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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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A Place to Belong Chapter 37: Secure

Chapter 36

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In the months that followed, the situation between Claire and Fergus remained precarious, moving slowly toward something less fragile. He began kissing her on the cheek again after about a month and a half, when leaving the breakfast table before setting off to do his work, or while saying goodnight at the hearth in the parlor, or after telling her where he was running off to instead of just disappearing. Each and every peck left Claire warmed from head to toe, feeling more grateful than she ever had. In the beginning, she told herself that he’d stop eventually, that they were just lasting effects of their reconnecting, and he’d stop coddling her. But he didn’t.

In the end, Claire was glad they’d blown up on one another. It was painful and difficult, but they were all the closer now for it. They’d been able to bare their souls to one another in ways that they’d both been hiding, protecting each other from for years. And now that those things were out in the open, they no longer had to dance around one another; they could just be.

Fergus seemed hell-bent on reminding Claire that he loved her, without saying it of course. Hence the kisses, the reminders of his whereabouts, the little ways he helped around the house and the barn where she did her healing. He was not reverting to the little boy he’d been before, devoid of his own life; rather he was creating a healthy balance of devotion to his family and the establishment of his own life as a young man.

Brianna was none the wiser to anything that had happened; Fergus had never behaved any differently toward her, or any of the children for that matter. He was still their beloved big brother or cousin, the big boy that played the monster in all their games when they needed it. He still swept them off their feet and dangled them upside-down or over his shoulders like sacks of grain, still made them shriek and howl their heads off with laughter. He still called Maggie ‘Little Faery,’ still called his sister ‘Little Rabbit, Petit Lapin,” still ruffled wee Jamie’s and Michael’s hair and carried Janet on his shoulders when she asked.

Claire had approached Fergus one day about perhaps sending him to university in France as Jamie had done, or even Edinburgh if he didn’t want to leave Scotland. But Fergus would not hear any of it.

“Don’t you remember? I belong with you,” he’d said simply. “And petit. I will not leave. Besides, I am a farmer now; what do I need with book learning?”

“Do you want to be a farmer forever, Fergus?” Claire had asked gently. “University can open so many doors for you. Or even just learning a trade. You don’t have to be stuck here. You’re a young man, I understand that.”

“I am not stuck here, Maman,” he said. “I belong here. That is different.”

Claire would never say it, in case he changed his mind, but she was relieved to her core that he did not want to leave. She wanted more for him, of course; she wanted the world for him. But only if he wanted it. And if he was content to work the fields until he found a wife to settle with, then Claire was more than happy to allow it. Not to mention Brianna would be heartbroken if her brother left her.

Brianna was growing, too; it seemed every day she gained an inch in height. She and Kitty had reached full hellion form by the time Brianna was seven and Kitty was nine. If Brianna was Kitty’s shadow before, they were one being now, morphed together, sharing footsteps rather than one following in the other’s. Terrorizing the goats and chickens seemed to be their favorite activity, though it was likely a tie between that and visiting the horses in the stable. They knew better than to rile up creatures that could trample them, thank Heaven. They were shockingly gentle with the beasts, and Brianna loved them.

She’d taken to drawing them lately, the horses. Maggie started sketching at a young age, preferring this quiet activity to the rowdy games the other children played, and by ten years old she’d developed quite a beautiful talent. Brianna took notice and started trying her hand, and, if Claire did say so herself, she was really quite talented. The horses were eerily lifelike for a sketch done by a seven year old. Kitty could not be bothered with such things; while Maggie and Brianna drew or painted side by side, Kitty was busy outside teaching the twins how to get up to all sorts of mischief.

Claire was grateful for this new side of her daughter. Not that she didn’t love her as she was before; of course she did. She could remain wild and untamable for the rest of her life and Claire would be proud as ever. But there was something beautiful about watching her focus on her page, the way she held her charcoal, the way she glanced back and forth between Maggie’s work and her own to see how it held up. Claire never would have guessed that Brianna possessed the patience in her to sit still or to have the attention to detail needed for such a task. It was almost like she was growing up in this way, maturing and blooming in something that nobody had seen coming.

It was beautiful.

Claire loved to sit in the parlor while Jenny instructed Maggie and Brianna, listening to their questions, to their grunts of frustration. Much more in character for Brianna than the patience she’d been exhibiting, she was known to tear at her pages if she was unhappy and throw the pieces in the fire, then stamp away and leave Claire to trail after her.

“I’ll never be as good as Maggie! Or Auntie!”

“Maggie is older than you, lovie. And so is Auntie, much older. That isn’t fair to yourself at all.”

Brianna would then kick the dirt or throw a rock into the stream with a grunt of frustration, then refuse to continue the conversation. Claire waited for this to be the last time, waited for Brianna to give it up every time she had a little tantrum, but she never did. And Claire was more proud than she could ever say.

Now, when Claire looked at the portraits Jenny had done of the children, she could hear her calm and lilting voice instructing the girls on proportions and shading. She kept a miniature that Jenny had done of Brianna as a baby on the mantel in her bedroom. Jenny had done miniatures of all of the children as babies. All except Caitlin, of course. Jenny kept the blanket she’d been swaddled in on the mantle in the Laird’s room, folded neatly in the space between Michael’s portrait and Ian’s portrait.

Claire liked to take the portrait down and sit with Brianna in her lap and tell her all about what she was like as a baby.

“And these squishy cheeks that used to be so easy to pinch and kiss,” Claire would say, pointing to them. “Turned into these.” She’d pinch Brianna’s cheeks and kiss them incessantly until she was squirming away and begging her to stop.

“Apparently they’re still easy to pinch and kiss, Mummy.”

“Listen to her! Apparently she says! This little thing would never give her mother such attitude.”

“This little thing couldn’t talk, Mummy.”

“Not right away. You were eight months old here. But do you remember what I said your very first word was?”

“Dog!”

Jehu always picked his head up at that.

“That’s right. And your second?”

“No!”

“That’s right, stubborn little thing.” Claire tickled her neck. “I suppose you were giving me such attitude from the moment you could speak, hm?”

“Oh, Mummy…”

The children would be due for updated portraits soon. The last ones had been done when Jamie still had baby fat on his cheeks. They hung proudly in the hall with the portraits that Claire had seen the very first time she’d come to Lallybroch, and so did hers.

Jenny had insisted on adding Claire’s portrait to the ranks about a year ago, before wee Ian was born.

“It really isn’t necessary, Jenny — ”

“Dinna be daft, sister. Ye were once Lady Broch Tuarach. There ought to be an elegant portrait of ye in the home. Yer bairn’s on the wall. Ye ought to be as well.”

She’d pointed to the foot-long portrait of Brianna at four years old, Jenny having perfectly captured the mischievous, almost devious grin that Brianna was known to sport at any given time.

So Claire had obliged her and posed for the portrait, and despite her initial reluctance, she was extremely proud to see herself hanging there beside her sister, brother, all their children, even portraits of Ellen and Brian and their children in their youth. Claire already knew she belonged, had known for years. But this final stepping stone made it all feel so generational, almost spiritual. She looked back and forth between Jenny’s work and Ellen’s and could hardly tell the difference. It was almost like Ellen was guiding her daughter’s hand in creation, to fully welcome Claire and her child to the wall of family portraits.

Apart from drawing, Maggie was blooming beautifully into a wonderful gardener and assistant healer. She was now regularly assisting Claire in the barn both with herbs and patients. The ten year old had now seen her Auntie lance boils, tend to styes, set dislocated shoulders and broken bones, and put in stitches enough for several of her small lifetimes. She’d even watched Claire deliver four babies now. She handed her tools and watched intently, never once fainting or becoming ill, despite how close she came sometimes.

She was delicate and sensitive, but not fragile. There could not be a Fraser-Murray child with an ounce of fragility in their soul no matter how sweet they were, and Maggie was living proof. Claire and Jenny had had a fair amount of disagreements over just how much Maggie should be seeing, especially after they’d had a patient die for the first time as a pair, a head injury that Claire was powerless to do anything about. Maggie was beyond distraught, and she wouldn’t come out of her room for days.

Claire knocked on the door and let herself in, sitting on the bed beside her.

“I understand if you don’t want to help anymore, Maggie,” she said gently. “It’s not easy to lose a patient. And your mother is right, you’re too young for such pain. I’m struggling with this one, and I’m a grown woman.”

Maggie sniffled and wiped her eyes. “It’ll happen again, aye Auntie?”

Claire sighed. “Unfortunately it will. If I’d have known how bad it was going to get, I would have sent you away. I’m sorry you had to be a part of it.”

She shook her head. “I just...have to get used to it, then.”

Claire blinked at her in shock.

“Jamie says you’ve seen hundreds of men die in war.”

“That’s true. I have.”

“But ye’re a braw healer, Auntie. Ye didna quit when ye got sad about death.”

“That’s right, I didn’t.”

Maggie picked up her head, wiping her cheeks and setting her eyes on her aunt’s, and Claire felt a chill down her spine, almost certain she was looking into the eyes of someone much older than ten.

“Then neither will I, Auntie Claire.”

Since that day, Claire did take better care in terms of what she exposed the girl to, but she took her training much more seriously. Her first death hadn’t scared her away; she was serious about this.

The other girls admired Claire and Maggie and the work they did, but they showed no interest in the healing side of things. Kitty and Brianna enjoyed helping in the garden, but Claire wasn’t convinced it was for any reason other than that it was permission to get themselves filthy in the dirt. They also enjoyed roaming the grounds for herbs and plants to move into the garden, but Claire had a feeling it had more to do with being allowed to romp and roam freely away from Jenny’s watchful eye. They did pay the smallest bit of attention when Claire gave little lessons about each plant they found, Brianna more so than Kitty.

Brianna’s seizures remained a small fear in the back of Claire’s mind, but it was evident by now that they hadn’t affected her cognitively in the slightest. She was bright and energetic as any child her age should be, her shimmering light only dulling when she was overcome with an episode and the following days of recovery.

She was old enough now to be able to tell an adult when she was feeling off, old enough to know her own symptoms. And Jehu was a wonderful help; the mangy little thing was practically a Godsend. He’d roused the entire house with his yapping during more than one nighttime seizure, possibly saving Brianna’s life by doing so. Claire, and more importantly, Brianna herself, felt secure. And it meant all the world.

Claire, Fergus, and Brianna were also keeping with their annual visits to Jamie’s grave. Brianna still slept with Lamb every night, even if it was no longer part of her line up of regular toys she played with, and she brought it to visit her father every year. It was beautiful for Claire to see Brianna really talk to him the older she got, as opposed to the babbling she used to offer when she was younger.

She spoke to Da about her drawings, how she was trying very hard not to compare herself to Maggie.

“Mummy says I’m my own person with my own...ehm...achievements. So I mustn't compare and I must focus on my own progress.”

She spoke to him about her horse, Alastair.

“He’s copper and gentle and just beautiful, Da. Someday, when I’m big, I’m going to ride him all over Lallybroch and feel the wind in my hair.”

She told him all about the mischief she and Kitty got up to, about Mummy’s garden, and about how she was good at helping Auntie Jenny with the baby.

“Sometimes, wee Ian doesna stop crying unless I hold him, Da. Not even Maggie can get him to stop sometimes. And Maggie is the Mother Hen. Auntie Jenny says Maggie has the touch wi’ bairns, but that Ian must have taken a liking to me.”

Claire and Fergus sat back, hand in hand, watching and listening. And despite the tears lingering on her cheeks, Claire felt at peace.

“Hello, love,” Claire said, kneeling before the stone as Fergus and Brianna disappeared from the graveyard hand in hand in reverent silence. “They’ve both grown so much, haven’t they? God, you’d be so proud of them. Fergus is coming into his own so beautifully and Brianna...she’s just remarkable, love. But sometimes…” She sighed heavily, bracing herself on the stone, fisting the rosary. “When she turns and the light catches her red hair, or I see her smile in her sleep...it takes my breath away. Because I see you. Every day, the older she gets, the more her baby face fades away...the more I see it. And it...it equal parts kills me and gives me life.”

“I wish she could meet you. God, that’s the greatest wish I have. I know you can see her, wherever you are, I know you know how wonderful she is. But for her to meet you, to feel what it’s like to be held by you, to hear your voice…” She stopped for a moment, swallowing thickly. “She knows you love her, Jamie. I tell her almost every day. But to really...feel her father’s love. That is the only impossible wish I have.”

She kissed the rosary and put it back in its place, then fingered the lettering on his name, a practiced, ingrained habit by now.

“Tell our baby I miss her,” she whispered. “I love you, Soldier.”

——

March 1754

“Mummy! Look at me!” Brianna cried gleefully. “Alastair loves me!”

“I see, darling! You’re doing beautifully!”

“Tres bien, ma petit,” Fergus encouraged.

“Merci, mon frère,” Brianna said, the French rolling expertly off her tongue. Eight years old, and she understood and spoke three languages, she was reading The Faerie Queen, she was drawing sketches, and now she was riding horses. Claire leaned on the fence, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand so she could more clearly see the joy on her little girl’s face.

Brianna had been harassing Claire about riding horses since she was four years old. Back then it was simple enough to say: “You’re much too young, darling. Wait until you grow up.”

When Kitty was six and Brianna was five, it was: “Why does Kitty get to ride? She’s little, too!” And Claire could easily say: “You’re five, and Kitty is six. You are still too young.”

But then Brianna turned six. The day after they celebrated her birthday, when she’d finished her breakfast, she’d put down her utensils and quite matter-of-factly stated: “I’d like to ride horses now.”

It wasn’t so simple anymore. Claire was still hesitant to let her do anything physically strenuous, unsure how it would affect her seizures. Claire hadn’t had a single clue how to tell her six year old daughter that she couldn’t ride horses but Kitty could because she had seizures and Kitty didn’t. There’d been quite the tantrum when she tried, lots of rotten things said. Jenny had insisted that Claire let her give the girl a spanking, but Claire had very firmly insisted against it.

“It isn’t her fault she’s too young to understand.”

Now she watched her, grinning ear to ear, her wild copper hair shimmering in flecks of gold in the sunlight. And Fergus; he was truly a man now. He'd been the one to teach Brianna everything there was to know about horses, while Claire had sat in the grass behind the fence and observed.

“Faster, Fergus!” Brianna giggled.

“Don’t you dare!” Claire called.

“I know, Maman, I know!” he answered, laughing at her excessive concern.

“You won’t be laughing when you have your own children, Fergus!” Claire retorted, though she couldn't help but smile in spite of herself.

“Remember what I told you, ma petit, you may not go very fast until you are ten,” Fergus said.

“Twelve!” Claire corrected.

“Mummy! Must ye be such a bore?”

Fergus whispered something to Brianna, and she squealed with delight.

“Fergus! Don’t be putting any ideas in her head!”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Maman!” Claire swore she saw him wink up at Brianna, and she heard Brianna giggle.

Claire smiled, but she was never one to let up on the rules she set for Brianna. “Fergus — ”

“Claire!”

She whipped around to see Jenny sprinting toward her. “Claire!”

“Jenny?” Claire called back.

“Come to the front of the house, now!” Jenny cried.

Claire turned fretfully back to the corral, where Fergus had stopped Alastair, his hand still on the bridle. “Keep Brianna back here,” Claire said.

“Yes, Maman.” There was no joking in his tone this time. He clicked his tongue to start the horse again. “Mummy has a patient, that is all.”

Fergus’s voice disappeared as Claire ran to catch up to Jenny. The closer she got, the more clearly she could see that Jenny was distraught. She was red in the face, tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” Claire asked, breathless. “The children? Ian?”

Jenny stammered incoherently and took Claire’s hand, dragging her the rest of the way to the front of the house.

“Jenny, you’re scaring me…” Claire said. “Is somebody hurt?”

Jenny once again did not answer, just kept dragging her behind her.

“Jenny, for God’s sake — ”

And then the world stopped turning.

Brianna’s hair, Brianna’s eyes, standing right in front of her on a six-foot, three-inch man.

It can’t be. It can’t be.

Claire’s breathing became shallow, her vision became narrow. She could see nothing, no shape, no color, no light, but him.

Every night for eight years she envisioned his form. Eight years.

It can’t be.

“Will ye no’ say anything?” Jenny shoved her, but she neither heard nor felt it.

“It’s me, Claire.”

God…God…his voice…It was so real…but it couldn’t be.

“I’ve come home to ye.”

She let out a pathetic, strangled sound, and all at once the feeling was gone from each of her limbs.

She hit the ground with an unceremonious thud.

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bamon4bamily · 5 years ago

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TVD 9x15 - Dream a little dream... (Part 1) Enjoy! =)

Cut to – the secret facility, around 3am. All the guests from the Thanksgiving dinner party have left. Augustus and Darius are having a little one on one before heading to bed.

AUGUSTUS: So, how does it feel to be back from La-la land? You really had us worried for a while. Thought you were a goner.

DARIUS: How long was I out for?

AUGUSTUS: Almost a month… You’re lucky Veritas was able to use his psychic juju to break the illusion. I was about to give up.

DARIUS: Given our history, I’m surprised you even tried.

AUGUSTUS: Well, bygones. And, Pietro can be very persuasive, he insisted we get you back.

DARIUS: I’ll have to thank him for that. Listen, I know we don’t always see eye to eye, and I know I made some mistakes, but we need to find a way to get over our differences, and see this through to the end.

AUGUSTUS: I agree. That’s the only reason I accepted to do this. Also, I have to admit, you do have some irreplaceable talents.

DARIUS: As do you, from what I’ve been seeing… I could have sworn I saw Tamara at the dinner party. What are you, making clones now?

AUGUSTUS: (Smirks) Oh no, clones are of no real use. And, unlike you, I don’t like to tamper with nature. What you saw was technology at its best.

DARIUS: So, like robots, basically?

AUGUSTUS: Not exactly; more like artificial intelligence. Specifically, it’s called ASI, an artificial intelligence superior to human intelligence or ability. The superhuman, as we like to call it in the geek community.

DARIUS: And they call me the crazy one.

AUGUSTUS: Don’t confuse using technology in our advantage with a god complex, and a bad case of fatal attraction. You really lost it, Darius; almost sabotaged the order’s plan to cater to your fantasies. We can’t have that happen again, so, I hope you understand, some adjustments had to be made.

DARIUS: What are you talking about?

AUGUSTUS: Let’s just say, you didn’t get that scar on your head by accident…

DARIUS: What did you do to me?

AUGUSTUS: Don’t worry, nothing drastic. All I did was install a type of control button, to put it in a way. Just to make sure you don’t go rogue on us again. Can’t blame us for including an insurance policy after the mess you made. (Yawns) Well, I think it’s time I call it a night.

DARIUS: Question, did that “tweak” of yours involve some sort of weird programming with the movie Sunset Boulevard?

AUGUSTUS: The fifties noir film?

DARIUS: Yes.

AUGUSTUS: Well, I am a big fan, but no; that’s all you, pal. Anyway, I need my rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.

DARIUS: Sweet dreams…

AUGUSTUS: (Somewhat confused) Uhm… okay. Make sure you get some sleep (he leaves).

DARIUS: I will, eventually… (Darius dozes off in a daydream sort of state; the song Wicked Game by Hula-Hifi, lingering in his mind).

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Cut to – The Salvatore mansion. Damon and Bonnie’s room, around 3 am. Damon wakes up suddenly, sweating and breathing heavily. He turns to Bonnie, she’s not in the bed. He gets up, knocks on the bathroom door, no answer. He opens the door, she’s not inside. Vamps downstairs, finds her watching T.V in the family room.

DAMON: Hey, Bon-Bon; what are you doing?

BONNIE: Couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you, so…

DAMON: (Peeks to see what she is watching) Sunset Boulevard, love this movie.

BONNIE: Come, join me.

DAMON: (Vamps speeds to cuddle with her) You okay?

BONNIE: Fine, just a bad case of insomnia.

DAMON: Want some popcorn?

BONNIE: Is the answer ever no when it comes to that question?

DAMON: (Smirks, gets up) One order of large popcorn coming right up (gives her a peck on the lips, and vamps to the kitchen. Bonnie continues to watch the movie; at some point she begins to feel sleepy and dazed, almost immediately, she falls into a deep sleep).

Cut to – 1950, Hollywood, California. The cast and crew, of what promises to be the next Oscar winning film, are getting ready for another day of shooting on set. The lead actress, a true Hollywood diva, is in her dressing room rehearsing some lines. The lead actor walks in the room, hands her a cup of coffee.

KAT: Every day I tell you I hate that…

IAN: And every day I do it anyway.

KAT: Can you just get out, before I have security take you out.

IAN: Is that any way to treat your co-star?

KAT: The only reason you got this job is because your daddy is the head of the studio, you are a horrible actor.

IAN: Kitty Kat, that hurts my feelings. Not everyone can sleep their way to the top, if you know what I mean… Shall we do the count? Joseph, Chris, Michael… Oh, and let’s not forget your recent one, my lovely brother, Paul… I told you, everyone knows about you two, or almost everyone… Aw, poor Candice! Anyway, you can drop the act now.

KAT: And, I told you, who I choose or don’t choose to sleep with, is none of your business, or hers. So, butt out.

IAN: You know, you are quite cute when you get mad (smirks).

KAT: I actually look cuter when I’m kicking someone’s ass; want to see?

IAN: (Wiggles is eyebrows) Ooh, you are on fire today!

Keep it up, maybe you will finally nail at least one scene. (The film director walks in).

MATT: You two are up. And please, stop with the bickering, it’s getting very annoying. Be professional for Christ’s sake! Come on, chop, chop! You are on in five (leaves).

KAT: How dare he speak to me that way! Does he know who I am?!

IAN: Apparently, he doesn’t care; ouch! (Hands her the coffee cup) Here, have some, looks like you are going to need it.

KAT: Shut up… (grabs the cup reluctantly, and takes a sip. Another actress comes barging in, venting).

CANDICE: I swear if I have to do another scene with that incompetent fool, I’m quitting!

KAT: What did Chris do this time?

CANDICE: He can’t tell his left foot from his right one. How on earth did he get the part!

IAN: (Looking at Kat, teasing) Gees, I wonder how…

KAT: (Rolls her eyes, turns to Candice) Come on, he’s not that bad.

CANDICE: Please, you only say that because you slept with him. Not that I’m judging, he’s very hot, but he definitely can’t dance!

KAT: Well, he makes up for it in other areas (smirks)…

CANDICE: (Grins) Naughty, naughty… Anyway, where is Paul?!

IAN: Missing someone? Don’t worry, Blondie, he should be here soon, he’s just running late. Think you can handle a few minutes without him?

CANDICE: God, I hate you…

KAT: That makes two of us.

IAN: (Looking at Kat) You know there’s a fine line between love and hate (smirks).

KAT: In your dreams.

IAN: Every night, at least twice.

KAT: You are disgusting.

IAN: I know (winks. The Assistant Director walks in).

STEVEN: Miss. Graham, Mr. Somerhalder, we are ready for you.

KAT: Let’s go.

Cut to – LAPD Headquarters. The Chief of Police is in his office, smoking a cigarette, looking at a photo of a victim who was found brutally murdered the night before. The victim, an aspiring actress who had just landed her first role, a minor part in a high-profile production.

This town… A concrete monument of decay. From the outside it might seem glamourous, with its movie stars and divas, but it’s nothing more than a sewer filled with rats. Nights reek of booze, gun powder, and flesh blood, masked with a cheap imitation of expensive perfume.

Days are no better. The only difference between the two is that during the day, it’s harder for the predators to hide, or so they think. In reality, the true gangsters hide at plain sight. They mock us, thinking they are always one step ahead, always above the law.

But not this time… not this time… (Caresses the victim’s photo, a tear scrolling down his cheek) My sweet Nina… who could have possibly done this to you? And why?

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(The song “The Two Of Us” by Mark Isham, plays in the background, as the Detective has flashbacks of the woman and the horrendous murder scene; tears keep rolling down his cheeks).

