#no he’d do what he’d like which is to smash the office and go off in the woods

[daydreamerdrew]

The Hulk! (1978) #26

[uluvjay]

Glory days- S. Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x wife! Reader

In which you ask your husband to fuck you like he did in your glory days

Warnings?; SMUT, p in v, unprotected sex(plz use protection!), oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), dirty talk, ass slapping, degrading, cursing, porn with a small plot, prob many errors & bad grammar 

Part of my 1k celly:)

You blamed the internet for being the reason you were seeking out your husband. The damn tik tok you scrolled upon showing your husband being drowned in champagne by two of his closest friends and then him showing his tongue with his index finger up to the world.

You loved the way Sebastian treated you in the bedroom, there was no doubt about that.

But the video had you missing the RedBull days where he was more wild and would have you pinned against a wall with tears streaming down your face as he spat things at you in German, how he’d tease you for so long you were sobbing and begging for him, the quickies in his drivers room while the entirety of the RedBull team were looking for him.

Finally finding him sat at his desk in the office you snuck up behind him, running your hands down his chest to signal your presence.

“Hi meine Liebe” he smiled taking your hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

“Hi” you greeted back.

Turning around in his chair the man smiled up at you before pulling you onto his lap.

“The girls go down easy?”

“By the second story they were both snoring” he laughed at the thought of his sweet twins fast asleep.

“I’m glad, they love having you put them to bed” you beamed snuggling deep into his chest.

“And I love doing it”

You two sat like that for a minute , his large hand running along your back while he replied to emails he’d been putting off.

“Hey Seb?” Your soft voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Yes darling?”

“Remember the night you won your third championship?” You smirked at the sound of the him taking a sharp breath.

“Of course I do, what about it?” He coughed slightly shifting underneath you.

“Remember how drenched we were in champagne? How you poured it down my chest before licking it up? How you made me come three times in three different ways?”

A cry tore from your throat when his hand slotted in your hair and pulled you from his neck.

“What are you trying to do here Schatz?” He grunted

“I just…We haven’t gone at it like that in a long time, and don’t get me wrong I still love the way you fuck me but I kinda miss us being messy and rough” you spoke looking up at him with his favorite doe eyes.

A growl, an actual growl broke from the mans throat before he smashed his lips against yours, the kiss was hot and sloppy, something familiar but yet forgotten.

His free hand reaching down to grip your hip, pulling you so close you could feel his chest moving in and out against your own.

“Seb” you panted pulling away from his lips.

“What?”

“I need you, please. I need you to fuck me so hard that I don’t remember my own name-like you used to.” You begged the blonde.

Without anymore pleading he slipped his hands under your thighs before standing and making his way down the hall.

“Seb you passed the bedroom” you spoke with confusion.

“I know”

Confusion clouded your mind for a moment until you realized he was opening the door to one of your guest rooms.

“Further from the girls, don’t wanna risk your pathetic noises waking them” he spat, his hands hastily pulling your leggings down.

Slotting himself between your thighs he began trailing soft kisses against the insides of your thighs, lips brushing right past your wet cotton panties.

“Seb, please” you begged.

“Hush Kleiner Hase” he smirked at the yearning whimper that broke from your throat at the name.

His torturing kisses continued along your skin, nipping and sucking along the skin coaxing whines and whimpers from you.

“Sebastian baby-please, I need you” you begged, hands running through his soft and overgrown curls.

“Your the one that asked for this baby, wanted me to take care of like I used to.” He tutted and as much as you wanted to argue he was right.

Sebastian hardly made you wait anymore, usually due to the fact that kids made it hard for you two to take your time.

Finally running his fingers over the elastic of your panties Sebastian hooked a finger in the material and pulled them down your legs.

“So wet for me” breathed, mouth watering at the sight of your dripping folds.

“Oh god seb please” you whined.

Your body was aching for him at this point, wanting nothing more than his body pressed against yours while he fucked you silly and made you come over and over again.

A groan left your husbands throat as he left kisses along your folds, his tongue teasingly running through them. Your body shuddered at the feeling of his mouth finally coming into contact with your cunt.

