#Young men are very seldom the ones calling the shots that get them worked to the bone and disabled by the time they're middle aged

[yeetntve]

One time my Mum drove over a kerb and got her car stuck at a hardware store, and three different men just came over to help unprompted. The only thing they said about it was directly related to solving the problem, and in the end all three of them just seamlessly worked together to physically lift the front of the car so my Mum could reverse out. They succeeded, saving us tow truck fees and ensuring the nice afternoon we had planned was able to go on. They asked for nothing and we never saw them again. All it took was my Mum calling them her heroes, and those men were walking on air all the way into the hardware store.

I just think that maybe, just maybe, blaming the pain and suffering caused by our patriarchal system on men's individual nature is uhhhh, some bullshit.

I see the radfems out there saying that every man who's ever been born is a psychopath who's constantly looking for an opportunity to commit a felony and then I remember this one time I was really struggling to get a shopping cart out of another shopping cart and a dude came over to help me, but he couldn't do it, and then another dude came over to help him, and then another came over because it was a challenge he wanted in on, and then I had 3 guys all tearing at a stuck shopping cart, and literally none of them even needed a cart.

And when they got it out, they fist pumped and I said thanks so much and one of them said "easy." And then they left.

And it's like.

I don't think radfems go outside.

[ogsherlockholmes]

23rd October

John Garrideb. 

That’s all I need to say. 

Okay, I’m going to say a bit more than that because, although we all know and love the famous scene he causes, John Garrideb himself isn’t the most well-known. 

I’m going to get on the name after I’ve explained his plot line, but I’m just going to add that (as well as being a J villain), his name is the same as Watson’s (obviously) BUT one of his aliases is James Winter (double J villain).

J Garrideb is introduced as a client who was searching for two other men with the same name as him (Garrideb, not John- he would only have to look at this blog to find about ten other Johns).  

‘Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effect was chubby and rather childlike, so one received the impression of quite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes, however, were arresting. Seldom in any human head have I [Watson] seen a pair which bespoke a more intense inward life, so bright were they, so alert, so responsive to every change of thought. His accent was American, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.’ 

He didn’t actually call for Sherlock, but another Garrideb, Nathan, asked for him. J Garrideb wasn’t too happy about that and complained to Sherlock, but eventually relents and lets Sherlock get on with it. 

When J Garrideb leaves, Sherlock proves that practically everything he said was a lie, and that J Garrideb hadn’t finalised his backstory yet.

First, he said he put advertisements in the newspapers for other Garridebs- he didn’t. 

His outfit makes it seem like he’d been in London for a while- his documents and own statements said he’d only just arrived. 

He claimed to know an American doctor that Sherlock mentioned- Sherlock made up said doctor.

Combining all that and the fact he didn’t want Sherlock involved, it’s not making J Garrideb look too good. And so he isn’t: Sherlock discovers that J Garrideb is in fact ‘‘Killer’ Evans, of sinister and murderous reputation.”” as Sherlock puts it. His other aliases are, as mentioned, James Winters and Morecroft. Remember the names. 

Sherlock explains his backstory. 

“Aged forty-four. Native of Chicago. Known to have shot three men in the States. Escaped from penitentiary through political influence. Came to London in 1893. Shot a man over cards in a nightclub in the Waterloo Road in January, 1895. Man died, but he was shown to have been the aggressor in the row. Dead man was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as forger and coiner in Chicago. Killer Evans released in 1901. Has been under police supervision since, but so far as known has led an honest life. Very dangerous man, usually carries arms and is prepared to use them.” 

It is later explained that ‘Killer Evans’ needed Nathan Garrideb to leave his house so he could get to a forgery which was hidden underneath the floorboards. The house previously belonged to the man he killed, Rodger Prescott, and Killer Evans was going to steal the forged money. 

A very elaborate and detailed story about the Garrideb inheritance, just to get an old guy obsessed with history out of the house. 

So, now I’ve gotten the storyline out of the way, I’m going to go into a very wild and obscure theory. Warning: it’s extreme and stupid and doesn’t make sense to anyone apart from me. I understand if you’re not going to torture yourself by reading it. 

I mentioned the aliases: John Garrideb, James Winters, Morecroft and Killer Evans. For the sake of this theory, I’m going to call him Evans, since I think that’s most likely his name (not the killer part, though, that’s just a nickname). Evans created the name Garrideb so it worked with his crazy story and matched Nathan Garrideb’s. 

So, why John? 

If you search up ‘most popular male names 19th century’ you get a link to a social security website, where the first name is John. I mean, with the amount of Johns I’ve written about, I think I’ve given definitive proof for that. 

Simple enough, then: John Garrideb. 

But what is the need for James Winters and Morecroft?

Remember the time that Mary Morstan (yes, the ‘wife’) called her husband James in The Man with the Twisted Lip? I’m sure it’s a very common mistake to mess up your spouses name, and then your spouse doesn’t even correct you, it’s fine, Mary. 

Sometimes, it’s easy to dismiss these continuity mistakes as just mistakes, but it’s funner to imagine that ACD had an actual reason for them. 

So, we have a murderer who has two aliases: John and James. John is the one he’s introduced with, and James is only briefly mentioned. Then we have a doctor, with one name he is always called, and one which he was accidentally called on one occasion. 

Yes, I know James was also a common name (it’s third in the list of most popular names) but I like writing theories that are very unlikely, I don’t get out much. 

I’m not suggesting Evans was a mirror of Watson, but Evans was also the man who tried to kill Watson, and brought about the ‘Garridebs’ moment. And, let’s be honest, how could ACD write that not thinking it was even the slightest bit romantic?

Then comes the last alias (yes, I’m still going): Morecroft. 

I failed to find the name Morecroft on my trusty social security website, and when I searched it up, only pottery results came up. So, Morecroft, not a popular name. Who else had unpopular names? 

Sherlock and Mycroft. 

Mycroft was apparently popular a decade before the books were written, but neither were popular at the time of writing. And Morecroft? I’m not even sure if anyone had that name. But, it sounds very similar to Mycroft. 

I promise, I have a point. 

Evans therefore used two popular names as aliases and one unpopular. He was a known liar and forger of the truth, making mistakes in his stories and-

Mistakes in stories? Continuity errors? Forger of the truth? Lies? 

Where have I heard of that? 

Cough cough ACD. 

No, I’m not suggesting ACD was a murderer now. I will get there eventually. 

Evans had reasons for his lies, he was trying to succeed in something. But the only thing he does succeed in is gifting the world with the Garridebs moment. So, he’s using false names that are either the same or similar to important characters in the canon. 

I’m being very extreme, but maybe ACD was telling us something? 

Maybe, like Evans, ACD is making these blunders in his stories for a reason? And maybe, like Evans, these lies will lead to one thing: Sherlock and Watson?

Or, I’ve had too much caffeine today, and I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Anyway, enjoy today’s post if you can, I promise I’m not crazy. 

[rinharu-purple]

Emmm 👉👈 can i request Gavin's spring festival date analysis?! Ehem especially when Gavin said "I've waited a long time for today.." 💙

But Of course if you're not busy.. I'll wait patiently.. I just.. love read your analysis 💙 like i can feel your love and dedication for Gavin.. a lot of Gavin stan is very smart and loyal.. just like Gavin itself

Hello nonny and of course you can! Thank you for your lovely ask and reading my posts. It makes me really happy to hear this 💞 I can also double up what you've said, Our birdcop is smart and loyal and I really love being a part of Gavin-standom which includes so many talented writers, artists, analysts and it has @cheri-translates! There are so many great posts from various accounts and one can feel the love, passion and loyalty towards Gavin in all of them! 💫

An analysis on Spring Festival date is so overdue, so it is me who should apologize for not having written this before. I will more than gladly include your request scene, I hope you enjoy it ^_^

MC Testing Waters: Spring Festival Date

At the beginning of the game, MC is a young woman with lots of love in her heart, however without much experience in love. Fortunately this starts to change when she meets LIs as adults.

Spring Festival Date takes place after Firework Date and before the Romantic Date, although the timeline is quite messy, which I will come to by the end of this analysis.

If you look closely, you can see MC checking Gavin's romantic feelings towards her by using this "boyfriend game" and also uses the opportunity to get beyond his hardened exterior and touch his vulnerable side 💗

Spoilers start below this line

This date comes to, because MC lies to her aunt about having a boyfriend to avoid arranged blind dates and even promises to visit her on New Years with her boyfriend. Speculatively it seemed like a solid play, until...the time literally came.

Thinktanking about a way out of this with Kiki and Willow, they weight different options as to tell them she broke up with him, leave the city or call in sick but then the best wingman on earth Minor saves the way and suggests that she just takes a "fake boyfriend" with her, surely enough with Gavin in his mind.

MC goes through her contacts list to search for a suitable candidate, but her heart Whispers her the answer by skipping a beat as her fingertips scroll down to one name.

... Gavin

As such... MC has chosen her player for the game and Gavin's Heart Trial with MC's family commences...

---Press Start---

Creativity Test

Unluckily Gavin actually shows up for this highly important date late, with his phone off! From the storyline he arrives a couple of minutes late to MC’s aunt's place, thus starting the game one point behind. He was late because he was buying presents for the whole family! With the spot on gifts which are well received by the family because they're expensive, imported goods, limited products, cute and thoughtful he makes up for the lost points.

But it's just the first stage and he has 3 more stages to clear, the pressure is slowly rising.

This gray suit has a lovely story behind it, which you can find by the end of the story.

Decision Test

Gavin has passed the creativity test with flying colors, but in the second stage more challenging questions are on the menu. The eldest aunt wants to know Gavin's age, occupation, salary(?!) and possessions(?!). The last two questions are fairly over the line and is a no-no in my country. Asking people about their financial status as well as bragging about it is perceived as rude and insolent, that's why the way Gavin answers these questions skillfully without bragging about his wealth adds just another brick on my Gavin-temple.

Age: 24

Occupation: Police Officer

Salary: Covers the bills

Possessions: A flat in the city and a motorcycle.

In my Prank date analysis, I've mentioned about Gavin's ability to deal with impertinence and also here, he stays friendly, but only answers the questions necessary to get through with the situation. MCs family is checking whether he's wealthy enough to take care of MC (which is sad that in the 21st century that in some countries women need to be financially secured by men). So Gavin just gives them just the right enough of information to pass the test and pass he does.

There is another aspect to his way of answering though. You see, Gavin is an unmaterialistic man. He doesn't care about money or any other meta. He doesn't touch upon the fact that he's coming from a wealthy family, or that he inherits his grandparents house or that he can afford designer dresses, overseas travels or gems without giving a second thought. That shows just how humble Gavin is and I love him for it. What defines him is not his wealth, nor does he allow anyone define him on his financial status. It's his character, the values he stand for, the vision he embodies, the way he treats MC.. Ehm.. And.. His champion body and drop dead gorgeous looks (comes as an extra;))

But the game is far from over, because the family council is now going to challenge him on...

Affinity Test

This is where things get rosy as the family would like to know how they've met and whether they've been together since high school.

Look, Gavin is actually not playing a game, but living the moment. He is well aware of the fact that once he and MC become an official pair, he will be standing on the same spot a year later. He is serious...

So when they ask about their affection, he gives them his genuine answer and confesses his crush on her during high school and says that they've been going out since fall. This dazzles MC, as if she hasn't been dazzled enough lol.

The three glasses of drink he gulps surely has a role in this sincerity and taking three glasses of a drink as a punishment also becomes a tradition for MC and Gavin in the future.

And so, he proudly passes the Affinity Test with flying colors, effortlessly. Only one more stage and he's done it!

Execution Test

Every hero has his moment, when the fight takes a gloomier turn against his favor and the odds don't look good as before when he gets a strong blow, that is when the family hits him with the question "Don't you get alone well with your family?".

This is Gavin's weak spot, his cryptonite, his bleeding wound and MC's family just pressed on it. What makes this scene so heartbreaking is not just the topic itself and we know why it is a sensitive topic for Gavin but also that Gavin actually tries to signal them that this is not his favorite topic. He tells them he doesn't go home for holidays (friendly warning number 1), the aunties pushes by telling him to take some meal with him to which he replies "Thanks, but that's okay. I've been away for a long time" (friendly warning number 2) the family pushes further and as a one last resort he tells them that during college he rarely went there and spent holidays working afterwards (friendly warning number 3). Sadly the auntie than ignorantly ask whether his family doesn't worry about him and now because he's given three fair warning shots which, he downright gives them a brief and resolute answer:

- No.

That's usually the latest where people with common sense stop digging in further. Unfortunately then the auntie asks whether he doesn't get along well with his family to which Gavin no longer responds. This is the perfect way of dealing with such people and Gavin has a very intuitive talent for dealing different people from different mindsets. Give them three friendly and fair warnings, still pushing? Then give them a last chance by one final brief and to the point answer, they choose to ignore the signal? Stop interacting, you can only waste time beyond this point.

The only problem with this situation here, is that these people are not just somebody, Gavin wants to win these people over, so he cannot just ignore them. But also he cannot do it without a timeout, so he goes to grab some wine. (God it makes me so sorry everytime he has to face his family drama or is misjudged. I just wanna hug him bring him hot cocoa, give him a backrub and bring spicy food for him. Luckily he has MC ^_^)

But let's not talk only about about Gavin, because MC is struggling too. And we should recognize her stick up for him with the most cherishing words:

-Auntie, you got it wrong. He is a decent and pure man and has come to my aid many time and in quite dangerous circumstances.

When she comes back however cannot find Gavin, once she does, a heartwarming moment blooms between them.

This scene is very crucial in Gavin and MC's relationship because this is the first time MC sees Gavin tired and flustered. She feels sad for him but also happy for herself, for she feels as though she gets closer to him, thus seeing the real Gavin. By the way she show him her genuine care, Gavins heart melts and kisses the back of her hand as a gesture and so the first intimate moment involving them having a kiss ensues. Furthermore, they show each other their mutual care, which brings them one step closer and this gives Gavin the only courage he needs to tackle the situation.

When our hero gets the courage and the stamina he need from his girl, nothing can stop him now. Having gatherer his strength, Gavin returns to the dinner table:

“I am so happy to be here with you all today. In fact, I haven't felt this atmosphere of family in a long time. I have a very strict father and a brother I seldom see...I don’t even know when I turned into such a loner. Eating alone, sleeping alone, doing everything alone...until I met her. It was a beautiful autumn day. The gingko leaves were floating in the wind. I was also going through a pretty dark time. But she saved me before I hit bottom...It’s she who told me I could live a stronger life. And it’s also she who told me I could live a more tender life. I never felt lonely before, until I met her. I started to get used to star-gazing with her, having dinner with her, spending the New Year’s with her. In the future, I'll give it my all to stay with her, to take good care of her and love her. I wanna make up many times over for all the times I wasn't there”

MC’s heart stopped, aunties eyes teary, the elder Aunt want his actions to back up these words and thus Gavin has a pass from MC's family. Now that he's won the game, it's time to collect his prize.

After they leave MC's aunt's house, our lovebirds walk together in the night full of fireworks and Gavin tells Mc that Minor has mentored him on being the perfect son-in-law, hence he was late. He also asks her what she would do if he didn't show up, to which she says that her intuition says that he won't fail her and he murmurs quietly:

- I've waited a long time for today.

Of course he doesn't repeats himself when MC asks him about what he just said. But that's what kept him going all night long.

He has waited for six whole years to meet her again, to stand by here, take good care of her and love her. Tonight, he could do them all by being her "boyfriend", giving his word to her family and having their blessings. He could see that she also cares a lot for him, worries about him and wants to be there for him. He landed his lips for the first time on her delicate skin and could give her warmth.

He could finally confess his feelings for her and say the genuine things he will only say to her.

So yes, he has waited for a long time for this moment to come and when it came, he made sure to grab it tightly.

----—----—---

Timeline issues:

- The order of the dates in the game doesn't always reflect the real course of events. The grey suit that Gavin wears is actually bought after Romantic Date, which takes place after this date.

-Even though MC plans this whole game to avert blind dates, but she still gets set up later on a blind date by another aunt lol.

Thank you once again for your patience nonny and I hope that the analysis proves to be worthy of your wait 💗

Masterlist

For MC's confession let me take you here

For Gavin and MCs relationship milestones here

For a fun trivia about this date you can click here

[whereisstevethestove]

Boys Who Cry Pearl and Sea: Flying Dutchman AU

Fandoms: Sanders sides and technically the lore behind the Flying Dutchman.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Remus

Relationships:  Roman/Virgil

Additional tags: Mer AU, Pirate AU, Human AU, Siren!Roman, Sailor!Virgil

Word count: 3263

Summary:  Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.  Perhaps that is why he has never felt like he belonged on land.

Notes: I wrote a sea shanty for this! (x)  I hope you enjoy!

AO3

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

His English mother was traveling from her home in London to join her merchant husband in Cuba, but by the time that she arrived, her son was nearly a month old, and strange, with storm grey eyes that seldom blinked.  He grew up mostly indoors, there not really being any other children his age that his family would let him socialize with.

Virgil himself was an odd child, quiet, and when he turned ten, his father sent him to another sea captain for an apprenticeship.

The Windborne was a young ship, not even five years old, and the captain was quick to shove the pale boy belowdecks, for a child has no place among a crew of men.  Virgil spent his first year feeling like an outcast, a stowaway on a ship he was technically part of.  

That was of course until they found out that Virgil could squeeze himself into small spaces, and climb faster than anyone else on ship.  He also seemed to need less sleep, so they started to put him on the night watch as months passed.

Virgil didn’t mind.  At least it gave him an excuse to hum the shanties that the others sang as he stared at the dark water that was reflected with stars.

He was fifteen when something interesting finally happened during one of his watches.

“There was a boy, Icarus~”   The haunting melody stretched over the water in the secluded cove that they were anchored in and Virgil leaned a bit more over the side of the ship as he strained to hear the song.

“You pronounced Icarus wrong.”  Virgil called out and the song stopped.

“How do you pronounce it then?”

Virgil pursed his lips before answering.  “It’s not I-Car-Us, it’s all one beat, kinda like: ǐːkaros.”

“Oh.”  The voice seemed confused.  “There was a boy, Icarus, who flew too close to the sun-”

“That’s better.”  Virgil smirked as the voice sputtered in annoyance.

“His wings were made of brass and wax-”

Virgil listened as the voice sang about the greek myth, before abruptly hopping topics to sing about a sailor’s myth, the Dutchman.  Virgil wasn’t one to believe in silly legends, but the voice was nice and it made him feel lightheaded in a good way, so he continued to listen as the second chorus faded out and the voice switched verses again.

“There is a simple sailor boy,

Not wanted by land nor sky-”

Virgil stood up from his spot and looked over the water.  “Woah, wait.”

“What?”  The voice was definitely irritated now.

“Simple?  That’s all you can think of to describe me?”  Virgil teased as some of his hair fell into his face.

“Uh... to be honest, I thought you’d be drowned by now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, the shanty only has two verses, I’ve been making the rest up.”  The voice said sheepishly and Virgil heard a splash of something going into water.   He watched as the dark water below rippled and a moment later, a red and gold blur shot out and landed on the deck next to him.

Virgil fell back onto his ass in shock.  “Mermaid.”

The creature flashed him a grin.  “Close, I’m a siren and I am a male by your kind’s definition., so not a mer-maid either way.”

Virgil took in the red and gold tail, the dark skin as he slowly looked the siren in the eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.”  He breathed out reverently and the siren’s fins on the side of it’s head flared in surprise.

“You are very pale and small.”  He responded back, which broke Virgil from his reprise as he scrambled back up to his feet.

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”  

“Oh.  I thought for sure you’d be taller standing.  Hmm, okay.”  The siren balanced himself on the railing better, looking at Virgil with curious eyes.

Virgil blushed, ducked his head and then looked back up.  “So, how am I not dead?”

“Excellent question.  I have no fucking idea.”  The siren shrugged and Virgil nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Can I get your name pale one?”  The siren asked as he leaned forward and Virgil leaned back.  

“Me giving you my name doesn’t do any weird shit- like I sell my soul to you, right?”

“No, why would it do that?  Is that some weird human thing no one told me about?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It’s a fae thing, I thought that since sirens are real, maybe they were.  Anyway, I’m Virgil.”