Cut to – the film set. Kat and Ian are shooting one of their scenes.

IAN: Don’t go with him… you belong here, with me.

KAT: Please, don’t say those words. You know I want nothing more, but I can’t stay… He is my husband.

IAN: And I am the man you love.

KAT: Always and forever; no matter how far.

IAN: (Kisses her passionately. As she begins to walk away and the rain begins to pour, he runs after her, turns her around) I’m sorry, but I won’t let you go (kisses her again, the song Godot - The Fragrance of Dark Coffee + Rainymood, starts to play.

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The raindrops continue to fall as they hold each other, probably for the last time…)

MATT: And, cut! Beautiful! Now that’s what I call cinema! We are making history people!

KAT: (Ian is still holding on to her). Didn’t you hear cut?!

IAN: No, must have bad hearing… (he smiles; she tries to resist, yet can’t help but smile herself).

MATT: Okay, everyone, let’s take 30 while we prep for the next scene.

KAT: (To Ian) Did you hear that? (Pushes him away) Now, shoo, skedaddle! (She walks away, he follows behind, teasing her).

STEVEN: Mr. Davis, there is a Detective here to see you.

MATT: What? Why?

STEVEN: I think it has something to do with that actress that didn’t show up on set today.

MATT: Which actress, Steven, there are plenty of them around here.

STEVEN: Nina.

MEET: Nina, who? Doesn’t ring a bell.

STEVE: She’s the actress that is playing Miss. Graham’s handmaiden.

MATT: Oh, yes, I think I remember. What about her?

STEVEN: I don’t know. Why don’t you talk to the Detective.

MATT: Fine. Send him my way.

ZACH: (Shows him his badge) Detective Zach Roerig, LAPD, can I ask you some questions?

MATT: Sure, just don’t take too long, we need to keep shooting while we still have the proper lighting.

ZACH: (Takes a picture of Nina out of his pocket and shows it to him) Do you know this woman?

MATT: Barely, she is just an extra with a very small part, we don’t interact. I only work with the stars, so my assistant might be able to give you more insight on her.

ZACH: I’ll talk to him, that’s for sure. But you are the one in charge of this production, correct?

MATT: I am the Director, so yes.

ZACH: Maybe you should pay more attention to your “not so important” cast members as well. Miss. Dobrev was found brutally murdered last night; just one block from here.

MATT: Oh, lord, that is terrible. What happened?

ZACH: Was I not clear? She was murdered, decapitated to be exact. And, we suspect the one responsible for this heinous crime, is part of this little film of yours.

MATT: That’s absurd! No one here would ever do such a thing!

ZACH: You’d be surprised what people are capable of, especially in a town like this. It ain’t all lights and glamour. This is an official investigation, so we are shutting this production down until we get some answers.

MATT: You can’t do that! We are on a schedule.

ZACH: Well, it looks like you’re going to have to make some changes. I need you to call in everyone in the cast and crew, and I mean everyone. No one leaves, until we clear them.

MATT: Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? I don’t take orders from anyone.

ZACH: You Hollywood types and your sense of entitlement. You are in for a reality check, no one is above the law. Here is a warrant to search the premises and question every single one of you. So, make yourself comfortable, we might be here for a while. I’ll need your office for questioning, while my squad processes the area. I take it you don’t mind. And, to prove I’m not all that bad, I’ll start with you. Lead the way.

Cut to – the Director’s office.

SUSPECT # 1 – THE DIRECTOR

ZACH: For the record, state your full name.

MATT: Matthew W. Davis.

ZACH: How did you know the victim?

MATT: I told you, I didn’t. Apart from directing the few scenes she has been in, I have never talked to or interacted with her at all.

ZACH: What were your whereabouts last night, from 11pm to 2am?

MATT: I was here, filming. Went home around 3am.

ZACH: (Shows him a note that reads: You were great last night. Keep it up, and you might become a real movie star someday…). Do you know what this is?

MATT: (Looking nervous) Where did you find that?

ZACH: I’m the one that will be asking the questions. Is this your handwriting?

MATT: It is.

ZACH: Can you explain how, and why, this was found in the victim’s purse the night she was murdered?

MATT: I have no idea. That note wasn’t for her.

ZACH: Oh, really? Who was it for, then? And why do you reckon Miss. Dobrev had it with her?

MATT: I can’t tell you who it was for. And, I have absolutely no idea why that woman would have that note.

ZACH: Oh, come on, try harder.

MATT: This is ridiculous, I want my lawyer.

ZACH: You are in your right to request one, but that would only make you more suspicious. So, I would advise otherwise.

MATT: What do you want from me? I already told you everything I know.

ZACH: Who was the note for?

MATT: Okay, okay… it was for Candice.

ZACH: Doesn’t make much sense though, she’s already a movie star…

MATT: She is, but not a diva, like Miss. Graham. That’s what every woman in Hollywood wants. And I am the only one that can give that to them.

ZACH: That’s a lot of power to be in one man’s hands.

MATT: I worked hard for it, trust me.

ZACH: Sure you did… Okay, I’m gonna let you go for now, while we verify your alibi; but trust me, we will talk again.

MATT: Whatever. Can I leave?

ZACH: Yes, and send your assistant in.

SUSPECT # 2 – THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR

ZACH: For the record, state your full name.

STEVEN: Steven R. McQueen.

ZACH: How do you know Miss. Dobrev?

STEVEN: She is one of the actresses in the film.

ZACH: More like, was…

STEVEN: What?

ZACH: She was murdered last night, about a block from here. Know anything about that?

STEVEN: No, no, of course not. Oh, god, she’s dead?! This can’t be true… How, why?

ZACH: Well, that’s what I want to find out, pal. Think you can help me figure it out?

STEVEN: Whatever I can do to help, you can count on it. Miss. Dobrev was a lovely gal.

ZACH: Were you two close?

STEVEN: Not really. I met her when we started filming. We talked from time to time, but that was about it.

ZACH: Just talk, ha?

STEVEN: Yes, Detective, I swear.

ZACH: I believe you. Look, you seem like a decent guy. I’m sure, if anyone, you are the one that knows what really happens around this set. Help me out? Miss. Dobrev deserves some justice, don’t you think?

STEVEN: Of course. I will tell you everything I know.

ZACH: Good. Why don’t we start with Mr. Davis’s real relationship with the victim…

Cut to – Kat’s dressing room. Kat, Ian, Candice, Paul, and Chris are talking about the situation.

CANDICE: With all due respect, but who is this Nina person?

KAT: She’s the actress playing my handmaiden.

CANDICE: Oh, her? Well, you can’t really refer to her as an actress, I mean...

CHRIS: She’s a nobody, so who cares.

PAUL: Judging from the Police take-over, something big is going on.

CANDICE: Why do you care?

PAUL: I’m just saying, it doesn’t look good.

IAN: Well, I agree with Mr. slippery shoes and Cinderella, who cares! We should be shooting, don’t want to lose the good lighting.

KAT: Of course you wouldn’t dare to care about anyone but yourself….

IAN: Really, Kitty Kat? This coming from little Miss me, myself, and I. We all know who you are.

KAT: No you don’t, so stop pretending you do.

PAUL: (Sarcastically) Ouch, bro.

CHRIS: (To Kat and Ian, sounding quite bitter) Can you two stop bickering, for like a second! Gees, just get married already! So freaking obvious…

KAT: Please, he wishes!

IAN: I might like a little pain here and there, but I’m no masochist… unless you ask nicely, of course (winks; the Director walks in). Matt, can you please tell us what the hell is going on!

MATT: We’ve been shut down, until further notice. Oh, and no one can leave either, so make yourselves comfortable.

IAN: What! Why?!

MATT: Well, that wannabe actress playing Kat’s handmaiden was murdered last night. Ruined our entire schedule! The Police think one of us did it… ridiculous!

KAT: Wait, what!? She was murdered? No, no… that can’t be… Oh my god!

CHRIS: And I’ll say it again, why do we care? She is a nobody! Or was, whatever!

KAT: Don’t say that! You have no idea who she was…

CHRIS: Neither do you, Kitty Kat.

IAN: (Pushes Chris away from her) First, no one calls her that, but me. Second, back off…

CHRIS: (Sarcastic smirk) Oh, please. Don’t you get it? She will never love you. Once she gets what she wants from you, she’ll throw you out like a piece of trash. So stop trying so hard.

IAN: (Grabs him by the neck) Listen, psycho boy…

PAUL: Stop, both of you. Is it too much to ask for you to act like adults, for once? We really don’t need your little pissing contest drama right now.

KAT: Nor any of this… Everyone get out, I need some space.

IAN: (Looking concerned) Kat...

KAT: I said, get out! All of you! (They leave).

Cut to – the Director’s office.

ZACH: Thank you for your cooperation, this information is critical to our investigation.

STEVEN: (Looking scared) Please, Detective, promise me you won’t tell them you heard those things from me, I would be completely ruined.

ZACH: Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me, trust me. Now, be a sport and send Miss. Accola my way, will you?

STEVEN: Will do, Detective.

ZACH: Thank you, we will talk again soon.

SUSPECT # 3 – THE ACTRESS

ZACH: For the record, state your full name.

CANDICE: (Flirtatious) Detective, you don’t believe I had anything to do with this, do you? I mean, look at me… do you really think I would be capable of such a thing?

ZACH: Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said, state your full name.

CANDICE: Fine… Candice Rene Accola. But I swear, Detective, I never even crossed a word with that woman.

ZACH: Funny, that’s not what I’ve heard…

CANDICE: From who? Whoever said that is obviously lying! I have a reputation to protect, I don’t mingle with the extras.

ZACH: Oh, I’m sure you don’t, but I wonder if you get jealous of them?

CANDICE: (Laughs) That’s absurd! Why on earth would I be jealous of her!? She’s a nobody.

ZACH: Maybe she had something you wanted…

CANDICE: What could she possibly have had that I don’t? If anything, she was the one jealous of me.

ZACH: I hear you are quite smitten with an ex of hers.

CANDICE: An ex? What are you talking about?

ZACH: Just cut the bullshit Miss. Accola. I know for a fact that Mr. Wesley and Miss. Dobrev where previously engaged, that is until you came into the picture…

CANDICE: (Nervously) Please, Detective, let me explain…

ZACH: Please, do.

CANDICE: It’s not what you think. I mean, yes, I knew they had a thing in the past, but that was a long time ago. They went to the same Highschool, in this godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere, or something along those lines. But, I swear, I never even spoke to her, nor did he, after that. No disrespect for the deceased, but she was weird, she didn’t belong in the same circle as us. There are levels, and she is, well, was, way below ours. If you are looking for a real suspect, I suggest you talk to Mr. Wood, I know there was something going on between those two.

ZACH: Really, why would you say that?

CANDICE: They are both whack jobs. They would get together after shooting; hang out at this weirdo trash bar down the block called “The Grill”, where all the other city looneys hang out. Trust me, they were into some really creepy stuff.

ZACH: What kind of creepy stuff?

CANDICE: Some obscure vampire nonsense. I’m telling you, totally cuckoo.

ZACH: Vampires?

CANDICE: Yes, I swear! If you ask me, I wouldn’t be surprised if Chris turned out to be one… I mean, if they were real, of course. Only a crazy person would believe those things.

ZACH: I agree. So, you are saying Miss. Dobrev had a dark side?

CANDICE: Oh, for sure! No one ever bought her little “Mary Sue” act.

ZACH: Well, that’s quite specific information for someone who claims not to know anything about her.

CANDICE: I’m just telling you what I’ve heard from others, specifically, from Mr. Wood.

ZACH: Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on that, for the moment. Now, (hands her the same note he handed the Director) can you explain what this is about?

CANDICE: (Looking genuinely clueless) I have never seen that before, I promise.

ZACH: Fair enough. Moving on, what where your whereabouts last night, from 11pm to 2am?

CANDICE: I was here shooting, until about 3am, I think. I went straight home after that.

ZACH: 3 am? Doesn’t seem like a safe hour for a lady to be driving home alone…

CANDICE: Oh, of course not. I had my driver take me home.

ZACH: What’s your driver’s name?

CANDICE: Mr. Trevino, you can ask him if you don’t believe me. He’s right outside my dressing room.

ZACH: No need, just yet. You are free to go, for now. Let Mr. Wood know I’m expecting him next.

CANDICE: Sure thing. (As she is walking out) Detective, one more thing… I probably shouldn’t say, since she is my best friend, but I feel obligated to mention this, it’s in my duty to do so. You should know Miss. Graham and Miss. Dobrev used to be very close friends, best friends actually. She doesn’t know I know that, but I do. In fact, Kat is the reason Nina got this job in the first place; and the reason why Nina moved from that Mystic place to LA. Just thought you should know… Hope it’s useful information (flirtatious smirk).

ZACH: (Flirting back) Very useful, Miss. Accola; thank you for sharing.

Cut to – Kat’s dressing room. She is looking at herself in the mirror; she seems somewhat sad, but a lot more worried. Ian knocks.

IAN: Kat, please, let me in… I’m sorry… (Kat opens the door, he walks inside, she looks around to make sure there is no one else there; shuts the door after him).

KAT: What do you want? I thought I made myself clear when I said I wanted to be left alone.

IAN: I needed to make sure you were okay (looks around the room) … I didn’t know you knew her outside of the film, I’m sorry if I was insensitive.

KAT: (Goes to her mini bar, serves and hands him a glass of bourbon) It’s just you and me, look for yourself. You can stop pretending now.

IAN: (Relieved) Okay, good… I don’t know how much longer I would be able to keep up with the act.

KAT: As long as it takes; we can’t risk them finding out.

IAN: I know, Kitty Kat, but I’m freaking out here! This place is infested with cops. What the hell are we going to do...?!

KAT: Calm down, we will think about that later… (kisses him passionately, and throws him on to her dressing room bed…)

youtube

*Not my art, loads of credit to the creator, this ilustration is awsome!

TVD 9x15 (part 2) coming soon! Hope you stop by, read, and enjoy! =)

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ultimaa · 5 years ago

Text

OFFSIDE

Two shot

PART I

Summary: "You’re young, attractive and rich, but Martinique stands between you and the love of your life. Damn, I'm happy I'm not you."

Eren had two sacred rules during his holidays: no football, no social media and no England. These purposes involved moving a thousand kilometers from his apartment in Liverpool to enjoy a peaceful summer in his native Shigansina, a small town in southern Germany where everyone knew each other. There he was simply Dr. Grisha's boy. "Really? Come on, man, go to French Polynesia or Dubai," his partner Connie Springer said. "Shigan-what? Okay, don't mind me. I’m sure parties are great in your town..." Honestly, Eren spent his days off sleeping and playing video games. Sometimes he jogged — after all, he earned his salary thanks to his body — and drunk HB beer, but what he liked most was the feeling of making up for lost time. He loved football and played in one of the best clubs in the world, history would seat him at the same table as Ian Rush, Michael Owen or Steven Gerrard. He loved Anfield, but he was too young when he said goodbye to the field of earth soccer and was taken to Melwood, where his parents visited him once a month. At the age of twenty-six, with a brilliant career, Eren Jaeger returned to Germany like an elephant going to die in a cave, with his family, and then repeated the cycle of nostalgia. However, that year would be different.

The Jaeger couple celebrated their 25th anniversary and they organized a small party with relatives and close friends. Only Eren Kruger, best man, who was in a submarine five thousand meters deep, was absent. As for the others, they all attended: Zeke and Pieck, who had come from Berlin, Aunt Faye, Keith Shadis (Eren’s Godfather), Tom Xaver (Zeke’s Godfather), Hannes, Armin and his grandfather, Kuchel Ackerman (bridesmaid), Kenny Ackerman (usher) and Levi Ackerman. Grisha did not like parties, but Carla settled the discussion with a resounding statement: "Silver anniversary aren’t celebrated every day, darling."

While Hannes, old Arlet, Pieck and Kuchel made a beef stew and the couple danced to the sound of Wiener Blut in the sitting room, Eren opened a bottle of beer and toasted with Armin and Zeke.

"You’re the only one, brother," Zeke pointed out. "You’ll retire bachelor. With ten Golden Balls, but a bachelor."

"The golden bachelor," Eren corrected. "Hey, Armin, you're single too."

"Annie and I are taking some time." His best friend shrugged.

Zeke laughed. He was a cardiologist. "I understand the heart much better than you... in all aspects," he used to say. And it was probably true: he was married to Pieck and the ring did not bother him yet.

"Really? She has been in Australia for two months. Do you know how long Australians last in bed, huh? About seventeen minutes, behind only the Americans, the Canadians and the English. As for the Germans, only eight percent have participated in a trio. If I were you, I'd start to worry."

"Did you just tell me I'm a bad lover?"

"No. Statistics, Armin. Information."

"This dude is like that." Eren took a sip. "He throw the stone and hides the hand."

"I have no interest in offending the virility of the Germans. I'm German, in case you haven't noticed. Siegfried is my grandfather and every Friday I go drinking with Wagner, but not all women know how to appreciate the Central European charm. Also, Melbourne is one of the best cities to live."

"Annie is in Sydney."

"See? That's precisely the problem." Zeke finished his beer and put a hand on Arlet's shoulder. "You know exactly where she is, but does she remember you? When a woman puts fifteen thousand kilometers between her and her partner, she only has one goal: to forget. And while she builds her new beginning, you water her plants."

"I still wonder how you seduced Pieck," Eren said. "Did you take her to dinner with Kaiser Wilhelm and Angela Merkel?"

"Actually, she won me. Well, I fell into the trap. I thought I could escape later. I was wrong and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I ain’t immune to women either."

Zeke showed a wide smile. He was blond and had a magnificent bearing. When the waltz was over, he congratulated Grisha and gave him a beer. Then he hugged Carla and cleared his voice. They all looked at him.

"This woman you see here is suicidal: marrying a Jaeger is dangerous, but marrying a divorced Jaeger with a child is deadly. The first time I saw her I was seven years old and I thought: Will she be like Miss Rottenmeier? No, thanks to God. I had always been Ezekiel, but she started calling me Zeke and that's how my friends, my coworkers and my wife call me. In a way, he baptized me. She ain’t my father's wife or my stepmother. Sorry, Eren; Being an only child is wonderful, but she’s also my mother and I would like us to toast her, the woman who brought us together here today. Cheers! Who’s in charge of the music? Auntie, put Spring’s Voices on. Eren and I are gonna dance."

"Wonderful idea." Armin laughed. "Football? As Martha Graham said, dance is the hidden language of the soul."

"You bastards." Eren took his brother's hand.

"Don't step on my shoes."

Among the music and the wild laughter of Kenny and Hannes, Eren did not realize what was about to happen. No clairvoyant would have guessed it. He looked sideways and saw her appear: black hair, aviator sunglasses, and a cigarette between her lips. White rolled-up shirt, capri pants and strappy sandals. He lost concentration and Zeke roared with laughter. He knew, of course. The last time he saw her was on the eve of her trip to Martinique, where she had spent the past year. The waltz ended and they both bowed. Eren did not want to raise the head. Why had no one warned him?

"Levi told me she came back last night," Zeke whispered.

Eren did not even hear the applause. He quickly returned to Armin, who was chatting with Keith Shadis, a retired military man, about the Ardennes Counteroffensive and the Nuremberg Trials. "I am almost sure," said his friend, a historian, "that Franz von Papen died in '69."

"Mikasa is here," Eren hissed.

"I know," he nodded, "and I'm gonna greet her, she's my lifelong friend and I'm glad to see her. You should do the same. Don't think about what happened."

"Did you know? Armin!"

His friend approached her. Great. Eren slipped out into the garden with a couple of beer cans and sat down on a wooden bench. Pretend you don't care, he thought. It belongs to the past, that's it! Fuck! You have to call it by its name: pain. Before she left, they drank like a fish and ended up going to bed. That was last summer. They had not spoken about it since then. He could already hear wise and eminent Zeke Jaeger’s voice: "So you haven’t had a girlfriend since Christ was crucified, but you shag with your best friend. Da ya need to talk, Eren?" Shit! Maybe he needed to tell someone how much her decision to go to Martinique hurt when he declared her love. She had a degree in Arts, so she was offered to do a study about Paul Gauguin, who spent a time on the island. So Zeke would say: "The Caribbean? I'm sorry, brother, I'm so sorry. You and Armin can cry together."

Eren was in love with her. It is one of those truths that one understands with a broken heart. And this led him to reject the insinuations of several, too many women in recent months. There were rumors that he was gay.

"Look who's here: Reds’ Hunter," Mikasa greeted him. "Can I sit?"

"You can do whatever you want." Eren was not angry, but a little drunk. He scratched his right arm; Delacroix's Liberty was tattooed from shoulder to elbow; Lower down, on the forearm, Goya’s Colossus collapses the Berlin Wall. On the inside of the doll, an M. Again, he could hear his brother's voice calling him an idiot.

Mikasa sat next to him. Her skin was not as pale as before: Caribbean tan. The serious mouth was the same and the gray eyes had not changed. She had a fine scar on her right cheek.

"Congratulations on winning the Premier."

"Yeah, well, first in Liverpool's history." Eren groaned. "How did it go with Gauguin?"

"Excellently. Van Gogh said that Gauguin didn’t paint with the brush, but with the phallus. However, mayby he didn’t die of syphilis..."

"Are you kidding me? Do you congratulate me on the championship and talk about Gauguin's cock?" He let out a sardonic laugh. "If that's all you have to tell me after all this time..."

"This is neither the time nor the place".

"I don’t care. We fucked, Mikasa."

"I know. I was there."

"Really? Because sometimes I think about it and it seems a mirage. You've been avoiging the matter a whole year, a fucking year. You show up at my parents' party like nothing's wrong and talking about fucking Gauguin." Eren paused. "Annie is in Australia. Do you know how long Australians last in bed? Seventeen minutes. How long do Martinicans last?"

"I know what you're implying," Mikasa said seriously, "and you're wrong, Eren. You’re very wrong. Do you think I would be able to do that after sleeping with you?"

Carla Jaeger interrupted them; the meal was ready. They were not hungry, but an inexplicable feeling oppressed them: Eren's blood boiled; Mikasa's was frozen.

"When you want us to talk as adults, let me know," she said.

Adults! Eren said nothing. He sat between Zeke and Armin, who gave him a questioning look. Eren sighed and started eating. He remained oblivious to all the conversations, sharing looks with Mikasa, sitting next to her uncle Kenny. One year had passed and perhaps he was angry, but he winked al her. She smiled and caught the kiss Eren discreetly sent her, and showed her thumb.

"Okay," Zeke said, after wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Have I ever told you about friendship between men and women? No, because it’s impossible. Were you and Annie ever friends, Armin?"

"Huh… Yeah?"

"No. You wanted to have sex, but you didn't tell her."

"I know you know," Eren whispered.

"I’ve known for a long time. In fact, I knew it before you did, bro. You were like Heidi and Peter, and now, if you were alone, this would become Nine and a half Weeks.

For Zeke it was too obvious, but what about the others? Eren looked at them closely. They talked about politics, football, past... Levi was the only one who remained silent. He was not a very talkative man, unlike his mother and uncle. Kuchel and Kenny talked and laughed like no one else. As for Mikasa, whose premature orphanhood led her to grow up with them, her character was soft; silent, good listener and without his cousin’s curtness. Did she tell someone what happened? Maybe Sasha Braus? After the meal, Eren felt adult enough.

The whole evening passed pleasant between anecdotes and skat hands. Keith Shadis left around six in the afternoon; He had to return to Munich for work. As for the others, Carla insisted that they stay for dinner. While Grisha and Zeke had a scholarly conversation about the latest advances in medicine, Kenny was laughing loudly with Mikasa by his side.

"I never imagined that we would have an artist in the family."

"I'm an art historian," Mikasa pointed out.