Your fingers gather his hair in a vice grip, pulling on the locks so hard it had Sebastian whimpering.

“Feels so good Seb” you heaved, body shivering as he ate you like a starved man.

His tongue ran along your folds, moving in multiple different patterns while his nose bumped and prodded against your clit.

Sebastian’s hands pinned your hips down as you attempted to grind against his face, a sharp slap against your skin letting you know to knock it off.

Your thighs shook as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten by the seconds, your moans getting louder and your tugs on Sebastian’s hair getting harder.

“M’ gonna-fuck, gonna cum seb” you cried out.

“Go on pretty girl, cum for me. Want you to cum all over my face.” He encouraged as he slipped two fingers inside you to help guide you to your high.

You arched your back, breath quivering as you came, thighs closing around Sebastian’s head drawing the man even closer to your cunt then before.

Broken sobs escaped your throat as you came down from your high, Sebastian left wet kisses along the skin of your lower stomach while his fingers continued to work you open.

“So pretty Schatz” he cooed in your ear before your body was flipped over and you were placed on your knees with your face shoved into the comforter.

You could feel him shuffling before the warm head of his cock was placed against your folds, teasingly running through the cum and spit covered skin.

Sebastian shuddered as he slipped inside, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there’d be bruises in their place tomorrow.

“My fucking god..” he growled at the way your walls hugged him.

He could hear your muffled cries as he kept up a brutal pace, the sounds of skin slapping mixing in with your shared moans filled the room.

Your breath hitched with every thrust, you could feel every ridge and vain as he split you open. His deeps grunts and growls making you clench even tighter around him.

“Ah-fuck. Seb it feels so good” you whimpered as he placed a foot onto the soft mattress to allow him a deeper angle over your body.

“Yeah? Like when I fuck you like a little slut?” He spat, leaning his body over your back to whisper in your ear.

The man got nothing but muffled cries in return as your body squirmed underneath his, your toes curling in pleasure as he fucked you deep.

“Clenching me so tight” he panted into your neck.

Your breath hitched at every thrust, the heat in your lower stomach getting hotter and hotter by the second.

“Se-oh!-m’ gonna cum” you stuttered.

He smirked at the way your body shook due to his movements, how you cried as his hand came down hard against your plump ass.

“Go on Meine Liebe, come all over my cock like a good whore” he taunted as his thrusts picked up and soon his hand was placed on the back of your head; shoving your face into the mattress.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, body trembling, and toes curling as your climax washed over you. Your entire body shook as Sebastian kept going, his thrusts unforgiving as he chased a high of his own.

Grunts filled the room as Sebastian felt the familiar shiver run down his spine and he came deep inside you, your cunt milking him dry.

He smirked at the sight of your fucked out face when he turned your body over, tear tracks covered your red cheeks as you panted for air.

“So pretty Liebling” he shushed as he ran his thumb along your warm cheek.

“Tha-that was amazing” you laughed as you pulled his body down to press against yours.

“Yeah?” He smirked as he placed kisses along your neck.

“Mhm”

“I’m glad because I’m far from being done with you”

-

[wcnderlnds]

don't look back [part two] | kwon ji-yong (g dragon)

・❥・ summary: after walking out on jiyong, you were heartbroken hiding away in your house until you get an unexpected visitor on your doorstep. ・❥・word count: 1.6k ・❥・warnings: nothing, really! angst and fluff ・❥・ authors note: this is part two to a collab with my best friend and the ultimate g dragon lover @ldydeath <3 PART ONE HERE

Weeks had passed since the last conversation with Jiyong. The second you had given him his ring back, you’d walked away and never turned back. The way he’d treated you, the way he’d talked to you — it wasn’t okay. Maybe leaving had been an overreaction but he had hurt you. Tour was stressful and Jiyong always put so much pressure on himself but all you had wanted was to be there for him. Instead, it had turned into the worst trip of your life. What had meant to be a happy few weeks with the love of your life had turned into you losing him.  There were no words to describe the ache in your heart. It was like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it into little pieces. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece it back together. Only one person could but you hadn’t heard a word from him since that day.