The siren’s eyes widened.  “You have a siren name.”

“Okayyy?”

“I’m Roman.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“Says the one who literally didn't know that my kind existed, despite having a siren name.”  Roman shot back with a sharp grin.

Virgil smirked and gently shoved at the siren, who wobbled nervously.

“You should go.”

“Why?” “My watch is almost over.  I want to go to sleep.”  Virgil yawned and the siren shrugged.

“Alright.  I’ll get you one of these times.”  Roman said as he fell back, disappearing into the water.

…

Virgil didn’t see him for another year.  The Windborne traveled to many different locations and so it was rare for them to pass through the siren’s waters, and when they did, they didn’t stay the night.

So he wasn’t surprised when the song started across the water.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--”   Roman’s voice definitely had some bite to it and Virgil could feel himself slipping as he struggled to keep his mind clear.

“With the temper of a storm!”

Virgil jumped into the water, fully intending on beating up Roman for being so fucking annoying.

What he wasn’t expecting was for arms to wrap around him and start dragging him down.

Virgil tried to elbow the person, mer(?)  behind him, but the singing just intensified and his head felt like it was full of cotton….

…

…

…

Roman couldn’t believe that Andy had managed to snag Virgil the second the teen had jumped in.

His half brother was a force to be reckoned with though, and Roman watched as the lithe siren dragged the sailor out of the water and tested for a pulse.

“Aw, he’s still alive.”

“I asked for him to still be alive An.”  Roman muttered as he looked at his human.

“I don’t know why you’re attracted to him.  He’s awfully pale.  And when there’s so many other options up there on that ship..”  Andy trailed off once he saw the look in Roman’s eyes.  “Oh, you see the pale on as a mate?  You’re a mess, sing once you get your life together Ro.”

With that, he left with a snap of a jet black tail slapping water.  

…

Virgil sat straight up and vomited,  coughing as seawater exited his lungs and he shivered on the rock that he was somehow on.

“Are you okay?”

Virgil threw up again and shook his head as someone gathered him up, pressing a hand against his chest.

“I’m sorry, I got worried because you stopped breathing.”

Virgil’s mind had cleared enough for him to look up through lidded eyes to see Roman looking at him with concern.

“What?”  Virgil croaked out, voice absolutely ruined by the seawater that he had ingested.

“Uh, you jumped overboard, my half sibling brought you here and then I pulled the life back into you.”

Virgil vaguely remembered jumping over, but after that…

He passed out again.

…

Roman was not expecting humans to be so fragile.   Virgil had indeed become unresponsive after throwing up, but now he was asleep again, with no warning at all.

At least the sun was coming up, so it would be a bit warmer.  

He just had to hope that Virgil’s ship wasn’t leaving, or else Roman wasn’t sure what he’d do.  This was supposed to be a fun interaction, not him watching an almost corpse.

Unfortunately for him, the sun rose, The Windborne left the cove, and Virgil slept.

Roman wasn’t sure how he was going to admit to his human that his only way back home was gone.

…

Turns out, Virgil was fucked.

He woke up and realized almost immediately that his ship had left and the first thing he did was try to sneak off the rock that Roman had stuck him on, so that he could swim to the shore and try to work out his life then.

He didn’t notice that Roman was on the rock also, until the siren grabbed his shoulder.

“Where are you going, the ship is gone.”

Virgil hissed and recoiled, falling into the water before surfacing to curse at Roman.  “What the fuck?”

“Sorry!  I assumed that humans could hear when someone is coming up on them!”

Virgil hissed again and scrambled back onto the rock.  “I wasn’t paying attention, and yes I know that the ship is gone, it’ll be another few months before they anchor back here.”

“A few months?”

“Yep.  We had planned a few routes over the next year that come this way…  I just have to wait out the storm, and I’m not doing it on this tiny ass rock.”  Virgil went to slip into the water when Roman stopped him again.

“Let me swim you over, it’ll be faster.”

“Thanks I guess.”

Virgil watched as Roman slipped into the water and then swam around the rock to wink at him.

“Ready my raven?”

“Oh, stars no.  No pet names.”  Virgil grumbled as he got in and wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck as directed.

“Ready?”

“You won’t drown me, right?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Roman swam slowly, but still, it was faster than Virgil could’ve gone, so it was nice to hitch a ride in a sense as they made their way to the beach.

They finally made it to where Virgil’s feet could touch, and he quickly let go, wading through the water to collapse on wet sand.

“Are you okay?”  Roman called from his spot in the water and Virgil stuck his head up.

“Oh yeah.  I’ve been kidnapped by a siren, threw up my body weight in saltwater, haven’t eaten since almost two days ago, and now I’m here for a good long time, all alone!  Don’t forget that if I don’t get some actual water soon, I’ll be a rotting corpse on this beach!”

Roman was by his side faster than Virgil could comprehend, eyes flashing nervously.  “Water?”

“What about it?”

“You can’t drink seawater?”

Virgil groaned and buried his face in his hands.

This was going to be a long three months.

Assuming he could survive for that long.

…

The first week was the worst.  Roman had to watch as Virgil disappeared into the treeline, leaving for long hours, even though he had offered to provide for any of the sailor’s needs, after all, it was his fault that Virgil was stuck.

All the human had asked for was a knife though.

He built an odd structure on the shore, and Roman watched as he (unsuccessfully) fished, and got sick from being in the sun for too long the second day.

By day eight, Virgil was screaming at the sky to just hit him with some lightning.

Roman was impressed that his human had even made it that long.

By night nine, he finally had the courage to go back on shore.  Virgil was laying on the ground, staring at the stars, seemingly distracted, but his eyes did flit over to Roman as the siren adjusted his tail and also lay back.

“Are you okay?”

“No.  I miss people.”

“Ah.”

They lay there in silence, and it wasn’t until Roman looked over and he saw the streaks of silver running down the other’s face that he realized something was wrong.  He sat up and scooted closer to Virgil, gently wiping at the strange stuff.

“What is this?”

Virgil blankly looked at him, still not moving.  “Tears.”

Roman brought the ‘tears’ to his face.  “Weird.  They look… wrong.”

Virgil sniffed and sat up, wiping at his face with a torn sleeve.  “Why is that fish?”

Roman looked at the ‘tear’ again.  “It is a liquid.”

“Are you implying that tears aren’t made of saltwater?”  

Roman sniffed the tear and realized that Virgil was right.  It smelt like ocean. 

“You cry the sea when you are sad?”

“I guess.”  Virgil sniffed again and Roman sighed before putting a finger to the corner of his own eye, quietly shedding a pearl as he cried.

“I do too.  Perhaps we are not as different as we like to say.”

…

The dynamic changed after that.  Roman started to bring fish, which was a godsend in Virgil’s opinion, and in exchange, he’d tell the siren about something from his world, or he’d teach him a new shanty to sing.

And as much as he denied it, Virgil fell in love.

It wasn’t a major revelation in a sense.  It was about a month into his stay and he looked up and remembered that it was his birthday.

Hurray, seventeen years on this earth.  He hadn’t told the siren, who didn’t understand the concept of age, and even though Roman certainly acted like he was Virgil’s age, he had told him once about the first time his pod had moved, and it was because the first merchants were sailing into the area.

So yeah, his siren, wait, when did he start considering Roman as his siren?  Virgil shook his head, trying to clear it of the traitorous thoughts as Roman came in with the gentle waves, grinning.

“Hello my stormy night!”

“No nicknames!”

…

Roman was in love.

Deepy, irrevocably, in love.

He was screwed.

Sirens only choose one mate, and it is always the first one that you fall in love with.  No take back, so changing in the future.

The only problem was that he knew that Virgil didn’t love him back.

The different specie? Not a problem, many sirens fell in love with humans, and they could change their mate to be like them with a simple draw of blood.  The fact that Roman was immortal and Virgil wasn’t.  Fixed when turned into a siren.

Literally everything had a solution.

Except when your love didn’t feel the same way.

They were both on a rock one night, Roman and helped Virgil swim out, although the young sailor was surprisingly good, despite most at the time who couldn’t swim, and Roman had been caught up in the way that the moonlight framed Virgil’s face to notice that the human was addressing him.

“RO.”

“Oh sorry, what?”

Virgil laughed before suddenly looking serious.  “The ship will be arriving any day now.”

Roman deflated and looked away.  “I know.”

“I have to leave.”

“I understand.”

“Part of me doesn’t want to, you know?  Stay here for the rest of my short and pathetic life… but I don’t want to watch you watch me die..”  Virgil trailed off and Roman saw that he was crying again, oddly reminiscent of their first night like this.

“What if you didn’t have to die?”

Virgil looked at him sadly.  “I’m not like you Roman.”

Roman gulped.  “I know, but you can be.  There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“You’d have to be my mate.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his face as he ducked his head to hide behind his longer hair.  “Oh?”

Roman nodded.  “I know, it’s something that we take very seriously and I understand that you wouldn’t want to do it and--”

“No, I want to.  Maybe not now, but in a few years?  Yeah, it sounds amazing.  All of it.  Being with you… mates.”

Roman blinked at Virgil.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Roman surged forward and kissed Virgil, wrapping his arms around the human’s waist, sparks flashing across his vision as Virgil kissed him back, all passion and quiet love.

It was his first kiss and Roman could feel it clear as day that the human was meant to be his.

When they pulled away, with Virgil gasping for air and Roman trailing kisses along his mate to be’s jaw, nipping at the skin.

“Seas below, I love you.”  Roman whispered as he pulled away, looking into Virgil’s dark eyes.

“I love you too.”  Virgil kissed him again and this time they didn’t break away for quite some time.

…

Virgil stands at the edge of the ocean.

The Windborne came into the cove about a week after he and Roman had claimed each other, the siren later marking him with a bite that scarred silver against the still pale skin.

Hell, Virgil really wished he could get tan.

Roman had also given him a gold coin, one that he was supposed to give away when he was ready to return, and then they would be ready.

Roman had promised to come back for him.

When Virgil boards the ship later, they’re overjoyed to see him alive.  When they anchor for the night, he collapses in the barracks below decks, grateful to be sleeping in an actual hammock, rather than on sand or on stones.

When they sail out of the cove the next day, only he can hear the song that Roman sings in mourning of his mate.

Only he wants to jump back.

…

Years pass, three to be exact, before they sail by that cove again.  Virgil meets Remus, a younger sailor that he teaches everything, despite sometimes wishing that the younger would just shut up and give him a peace of mind.

Remus is bold though, and he believes in mer.  Virgil tells him about Roman, one day when they’re both in the crow’s nest and he doesn’t think that he sees anyone look so excited.

Of course, that is before he hears the song as they are sailing by, not stopping as night falls.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--

With the temper of a storm!

With those who sail the waters deep,

Calling the entire sea their home!”

Virgil doesn’t realize that Remus is allured by the song until he snaps out of his funk and drags them both below decks, defying his heart.

He gets sick.

Remus nurses him back to health.

A month later, he insists on being alone for night watch, and luckily they are anchored just outside the cove.

Roman still has that wild smirk and he still kisses with a passion that makes Virgil dizzy as his mate cuts their palms and presses them together, mixing human and siren blood.

Transformation doesn’t hurt.

Virgil lets Roman pull them both overboard and the first time he breathes in saltwater properly, he cries, his tears still made of sea.

“You haven’t changed a bit my love.”

Virgil laughs, his voice carrying the unrestrained power of a new siren.  “Oh darling, but I have.”

His song is wild, just like a storm on the sea, free.  It melds with Roman’s perfectly as the two harmonize, voices weaving sea shanties and siren lullabies as easily as a fisherman mends a net.

Virgil wonders if Remus can still hear a siren’s song.  He may regret leaving the young boy behind, but he can take care of himself, after all, Virgil did as well.

…

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

Maybe that’s why he never felt comfortable in his own skin, why he was quiet for a child, taking in everything he saw.  Maybe it was the siren name that his mother gave him, for she believed in the beautiful creatures that dripped with song.  

Perhaps it was like in Roman’s shanty:

Not wanted by land nor sky...

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 33

Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 33:  Kate finds solace in her new friends and Tommy wants to escape for a bit. 

            When Michael returned to the office, it was tense, to say the least. He and Tommy got into shouting matches a few times and everyone could clearly hear them in the office. But it seemed that Michael was too invested in the company to let things get in the way. As well as Tommy wasn’t willing to give up his accountant.

            So, things died down a couple of weeks after he returned. Meanwhile, the deal was written and the company was now working with the Forty Elephants. Kate kept in regular contact with Alice and Maggie, building a repertoire as she did with Alfie. Of course, like with Alfie, she found she enjoyed the women’s company. They were women who understood her, understood the things she did. Before, Kate had no one who really understood her other than a group of men. Still, how could they understand what it was like to be a woman in their line of work?

            So, being friends with Alice and the rest of her close cohorts was refreshing.

             “So, Alfie told me you were in Boston for some time.”

            Kate had invited Alice and a few of the other women to join her for lunch at Arrow House. Maggie came along as well as Ruby Sparks and Lillian Goldstein. What looked like a typical ladies' lunch out on the patio was actually a gathering of some of the most dangerous women Britain had ever seen. And Kate felt right at home with them.

            “There were things from my past that caught up with me,” Kate admitted. “Things I needed to take care of.”

            While Alice looked genuinely interested, Maggie seemed a bit more intent on digging for anything that might garner mistrust. The contract was signed, but that didn’t mean they completely trusted each other yet. They were women who knew the true value of loyalty and how rare it was to find.

            “Stuff like what?” Maggie inquired.

            “A man I had dealings with.” Kate realized that there was no reason to skimp on details. These girls would understand. “I hired him to kill the man who killed my mother. A man in the Chicago Outfit. I promised him money for doing it but fell through. The deal was either I paid or I married him.”

            Ruby made a noise of disgust. “Fucking pig. Who on Earth does he think he is?”

            It made her smile a bit even though the memory was so painful. “He caught up to me eventually so I had to return to Boston.”

            “Do you need him killed?” Alice asked bluntly. “You name the day and way, love.”

            “Fucking castrate him and throw him out on the streets,” Ruby muttered into her teacup.

            “Thank you, but he’s dead,” Kate assured them. It was different, hearing them become angry about it. The reactions were similar to Alfie and Tommy. They all wanted to kill the man who treated her poorly. But Alice and the others were acting on empathy instead of sympathy. They understood the plight of being a woman. Struggling under the thumb of a man. They understood the anger and desire to change the tides. To make other men feel the pressure on the back of their necks. It was a shared existence. And as hard as he could try, Tommy wouldn’t understand.

            “Good.” Alice nodded. “You killed him?”

            “I wouldn’t let him kill me.” Her voice quieted as her brow furrowed in thought. “He took so much from me.”

            Lillian, who seemed to be the gentlest of the group touched Kate’s arm. “You’re still standing. You’re still here. He couldn’t take that away from you.”

            She nodded, not sure what else to say about the matter. There was comfort in knowing she had allies who understood. Then, Kate noticed the ring on Lillian’s finger. “Oh, I didn’t know you were married.”

            Alice, Maggie, and Ruby all snorted. “I’m not, technically.” Lillian looked to Ruby at her right. “Ruby and I…”

            It took a moment for Kate to connect the dots but she finally realized when they looked at each other. “Oh, oh of course. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

            Maggie studied Kate’s reaction with scrutiny. “It’s something we accept.” She spoke in a firm tone as if to ward off any criticism.

            “Of course, no I…I completely understand,” Kate assured them. “There are no rules when it comes to love, least not in my eyes.”

            Lillian smiled as Ruby reached for her hand. Both of them seemed relieved to act normally around Kate. There wasn’t anything to hide between the women.

            “We hope your men understand that as well,” Alice added.

            “Well, I can certainly talk to Tommy about it if you want me to. But I wouldn’t call them my men.” She laughed softly. “I don’t call the shots around the company.”

            Alice just shook her head with an amused look. “Men can think they’re in control, but it’s usually not the case. It’s usually the woman behind him.”

            “Yeah, the one who’s got his balls in her purse.” Maggie quipped making them all burst out into laughter.