"If God doesn’t give you children, Devil gives you nephews." Kenny lit a cigarette. "Ackermans have always been country people. Levi was the first to go to university; He was already a whiz since childhood. Fortunately, Mikasa followed suit.

"What is Martinique like?" Carla asked.

"Quiet. When it rains, goodbye internet and light, and of course I have to mention mosquitoes, humidity, heat and earthquakes," she paused, "but people are lovely and the landscapes are spectacular. They are exactly like on postcards. Oh, and the accra is very good."

"We could go on vacation, honey." Zeke looked at Pieck. "I'm tired of Sardinia."

"But you have to be careful with snakes," Mikasa continued, smiling. "I was bitten by a eyelash viper. Nothing serious, but I wouldn’t repeat the experience."

"One year has been enough, hasn't it?" Eren, who was playing cards with Armin, had his ears set on the conversation.

"Yes. For now I will stay here I’ll go to Munich in September to work at the Alte Pinakothek."

"It's fantastic," said Armin.

"And you’ll be close," added Kuchel.

So Munich. However, Mikasa commented on the possibility of another trip. She specialized in Impressionism and did not rule out settling in France. After dinner, when it was time to say goodbye, Eren pulled out his cell phone and wrote her a message: "Do you wanna talk?" She looked sidelong at him and replied, "Come home tomorrow. We will be alone." Jaeger thought about that last one; He smiled, pleased, and quickly typed, "Good."

They all left except for Zeke and Pieck, who would spend a few days in the village before returning to Berlin. It was like going back fifteen years ago, when they still crowd around under one ceiling. Carla loved having them all there. Her good character led her to have an excellent relationship with her daughter-in-law. Grisha was pleased with the situation; He played chess with Zeke for hours, in total silence. Eren used to watch them, attentive to the gestures, wondering how they could drag on a duel that long. And it all ended with one word: "Checkmate."

Zeke followed him into the garden with a cigarette on the lips. He had tried to stop smoking, but there are things a man can never give up, like mentholated Camel.

"You don't smoke, do you? What a pity. One or two cigarettes once in a while doesn't hurt anyone, Mr. Perfect Abs." Zeke blew out the smoke. "Munich. A wonderful city, especially in October."

"We’re gonna talk tomorrow."

"One day I take a look at the yellow press and I see you with Historia Reiss, and I think you're a lucky bastard. You’re young, attractive and rich, but Martinique stands between you and the love of your life. Damn, I’m happy I’m not you."

"I love you too." Eren frowned.

"I’m trying to help you. Don't screw it up, okay? A bad step now and you will regret it all your life." His brother clapped him on the back. "Now If you can excuse me, I'm going to make love to my wife in my fifteen-year-old room."

"I didn't need to know that."

…

Having the house to herself, Mikasa went down to have black tea. Frugal breakfast, as always. She felt like an intruder in her own town and jet lag was not benevolent. She wanted to stay in bed, she’s just got ants in her pants. She did push-ups and thought about the last exhausting year. Operation Gauguin, as she called it, had been a true odyssey. Fuck the Caribbean. She had missed Europe, her family and friends, but duty is duty. As for Eren, she could not reproach him for anything. He was angry. She should not have slept with him before she left; Mikasa kept thinking about it for a moment. Secrets and sex are a bad combination for consciousness. Besides, she left without saying goodbye. She behaved like a real motherfucker and would do it again: sentimentality is not advisable before a possible trip with no return. No, she couldn't listen to Eren's feelings before getting on the plane. Deep down, she suffered from the greatest weakness: love.

She lay down on the floor and closed his eyes. God, the cold slabs were nicer than any bed in the Caribbean. The woman forgot the physical and mental exhaustion when Eren touched the knocker. She took a breath and decided to improvise. The first thing Mikasa noticed was Dior's perfume. He was wearing an unbuttoned black polo shirt, gray jeans, and deck shoes. The three-day beard and dapper cut fit him very well. Those tropical eyes ... Shit!

Silence. Glances. It was inevitable. Eren closed the door behind him and received her kiss in a frenzy. Mikasa bit his lips, tugged at his hair. The man held her prisoner in his arms, sliding his hands down her back, her hips and her neck, anxious and needy. Their mouths were lost in each other's. Eren threw his head back and went deeper, searching for lost time. He licked her lips from corner to corner. The touch of tongues was deadly like a sword dance. They parted, face to face, panting, obscene. Mikasa wanted to make love to him in the middle of the hall and tell him how much she had missed him.

"Did you want to talk?" Eren planted another kiss.

"Yes," Mikasa replied. "I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I have a very interesting story to tell you, but I don't know if it will be more exciting than winning the English league."

"Ok, you know I prefer Monet, but..."

"It has nothing to do with Gauguin." Mikasa took his hand and led him into the living room. If she thought about it, it was a concise thing, but difficult to assimilate. Eren sat down on the sofa. She made him coffee and moved to his side, maturing the words in her head. "It's complicated. If you don't believe it, I get it. I’ve spent more time in Cuba than in Martinique. I haven’t done any study about Gauguin."

"What?" Eren looked at her seriously. "What's going on, Mikasa?"

"I've been working for Interpol for a couple of years. No one knows, only you. Crimes against cultural heritage."

"I don’t get it. What does that have to do with Martinique and Cuba?"

"During Nazism many degenerate works were plundered. Gauguin, Chagall, Klee... Some works were located last year. There was a certain black market for art among many American magnates. That is why I went to Cuba together with a team, to find out the whereabouts of some Gauguin works lost since 38."

"It’s definitely more interesting than winning the Premier." Eren drank from his mug thoughtfully, still amazed. "Was it dangerous?"

"Not much. At least not for me. My job is to see, evaluate and give a verdict, not shooting. Do you think I'm out there drinking Martini and driving an Aston Martin?"

"The idea excites me." The man touched the scar on her face. "And this? I don't remember it. It’s not on the maps that I have of your whole body."

"Then you will have to add it." Mikasa took the cup from him, put it on the table and leaned against him, kissing him calmly and sweetly. For a moment she thought she would never see him again, or maybe he would see her repatriated corpse with a bullet in the head. God! She hugged him and rested her head on his heart. Eren stroked her hair and she trembled at the memory. "It was a shot. I don't know how I'm still alive. I was so lucky..."

"My God," Eren whispered. "Why did you not tell me? Don’t trust me?"

"I know you. Worry wouldn't let you focus."

"Of course not. And now that I know why you left, it will take me a few weeks to recover from my fright. Damn, it hurt so much when you answered my messages as if nothing... I wanted to tell you about my feelings, but you always talked about trivial issues and I thought you didn't care what happened between us. Why?"

"I was scared. I didn't want to think about you or our plans. What would have happened to all those words if I had died? Look at this scar. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. It happened a few days after arriving. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. A rich man held a clandestine exhibition, I infiltrated and they discovered me. I didn't want to tell you that I love you and then die. I don't do things that way."

"And how do you do it?"

"Like this." Mikasa kissed him again.

#eremika #Eren Jaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #eren x mikasa #zeke jaeger #snk #shingeki no kyojin #AoT #attackontitan #fanfic

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renee-writer · 5 years ago

Text

The Hunter Chapter 37 Jenny

The Hand Fast ceremony was planned for a week later. Jamie prepared by helping Claire learn the Ghaildhig for the vows and by finding and preparing his old kilt. Claire by learning the unfamiliar words and dress shopping. She settled on an old fashioned one with a plaid pattern.

The children are over the moon with excitement at the coming ceremony. They adore Claire and their finally returned uncle and are anxious to see them married.

Ian has his brother-in-law’s dirk sterilized for the blood vow part of the coming ceremony. He had been surprised Claire had agreed to it. He also has the binding cord made in the Fraser colors. All is ready.

A day before the ceremony, there is a soft knock on the door. The family is all gathered in the living room, the children playing a board game as the adults supervised and made final plans.

“I will get it.” Jamie offers. He slips into the foyer and opens the door.

“Hi brother.” She is so much skinner then she was when he had last seen her, five years previous. Her hair is cut shorter and her struggles have added wrinkles to her once smooth skin. But, she was undoubtedly Jenny.

“Christ Jenny! Oh God, we thought you dead.” He finally gets out.

“I almost was. May I please come in?”

“I.. Ah aye.” He steps aside and leads her in. “Wait. I need to prepare then.” He says when they get to the doors of the living room. She nods and he swallows and enters.

“Who was it?” Ian asks. He and Claire had been chatting together and she looks up at Ian's question. At the look on his face, she stands and approaches him.

“Jamie?”

“We ah.. Have a visitor.”

“Where?” Ian looks around as Claire reaches him and wraps her arms around him.

“I told her to wait outside the door.” Wee Jamie looks up from the game. He frowns at the adults. Something is wrong. He moves instinctively closer to his younger siblings.

“Her?”

“Ian, you should send the children upstairs.”

“Oh God!”

“Aye.”

“Jamie, take your brother and sisters upstairs. You can finish the game up there.”

“Aye da. Come guys.” He and Maggie each take an end of the board and walk up the stairs with Kitty and Michael following.

“Jenny?” Ian asks after his children clear the room.

“Aye.”

“God! Okay I guess we should hear wait she has to say.” Ian squares his shoulders and walks over to the doors. He opens it slowly.

“Ian.” She says softly.

“Jenny. Tis' been a while.”

“Aye.”

“Come in.” She walks slowly into the room that used to be the center of her home. She feels like a stranger. She looks around and sees Claire who still holds on to Jamie.

“Hello.” Claire says.

“Hello.” A quizzical look to Ian and Jamie.

“Jenny meet my fiancée, Claire Beauchamp. Claire, my sister Janet Murray.”

“It is nice to finally meet you. I have heard a lot about you.”

“I am sure.”

“Please take a seat Jenny. We have a bit to discuss.” Ian says. She does and the other join her. Jenny folds her hands tight on her lap and looks down on them.

“The bairns? How are the bairns?”

“All well. We sent them upstairs. Thought we should talk first.” She nods.

“I am clean. Have been for six months and five days.” She tells them. “I ken I need to earn your trust.”

“Aye you do. I am glad you are clean.”

“Are you in a program.” Claire the LPN, asks.

Jenny looks up and meets her eyes. “Aye. Have the chips to prove it.”

“That is good.”

“Jenny, before we go any farther, we need to tell you about mam, da, and Willy.” Jamie says. Claire moves closer and takes his hand. He smiles at her.

“Aye. Where are they?”

“In the graveyard.” He bluntly tells her.

“What! How?”

“They were searching for you, in the east end of London. They were asking questions got the wrong persons attention and were executed.”

She stares at him as tears started running down her eyes. No one moves to comfort her.

“My fault! They are dead because of me!”

“I used to believe that. Left here and moved to the states. Lived a hermit's life until Claire pulled me out of it. For five years. But, I don’t believe it anymore. I now know that the only ones to blame are her killers. You are battling an illness Janet, as well as your own demons. I don't blame you. None of us do.”

“I am sorry Jenny. We tried to find you.” Ian adds.

“I was living everywhere. Well, not living, barely existing. Just moving from place to place searching for the next high.”

“What made you get clean?” Ian asks.

“I almost died. Overdosed. I felt myself going. Was seconds away. Woke up in ICU with a blunt doctor telling me I have to get clean or die. I have to decide which. He saw the C-section scar and asked me if I wish to stay here for my child. I broke down, told him I had four. Four that I hadn't seen in years. Begged for help. He got me in an in hospital detoxification program. After I got out of that, I lived in a half way house and program. After six months, I was allowed to come here.”

“You can't stay here. Not yet. We will need more time to trust you. But, if allowed by the program, you can stay in a croft here and get to know the bairns again, under my supervision. As long as you go to meetings, pass drug screens, and the like.”

“Thank you Ian.”

“You are also invited to our wedding, tomorrow.” Jamie adds.

“You are to be married tomorrow?”

“Hand fast. We will be legally married in the States where we are living.”

“You aren’t living here?”

“No, we have a live there. Just came to visit. To get reacquainted with my nieces and nephews and Ian again. I was gone for quite awhile too.”

“I am sorry Jamie. I am so sorry for all the harm I have caused.”

“Would you like to see the children.” Ian asks.

“Oh aye! Please.”

“Let me go get them.” He stands and walks out.

“Congratulations on your wedding brother. I am glad you found your other half.”

“Thank you. I am so glad you are back. I have missed you.” He walks over to her and hugs her. She hugs back, tightly.

“Mam?” She looks at her children. Wee Jamie stands in front of the others.

“My son.” She walks over slowly towards him. “You have gotten so big.”

“Aye. Maggie, Kitty, and Michael, say hello to our mam.” Maggie steps out from behind him followed slowly by the twins.

“My babies! Oh my babies!” They all stands before her but none move closer. They don't know her. The twins only being 18 months and Maggie, three, when they last saw her.

“Mam, da said you were sick. Are you better now?” Maggie asks.

“I am, my love. I am getting better.”

“Good. Will you be staying?”

“Your mam will be here, in a croft, so she can get to know you again.”

“Good. Mam, you want to see my room. Da just repainted it. All of ours.”

She looks to Ian. He nods.

“Yes children. Let's go show your mam what we have done.” He leads them up.

“Oh God Claire! She is alive! My sister is alive and getting healthy.”

“It is a wonderful miracle.”

“Aye, my family is being restored.”

#my writing #modern au #the hunter #jenny #outlander fanfic #outlander fandom

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

Text

Hogmanay Hauntings: A Christmas Carol Crossover

Chapter 1 -- Past: Creideamh

Read on AO3

“No.”

It was a grunt, a growl, a snarl, perhaps all three.

“For Christ’s sake, brother, ye didna even let me finish,” Jenny huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“I didna need ye to,” he snapped. “I’m no’ going.”

“And why no’? If no one is in danger, can ye even think of another reason to no’ go?”

“Ye canna guarantee safety, and ye ken it.”

“Jamie, it’s been four years since Culloden. We havena had any visitors in a year! The villagers said the harassment has lightened considerably,” she reasoned. “The tenants miss their Laird, Jamie.”

“I’m not their Laird.”

Jenny flinched a bit at the coldness. “Aye, I ken. But they do still see ye as such. Ye’re their hero whether ye like it or not.” She paused, moving her hands from her hips and crossing her arms over her chest. “And the tenants arena the only people that feel that way.”

“What d’ye mean?” He was still staring at the dirt between his feet, still refusing to look at her.

“The lad,” she said, her voice softening. “Your lad.”

Your adopted boy.

She had called him that.

“He’s...no,” Jamie said hoarsely. “He isna mine.”

I have no children.

“Christ, Jamie,” her voice regained the bite it had lost. “Try telling that to him.”

“What d’ye mean by such?”

She sighed with exasperation. “Ye’re no’ the only one that lost her.”

He stood up abruptly, propelled by boiling rage exploding in his blood.

“I’ll no’ be intimidated by yer pathetic excuse fer a towering bear.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Claire was — ”

“Don’t say her name.”

“ — the only mother the lad ever knew. And ye ken it well,” she went on as if uninterrupted. “There was no need fer him to be orphaned entirely. Yet here we are.”

Jamie growled with rage, shoving over one of his piles of books, sending them flying all about. He should not have been surprised that Jenny would turn asking about Hogmanay into throwing her into his face.

“Fine,” Jenny said calmly, unaffected by his tantrum. “Suit yourself.” She hiked up her skirts and made to leave, but paused at the entrance of the cave, turning around again. “Christ, Jamie...I ken ye have sorrow. And I only wanted to bring ye a bit of happiness. I ken how much the holiday meant to ye when we were bairns. And it’s the grandest party we can afford since the rising.”

Jamie was momentarily seized by guilt, remembering the sad holiday they’d had last year. After Caitlin. Jenny had been grief stricken nearly to the point of no return, and Ian had suggested they not have a party at all. But she’d picked herself back up and thrown together whatever they could afford at the last minute. For the children, perhaps; they’d already lost enough. But for herself, as well. It had always been important to her, too, Hogmanay. And Jamie knew it.

“I just...I miss my brother. This…” She gestured to his hunched, ragged form, the cramped quarters of his cave, “isna my brother.”

“This,” Jamie bit back bitterly, “exists to keep the rest of ye safe.”

“One night, Jamie. That’s all. But if ye canna bring yerself to quit yer wallowing...suit yourself.” She turned again, and then she was gone.

He stood still for a moment, allowing his sister’s enormous presence to truly leave the cave, his chest tight, his fists clenched.

No, he would not go. Not only was it a threat to their safety, no matter how Jenny insisted that she’d insured there would be protection, but his presence was a blight. He would not bring misery to those he loved by dampening their joy on a night meant for rebirth and celebration.

He had nothing to celebrate, nothing to look forward to in the new year, or any year thereafter.

His future was gone. All that existed was his present, these dark walls, the quiet forest on days where he hunted. And pain. Such...pain.

His future...her future.

For the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her. He thought of them. Four years...his bairn would be four years old. Running around with Jenny’s bairns, a child now, not an infant anymore. Claire would struggle to pick up the child, especially if it grew like a Fraser.

It. He’d never know what to call it.

The months he’d spent in the Bastille, not knowing the fate of his wife or child, trapped in his own mind as much as in his cell...he was living there again. Except this time, nobody would come to his rescue, nobody would enlighten him about his child, tell him it was a beautiful girl, what she looked like…

Ah, my sweet Faith.

And for the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her, too.

Claire and the bairn were not dead, not really. But their loss had felt just as acute as that of his wee lost daughter.

I have no children.

A small scuttling sound jolted him from his reverie, and he sniffled, swiping at the tears on his cheeks.

“Uncle Jamie?”

Christ! How had the bairn…?

“Milord?”

Ah.

The smaller voice belonged to the head of strawberry blonde that bobbed into the cave, blue eyes wide.

“Are ye really no’ coming to Hogmanay, Uncle?” she said, her lips full and drawn into a sad frown.

Jamie was always sinfully grateful for the isolation of his cave. It physically pained him to look at the children. Especially wee Maggie. The red hues of her hair, always accentuated in firelight, were far too much like the copper hair he saw in his dreams, copper hair that only Claire had really seen. He couldn’t bear to look at her, at any of the lasses, and think that Faith would have played their wee games with them, and perhaps so would the new bairn, were she a lass. Were he a lad, he’d be traipsing around wee Jamie and Michael.

If he had his own bairn with him, if he had its mother with him...perhaps it would be different.

But that hair, those eyes, that sweet frown...it was too much.

“No. I’m not.”

His voice was far too short and harsh. She was only seven years old.

“But Kitty and I made ye a gift to give ye at midnight.” She twisted her apron in her hands, swaying a bit.

“Yer Ma will give it to me. Dinna come back here, it isna safe.” His eyes flicked up to Fergus, who’d been hanging back to allow this conversation to unfold. “Ye’re a fool to bring her here.”

“She will not remember,” Fergus said. “She was crying, Milord. I thought — ”

“Ye thought wrong. Quit my sight.”

The wee girl sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. He was wracked with guilt at the sound, at the sight. For a split second, he almost fell to his knees and pulled her into him, whispered into her hair, rocked her.

No, he’d fall apart if he did that, and he’d never be able to put himself back together. He’d never be able to let her go.

“Now, Fergus,” Jamie snarled. He couldn’t bear to listen to her anymore. He couldn’t bear to be confronted with the knowledge that he was incapable of bringing a child comfort. Because all of his children had been stolen from him.

“You are a heartless beast,” Fergus said with great disdain. “I do not want you at Hogmanay anyway.” He stepped forward and took Maggie’s hand. “Come, petit.”

And they were gone.

Aye, lad. I am a heartless beast.

His heart had been gone for four years. Never to return.

——

Jamie was in a deep, heavy sleep. Ian had come by with whisky, not to try and persuade him to come — quite the opposite in fact. He’d essentially encouraged Jamie to get piss drunk alone in the cave, and that was exactly what he’d done. His head had hit the pillow like a stone, and he’d passed out.

A gushing wind roared inside the cave, and it roused him immediately, like a bucket of icy water poured on his head. His eyes shot open just in time to see his singular candle knocked over by the gust, blowing the light out. He lay there in silence for a moment, waiting for the deafening wind to stop. When it did, he counted a few breaths, swallowing thickly.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a deeply ingrained sense of foreboding and dread.

He got up then to re-light the candle; though it was night, sleeping without the light of the moon had always been difficult, even after four years. A candle was a poor substitute, but it had to do.

As he fumbled around blindly, he was aware of something glowing behind him, as if someone had suddenly lit a fire. Yet the color was different, as if the fire were ignited by the moon itself. Brow furrowing, he turned around, and he staggered back at what he saw.

It was a child. A wee lass, barely even reaching the height of his waist. Barely bigger than wee Janet. But she was glowing, like her tiny slip of a nightgown was sewn from strands of moonlight. If Jamie didn’t know any better, he’d say that above her head was a flickering flame. Or maybe it was just her hair...fiery red. Like his.

And her eyes, how they glowed.

Like amber in front of a flame.

Like whisky.

“Hallo.”

She spoke, and her voice sounded like music underwater, like ringing bells in an echoing cave. Far away, yet right in his ear. He jumped at the sound, staggering back again, stumbling until he landed on his rear in his makeshift bed.

“W...what d’ye want…?” Jamie stammered, his eyes frozen and unblinking on the ethereal being. “Are ye...a spirit?”

“Aye,” she said calmly, a placid, gentle smile on her cherubic face. “I was sent to ye.”

“Sent...to me?”

“Aye.” She giggled, and it made his head spin. She was so...sweet. So lovely. Her hair was floating above and around her, never resting on her shoulders or back, like it was floating in water behind her. For the first time, he noticed the wreath of holly she wore atop her little head.

“By who?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He was a devout man; he’d not be tempted by one of Satan’s visions, sweet bairn or no. Yet, there was a lingering paganism in him, the part of him that believed his dreams of Claire were not makings of his own fevered imagination.

“By the Ghost of Hogmanay past,” she said proudly, as if reciting a poem taught to her in her lessons. She smiled, giggling again, and Jamie was overwhelmed by how small her glowing white teeth were.

“The...the what…?”

“She’s a little girl spirit like me,” the wee thing explained. “She gave me this crown of holly berries so I could do her job fer tonight.”

Jamie blinked dumbly, not at all understanding.

“It’s a very rare thing fer the spirits to appear,” she said, again like reciting lessons. “And even rarer that the honor be given to someone else. Like me.”

Jamie swallowed against a painfully dry throat, wracking his brain for what to say. “Why...why’ve they given ye the honor this time?”

She giggled again, and he swore he could feel it fluttering his heart. “Because the mortal they needed to reach was my Da.”

Something pricked him on the skull between his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.

“Da…?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

She nodded, her fiery tendrils bobbing midair, that flame that may or may not be atop her head flickering. She smiled sweetly, beatifically. “It’s me, Da.”

He thought he might faint. Copper hair, her mother’s eyes —

“It’s Faith.”

He lost vision completely for several seconds, but still glowed behind his eyelids, burned into his mind.

Faith.

His eyes opened again, burning and watery. The tears slipped out, unabashed, and a sob tore through him.

“Faith…?” he stammered, making to stand, but falling to his knees on the stone. “My...my Faith…?”

She was still smiling, twirling back and forth like any mortal wee lass, oblivious as to the effect she had on her father.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” he wept, inching forward toward her on the floor. “Christ, ye’re beautiful...I never even dared dream of ye...and here ye are...so bonny…”

She was now in arm’s reach, and he made a desperate grab for her, meaning to gather her in his strong arms and cradle her to his chest, rock her there for hours, never let her go.

But his hands met nothing but thin air, white-hot air, and he fell forward, his palms slapping the stones.

“I’m sorry, Da.”

She said it like she’d been caught eating too many bannocks or tormenting the chickens.

He heaved with shuddering breath, unable to look up at her again just yet after having his heart broken like that. He watched as his tears dotted the stone beneath her glowing feet.

“Mortals canna touch spirits.”

He bit back another sob, swallowing hard. Spirit or no, his daughter deserved better than to see her father completely unravel like this.