Your friends had told you he was miserable — working himself to the bone so that he didn’t have to think about what he’d lost. The second he stopped was the second he realised his life was worthless without you in it. What could he do, though? He has been awful to you when all you had done was care about him. He didn’t mean it; you had caught him on a really bad day and he’d let his emotions get the better of him. He’d never forgive himself for how he’d treated you.

As the days passed it only became more and more evident to you how badly you needed him. He was a part of you, a part of everything you held so dear and close. It felt like something was missing, emptiness consuming your every thought. The idea of flying to wherever he was and trying to talk to him had floated around in your head but you couldn’t. What if he didn’t want to see you? It could end up like last time and make everything so much worse. Actually, maybe you had done that by giving him the ring back. Now all you could do was sit and get lost in your own pit of self loathing and misery. Time heals all wounds — that’s what everyone said but you weren’t sure it would heal this one.

Cocooning yourself in your blankets on the couch surrounded by all your favourite snacks had become your routine. Thank the stars that work had decided you could keep working from home. There was no way you were in any fit state to go into the office and be face to face with anyone. In fact, when you had come home, you’d taken those first few days off which was unusual for you. There was nothing that usually stopped you but apparently a broken heart could tear even the strongest people down.

There was a knock on the door which caused your head to snap up instantly. Who could that even be? As far as you knew you weren’t expecting anything and most people knew not to bother you right now. The first thought was to ignore it so you kept your eyes glued to the television screen until the knock sounded again. Okay, whoever it was they were being persistent. Very reluctantly, you got to your feet, holding your hoodie – well, it was actually Jiyong’s that you’d stolen weeks ago to sleep in while he was gone – tight to you, the sleeves coming past your hands.

Opening the door, your eyes almost comically widened at the person stood in front of you.

Jiyong.

There he stood, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, shyly glancing at you. All it took was one look at him to know that he was nervous, more so than usual. He was the last person you had expected to show up on the doorstep. Sure, it was your shared place – you both lived there and he could’ve easily let himself in but he still had tour dates left overseas. He shouldn’t be here. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took in his appearance. The dark bags under his eyes showed that he wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t taking care of himself and that hurt more than anything else. All you ever wanted was the best for him despite everything that happened.

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t help the quiet question falling from your lips. 

“...I needed to see you,” he took a step forward, his shaky hands holding out the flowers for you. “I know it’s stupid and flowers aren’t going to make up for everything I said but…”

Gently, you took them from his hand, your fingers lightly brushing against his; that spark that always ignited whenever you touched him shooting through your body. “They’re beautiful.”

Silence fell between you, the air thick with tension. There was so much to say, so many things that had been left unspoken. Your eyes found the ring that he still had on his pinky finger. At least he hadn’t taken it off or got rid of it. 

“I’m so-”

“You can come in. It’s your place, too.”

You didn’t mean to cut him off but you couldn’t hear the words ‘I’m sorry’. Anyone could say them but it didn’t make them true. Actions and words spoke louder than a simple phrase. Turning your back, you headed towards the kitchen to place the flowers down. Once they were on the counter, you were about to grab a vase to place them in but Jiyong’s fingers wrapped around your arm softly, turning you to face him. Your breath caught in your throat as you almost pressed against his chest. It had been so long since you’d been this close to him. Every nerve ending was on fire, it was hard to not reach out and caress him especially with that sad frown plastered on his face.

“Nothing will ever make up for what I said to you and I’m so, so sorry that I acted the way I did. That isn’t me – you know it isn’t. If there's one thing in this world that I know, it’s that I love you. I want a life with you. Everything I have is meaningless without you by my side and I messed that up. I hurt your feelings, I said things that I didn’t mean. I was just… in a bad place. I should’ve talked to you instead of pushing you away but I did the worst thing imaginable. I’ll spend forever making it up to you if I have to,” his words were rushed, quiet. The emotion weighed heavy in them, you could see how much he meant them, how much pain he was in just by the look in his eyes.