            Kate realized how nice it was to laugh again.

 ~~~~~~~

            That same night, Tommy came home earlier than usual. Kate found him downstairs smoking a cigarette and flipped through some mail.

            He smiled when he saw her walk into his study. “Did you have a nice lunch today?” He asked. “Mary said you four were in stitches the whole time.”

            Kate laughed softly. “They’re very fun to be around.” She agreed.

            “All they do is give me the cold shoulder.”

            “Hm, maybe it’s how you come across.” She walked over to him, adjusting the collar of his shirt to turn his attention away from the mail in his hand. “I wasn’t very fond of you at first.”

            “That’s not true, you liked me.” He dropped the envelopes to pull her close.

            “Eh, you were difficult to like. At least you’re handsome.” She teased.

            He scoffed and shook his head. “Those women are a bad influence on you.” He joked.

            Kate laughed and ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s nice to have other women to talk to. It’s boring talking to men all day.”

            “Hm.” He hummed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

            “But I am glad to see you again.” She murmured and kissed him.

            He deepened the kiss, pressing his hands to the small of her back. But he knew it was up to her to lead. There had been a few times when Tommy overstepped, getting carried away with the moment and Kate shied away. She said it wasn’t his fault, but he knew he was responsible for making her feel safe.

            She pulled away and hugged him close, inhaling his cologne mixed with cigarettes to feel at home again.

            He lightly peppered kisses down her jaw and neck, holding her tenderly. “Want to go away with me this weekend?” He asked.

            “Sure, where to?” A little break sounded like heaven to her.

            “Doncaster. I’m going to buy another racehorse and there’s an auction there on Monday. But I figure we could make it a longer trip. If you’d like.”

            “That sounds perfect.”

            “We could make a week of it.” He proposed. “Go further north, somewhere on the ocean. Scarborough has a nice place to stay by the water.”

            Kate lifted her head to look at him. “I’ll follow you wherever, Tommy Shelby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

            “Morning, Kate.” Michael greeted her as she entered the office.

            “Michael, how are you?”

            Tommy’s cousin didn’t answer because he noticed she had a luggage case with her. “Are you going somewhere?” He asked.

            “Tommy and I are leaving this afternoon for Doncaster then to Scarborough.” She answered, setting her case down so she could take a paper that Michael was holding out for her.

            The young man seemed a little disgruntled at the fact that his cousin was taking the time to have a holiday while the rest of the family was in turmoil. But there was little he could say or do. Mentioning anything would only lead to another argument. And Michael didn’t have the energy. He was only barely making it by, using snow to keep from crashing as he worked tireless hours.

            “I suspect he’s getting another horse,” Michael noted, remembering the last time he went to Doncaster with the rest of the family. When they were all still speaking to each other. Before the terrible nightmares, he had.

            “I suppose. I guess we’ll see when we get there.” Kate looked to the door. Tommy had followed her into the building but stayed on the first floor to speak with some of the workers. “How is your mom?” She asked. Seldom could she ask Tommy about the others. He never wanted to talk about what happened and always cast aside her concern.

            Michael sighed. “She’s not well. S’been seeing things because of the tablets they have her on.” He admitted. “Talks to spirits.”

            Kate had always known Polly as the strong, woman in charge. Secure and reliable, it was hard to hear how the imprisonment had such a negative effect on her. It didn’t matter how strong one was, there was always something that could break them. “I’ve tried to talk to Tommy about everything, I really have but…”

            “I know.” Michael nodded. “It’s okay, Kate, it’s not your place to fix things. It’s Tommy’s responsibility.” He scrubbed a hand over his weary eyes. “But they’re all too headstrong to face each other.”

            “Right, I’m aware.” She agreed, still glancing at the door every so often just to see if Tommy would walk in. She didn’t mind if he heard her talking about his family. But she also didn’t want the subject to sour their trip together. “And John and Arthur?”

            “Out in the countryside. Linda’s due any day now.” Michael figured. “Ada said she’d tell me when the baby was born. He won’t talk to me. Ada’s been…well the buffer I suppose.” He mumbled.

            “I haven’t spoken to her in a bit.” Kate admitted. She’d been so caught up in the deal with the Forty Elephants that she’d neglected to stay in touch.

            “Tommy’s sending her to Boston soon.” Michael shrugged. “Guess he’s got plans out there.”

            Kate’s heart nearly stopped. “What?”

            He looked at her blankly. “He didn’t tell you?”

            “No…no he didn’t.” She cursed under her breath. “I’m going to leave this here for a moment.” She said, gesturing to her luggage before leaving. “I need to find Tommy.”  

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Masterpost

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[geffbob]

Elf & Dwarf part 1

With hair of gold, with hair of coal

With grace and elegance, with strength and poise

With fire in her eyes, with death in her hands

Two souls bound, two souls, until the end

 “What’cha writing there love?” - said Gerdam, curious and confused. Coming back with wood slumped over her shoulder. She set it down with a large bang and began picking off leaves.

“A poem” - replied Mileasia. Looking out into the distance. The hilltop they were currently resting on was warm with the evening sunlight. Both the horses were fine to just eat grass as they rested.

Gerdam’s heavy armour was resting on a rock next to them. Dwarven armour typically consists of leather, dwarven metal (sturdier than regular metal and blue, dwarves will refuse to share the way dwarven leather is made to non-dwarves, unless you’re a very trusted close friend) and belts. While lightweight, it can be uncomfortable and cause a lot of chaffing after a while, and both magical beings wanted to rest.

While relaxing, Gerdam likes to wear typical dwarven clothes; soft white long sleeved cotton shirts with buttons, black pants, held up with a belt (knife permanently in the belt, obviously) and plain leather shoes. Her hair is long, brown and has several braids. Like most dwarven women, she has a long brown bushy beard which she considers to be her pride and joy, regularly commenting on “slicing the hand of whichever whoreson that dares to touch it”. Her armour, however, is a bit bulkier. A dwarven metal helm that has a retractable faceplate, a dwarven metal breastplate with leather armguards (dyed blue) with a slot on the back for a sword (seldom used) and a chainmail skirt which, strangely, never makes any clinking sounds. Her armour would have fur with it, yet she had it removed a few weeks ago because of the heat. A belt holds up the skirt and attaches it to the armour, which in turn allows Gerdam to hold an unreasonable amount of objects. Knives, pouches with herbs, bombs, bandages, more knives and obviously, alcohol.

Mileasia is worlds different from Gerdam, as she is wearing nothing but a white cloak with a hood that shimmers in the sunlight. Clearly magical, as it is always clean, and any substance slides off it, particularly useful for close range encounters. It is very difficult to see any of Mileasia’s features, yet, her ears do poke into her hood and her face can be seen. Blue, serious eyes that always seem to be looking at something contrasts heavily with Gerdam who has lovely green eyes and a constant smile on her face. There is obviously a parting in the middle of the cloak which exposes Mileasia’s body, and the jet-black skin-tight leather armour underneath. No weapons are seen, yet she always seems to have one ready. However, unless she’s about to kill something, Mileasia doesn’t open her cloak, only occasionally removing her hood when she’s indoors, to be polite.

It was a beautiful end to a beautiful day. Mileasia and Gerdam had been working all of yesterday and the day before. As they were both proud members of the Adventurer’s Guild, Gerdam had the wonderful idea to accept 6 missions around the Catherm area. Catherm was a decently sized town, close to the grand ocean. Dwarven territory by law, but with many human residents in the area a lot of dwarves call the region “The Pinklands”. Mileasia knows better than to argue with Gerdam’s “incredible judgement” and “perfect decision making”, so they had to complete all of these missions with very little rest over the next 2 days before they expire.

 The first mission was simple goblin clearing, as simple as going to a cavern and ridding it of the pests. Gerdam’s signature “hit the wank-a” technique worked flawlessly, and by 10am Monday morning, the cavern was clear and all that was left was a bunch of goblin corpses with flattened heads.

 The second mission was a lot more difficult. A farmer in the area had lost track of a bunch of his livestock, most importantly, his award winning “cow de lait”. This one took 5 hours and was without doubt the worst part of Mileasia’s day. Upon realising that the cow was stuck in a bog, Mileasia tried simple levitation magic to get it out. And yet, all the magic did was force the cow into panic, making it thrash around and get further stuck in the bog. Magic force doesn’t work if what you’re forcing, forces back harder. Gerdam realised that they wouldn’t get paid if the “bleeding cunt of a cow” didn’t survive, so she opted to dive in after it, getting herself stuck in the process. Mileasia, after likening Gerdam’s attitude, intelligence and actions to that of the currently drowning cow, had to jump in after the both of them, this time, with a rope around her. Gerdam would not speak for several hours after she was rescued from certain death by bog. Even when they discovered the reason for the disappearance of the livestock was that of a wolf-lord in the area, Gerdam’s mood didn’t improve until well after the wolf was cut to pieces and served for dinner in the town square. Mileasia knows that Gerdam only needs a few shots of “Gohm’s Grog*” before she forgets all her worries and dances with the human children until bedtime. Always an adorable sight.

 (*Popular Dwarven drink. Recommended doses: 2 shots intoxicates any full grown human. 1 shot for elves. 3 shots for orcs. 5 for dwarves.)

 The third and fourth mission were done on Tuesday in the morning. Both of them were interconnected. Bandits had taken residence close to the overpass from “The Pinklands” to “Wilbur’s Barrow” which was halting trade in the area. A lovely and strangely quiet trader wanted an escort over the bridge and out of the city, “Two birds w’ one stone” as Gerdam so eloquently said, so they set off to deal with it.

Most of the conversation on the road towards the overpass was Gerdam trying to irritate the lady into talking, and yet despite her best efforts, the lady wouldn’t say more than a few words to everything she said.

“So, ya like having dwarves and elves do everything fo’ ya, is that it lassie?” – started Gerdam, bored, tired of sitting on the back of a cart and wanting to do something fun, like annoy humans. “No” – she whispered back

“Ah, so you consider yourself independent, that right ae?” – Gerdam continued

“A little” – again, whispering

“Then why d’ ya bloody need an escort? You’re young, strong, I bet y’ could lift a sword, tackle a bunch of them to the ground and cut their willies off w’out much hassle, why dunnae ya?” – Gerdam said, sparked about something

“Gerdam, stop it” – said Mileasia, calmly. She was looking into the distance and had to turn around to look at the two. Noticing that Gerdam was practically leaning over everything in order to yell into the lady’s ear, she touched Gerdam’s shoulder and continued. “Not every human likes fighting, some simply wish to survive.”

“How bleedin’ boring” said Gerdam, slouching down. “Y’d think ye humans would wanna kill something every few minutes wit’ how bloody many of ye there are, like bloody rabbits, except less cute. Ya keel over dead and another 50 of ye replace ya instantly.”

“I don’t like fighting” – replied the lady, still very quietly.

“See, now leave her alone Gerdam, sit next to me and enjoy the ride” – said Mileasia “Fine” – Gerdam replied.

When they arrived at the overpass with the strangely silent human woman, they saw exactly what the problem was. There was a fallen trunk of a tree on the road. Any passer-by would leave their carriage and go to move the trunk, be with magic or with force. Upon doing so, an archer would yell from the bushes and side forest land, challenging the potential tree-mover to try their luck, drop all their valuables and pass unharmed, or attempt to draw their weapon and see if they can draw faster than an arrow can fly. Mileasia opted for neither, teleporting behind the archer instantly and holding a knife to his throat, asking politely for the location of the other members of the trope. She received no answer, however, as she was ambushed on all sides. Gerdam was quick to respond, sprinting as fast as she could to the surrounding forest area and spinning in a circle, felling a few trees and crushing a few men against them, breaking bones, splintering spines and cracking ribcages. Mileasia also wasted no time, teleporting again 10 meters into the air and pulling an array of knives from her cloak, throwing them precisely against the group of men. Pinning several of the unfortunate souls to the ground by their necks. The luckier ones raised their shields, only to be met with overwhelming force, as Gerdam’s studded bat smashed through their wooden shields like they were made of glass, and crushing those with metal shields against the ground and surrounding bush area, which she then used to bounce on to crush more “crying gits” as they were called. The leader of the trope appeared out of the shrubbery, most likely from the small camp that was behind it. Brandishing his war-axe with pride before being subsequently attacked on two fronts from both the dwarf and the elf. He had no chance, being knocked into the air from the club (being welded like a bat) and slammed with a ball of electricity, exploding into several chunks of flesh, bone and blood. Mileasia simply used her cloak to absorb the impact, shaking off the more troublesome bits afterwards, then casting a small cleansing spell on Gerdam’s clothes, which she grumbled a “thanks” for, before moving towards the camp.

As they found out, there wasn’t just bandits there, they had set up explosives all around a cage and were holding some prince hostage. To start off with, Gerdam was against the idea of rescuing the prince, stating “well if we recuse the poor bugger, we should hold him hostage ourselves and keep the ransom”, which was countered by:

“I understand, however, you must realise that becoming a wanted criminal in the region is certainly not part of our itinerary for today, besides, where shall we keep him? He cannot walk behind the horses as he is too fat and will simply stumble. Nor can he ride either of our horses because he will simply attempt escape, and I shall have to kill him” - replied Mileasia

“I’m right here ladies”

“And he smells, he’s probably not showered in days” - said Mileasia, ignoring him completely. “I do not wish to drag a plump foul smelling pink-skin around like a war trophy” - she continued

“Again, right here” - mumbled the prince

“Oh, I suppose ye know what’s best f’ him then don’ ya? Shall we just march off into the sunset and leave him t’ his own devices? He’ll get killed by some tiger o’ something if we let him go now” – Gerdam replied angrily

“I can take care of myself” - said the prince, more confidently this time

“Quite hun, grown-ups are talking” - replied Mileasia.

The prince stayed quiet.

They eventually decided on a small plan for him, he would travel with the “quiet weird cart lady”, the name Gerdam had given to the lady they were supposed to escort until the next town, where most likely some wizard would pick him up and take him to his nearest castle or whatever. The lady suddenly became very talkative when the prince got on her cart, despite his broken appearance and smell, asking him a whole range of questions. Gerdam commented on this, stating that “she’s either a racist or very horny”. The prince assured the elf and dwarf that no harm would befall the lady nor him. Mileasia gave him a potion of confusion anyway, with explicit instructions to “throw in the general direction of the assailants and they shall leave with haste, with thoughts of wild beasts raining death upon them”. If they survived, the mission would be completed. If they didn’t survive, then more than likely, they’d receive a very strong worded message from some guild leader that they would promptly ignore.

When they turned around and started walking back to the closest settlement, they heard a loud noise. One of the bandits had snuck onto the cart and was holding a knife to the lady’s throat. The prince, was hiding a basket, trying not to be seen. Before Mileasia could teleport over there, the lady got up, grabbed the bandit by the arm and flipped him like a pancake into the dirt ground in front of her with a satisfying *thud*, crushing his back and knocking him out instantly. She turned around, waved at the 2 and shouted “I DON’T LIKE FIGHTING BECAUSE I ALWAYS WIN”

“So, she’s just horny then?” – Gerdam said

“Yes” – Replied Mileasia

 The fifth mission was Gerdam’s favourite. Many dwarves love going underground, and while Mileasia much preferred to stay with her feet firmly planted on trees, she didn’t ‘hate’ underground, more what’s found underground. A Dwarf had simply lost her wallet in a chasm, and was too busy to go get it. “You can have whatever you find in it, there should be a few hundred golden pieces. Consider that your reward. I need the documents that are in there. I’ll give you 50 more pieces if you don’t read them.”

This one they thought would be absurdly easy. At first. As dwarves have night vision, it wasn’t hard for Gerdam to walk around and search the bottom most tunnels for a missing wallet. Mileasia, however, needed to use a magic made light source to walk around without falling down a few hundred meters. They split up after an hour of searching and went in opposite directions. Mileasia has a fantastic sense of direction so she had no problems navigating the tunnels. Gerdam, like most dwarves, has no problems walking underground either, but was bored and opted to ´follow her nose´ and blunder around aimlessly.

Eventually, Gerdam found a small hole in one of the underground tunnels, thinking it to be strange, she walked in and was greeted with an interesting surprise.

Mileasia, after getting annoyed with finding nothing, retraced her steps and realised that Gerdam was missing, and when she found a trail that entered a wall with no opening, she knew that there was only one thing that could have happened to Gerdam.

“Gnomes” – she uttered.

 There are 4 magical races in the world, humans in the south, dwarves to the east, elves to the west and orcs to the north. They are called the “4 magical races” because they fulfil 3 specific criteria. They can all use magic, they are self-aware and no 2 creatures are the same. While other creatures can use magic, they aren’t all self-aware. Gnomes fall under their criteria. They are very magical, and yet they share a hive mind. They can talk freely, and yet if you’ve met one gnome, you’ve met them all. They don’t care about any race but themselves, and are more than willing to live underground or in small locations, sucking moisture from rocks or stealing supplies from the surrounding areas without drawing much suspicion. They are genius level mathematicians and will be found working in banks or loan companies on occasion, but they will never even consider being friendly to any race that talks to them unless they want something. Even then, “hello” and “goodbye” aren’t in their vocabulary.

Mileasia blasted open the hole in the wall and held out her hand, with 4 knives floating around it, ready to be shot at full speed and walked in, expecting the worst. What she found instead surprised her, but didn’t shock her.

Gerdam was in the middle of an arena of rock, set up like a very large and crudely made boxing ring. She was without her armour and had her clothes ripped up. The light sources around the room were stolen human and dwarven candles. She was bloody, covered in scratches and had been bruised. Her sleeves to her shirt were ripped and her muscles bulged out. Surrounding the underground rock ring were a large gathering of gnomes, all shouting and cheering. Facing Gerdam was a giant tunnel bear. Similar to a brown bear but completely blind, black fur, had reenforced claws that are used to tunnel and was considered a “very scary predator” underground, feasting on dwarves and other underground inhabitants frequently. And yet, Mileasia simply made the knives disappear, sat down next to the ring and pulled out a book. Gerdam had been working hard these past few days, she deserved a break.

“Come here ya big black fucker!” – she shouted “I’ll scream at ya so ya know where I am, make it fair!”.

The bear obliged. Swinging down and towards Gerdam, she dodged out of the way to the side and swung up with a fist, punching the bear straight in the jaw and knocking its head upwards. The bear growled and swiped again blindly, scratching across Gerdam’s chin and causing her to reel backwards. The gnomes cheered in unison.

“That it? I’m not even hurt!” Gerdam screamed, rushing the bear with her arms outstretched, picking it up by the waist and sandwiching its arms against its body flipping it over her body, pile-driving it into the ground headfirst. She rolled out of the way and stood back up in a fighting stance, ready for the next swipe.

The bear rushed her from the ground, jaw open, baring all its teeth. It got around Gerdam’s neck and tried to bite down, but Gerdam had already put her hands in-between the rows of teeth and was pushing back with force.

“Nice try ya bastard! But you gotta try harder than that!”. Gerdam screamed and pushed the bear’s face away, punching it again straight in the nose, breaking off a piece of the bear’s tooth and forcing it to recoil, howling.

Gerdam at this point ran back to the corner of the stone ring and started to climb, reading the top of the stone wall and looked down at the bear, as it was getting up again with a little bit of difficulty. And yet, Gerdam showed no mercy, as she jumped off the wall and kicked the bear in the face, slamming its head against the ground with her foot still in its face, crushing its head against the floor and then jumping off, doing a small front-flip and landing. The bear lay unconscious and Gerdam was met with overwhelming applause from the surrounding gnomes.

Gerdam raised her arms triumphantly, bowed and went to talk to one of them, who gave her the armour back, as well as an extra present, a small black wallet, which Mileasia knew probably belonged to the dwarven woman they spoke to earlier. Gerdam placed her armour back on and walked towards Mileasia. She simply nodded, put her book away and stood up. Clearly taller than everyone else in the cavern by at least a full metre. She then chanted for a few seconds, outstretched her arms and formed a small portal, which they stepped through and arrived back on the surface, only a few hundred metres from the home of the Dwarven girl that gave them the mission.

“Underground gnome fighting rings aren’t very common, are they?” – said Mileasia.

“Nope, they wanted some fun in exchange for the wallet. I gave them a fight they’ll tell their grandchildren” – Gerdam replied.

“Gnomes live to about 600 years old, you’ll be long dead before they even consider having children, let alone grandchildren”- Mileasia replied, casting a spell and hovering her arms over Gerdam’s head

“And yet they won’t forget my performance for a second, was the best bear fight I’ve had in weeks!” – Gerdam replied, her wounds starting to close and heal, while her clothes began to nit themselves back together. – “Let’s deliver that wallet and head back to camp”

“Agreed” – Said Mileasia. Smiling.

  [GB1]Female Dwarf, Gerdam. Female Elf. Mileasia Crowguard. Gerdam rought, violent, big club, big temper, big ego. Fun.

Mileasia. Soft spoken. Wears robe constantly. Leather skintight armour underneath cloak. Ex-guard to the king. Best friends. Go somewhere. Do something. I know what they do but I don't want to tell you

[stealinghero]

Okay so imagine this! The Lupin crew are relaxing at a cafe after a successful heist. The s/o says they have to use the bathroom and they leave. But after about five minutes, the s/o comes running out of the back door with a dehydrated body in their arms yelling that they need to go, there’s no time to explain and it’s not their fault, all while some shady looking people chase after them.

Finally.... after losing my first draft (about 4 pages) because of my stupid self overwriting it, it’s finally done!!

I did it a bit different than before to get the vibe of an episode, showing a few more aspects than just the view of the reader.

I hope you all enjoy it!!  It’s under the cut for length.

It had been a busy week. But now it was time to finally relax and come down. You were sitting in your favourite café, surrounded by your friends.

“I dare you to eat a whole Sundae in under 5 minutes.”

“Do you think I can’t do this?!”

“Hundred bucks against it.”

You snorted and had to laugh out loud when Jigen showed you the Sundae in question on the menu. It was huge!!

“Excuse me for a second. Don’t start without me!” You had to see Lupin try this dare, but nature called you with an urgency you seldom had.

“If I win, I’ll get a kiss!”

You turned around to your boyfriend and grinned.

“And if you lose, I get a kiss from Jigen!”

The gunman snickered and nodded. “Deal.”

“No deal! Don’t touch my precious love!”

You let the guys bicker while you made your way to the restrooms.

 A moaning was heard as soon as you entered. Some people had no shame! But something was off with it. Didn’t it sound painful? All stalls were open but the last one. Another moan, this time a man, more breathless but also kind of… breathless?

Curious about those sounds you got into the stall next to it and thought about taking a peek over the wall into the next cabin.

“That’s a good girl. Die for me.”

With a jump you pulled yourself up the wall of the stall and looked into the next cabin, only to see a black dressed guy with a syringe on the neck of a young girl.

“Unhand her, you freak!” you demanded.

He was quicker than you, already running out of the restrooms when you got down and hurried into the stall with the girl.

“Are you okay?!”

She was unconscious and very pale. The small holes at her neck almost looked like a vampire bite. Who was that freak?!

An uproar let you just get the girl out of the stall and run. Not a second too late as you could see the black dressed guy and a couple of his friends drawing their weapons, aiming for you.

 “Get up! We need to run!!” you shouted at your friends as you hurried past them with the still unconscious girl in your arms.

“What did you do?!” Lupin asked, already on his feet and fumbling for the car keys.

“No time to explain!!”

You heard a shot and felt the pain when the bullet hit you in the calf. Those guys were serious! Limping, you made your way to the car, followed by your friends, Jigen already shooting back and Goemon protecting you from a hail of bullets.

 Breathlessly you had told them everything on the way to the hospital where you had laid the girl in front of the emergency room. Just like the rest of the gang you were wanted so you couldn’t exactly just walk into any building without the fear of being arrested.

During the dressing of your wound, Jigen questioned you about the scene.

“This is crazy. Tell me again, did you recognize anything?”

With a huff you told him the story once more. You knew it was crazy! A side-glance towards your lover made you aware of the mess you had brought yourself into. He had decided to call Inspector Zenigata to get some information. It seemed quicker than to get into a disguise and just get to the nearest police station.

“A vampire? In broad daylight?” Goemon seemed incredulous.

“It wasn’t a vampire, Goemon! It was a man with a syringe. I saw it,” you replied.

“But where was all the blood? Even a kid her age should have at least 4 litres of blood. And she lost at least 2 of it.” Sometimes Jigen scared you with his medical knowledge.

With a grim face Lupin joined your round.

“You disturbed a serial killer. Pops says there were at least 5 different cases of this vampire. It’s always the same. A kid is lured away from its parents and sucked dry.”

You suddenly felt uneasy but you had to know.

“They survived, right?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“The girl is the first to survive. All of them had marks like a vampire bite. All of them sucked dry.”

Jigen spat and lighted a cigarette. A sure sign he was getting irritated.

“This is a disgusting thing to do to someone,” Goemon decided and grabbed his Zantetsuken. His own form of irritation.

“Pops is thankful for your information, but he also says there aren’t enough facts to get to a clear culprit. To think there were 4 of them...,” he left it unsaid, but you felt his uneasiness as he watched you.

“I will be okay. It’s not like they followed us.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Jigen slowly raised his hands, followed by Lupin. Both of them stared at a point behind you.

“I hate this,” you mumbled and turned around to find yourself surrounded by black dressed men, all of them aiming their guns at you.

 “I still don’t get why you don’t simply kill them.”

“It’s an order from above.”

“Fuck this. I know a bit about them. They can be dangerous.”

“Do you doubt your superiors?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do your work.”

“Yes, Sir!”

You looked around in the dark cell to find something to get a clue where you were. After getting threatened you had to follow their orders. A blindfold, different cars, you were separated from the others. Were they in the same building as you? Were they already dead?

You swallowed your tears. Lupin wasn’t that easy to be killed. He would come and rescue you, right? He would hug you and kiss all those fears away. He would… maybe… surely… no! You had to get out of here! Think! What information do you have?

A dark cell, 3 metres long, 2 metres wide. A bucket in the corner. The door was solid metal, a small flap in the middle. No lock to be found. It had to be outside on the door. Maybe something simple as you hadn’t heard a key turn when you were thrown into this cell. You didn’t have a window. No blanket to cover yourself with. And it had to be soundproof, because the only things you could hear were the guards directly in front of the door even if you pressed your ear to the other walls.