“It’s…” He sniffled. “It’s alright, lass.” He picked his head up, daring to look at her again. “It’s enough to...to see ye. To hear yer sweet wee voice.” He sniffled again, breaking out into a smile against his will. “I’ve...I’ve always loved ye, though I never saw ye. D’ye ken that?”

“Aye.” She nodded sweetly. “I ken. And I always loved ye, too.”

He was wracked by another sob, overwhelmed.

“Yer...yer mother…” he stammered. “Have ye…”

“No,” she said lightly. “Ma doesna need me.”

His brow furrowed. It was incomprehensible. How could Claire not need this? How could some powers-that-be decide that a mother need not see her child?

“Doesna need ye…?”

“I ken she misses me. But that’s no’ the same as needing me. That’s what the Ghost of Hogmanay Past said.”

“And why is it that I...need ye? And what’s all this about a Ghost of Hogmanay…?”

“It’s my job to show ye things ye need to see,” she said, that sweet, youthful pride pouring out of her again. “Hogmanay’s past.”

“I...I dinna understand…”

“It’s alright, Da. I’ll just show ye.”

She stooped down, reaching for his hand, and Jamie’s heart leapt into his throat. Perhaps he couldn’t touch her, but she could touch him. The thought almost had him weeping again.

But then there was fiery heat in his left hand, and his guts were in his mouth as the world dissolved around him. He cried out in fright, but there was no sound to be heard above the roaring wind.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, and Faith was no longer holding his hand. He didn’t even see her at first, and the panic that that created was enough to make him completely unaware of his surroundings.

“Faith, mo chridhe? Where are ye? Come back, please…”

He whirled around and was met with a rowdy pair of children running headlong for him, and it was far too late to move out of their way. Much to Jamie’s horror, they ran right through him, as his hands had gone right through Faith.

Christ! Am I dead?

A small giggle.

He whirled around, and there she was, floating, flaming hair, glowing white skin and all.

“Ye’re no’ dead,” she said, shaking her head at his foolishness. “Ye’re...a visitor. But ye’re no’ really here. Everything here has already happened. Ye ken?”

His brow furrowed, and he finally took in his surroundings. He was...home?

But he wasn’t just inside the main house. No...something was different.

The parlor was decked out as Jenny always had it for Hogmanay when they could afford it, but it was far more extravagant than as far back as Jamie could remember. The greenery and the holly and the wreaths and the candles were simply beautiful. It was like stepping into a magical woodland castle, the air drugged with joy and high spirits.

And then he saw them.

“Da? Mam…?” His voice was no more than a choked whisper, and he found his feet bringing him closer to them before he even willed it.

They were whirling around the dance floor, and Jamie sidestepped other couples in vain. It didn’t matter anyway; they danced and twirled right through him. His mother was radiant. He’d forgotten, forgotten how beautiful she’d been, how full of life. And his father...he looked at his mother like he was holding the entire world in his arms. Jamie had forgotten what it was like to look at two people so in love, knowing that he had come from that love, however abstractly he’d known it at that age.

They were both laughing, red in the face from exertion. Jamie could not even keep up with them in following them around the room. He felt inexplicable giddiness bubbling in his chest. He used to watch them whirl around the floor all night, lost in the music of the fiddler accompanied by the laughter of love. Mam used to blow kisses at him and wink, sometimes Da would throw him up on his shoulders, or Jenny, or even both at once, tossing them both over each shoulder like sacks of grain.

“Willie! Lemme! Lemme!”

A piercing, chillingly familiar voice stood out among the throng. Jamie whirled around and completely froze.

That’s me.

Little Jamie was standing there, the tips of his ears red, his face twisted in a ridiculous scowl. He was watching two other children dancing clumsily, a little girl twirling around the finger of her partner.

“Willie…” Jamie breathed reverently, coming closer to the cloister of three children, unblinking, hardly daring to breathe.

“I want tae dance!” Little Jamie protested, stamping his foot. “Lemme!”

“Haud yer whisht!” Little Jenny scolded. “If ye dinna quit yer scowling, I’ll tell Mother to hide yer presents!”

“Jenny,” Willie interrupted. “He’s just a wee lad. Let him dance wi’ us.”

“He’s clumsy!” she protested, little nose wrinkling beneath mirthful, cunning blue eyes.

“He’ll never learn if he doesna get to try.”

Jamie crouched down nearby, watching and listening in awe. There Willie was, protesting about his brother being a wee lad, when he himself was only ten years old. He was wee as anything to Jamie.

And he’d be dead in a year.

“This must’ve been our last Hogmanay all together,” Jamie whispered before he realized he was saying it aloud. He didn’t need to look to know that Faith was standing beside him; he could feel the heat of her fiery presence, could see her glowing from the corner of his eye.

The little Jamie he was looking at was no older than five, Jenny was about seven. Willie would be eleven and dead soon, and his mother would follow in three more years. This was the last time everything had been truly magical during Hogmanay.

“This was...the last time,” Jamie said, unable to elaborate so that his tiny daughter would understand.

Willie finally convinced Jenny to allow Little Jamie to hold one of each of their hands, and they twirled and skipped in a circle. Little Jamie’s scowl seemed to transfer to his sister’s face, apparently unhappy that her nagging wee brother had gotten his way, but before long, all three children were laughing and squealing, tripping over each other in glee.

“The last time what, Da?” Jamie could not tell if his daughter was genuinely asking, or if she was wiser than she seemed and was trying to get him to reveal the contents of his weary soul.

“The last time we were...together. Happy.” Tears stung his eyes. “Willie was my very best friend, ye ken? I was so young when I lost him that I...I dinna even remember what it was like. But look at me....I’m looking at him like he hung the stars.”

And he was, Little Jamie. He adored his big brother. So did Jenny.

The fiddler ceased that particular tune, and everyone paused to applaud wildly, whooping and cheering. Da made his way over to his trio of wee Frasers. Jenny began hounding him to allow her to dance with him instead of Ma, Jamie began demanding to be sat on his shoulders. To compensate, he reached down with a great playful growl, scooping them up and tossing them over his shoulders as the fiddler started in again. Little Jamie and Jenny squealed their wee heads off as Da fully performed a jig with two bairns on his back, and Ma laughed her head off, taking Willie’s hands and swinging their arms between them.

Before long, the rest of the room took notice of Brian’s absurdity and was cheering him on, and then both of his wee children were sitting atop his shoulders, clinging to each other over his head as he danced. The jig finished and the room erupted again. Eyes leaking with tears of laughter, Ellen took Little Jamie into her arms, kissing his temple and rustling his wild hair as Jenny settled on Brian’s hip. His parents kissed, sweet and chaste and beautiful, and Jamie’s heart felt full and empty all at once.

“This truly was the last joyful holiday we had,” Jamie said with a sense of finality. He could live in this memory forever, forget the suffering that was to come, the fate of his poor brother and mother, the fate of himself all those years later. He wanted to fold himself into that loving embrace of that family of five, to meld himself with his five year old soul and live this night forever and ever.

“It wasna the last one, Da,” Faith said gently.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt a tiny, delicate hand grasping his again, and before he could speak the panicked protest on his lips into existence, his family was melting away in a whir of color, and the deafening wind was back. Jamie’s frightened cry made no sound, lost to the howling wind.

Colors began leaking back in around them, dimly lit and getting brighter by the second. It was like watching a painting being created right before his eyes, all around him. Then the parlor was back, the Hogmanay decorations all in their place, but just the slightest bit different. Jamie frantically whipped his head around, completely disoriented. His eyes took in a crowd gathered around a dancing couple, and he weaved in and out of them, apparently forgetting that he could just walk right through them if he wished. His heart soared, ready to find his mother and father again, but his breath was taken away at what he saw instead.

Jenny was grown now, hair long and flowing and tied back with a bow, her face bright and beaming, hands clasped with…

Ian.

He was laughing just as heartily, twirling and skipping and dancing right in step with Jenny.

Both of his legs.

Jenny was a young woman, clearly in love with the man that would be her husband, so this must have been…

“The last holiday before...” Jamie breathed reverently. “Before…everything.”

Before Fort William, before Da, before Ian’s leg was taken.

Before Claire.

“Mhmm.” Faith nodded in confirmation, swaying ethereally to the music. “Auntie is very bonny, aye?”

It took Jamie a moment to register her words, entranced as he was by the sight of his sister’s joy. So much had been lost, her brother, her mother. She’d become the woman of the house before she could even see over a washtub. Far too young. Yet, here she was, glowing, radiant.

She’s already stronger than I’ll ever be.

He smiled then, nodding. “Aye, lass. She’s bonny.”

He’d been so blind! How on earth hadn’t he seen the way his sister looked at his best friend? Where was he now that he hadn’t seen this, hadn’t heard the crowd whispering about what a bonny match they’d make someday?

A whooping roar sounded behind him, and Jamie whirled around, following the sound into the dining room, where he laughed out loud at what he saw.

Murtagh and his father were tossing back mugs of whisky and so was…

Himself.

It was not the same as looking at himself as a bairn; it was much stranger. It was so clearly him, yet it wasn’t at all. He was so young, this Jamie. So foolish; present Jamie could tell. He had that stupid glint in his eye, like he was seconds away from doing something foolish at any given time. The crowd roared again as the three men — or, rather, two men and the lad — slammed their mugs down. A drinking game of sorts.

“Aye, I remember,” Jamie breathed, laughing. “Da is about to drink me under the table!”

He’d passed out that night, so hell-bent on drinking more than his father and godfather that he hadn’t taken into account exactly how much he’d been consuming.

“I was sick as a bloody dog the next day,” Jamie went on, still laughing to Faith. “Da wouldna let it go fer weeks. Jenny didna even seem to notice, didna nag me as she would ha’ to see me in such a state. Her mind was elsewhere, I reckon.”

Jamie threw a look over his shoulder into the parlor, finding Jenny still bounding about the room with Ian, joined now by other couples. Jamie looked back again, watched as his father slapped younger Jamie’s back ruthlessly, causing him to sway, and causing the crowd to laugh raucously.

Then there was Da, beaming bright as young-and-in-love Jenny was.

Jamie had seen with his own two eyes how much losing his mother had crumbled his father. They were the loves of each other’s lives, there was no getting around it. Brian lost a piece of his heart when Ellen died, after having already buried a piece of it with Willie. Jamie knew the pain of losing a child, and he knew the pain of losing his wife.

And yet there he was, his father.

None could deny that there was always a quiet sadness about him after Willie, after Ma. But then he tossed his head back, howling with laughter as his son stumbled again, and Jamie’s heart twisted.

He carried on.

He looked back at Jenny again upon hearing her laugh, a shrill, shrieking sound that he’d always hated as a lad, but that now brought him such aching joy.

Certainly growing up too quickly had hardened her; it was unavoidable. And the horrors to come, Randall harming her, the rising and its aftermath, losing her own child...they’d all make her harder still. Jamie could see it in their present.

But she carried on.

Jamie did a visual sweep of the dining room, practically overflowing with food and decoration, every painstaking detail in place to give joy. He was certain that Jenny had done her best to recreate such a thing in her present day, for her children, for Fergus.

For him.

The way his Da had carried on and continued to make each holiday special after losing pieces of his heart had instilled itself into his daughter as well.

And it had missed Jamie himself.

Jamie was overwhelmed with crushing shame, tears stinging his eyes. His eyes bore into his father, so full of life, into himself so full of life. So young.

“Da...I…” he rasped, swallowing thickly. “I’ve failed ye. I have. I’ve failed Jenny, and Ma. I ken ye’d be disappointed in the man I’ve let myself become.”

How far had he fallen that such strength had eluded him? What was so bloody pathetic about him that he could not carry on as his father had set the example for his entire life?

“D’ye see, Da?” A little voice jolted him out of his reverie of self pity, and he finally tore his eyes away from the pillar of a man that he still loved fiercely, still missed with a painful ache.

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Aye, lass...I see. I see that I’m a...a bloody coward. A puir excuse fer a son.”

“Oh, Da,” Faith’s wee voice was tinged with sympathy, as if she were coddling one of her dollies.

Jamie sniffled, then turned to look down at his beautiful wee daughter. “The spirits sent ye to humble me, then?” he said, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice for her sake. “To remind me how far I’ve fallen from this time of great joy?”

“Aye...I think so.”

Had he not felt sick to his stomach, Jamie might have laughed at her sweet innocence.

“But,” she went on, “all is not lost.”

She grasped his hand again, and Jamie threw a desperate glance back at his father, tossing his head back in laughter again; the last time he’d ever see him until the Eternal Kingdom.

The lights, the music, the laughter, and the joy all faded away like melting wax until the cave molded back into existence around them. His candle was still turned over, the only light in the room Faith’s glowing essence. Jamie’s head was spinning, so much so that he nearly forgot what Faith had just said:

All is not lost.

“What...what did ye mean, mo chridhe…? What isna lost?”

She giggled. “All!”

He laughed despite himself, his heart straining in his chest. He knelt down in front of his daughter, his hands physically aching with the need to reach out and touch her, and his heart splitting upon remembering that he couldn’t.

“Cheeky wee thing,” he said softly, his eyes glistening.

“It’ll be alright, Da,” Faith said sweetly. “The other spirits will help ye understand.”

“Others?”

“Aye, I only showed ye the past. The spirits said ye must see the present and future as well.”

“But what...what good’ll it do…?”

She smiled, reaching out to ghost a white hot finger over his nose. “It’ll do all the good in the world, Da. I promise.”

Jamie leaned into her touch, but was met with nothing but air.

“Can ye promise me ye’ll keep yer heart open?” Faith asked, and the room suddenly seemed to get darker.

Her light is fading.

“Faith? Faith, mo chridhe, what’s happening?”

“Promise, Da. Promise that what I showed ye has opened yer heart fer the next spirits.”

She’s leaving.

“Please, lass, dinna leave me…”

“Promise,” she begged, fading dimmer and dimmer.

“Aye,” Jamie choked, a sob wracking through his body. “Aye, my sweet babe...I promise.”

Faith sighed with relief, smiling brightly. “Thank ye, Da.”

“Wait…!”

“I love you, Da.”

And she was gone.

Jamie fell forward onto his hands and knees, sobbing gutturally, every inch of his body alight with the horrible pain of losing her again.

“I...I love you too, Faith.”

The room was entirely black, black as his heart felt now that she was gone. He didn’t bother to light the candle, didn’t even move from his hands and knees as he wept for his lost brother, parents, his poor daughter, and the mother that would never be given such a gift as he had to see her and hear her voice.

Then there was light again; he could see it behind his burning eyelids. He looked behind him. The candle was still turned over, unlit. He turned back around, sitting on his haunches and beholding the next glowing spirit to grace his presence.

He almost fainted.

“...Sassenach?”

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playbucky · 6 years ago

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Protector // 10

Tom Holland, the youngest CEO in London. His parents hire you when there is multiple threats made to him. Tom doesn’t like the idea of someone following him around when he does his work. Having to work around his work, his girlfriend, Zendaya a fashion model and the threats that are becoming more frequent and in more detail. When his life is getting pulled in all directions the only constant in his hectic life is you. Characters – Tom x Reader Word Count – 2472

One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten

‘Frank.’ You said as you turned around, his hair was longer and was mixed with a few grey hairs, he had beard and had aged, the worry wrinkles and crows feet were prominent. ‘Y/N, I would say that it’s a pleasure but we both know it isn’t.’ He said, you tilted your head to the side, raising an eyebrow. ‘Gun.’ He commanded, motioning to it you handed it over. ‘What do you want?’ You asked as he placed it in the waistband of his jeans. He pointed his gun to the stairs, and you started going up them. ‘I want precious little Tommy up there.’ He said as he motioned above you, you continued up the stairs until they stopped and he reached past you, his aftershave invading your senses, as he opened the door. Stepping into the hallway you were greeted by three of your men, two standing at the secure rooms entrance the other against the opposite wall. Their attention snapped to you before their gun were raised pointing them at Frank, but he wrapped an arm around your neck and pressed the gun to the side of your head. ‘Lower the guns or she gets shot.’ He said, your men looked at you, you nodded, and they lowered their guns moving out the way as Frank walked you to the door. ‘You know you can’t get in.’ You pointed out to him. ‘No but you can.’ He said, you didn’t move. ‘What makes you think I’ll let you in?’ You asked him, he scoffed. ‘You have three goes before the games over.’ He whispered lowly in your ear as the gun disappeared before there was a loud pop, you lip curled up as you heard the body hit the ground. ‘Two.’ He said, his breath hitting your ear. ‘Open the door.’ He growled, you looked to the camera. ‘Don’t ma’am.’ It was Jeffery, ‘It’s our duty to keep the person safe, even if it means giving our lives.’ He recited the statement, you turned just in time to see his head being flung back before hitting the wall, a trail of red being left behind as he slid down it. ‘One.’ Frank said, your eyes flickered to Taylor, who gave you a nod. Frank raised the gun and aimed it at him, you looked at Jeffery and Ian’s bodies lying on the ground before the image of Michael flashed up. ‘Don’t. I’ll do it.’ You said, Frank dropped the gun and turned to you. you sighed before entering the seven-digit code. As the door buzzed you pushed it, giving time for everyone to move back.

Once it was open Frank pushed you to the side and you stumbled but quickly gained your footing and made your way over to the stand in front of the group. ‘When will you give up?’ He asked annoyed, you smirked at him. ‘You and I both know I don’t give up easily.’ You reminded him. ‘Who are you after Frank?’ You asked him as he smiled evilly. ‘Originally it was posh boy but when I was informed you were running the team, my plan had to be changed to accommodate you, didn’t it doll?’ He asked using the old nickname, that made your skin crawl. ‘Well what are you gonna do about it?’ You asked him, he looked confused before he started pacing and your felt something being slipped into your hand.

As you wrapped your fingers around the rubber handle something was bothering you, and his eyes continued to flicker to something or somebody behind you. ‘How’d you get here?’ You asked breaking the silence, Frank looked at you. You knew he didn’t know the location as it wasn’t listed or stated anywhere. ‘I have my way,’ he teased you tilted your head to the side, ‘isn’t that right babygirl?’ He asked a smirk taking over. ‘It sure is darling.’ Zendaya said, Tom’s head snapped around and followed her as she walked between Charlie and Henry and walked over to Frank. You bit your tongue to stop you getting the group in danger. You winced as the gave each other an exaggerated kiss, Frank dipping her back before they pulled apart with a loud popping sound. ‘Didn’t see that coming.’ You heard a boy mumble behind you. ‘Why’d you come here?’ You asked, everyone turned to you. ‘To collect what’s mine.’ He told you, Zendaya glared at you as she clung onto his arm. ‘Is it me, Tom or her?’ You asked pointing at Zendaya. ‘Because if you came to kill Tom, you’re a lot dumber than you look.’ You said you watched the anger flicker in his eyes. ‘Didn’t your father always tell us to do it with the least amount of witnesses?’ You stated more than asked. ‘By my count there’s thirteen witnesses, plus the cameras.’ You pointed at them, he looked up at them, giving them a clear shot of his face you smirked widely. ‘Your un plus mine, you have twenty-one bullets left.’ You then looked down at the weapons. ‘Sure, you’ve got enough to shot us all, but we have five guns all fully loaded.’ You said, the boys raising their guns as Zendaya looked around the room, all the members standing watching her, as she leaned into Frank whispering something into his ear. He looked at her, his brows furrowed before he glanced aback at Taylor. You search Taylor and knew what he was going to do. You moved your left hand, pushing it back when you heard quiet movement you moved your hand like you were bouncing a ball. Sending a quick glanced over your shoulder they were as far back as they could go and you flipped the knife in your hand before stepping forward. ‘Stay back.’ Zendaya said, grabbing the spare gun and aimed it at you. ‘I’ll give you a helping hand,’ you told her, ‘your safety is still on.’ You pointed out, she clicked it off before pulling the trigger. The bullet went past, grazing your arm. You looked at it before turning back to her and smiled but before you could do anything Frank reached out and grabbed a flashbang, pulling the pin he flung it before grabbing Zendaya’s arm and took off. The loud bag filled your senses, you stopped and bent over as you fought the pain before shaking your head and standing up and took off out the room, heading to the stairs but they weren’t there.

‘Everyone okay?’ You asked, pressing your hand against the graze, blood running through your fingers and down your arm. Your men nodded and you looked at the other who looked confused and dazed. ‘I’m going to medical wing, if anyone’s injured you can come with.’ You told them, speaking louder so they could hear you over the ringing. You turned and headed into the hall taking Taylors radio. ‘This is Alpha one, I repeat Alpha one.’ You said, suddenly feeling a presence beside you, turning you saw Tom walking a couple of steps behind you. ‘We hear you loud and clear.’ The voice came through. ‘Radios are up again, suspects have escaped.’ You sighed, ‘debrief in twenty.’ You said, letting go. ‘Copy that Alpha.’ Came through and you placed the radio on your waist band, listening to the chatter that was coming through as you and Tom walked silently to the medical wing. You leaving droplets of blood as you pushed open the door. Greeting the nurse she guided you to the room that had all the equipment ready. Taking a seat on the bed she got to work. ‘I guess you were right about her.’ Tom said as he glanced at the nurse who was stitching you up quickly. You continued staring ahead before turning to Tom. ‘What?’ You asked. ‘That she didn’t love me.’ He stated, you opened your mouth to say something, but he bet you. ‘I knew she was cheating before she told you that night.’ He told you, you furrowed your eyebrows, ‘she smelt different and became more distant.’ The nurse quickly finished up and cut the thread. She tidied the equipment and left the room. ‘Yeah, well it happens to the best of us.’ You told him, pulling on the sweatshirt as he walked over to the windows, watching the guards search the perimeter. ‘You never told me how you got into this business.’ Tom said, moving away from the windows suddenly feeling exposed. ‘The mob.’ You said not holding it back. ‘As in the Godfather?’ He asked, you nodded. ‘I was sold into them, my mother was an addict and my dad, well I don’t even think he knows I’m alive.’ You told him as he took a seat on the bed next to you giving you some form of comfort. ‘I was used as a trading tool, cause who would suspect a child dealing drugs and weapons.’ You said, glancing to Tom. ‘You’d be tortured if the deal went South.’ You told him, watching as he shook his head. ‘They tie you face down on a table, tied at your wrists and ankles,’ you could feel them burning, ‘They start off small,’ You watched the pain on his face so you changed the subject. ‘But I managed to buy myself back and get out of there.’ You said happily. ‘Bought yourself back?’ He asked confused,. ‘If I didn’t, I would have been stuck in the same cycle of them saying I was done after another job, but never letting me go.’ You explained. ‘Is that how you became one of the youngest CEO’s?’ He questioned, you hummed as you stood up. ‘We were trained in all skills,’ pacing around the room, ‘and one we were done no one wanted us.’ You told him. ‘So I started taking in ex-cons and old army folks and gave them a job.’ You said, noticing your employees signalling and communicating with each other. ‘Who’s Frank to you?’ Tom asked, noticing your tense stance. ‘Is he-‘ Tom trailed off, not wanting to push it too far. ‘Is he- what Tom?’ You asked, already knowing the question. ‘The one who gave you the scars?’ He asked, you let out a long breath before nodding and turned back to him. ‘Yes.’ You answered, he looked shocked.

Tags - @jackiehollanderr @xbabykookiix @vintageroses1014516 @gabriella-superwholock-universe @fuelledbyfanfiction @stat89posts @sspider-parker @a-classy-asian @skjdln @supermoonpanda @they-call-me-le @firedolphin04 @controloffandoms @therealmrshale @princess76179 @be-amaziing

#tom Holland x reader #reader x tom holland #tom Holland imagines #tom Holland fanfiction #tom holland #frank grillo #marvel #CEO! Tom #Ceo!Tom x reader #ceo!tom #ceo!tom x bodyguard!reader #Bodyguard! Reader #Bodyguard au

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tipsoctopus · 5 years ago

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Why we need them back: Leeds belong in the Premier League and this game proves it - opinion

Leeds United needed to stave off a shock relegation back in 2003 as they headed to Highbury to face Arsenal. The Gunners, by comparison, were attempting to defend their Premier League title.