“You basically said what I was giving you wasn’t good enough, Jiyong. I was giving you everything and so much more and if that’s not good enough, I don’t know what is. I love you so much but is that enough for you?” Tears had started to fall without you even realising. It only made it worse when Jiyong stepped closer, the pad of his thumb brushing away the tears from your cheeks. “I want to be with you but I need to know that it’s enough. That I’m enough.”

“You are enough. You are more than enough. I’m just an idiot. I was caught up in my own head and letting the bad thoughts win. How you make me feel, what you give to me? It’s always been enough. Please trust me when I say that. I want to be with you. I want a life with you. I want to marry you, give you everything you deserve.”

Knowing Jiyong for as long as you had, you could tell when he was lying and right now? He was more than telling the truth. He was bearing his heart and soul, putting all his feelings out there. Being vulnerable was hard for anyone but especially for Jiyong so to see him standing there trying, it made it a little better. Just a little. There was still a long way to go yet.

“I wish you’d just talk to me when you get those thoughts. Stop hiding in yourself. I’m here for you. I don’t care if we’re in different countries or timezones, you can always call me. I need you to keep being open with me like this. If things are going to work with us again then we need an open line of communication and honesty.”

“I will, I swear from now on, I will. What happened will never happen again. I promise to you, baby. If I ever treat you that way again, I’ll get Youngbae to beat me up.”

That caused you to giggle a little. The tension slowly easing from the room, a feeling of ease once again settling between you. “He is the third best fighter after all.”

Jiyong smiled, a real smile, one of his hands slowly sliding down to rest on your hip. “Does this mean I have another chance?”

“Yeah, I love you Kwon Jiyong but mess up again and that’s it.”

He didn’t say another word but instead he dropped down to one knee, taking the ring off his pinky finger as he held your hand. The stupidest grin was plastered on his tired face as he looked up at you. “Will you marry this stupid idiot?”

“Yes, now get up, you idiot,” you laughed, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his for the first time in weeks. His arms winded around you, pulling you flush against him. A sigh of content passed his lips, his eyes closing as he let himself get lost in you. This was where he was always meant to be. With you and he’d make sure to never, ever mess that up again.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama

[intothedysphoria]

It was expected that moving in together, there’d be some initial teething problems but Steve hadn’t quite thought that Billy was going to break his bubbe’s antique vase with a yo-yo.

Well, in fairness, Steve had seen Billy do far worse. Drop a baseball bat onto a car windshield from a third floor window, vandalising the mayors office, that one time he threatened to establish a nudist cult. Billy lived to shock people and now that they were in a relationship, Steve appeared to be the prime target.

Fucking hell.

The relationship wasn’t exactly public and the moving in wasn’t exactly official, which may have been causing some of the tension. Neil Hargrove would still rock up every night, screaming every word under the sun at Billy but never stepping a foot over the threshold. Because he was a coward, Billy said. But he was still spooked.

Thus, coming to the point where Billy had smashed his bubbe’s antique vase with a yo-yo. Breathing heavily with shards of pottery imbedded deep into his hand. Then he looked up at Steve, audibly gulped and ran for the bathroom.

It took a while to get Billy out. He’d point blank refuse if he was in one of his bad patches, seeming to prefer to simmer in isolation than to turn to help. But Steve was patient and always wore him down. He just had to sit and wait.

Eventually the bathroom door opened with a quiet flick of the lock. Billy’s face was unusually blank, apart from the red rimmed eyes that clearly denoted that he’d been crying. Steve cautiously tried to go in for a hug only to get a grunted “I’m fucking fine Harrington” and an angry teenager barrelling past him.

Which was not exactly ideal.

Steve cleared up the shattered vase on the floor, silently apologised to all his cousins who were still in Romania and knocked on Billy’s door. The groan of acknowledgment made Steve feel like he was good to come in.

What Billy had managed to do was bleed all over the floor and go through about ten cigarettes if the slowly growing pile on the floor was anything to go by. Steve’s offer to clean up his hands got an eye roll but no obvious resistance so he went ahead.

It wasn’t until Steve had managed to create a rudimentary bandage for Billy’s hands that Billy actually looked at him, now appearing more than slightly sheepish. There was a blush slowly rising over his cheeks that looked so genuinely adorable Steve just wanted to kiss it.