 ~~~~

He gasped for air and coughed when he chocked on his own breath. Water ran down his face, soaking the bag over his head, making it harder to breathe.

“You will do as we say.”

He shook his head and tried to fight the strong grip on his neck as it pushed him down, into the water, once more. He was a good diver and counted the seconds with a clear head. But it was longer and longer, his lungs started screaming for air and he was still under the water. Two minutes had passed when he was pulled up again, again gasping for air in a desperate fashion.

“You will kill Lupin the Third.”

Again he shook his head. He was a stubborn idiot, getting drowned for his convictions.

 ~~~~

A sharp pain rushed through his whole facial nerve system as the wound opened and the nerves were exposed to the fresh air. Still, he wouldn’t admit it with a sound. It had be a short hit but still hard enough to rip open a huge gash on his cheek.

“It is easy, Lupin. You will steal the disc and we won’t hurt your little lover.”

He watched his partner through a monitor. They were collecting information on their cell, listening to sounds, checking the stability of the door.

“No.”

He had known it from the start. The whole day had been spent with an uneasy feeling. Why had he proposed a visit to the café?! By now he should know to trust his gut. But the face of his partner had been so gloomy and he had wanted to cheer them up… and he had endangered them with his recklessness.

“I will kill them,” the shadow promised.

Lupin shook his head. He had to trust them now. And he had seen a familiar face around those guys. What was more important to this person? Friends or the job?

“You’re right! I won’t kill them. He will,” the shadow laughed a bit while saying this, showing Lupin the familiar face getting tortured.

“Let them go!”

“Get me this disc and I will let your friends leave.”

The disc in question was unknown to him. Surely it was dangerous enough to destroy the world if people like the shadow wanted it. He had calculated the outcome and still hadn’t found a way out of it. Normally he would swap the disc with another, fooling those idiots. But with his friends in their hands? He would risk the death of his beloved ones. Manipulating the data on it was also out of the question, he had seen their work before. One or two skilled hackers were in this team, he knew. They would know any tampering before he could get away.

He had to trust his friends to save themselves. How could he gain time for them?

“Still no answer, hm? Fine. Then you’ll get to know the consequences,” the shadow threatened, pushing down a button.

Jigen appeared on the monitor. He was bound and gagged and seemed to be seriously hurt. Lupin snorted. It was likely the gunman had given his captors a rough time and got himself into trouble.

“Kill him.”

A gun was pressed to Jigen’s head. Lupin wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t.

The trigger was pulled and Jigen fell out of the reach of the camera.

 ~~~~

Was that a shot?! It had been too loud to be far away. Some clattering. You pressed your ear harder to the door but couldn’t hear anything. Silence fell. Maybe your friends came to your rescue??

After 5 minutes there was still silence and you fell down into sitting opposite of your prison door, staring at it, willing it to open with your thoughts alone.

 ~~~~

They had enough of drowning him. Wet and cold he was submitted into a cell, next to their other prisoners. He knew those cells. They were constructed specifically to be escape-proof. What a bullshit.

They had broken two of his fingers and this made it harder for him to work on the small gap between door and door frame. He was sure they watched him through the camera system. It was a game of time to get out of here.

A jolt of electricity rushed through his fingers and threw him on the floor, muscles cramping from the current. Damn, they had upgraded the security system.

 ~~~~

“One down, two to go. Get me the disc.”

He still couldn’t believe it.

“Your answer?”

They had shot him. Point blank, no room for tricks.

“Do you prefer to see the next death?”

“Don’t.”

“Get me the disc.”

He let his head hang and swallowed. They would kill the rest of his gang with him watching.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let me give you a gift before you go.”

Another button was pushed and he stared at the monitor. A hand, a leg…. A severed head staring back at him.

He threw up, emptying his stomach on the floor before him. He couldn’t stand the accusing stare of Goemon’s lifeless eyes.

“Please…,” he begged in a small voice.

The monitor went black.

“You have 24 hours.”

 ~~~~

You rubbed your temple as the flap in the door opened and a small tablet was shoved through, falling down, spilling all your food on the floor. A harsh laughter was heard and the flap closed. At least the water was bottled and didn’t spill.

You crawled towards the door, smelling iron. Blood on the other side of the door? You placed your face on the floor, trying to see through the small gap between the door and the floor. With a scream, you scrambled back to the opposing wall, shaking with fear. Did you… the… hi… you couldn’t understand what you just had seen. Lifeless brown eyes staring at you.

 ~~~~

It had been a matter of time until they had grew bored with him sitting in his cell, doing nothing. He was prepared when three of them came to get him. Two of them were entering his cell, getting him up on his feet, the third pointing a gun at him, ready to shoot without a warning. A really good work and he felt a small pride. He had been one of their instructors after all. And they were doing a good job, he had to admit.

“Are you ready to kill?”

He spat into the face of the man before him and earned a fist to the face for it. Blood dripped from his broken nose.

“Lupin is on the way already. There’s no need to be so hostile, old man.”

Damn. How had they made him go?!

The man before him laughed and hit him again, this time the fist hit his solar plexus, making him throw up in pain.

“You still have a chance to kill him if you’re fast enough.”

“I won’t.”

“I gave him 24 hours. And there is no rush.” A short gesture and the two men dragged him into another room, making him dread the things he and the other instructors had taught them, when he saw the instruments.

 ~~~~

Interpol headquarters. It would have been easier if they had allowed him to disguise himself as Zenigata!

Cursing he checked his uniform he had taken from a passed out officer. Well, passed out wasn’t that right, he admitted with a grin.

He would get the disc, bring it back and take his partner and get out of there. Far away from those maniacs.

“Officer, what are you doing there?”

He snapped back into reality, donning a smile and saluting in front of the captain.

“I was checking the premises as I was asked to do,” he answered.

A nod from the other man and he was free to go. He would need to be fast to get to the right floor. The shadow had told him the exact coordinates of the disc, making him suspicious. Why did the ICPO hide a disc with nuclear codes in their best guarded safe? Why did they have something like this in the first place? Something wasn’t right.

He thought about it the way through the building. Maybe the disc was something else? Briefly he remembered a different disc, containing the secret identities of all the MI6 agents. Maybe the ICPO had something similar?

No time to think. He had to get to the right floor and find a way to get into that safe, guarded by a difficult security system.

 ~~~~

You had enough! There had to be a way to get out of here?! Those bastards had killed Goemon! You threw yourself against the door for the fourth time when it swung open.

Shocked you couldn’t even react and fell to the floor, surprised by the sudden change.

“You wanted to get out?”

You blinked, silent – were you dreaming?

Zenigata grinned at you with a bruised face, missing two teeth.

“We need to get you out of here,” he told you, grabbing your arm.

You blinked again, and then the memories came back. Frantically you searched the floor for the head you had seen.

“It was a puppet. A scheme to break you. And Lupin.”

You shook your head. How!?

“Interpol’s special unit. They are specialized in anti-terror… well, I thought that.”

“Interpol?!” you had found your voice and were now eyeing the Inspector in front of you. He was a bloody mess, shirtless and bruised. Several deep cuts were on his body and you thought that a few fingers of his must be broken.

He growled before answering.

“I had a feeling about that case you were involved in. Seems I was right.”

“Inspector!”

You and him turned your heads towards the voice, seeing Yata dragging a half-conscious Jigen with the help of a hurt Goemon.

With a heavy weight falling from your shoulders, you rushed to your friends, hugging them and carefully looking over them for injuries.

“I found them where you told me. Inspector, what is going on?!” The young assistant seemed distressed.

“Doesn’t matter. Get Jigen and Goemon out of here and keep them safe,” Zenigata ordered, taking a short glance at you. “And you will need to help me here.”

You nodded. He had saved your friends and there was no sight of Lupin.

“They told me Lupin is on his way to steal something they want. We need to know where he is. And what they want.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Your brain was too slow to catch up.

“What bad feeling with the case I was involved in?!” you asked him.

He began to walk and you followed him, curious.

“After the second dead kid I had a hunch and followed a trace. A man of the Special Unit had been sighted near the crime scene.”

“They were 4 men,” you told him.

“Five. A sniper to keep trouble away.”

“But he didn’t shoot.”

“Then why are you limping?”

You stopped and stared at him. You were a sniper yourself and knew the priorities.

“Why didn’t he shoot me then?”

“He wanted to be found out.”

You shook your head in disbelief but Zenigata grabbed your hand and dragged you with him.

“His brother was the one to come to me after the fourth case. He was killed before he could confess his crimes. The sniper was the younger brother, I think he wanted to end the secrecy of this.”

“Why kids?! Why the blood?”

Zenigata dragged you into a room full of monitors and flicked through the different cameras, searching for something.

“To sell it to some rich guy. They all had the same blood type. Some special thing from India or something. I am not a scientist.”

“The Bombay Blood group.”

He turned around and looked at you surprised.

“Lupin is the same. He can give blood to anyone but he needs a donor from the same group to receive blood from.”

“And how do you know that?!”

You grinned a bit, remembering him telling you one evening and your search for a few pints of this blood group to have a stash safe if he would ever need it.

“He’s my love after all.”

Zenigata rolled his eyes and turned back to the monitors.

“Stupid love-bugs,” he grumbled.

 ~~~~

There hadn’t been a problem so far. The guards were wearing masks but he still had gotten around them and used the sleeping gas he preferred. Right now they were in the land of dreams, leaving him the peace to deal with the security system.

Modern electronics, an elaborate laser system and an old fashioned safe that was safe from the newer generation of thieves because it was too outdated to be used anymore. Luckily his grandfather had taught him his first steps in cracking a safe with a similar model. Even then this model had been old.

“Show me your secrets…,” he said to the computer as he was cracking the codes and disengaging one system after another. The instructions of the shadow had been precise and worked. He must be an insider. But still the main thought of the thief went to the disc. What was on it?!

 ~~~~

He had found a camera in front of a door that he wanted to investigate.

“If I’m right this is the main office. And we will find our…”

His voice was drowned in a siren.

“Don’t tell me we were discovered,” you said, growling. He said he knew the Unit! Then he should know their security, right?!

A gun was thrown into your hands.

“You have the permission to kill.” His voice was toneless and you knew how heavy this decision was on the Inspector.

“Because they won’t hesitate to o the same to you,” he explained and loaded another gun.

“Are you really okay?” you asked him, eyeing his still bleeding wounds.

“I won’t back down now.”

 ~~~~

“My, aren’t you a beauty…,” he purred and let his fingers caress the metal of the safe. A quick glance on his wristwatch told him he still had 12 hours. He would need 5 to get back to his captors. 2 hours were planned for escape and getting on a plane or hijack a helicopter. Something like this. This left him with a good few hours to crack this safe. And he would need them.

Kneeling in front of the safe, he got out his equipment. Those old models were often rusted but this was clean and cared for. The lock would be easy to pick, but any mistake would reset the code of the safe, making it harder to crack each time it was resetted. Those old safe makers sure were a crazy bunch.

A brief thought to his lover made him smile. He had to be extra gentle with this lock, just like with them.

 ~~~~

So far you had killed 3 men and still hadn’t left the floor. The office was still far away and those men pestered you with their skills.

“Trained by the best.”

“Didn’t you say you trained them?”

He had the nerve to grin at you.

“I taught them…” his grin vanished as he remembered who he was talking to.

“We should hurry.”

You nodded and took cover in another room, watching out for any guards. Gaining metre by metre you made your way to the stairs, followed by Zenigata.

 ~~~~

The door swung open without any sound. He whistled by this care. Whatever was in there must be really important if they took such good care about the safe and the security. Maybe his theory on the missile codes was right after all?

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the contents of the safe. There was nothing. Just the disc. No money, no important documents, not even a weapon. What the hell was on this disc?!

He took it and turned around.

“This is as far as you go, thief.”

He grinned at the guards in front of him.

“I am not a thief. I am THE thief,” he told them as he activated a button on his shirt, enveloping them with a smoke screen and slipping past them.

“The great Lupin!” he added as he activated the security system behind him and trapped the guards inside the safe room.

 ~~~~

Zenigata pointed to the door in front of you and you nodded. The plan was simple. Storm the room, get as many hostages as possible and try to find Lupin. Or at least a way to communicate with him.

After counting down, you two moved as one as Zenigata kicked in the door.

A single man lifted his gaze from the papers on his desk, watching you two.

“I underestimated you, Zenigata,” he simply said as a shot cracked through the room.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t move much. He just broke down on his knees, falling forward, leaving you to catch him before he hit the floor.

“Zenigata!” His name escaped your lips as you held his heavy body. The blood flowed from the wound and in a few seconds there already was a pool of it under him.

“Do you care to follow him?” the man asked you. You stared at him. He hadn’t even flinched!!

“Who are you?! What do you want?!”

“Of you? Nothing. But I need your lover to get me something that is mine.”

The way he spoke the word ‘lover’ was disgusting. He seemed emotionless.

“My friends will come back and you will….”

He snapped his fingers and a huge curtain was lifted behind him, revealing a cage with Yata, Jigen and Goemon inside of it.

“Will do what exactly?” the man asked with a raised brow.

“Fuck you!” You raised your gun and shot at him without properly targeting. Even if the magazine was empty and the gun just clicked at your efforts, you couldn’t stop yourself to pull the trigger time after time at this unmoving man.

“I spared you from torture in order to get this stupid thief to move on my will. But now that he’s moving, I don’t need you anymore. Do you know what that means?”

You growled.

“Your men are dead!” you told him.

“Do you really think I need help to deal with you?!”

He got up and walked around his desk towards you, pointing the gun at you which he had use to shoot Zenigata with.

“You pissed me off. I won’t give you a quick death. And there won’t be tricks anymore.” He turned and shot in the direction of the cage, hitting Goemon in the shoulder.

“I will deal with you properly.”

You screamed your frustration out of your system and launched yourself against him.

 ~~~~

The whole building was in high alert and he had to change his disguise three times to leave it without raising any suspicions. What a work! He scratched the Interpol headquarters from his list of buildings for a planned heist. He would never get into there again if he could avoid it. Too much trouble.

By now there had to be a warrant for him to all the officers on patrol, right? He should avoid the crowded streets and stick to the alleys to get away unnoticed. This would cost him another hour at least! Slowly it was becoming a hassle to work in such a short time.

He cursed and quickened his pace. From a man he stole the hat, a woman lost her scarf while passing him. A new shirt was snagged from a clothes line and he changed while running though the streets. He would need to steal a car to get to the airport on time.

 ~~~~

Everything hurt. You had trained with the gang on most days and you weren’t weak either, but still you were struggling to keep up with a trained soldier. He was fast and stronger than you, but you used your quick reflexes to avoid the heavy punches. He had lost his gun during the fall and had resorted to a fist fight with you.

A punch hit you on the side on your head, making your ears ring and your head spin. This would leave a bruise… or worse. You felt the nausea and tried to ignore it.

A knee to his side had him grunting in pain and you threw your weight on your side to roll him over and get him under you.

His fist punched your side and left you breathless while you worked on his face, landing a few hits there.

Was he a monster?!  You were sure you had broken his nose and most of his ribs and he was still beating at you like a fresh man!

“Kill him.”

You heard the order from behind you and nodded. There was no other way anyway!

Slowly, with a bit hesitation, you placed your hands on the throat of your enemy and pressed them into the flesh.

 ~~~~~

He had seen the roadblock from far away and decided to test his luck. After all this would bee the fourth time he turned the stolen car around to find an unblocked road. He would never mess with Interpol again, Lupin swore. How could someone like Pops join such a stupid thing?! He would need to talk to him about that.

He accelerated and held the steering wheel in an iron grip with the eyes glued to the roadblock. Hopefully the officers there would get out of the way of his car… he closed his eyes in the last second and broke through the roadblock.

 ~~~~

He didn’t move anymore and still you pressed your hands on his throat until your knuckled turned white.

“He’s dead. Let him be.” A bloody hand reached for yours and when you looked up you could see Zenigata’s pale face mere centimetres away from yours. Slowly he eased every finger each away from your victim. You had shot people. You had seen them die at your hands. But you never had killed someone so closely. It changed you and you could suddenly understand why Jigen had sometimes scoffed at you for saying killing was quite easy. You would never say that again.

“The others. Help them.”

Blood ran over the Inspector’s chin and you wiped it away with your bare hands. He flinched a bit, leaving it to you to judge the reason.

The nausea had started to push into your consciousness and left you crawling towards the cage to free your friends. Where was the key…?

 ~~~~

From then on it was easy. Get to the airport, steal an unguarded helicopter, start it. He still had enough time to make it back to them, to give them the disc and just run. He felt like shit. What would happen if he came back? His partner would hate him for obeying those terrorists. For letting his friends die… Jigen’s execution and Goemon’s dismembered body came to his mind and made him sick to the bones. He was scum for letting this happen. The lowest point in his life had been reached today.

With numb fingers he tipped the coordinates of the hideout into the GPS and let out a sigh. He had seen Zenigata on the monitors. At least the Inspector was still alive to arrest him for his sins.

 ~~~~

You watched the sunset with a cigarette and the hip flask of Yata while the man himself cared for the injuries of the others. You had seen enough blood for today.

The alcohol burned its way from your mouth into your stomach, making you feel alive and to warm you from inside.

You got up when you heard the helicopter and strolled back to the makeshift sickbay.

Yata looked at you and you had to stifle a laugh. His hair was a mess and his clothes had stains of blood and grass.

“Seems like the missing thief is back,” he said, also hearing the helicopter.

You nodded and kneeled next to Goemon, placing a hand on the bandage around his shoulder. The Samurai huffed and said nothing. He was ashamed of being caught like that and had a puppet made of him to make Lupin believe he was dead.

“How’s Jigen and Zenigata?” you asked the officer opposite of you.

“Jigen’s stable and I stopped the bleeding of the shot wound of the Inspector… what about you?”

He had offered to take care of your wounds but you had dismissed him to care about the more severely injured.

An engine roared and several cars appeared on the horizon.

“And here’s the cavalry,” you said surprised at how slow Yata’s colleagues showed up after his cry for help before storming the secret base of his former associates.