What happened next? The Elland Road club, naturally, pulled a miraculous victory from somewhere and ensured that Arsene Wenger’s men would not be crowned champions.

Indeed, as financial troubles off the field began to take hold of the club, Leeds suddenly plummeted from a Champions League final two years previous and a fifth-place finish the season before to scrapping it out at the foot of the table, eventually finishing in 15th – just five points above the relegation zone.

Leeds still had a number of stars, such as Mark Viduka and Harry Kewell, while Arsenal entered the most important game of that season without several key players, namely Patrick Vieira, Sol Campbell, Lauren and Freddie Ljungberg. Accordingly, a new centre-back partnership of Martin Keown and Oleg Luzhny was formed, with Kolo Toure lining up at right-back.

Leeds’ star duo were quick to take advantage, particularly Kewell. Just five minutes in, a lofted pass from Jason Wilcox was caught on the chest by the Aussie attacker as he powered between Arsenal’s unfamiliar centre-halves in the left-hand channel.

Isolation Busters: The only quiz you need to cure your boredem

One step later and Kewell had rifled the ball on the half-volley, one of the sweetest strikes you’ll ever see in the Premier League, sending it fizzing through the air and crashing into David Seaman’s right inside netting. The Gunners stopper never stood a chance, and Leeds were unexpectedly one-nil up at Highbury.

Arsenal had plenty of attacking quality too in Denis Bergkamp and Thierry Henry, one of the Premier League’s most iconic strike-forces, and hit back after half an hour. A then-incredibly young Paul Robinson could only parry Ray Parlour’s speculative effort from midfield onto the post with his fingertips, leaving Henry to head home a rebound as the ball bounced out. It wasn’t the most stylistic goal Arsenal had scored that season, but a vital one at the time nonetheless.

A few minutes later, Parlour – still searching for his first goal of the campaign – had an effort – almost a carbon copy of the first – cleared off the line by Michael Duberry. And a few minutes after that, a long-ranger from Thierry Henry once again connected with the post. But as Sylvain Wiltord rose to convert the rebound in identical style, the linesman raised his flag for offside.

Arsenal would draw level once again in the second half, after an Ian Harte free kick took knicks of Ashley Cole and Gilberto Silva to trickle past Seaman – marking three seasons in a row in which the then-Ireland full-back had hit the net at Highbury. There was a little more precision to Arsenal’s second equaliser, Robert Pires and Henry combining to unleash the former in the box, where he quickly laid the ball back to Bergkamp, who stabbed it past Robinson with the outside of his boot.

That created a last half an hour in which Arsenal needed to score another to give themselves a chance of catching up with United before the end of the campaign and Leeds knew the home side were there for the taking, a consequence of the questionable defending they’d shown throughout the afternoon and the cauldron of pressure Highbury had become.

There was plenty of to-and-thro, not least including the most beautiful play of the day – Parlour stepping over a lay-off from Henry to allow Bergkamp the chance for a curler from just outside the box, which unfortunately continued to spiral instead of dropping into the top corner of the net – and Henry stepping in from the left, in typical Henry style, before once again booming a shot off the woodwork. It was later followed by a low cross travelling across the six-yard box, going begging.

Then, at the other end, the telling moment came in the 88th minute. Leeds captain Dominic Matteo, finding himself free in midfield for the first time of the afternoon, launched a long pass to Viduka, who was standing in yards of space in Arsenal’s half – too much space in fact; replays would show the Leeds front-man had run back from an offside position.

Nevertheless, Viduka charged towards the penalty area from the right-hand side, beautifully stepped over the ball to place it onto his left foot and curled it past a once again helpless Seaman into the right corner.

In a jackpot or bust fixture for both sides, it was Leeds who came out on top by the skin of their teeth, preserving their Premier League status for another season and clinching their old rivals, Manchester United, the title. Yet, Arsenal fans will argue fate played them a cruel hand that day; the Gunners hit the post four times, had a goal ruled out for offside and were caught by two stunning goals on the counter-attack, alongside a free kick that took a wicked double-deflection.

However, that epitomises why this game should be remembered as a Premier League classic. From efforts cannoning off the woodwork and cleared off the line to controversial offside calls, the difference in every area of the pitch and eventually the scoreline was a matter of mere inches. On another day, this game could have panned out entirely differently.

While Arsenal went on to become the Invincibles in the following season, however, Leeds could resist relegation no longer, plummeting into the second tier from which they are yet to return.

And if anybody doubts why we need Leeds back in the Premier League, they only need to look back at this incredible all-or-nothing game.

They’re a big club bursting with ancient rivalries, and have an incredible knack of showing up on the big occasions.

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eddycurrents · 6 years ago

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For the week of 21 October 2019

Quick Bits:

Action Comics #1016 continues brilliantly integrating Naomi into the broader DC Universe as she helps Superman with the Red Cloud and introduces Batman to her mom. Some very nice double-page spreads in this one from Szymon Kudranski and Brad Anderson, with a nice structure from Brian Michael Bendis in the form of a investigative journalist format.

| Published by DC Comics

The Amazing Mary Jane #1 is an interesting debut from Leah Williams, Carlos Gomez, Carlos Lopez, and Joe Caramagna. It plays upon MJ’s resumed career as an actress and a different turn for Mysterio (I need to go back and read some of his stuff with Kindred, because something seems off).

| Published by Marvel

Amazing Spider-Man #32 begins the next stage in Marvel’s seeming neverending onslaught of event after event with the prelude into the upcoming 2099 thing, including the Marvel debut of Patrick Gleason providing line art. The thing that gets you is that it’s good. Nick Spencer, Gleason, Matthew Wilson, and Joe Caramagna give us an interesting hook in a future and a present that have apparently gone wrong, but we’re really unsure what’s happened yet, just that a seemingly powerless Miguel, back in his original costume, needs to find Peter. It’s compelling.

| Published by Marvel

Amazing Spider-Man: Full Circle #1 is a rather fun and funny story that you really have to go into blind in terms of most content. It’s better to be surprised by the experience. It’s an all-star team of talent including Jonathan Hickman, Chris Bachalo, Gerry Duggan, Greg Smallwood, Nick Spencer, Mike Allred, Kelly Thompson, Valerio Schiti, Al Ewing, Chris Sprouse, Chip Zdarsky, Rachael Stott, Jason Aaron, Cameron Stewart, Mark Bagley, Tim Townsend, Al Vey, Karl Story, John Dell, Laura Allred, Mattia Iacono, Dave McCaig, Tríona Farrell, Nathan Fairbairn, Frank D’Armata, and Joe Caramagna playing a game of exquisite corpse, with each team coming up with a more outlandish cliffhanger for the next team to extricate Spider-Man from. It’s hilarious and incredibly well done.

| Published by Marvel

Angel #6 gives us another perspective on the “Hellmouth” crossover event, as a dejected Spike is tracked down by Fred and Gunn. I really like how Bryan Edward Hill, Gleb Melnikov, Roman Titov, and Ed Dukeshire are continuing the ongoing narrative of the series, while still dovetailing seamlessly into the event. It doesn’t miss a beat on either side of the equation, while still presenting an entertaining story in its own right regardless of whether you’ve read anything previously. All while introducing another player that’s already causing complications. Very nice layered storytelling here.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Aquaman Annual #2 seems to have been oddly scheduled, with a story taking place after the still ongoing “Amnesty” arc in the main series, but Kelly Sue DeConnick, Vita Ayala, Victor Ibáñez, Jay David Ramos, and Clayton Cowles still deliver an entertaining story that plays into the DOOM that’s been spread by the Legion of Doom and Perpetua. There’s an undercurrent of animosity, anger, and paranoia that seems to be fostered by the doom mark hanging in the sky, and this story nicely builds on it.

| Published by DC Comics

Ascender #6 begins the next arc, though it is much more a direct continuation from the story unfolding, with Andy captured and Mila on the run by boat. Jeff Lemire continues to inject humour into this story through the sheer ineptitude from the vampires. It’s a wonder that they can control anything.

| Published by Image

Avengers #25 is the finale to “Challenge of the Ghost Riders” from Jason Aaron, Stefano Caselli, Jason Keith, Erick Arciniega, and Cory Petit. It does a good job of building Robbie back up, while showing more of the cracks that we’re seeing in Johnny Blaze that were shored up in Ghost Rider.

| Published by Marvel

Bad Reception #3 goes hard into more traditional themes around horror and, more specifically, slasher films and it’s absolutely wonderful. Juan Doe is giving us a very compelling mystery here, adding more layers as to why the killer is doing this and adding complications through the different characters. Great stuff.

| Published by AfterShock

Batgirl #40 escalates Oracle’s plans as she launches an offensive on Burnside in order to draw out Batgirl. The art this issue from Carmine Di Giandomenico and Jordie Bellaire gets taken to a completely new level. They layouts and colours are absolutely beautiful.

| Published by DC Comics

Batman/Superman #3 goes deeper into the Batman Who Laughs’ machinations for the Infected and what he’s trying to unleash on the DC Universe. Joshua Williamson, David Marquez, Alejandro Sanchez, and John J. Hill are very nicely executing this story, playing with the darker elements that have been bubbling since Metal, but presenting it in such a way that it’s not a dour, grim and gritty story. Also, though it doesn’t have the branding, this is still absolutely integral to the overall “Year of the Villain” event.

| Published by DC Comics

Black Adam: Year of the Villain #1 aims the infected Shazam at Khandaq at lets explosions ensue from Paul Jenkins, Inaki Miranda, Hi-Fi, and Tom Napolitano. This gives us an interesting look at leadership, humility, and responsibility, seemingly entrenching Black Adam again as a somewhat heroic figure.

| Published by DC Comics

Bloodborne #16 concludes “The Veil, Torn Asunder”, revelling in some of the madness that really grips the world. There’s a real unnerving sense of reality crumbling here, somewhat more horrific than what we’ve seen before. Great art from Piotr Kowalski and Brad Simpson.

| Published by Titan

Contagion #4 gets darker in this penultimate chapter from Ed Brisson, Damian Couceiro, Veronica Gandini, and Cory Petit. Things get even more grim as more and more of the heroes fall and we’re left with a rag tag band of street-level heroes and the z-list ring of magicians.

| Published by Marvel

Count Crowley: Reluctant Monster Hunter #1 is an entertaining debut from David Dastmalchian, Lukas Ketner, Lauren Affe, and Frank Cvetkovic. It revels beautifully in the low budget local network horror programming of the ‘70s and ‘80s, following an alcoholic reporter who gets fired for her behaviour, before taking the job as the host to a b-movie segment like Elvira. Great stuff here.

| Published by Dark Horse

Criminal #9 distances us a bit from Jane and that story in this chapter of “Cruel Summer”, instead giving us a look at what Leo is up to as his father plans a heist and Ricky’s recklessness. It’s a nice side track, giving us a different perspective again along with a seriously messed up robbery. Love the washes for the flashbacks from Jacob Phillips.

| Published by Image

Detective Comics #1014 brings Nora Fries back. And aside from just the extreme lengths that Victor has gone to in order to accomplish it, something about all of this feels very, very wrong and that some new horror is about to be unleashed on Gotham. Beautiful artwork from Doug Mahnke, Christian Alamy, Mark Irwin, and David Baron.

| Published by DC Comics

Dial H for HERO #8 gives us the origin stories for The Operator and Mister Thunderbolt from Sam Humphries, Paulina Ganucheau, Joe Quinones, Jordan Gibson, and Dave Sharpe. There’s a rather neat format for the storytelling here as we get parallel stories of The Operator and Mister Thunderbolt, told forwards for one and then backwards for the other.

| Published by DC Comics / Wonder Comics

Doctor Mirage #3 has some gorgeous and trippy art from Nick Robles and Jordie Bellaire. The oddity in the colours and the impressive layouts and double page spreads really adds to the overall feel and atmosphere of the story, immersing you into the surrealism and unsettling feel that even Doctor Mirage herself is feeling.

| Published by Valiant

The Flash #81 concludes “Death and the Speed Force” from Joshua Williamson, Scott Kolins, Luis Guerrero, and Steve Wands. There are some major ramifications here for the DC Universe as a whole and some interesting developments for Hunter Zolomon himself. Like last issue, it’s pretty fitting that this is being handled with Kolins’ art. Also, we see a bit of what might be happening because DOOM won.

| Published by DC Comics

Ghost Spider #3 keeps things interesting as we get a continued build for two different Miles Warren stories on both Earths-65 and -615, from Seanan McGuire, Takeshi Miyazawa, Rosi Kämpe, Ian Herring, and Clayton Cowles. There’s also a feeling that through school and superheroics across two realities, Gwen might be wearing herself out more than she already has been with a hungry costume, which is a compelling fact that might feed into to forthcoming stories.

| Published by Marvel

GI Joe #2 takes a bit of a step back from the explosions of the first issue, still following Tiger, but in a much more introspective and measured way as he keeps getting his ass handed to him by Scarlett. Paul Allor, Chris Evenhuis, Brittany Peer, and Neil Uyetake are giving this a very different feel from any previous GI Joe incarnation and it’s very interesting. Some neat twists and some very welcome humour.

| Published by IDW

Hellboy and the BPRD: Saturn Returns #3 concludes this excellent mini-series from Mike Mignola, Scott Allie, Christopher Mitten, Brennan Wagner, and Clem Robins. I quite like this new approach to the historical series, giving a broader view of the previous years. Also, the development of Liz and Hellboy is wonderful, just great character building.

| Published by Dark Horse

Immortal Hulk #25 is very strange. Very, very strange. The lead story is set in the future where the Hulk has become the Breaker of Worlds and everything is slated for destruction. A pair of former lovers are trying to stop him. From Al Ewing, Germán García, Chris O’Halloran, and Cory Petit. There’s a lot of your usual dystopian future stuff, plus sending something back to save the future, but there’s more to this. The set up plays into some of the Kabbalistic themes and ideas that Al Ewing has been using through this series and we get an interesting interpretation of Binah and Chokhmah here. Though it might be more appropriate to consider them as their Qliphoth. Granted, you don’t need to get into any of this to enjoy the comic. Especially since it will appear much more straightforward in the present as the usual team of Ewing, Joe Bennett, Ruy José, Paul Mounts, and Petit reintroduce a familiar evil face.

| Published by Marvel

Josie and the Pussycats in Space #1 is a digital original from Alex de Campi, Devaki Neogi, Lee Loughridge, and Jack Morelli. It’s a pretty damn good reimagining of the characters, putting them on an intergalactic USO tour, and then eventually cranking up the weird and the horror.

| Published by Archie Comics

Justice League Dark #16 is incredible. “The Witching War” continues in this story from James Tynion IV, Alvaro Martínez Bueno, Fernando Blanco, Raul Fernandez, Brad Anderson, and Rob Leigh as Wonder Woman confronts Circe and everything gets doomed. The stakes here feel real, especially as the team continues to fall apart.

| Published by DC Comics

King Thor #2 is as epic as the first issue with Jason Aaron, Esad Ribić, Ive Svorcina, and Joe Sabino seriously bringing the thunder here. The artwork is drop dead gorgeous and the magnitude of the confrontation between Thor, Loki, and Gorr is massive.

| Published by Marvel

Marauders #1 gives us our first look at an X-book in “Dawn of X” without Jonathan Hickman at the helm. It’s really good. Gerry Duggan, Matteo Lolli, Federico Blee, and Cory Petit give us a somewhat more lighthearted approach to some of the concepts, featuring a Kate Pryde who for some reason can’t go through the Krakoan gates, so is recruited by Emma to helm a vessel for the Hellfire Trading Company. It then sets up the more serious element of rescuing mutants who wish to accept Xavier’s offer, but are stuck in hostile regimes. Very nice humour here.

| Published by Marvel

Martian Manhunter #9 rounds the corner for the homestretch, with Steve Orlando, Riley Rossmo, Ivan Plascencia, and Deron Bennett plumbing the depths of one of Charnn’s victims and discovering a bit of a plan for what’s to come. The artwork from Rossmo and Plascencia remains some of the most inventive currently on the stands.

| Published by DC Comics

Middlewest #12 puts together the pieces of where Abel and Bobby have been taken and gives us an introductory glance at the horrible place that they’re being forced to work. Skottie Young, Jorge Corona, Jean-Francois Beaulieu, and Nate Piekos continue to work magic on this story.

| Published by Image

Money Shot #1 is definitely unique. Tim Seeley, Sarah Beattie, Rebekah Isaacs, Kurt Michael Russell, and Crank! give us a story of a group of scientists who turn to making alien porn in order to fund their science projects. There’s humour and a lot of oddity here. Also, alien sex.

| Published by Vault

Punisher Kill Krew #4 sees the Black Knight enlisted to the team as they continue to navigate the Ten Realms to get vengeance for the orphaned war children. The art from Juan Ferreyra is absolutely gorgeous.

| Published by Marvel

Resonant #4 dives into the two new regions of Honcho’s island and the Congregation. It’s interesting to see how other areas are dealing with the waves, even in horrifying ways. The art from Alejandro Aragon and Jason Wordie is incredible.

| Published by Vault

Second Coming #4 sees Sunstar enlist help to find Jesus, while Jesus laments Christians with his new friend Larry in jail, from Mark Russell, Richard Pace, Leonard Kirk, Andy Troy, and Rob Steen. Some very interesting ideas presented here about how a religion can get away from apparent foundational messages. This issue is rounded out by the usual text pieces and short stories.

| Published by Ahoy

Sera and the Royal Stars #4 has us still in the underworld, from Jon Tsuei, Audrey Mok, Raul Angulo, and Jim Campbell. It’s very interesting to see the zodiacals interacting with variations on various deities. Also, Mok and Angulo remind us that they’re an incredible art team. The visual shifts throughout this issue are beautiful.

| Published by Vault

Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader’s Castle #4 gives us a central tale featuring Jabba the Hutt’s extended family and a bunch of disembodied brains, as illustrated by Nicoletta Baldari. We’re also getting to the end of the framing tale from Cavan Scott, Francesco Francavilla, and AndWorld Design and this issue gives us an interesting cliffhanger to take us home.

| Published by IDW

Strikeforce #2 maintains the high level of storytelling from the first issue, continuing to keep us on our toes about this oddball group, and deepens the threat of the Vridai as the team heads to Satana in Vegas. Tini Howard, Germán Peralta, Miroslav Mrva, and Joe Sabino have hit on a winning combination here and it just keeps getting better.

| Published by Marvel

Unbound #1 is kind of a cyberpunk/fantasy series with this first issue focusing on Lukas, a famous hunter who takes on a helper for his current hunt, from Ralph Tedesco, Oliver Borges, Leonardo Paciarotti, and Carlos M. Mangual. There’s some nice world-building here, but the real hook comes later in the story that’s really compelling. I won’t spoil it, but it definitely takes it above what you’d expect.

| Published by Zenescope

Valkyrie #4 unveils a lot more of the context of what happened in the first three issues in a rather interesting way, while bringing back a trio of really old Dr. Strange villains. One of whom will be familiar to moviegoers. Al Ewing, Jason Aaron, CAFU, Jesus Aburtov, and Joe Sabino are telling a very interesting story here with some great twists and gorgeous art.

| Published by Marvel

Wonder Woman #81 concludes “Loveless” and with it G. Willow Wilson’s run on the title, here with Tom Derenick, Trevor Scott, Scott Hanna, Romulo Fajardo Jr., and Pat Brosseau. It’s not bad, progressing with a few changes and setting up Steve Orlando’s incoming arc.

| Published by DC Comics

You Are Obsolete #2 gets creepier, playing up even more of the Midwich Cuckoos vibes and revealing that the kids are actively spying on people, with the implication that they’d use more salacious details to their benefit as potential blackmail. We’re still not entirely sure why anything is going on, but the series is definitely setting up a creepy atmosphere.

| Published by AfterShock

Other Highlights: Absolute Carnage: Lethal Protectors #3, Agents of Atlas #3, Archie vs. Predator 2 #3, Black Canary: Ignite, Books of Magic #13, Fearless #4, Freedom Fighters #10, Future Fight Firsts: Luna Snow #1, Immortal Hulk: Director’s Cut #6, Journey to Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker - Allegiance #3, Kaijumax - Season 5 #1, Lumberjanes #67, Marvel Action: Spider-Man #10, Rat Queens #19, Red Sonja & Vampirella meet Betty & Veronica #6, RWBY #5, Sharkey: The Bounty Hunter #6, Spider-Man: Velocity #3, Star Wars #73, Tony Stark: Iron Man #17

Recommended Collections: Amazing Spider-Man - Volume 5: Behind Scenes, American Carnage, Ascender - Volume 1, Evolution - Volume 3, GI Joe: A Real American Hero - Volume 23, Harrow County: Library Edition - Volume 4, Hex Wives, Infinity 8 - Volume 5: Apocalypse Day, Invisible Kingdom - Volume 1, The Long Con - Volume 2, Naomi: Season One, Spider-Man: Life Story, Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge, Teen Titans - Volume 2: Turn It Up, Wonder Woman - Volume 1: The Just War

d. emerson eddy is not a pineapple.

#This Week in Comics

6 notes · View notes

pajamaplants · 6 years ago

Note

Michael: 1, 3, 4, 7, 11, 12, 14, 16, 19. // Ian: 2, 16, 19. // Charley: 4, 5. // Dahlia: 10, 11. // Rosie: 1, 8. // Bia: 9 (specifically her interactions with Ian before vs. after their breakup). // This is a lot so you don't have to do long descriptions but yeah! Love you lots

sorry for the long post to everyone who isn’t anna, the only one who will know or care about any of these characters......... lol but anyway anna none of these are in the actual book 1 story, it’s all either prequel/flash backs or book 2 stuff (and also i skipped some prompts bc this is already a lot and i want your input, i craaaaave it, love you so much thank you for sending me these and kickstarting a writing mood <3)

Michael

1. Them as a child:

He’d had trouble falling asleep, and now the forest was on fire. Michael had only wanted to go back to the lake shore for a bit, and sit by the waves to settle his racing thoughts, but he’d gotten lost on his way there and wandered down a too dark trail. Narrow flashlight beam the only light a head of him, he prayed he was going the right direction back to his family’s campsite. It was dark and freezing and Michael’s eight year old limbs were getting sore, when suddenly he smelled the thick smoke of burning wood in the breeze. A campfire, he thought. Good, he must be getting close. But as Michael traveled closer a hazy fog surrounded him and the nearby trees, his flashlight beam illuminating the smoke. He saw light ahead, fire glowing through the trees, but no wait, this was much too much flame to be a campfire. Michael stopped walking and watched bright clumps of fire crackling in the underbrush. This is really bad, his tired mind registered. Nervously he tried to move down wind away from the fire, coughing as he went, but the fire grew faster than Michael could walk. He hurried through he underbrush now, chest feeling heavy and head dizzy from inhaling smoke. Suddenly Michael had run himself into a rocky cliff face, the fire sparkling dangerously at his back. What do I do? he panicked. I don’t want to die, please. Michael moved around the rocks until he saw a natural crevice traveling back into the earth. Was that a cave? Fire could burn wood, he reasoned. But probably not stone. He crawled in between the rocks, shining his flashlight as he entered to check it was uninhabited, and saw it went back a few feet. The air in here was clear of smoke and much easier to breathe. Crouching in a small cave wasn’t ideal, but it was better than burning to death. Outside Michael saw the wildfire grow in intensity slowly. As it crawled along bark and dry leaves, a soothing crackling noise came from the charred forest. Tucked safely in his cave, Michael watched, cinders in the air reflecting on spellbound eyes. The blaze passed him by and devoured entire trees, cracking apart branches. Somehow now Michael felt less afraid; the air was warm, the fire’s glow bathing the opening of the cave in a lulling orange gleam. Eventually, Michael fell asleep lying curled in place on the rocks, the wildfire’s presence helping him find sleep better in a cave than back in a sleeping bag in a dark tent. In the morning he awoke, crawled out into the ashy remains damp with smoke, and traveled by the morning light through the destroyed forest until he found a path back to his family.