Instead he pulled back and asked “you doing ok Hargrove?”

Billy snapped “why the fuck wouldn’t I be” which didn’t exactly bode well for Steve’s plan to sort the situation out and put it to bed.

“Well you know, you seemed kind of upset earlier so I thought I’d ask” Steve had learned over the months of knowing Billy that it was best to not sound accusatory and instead act like it was no big deal.

Billy stayed silent for a few minutes while Steve just waited for him to be ready to form a response until he blurted out “it just pisses me off so much how he treats us. It’s bullshit!”

Steve didn’t need to ask who the “he” Billy referred to was. Instead he set a hand on Billy’s knee in a way that would hopefully be soothing, not annoying and rubbed small circles on Billy’s leg while he breathed.

“I know” Billy looked up quizzically, clearly wondering where Steve was going with this. “I know it’s bullshit and I wish it were different now but it will be in the future I promise. We’re gonna move you back to Cali, Neil’s sorry ass is gonna stay here and everyone who ever hurt you can get fucked. Ok?”

Billy sniffed loudly before nodding an affirmative, then wrapping Steve into his arms, doing what Steve knew he’d swear later wasn’t crying. He then leaned in to give Steve a surprisingly tender kiss on the lips and smacked his ass. Something Steve probably should have expected.

“Come on, let’s go watch Halloween before Munson holds us hostage because we haven’t watched a John Carpenter yet.”

Things weren’t perfect after that. Neil was still an ever looming presence in their lives, Billy still got pissed off and broke shit, they still fought pretty much weekly at least and Steve had expected that. It was what he’d signed up for in dating Billy. But Billy was still out to shock people.

Leaning across Billy’s chest, not dealing with a horror film nearly as well as Billy was but still having a hand gently squeezing his shoulder to make sure he was ok was the best shock Steve had ever been given.

[keyh0use]

We know how well Barry comforts Rafe, but I’m curious if you have written about Rafe comforting him (or trying to, anyways) when Barry cries either openly in front of him or when he thinks Rafe can’t hear/see him? Can’t help but wonder how he’d deal with it

Have I written published pieces about this? Probably...you don't read my stuff and I write too much to even remember what happened in the previous chapter of whatever I'm currently working on, so really your guess is as good as mine. Unfortunately I can never settle on a proper hc for how Barry was brought up; big, loving family who lend support and thrive off physical affection or a broken, abusive one. Which plays a big part in how I think this scenario would go. Regardless, I do make him very emotional because I feel he is underneath all the sarcastic comments, and that his chill persona is only 50% real. But he masks well after so much practice, either from his upbringing or the army or drug dealing.

Rafe doesn't care about some stranger whining about a breakup in the country club bathroom or one of Rose's snobby friends sobbing in the pool house after one too many margs BUT he's not unfeeling or clueless when it comes to those he cares about. I've written and hc that Rafe was responsible for his sisters a lot of the time growing up, mainly Wheezie, because Ward was very untrusting when it came to who he let around his children unsupervised. (In case they revealed something, embarrassed the family name, got a reputation for not looking after his own kids, etc.) So Rafe is a pro at making a slow, calm approach followed by easy questions, picking away at the tension until whoever is ready to let it all out. He'll side-hug and shush softly and then provide solutions, because solving the problem is how he would show he cares.

At least that's what worked with Wheezie when her ant farm smashed on the driveway after show-and-tell (Rafe helped her order a new starting kit and cleaned up the broken glass and dirt) or when Sarah had a project due the next morning she forgot about. (He knew where the key to his father's office was and broke in to raid the supplies closet, then spread out on his sisters bedroom floor to help her glue information cards to Bristol board)

But would Barry appreciate Rafe trying to step in and tell him what he should do? I doubt it. Chances are Barry already knows what needs to happen and is just frustrated and overwhelmed. In the early days he could lash out, act angry in place of hurt and it would be convincing. He would tell Rafe to leave him alone, or he'd rush outside with the excuse to smoke or take a call and hide around back. If Barry cries, there's a chance Rafe would be able to tell, so he practices breathing to calm himself down like he's taught himself to do when he was hiding away in his childhood bedroom or surrounded by dozens of other men in the barracks. (I mean think of when the pogues robbed him. Was his first instinct to hunt down Rafe at the country club and subtly ask for help? Yeah. Is it likely he went home and kicked the now empty bag his stolen money was stuffed in before collapsing on the bed to shed a few tears? Also, yeah. I hc that Barry sends all his spare cash home but even if that's not the case, there goes his car payments and rent/mortgage, and rainy day fund and any potential trip to the emergency room.)