“Better late than never,” he replied but you could see the disappointment clearly written on his face. He had to be saved by someone of Lupin’s gang instead of the police. That must have hurt.

 ~~~~

He was surprised to see the small group on the ground after landing. And two of them were supposed to be dead…

Not caring about the police cars coming at him, he went straight for his friends. He wanted nothing more than to hug his partner and never let them go. He would never let them go again. His walk broke into a run and he closed the distance to them.

 In the end the Police let them go. There would be no case regarding this slip-up. The disc was safe with them again and they had other problems than to deal with a third-class thief and his band of misfits.

All of you were checked into a hospital with completely false names and history, courtesy of Interpol. The cracked skull of yours would need some time to heal up, but when you saw Lupin standing in the doorframe to your room holding a huge get-well-basket, you had to smile. The time would fly faster than you would like.

[the-original-b]

Archangel: Brimstone

Format: Prose / Fiction, one-shot

Word Count: c. 4,200

Summary: Authorities begin to investigate the shootout at the Nyne Circles club, and discover last night’s violence wasn’t the first time the establishment bore witness to mass bloodshed.

Warning(s): blood, violence, implied sex crimes

Nyne Circles club, Monday morning.

A man in a dark suit and white shirt stepped off the lift as the gate opened; his tie loose around his open shirt collar. He strode down the short hallway, stepping over a covered body on his way to a note written in chalk on the wall that separated the entrance from the main atrium. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter,” he read in a gravelly, masculine baritone. He slid his hands into his pockets and snickered to himself as he noted the signs pointing toward the Gomorrah and Sodom levels. “A little on-the-nose with that one,” he noted as he headed down to his right toward Sodom.

He was met by two uniformed police officers watching over the room. “This is a crime scene, sir,” the younger of the two said. “I’m gonna have to see some identification before you come any closer.”

“Sorry, gentlemen,” the newcomer in the dark suit added with a wry smile. “Where are my manners..? I’m Agent Peter Cross,” he said. “United States Government.”

“Is that right, Agent?” The officer put his hands on his hips, challenging the man. “And who are you with exactly? FBI? CIA? Homeland Security?”

“I’m OGA,” Cross replied after a two-second pause. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, and his jaw sported a manicured pale gray two-week beard accented with black hairs. “And your crime scene here is the latest in a series of interconnected incidents, so I’ll be taking over your investigation of it.”

OGA, as in Other Government Agency. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“Earlier this month, local law enforcement pulls a headless body out of the driver seat of a pickup across the street from Saint Vittorio’s. Fast forward a few weeks, and a poor lady out for her morning jog on the Margaret Pace Park Bywalk stumbles over what’s left of two bodies. And then just yesterday NYPD collects half a dozen more in a Bayside alleyway.” He shifted his weight. “Including this, we’re looking at four acts of extreme gangland violence in three different states. That made this a federal matter even before fire and sulfur destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah here.”

“This is all good and lovely, but I still have no idea if you’re real, Mr. Cross. Do you have ID?”

“What I have, Officer Lindbeck, is a cell phone. I so much as utter a vowel to the right people, and that possession charge that was expunged from little Davey’s record quickly and decisively becomes un-expunged. So if you’re done showing your partner how big your dick is, please let me in so I can do my job.” His lips curled upward into a sly smirk.

“You leave my son out of this, creep,” Officer Lindbeck snarled. “Or I’ll make you regret ever showing your face here.”

Cross retracted his head, raising both his eyebrows and widening his hazel-brown eyes. “Well pardon the shit out of my goddamn French, young man,” he said, “but did you just threaten me?”

Officer Lindbeck’s older and more seasoned partner got between the two men. He had some familiarity with OGA-types and knew exactly what kind of people they were. “Let it go, David,” he suggested. “Go take a walk. Get some air, maybe a coffee.”

Lindbeck eyed his partner, then Cross. He shook his head and cursed under his breath as he walked away from them, toward the lift.

The other officer turned back to Cross. “Forgive David,” he finally said. “He hasn’t been with the Force long enough to know ‘OGA’ is shorthand for stop asking questions… how can I help you, Agent Cross?”

Cross looked over the room briefly. “You can bring me up to speed on what the actual hell happened in here.”

“We’re working on that,” he said, leading him deeper into the area with a head tilt. “All we know for sure is the carnage we see wasn’t planned. If it were,” he noted, “we’d be looking at a lot more DBs than what we got.”

“That counting the one in the lobby?”

“No, there were no gunshot wounds on that one. She was probably just trampled—like the others on this floor. Gunshots are all upstairs.”

Cross turned his gaze up to the mezzanine floor. “What’s your name, Officer?”

“Blake,” he said.

“Well, Officer Blake,” he suggested, a grin tugging at his lip, “why don’t we take a look up there and see what we find?”

 ~~

Blake followed Cross back toward the lobby and up to the catwalk across from the mezzanine. He stayed behind looking over one of the bodies as Cross proceeded toward the back office, stepping over another corpse to examine the damage done to the wall adjacent to the doorway.

“Blake,” he called, curling his first and second fingers twice and beckoning the other officer. “Come check this out.”

Blake arrived shortly afterward, standing to Cross’s right and bending over to look at what Cross was focused on. “Bullet holes,” he noted. “They came from down the hall and hit the wall at an angle.”

“That they very well did,” Cross agreed. “But they’re different.”

Blake squinted a little to see what it was he was talking about. “Yeah, I see what you mean… calibers aren’t the same.”

“Right you are again. This here looks like a nine millimeter. The other…” Cross shut one eye and inspected the damage. “Forty-five or bigger, if my eyes serve me.”

“So, two different guns?”

“At two different times. Check out the wear in the drywall where the bullets hit,” he noted. “Nine is fresh from last night,” he observed, “Big Boy’s been around for a while.”

Blake looked back at the notches in the wall. “So you’re telling me last night wasn’t the first shootout in this place?”

“That, my friend, is exactly what I’m saying…” Cross stepped away from the wall, peered into the Red Room at the covered bodies on the floor and kept going to find a spot on the catwalk to lean over the handrail. “Do you know what this place used to be?”

“I’ve read reports,” Blake said, standing a few feet from him. “It was some kind of luxury club for criminals.”

Cross nodded. “It was called Brimstone, and it was the crown jewel of the Teller crime syndicate five or six years ago. We all knew it, but no concrete evidence was ever dug up connecting it to Mr. Teller. Everything we had was circumstantial but even I knew it was enough to nail him for this place. Higher-ups didn’t agree, though. They withheld the raid order.” He laced his fingers together as he continued. “Then one night an ex-Special Forces operator-turned-fixer gets a tip from somebody in the loop about a human trafficking operation run out of the place, and he shut that shit down… Couldn’t get Teller himself, so he settled for the wife instead.”

“How do you know all that?” Blake asked, a few feet from the other man.

Cross shot him a look and smirked before looking back across the floor at the mezzanine. “I’ve read reports,” he said. “Keep an eye on this venue, Officer Blake” he advised, straightening back up. “If I were a bettin’ boy, I’d say this place’ll be up and running again in no time at all.”

 ~~

The Brimstone Lounge (currently known as Cloud Nyne), five or six years ago.

Three men approached the door that one night, and a broad-shouldered fellow in a dark suit and shirt with an open collar knocked on the front door three times, then two more in quick succession. A mail slot slid open for the doorman to look through and accept three invitations from the men outside, and after a few seconds the door swung open to let them in. They checked their coats as they walked in, then made their way toward the main floor, a spot-lit open space with a bar on one end and a stage on the other. Pole dancers on stage moved evocatively to club beats for the entertainment of the patrons there, who watched from a number round tables with their drinks and other mind-altering substances.

The trio stopped to acknowledge the stage performers, but kept moving toward a wide staircase that spiraled upward at concentric 90-degree angles which led to the VIP area upstairs. When they got there, they presented their invitations to the bouncers there—dressed in black suits and shirts with cerulean blue ties—and opened their jackets to show them they were carrying handguns. Such was the understanding; handguns were allowed as long as they were concealed and nobody caused trouble. Since all the staff and most of the patrons were carrying anyway, trouble was seldom started.

After passing a quick search, the trio made their way upstairs and found their seats in the quieter lounge area. At the wall opposite the staircase was a well-appointed bar at which a handful of people enjoyed their drinks, and at the other side of the room was a seating area and smaller stage where a procession of young, specimen men and women dressed in very little would be presented to and bid upon by the seated observers. Behind the bar and around the room were a handful more men in black suits and blue ties.

The auctioneer—a middle-aged woman in a classy off-the-shoulder cerulean blue gown—gave exposition for the merchandise on display and accepted bids before breaking for twenty minutes. She reclaimed her place at the podium. “The intermission has concluded, ladies and gentlemen,” she said into a microphone. “Please find your seats again and we’ll continue with this evening’s auction.”

One of the patrons, an athletically built fair-skinned fellow around the age of forty reclaimed his seat with a gin martini is his hand. His fingers moved absentmindedly around the stainless steel garnish pick as he placed occasional bids, not exactly looking to win but more to maintain the illusion of interest. His tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, rosewood red tie and matching pocket square garnered enough attention; if the staff got the slightest hint he wasn’t there for the same reason as the other patrons, the evening would take a turn too far ahead of schedule.

~~~~ 

The emcee brought the auction to a close an hour later. “This concludes the evening’s fundraiser, ladies and gentlemen! Congratulations again to our winners; you may claim your prizes at the back entrance. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As the patrons began clearing out, the man in the red tie stood up and made his way to the bathroom, concealing his garnish pick in his closed hand as he moved and holding it between his teeth as he washed his hands. He ran them through his combed-back light brown hair and stroked his graying stubble in the mirror while he waited for all but one of the other men in the room with him to leave. The other one—a staff member identifiable by the cerulean blue tie thrown over his shoulder—was urinating in one of the stalls.

The man in the red tie made his way to the door, undoing his jacket and engaging the bolt-and-barrel lock in the ceiling before turning back to the staff member. He retrieved the pick from between his teeth and reached around to stab the other man in the neck with it, then punched him in the ribs and swept his feet backward to have him fall face first into the toilet, where he held the man’s head in place under the water until he stopped moving.

Then he washed the blood and toilet water from his hands and got to work. He found the air vent mentioned in his briefing and unscrewed three of the cover’s fasteners with his fingertips, letting it hang from the fourth, then reached up to retrieve the box his contact had smuggled there the day earlier. On it was a post-it note that read,

Krueger,

Here’s a little extra firepower, as promised.

Krueger lifted the lid off the case and examined its contents—a loaded SPAS-12 and bandolier with eighteen extra shells, along with earplugs, two spare .45 ACP magazines for his Mk. 23, and a single M84 stun grenade.

“Ausgezeichnet,” he said to himself.

He fastened the ammunition belt to himself under his jacket and unfolded the shotgun’s stock, pressing it against his shoulder and raising it to his eyes to look down the sights and acquire the picture. Then he placed his earplugs in, disengaged the safety, switched the action from pump-operation to semi-auto, and went back towards the door, resting his hand on the bolt lock for a moment. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and released the lock when he opened his eyes again. He swung the door wide and raised the shotgun, acquiring his first target behind the bar.

Krueger dropped the bartender with a single well-aimed blast from his shotgun, and adjusted his angle to find his second target by the stairs who he dispatched just as quickly as the first. Peripherally to his right he spotted a third staff member reach into his jacket, and before he could shoot Krueger half-spun and dropped to one knee to line his shot and fired twice. He rose back up to his feet just as he sighted a fourth staff member and squeezed the trigger a fifth time.

He quickly scanned the room and found no more threats, then made his way to the stars as the music below stopped and the patrons began to evacuate. He descended half of them then vaulted over the banister to land in the lobby, where he targeted the doorman next; he fired before his target could draw his gun.

Krueger got back to his feet and slipped behind a wide load-bearing column, peering over it at the staff members he could see shepherding the patrons out the emergency exit at the back of the space. He took this moment to catch his breath; he turned the shotgun upside down, took four rounds from his ammo belt and slid them into the magazine tube one at a time, then put two more into his gun to top it off.

The room was considerably emptier now, and Krueger could more easily spot the bright blue ties of his targets as he peered around the column again. He knew he had to move soon—the body armor he wore under his shirt would stop anything smaller than a .44 magnum, but it only covered his chest and back. His best bet was to stay mobile and not give them a chance to shoot him.

He stayed low behind the half-wall partition separating the lobby from the main atrium, moving away from the bar area along which he knew the staff would begin their patrol. He knew engaging them in the open would mean his peril, so he readied the stun grenade and took a moment to prepare himself for what it would do to him in an enclosed space.

Krueger laid his shotgun on the floor, then pulled the pin on the bomb and tossed it backward over the half-wall in the direction of the bar. He curled up, turning toward the floor shutting his eyes while he cupped his hands over his plugged ears.

By the time the others realized what was about to happen, it was too late.

“Oh, shit—!”

The deafening boom filled the space, reverberating from the walls and disorienting everyone within direct exposure. Krueger slowly opened his eyes after dealing with the shockwave, and took a second to find his balance again before reaching for his shotgun. Unlike him, his targets were neither trained nor prepared for the concussive device, which put him at a distinct advantage over them.

Krueger stood back up and raised his weapon, dropping each of his dizzied, staggering targets with blasts from his shotgun as he moved out from behind the partition and headed towards the stage. He cleared the weapon, firing nine times before reaching the stage, and drew his Mk. 23 one-handed from inside his jacket as he approached the space behind it.

He held the .45 out in front of him in his right hand while he held onto the shotgun with his left. He peered into the open doors of each room, clearing them quickly until he came across a closed door. He kicked it open and held the handgun out, scaring five dancers hiding there.

Krueger lowered the weapon, knowing they were no threat to him. “Get out,” he ordered.

The dancers wasted no time; they darted past him toward the exit.

As he turned he was ambushed by one staff member in the uniform black suit and blue tie; Krueger slapped the gun in his hand with the shotgun muzzle and shot him twice in the throat with his .45, then once more in the head once he hit the ground. He turned back around to clear the final room before holstering his handgun to reload the shotgun and return to the main atrium.

Krueger raised the shotgun again from behind the backstage corner, looking through the sights at the handful of people left alive in the space with him as they gathered their senses in the wake of the stun bomb. He scanned their outfits for the cerulean blue ties he’d been shooting at all night, and when he found none he stepped out from behind cover and moved toward the emergency exit.

Peripherally he spotted one rise from behind the bar; he and Krueger got their shots off at the same time, but Krueger’s vest saved him while the other man had no such protection. He shot the dying barman again as got back to his feet, cursing as he proceeded onward to the emergency exit.

He stepped through an employees-only door to his left and proceeded down a hallway. In the dim light he spotted the sheen of the auctioneer’s cerulean blue gown. She turned to lock eyes with him; in her left hand was a compact handgun.

Krueger held the shotgun steady, training the sights on the center of her chest. He’d been shooting at that color all night—the staff color—but her gun was lowered. She had a chance to walk away, so he offered it to her.

“Put it down,” he ordered, his finger resting on the trigger.

Her eyes narrowed, and she raised the gun.

Krueger fired before she could take her shot, and lowered the shotgun as life escaped the auctioneer with a sigh, her eyes still open.

He took a step over to her and, recognizing who she was, knelt down beside her. This was Maria Teller—the wife of local mob boss Christopher Teller, the man whose establishment this was and the one he was sent in to kill. He reached over to close her eyelids, then thumbed the blood trickle from the corner of her mouth before continuing down the hallway and reaching a lift to get to the basement level.

He elbowed the switch to activate the lift and placed the last three shells on his bandolier into his shotgun as the lift descended. After them he still had the spare magazines for his handgun—whatever was waiting for him in the basement, he was confident he had enough ammunition to kill it.

 ~~~~

The lift gates opened, and Krueger raised his shotgun again as he walked forward scanning the dark, dank cellar. Shafts of light permeated downward from stage lighting assemblies hanging from the ceiling, illuminating passing dust. In the quiet he could identify footsteps in the space before him; carefully he approached the far wall. To his left was a set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine floor, and to his right was a walkway that emptied into the open atrium where a dozens of massive plywood boxes were arranged.

Clearing that maze, he knew, would be a nightmare. He moved to his left and quietly ascended the stairs; the moment he crossed a pair of hands took the shotgun by its pump and pulled it away. Krueger managed to get a shot off but hit the wall instead of his target. Immediately he threw his right fist at the man’s jaw, and grabbed hold of his lapel to throw him into and over the banister. He drew his Mk. 23 and peered into the atrium below, firing twice at the fallen man.

Gunfire from two more down in the storage-box maze erupted upward, and Krueger threw himself back into the wall to catch his bearings. He traced the wall back toward the stairwell, holding the handgun close in his left hand for when they inevitably came up to engage him.

He fired twice at the first man to cross the threshold, and kicked him back down the stairs into the other. He fired a third, fourth, and fifth time at the two men to finish them.

Krueger’s vest caught a round meant for his left shoulder blade, spinning him around to face the catwalk opposite the mezzanine. Immediately he raised his handgun and emptied the magazine in the direction the shots came from. One of his shots struck the last staff member in the hip—he lurched backward, retreating deeper down the catwalk and tucking himself behind a doorway.

Krueger swapped the spent magazine for a fresh one from his bandolier, and slowly, methodically approached the catwalk with the gun raised. He spotted the other man as he popped out of cover to fire, but Krueger shot twice, hitting both the other man and the wall near the doorway. The staff member fell backward through the door.

Krueger closed in on the fallen man, kicking his handgun out of reach and keeping his weapon trained on the man lying on the floor.

He mustered the strength to tilt his head and look Krueger in the eye. “T-Teller,” he croaked. Blood came out of his mouth along with the name. “Where’s Missus—”

Krueger shot the man in the head before he could finish his thought. He relaxed his stance and exhaled.

“Better now,” he put forth, holstering his gun again. “Better.”

He moved back down the catwalk to reclaim his shotgun, and started limping as the adrenaline began filtering out of his blood. He bent over to pick the gun up when he heard movement coming from one of the plywood crates below.

He snapped the shotgun back to his eyes and descended the stairs one more time, stepping over the bodies. When he arrived at the crate making the most noise, he fired at two of the hinges at the corners of the crate’s façade , then ripped the front of it off to look inside.

His expression softened as he lowered the shotgun and looked upon a naked woman holding her knees to her chest, her makeup tracing dark lines down her cheeks. She shot a horrified look back up at him, not daring to breathe.

He knelt down before her and placed the shotgun on the floor of the crate, then took his jacket off to gently place around her shoulders. Looking at her again, he recognized her as one of the people Maria Teller was auctioning off just over an hour ago.

“Are the others here as well?” he asked her. His tone was warm, fatherly, even.

Quietly the woman nodded.

Krueger stood up and looked around him at all the plywood crates in the room with him. Who knew how many other people were trapped in crates with them, or for how long they were there? Who could say for sure how many young men and women the Tellers and their associates kidnapped off the streets and sold for the people who bought them to do God-only-knows-what to them? How many more did he save from this; how many didn’t he?

He looked back down at the scared, naked woman. “I was never here,” he told her. Then he turned to head back to the lift.

 ~~~~

Krueger made his way back up to the top floor restroom to reclaim the case his weapons were stored in after freeing the other young men and women auctioned off earlier that evening. After placing the SPAS-12, Mk. 23, and bandolier back into the box and shutting the lid, he made his way to the ground floor again and stepped behind the bar to make a phone call on the landline there. He hit 9 to reach an outside line and dialed 9-1-1.

“Send police and EMS to the Morrow building on Park Avenue,” he said as soon as the operator picked up the phone. “There are at least two dozen men and women in the basement level who’ll need warm clothes, hot food, and cool water. Find out who they are, whether they have family, and send them home.” He hung the phone up and went back to the front to collect his coat, then headed to the back of the room to leave through the emergency exit and disappear into the night.