3. Their parent(s) (ok listen, this post is long enough, i going to just split all the ones i didn’t do here in another part 2 post later okay? so i’ll do this one later)

4. Their laugh: (and i’ll do this one later )

7. Their interactions with their pets, if they have them:

Every night his cat played a game with Josh, a one in which Josh always ended up losing as yet again Cannelle settled innocently on Josh’s chest or kneaded her way to resting on his legs and he felt too bad to disturb her. “Well, once she’s comfortable, what am I supposed to do?” Josh told him once. Now in bed trying to fall asleep, Michael rolled over, and with a lurch his heart beat rose sharply in distress, realizing there was his cat, lying in the same space as his space. The left side of the bed, that had once been Josh’s. The left side that Michael still some how always managed to sleep to the right of, despite the bed being his alone now. Michael pulled his blankets up. “Cannelle, c’mere, c’mon girl.” he called. He’s not there, I’m so sorry, and you can’t understand why, I’m sorry. He apologized silently to the cat. She blinked her brown eyes, then rose, tail in the air, and settled down under the tent of the comforter Michael kept open for her. He stoked her fur for something, anything, to latch on to other than the buzzing ache that settled into his muscles. The first week is the hardest, he’d been told. That’s a lie, he thought. It doesn’t really get easier. Michael counted her exhales, inhales, exhale, inhale, exhales; until his eyes finally closed and he slept.

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink):

Michael stepped casually from the elevator, fidgeting hand needing to readjust the fake access badge clipped to his chest. Bia gave it to him, had it forged for him to blend in better, and Michael appreciated the way eyes never stayed on him long. Down the hospital’s long corridor of drywall-white patient rooms he stopped when he found the one he sought, slipping inside. Michael had read this man’s profile. Daniel Keaton, 25, paralyzed from the waist down, the loss of total lower motor control result of a nasty accident. Bia gave him information on a couple of her patients that were in conditions no amount of surgery would help. Understand me, she had said, when she handed him the ID. I’m not letting you do my job for me, since I am more than capable. But not everything has a cure. The man in the bed looked away from a bland television program, saw the hospital staff badge, brown leather jacket, and the lack of any hospital scrubs and asked, “Hi, are you my new counselor? I don’t feel like talking, sorry.” “No, I’m a... physical therapist.” “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re kinda useless at this point. Maybe you’re in the wrong room but I’m past the point of ever using my legs again, the doctors already told me.” ”I know. There’s a method that might bring you some relief, at least. Will you let me try?” “Knock yourself out.” Daniel sighed, closing his downbeat eyes in resignation. Michael carefully helped Daniel into a seated position in the hospital bed and proceeded to gently knead over the dead spinal nerves of his lower back. The accustomed electric warmth pulsed through Michael’s core, seeping up from his bones into the tissue, a faint glow emanating from the flat pressed palms on Daniel’s back. “Wait,” Daniel said suddenly, registering the strange sensation. “What are you doing?” “Don’t worry,” Michael assured. “It’s safe. This will help.” Daniel looked over his shoulder at Michael, slack jawed. “But... I shouldn’t be able to... why can I feel my legs?” Michael sensed his repair work was finished. He backed up a few steps. “Stand up.” “I can’t.” Daniel helplessly shook his head. “Can’t you?” Michael raised an eyebrow. Hesitantly, Daniel pulled his knees up and then gasped. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, devolving into startled tears as he did so. “I-I don’t understand. How? What are you?” “Just a man trying to help.” “What’s your name?” Michael held a finger to his lips. “Lie back in bed, Daniel. When asked, say it was a miracle recovery. You never saw me. Take care.” Before speechless Daniel could utter a question or thank you, Michael left the hospital room.

12. Them in their favorite outfit (i’ll do this one later)

14. Them in an uncomfortable outfit (i’ll do this one later)

16. Them sleepy (i’ll do this one later)

19. Them drunk:

One moment Michael was hiking side by side with Josh on the edge of a hilly forest trail, drunkenly laughing at something, but what he couldn’t remember, Josh had said something funny— when a pile of trail rocks under his feet slid loose and the world hitched violently sideways and down. As if his coordination wasn’t impaired enough by his boozy afternoon at their secluded campsite, all he saw as he tumbled down the leafy slope was green and browns, no sense of up or down. He yelped rolling on his back until he landed face first on something sharp in the creek bed that scorched his lips and face with pain. His hands clamped to his face in shock. Josh shouted something indistinguishably after him, clambering down the side of the ravine a lot more gracefully to the stony creek shore below. Michael covered his left cheek with a large hand, palm pressed to his mouth, and when Josh reached him and moved his hand to see, it came away red. “Tabernac, tabernac, tabernac, Josh cursed under his breath, quickly shedding his coat, stripping away his own t-shirt, and folding it over as a makeshift bandage to the jagged diagonal cut on Michael’s face. Tears welled in Michael’s eyes but Josh was quicker, wiping away the wetness and applying pressure to his stinging split lip. “Look, it was this broken glass right here you fell on. What the fuck is that, someone’s beer bottle?” “Fuckin’ bottle, why’s that there? ‘S not the brand you drink.” “Don’t speak Michel, god you’re sure bleeding a lot,” He paused. “I think we need to go to a hospital.” Michael was preoccupied with the trail of blonde hair traveling up Josh’s naval. He reached out and smoothed his thumb and forefinger down Josh’s naked chest. “You look... good like this.” “Ce n'est pas le moment pour ça!” his boyfriend chided. “Tabernac, you’re lucky that wasn’t your eyes!” “But...” It wasn’t supposed to go like this, they were supposed to be at camp tonight, where Josh would eat those cheap grocery store cherry danishes he liked while Michael would build a good fire for their dinner. Josh gently stood up. “No buts. I know you’re hammered but get up please, you gotta get stitches, there’s no way you couldn’t with a cut that deep,” Michael held Josh’s shirt in place over his copper-tasting mouth and Josh helped him to his feet. “Might even have a scar.” he continued. “Would you, y’still love me if I did?” “Obviously, now c’mon cher, we’ll go back and pack our things and take my bike into Fredericton.”

Ian

2. Them several years past their main adventure: (not gonna do years later, just making this book 2 Ian lmao)

Ian traced wandering lines in his sketchbook, taking his restless energy and channeling it into activity, distraction; one of the little tricks gained in the rehab center. Sobriety had been a bitch to learn, and often Ian flexed a muscle of self control he’s carefully crafted to hold him steady. Temptation tickled the back of his neck in his most stressful moments, and the times Michael left him alone for too long. And Michael, the man who took him to rehab, who brought art supplies to his room at the clinic For something nice to do, he had said. Ian had never loved a set of pencils so dearly. Michael had visited daily, talked with him about his therapy as he sat still in his chair and let Ian draw him. Ian never took Michael’s presence for granted, it was familiar and warm, a stark contrast to the first night they met. Time does strange things to people, Ian decided. But... Ian had to appreciate the change. Michael managed his medicines for him, took care of him with every meal he made for the two of them, and he made Ian laugh even in a dark moment of handling some sticky Orion business. Gradually he’d become his foothold in sobriety, his anchor point. His Michael. Ian shook the idea away. No, Michael’s not mine to have, Ian thought. Michael surely didn’t get the pesky flashes of impossible possibilities like the kind that plagued Ian’s headspace lately, of... more. He disdainfully flipped to a new page in his sketchbook, landed on a page of Michael sketches he’d drawn secretly and quickly ignored them by flipping to a fresh sheet. Ian settled back in his chair, and argued back and forth silently until he’d convinced himself Michael was his friend, his partner in literal crime, and that was enough. That had to be enough.

16. Them sleepy:

Michael returned home in the early morning, only to discover his bed was occupied. Ian was in boxers and nothing else, sound asleep. His partner’s limbs were bent up among his blankets, mouth puffing open slightly whenever he breathed out. Used to seeing Ian sleep in odd positions on the couch, Michael knew the way he tucked his arms under himself in his sleep. But it was strange to see him in here. How often did he come in here, even when Michael was awake? Michael stood silent by the bedside and watched Ian snooze peacefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. Did he miss me? This time, instead of dismissing it immediately, Michael let this thought settle. Michael imagined the way Ian must’ve been up waiting for him, maybe even worrying about him, before coming to open his bedroom door. Michael How Ian must have settled his head, nose against the pillow, and arranged the comforter Michael slept with over himself. And then his hand slipped, drifted downward, sinking down into Ian’s hair. Soft and thicker than he imagined, he combed through the wisps of black lightly enough to not disturb him. Missed you, came a hushed sentiment in his mind. Michael swept the bangs that fell messily over Ian’s forehead when his hand grazed across Ian’s temple. There had been times Michael touched Ian before; when injured pieces were in play and Michael stitched up the wounds. The burst of warmth when fingertips brushed Ian’s skin took him by surprise. Ian stirred from this touch however, and Michael’s hand flew to his side. Extending his arms, green swatches fluttered open; Ian stretched his legs and flopped his head on the pillow. “Hi, you’re back,” he mumbled, words languid like the hand that rubbed at his eye, then curled loosely on the sheets. “Hi,” Michael replied, the way Ian looked up at him striking some tender feeling in his throat. “What are you doing in here?” Starting to understand his indications, Michael saw the light flush of embarrassment rise as Ian rolled into sitting. “Did I fall asleep in here? Sorry man, my mistake. Been pretty tired lately,” he explained, kicking away the sheets and getting clumsily out of Michael’s bed. “I had all the lights off and must’ve walked in here instead of my room. Didn’t think twice, my head just hit a pillow.” “S’alright. You looked comfortable.” Michael smoothed his hand over the blanket and Ian’s eyes followed it. “... I was.” Ian shrugged before sheepishly fleeing the room for his own bed.

19. Them drunk:

“Hey, buddy.” A firm hand nudged Ian's shoulder. “Buddy.” The faint sounds of a bar swam to his ears; the clink of glasses against wood, quiet voices agreeing to go home, chairs scraping and the drone of a late night talk show host floating somewhere above him. “C’mon Ian, you need to get out of here.” With a soft sigh that left his chest slowly, he knew where he was. He sat on a stool in his favorite local dive, his body glued to the counter in his usual spot. Graham the bartender, to his credit, waited a full minute before poking Ian in the shoulder. “Mm, can I get one to go?” Ian’s voice came muffled from the crook of his arm. The sticky countertop was a comfortable place to lay his head and he liked the support it gave his loose limbs which currently felt curled up on each other. “No,” the barkeep responded firmly. “And you’re not staying the night… I’ll call you a cab.” Ian’s head popped off the counter, fingers clinging to the glass in his hand. “Don’t have to.” Ian stood, waiting for the lightheaded rush that made his knees wobble to pass before knocking back the dregs of his screwdriver and slipping a few crumpled bills under his glass. “Someone’s coming to get you?” Graham asked. Ian basked in the heat lingering in his throat, he swallowed. “H’yeah, sure.” He waved off the question with a flip of his hand and ambled outside.

Charley

4. Their laugh:

Samuel pulled through the discount rack, casting coat hanger after coat hanger aside flippantly and frowning. “Why’s this all ugly?” she lamented. Charley shrugged, back against the wall, eyes trained on the crummy mall clothes outlet across the way from the display window of theirs. They did this as part of their job sometimes, building profiles. It helped understand daily routines a target had and was the best way to learn potential vulnerabilities. “Oh, now this is good,” Samuel piped up. “I should get these Dahlia for her next birthday.” Charley turned and saw her considering a set of women’s pajamas, with blue penguins printed on the pants and another pudgy penguin on the shirt with a speech bubble saying ‘Out Cold’. Charley took one look at the pajamas and burst out laughing. “Are you fuckin’ kidding?” he snickered, gesturing. “These? With these cute little bastards on them? Are we thinking of the same woman?” He deemed Dahlia maybe a little too serious and brooding. “She could use these, I hate seeing her going to sleep in just whatever outfit she’s got on. She actually would like something goofy like this, she just doesn’t say so.” Samuel held the shirt and flipped flopped the long fleecey sleeve, before then using it to wave to Charley. He chuckled and checked his watch. “You’d know better than anybody, I suppose.” “There’s a lot of things about Dahlia you don’t know.” “Really?” Charley asked interested, hands busy tying long black dreads into a bun at his neck. “Care to share with the class?” Samuel shook her head. “I don’t betray her trust like I promised I wouldn’t betray yours.” Aside from the very first time, he thought. Samuel hadn’t broken her promise to him since. “I respect that,” Charley rolled his shoulders and glanced over into the clothing store opposite the one they stood in. An unassuming young man with green sneakers had just entered it.“Spotted him. Do your thing.” he said to his partner. The two watched him moving around the counter of the neighboring store. “He’s late for work,” Samuel said. “That’s why he’s rushing. He’s nervous his manager might be annoyed with him... here she comes. And he’s very attracted to his boss, he’s thinking about her...” her nose crinkled. “I’m not relaying that.” Samuel watched the manager cross her arms as the man blabbered on. “She thinks he’s nothing but a tiny-dicked idiot. Got him.” she concluded and Charley laughed again.

5. Their crying:

Charley sat across from his partner Samuel at a cafe table in Ireland. His panic had brought them far across the ocean, further than he meant to travel but Charley chalked it up to stress and a need to just run. Their mission to hunt a certain target ended successfully with the target’s death, but included the death of an innocent bystander. Just thinking about it made Charley’s guts coil. He fucked up bad this time, he lost control and a man lost his life because of the mishap. “You’re still learning control over your power, you did not abuse it, the reins slipped from your hands. An accident, Charley. That’s all it was.” He wiped a stubborn tear from the crease of his eye. Samuel’s brow furrowed. “You don’t need to be brave in front of me,” she murmured, reading the shame and denial of his emotions from his mind. “I’m not like him.” Charley blinked his chestnut eyes, the sour rise that made his nose tingle bringing more tears as he thought of the man who had turned him this way. His partner saw through him like tissue paper, and she saw the replaying memories; the way his face had looked, the reason he hated to let anyone see him cry, and the way that the innocent man had been knocked below to his death. He reached for her ivory hand and she took it supportively, politely looking to the far end of the cafe while Charley mopped his brow with a cloth napkin, the older man’s torso shaking with low rumbles and sniffs. A couple other lunch goers nearby looked in their direction a few times, but left them undisturbed. “... We need to see Meissa.” Samuel said finally. Charley wiped his eyes once more looked morosely at his untouched scone. “What do I tell her?” “The truth.” she suggested, wrapping her coat a little closer to her. “I’ll vouch for you, I saw them both die. The other man was not supposed to be there. It’s unfortunate, yes, but we live in the present and must go on.” Charley thought that seemed a bit harsh. “It’s survival,” Samuel added gently. “You had to change to survive and here you sit. I survived the bear trap of my childhood and here I sit. This doesn’t end here,” She retrieved her wallet and left some money on the table. “Ready? We’ll make it through this too.” Charley nodded, took a deep slow breath to collect himself. Then Samuel placed her hands in his on the table and the two vanished from their seats.

Dahlia

10. Their interactions with an enemy/rival

Dahlia kept certain rooms in her house well furnished and comfortable, and others purposefully devoid of distractions. She was leaning against her desk in such a room now, desk and a single bookshelf holding some of her dream journals the only objects beside bare floor and walls, with of course, the projection system. Projected on the walls all around her was a calming cloudy ocean scene with the horizon stretched before her. She lit a cigarette, smoke curling bright in the projection light. She glanced at her watch. The chair and the man tied to it materialized a half second later. Dahlia didn’t bat an eye. Charley stood behind the chair, palms flat on the grizzled older man’s shoulders. “I appreciate the trouble,” said Dahlia. “I know you could’ve handled him alone.” “No trouble, and thank Sammy, she lured his greasy ass into the motel room. In fact, thank her yourself.” He disappeared and within five seconds he reappeared, this time hand in hand with Samuel. Her peacock blue heels clicked on the hardwood as she moved concentric circles around the man in the chair. “Still out cold, I’m impressed Charley-boy.” “Pleasure, I’ve been practicing my right hook. It’s nice to test it out on this freak. A five year old kid, that’s sick.” he shook his head. ”Good work both of you,” Dahlia hummed approvingly. “Now we wait.” “Mind if I bounce?” Charley asked. “Gotta teach my class in an hour.” “Go right ahead. Just be back here after for disposal.” Charley nodded and vanished. Dahlia coolly regarded the unconscious man, puffing on her cigarette, lost in thought. Samuel silently watched Dahlia thinking. Samuel became a usual presence to Dahlia in this way, like a friend sitting beside her on a windowsill, simultaneously looking out the same window as herself, seeing the same vivid world outside. At last, the large man stirred, opened his bleary eyes. “The hell?” he groaned, then his eyes fell on Dahlia, then Samuel. “Who are you people? Where the fuck did you take me, you pasty bitch?” Dahlia didn’t waste time. “Mr. Clark, you don’t know me and I certainly don’t care to know you, but I do know what you did to the five year old son of your next door neighbors.” The man tried to wiggle out of his restraints. “You’re crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, let me fucking go!” “Take a look around Mr. Clark, this is the last room you’ll ever see.” “What?” he froze mid struggle and stared at Dahlia, who tapped her cigarette calmly in a porcelain teacup on the table. He looked to Samuel whose pallid eyes pierced daggers in his direction. “You’re not serious... I’m not scared of some dumb bitches.” “He’s lying.” Samuel contributed. “Choosing to pursue that particular disgusting fantasy of yours was the wrong choice.” Dahlia said, then extended her arm into the blue projection light and Samuel handed her a bottle of liquor from a shelf. Dahlia uncapped it and poured amber liquid into a large glass. “What are you doing?” Mr. Clark clamored as Dahlia approached him with the glass. “I swear I didn’t do it! I never touched the boy!” “It’s tacky to lie,” Samuel commented, watching as the man squirmed in place. Dahlia grabbed him by the hair, yanked his jaw up in the air, and poured the cup down his throat. The liquid spilled over the mans chin and down his shirt as he spluttered and fought, but Dahlia made sure some went down his throat. “How does it feel to be robbed of your agency?” Dahlia asked, stepping back. “I want you to meditate on that while the darkness comes. To feel like– what was his name?” she asked the man. “Evan Watson.” Samuel supplied when the man kept quiet. “Yes, like Evan when you raped him.” The man coughed out a sting of curses at Samuel and Dahlia, but the words quickly subsided until both the room and the man were still. Dahlia shuddered and turned away. “You know I like to stay distant and trust you and Charley and the others to handle this part,” she said to Samuel. “But I hated the dreams I saw. The ones with kids are the worst.” “You don’t need to explain to me, I’ve seen the way it hurts.” “Right.” Her friend’s view into her mind let Samuel understand best, but that didn’t stop Dahlia from wanting to explain things to her anyway. I appreciate you Sam, she thought. In all the ways you help me stop these people. I’d be lost without you. Samuel smiled her pearly teeth at Dahlia and Dahlia wished then that she could also see into Samuel’s innermost thoughts.

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink)

Dahlia was an early riser, and like clockwork every morning she went to her chair on the front porch and smoked under the morning sun. But this spring morning she waited to receive her brother visiting for Passover, and this morning’s cigarette was interrupted by the arrival of Michael and his boyfriend Josh with suitcases in tow. She ran down the steps to hug her brother, and then shook Josh’s hand, thinking he somehow wasn’t what she was expecting. Not that she had any big expectations but she wanted only the best for her brother. She thought he was ordinary but handsome, with a wide friendly smile, crooked at the edges. He looked eager but nervous as Dahlia introduced herself. “So you’re the mysterious Canadian man my brother’s been dating huh? Good to finally meet you. I hope you’ve been keeping him out of trouble.” Josh laughed, a bright pleasant sound. “I’m studying criminal justice actually, if anyone will be keeping him on the straight and narrow it’s me.” His accent was noticeable and musical, and Dahlia saw Michael’s eyes shining as he glanced over at Josh. Her brother looked proud and happy she realized, happier and younger looking than when she’d last seen him. “Good, well we have some lovely matzo brei mom made on the stove, you’re welcome to it for breakfast.” “Thank god, I’m starving,” said Josh. “We left too early to have breakfast and nothing at the airport sounded good.” Josh left to go bring their luggage inside, and Michael stayed out on the porch with his sister. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” Dahlia remarked. “What makes you say that?” Michael wondered. Dahlia offered him her cigarette and he took it. “You’ve got a love glow about you.” “I do not have a ‘love glow’,” he grumbled, blowing smoke through his nose. She laughed and took the cigarette back. “No, but seriously, you look really happy with him, not like with anyone else before. Seems like the real deal.” “Maybe. I hope so. I want mom and dad to like him.” He’s serious with this guy, Dahlia mused. Her brother caring about his parents opinions? That was a first. “I’m happy you’re home, Mike. And I wouldn’t worry about what mom thinks at least,” she said, peering into the doorway. “Look at her, she’s already fussing over him in there getting him enough on his plate.” Michael chuckled. “Better get in there and rescue him before he’s overfed.”

Rosie

1. Them as a child (i’ll do this one later)

8. Their interactions with their significant other(s), if they have them (the significant other is outta the picture, so you get Rosie and her daughter instead)

Bia clinked her raspberry gin lemonade against her mother’s glass. They sat in a private VIP room at the King’s Throne, celebrating Bia’s acceptance into one of the top medical schools in the country. Rosanne frequented this particular night club for abundance of potential customers and good relations with the owner. They were on their second round of drinks. “To the start of your career! This is all for you sweetie, enjoy yourself.” Rosanne toasted her glass and took a long sip. Bia followed suit. “Honey, I want you to know I’m proud of you.” “Thanks mom.” “I’ve been proud since the first time I held you crying in my arms.” Maybe it was the alcohol, but Bia felt a lump rise in her throat. "Even if... I turned out differently than you expected?” Rosanne set down her amaretto sour. “You’ve surprised me a lot as you’ve grown,” she started. “But never negatively. Never wanted you to work in my trade, and you surprised me by never wanting to follow in my footsteps, by picking medical school and gettin’ accepted. I’ve watched a little boy grow into a wonderful, resourceful, fucking intelligent, brave and beautiful woman. Nothing could make me prouder.” Happy tears dripped down over Bia’s expensive make up but she didn’t care. Her mother pulled her into a hug and Bia let her mascara disintegrate.