So...I don't know that this would happen before there's something serious between them, because I think Barry would go to great lengths to avoid any potential slip-up with big feelings, besides anger, since men don't tend to think that's an emotion. (And this isn't just about crying, either. He'd fall for Rafe hard and keep his mouth shut, suffer through months of lingering touches and longing stares because like hell is he showing his belly first) I mean I could write it, but I don't think it would be very interesting..

Alright, so they're dating or whatever, and Rafe comes back to a silent trailer. Barry's definitely off work and his truck (or whatever vehicle you want buddy to have) is parked in the usual spot in the makeshift driveway. Fishing poles are by the front door right where they were left last night, worn-out wallet is on the scuffed-up kitchen table, dirty boots are left by the couch. Rafe would creep down the hallway and peek into the cramped bedroom to find Barry on the edge of the bed, face in his hands and shoulders shaking. It wouldn't be loud and whiny and dramatic, frankly, like Rafe cries but it's unmistakable what the older man is doing.

And it would naturally freak Rafe the fuck out because it's such a foreign sight. Rafe would tell himself to approach the older man as if he's dealing with Sarah or Wheezie but abandon that the moment he hears a sniffle, rush in and kneel and try to get Barry to look at him, talk to him, give him one single hint about what's wrong. And Barry would be so embarrassed even though he's been on the other side of this interaction a million times before, tears are dripping off his jaw and his face feels so hot and Rafe is bombarding him with questions. What happened? Did I do something? Is it your mom? Barry, what happened? Are you mad at me? Did I do something? (He's insecure, of course he is, and is so used to being the problem so Barry can't blame him for worrying) And Barry would shake his head but wouldn't answer. So Rafe would lay him back, hold him and it's strange for both of them. Rafe would untangle unruly curls with slender fingers and chew on the nails of others, trying to keep from prying and upsetting the dealer any more. Barry would feel so, so embarrassed; open his mouth and close it, contemplate shrugging the whole thing off and pretending everything is fine. Then something small would make him cave like Rafe wrapping him up in an awkward hug (that's crushing, despite the odd position they're in) or kissing his head, and then he would have to let it all out.

Or, better, Barry would know he's safe with Rafe and seek his boy out when upset. This feeling inside him has been building and building until it reaches a dangerous crest and if he doesn't get it out, he'll probably lose it. So he waits with wet eyes for Rafe to show up, long legs barely over the threshold when Barry knocks into him. Yeah, it's the first time Barry has cried in front of Rafe and so what, the kook is relieved and grateful he's being trusted. (Even if his heart was beating erratically when he felt the collar of his (pink) shirt dampen) In either scenario, or any scenario the older man is crying really, I'm sure Barry would be plagued with doubt about the whole thing. Since the very beginning of their relationship, they fell naturally into certain roles...would Rafe think of him as less of a man now? Would Rafe stop crying to him? Would Rafe treat him like he's fragile? Was Rafe laughing with his little kook friends behind Barry's back? No, of course not. All his worries are settled when Rafe doesn't look at him differently afterwards. Once Barry's tears have been wiped away, his kook is being just as bratty and arrogant as usual, expecting Barry to act as a guard dog (when Rafe is quite literally so fucking capable of handling himself, not that Barry's ever complaining) and carry in all the groceries and let Rafe be passenger princess and toss him around in bed, not even bringing up what happened earlier that day.

[a-christmas-carol-from-hr]

The Steeples of Southwark Cathedral

Description: "Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode!" Marley Lives AU. One year post stroke, Marley turns his eyes to his past and his heart to the future.