(Masterlist)

[chiseler]

Myrna Loy: Keeping Cool

If an actor is said to be “underplaying,” what does that mean exactly? It might mean not doing the obvious thing and not displaying the obvious emotion. Or it might mean feeling various emotions but holding them back and only sharing a tiny portion of them. This is a risky strategy, because most audiences might just think you can’t “act,” at least not in the expected way. When Myrna Loy made The Rains Came (1939), she was thirty-four years old and an established star. The film is what used to be called a “well-mounted” production, filled with dramatic incident and exotic settings and lots of extras and love crises and natural disasters. The role of Lady Edwina Esketh, a dissolute, promiscuous noblewoman who redeems herself through sacrifice and love, would seem to provide a juicy opportunity for showboating. It’s easy to imagine Bette Davis in the role, her eyes popping with restless desire. Whereas Loy had the kind of eyes that always seemed half-closed even when they weren’t.

Loy’s playing of Lady Esketh is cool, modest, almost non-committal, and this approach can seem alienating at first, but if you focus closely on what she’s doing, her under-the-radar work starts to pay dividends. The film’s producer Darryl Zanuck called her into his office midway through the shooting and complained about her performance, but Loy stuck to her own interpretation. She was known for her dry handling of light comedy, high comedy, even farce, and she refuses to play Lady Esketh full out as temperamental or mercurial, as practically any other actress of her time would have done. Instead, Loy keeps her cards close to her vest and lets her knowing attitude do the rest. Her expressive voice is light and almost fey, but very grounded, with ringing intonations, and this makes it different from a huskier yet more vacillating voice like Jean Arthur’s.

Even when Lady Esketh changes her tune, Loy doesn’t go all Noble. In fact, underneath the self-sacrifice her Lady Esketh seems to be as flip and above-it-all as ever, somehow, and this works well for the film. “I hate scenes,” she tells her lover George Brent, and this would be a laugh line for a Davis or a Joan Crawford, but Loy is an actress who actually does hate “scenes” or drama. She’s basically detached, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. It’s just that she doesn’t parade them around as other performers do.

This instinct Loy had for underplaying didn’t always work out so well. In Parnell (1937), Loy and Clark Gable do a lot of walking around and talking quietly to each other, and they come off like zombies in period dress. But her moderation in many other films was so unusual and original that Loy fashioned her very own type of screen character. She was almost never a working girl, but more usually a wife, a mistress, a lady with money and time for play, so fetching that she got away with lots of nose wrinkling and eyelash fluttering without ever seeming coy.

As a young girl, Loy had seen Eleonora Duse on the stage, and she had admired the restraint of that fabled actress. “Oh, I could have cried all over the place in many of my films, but it just didn’t feel right,” she said in her charming 1987 memoir, Being and Becoming. “The audience loses respect for the character. It seems that instinctively I’ve done this kind of underplaying a good deal in my work. That brand of acting had impressed me since first seeing Duse. She had an inner light, you see; you’ve got to have it…You can’t be thinking about how many people you’re having for dinner.” According to Loy in her book, nearly all of her leading men and many of the other men she met developed crushes on her, and that’s understandable. She had the damndest nose, turned up at the end and elaborately structured, and that reserved, hard-to-get manner that promised the deepest bliss if you could melt some of her reserve.

Loy was born in Montana, and she began her career early as a dancer in live prologues for silent films. She was an extra in the original Ben-Hur (1925), and for the next nine years she made eighty-odd movies, mostly in bits. As a maid in Ernst Lubitsch’s So This Is Paris (1926), Loy just walks across a room. She’s a lady in waiting to Lucrezia Borgia in Don Juan (1926) and a chorus girl in the first talking movie, The Jazz Singer (1927), and she was continually cast as vamps and tramps, often of Chinese, Latin or all-purpose “foreign” extraction.

In her first full talkie, The Desert Song (1929), Loy plays Azuri: “That name means tiger claws!” she informs us, in a hilariously BEEG! accent that she came up with herself. She’s very sexy in that movie, but she’s also making a kind of joke of sex, and this campy attitude also informs her Yasmini in John Ford’s The Black Watch (1929) and her gypsy temptress Nubi in The Squall (1929). Loy is enjoyably over the top in these roles and in some of her other vamp parts of this time, and she worked so often in this exaggerated fashion that maybe she was just all tired-out by the time she became a star in 1934 with The Thin Man, and so she made a low-key style out of this tiredness.

Loy is a hoot in The Truth About Youth (1930) as a gold-digging singer with a temper, and she was time-stoppingly lovely in her brief role in Ford’s Arrowsmith (1931). She had one promising scene with Robert Young in New Morals for Old (1932), but then the film drops her entirely. Loy steals Rouben Mamoulian’s Love Me Tonight (1932) with just a couple of naughty lines, socking them home in an attention-getting way that’s rather far removed from her later laidback delivery, but she was still being cast as vixens in racist concoctions like The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), where her Fah Lo See delights in having men whipped, and Thirteen Women (1932), where her hypnotic half-caste takes methodical revenge on a bunch of sorority girls who spurned her. It must have taken much stamina and patience to wait out all these years and all these small and unworthy parts. She had a lead in a modern dress version of Vanity Fair (1932), which was shot in ten days at a poverty row studio, sometimes from 4AM to 4AM. Loy does an intriguingly subdued Becky Sharp, but maybe she was too exhausted to play it any other way.

The speedy director W.S. Van Dyke took her in hand in 1933 at MGM, and her parts began to improve. She thrived with John Barrymore in the sophisticated comedy Topaze (1933), and she fell in with her best partner, William Powell, in Manhattan Melodrama (1934), where she also tussled with Clark Gable. The Thin Man was made by Van Dyke in sixteen days, and it set up a long-running formula for Powell and Loy that proved irresistible. As Nick and Nora Charles, a private detective and his heiress wife, Powell and Loy struck up a bantering attitude with each other that still feels like a fresh and attainable ideal of marriage.

The mystery plots of their six Thin Man films were usually perfunctory, but that didn’t matter because audiences really came to see Nick and Nora verbally jousting and keeping each other entertained. Just listening to them is a pleasure: Powell with his deep, plummy voice and Loy with her bright, high, tinkling one. “They hit that wonderful note because he always did a wee bit too much and she underdid it, creating a grace, a charm, a chemistry,” observed George Cukor.

Nick and Nora are party people, and the running gag in their films is that they always want to get a rest or take a break but they never seem to, and that suits Loy’s Nora just fine. She married Nick for excitement and great sex and teasing that always goes right up to the edge of being dangerous but never topples over into hurt feelings (it did just one time, in After the Thin Man (1936), when Nick drunkenly mentions making a mistake and Nora for a brief moment thinks he means he was mistaken in marrying her because her family is so stuffy). Nora can be slightly dizzy, but she is also flexible and tough. “There’s a girl with hair on her chest!” says a cop in The Thin Man, after Nick and Nora have just gotten out of a scary scrape with a gunman and she comes out blithely crying for more action.

As she watches Nick shooting the ornaments off their Christmas tree in The Thin Man, Loy shoots Powell an only semi-loving “You are beyond belief” look, a very modern kind of juicily sarcastic look that is also in some sense unreadable. Nora’s love for Nick is a private and multi-leveled thing, and Loy will only reveal a small bit of it. They both see the fun or absurdity in practically any situation, even things that would irritate most of us. “We were married three years before he told me he loved me,” Nora says in The Thin Man Goes Home (1944), and she relates this in an admiring way, because they both like to avoid the obvious, or look askance at it.

The seven or so other films Loy made with Powell were often ordinary, but they were always redeemed by their give-and-take, their rapport, his two-drinks-in silliness and her quizzical, nearly deadpan reaction to him. Loy is at her peak in Libeled Lady (1936), playing a quasi-bitch in the first half but then softening beautifully when she falls for Powell. It’s clear that she’s a former dancer because she always moves gracefully, and distinctively: there’s a difference between the louche posture of her call girl in Penthouse (1933) and the ramrod straight posture of her rich playgirl in Libeled Lady, which suffers from unimaginative direction from Jack Conway. Loy too seldom worked with top directors. She’s at her womanly best in Test Pilot (1938) with Gable and Spencer Tracy, and she brought all of her tenderness to the smallish role of the wife in her most famous movie, William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), but it seems a shame that she never worked at length for Lubitsch, or Preston Sturges, or Howard Hawks.

As an older woman, Loy concentrated on progressive politics as her career wound down. She played one hilariously timed scene where she fussily picks paint colors in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), but she had little chemistry with Cary Grant, who needed a more extreme woman to react to. Loy was a mother and feminist heroine in Belles on Their Toes (1952) and she worked in a more histrionic vein in Lonelyhearts (1959) and From the Terrace (1960), proving that she could play this way if she wanted to, but it isn’t much fun seeing her argue with a nasty Robert Ryan or stumble around drunk as Paul Newman’s mother, so far from her usual context.

She worked on stage and bowed out gracefully with Summer Solstice (1981), a short teleplay about an aged married couple where she was still teasing and fun loving with her mate, Henry Fonda. They called Loy the perfect wife, but her own four marriages didn’t work out, and the second one, to rental car heir John Hertz, Jr., was particularly bad. Hertz gave her a black eye once, and surely there is a special place reserved in hell for the man who gave Myrna Loy a black eye. As so often with these stars, real life did not live up to screen life, and she herself did not get enough of the pleasure that she gave to us.

Loy was one of the rare stars who seems to have been much like the person we see on screen: tolerant, sophisticated, nice without being sugary, dignified without being rigid, treating life with amused sang-froid. She was the sexiest and smartest of role models, all the more attractive and suggestive for keeping so many things to herself.

by Dan Callahan

[nuttyrabbit]

Well, this is a long, LONG time coming.  Updated b io under the cut

Name: Gambit the Weasel

Age: 24

Occupation: Mercenary, though technically he’s more of a hitman than anything

Continuity: Post-reboot Archie Sonic, though he can work in  the main Sonic verse as well.

Location: Empire City (Born in Empire City, but moved to Westopolis with his birth father at around a year old)

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Species: Weasel (African Black-footed Weasel is the main design inspiration)

Sexuality: Bisexual leaning more towards men

Personality: Cynical, jaded; an absolute fucking pessmist, always seeing the worst in everything and everyone. Is an absolute shit-stirrer, and will actively antagonize people for shits and giggles. He’s got a real big mouth and will freely and openly speak his mind to anyone, regardless of who or what they are. He loves banter, and will banter with just about anyone on just about anything. He’s always got a comeback or a snarky one-liner for any given situation, you cannot shut this man up.   Generally emotionally detached from most people and events, which lends itself to an incredibly dark sense of humor.  Also a very “shoot first, ask questions later” sort of person. Cocky, stubborn, and just an all around asshole, Gambit’s not really the kind of guy most people would want to be around, much less befriend.

Skills:  Gambit is incredibly accurate with his revolver, seemingly able to pull off near impossible shots when the occasion calls for it, and in general is able to make just about every bullet count.  This is helped by his impeccable quick draw ability, making him able to draw his gun and fire in the blink of an eye.

Gambit’s power is luck manipulation, signified by his eyes taking on an intense glow. This power enables him to turn the odds in his favor, sometimes to insane degrees; however, it requires his concentration or it will deactivate. When the situation is life or death, though, his powers will kick in on their own - when this happens, his powers short out and become unusable for a short time after.

Gambit is also impeccably good at games of luck, especially blackjack. Even without his powers backing him up, he can make an absolute killing at the blackjack table, or even something like the slots, although he has gotten kicked from casinos before due to his luck powers letting him “cheat” .

He can be rather charismatic if he wants to be, letting him seduce people or even get information out of others, though more often than not his big mouth and inclination towards antagonism betrays him. Well, that and his stench because he smells BAD

Hobbies: Hobbies: Drinking, gambling, smoking cigarettes and sleeping around are his vices, with alcoholism and gambling outright addictions he has. Gambit’s preferred beverage is beer, though he’s also partial to rum and whiskey. He drinks several times a day, becoming irritable and suffering withdrawal when he goes sober for more than a day.

His gambling addiction is where he sinks most of his money, alongside the booze. He will spend hours at the blackjack, roulette or poker tables. He often wins big due to his luck powers, but gets cocky, neglecting to keep up the act and losing out. Many times he is simply thrown out of casinos, most often for starting fights or cheating.

The other things Gambit typically blows his earnings on are ammo for his signature revolver, and cigarettes. Due to his vices and the need for ammo to do his job, he doesn’t always have enough cash left over to afford a pack. When he can, he goes through one or two packs in a day; so, more often than not, he has to bum a cigarette off of someone else.

Gambit is never seen without his trusty revolver; modeled after a S&W 44 magnum, it’s the most valuable item he owns. He treasures the gun above all else, going so far as to have gotten a custom engraving.

Gambit sleeps around, and does so often. While he is bi, he has a preference for men.  He is far from picky, however; his standards are low. If he’s not antagonizing someone, he’s flirting with them, trying to get them either to a cheap motel or back to their place for a few rounds. He never sticks around after, bailing shortly after he got what he came for. Gambit is nigh impossible to commit to a relationship, and will have flings with multiple people a night when given the opportunity. He is, for all intents and purposes, a slut in every sense of the word. Emotional intimacy? Never heard of her.

Fears: He doesn’t fear much, though deep down, he does fear betrayal, which feeds into his complex about trusting people.

Flaws: Gambit’s morality is almost nonexistent, his apathy lending itself to him taking on jobs others may deem too damning. Much like in gambling, his hubris can be his downfall while on the job; he sometimes gets too cocky, counting his chickens before they hatch, and can wind up blowing the contract. He is also at the mercy of his vices, the expenses of which have him living on the streets without food or shelter, often sleeping in the city’s many alleyways and rummaging for food in restaurant dumpsters. Naturally, he smells like garbage. But his biggest flaw, above all else, is his complex about trust. Gambit doesn’t trust anyone or anything outside of himself to the point of paranoia.  He outright rejects the idea of joining a gang or teaming up with someone because he’s always anticipating the moment when they turn on him. His past experiences with partnerships have only made this worse. It is why he leaves someone after banging them, it is a huge reason as to why he’s emotionally detached from people, and it is the biggest reason as to why he seemingly cannot form any meaningful relationships with anyone or anything.

Physical appearance: Gambit is 3′5, making him slightly taller than Sonic. He’s rather lanky and lithe, there isn’t much meat on those bones. He’s got crimson eyes that take on a distinct glow whenever his powers are active.  He’s got a few scars, with his most prominent one being a chunk ripped off of his right ear. His fashion sense leans towards classier attire with influences from the styles of the 1920s. Akin to his typical outfit pictured in the ref, he usually goes for suit+pants combos. He doesn’t wear vibrant colors often, though he’s not opposed to the idea; he does typically stick to greys, white and/or black for most occasions.

Bio: Gambit was an accident; the result of a careless fling between a corrupt politician and the unfortunate conman who thought he could blackmail her. When the situation wound up with Artemis getting pregnant, she was forced to carry the child to term due to fear of tarnishing her reputation. Artemis forced the child’s father to play along the role of her husband, faking a happy expecting family for the press. Once the baby was born, he was given the name Tai, and he and his father were moved from the public eye. Artemis told the public it was because she wanted to keep her family safe from the stress and exposure her career would bring, but behind closed doors, her plans for her new “family” were much more sinister.

Artemis, in her desperation to rid herself of the problem she created, and stumbled upon Empire City’s darkest truth: the Underground, a sprawling, far-reaching network of criminals, mercenaries and hitmen hidden in plain sight. It was there she would find the solution to her problem, forging a contract that would solve all her problems. It was the perfect crime - Artemis would leave the city on a “business trip”, and during her absence, someone would break into her home and murder her husband and child. The public would eat it up, bless their hearts, and Artemis, the victim, would stay strong in the face of tragedy, boosting her ratings.

Of course, things so seldom go as one plans. Artemis left on her trip, but when the hitman came for the boy and his father, Tai’s powers kicked in. The gun jammed, and his father took the opportunity to take down the would-be assassin. Tai’s father, piecing two and two together, grabbed the young boy and fled out of the city, to Westopolis. Artemis returned to the city, and by that time, the Underground had cleared out the hitman’s body. With the father and son nowhere to be seen, Artemis was told the job had gone off without a hitch, that they had been killed and just like that, all her problems were gone.

Once Tai and his father were in Westopolis, they lived in utter squalor, barely supporting themselves off of what meager money his father could scrape up with his “trade”. Tai’s father was a very angry man at this point, drowning himself in alcohol,  constantly screaming and ranting about how the world is full of bastards, how you can trust nobody and how there is nothing good in this world,  and often beating and shouting at  the young weasel,  blaming him for his current circumstances. He barely even fed the young boy, forcing Tai to live off of what meager scrap were left from his father’ meals, and whatever food or water he could manage to sneak  away for himself.

The young boy lived like this until he was around 8 years old, when his dad went out for a drink one night and never came back. Several days passed, and the weasel desperately scrounged around the house for what little food he could find, waiting for his dad to come home. Soon, someone did come through those doors, but it was not his father, but instead the cops, investigating his father’s death. They simply told him his father was dead and that he had to come with them.  Tai, who at this point had the message of “don’t trust anyone” figuratively and literally beat into him, instead chose to run away, with the cops not even bothering to give chase. “Less paperwork” they said.

From there, the boy lived on the streets, scrounging by on what little food and water he could find, sleeping in alleyway and most of all, avoiding anyone and everyone he could. “Don’t trust anyone, don’t bother anyone, keep your head down low and out of sight, out of mind” are the words that he lived by, the words that were literally beaten into him. And so he lived like this up until he was around 10 or 11 years old, when everything changed.

A local low level gangster, looking to obtain power and prestige within his organization, stumbled across the young Tai. Soon realizing that the young, wide eyed boy could serve as a valuable bargaining chip, decided to try and take him under his wing, and after several attempts, Tai went home with the man.  For the first time in his life, Tai lived in an honest to god home. He got served three meals a day, he had actual clothes , there were things to do here other than scrounge for food and stare at the walls.  He even got a new name: Gambit

But all was not well. The man intended to use Gambit as a tool, a bargaining chip, and that he very much did. The young boy was passed around to other gangsters, mobsters, lowlife scum, who did unsavory things to the young weasel, who had these fake smiles, comforting words that did the exact opposite,  had touches that lingered too long in bad places, who told him things he had never heard of and  talked about him in ways he didn’t understand. These made the weasel’s skin crawl, it made him feel wrong and dirty, but his “father” assured him that this was all normal, this was how the world worked.

As the boy grew, so did his knowledge of the world he had been swept into. The man taught Gambit everything: he taught him how to shoot, how to gamble, drink, eat good food, survive,  to indulge in the “good things in life”, to use his powers, and again, he hammered home a single, central message: “Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust anything, the entire world is out for ya.”  The growing weasel internalized all of this. Soon, Gambit began to imitate his old man: his mannerisms, his way of speaking, his worldview, even his jokes. Gambit followed his old man in every sense of the world, completely unwavering.  He trusted him, seeing him as the father he never truly had, and perhaps hoping the old man saw him in a similar light.

However, things began to take a turn for the worse as he got older. His old man saw him as a tool after all, and he began to have Gambit take care of his dirty work, which went well at first. But soon, Gambit started showing a more rebellious side. He began to not follow orders, indulge in his vices more and more, even blowing the money he got from these operations on said vices. Sooner rather than later, the weasel turned from a useful tool into a complete liability, and his father realized this.

One night, when Gambit was around 18 years old, after yet another failed mission, his father snapped, screaming and ranting at Gambit about how he was a failure, how he was a “useless fuckin tool”, how he never actually gave a shit about Gambit, how  he was just a pawn who served no purpose anymore and needed to be gotten rid of. In his fury, he attempted to kill his adopted son, but Gambit got him first, killing him with the very revolver the old man had given to him

Panicking, Gambit took the gun, took some money the old man had lying around, and booked it.  He once again returned to the streets, quickly blowing through all the money he had managed to snatch up, spending almost all of it on his newfound addictions, trying to drown out all the horrible feelings that were coursing through him. But in a last act of defiance towards his old man, what little money he had left went towards getting his revolver engraved, something to make the gun truly his. But his mind was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown: his life had gotten completely upended again, everything he knew was wrong, he was barely to handle it. So, in a desperate attempt to keep him sane and functional, his mind forcefully and deeply repressed almost all of his prior memories, only keeping what he needed to stay alive: his mentality, his skills, his given name, and his attitude.