Bia

9. Their interactions with their best friend

“Your quiet magical friend told me you were here in rehab. I’m really proud of you for being here Ian.” Bia sat beside him on the edge of his bed in his room at the inpatient rehab center. She looked much healthier now, but a different version of the woman he’d known once, before Phil Lancaster had ever touched her. “Thank you Bia, and you haven’t told anyone else about what Michael can do, have you?” “No, you made me swear.” “Okay, cool.” “But listen I... I’m not the reason you’re in here now, am I?” “What do you mean?” Bia shifted her shoes on the carpet and smoothed her hair. “Well, you and me were trying different shit a lot when we were together and I’d feel terrible if I–” “No,” Ian interrupted. “Trust me, you’re not the reason I’m here. I was an addict before I met you.” Bia sighed, still looking concerned. “Okay, just wanted to apologize for ever turning you onto it.” His time dating her had been comfortable and some brief, needed stability. They spent it trying drugs and having sex, but Ian’s favorite memories had been the late hours of the night when they lay beside each other and she shared stories; these including tales of her life as a surgeon and her wild experience of growing up with a drug mogul mother like Rosanne Madaki. “I’m the one couldn’t stop Bia, and you never forced me. You were one of the few things keeping my head above the water. Taking Xanax was my own choice and so is quitting it.” She smiled meekly. “That’s the spirit.” “So, how have you been recently?” “In constant therapy for... y’know, what he did. There’s no better relief than waking up in my mother’s house and remembering he’s dead and will never be anything but dead. Mom’s barely let me out of her sight, and when she does she has one of her bodyguards tail me around, she thinks I don’t notice.” “She loves you.” “I know, she just blames herself for everything still.” “We’ve all got our struggles,” Ian said patting her arm. “We’ll try and get better together, okay?” Bia nodded and smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

sorry for the long post to everyone who isn’t anna, the only one who will know or care about any of these characters……… lol but anyway anna none of these are in the actual book 1 story, it’s all either prequel/flash backs or book 2 stuff (and also i skipped some prompts bc this is already a lot and i want your input, i craaaaave it, love you so much thank you for sending me these and kickstarting a writing mood <3)

Michael

1. Them as a child:

3. Their parent(s) (ok listen, this post is long enough, i going to just split all the ones i didn’t do here in another part 2 post later okay? so i’ll do this one later)

4. Their laugh: (and i’ll do this one later )

7. Their interactions with their pets, if they have them:

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink):

Michael stepped casually from the elevator, fidgeting hand needing to readjust the fake access badge clipped to his chest. Bia gave it to him, had it forged for him to blend in better, and Michael appreciated the way eyes never stayed on him long. Down the hospital’s long corridor of drywall-white patient rooms he stopped when he found the one he sought, slipping inside. Michael had read this man’s profile. Daniel Keaton, 25, paralyzed from the waist down, the loss of total lower motor control result of a nasty accident. Bia gave him information on a couple of her patients that were in conditions no amount of surgery would help. Understand me, she had said, when she handed him the ID. I’m not letting you do my job for me, since I am more than capable. But not everything has a cure. The man in the bed looked away from a bland television program, saw the hospital staff badge, brown leather jacket, and the lack of any hospital scrubs and asked, “Hi, are you my new counselor? I don’t feel like talking, sorry.” “No, I’m a… physical therapist.” “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re kinda useless at this point. Maybe you’re in the wrong room but I’m past the point of ever using my legs again, the doctors already told me.” ”I know. There’s a method that might bring you some relief, at least. Will you let me try?” “Knock yourself out.” Daniel sighed, closing his downbeat eyes in resignation. Michael carefully helped Daniel into a seated position in the hospital bed and proceeded to gently knead over the dead spinal nerves of his lower back. The accustomed electric warmth pulsed through Michael’s core, seeping up from his bones into the tissue, a faint glow emanating from the flat pressed palms on Daniel’s back. “Wait,” Daniel said suddenly, registering the strange sensation. “What are you doing?” “Don’t worry,” Michael assured. “It’s safe. This will help.” Daniel looked over his shoulder at Michael, slack jawed. “But… I shouldn’t be able to… why can I feel my legs?” Michael sensed his repair work was finished. He backed up a few steps. “Stand up.” “I can’t.” Daniel helplessly shook his head. “Can’t you?” Michael raised an eyebrow. Hesitantly, Daniel pulled his knees up and then gasped. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, devolving into startled tears as he did so. “I-I don’t understand. How? What are you?” “Just a man trying to help.” “What’s your name?” Michael held a finger to his lips. “Lie back in bed, Daniel. When asked, say it was a miracle recovery. You never saw me. Take care.” Before speechless Daniel could utter a question or thank you, Michael left the hospital room.

12. Them in their favorite outfit (i’ll do this one later)

14. Them in an uncomfortable outfit (i’ll do this one later)

16. Them sleepy (i’ll do this one later)

19. Them drunk:

One moment Michael was hiking side by side with Josh on the edge of a hilly forest trail, drunkenly laughing at something, but what he couldn’t remember, Josh had said something funny— when a pile of trail rocks under his feet slid loose and the world hitched violently sideways and down. As if his coordination wasn’t impaired enough by his boozy afternoon at their secluded campsite, all he saw as he tumbled down the leafy slope was green and browns, no sense of up or down. He yelped rolling on his back until he landed face first on something sharp in the creek bed that scorched his lips and face with pain. His hands clamped to his face in shock. Josh shouted something indistinguishably after him, clambering down the side of the ravine a lot more gracefully to the stony creek shore below. Michael covered his left cheek with a large hand, palm pressed to his mouth, and when Josh reached him and moved his hand to see, it came away red. “Tabernac, tabernac, tabernac,” Josh cursed under his breath, quickly shedding his coat, stripping away his own t-shirt, and folding it over as a makeshift bandage to the jagged diagonal cut on Michael’s face. Tears welled in Michael’s eyes but Josh was quicker, wiping away the wetness and applying pressure to his stinging split lip. “Look, it was this broken glass right here you fell on. What the fuck is that, someone’s beer bottle?” “Fuckin’ bottle, why’s that there? ‘S not the brand you drink.” “Don’t speak Michel, god you’re sure bleeding a lot,” He paused. “I think we need to go to a hospital.” Michael was preoccupied with the trail of blonde hair traveling up Josh’s naval. He reached out and smoothed his thumb and forefinger down Josh’s naked chest. “You look… good like this.” “Ce n'est pas le moment pour ça!” his boyfriend chided. “Tabernac, you’re lucky that wasn’t your eyes!” “But…” It wasn’t supposed to go like this, they were supposed to be at camp tonight, where Josh would eat those cheap grocery store cherry danishes he liked while Michael would build a good fire for their dinner. Josh gently stood up. “No buts. I know you’re hammered but get up please, you gotta get stitches, there’s no way you couldn’t with a cut that deep,” Michael held Josh’s shirt in place over his copper-tasting mouth and Josh helped him to his feet. “Might even have a scar.” he continued. “Would you, y’still love me if I did?” “Obviously, now c’mon cher, we’ll go back and pack our things and take my bike into Fredericton.”

Ian

2. Them several years past their main adventure: (not gonna do years later, just making this book 2 Ian lmao)

Ian traced wandering lines in his sketchbook, taking his restless energy and channeling it into activity, distraction; one of the little tricks gained in the rehab center. Sobriety had been a bitch to learn, and often Ian flexed a muscle of self control he’s carefully crafted to hold him steady. Temptation tickled the back of his neck in his most stressful moments, and the times Michael left him alone for too long. And Michael, the man who took him to rehab, who brought art supplies to his room at the clinic For something nice to do, he had said. Ian had never loved a set of pencils so dearly. Michael had visited daily, talked with him about his therapy as he sat still in his chair and let Ian draw him. Ian never took Michael’s presence for granted, it was familiar and warm, a stark contrast to the first night they met. Time does strange things to people, Ian decided. But… Ian had to appreciate the change. Michael managed his medicines for him, took care of him with every meal he made for the two of them, and he made Ian laugh even in a dark moment of handling some sticky Orion business. Gradually he’d become his foothold in sobriety, his anchor point. His Michael. Ian shook the idea away. No, Michael’s not mine to have, Ian thought. Michael surely didn’t get the pesky flashes of impossible possibilities like the kind that plagued Ian’s headspace lately, of… more. He disdainfully flipped to a new page in his sketchbook, landed on a page of Michael sketches he’d drawn secretly and quickly ignored them by flipping to a fresh sheet. Ian settled back in his chair, and argued back and forth silently until he’d convinced himself Michael was his friend, his partner in literal crime, and that was enough. That had to be enough.

16. Them sleepy:

Michael returned home in the early morning, only to discover his bed was occupied. Ian was in boxers and nothing else, sound asleep. His partner’s limbs were bent up among his blankets, mouth puffing open slightly whenever he breathed out. Used to seeing Ian sleep in odd positions on the couch, Michael knew the way he tucked his arms under himself in his sleep. But it was strange to see him in here. How often did he come in here, even when Michael was awake? Michael stood silent by the bedside and watched Ian snooze peacefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. Did he miss me? This time, instead of dismissing it immediately, Michael let this thought settle. Michael imagined the way Ian must’ve been up waiting for him, maybe even worrying about him, before coming to open his bedroom door. Michael How Ian must have settled his head, nose against the pillow, and arranged the comforter Michael slept with over himself. And then his hand slipped, drifted downward, sinking down into Ian’s hair. Soft and thicker than he imagined, he combed through the wisps of black lightly enough to not disturb him. Missed you, came a hushed sentiment in his mind. Michael swept the bangs that fell messily over Ian’s forehead when his hand grazed across Ian’s temple. There had been times Michael touched Ian before; when injured pieces were in play and Michael stitched up the wounds. The burst of warmth when fingertips brushed Ian’s skin took him by surprise. Ian stirred from this touch however, and Michael’s hand flew to his side. Extending his arms, green swatches fluttered open; Ian stretched his legs and flopped his head on the pillow. “Hi, you’re back,” he mumbled, words languid like the hand that rubbed at his eye, then curled loosely on the sheets. “Hi,” Michael replied, the way Ian looked up at him striking some tender feeling in his throat. “What are you doing in here?” Starting to understand his indications, Michael saw the light flush of embarrassment rise as Ian rolled into sitting. “Did I fall asleep in here? Sorry man, my mistake. Been pretty tired lately,” he explained, kicking away the sheets and getting clumsily out of Michael’s bed. “I had all the lights off and must’ve walked in here instead of my room. Didn’t think twice, my head just hit a pillow.” “S’alright. You looked comfortable.” Michael smoothed his hand over the blanket and Ian’s eyes followed it. “… I was.” Ian shrugged before sheepishly fleeing the room for his own bed.

19. Them drunk:

“Hey, buddy.” A firm hand nudged Ian’s shoulder. “Buddy.” The faint sounds of a bar swam to his ears; the clink of glasses against wood, quiet voices agreeing to go home, chairs scraping and the drone of a late night talk show host floating somewhere above him. “C’mon Ian, you need to get out of here.” With a soft sigh that left his chest slowly, he knew where he was. He sat on a stool in his favorite local dive, his body glued to the counter in his usual spot. Graham the bartender, to his credit, waited a full minute before poking Ian in the shoulder. “Mm, can I get one to go?” Ian’s voice came muffled from the crook of his arm. The sticky countertop was a comfortable place to lay his head and he liked the support it gave his loose limbs which currently felt curled up on each other. “No,” the barkeep responded firmly. “And you’re not staying the night… I’ll call you a cab.” Ian’s head popped off the counter, fingers clinging to the glass in his hand. “Don’t have to.” Ian stood, waiting for the lightheaded rush that made his knees wobble to pass before knocking back the dregs of his screwdriver and slipping a few crumpled bills under his glass. “Someone’s coming to get you?” Graham asked. Ian basked in the heat lingering in his throat, he swallowed. “H’yeah, sure.” He waved off the question with a flip of his hand and ambled outside.

Charley

4. Their laugh:

Samuel pulled through the discount rack, casting coat hanger after coat hanger aside flippantly and frowning. “Why’s this all ugly?” she lamented. Charley shrugged, back against the wall, eyes trained on the crummy mall clothes outlet across the way from the display window of theirs. They did this as part of their job sometimes, building profiles. It helped understand daily routines a target had and was the best way to learn potential vulnerabilities. “Oh, now this is good,” Samuel piped up. “I should get these Dahlia for her next birthday.” Charley turned and saw her considering a set of women’s pajamas, with blue penguins printed on the pants and another pudgy penguin on the shirt with a speech bubble saying ‘Out Cold’. Charley took one look at the pajamas and burst out laughing. “Are you fuckin’ kidding?” he snickered, gesturing. “These? With these cute little bastards on them? Are we thinking of the same woman?” He deemed Dahlia maybe a little too serious and brooding. “She could use these, I hate seeing her going to sleep in just whatever outfit she’s got on. She actually would like something goofy like this, she just doesn’t say so.” Samuel held the shirt and flipped flopped the long fleecey sleeve, before then using it to wave to Charley. He chuckled and checked his watch. “You’d know better than anybody, I suppose.” “There’s a lot of things about Dahlia you don’t know.” “Really?” Charley asked interested, hands busy tying long black dreads into a bun at his neck. “Care to share with the class?” Samuel shook her head. “I don’t betray her trust like I promised I wouldn’t betray yours.” Aside from the very first time, he thought. Samuel hadn’t broken her promise to him since. “I respect that,” Charley rolled his shoulders and glanced over into the clothing store opposite the one they stood in. An unassuming young man with green sneakers had just entered it.“Spotted him. Do your thing.” he said to his partner. The two watched him moving around the counter of the neighboring store. “He’s late for work,” Samuel said. “That’s why he’s rushing. He’s nervous his manager might be annoyed with him… here she comes. And he’s very attracted to his boss, he’s thinking about her…” her nose crinkled. “I’m not relaying that.” Samuel watched the manager cross her arms as the man blabbered on. “She thinks he’s nothing but a tiny-dicked idiot. Got him.” she concluded and Charley laughed again.

5. Their crying:

Charley sat across from his partner Samuel at a cafe table in Ireland. His panic had brought them far across the ocean, further than he meant to travel but Charley chalked it up to stress and a need to just run. Their mission to hunt a certain target ended successfully with the target’s death, but included the death of an innocent bystander. Just thinking about it made Charley’s guts coil. He fucked up bad this time, he lost control and a man lost his life because of the mishap. “You’re still learning control over your power, you did not abuse it, the reins slipped from your hands. An accident, Charley. That’s all it was.” He wiped a stubborn tear from the crease of his eye. Samuel’s brow furrowed. “You don’t need to be brave in front of me,” she murmured, reading the shame and denial of his emotions from his mind. “I’m not like him.” Charley blinked his chestnut eyes, the sour rise that made his nose tingle bringing more tears as he thought of the man who had turned him this way. His partner saw through him like tissue paper, and she saw the replaying memories; the way his face had looked, the reason he hated to let anyone see him cry, and the way that the innocent man had been knocked below to his death. He reached for her ivory hand and she took it supportively, politely looking to the far end of the cafe while Charley mopped his brow with a cloth napkin, the older man’s torso shaking with low rumbles and sniffs. A couple other lunch goers nearby looked in their direction a few times, but left them undisturbed. “… We need to see Meissa.” Samuel said finally. Charley wiped his eyes once more looked morosely at his untouched scone. “What do I tell her?” “The truth.” she suggested, wrapping her coat a little closer to her. “I’ll vouch for you, I saw them both die. The other man was not supposed to be there. It’s unfortunate, yes, but we live in the present and must go on.” Charley thought that seemed a bit harsh. “It’s survival,” Samuel added gently. “You had to change to survive and here you sit. I survived the bear trap of my childhood and here I sit. This doesn’t end here,” She retrieved her wallet and left some money on the table. “Ready? We’ll make it through this too.” Charley nodded, took a deep slow breath to collect himself. Then Samuel placed her hands in his on the table and the two vanished from their seats.

Dahlia

10. Their interactions with an enemy/rival

Dahlia kept certain rooms in her house well furnished and comfortable, and others purposefully devoid of distractions. She was leaning against her desk in such a room now, desk and a single bookshelf holding some of her dream journals the only objects beside bare floor and walls, with of course, the projection system. Projected on the walls all around her was a calming cloudy ocean scene with the horizon stretched before her. She lit a cigarette, smoke curling bright in the projection light. She glanced at her watch. The chair and the man tied to it materialized a half second later. Dahlia didn’t bat an eye. Charley stood behind the chair, palms flat on the grizzled older man’s shoulders. “I appreciate the trouble,” said Dahlia. “I know you could’ve handled him alone.” “No trouble, and thank Sammy, she lured his greasy ass into the motel room. In fact, thank her yourself.” He disappeared and within five seconds he reappeared, this time hand in hand with Samuel. Her peacock blue heels clicked on the hardwood as she moved concentric circles around the man in the chair. “Still out cold, I’m impressed Charley-boy.” “Pleasure, I’ve been practicing my right hook. It’s nice to test it out on this freak. A five year old kid, that’s sick.” he shook his head. ”Good work both of you,” Dahlia hummed approvingly. “Now we wait.” “Mind if I bounce?” Charley asked. “Gotta teach my class in an hour.” “Go right ahead. Just be back here after for disposal.” Charley nodded and vanished. Dahlia coolly regarded the unconscious man, puffing on her cigarette, lost in thought. Samuel silently watched Dahlia thinking. Samuel became a usual presence to Dahlia in this way, like a friend sitting beside her on a windowsill, simultaneously looking out the same window as herself, seeing the same vivid world outside. At last, the large man stirred, opened his bleary eyes. “The hell?” he groaned, then his eyes fell on Dahlia, then Samuel. “Who are you people? Where the fuck did you take me, you pasty bitch?” Dahlia didn’t waste time. “Mr. Clark, you don’t know me and I certainly don’t care to know you, but I do know what you did to the five year old son of your next door neighbors.” The man tried to wiggle out of his restraints. “You’re crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, let me fucking go!” “Take a look around Mr. Clark, this is the last room you’ll ever see.” “What?” he froze mid struggle and stared at Dahlia, who tapped her cigarette calmly in a porcelain teacup on the table. He looked to Samuel whose pallid eyes pierced daggers in his direction. “You’re not serious… I’m not scared of some dumb bitches.” “He’s lying.” Samuel contributed. “Choosing to pursue that particular disgusting fantasy of yours was the wrong choice.” Dahlia said, then extended her arm into the blue projection light and Samuel handed her a bottle of liquor from a shelf. Dahlia uncapped it and poured amber liquid into a large glass. “What are you doing?” Mr. Clark clamored as Dahlia approached him with the glass. “I swear I didn’t do it! I never touched the boy!” “It’s tacky to lie,” Samuel commented, watching as the man squirmed in place. Dahlia grabbed him by the hair, yanked his jaw up in the air, and poured the cup down his throat. The liquid spilled over the mans chin and down his shirt as he spluttered and fought, but Dahlia made sure some went down his throat. “How does it feel to be robbed of your agency?” Dahlia asked, stepping back. “I want you to meditate on that while the darkness comes. To feel like– what was his name?” she asked the man. “Evan Watson.” Samuel supplied when the man kept quiet. “Yes, like Evan when you raped him.” The man coughed out a sting of curses at Samuel and Dahlia, but the words quickly subsided until both the room and the man were still. Dahlia shuddered and turned away. “You know I like to stay distant and trust you and Charley and the others to handle this part,” she said to Samuel. “But I hated the dreams I saw. The ones with kids are the worst.” “You don’t need to explain to me, I’ve seen the way it hurts.” “Right.” Her friend’s view into her mind let Samuel understand best, but that didn’t stop Dahlia from wanting to explain things to her anyway. I appreciate you Sam, she thought. In all the ways you help me stop these people. I’d be lost without you. Samuel smiled her pearly teeth at Dahlia and Dahlia wished then that she could also see into Samuel’s innermost thoughts.

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink)

Rosie

1. Them as a child (i’ll do this one later)

8. Their interactions with their significant other(s), if they have them (the significant other is outta the picture, so you get Rosie and her daughter instead)

Bia clinked her raspberry gin lemonade against her mother’s glass. They sat in a private VIP room at the King’s Throne, celebrating Bia’s acceptance into one of the top medical schools in the country. Rosanne frequented this particular night club for abundance of potential customers and good relations with the owner. They were on their second round of drinks. “To the start of your career! This is all for you sweetie, enjoy yourself.” Rosanne toasted her glass and took a long sip. Bia followed suit. “Honey, I want you to know I’m proud of you.” “Thanks mom.” “I’ve been proud since the first time I held you crying in my arms.” Maybe it was the alcohol, but Bia felt a lump rise in her throat. “Even if… I turned out differently than you expected?” Rosanne set down her amaretto sour. “You’ve surprised me a lot as you’ve grown,” she started. “But never negatively. Never wanted you to work in my trade, and you surprised me by never wanting to follow in my footsteps, by picking medical school and gettin’ accepted. I’ve watched a little boy grow into a wonderful, resourceful, fucking intelligent, brave and beautiful woman. Nothing could make me prouder.” Happy tears dripped down over Bia’s expensive make up but she didn’t care. Her mother pulled her into a hug and Bia let her mascara disintegrate.

Bia

9. Their interactions with their best friend

“Your quiet magical friend told me you were here in rehab. I’m really proud of you for being here Ian.” Bia sat beside him on the edge of his bed in his room at the inpatient rehab center. She looked much healthier now, but a different version of the woman he’d known once, before Phil Lancaster had ever touched her. “Thank you Bia, and you haven’t told anyone else about what Michael can do, have you?” “No, you made me swear.” “Okay, cool.” “But listen I… I’m not the reason you’re in here now, am I?” “What do you mean?” Bia shifted her shoes on the carpet and smoothed her hair. “Well, you and me were trying different shit a lot when we were together and I’d feel terrible if I–” “No,” Ian interrupted. “Trust me, you’re not the reason I’m here. I was an addict before I met you.” Bia sighed, still looking concerned. “Okay, just wanted to apologize for ever turning you onto it.” His time dating her had been comfortable and some brief, needed stability. They spent it trying drugs and having sex, but Ian’s favorite memories had been the late hours of the night when they lay beside each other and she shared stories; these including tales of her life as a surgeon and her wild experience of growing up with a drug mogul mother like Rosanne Madaki. “I’m the one couldn’t stop Bia, and you never forced me. You were one of the few things keeping my head above the water. Taking Xanax was my own choice and so is quitting it.” She smiled meekly. “That’s the spirit.” “So, how have you been recently?” “In constant therapy for… y’know, what he did. There’s no better relief than waking up in my mother’s house and remembering he’s dead and will never be anything but dead. Mom’s barely let me out of her sight, and when she does she has one of her bodyguards tail me around, she thinks I don’t notice.” “She loves you.” “I know, she just blames herself for everything still.” “We’ve all got our struggles,” Ian said patting her arm. “We’ll try and get better together, okay?” Bia nodded and smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 6 years ago

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RedRightHand I

—

The sun hadn’t crept over the slate roofs yet as the trio made their way down the back lane behind the laundryhouse. Their steps were quick on the cobblestones, and not a word was spoken as they made their way towards the small battered door at the end of the lane. A red tinged lantern sat beside the doorway, and there was only one man sat beside the door, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers.

“Alright boys?” The man asked, voice soft but rough from years of smokes.

The eldest of the group grunted back as the youngest moves over to hand the man three coins for entry.

“Two only, Ian.” “What?” “Two only. Keep the other for your own pocket money, you’re waiting out here.” “But-” “You’re a kid still, ain’t nothing in there for you.”

A stony stare from the older of the talking pair silenced the potential fights from the younger boy as he switched to palm two coins down before plopping onto the spare end of the bench out front.

The other man gave a nod and knocked on the door three times before it opened as the two men headed inside. Fishing a butterscotch from his pocket, he passed it to the boy before taking another drag of his cigarette as the door shut silently again.

Inside the mismatched pair moved along the worn hallway, passing closed doors with deep moans coming from behind them. The eldest, tall, blond and striking, looked bored and disinterested, compared to the shorter brown haired man, who’s fists clenched and unclenched uncomfortably as the duo finally reached the end. Two pairs of blue eyes shared a look and a nod before the older kicked the door open.

“God dammit, Jeffrey.” The elder growled, as both brothers’ shared an exasperated look at the screams of the two whores that leapt off the bed and struggled to cover themselves as the pair entered. Their brother, Jeffrey Visyak, was the only one not to react - remaining in the middle of the bed as if he had no cares whatsoever and no qualms at his brothers’ entrance. “You’re supposed to be doing the rounds.”

“I did my rounds. And I was fitting in two more rounds before I did them again if you’d both leave.” A smirk flashed across the middle brother’s face as he leant forward, undisturbed by his state of undress as he grabbed at one of the two girl’s and pulling her back onto the mattress beside him. His fingers dug in deeply to her thigh, and would be on her skin as purple bruises for the next week by the time he was done if he had his way. Jeffrey’s smirk widened as his eyes flicked between both his brother’s faces. “I know that you don’t quite get the appeal of this any more, runt, but Big Mikey I expected more from you.”