AN: Happy Death Day, Jacob Marley. I wanted to write something healing.

Kim Hyun-woo is an OC of a friend of mine. They made Marley a university best friend and I love him dearly.

TW: Abuse of the church, Childhood poverty, childhood hunger

-

His therapist’s office is located in Spitalfields, in a small little office right across from a hipster brewery. When he’d had his stroke, it had been recommended that he seek counseling for the trauma. It had been even further recommended when the doctor got Marley’s first depression screening back. She’d been taking clients for only a few months, and had room for a few more. After one meeting with Marley, she’d freed herself up for twice a week sessions.

His therapist was in her late twenties. She’d written her Ph.D thesis on the psychology of billionaires. She’d joked that treating Marley would be a ‘step-down’ from who she was used to, but she relished the challenge. Marley thought this whole thing would be a bunch of pop-psychology bullshit wrapped up in a pink bow. His therapist didn’t dissuade him. She was tiny, smaller than even Marley, and she wore chunky earrings and massive glasses. She liked flowing hipster skirts and peasant blouses, and she always drank cups of floral tea. She looked as vapid and inconstant as a London hipster.

She made him cry within fifteen minutes of their first session. Just metaphorically pulled out his brain and smashed it into a thousand pieces. And she did it with absolutely no mercy.

Marley respected her after that.

He was down to once a week sessions by the time Christmas came roaring back around. She asked him if he wanted to go back to two a week, but he’d told her no. He had a lot to do, and little time to do it. But he found himself dragging himself into her office every Thursday evening. He needed the hourly sessions to purge his brain.

She’d welcomed him into the office. It was one of those disgustingly modern living spaces ‘the youths’ were so fond of. There was bright colors and throw pillows, for Christ’s sake. Imagine that. Jacob Marley, in a well-decorated room. He’d have been disgusted with himself a year ago.

What a coincidence. Marley was disgusted with himself too.

He’d grabbed an iced coffee from the bougie coffee shop next door. He sat down, legs crossed, but arms at his side. He didn’t want to appear closed off. She said that made him looked closed off, and he didn’t want that. They shared pleasantries, and made small talk. How’s work? Oh it’s good. It’s good for me. And how’s Ellen? Good, good. Still away. Oh yes, she's in Beijing, wasn’t she? Yes, she is. So how’s that holiday season going for you? Well…

She wasn’t surprised. They’d talked a lot about holidays. She studied him for a moment. Finally, she spoke.

“Alright, Jacob,” She says, readjusting her glasses as she sits back. “What’s the earliest memory of Christmas you have?”

Marley tilted his head back. He forced himself to remember. Wasn’t that ironic? He’d spent so much of his life trying to forget his childhood. Now it seemed that the only way to heal his vices was to heal himself. How trite. He was so dull nowadays.

He forced himself to think back. To think back to a time when there wasn’t a Jacob L. Marley, CAO at Scrooge and Marley Enterprises. To think back to a time when he wasn’t a broken man mending himself, or a hedonist trying to die young, or a secretary trying to be something, or a university man fucking his way to the top. He thought past boarding school, and gymnastics bars, and a shitty public school, and the apartment he’d grown up in. He thought as far back as he could, past sense, and reason, and logic. He thought back. And he thought of-.

“Hungry.”

His voice was quiet.

“Hungry?” She prompted.

Marley tapped his fingers on the couch. He found himself smiling. It wasn’t a happy smile. “I’m four. My mum woke me and my sister up, and told us to get dressed. She had nice clothes. As nice as we had. She didn’t feed us lunch, and we were hungry. I asked why. She said we’d be getting food out.”

“She had us walk across the city. It was Christmas Eve. We walked across the city because there wasn’t much public transit.”

“Where were you going?” She asked.

“St Andrew's Cathedral,” Marley said. “You ever seen it?”

“No.”

“It’s this big Catholic church in the center of Glasgow. My mother hated the Catholic church. Hated them. But she had proof of her baptism, and that entitled her to a free turkey dinner for her and her children.” He shifted. “She walked us across town for a good Christmas meal. Made us look all nice, and sweet, and she dug out a baptism record of a group she hated so she could feed us.”

