in another one of the ancient world’s inscrutable capitals, a place where history is measured in millennia, and everything else is just details.

I’ll never forget watching Tripp’s massive frame bolting through a heavy Embassy door and into the Yemeni night. He had just received word that his wife was going into labor. She delivered twins. A couple of years later, Tripp posted his daughter’s picture on Facebook, and someone who knew his mother commented on how the girl looked just like her, especially the swept-back mane of hair. He agreed. 

Tripp is now with the National Security Council at the White House.

“Om Tripp” is smiling down, brother.

Paul Crutcher is a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI living and working in Virginia. He was in Yemen from 2013 – 2015.

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