There was a tense moment before the youngest moved like lightening, grabbing his brother’s ankle and jerking him and the whore from the bed. “All we care about is the rounds, and the fight happening at the Green Imp you just left, right now.” Jackson Visyak, the youngest of the three brothers, gave a disdainful look down at his brother before offering his hand to the struggling girl at his feet.

“A fight, hey?” Getting to his feet without a care that he stood starkers in room with an open door, Jeffrey’s angry look transformed into a dark grin. “Should have just said so.”

—

The sounds of the brawl could be heard from two streets away, and the pounding of feet on pavement and whispered calls that the coppers would be on their way soon enough followed the small group as they made their way towards the rundown pub near the smelting houses.

The Faceless Shadow’s domain spread across the whole lower district of Birmingham the last few years under the steely control of Eleanor Visyak while the war raged on on the continent. Since then it had stretched up to touch and cover some of the most respectable institutions in the city limits as the men returned from the war.

The Green Imp was located in one of the worst parts of town, frequented almost exclusively by the smelt factory workers and the cheapest low lives in the city. That a fight broke out practically every other evening meant it was a favourite of Jeffrey Visyak - for its proximity to the who’re houses and the likelihood of blood shed. His brothers usually left handling the Imp to him, and the look of distaste on his little brother’s face as he pushed open the doors was something he truly enjoyed.

“Well well well, whatave we here boys.” His voice rang out over the sound of fists on skin and bodies hitting the creaky floorboards. “Someone started the party without me!”

Those who recognised the voice and were not so clouded by drink or rage, could be spotted scurrying around the edges of the room. The barmen both raised their heads from behind the bar for a moment before disappearing again at the blood thirsty grin that surveyed the room.

A smelter approximately 6"2 who didn’t recognise the new arrivals, who’s blood was up and pumping full of adrenaline turned to throw a punch at the speaker.

Taking the unexpected punch to the chin, the slightly shorter man grinned before he grabbed the smelters arm, tugging him off balance from the drink and force, before crushing the worker’s face into the bar top. A moment later, the closest glass was smashed across the man’s face, shards protruding out of a blood cheek and a punch swiftly following, crushing the shards further into his flesh.

From there, it wasn’t long before the middle of the Shadow’s core family was standing in the centre of destruction - smelters and beggars alike littered around him, bloody, bruised and worn - while he stood laughing cruelly to himself, bloody fists clenched beside his hips before he turned to start in again on a remain, groaning target.

The other two had remained watching patiently, knowing better than to step into the midst of their brother’s bloodlust, before the eldest stepped forwards towards the bar.

Leaning against the bar as the three barmen crouched behind slowly began to rise, Michael Visyak pushed one of the slumped brawlers from the bar to speak with the proprietor, “Send the bill for the furniture to the Shadows.”

The tall blond stood out compared to his younger brothers, favouring their mother unlike the rest of the Visyak siblings, but striking just the same. Although his fair hair separated him from them, both older sons had the same substantial height and broad shoulders from years of brawling, bar fights and hard labour before the war on their side; that Michael also had piercing eyes and a face of stone made him the clear leader that wasn’t to be messed with.

“Any damages you sustained here tonight are yours to tend to,” his voice rang out clear in the quiet pub, the only other noise being the odd thud of his brother’s fists into a whimpering man’s torso. As he looked around the pub once more, Michael added calmly, “All those involved in the destruction of the peace and prosperity of this establishment will be noted, and paid a visit by our esteemed colleagues in the next days. Any with a problem with that, count this as your final warning.”

The odd groan of agreement could be heard as the patrons began shifting to reset tables and chairs around the room, chatter starting up again as those uninvolved started up their card games or approached the bar for another drink. All gave a wide berth to where Jeffrey remained beating one man.

The eldest turned back to the bar and flagged down a drink after exchanging a look with his youngest brother, ready to await the other running out of steam to accompany him back to the home base shortly after.

Dismissed with the nod, the youngest of the infamous Visyak brothers turned and left the pub, not surprised to see a small group of constables and street paddys approaching at a leisurely stroll.

“You boys sort this out already?” The call came out from the inspector at the front of line, taller than the rest of the party by several inches.

“All’s well again in the neighbourhood.” Jackson replied softly, approaching the inspector slowly, and looking over his shoulder at the sound of his brothers leaving. His face formed a polite but indifferent smile back at the other. “Your boys are welcome to head in and see for themselves.”

A flick of the wrist from their commanding officer sent the policemen into the building as the pair stood waiting for the last stragglers to enter.

“How much damage they likely to find?” Inspector William Reynolds queried quietly to the shorter man, blond brow raised as the pair stood back watching the officers move in and out of the establishment.

The other sighed in response, flicking open a pocket watch before tucking it away again. “About this much.” Jackson responded quietly, drawing a money clip from his pocket. Flicking his wrist out towards the other, the money exchanged hands quickly and quietly as had been their habit since both men had returned to the country two years ago. “Anything else I need to know about this week?”

The blond quickly fanned the corners, unsurprised at the impassiveness at handing over as many notes filled the clip before he pocketed them himself. “Heard we’re getting a visit from some special division in the next week. Something about some robbery from a government transport.” William shoved both hands in his pocket as he glanced at the other, trying to determine if there was a reaction or not before shrugging once more as his last few officers emerged from the pub with a couple of hooligans. One of the unlucky punters appeared to have taken a glass to the face from the look of it. “You wouldn’t know anything ‘bout that now, would you Jack?”

Jackson had withdrawn a cigarette while he waited, letting out a long stream of smoke before replying sharply, “Not a clue, Inspector. Not involved with robberies as you know - maybe you should check on the Black Eyes, more up their alley, ain’t it?”

“True that.” Brushing his hands off on his jacket, tugging at the hem to resituate it brashly as his officers began the trek back to the wagons and office, William gave a sharp wave at the group to get a move on. “Well this’ll all be sorted, and enjoy the heads up, Sarge. I’ll let you know if I hear anything more.”

The pair shared a brief nod before parting ways, the uniformed man not really sure what to make of the changes in his old squad leader as they’d restablished themselves in society, but not minding much when his pockets kept getting filled enough to make up a months salary almost each time they ran across eachother.

—

Sunrise had just begun shining through the windows of the kitchen as the family meeting began around the table, slices of toast and cups of tea cooling in the early morning chill. The doors shut carefully between the family sphere and the sound of change counters and coin presses in the main work rooms of the building did little to muffle the noise from outside, as the family were due sat down to breakfast.

Jeffrey kicked back in his chair boredly, one foot thrown up on the edge of the table pushing at the lace table cloth until a smack to the back of the head resounded as the matriach finally sat down. “Christ, Ma, uncalled for.”

“Keep your filthy feet off my laces, and it wouldn’t need to be done.” Eleanor Visyak gave a scowl as she resettled the fabric and poured a dash of milk and whiskey into his tea. For a lady entering her late fifties, the woman could control even the fiercest of her son’s furies with a calm telling off - the only one able to control the worst of his behaviours. “For the hangover so we can talk properly.”

“You’re a goddamn angel, Ma.” The usually hot-headed son gave a wicked smirk as he shifted, drinking his tea in one gulp before refilling it the same.

An unladylike snort came from the doorway that lead to the stairs to the family quarters. “You’re a bloody suck up, Jeffrey.” The youngest of the siblings at just nineteen ambled in, heels clacking on the tiles as she made her way across the room to drop into her own seat. Dark purple satin glowing in the morning sunlight, looking too fancy for a casual breakfast but not at all out of place on Shada Visyak. She batted her eyes across the table with a laugh at the rude gesture she was given back.

The pair were joined shortly after by their brother and nephew; Ian throwing himself into his chair beside his aunt with a cheeky grin. “Aye Shada, why you all dressed up pretty like?” Stuffing his mouth with a slice from her plate, the fifteen year old tugged at a dark curl on his aunt’s head. “Got a John picking you up later?”

“Ian. Don’t call your aunt’s beaus Johns.” The lanky blond dropped into the chair across from the other, looking about the room boredly. He rolled his eyes at the young teen’s antics. “Ma, where’s the last one? Not still at the pipe at this hour is he?”

“I’m here, Michael.” The cold tone cut across the humour of the morning before the final brother joined the rest, glaring back at the elder. Jackson reached for his sister’s full cup with a kiss to her temple in exchange. “Morning sister, looking fine this morning compared to the rest of us.”

“Yes, yes, your sister looks lovely and she’s far too pricey for any of the gents around here. You boys look like you’ve had a night if what I hear is true.” Eleanor pulled the last chair out, sinking in with a knowing look to her boys. “Heard that the coppers showed up to an emptied Imp around 1am last night. Heard your friend was there, Jacky.”

That got a shrug in response as the group settled in for the meeting; Jeffrey chasing his hangover away with Irish tea, Shada joking her way through at the boys’ antics the previous night and fluttering about a movie that night, and Michael and Eleanor speaking in circles about the odds for that weeks races. Unusually, Jackson remained silent and steadfast, sipping his tea and barely reacting to the world around him as the meeting continued.

When the clock struck the hour for the start of the work day, the group got to their feet to start the day. Eleanor waited quietly as the older sons and her lone grandson headed towards the assembled group of men in the backroom before she caught her youngest boy’s arm, pulling him to a stop. The doors slid shut between them and the rest before she let go.

“What’s wrong, Jackson?” “What makes you think somethings wrong, Ma?” “You know what does. Now spill your worries before they get the best of you.”

When the other didn’t reply, Eleanor pushed the other towards the kitchen table again. She leant down to look him in the eye, green in blue, before her voice dropped lower to whisper, “Is this about that special division coming in, Jackson?”

There’s a beat before the other replied, blue eyes widening fractionally for a second before the blank look he kept for dealing with his older brother’s torment since he was young slid back over his face. “How’d you hear about that, Ma? I only found out last night.”

“A lady never tells her secrets, son. This is about it, isn’t it?” Eleanor sucked in a breath, sliding into the seat next to him. “What’s going on, Jacky?”

Brown hair fell forward as he leant heavily onto the table, hands clasped together and supporting his head as he looked out the corner of his eye at the suspicious look from the other.

“Guns, Ma. I found guns.” “Why on earth have you gone and gotten guns? We don’t get involved in gun running, you know that.” “True, but we could. There’s money to be had in it; but I didn’t mean to find them.”

At the slip, the story came out quickly - Jackson being called to help with “collecting” a delivery of whiskey from the back of a river barge that they were short handed to, the cargo container being retrieved and moved to their regular storage before they realised it wasn’t whiskey but machine guns intended for the fighting in Belfast against the IRA, the split second decision to take advantage of the situation and store them somewhere safer for the family - as Eleanor poured the both a splash of whiskey in the used tea cups on the table.

“So what do you plan to do with them?” “Not sure yet - but I’d imagine it’s better we hold them ourselves than them fall into the wrong hands.” “True that, better in our hold than others.” “And perhaps we can think over just why can’t the Shadows take on some new side ventures…” “This about those horses too, isn’t it? Trying to take on all the competition single handed, are you?” “So what if it is?” “What’s your brother going to think about that? Your wanting to bring in more business and noise on the family?”

A look shared between the pair, quiet thought as the noises from the other room continued.

“Why can’t we branch out? Spread the Shadow’s domain across the city some more, Ma? It’s what shadows do afterall.”

—

The storming sound of feet filled the building, pounding upon the stone floors, louder than any given Monday morning. Those handing over from the night shift stuck their heads out of the change room at the noise, those just arrived for the day left steaming cups beside their desks, and those who had heard the whispers of a special operative arriving kept their heads down.

Chief Constable Robert Singer remained at his desk, unintended to interrupt his daily routine before he must. Being a man just a few years shy of retirement, he knew better than to concern himself with the coming and going of those sent from other areas to “clean up the city” or other such rot; and he was not going to allow interference of his morning routine to be changed up by such moves.

There was a rapping on the glass of his office door, alerting him from his aging secretary that he would be interrupted regardless of his wishes soon enough. Every time some hotshot chasing glory or rewards came into the city, he got to watch them swagger in and then run away not long after with their tails between their legs. So far none had managed to break the strangle hold of the Shadow Group, Black Eyed Gang or the powerhouse of the group known as the Catholics upon the city. Chief Constable Singer knew better than to fight them, and as he looked up to see the arrival of Special Investigator Walker and his crew swarm into the police pit through the now opened door.

The dark skinned man, standing just over six feet would have seemed intimidating in any other district with his fine suit and sharp looks; however as Bobby rose to shake hands with the other, he couldn’t find the man formidable off those elements alone. Singer’s lead investigator, his head inspector and several of his sergeants practically dwarfed the man in comparrison, while fine suits were nothing out of the ordinary when the three criminal groups ran around town in finer suits than most would wear on their wedding day.

“Chief Constable Singer, pleasure to make your acquaintence.” The other’s hand shake was firm, and the tone of his words seemed friendly enough; however the wicked smile upon Special Investigator Gordon Walker’s face didn’t reach his cold, dark eyes. “May I speak to the officers, about my purpose of being here and how your men will assist in my investigation?”

“If you must.” “I really must.” “Then I guess you shall.”

Bobby shrugged a shoulder, shuffling past the other to claim his usual spot when such speeches would occur - his own men falling into suit as they settled in for the inevitable claims of clearing out the rabble, resolving the crime rates in their small city, and preparing the steps to achieve such a goal. Most of his men were on someone else’s payroll, however the older man had always ensured an equal balance between the groups vying for power such that he would always hear what the next strike would be, where the next squabble would be, and maintained an equal level of control and vigallence to protect the uninvolved. Whenever a new man would arrive to remake the area, they’d eventually understand the careful balancing act it took to maintain order.

Standing before the crowded room, Gordon Walker surveyed those clumped about the room - clearly split between four different groups, with those from the city itsef split amongst three clear divides while his men stood to the side line, hands held behind themselves at attention.

“Some of you may have heard why my men and I are here now; some of you may not. Some of you may have heard about something, some of you may not. All you need to know is that my name is Gordon Walker, I’m here on behalf of our king to restore order to this once great city.”

Leaning forward upon the desk at the front of the office, he gripped the edges of the desk as he added coldly. “I am a Special Investigator and there is a special investigation to be completed in this city. Those of you who will work alongside my men; will find that the work ethic and morality of our purpose is as close to that of God’s Will as you will ever come into. Those of you who will not work alongside us; you will stand out of our way or you will feel God’s wrath upon you.”

Eyebrows raised around the room from the local officers, and there was an uncomfortable murmur building into a crescendo before Special Investigator Walker added calmly, “This city is a rat infested ship, and our task is to burn them from this vessel before it all sinks under the weight of their bodies.”

—

“Now why is it I’m getting dragged out to some goddamn paddock, Mikey?” The growl from the dark haired man came out almost petulant as the pair entered the last leg of their drive. Jeffrey was reclined back in the passenger seat as much was possible, picking at his nails with the razor blade he and his little gang of enforcers were not for, as they continued. “This is you and the runt’s little endeavour, why is it he’s not here to fall in line?”

“Never know what trouble you’ll get with these Irish gypsies,” The response was as calm and bland as always, as the older man leant forward surveying the paddock fencing as he slowed their arrival. Turning into the marked gate and following the caravan divets up and over the horizon, before stopping near the front of the Irish caravan. “Just keep your tongue in your mouth, Jeff, and I’ll give you the night off.”

“Right, I’ll keep my mouth shut while you jerk the pikey and its horse off, aye?”

As the engine stopped out, the older brother paused a moment before lashing out, hand in the back of the other’s hair and hitting the jaw down against the front window sharply. “There. You can keep it just as tight as that, I don’t want this going south cause you let your mouth run away without your brain.” Twin hisses of anger from both brothers’ bounced around the vehicle before they both got out, the younger rubbing at his jaw still.

From the caravan, a pair of blonds emerged - clearly a father and his young son from the look of them. William Harvelle was known to breed some of the best horses in Ireland, and was said to be exceptionally restrictive with whom he’d sell his stock to. For a pikey; he was young for a loner at just shy of forty and looked rougher than the gypsy families that travelled around the English countryside to the Visyak’s eye. The boy with him must have been his son from the way the two appeared to take after one another, maybe not even Ian’s age yet from how small the kid was. Jeffrey smirked a bit as he and his brother approached to shake hands to notice the kid barely reached his shoulder height, definitely under five-five, but appeared to be a bruiser from the black eye and split lip that he sprouted.

“Harvelle, thank you for meeting with us.” “Heard you lot looking for a horse to win anythin’ and everythin’ you’d throw at it. And that you’re not the type to try and skimp just ‘a ‘cause we ain’t one of your little English lads.” “You’ve heard right. Michael Visyak, that’s my brother Jeffrey. You’ve been writing with our little brother - Jackson - about the beast right?” “That’d be the one, yeah. Joey, go fetch ‘im and get ready to show these boys what our boys can do.”

The boy gave a nod, tugging his cap lower over his forehead at the instruction as he headed around the side of the caravan.

“How many hands it supposed to be?” “This beauty stands a grand 17 - blows your fuckin’ mind what it can do in the right conditions.” “And price?” “Hundred pounds and ten percent of his first two years takings.”

That comment got a roll of Jeffrey’s eyes as he withdrew and lit a cigarette, standing a few feet from the talking pair. Negotiations were not his forte unless it was with a pretty lady about how far up her thighs his hands could go. And he was particularly good at that. Leaving it to Michael to discuss the business, the dark haired man flicked the lighter open and closed a few times before the young boy returned holding the reigns of a great sized beast.

The horse’s wither rose almost a whole two hands above the boys head as he moved the beast towards his father. It was a beauty for sure, and the way it pawed at the ground and threw its head when Michael went through the motions of checking it over, Jeffrey couldn’t help but snort at the thought that it seemed to be just this side of wild same as the glaring little boy.

“Well, how’s it move? The lad any decent to display or we going to need to bring someone else in?” “Joey’s good, aren’t ya? Good to give ya a little show.”

The boy gave another nod, before drawing the beast towards a selection of crates, using the crates height to mount the horse with barely a sign of exertion. At a gesture and a call of “Timpeall na páirce, Joanna, go tapa agus is féidir leat.” in Irish from the boy’s father, the child and beast took off at a break neck speed away from the men towards the horizon.

Clearly the talk of the breeder’s work wasn’t just smoke and mirrors, as both Visyak men let out a whistle of appreciation watching the horse’s progress around the field before circling back towards them. As Michael and William turned to shake hands and headed into the caravan to finalise the purchase, Jeffrey took another long drag of his cigarette watching the rider’s movements as well. The boy was impressive to maintain a hold on the horse at such speeds without a saddle, however as he drew in another drag of smoke Jeffrey choked heavily upon noticing how the approaching rider’s chest bounced far too much with each step for a young boy. The rough housing looks disappeared as the kid’s face shifted into a smile that softened the hard and bruised edges.

Hacking and coughing, a dark thought that of course he’d die choking because of a woman at just the tender age of thirty-one, Jeffrey shot a hand out to steady himself as the rider returned and clambered down from the horse without a care in the world as she moved to clean down the beast. Getting control of himself, he drew himself up to his full height before following what he’d now identified as a short girl around the back of the caravan where she had her shirt sleeves rolled up and her hair down her back rather than tucked up beneath the ratty had she had worn before.

“Impressive riding performance there.” Jeffrey said converstationally, though his tone turned towards suggestive as the girl spun around at him all full of surprise and glares. Leering, he moved slightly closer to where the blonde had been wiping down the beast, “You do much other kinds of riding?”

“Not with the likes of you.” The quip came back, smarting a little as he growled back at her once over of him.

“What do you think the likes of me are? I’m one of a kind.” “That’s what all men say, and then they all end up the same.” “I’d say you’ve never met the likes of me before, sweetie.” “How’s that? Leerin’ at a girl while she’s workin’ isn’t much out the ordinary.” “So you’re a working girl? I know the cost for the horse, but how about the rider?” “You couldn’t afford it.” “Try me.”

The pair had shifted closer as they traded barbs, the girl not backing down one bit from the intimidating height difference as he loomed over her; not backing down as he’d pinned her against the back of the caravan; not backing down when he’d pinched her chin in his hand to stare her down. A lecherous smirk was plastered across his face as he moved his other hand along her arm to pin her wrists back against the wood.

“Just ‘cause your drivin’ ‘round in a shiny automobile, wearin’ fancy suits and from some bigshot family in town don’t mean you’re king of the world, mister.” The girl’s fierce response made his smirk wider, before she tugged herself free and stormed around the side of the caravan across the field.

Jeffrey waited a beat before walking back towards the car, joining up with his brother and the girl’s father as they were shaking hands again.

“Oi, pikey, how old’s the girl and how much for a run at her?”

If the look on his brother’s face could kill, he would have been dead right then; though that could have just been the fist coming at him from the other blond, bringing about a laugh as it landed before the fun started.

—

The clock behind the bar of The Fort was showing it was ten past five already. Ten minutes late for the five o’clock showing and thirty minutes past when she was supposed to meet her beau for the night. Shada Visyak let out a huff as she flagged down the short man behind the bar for a refill of her champagne glass. Harry only kept a few bottles on hand for her sake, given the general clientel at the surrounding tables were more beer or whiskey only drinkers, but she always appreciated feeling special.

Tonight she had expected to feel special. To have a glass of champagne while being told how beautiful she looked. To have a hand held out to help her down from her stool. To be accompanied to a car the other would have driven her around in. To be taken to the movies for Victory and Peace, where he might have slipped an arm around her shoulders. Where she might have even let him rest a hand on her thigh. To be taken to a dinner afterwards and conversed at length about the film and more compliments for her style, her class, her charm. To be driven home and deposited at her door step just shy of 11pm when her brother would usually be rolling out of the house for his rounds. Maybe to even share a kiss against the front door before he departed.

Instead, she was sat on the same bar stool, four glasses into the one bottle and getting sympathetic looks from Harry the Barman.

At the sound of the doors pushing open, she forced herself not to jerk around to see if her date had finally arrived before the familiar tones of her favourite brother cut through the others of the pub. Asking for a bottle of whiskey and moving into the private room near the bar. At least she didn’t need to drink alone if her brother was around.

She slid off of her chair, plumping her hair a little with one hand as she picked up her glass with the other before sauntering after him.

“Jacky, did you get finished with Ma and the boys early tonight?” “Not finished yet, no. You’ll need to get out when the other boys arrive.” “Why?” “Cause Shada, tonights talk isn’t for a lady.” “None of your talks are for a lady but you tell Ma, I’d bet!” “God dammit Shada, I’m not in the mood for this right now. You need to take your fancy champagne and go back out there when the fellas arrive, or I’ll take you out there for you.”

Pouting again, Shada plopped down in the bench seat beside her brother, intent not to leave until she had to. Being the only girl of the family, they all treated her like a princess which she loves, but like glass as well.

“So what’s the topic tonight I can’t find out about?” “Mikey and Jeffrey went up to see a man about a horse. Supposedly it didn’t go as smoothly as it could have.” “Jeff being Jeff again?” “That’s one way to put it, Shada. Another would be that we’re out an extra ten pounds for it on top of the agreed price.” “Maybe you should have sent me along… If they were going to see a man that is.” “Shada…” “I know, I know. Not a task for a lady, gods above we ever enter the twentieth century in this family! You know Ma ran this whole thing while you boys were away? With my help?! I’m not totally useless you know.” “Yes, Shada, I’m aware. How’s this, how ‘bout I take you to see the horse tomorrow. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Agreeing to her brother’s promise and rising as the rest of the boys ambled into the private room - one looking more ruffled but gleeful than he had that morning - Shada couldn’t help the small scowl that graced her features. Raising her own glass to her lip, the brunette looked at her brother out the corner of her eye as she wondered if they would ever recognise that glass can cut too.

—

#AU stories #peakyverse fic

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