After blowing through all of his money, and at a loss for ways to make more, Gambit teetered on the edge of starvation and death. But then it hit him: He was real good at killing people, and there were people who’d pay for that shit, so why not just do that? It wasn’t easy, as he failed quite a few of his early jobs, but soon he got into the groove of things, and from then on, his fate was sealed: Gambit the Weasel was a full blown mercenary.

And so things went for a few more years, with Gambit honing his skills, falling deeper into his vices, and being consumed by the all-encompassing bitterness, cynicism and snark that would come to truly define Gambit as a person and help him come into his own. But once again, everything would be upended.

When Gambit was 21, the Black Arms invasion wracked Westopolis, and in the midst  of the chaos, Gambit decided to book it to the nearest city, just trying to survive. Soon, he ended up in the City of Dreams: Empire City.  Here he would continue to hone his skills, his vices, and his personality.

Today, he continues to eke out a living the same way he always has (or at least how he thinks he has): taking whatever jobs he can, killing people, then blowing it all on his vices. As far as he knows, this is how things have been, and how they will always be.  But fate certainly has other plans for him, and one of them comes in the form of a cheeky little spaniel ( @pidgeonspen ‘s Carey) and a  certain green asshole (Specifically @frecklefacefromouterspace​ ‘s Scourge)

Misc: Shout outs to @pidgeonspen for creating the ref sheet, helping to create the design, and basically being my beta reader for the entire thing.

[archieimagines]

As Long As She’s Happy | Peter Parker One Shot

Originally “Imagine Steve and Bucky finding out you’re dating Peter Parker.”

requested by: @thatbandchick39 !! thanks for requesting <3

“I haven’t seen ‘em,” Tony offered up with a shrug as he walked down the hallway. “Isn’t that your two’s job, to keep tabs of the kid? That was a part of the whole, ‘we’re taking her in as one of us?’”  he followed up as he turned around to face and point to the two men behind him.

“Yes, but it’s just getting late, and I’m not big on her being out at night without someone near.” Steve tried to explain.

Raising an eyebrow, Tony tried to reason with him, not necessarily to help you, but to help educate on what the general youth did nowadays. “It’s 8pm. On a Friday. And knowing her, I highly doubt she’s alone.”

Knowing that last bit may have struck the wrong cord with Steve- God forbid anyone say a harsh word against you in front of him- Bucky got to the point. “It’s nothing major. We were just wondering if she had said anything specific when she left this afternoon.” Bucky said. “She’s been more vague recently, especially when she leaves here.”

Hearing this, Tony acted as if he had already raised 5 teenagers, “Well, that’s 17 year old’s for you. Never know what they’re gonna do. Maybe she finally reached that rebellion stage. I think we were all wondering whether or not she’d would with you two watching her.”  

With a deep sigh Steve frowned, not really wanting to ask for many reasons, but his worry for you outweighed those reasons. “Do you have a tracker on her?”

Giving a look of ‘you should know better,’ Tony nodded, “Of course I have a tracker on her. I have a tracker on all the young ones.”

“Can we just check on her real quick?”

“Cap, I’ve learned from past experience that kids don’t typically like it when you snoop on them. You know, breaching of trust or whatever. They get snippy and sneak around more; not always a great decision,” Tony tried to warn him.

Getting to the point, Bucky spoke up. “We just want to make sure she’s safe. That’s it.” It’s not that they didn’t trust you; they didn't always trust the people around you, and most of the time neither he nor Steve really knew who you were with. Tony was right, seldom were you alone- solitary was never something you enjoyed, and so they both worried who you may be with.

“Fine, fine, but if she finds out and gets upset; this is not on me.” Stark gave the disclaimer before pulling out his phone and bringing up the tracker hologram. “There she is. Queens.” he pointed to the small dot on the projection.

Glancing at Steve, Bucky shook his head, “Why is she all the way out in Queens?”  

“I don’t know.”

Hearing this, Tony paused for a moment looking at the screen, specifically at other tracker that was commonly in Queens that was right next to yours. Narrowing his eyes a bit, he nodded. “Right, I think I might know why she’s been sneaking around you two.”

“What? Why is she there?”

“Well, she’s with Peter.”

Lying overlapped in a chair, you held onto one of Peter’s hands as the two of you only partly watched the movie on the screen. Gently tracing the outline of his hand with your thumb, your mind was too preoccupied to focus on the movie. “I really don’t like you being all by yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to come back upstate with me?” you admitted. It seemed that all of Peter’s friends are gone out of town for the week, leaving him by himself. Even Aunt May had to go a short trip for work, so except for you, he was all by himself, and even you were going to have to go back home relatively soon.

With a look down two you, he shook his head and gave a soft smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry; I’ll find stuff to do by myself. Patrol, study for that AP exam, maybe try to learn how to cook chicken right?”

You frowned. “But you don’t have to. C’mon. You know you’re more than welcome in Stark Towers. I know for a fact Tony would rather have you there then some of the other Avengers that are there now,” you tried to persuade him.

A small sigh came out of him, “Yeah, but if I went up there with you, then we’d have to sneak around, cause yeah…” he trailed off, well aware that neither of you had really gone public on your relationship to anyone on your side. Almost everyone on Peter’s side knew you two were together, but no one on yours, and it got tricky when he would go up to Stark Towers and see you there, because he had act like you were just another person there and not his girlfriend. “I just- I hate acting like I don’t care about you as much as I do- I just don’t want to treat you like you mean anything less to me, and we have to do that whenever we’re up there. I know how protective they are of you.”

Feeling your heart drop a little, you shook your head, not liking him feeling like this.  Sitting up so you could look directly at him, you spoke. “You know, maybe we should just tell them. I don’t sneaking around and hiding from them either,” you admitted, fidgeting with Peter’s hand as you held it within your own. “And I know we’ve hid, because we didn’t know how they’d react to me dating you, but I know, they’ll think you’re great- I mean they already do, but you know, I want them to think your great not only as Spiderman, but as my boyfriend.” You tried reassuring him with a smile.

For a moment he paused, not knowing what he should do next. Now, it wasn’t that Peter didn’t want everyone to know that you were his girlfriend; it was never that. You made him so happy and if he could, he would let everyone know that you were the one who made his days better that he could have ever asked for. The only thing that really stopped you two from admitting your relationship to everyone else was the fact that you were under Steve and Bucky’s guardianship; two men that he had fought against as opponents. It was something to meet your girlfriend’s guardians, but it was another thing to meet your girlfriend's guardians knowing very well that they had already beat the shit out of you, and could do it again.

Then squeezing your hand, he nodded. “Well, it has been almost two years since I kicked Captain America in the face. That’s enough time to heal before I admit that I'm dating you, right?” he joked.

With a smile beginning to form, you laughed, “Right, and if you’ve gotten past the fact that he dropped an entire bridge on you, then they both should have gotten over everything you did. ”

Remembering that moment, Peter looked away, “Yeah, that was a hell of a first impression,” he mumbled.  

“And this can’t be worse than that!” you laughed, only partially joking.

Quickly snapping back into the current moment he smiled at you, “Ok, let’s get ready then.” he said before giving you a quick kiss.

And within the hour the pair of you were pulling into Stark Towers. Getting out the car and beginning your walk into the complex you reached out and grabbed Peter’s hand- something so simple, but something that the pair of you hadn’t been able to do here before. Making your way onto the elevator that led up to the more residential part of the building, the elevator stopped two floors before your destination. Stepping onto the elevator Tony nodded to you two. As the doors closed he, nodded, “I’m gonna help you two out by letting you know that Cap and Bucky know something’s up.”

“Huh, what-?” Peter asked.

Pointing at you two, Tony shook his head, “Oh, I didn’t tell them anything about you two dating. Though if they would have looked in your room and noticed that you have at least 4 of Peter’s sweatshirts, they could have figured that out.”

Instantly turning to Tony, you narrowed your eyes, “You let them see the trackers though, didn’t you?”

“That I did,” he admitted as the elevator stopped one floor before yours, “Oh look! Here’s my stop! Have fun you two!” he smirked before stepping off.

Looking up to Peter who was already looking down to you, both of you just shared the silent thought,  “There goes plan A.”  And with the doors opening, you both knew that you hadn’t any time to come up with a plan B, but you honestly didn’t need one. Getting off the elevator, you called out, “I’m home! Peter’s here too!”

Turning to see you two walk off the elevator, Peter’s hand intertwined in yours, both Bucky and Steve already had a feeling about the answer they were going to receive.     

“Welcome back,” Bucky offered giving a soft smile to you, instantly seeing that you were more tense than normal. He was never a fan of you being uneasy, and in that particular instant he knew it was because of him and Steve that you were more unsteady that normal, so he was trying to be easy on you.

Standing up, Steve looked to the two of you and nodded, “Hey Peter,” he offered before looking to you, “Do you mind if we talk real quick?” he asked.

Suddenly feeling nervous, you gave one final glance to Peter who looked equally as nervous as you, but still nodded, encouraging you. “Actually, can we talk to you first?” you asked.

“Yeah, of course, always.” Steve replied.

“So, we’re kinda….” you trailed off, squeezing Peter’s hand as you spoke.

“Together.” Peter finished for you. “We’re together.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Together,” you affirmed again.

“Oh- ok. Thanks for letting know.” Steve smiled, a bit caught off guard that you fessed up without him having to say anything, but also glad that he wasn’t going to have to have an even more stressful talk with you.

Slightly taken aback by how calm he was about it, you continued, “Sorry I didn’t say anything about it earlier. I just wasn’t sure how you’d guys be with Peter being, you know, Spiderman and stuff.”

“As long as you’re happy, that’s all we care about. That’s our main goal with you, that you’re happy.” Bucky  tried to reassure you.

And at that moment, you could help but smile, a weight lifted off of you. Stepping a little closer to Peter, you held onto his arm and looked to him, “And I am.”  Then looking back to your guardians you nodded, “Well, we'll leave you guys to it; we were gonna go finish a movie.”

Steve nodded, “Ok, let us know if you need anything.”

You two nodded, both saying, “Thanks!” simultaneously.

“And- uh- Peter you know Tony has your room one floor down. Make sure you use it.” Steve added, ensuring while both him and Bucky were fine with you two dating that there were certainly still rules.

“Right- Right! Won’t forget, Captain!” he quickly replied, conscious of staying on Steve’s good side. Then putting an arm around you and pulling you in close as you two left the main room, he whispered, “Is this a trap…?”

“I have no idea,” you admitted.

“Is he gonna drop another bridge on me again…?”

“Also- no idea; let’s just keep walking…” you hushed before quickly turning around and waving, “Night! We’ll see you later!” you offered before the two of you left the room.

Hearing the door lock after the two of you, Steve nodded to Bucky, “He’s a good kid...”

“And she’s happy with him, and that’s what matters,” Bucky finished.

written by: kk

[fournierbak0-blog]

5 Points You're Possibly Doing Wrong In The Shower.

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There are greater than 100,000 brand-new situations of non-melanoma skin cancer cells every year in the UK. The butter is obviously incredibly moisturising, but likewise anti-bacterial as a result of the coconut oil, which could likewise relieve itchiness from dry skin. We are also told to check our appearance in a way men are really seldom told to. Locate me a male browsing a magazine that informs him to upturn his collar to conceal his neck wrinkles, and I will upturn it for him. Over time, the skin stays hydrated, appearing more visibly plump and without fine lines and creases. Bedbugs failed to remember, I expanded my eyes at Angela as I stood back up, gamely wishing all of it would certainly work out once I got to Steve's office. It can describe our determination to claim, possess and manage - with language greater than anything else - the environment, which is additionally representative of womanhood (Environment etc.), as well as to a primaeval, primitive as well as therefore 'all-natural' way of life, an absence of supposed civilisation - relevant to Yolanda's enhancing unfamiliarity as she becomes one with the land, and also Verla's best choice. Chlorinated water, specifically at heats, could create creases to create. The treatment is extremely efficient for the top lip,. yet it can not be done around the eyes. Industrial skin therapies and also plastic surgery treatments assert to plump and also tighten aging skin however at a price. This time around, I used the Pure Aloe Skin Treatment every night after getting back to my hotel space. Dermatologists likewise enhance the appearance of their individuals' skin, hair, and nails, including reducing the intensity of scars left by acne or skin cancer surgical procedure, dealing with skin pigmentation issues and getting rid of signs of aging, such as creases and age spots. There are a variety of Raid products with high scores, yet this particular spray will work inside, outdoors, as well as in your yard, making it an extraordinary worth. It's a myth that your hair as well as nails keep expanding after you are dead - exactly what in fact occurs is that your skin pulls back, so they appear longer. The foundation is a little thicker than various other products I have actually tested, so treatment will certainly should be taking when mixing along the jawline however on the whole a wonderful item permitting dark skins to experience the advantages of this popular beauty brand name. When they started providing turmeric doses twice daily, they saw preventative benefits appearing in the skin of the computer mice. Every one of these factors aid maintain your skin hydrated and also minimize the formation of wrinkles. For instance, hydrate your skin initially and utilize an orange and environment-friendly concealer palette to deal with an unequal complexion. Check out anti-aging item testimonials from our professionals that will give you the genuine info on anti wrinkle and anti imperfection creams and supply understanding on which anti aging skin treatment items are most likely to give you a radiance as well as which ones to avoid. Since the skin and pulp are seen to be good as cathartics, the fruit is likewise valued for irregularity.

[moonfirebrides]

‘In this country in 15 or 20 years’ time the black man will have the whip hand over the white man.” ― Enoch Powell, River’s of Blood’ Speech, Birmingham 1968

I don’t normally like explaining my art process, as it can differ according to my mood and the topic of my work. I prefer to leave it open to interpretation but I’ll attempt to just this once. I was asked by Nottingham based magazine Leftlion to create a front cover and middle page poster for their June 2018 Issue. For a while I was wondering what imagery should I create for this cover? I needed to embark on a journey in search of fresh inspiration.

Leftlion Editor, Bridie Squires, sent over a list of some of the featured articles, notably black British poetry legend and activist Benjamin Zephaniah, an article on Female Genital Mutilation featuring Valentine Nkoyo, a feature on artist Jasmin Issaka, Human Rights Lawyer Usha Sood, activist and Jamaican WW2 veteran Oswald George Powe and a play by a local Nottingham playwright Mufaro Makubika called ‘Shebeen‘ about the 1958 race-riots in Nottingham. All of which made for a very culturally important edition of Leftlion. Now, I see myself as being relatively deep, I knew that I wanted to say something colossal and powerful with my art… but what?

Then the news of the Windrush Scandal hit, basically the UK government have been steadily kicking out Caribbean’s who immigrated to the UK in 1948-1971 (of whom were deemed them British Citizens according to the Nationality act of 1948). For more info on the Windrush see link What is the Windrush scandal? How the Windrush generation got their name and why many fear deportation by Ann Stenhouse

My blood boiled after seeing Prime Minister Theresa May and Former MP Amber Rudd’s faces in Parliament drowning over facts, figures, tepid apologies, and pathetic last minute attempts to save political careers. David Lammy MP delivered a brilliantly emotive, soulful, parliament shaking speech and after hearing a tsunami of stories of deportation being reported in the national press and not only in black newspapers such as The Voice, Gleaner or as merely word of mouth amongst PoC communities. I decided that I was going to channel the nauseous concoction of pride and disgust I was feeling into creating a collection of pieces of illustration inspired by the Windrush Scandal.

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The Windrush Generation, Navigating Britain, How to Convey Them Visually

Excited fearfulness, queasy vulnerability, disappointedly chilly, a seasick loneliness, a war torn run down realisation, relieved to be safely on dry land, eyes searching for familiar faces. I have gathered info from the Windrush generation, those that I know personally and have researched in interviews. Above are a few of the emotions that would have been running through the youthful minds of people first stepping foot off the ship Empire Windrush in England, ‘fresh off the boat’.

I decided to base my illustration on a freeze frame taken from footage shot by the BBC of the literal moment that a young black Jamaican man had first laid eyes on England (see slideshow above). He’s a young dark skinned black man, smartly dressed in a trilby, pinstripe suit and bowtie. Though in slight wonderment you can see that he is hopeful.

My parents are a part of the Windrush generation, they came from middle class backgrounds in Jamaica, my dad arrived in 1958, as a detective in Jamaica he was only able to be a Traffic Warden and Bus Driver in the uk. Likewise my mother arrived in 1962 as a teacher and had to start off working in a factory, but why?

Which brings me to what has to be one of the single most cruel plot twists for Caribbean British citizen’s in post WW2 British legislation. My parents had always drilled into me that ‘Education is key’ and that I have to work at least twice as hard as my white counterparts. I later learned why they were so adamant. The British government ran Jamaica’s education system but even so; Britain disallowed by law all the qualifications of Caribbean British citizens (down to age 11). The effect was that it acted to ghettoize; you cannot have access to higher paid jobs, which would afford you better places to live. Even though on average middle-class and many working class Caribbean’s knew a lot more about stuff like… ‘the Queen, Buckingham palace, William the Conqueror, Shakespeare, Sheffield Steel, Clive of India, The Brontës, David Livingstone and how he ‘civilised the savage’ in Africa, industrial revolution’ etc more than your average white working class Brit. To convey this element in my art, I created conflict within each image in terms of their mood. The imagery I created is deliberately jam-packed with contradictory information that my parents and other Caribbean’s had to navigate and survive under.

  “White privilege is an absence of the consequences of racism. An absence of structural discrimination, an absence of your race being viewed as a problem first and foremost.” 
― Reni Eddo-Lodge, Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race

  Channelling The Caribbean Perception of Post War Working Class White Britain & My Feelings on The Windrush Scandal

  ‘We were taught that the streets were paved with gold and that most white people were rich ’. Caribbean’s were generally taught whitewashed version of history, religion and a blind allegiance to British nationalism. All of this was a effective tool to insure that many Caribbean’s would

well behaved

subscribe to conservatism, meritocracy, respectability politics

aspire to be like white people

Be non-critical thinking servants at Britain’s beck and call, that would be compelled to come running just like the ‘good old days of Empire and slavery’. Then could be disposed off as the Britain Government and white ruling class saw fit. Though many did not adhere to all of the above and fought against the indoctrination by re-educating, decolonising and rebelling in a myriad of ways. I conveyed the clashing views of the Black British Caribbean self under the narcissistic paternal rule of Britain by using dissonant imagery, such as religious iconography, 19th century etchings of the torture of slaves calling for abolition, photography of Caribbean’s toiling in plantations, Caribbean war veterans both men and women, BlackLivesMatter protests of Nottingham, Nottingham Riots of 1958, interracial couples, the permanent influence of Jamaican culture on popular British culture and the English language, Caribbean nurses, Brexit scaremongering and racist signs.  

I incorporated the beauty of paradise, sunsets, palm trees, houses with red tin roofs into my art. I wanted it to represent rose tinted memories of belonging, innocence, the memory of being a part of an ethnic majority and the confidence in ones stride that brings. A saturated use of colour was used to convey paradise and to appear diametrically opposite to the overcast aesthetics of Britain. I tried to convey that Caribbean people comment that they were shocked to find that in reality they found Britain to be smoky grey, old, dirty, dank, shoddy, ignorant, unhygienic, depressing and hostile. Caribbean’s and notably Jamaicans were instantly deemed as troublemakers, criminal, smelly, ugly, noisy and inferior in every way. ‘No, Blacks’ was a regular sign that would be seen in most accommodation available for rent and in places of employment. Most white churches would ask Caribbean’s not to return in a most polite and very British fashion. Many Caribbean people would have to defend themselves from attackers, which helped fuel riots and protests for basic human rights in Britain. I chose to represent these elements by incorporating real newspaper headlines and riot photography slashed into the imagery.

  Black British Caribbean women have arguably been the anchor of the Black British families and community, a much needed ‘big up’, acknowledgement and appreciation of the beauty and strength of those women. Hence my depiction of the black caribbean woman as queen, plus I wanted to convey the 2 figures as ‘the Adam & Eve’ of the biggest influx of Black people in Britain since its creation.

  Scandal is the word for this malicious act of the British government effectively wanting to get rid of the Windrush Generation now they 50+ and their children and in some cases grandchildren, after all of our great sacrifice, great contributions to Britain I wanted this art to be a visual smack in the face, machete chops and cuss words in visual patois, a beautiful explosion of consciousness.

‘If you are the a big tree, we are the small axe, sharpened to cut you down, ready to cut you down’ – Bob Marley & The Wailers

  As big black women of Jamaican descent taking up room in the uk in any sense can be treacherous, often greeted with backlash; be it via my art on the cover of a magazine, singing self penned songs, navigating unemployment, voicing my opinion or merely walking down the street. I have personally have never felt a part of Britain and the recent scandal comes as no surprise to me, is it any wonder why? Most black Caribbean’s seldom talk about the moment they encountered England for the first time. I hope my art can act as a mouthpiece for their feelings, mine and for those no longer with us

The beautiful struggle continues…

If you are interested in buying any of my work please click on this link https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/THEHONEYEFFECT . Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think and thank you for reading my blog.

Middle page poster of the June 2018 Issue of Leftlion Magazine

Middle page poster of the June 2018 Issue of Leftlion Magazine

Front cover of the June 2018 Issue of Leftlion Magazine

  What To Do When ‘The Mother Country’ Wants To Send You Back On The Windrush: Navigating The Hostile Environment of Brexit Britain ‘In this country in 15 or 20 years' time the black man will have the whip hand over the white man." …

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 24

Summary:  Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Part 23: 

           “Fucking hell, Tommy, you really need glasses don’t you?”

           It took Alfie a full breath to realize he hadn’t been shot and was still very alive. He heard the bullet zip right by his ear but never made contact with flesh. “You’ve gone blind or have you got the shakes now?”

           Tommy didn’t say a word, instead, he simply waited.

           “Alfie?” Louise came running out of the cottage only moments later. She was holding her gun, ready to shot Tommy Shelby if need be. But she was relieved to see both men were still standing and unharmed.

           “It’s alright, Louise, I was just showing Alfie this new pistol,” Tommy called back to her standing on the dunes.

           Alfie’s wife looked irritated. “Well, I don’t appreciate you both firing off without warning. The baby is trying to sleep.”

           The Jewish gangster became choked up and couldn’t speak. He simply stared at her standing there with a gun in hand.

           “Sorry, we’ll keep it down.” Tommy nodded and fiddled with his gun, letting the last bullet left in the barrel to fall out into his palm.

           “Breakfast will be done soon, Alfie.” Louise continued. “Come inside when you’re done.” And with that, she returned inside.

           Tommy walked over and placed the bullet in Alfie’s hand. “See that? She would’ve come out and shot me for what I did to you.” He explained in a low voice. “Then, what’d you think would happen, aye? I’ve got a family of fucking animals, ‘ccording to you.”

           Alfie was speechless, something he seldom was. His fingers curled around the bullet in a delayed response.

           “Arthur isn’t dead.” Tommy continued speaking as he returned the gun into the inside of his coat. “Luca Changretta is. Whatever you’ve done, you did it to protect her and your son. I can understand that. I would’ve done the same thing. You’re retired now so we can put this matter to rest. I can mentor Ollie, if you’d like, let him work your bakery back up. That’ll be the end of fighting between the Blinders and the Jews. But if I hear you’ve been involved with the business again, I won’t miss.” Tommy said firmly. “Trust me when I say Louise would much rather have you around for the time you’ve got left. Because you don’t know how long you have. Could be years. Years that you would be better off spending with your wife and boy.”

           Alfie slowly pocketed the bullet as if he were accepting the terms of Tommy’s new lease on his life. “You’ve got more planned, Tommy?” He asked.

           The Blinder reached for a cigarette. “I do.” He answered curtly. “Business you won’t want to be involved with, too legitimate for your liking.”

           Alfie nodded and sighed. “Done with doing all the dirty work, aye? Think you’ll get tired of it, mate.”

           “Well, until then, I’ll be alright. As will you.” Tommy held out his hand to shake.

           The other man obliged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           The walk up the dunes was much longer than it appeared. Alfie kept his palm wrapped around the bullet in his pocket. His heart was still beating unbearably fast. He’d nearly gone through with taking his own life via Tommy Shelby. According to plan, he shouldn’t have been walking back up to the cottage.

           But Tommy was dead on. Had Louise seen Alfie bleeding out in the sand, she would’ve shot him without hesitating. Whether it be because of a broken heart, revenge, or in fear she and Teddy were the next victims. Then what next? The Blinders would be after her for killing their kin. Alfie felt stupid for not even considering retaliation from his wife. Without question, she would seriously injure or kill anyone who attacked her family.

           Things were just as he’d left them. The moment he walked out the door assuming he wouldn’t walk back. Louise was finishing up in the kitchen and Teddy was still fast asleep in his bassinette.

           “Honestly, sometimes I wonder about that man.” Louise huffed. “Shooting a gun when he damn well knows Teddy is up here. Scared me half to death, I thought he’d killed you!”

           Alfie felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was overwhelmed with the feeling of happiness. Being given a new lease on life with the woman he loved. “It were my fault.” He excused weakly.

           “Hmpf, men and their guns.” She shook her head and placed two plates down at the small breakfast nook.

           He smiled and hugged her. “You’re lovely.” He murmured softly and kissed her cheek. There didn’t seem like any other route he wanted to take. He thought disposing of himself would be easiest for everyone involved. But perhaps Tommy was right. Louise kept him stronger and kept him fighting. With her, by his side, he had a chance of living out at least a few more years. Maybe even a bit longer without the stress of the bakery on his shoulders. Still, it didn’t matter if he dropped dead the next day. As long as he knew he was going peacefully with Louise. For so long he assumed he would die by the sword, die by the lifestyle he so viciously pursued. But maybe cancer was just a bigger sword. A bigger battle he had to face. And he had faced so many battles with Louise by his side. What was one more?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Retirement was a lot easier when you had a growing baby to raise. Alfie was sure that if they didn’t have Teddy he’d be driving himself and Louise crazy with boredom. He had grown into the role as a family man and by Hanukah, he felt perfectly comfortable as a father.

           They hadn’t been back at Camden together since Louise gave birth to Teddy. It was nice to be in the countryside or on the shores in Margate but it was also lovely to be back with family and friends. Back to the place where Louise and Alfie fell in love.

           Ollie’s house sparked with noise when they saw Alfie enter with a little bundle in his arms. He smiled and nodded. “Alright, alright, start the bidding at three pounds, who wants him first?”

           “Oh, Alfie.” Louise sighed and rolled her eyes at him auctioning over their baby.

           Tante Raisa managed to get a hold of Teddy first. She cradled the baby close and whispered soft Yiddish blessings to him. “Alfie, such a handsome boy!” She exclaimed while Alfie took his wife’s coat. “You both must be so proud.”

           “What’s the name then?” Ollie walked over with two of his kids hanging off his legs. “Alfie Jr?”

           His former boss laughed and shook his head. “Louise wouldn’t let that one happen. Theodore Solomons. We call him Teddy.” He answered and looked fondly at his son in Raisa’s arms.

           “But we gave him a Hebrew name as well,” Louise added with a smile. “Tovi.”

           “My good,” Alfie explained the meaning of the name.

           Raisa smiled warmly and touched Teddy’s cheek. “I’m sure he’ll bring you a lot of good.” She turned. “Eva, come see the baby!” She exclaimed.

           “And he’s not our problem for the rest of the evening.” Alfie teased and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. She smiled and allowed herself to be tempted away by Vera and Evelyn. Alfie watched as she happily fawned over Evelyn’s engagement ring. Ishmael had finally proposed once he got a substantial cut from Alfie’s retirement.

           The small apartment was full of good spirits and warm hearts. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood and reflecting on the year. After the meal, Ollie stood up to make a bit of a toast.

           “I just wanted to say another congratulation to Evelyn and Ishmael for their engagement. It’s about time.”

           Ishmael’s face turned red but he smiled and wrapped an arm around his fiancée who looked overjoyed.

           “And Alfie and Louise. Who knew a little boy would be the thing to make him retire.” Ollie joked.

           Louise laughed softly. Teddy was fast asleep in her arms despite the celebration around him. She glanced over and half expected Alfie to be there but she didn’t see him. Frowning, she scanned the party in the parlor to find her husband. Still, there was no sight of him.

           “Alfie?” Ollie realized the man wasn’t in the room either. “Did he step out?”

           Louise sighed. “Shay, will you take Teddy?” She handed the baby to Ollie’s wife before stepping out of the apartment. The winter air was a big shock after being in the warm company of family.

           She shivered and pulled on her coat, wrapping it tightly around herself. The streets of Camden were empty; most were inside celebrating the holidays. The apartments lining the streets were all lit up, casting a glow over the freezing, gray streets.

           There was only one place Alfie would be in Camden. So she began walking down the lane to the bakery, which wasn’t too far from Ollie’s.

~~~~~~~~~~

           The doors were still as heavy as always when Louise pushed her shoulder against them. She was relieved to see her husband standing in the center of the bare bakery. His heavy black coat and wide-brimmed hat making him the largest thing in the room.

           “Alfie?” She spoke quietly so she didn’t startle him.

           He turned and smiled weakly. “What’re doing here, love?”

           “You came up missing and I assumed you came here.” She walked over to him, her heels clicking loudly across the concrete floor and echoing. “Ollie was toasting you.”

           He chuckled and ran a hand over his beard. “That right? Well, glad I wasn’t there. Don’t usually like being called out like that.” He shrugged sheepishly and held out a hand to her.

           She took it and let him pull her close, burying her in his warm layers. His scent had changed after his retirement. No longer did he smell like rum on a daily basis. Instead, he had taken on the scent of Margate, even if he didn’t realize it. Louise inhaled softly and relished in the comforting scent of sandalwood. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest. Alfie kissed the scarf covering her hair.

           “What are you thinking?” She asked quietly. It was so strange being inside the bakery again. It didn’t feel like the same place now that it was so empty. It felt like a ghost town without the shouts of the bakers, sounds of heavy boots, the loud clanging of machinery, and the occasional barking from Alfie. The building had lost its soul. But it didn’t make her sad; it only made her nostalgic in a way.

           “First met you here, didn’t I?” He murmured. “Right out there, standing like a lost little flower.”

           She smiled and looked up at him. “With a few missing petals.”

           He nodded and ran a thumb down her cheek. “This is where I fell in love with you.”

           Louise gratefully leaned into his touch. “Mhm…”

           “This is where I killed that fucking terrible excuse for a human.” He grumbled and subtly glanced over to the spot where Daniel had finally fallen after stabbing him.

           Louise hardly even thought about her ex. Barely even considered him her late husband anymore. He was simply a man she had unwittingly fallen for and learned the hard truth of life. She didn’t want to waste time thinking about him when she had such a beautiful family in the present moment.

           “And I thought I lost you for good because of what I’d fucking done.” He sighed quietly. “Just thought it would make things better.”

           “I know.” Louise murmured softly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

           He shook his head. “Lou, all I’ve ever wanted, right, was for you to be happy.”

           “I am happy.”

           A chill rushed through the drafty building and Alfie tightened his arms around her to keep her warm. “Maybe I don’t know what’s best for you. Everything I’ve done…”

           “Alfie,” She touched a finger to his lips. “What’s really on your mind?” Sometimes it was much better to interrupt his long rambling speeches because they were merely words that covered up his true thoughts.

           He took a deep breath. “I’m scared of leaving you.”

           “You’re not going anywhere, love, you’re right here.” She grazed her knuckles over his beard.

           His throat tightened. “What if I only have a few months left, Louise?” He whispered. “Hardly enough time for Teddy to even remember me fucking face.”

           “I would never let him forget you.” She insisted firmly. “I know we have more time together, I can feel it. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. And no matter how much time we have left, I’ll be taking care of you, right by your side the entire time.”

           He dipped his head down and touched his cheek to hers. “I’m scared.” His voice was weaker than she’d ever heard it. “Lou, I’m so scared, don’t want to leave you and Ted.”

           “Sh, it’s okay, love.” Louise held him close in the center of the bakery. “Whatever time we have left we’ll make the most of it. I’m just so glad you’re here with me now. You're allowed to be scared, I am too. But in the end, we'll all be okay.”

           Alfie nodded and realized Tommy made the right decision for him. “I’m glad you’re here with me too.” He held his wife. His beautiful wife. The woman who had given him his son. It was one thing to wait for Death to arrive and take him by the hand, it was another to turn his back to the devil and focus on the things he loved in the living world.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​

Tag list: @vehement-care​ @kimmietea​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @fire-treasure-iii​

Masterpost

Masterlist

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights: Critical Role Episode 111

Guests are Liam O’Brien and Matt Mercer. Full video on Project Alpha!

Brian: “Hello, welcome to Talks Machina. I am... dressed for success.” Liam: “You are very cute today.” Matt: “I call this look Saturday Darin De Paul.”

Matt is doing much better than he was on Thursday.

Digital copy of the Critical Role comic is out!

There’s now a Talks Machina shirt in the store.

Episode 111 is tied for the most natural ones in an episode.

The show has now surpassed 10,000 d20 rolls. Brian suggests buying @critrolestats​ a yacht for keeping track of all this.

The comic takes place before the game. At the first session, because it was meant to be a one-shot, Matt just had everyone assume they all knew each other and were used to working together as a party. The comic explores how they actually met and started working together as an adventuring party.

Moments they’d like to see from the pre-stream game if the comic continues: meeting Gilmore, finding Percy in Jorenn Village, going after Grog’s dad, the birth of Burt Reynolds, early interactions with the Clasp, the one time Pike and Vax had a solo adventure together. Brian: “Do you think we would have to get rights from Burt Reynolds’ estate to... oh, wait, he’s still alive.��

The pacing of this arc was always going to be different, since it’s epic-level stuff and many of the character-centric arcs have been closed; it’s a lot harder to draw in character backstory the way the previous arcs could. The time-crunch aspect of this particular plot (the villain is actively moving through his to-do list whether or not Vox Machina intervenes) is a careful balance to make sure the players don’t feel too rushed but can still maintain that sense of urgency. Liam: “I am consistently surprised and shocked by everything that’s happened, so no complaints from me.”

If it were just Liam’s decision, he’d want everyone to take a long rest before facing Vecna. He thinks losing Vasselheim might be the cost of actually having a slim chance of defeating Vecna.

Matt’s been slowly been building this last dungeon over the last six months. It’s right up there with Opash’s necromantic lair as his favorite dungeon he’s made. Liam wants to see the dungeon mapped out and described in PDF format at some point, and Matt mentions that, depending on what state it’s in at the end of this campaign, it might be a location in a future Issylra campaign guide.

Matt and Liam talk about how early adventuring in D&D is generally a selfish endeavor, and then later on there are considerably higher stakes. Matt mentions that even in high-level D&D, you want to include obstacles in a dungeon that characters can bypass easily as a reward for quick thinking or just being awesome at high levels. The dungeon is also fundamentally a power-sink where you have to prioritize where you put your resources before the final battle you know is coming.

GIF of the week. Matt: “It’s funny the effect painkillers have on running a D&D game...”

Once the oven had closed, once a round, everyone in the room would’ve taken 1d6 fire damage, then 2d6, then 3d6, and so on. Solving it was meant to be a little more high-stakes, but the party avoided getting trapped in the room themselves.

Matt had half a page of information, a voice, and a name prepared for the nothic that Vax just annihilated. Could’ve ended up being a small encounter or a temporary alliance with a Gollum-type character or an uneasy alliance that could’ve gone wrong. Matt: “What you did was quintessential D&D, and I loved it.”

Liam recently ran a D&D game for his whole family in which his son rolled a d20 on opening a door he wasn’t supposed to go through, forcing him to improvise.

Matt’s been working with Travis to build his next character, and he keeps having to remind him that most characters only have a movement speed of 25 or 30 feet.

Brian: “Like Matt and I, you too can be not in terrible debt and situationally famous without going to college!” Matt: “I cannot support any of these statements at all.”

Vax would be willing to sacrifice even Emon or Whitestone if it meant stopping Vecna, because the alternative is Vecna reigning supreme over the Material Plane... or the Divine Gate coming down and armageddon ensuing.

Fanart of the week.

In-universe flashbulb memory of the campaign: Chroma Conclave attack. Liam: “The goldfish dive will be remembered for millennia.” Matt: “Young druids will be taught from a very young age...”

Matt gave the party the ring to give them a level of comfort in a near-impossible situation, but the risk of fucking it up is what makes it fun.

Liam: “Matthew Mercer is one of the sweetest men I’ve met in my life, but I know within the boundaries of this game that you have this really devilish streak, like an inclination to fuck with us... fucking rakshasa.”

Vax has made peace with everything, but he thinks about the Tomb all the time, especially since the Raven Queen is the goddess of fate. Liam: “As Liam, I loved every dumbfuck thing that I chose to do in this game, ‘cause I’m sitting with my best friends making each other laugh every week, we love each other, we get a fucking kick out of each other every week, and the mistakes are some of the greatest memories of all time.”

Liam’s top priority even way back in the home game has always been that Vax will do whatever it takes to keep Vex alive; Vax still thinks that the Raven Queen will only keep her side of the deal if he does as well. It’s made things extremely complicated, but that’s the fundamental backbone of his character and he isn’t going to mess with that.

Matt has never had players embrace the sibling aspect of their characters to the extent that Laura and Liam have. Matt: “It’s been a gift from a storyteller’s standpoint to play in that space.”

Matt thinks Sam did a fantastic job on his one-shot, and encourages other new DMs to just commit and jump in and see how well it turns out. Liam: “It’s not a religion and it’s not appellate court, it’s just the world’s best game. Just fuckin’ have fun with it.”

Matt was expecting the undead titan reveal to happen in early or mid-July, but it just worked out to happen at Gen Con. Stressful as it was, Matt was excited that he could have such a big reveal at the live show.

Liam wasn’t worried about Simon because he knew it would take more than fire to destroy a magical item.

If the game had continued as a home game, Matt probably would’ve truncated elements of the narrative because they got to play so seldom. Both he and Liam agree that getting to play weekly was the best part of starting to stream the game.

Vax’s "this could be the last time” moments this week had less to do with his imminent death and more to do with Liam processing that in the next few weeks they’re going to be ending this game that they’ve been playing together for four years.

Brian is very sad about the end of the game as a fan of the show; he remembers Ashley coming home after the home game and giving him multi-hour summaries of everything that had happened. The game started around the same time as he and Ashley started their relationship, and he’s really delighted by how close they’ve all gotten since then. Brian: “I mean, we’re practically... I plan on sleeping with both of you on After Dark.” Liam: “I’m open to it.”

Talks Machina After Dark: Liam hosts for the first time!

Liam: “The only reason I agreed to do this Dungeons and Dragons show is so I could sit here, now, and I have you both right where I want you. Undress.”

If Matt could forget everything he knew and join VM as one of his NPCs for the final fight, from a personality standpoint, he’d want to play as Allura or Gilmore, but from a functionally helpful standpoint, probably Kima.

Matt once LARPed World of Darkness and had a very stressful experience where he was thrown into the midst of an extremely political game with no knowledge of what was going on.

Matt’s never had to ban particular items or spells, but there are aspects of the game that require discussion. In a primarily good/neutral campaign, he won’t ban evil characters per se, but he’ll require a discussion to figure out how not to ruin the experience for the rest of the characters. Liam points out that Jayne (an evil character) could easily have killed Clothesline in Sam’s oneshot, but he decided against it because it’d make Ashly’s game less fun and would mess with Sam’s having established that they all survived. It turned out to be more fun having to come up with a reason for that.

Worst possible person for Vax to face as part of Vecna’s undead army: his mother. Liam: “That would fuck his shit up.” Or Vex, if she were killed and then immediately brought back by Vecna.

On the theoretical possibility of a new campaign starting in a post-apocalyptic Tal’Dorei if Vecna wins, Brian: “It would be hard to Transport via Plants.” Matt thinks it’s an exciting prospect, and he has things in his mind if it goes that direction, but he thinks it would be really sad to culminate a five-year campaign with a loss, although planting seeds for the next story could make it retroactively pretty hopeful. 

Liam: “Story-wise, I know that everything’s gonna hurt and everything’s gonna be amazing, and I also trust you to flip my expectations somehow. We just love discovering the story together.”

[kimberlycook95]

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