Marley’s jaw shifted. He looked at a spot on the floor.

“What happened next?”

Marley chuckled darkly. “We were too late. By the time we got there, it was evening. They started giving out the meals at two. Mum had us leave at twelve. By the time we got there, it was four, and the massive dinner was all gone.”

His therapist stared at him sadly. “I can remember my mother’s hair,” Marley said. “It was snowing for the last kilometer. She had- has- such beautiful hair. There was snow in it. I remember thinking how pretty she was. She looked like a snow princess. She looked like a queen. And she begged those priests right there in the hall.”

Marley tilted his head. Anger seeped into her voice. “My mother is a proud woman. She endured a lot of shit and never batted her eye. This is the only time I can remember her begging for help. I remember her asking what she was supposed to do. She had two kids, and nothing in the house. Wasn’t there something we could have?”

“And?”

He shook his head. “They told her she should have come sooner. Should have done better. And they closed the door. And we had nothing. Nothing but hunger.”

The room was silent. He rubbed his hand over his jaw.

"Yep," He said. "That's the earliest Christmas I remember."

-

The next day dawned annoying Christmas-y. Marley had to endure all sorts of Christmas songs on public transit, and look at all sorts of Christmas decorations on the walk in. It was mere days before the big event, and things were getting down to the wire. He donated to every bell ringer he passed, but he kept his face buried in his coat and his eyes down. He’d skipped breakfast. He was hungry.

He had no meetings until noon, so he worked quietly in his office. He was supposed to be drawing up ideas for a new set of icons, but nothing came out correctly. Marley doodled holly berries and mistletoe in the corner of his sketchpad, and then crossed them out with a fury. He didn’t look up from his work until a knock sounded at the door.

Kim stood outside his office, a large paper bag in his arms. He waved and pointed. Marley got up to let him in.

“Our meeting isn’t until noon,” Marley said as he let Kim in.

“I know,” Kim said. “I thought I’d get us lunch. We can make a meal of it. We don’t have a ton to go over.”

The heady scent of beef broth filled the room. French dip sandwiches. Oh, that son of a bitch.

“I’m not hungry,” Marley said.

Kim smiled. It was a bit sad.

“Yeah. You always say that after Thursdays.”

Marley’s jaw shifted.

“Bad session?” Kim asked.

Marley looked at him before looking at the chair. “Sit down.”

Kim sat down. Marley was silent as Kim pulled out the sandwiches and slid them across his desk. French dip sandwiches had always been his favorite, and Kim knew that. If there was anything that could get him to eat today, it would be this. Kim dolled out the broth and unwrapped the sandwiches, and even set down some candied figs for dessert. “There,” He said, smiling. “Now we’re all cosy. What’s bothering you?”

Marley picked at the sandwich. “What’s the earliest memory of Christmas you have?”

Kim tilted his head as he dipped part of his sandwich into the broth. “Oh. Uh. Well. I’m probably…five? There’s this big tree, and piles of presents, and oh- this gigantic meal. But the tree was beautiful. I remember how much it shined.”

Marley raised an eyebrow. “Hell of a Christmas.”

Kim smiled. “It was a movie set. All fake. I was working.”

Marley groaned. “Well now I can’t tell you about mine. You’ve already beat me.”

“It was fine! Christmas wasn’t a giant thing in Korea when I was a baby,” Kim said as he took a bite of his sandwich. “My dad wasn’t Christian, so we just never picked it up until it became more secular. So I didn’t really care. Why? What’s yours?”

Marley rubbed at his wrists. They’d been hurting lately - as if something heavy was hanging from them. “Mam took us to a church to get a free dinner, but they rejected us. We didn’t have anything to eat.”

Kim didn’t say anything. What could he say to that?

Marley shrugged. He stood up from the chair and walked over to the window, arms crossed across his chest. His hands rubbed at his shoulders as he walked.

“I really don’t like Christmas, Hyun-woo.” He admitted. “I really, really don’t like Christmas.”

“Everyone always says that everyone’s nicer this time of year. That peace on earth, good will towards men, reigns. People are better this time of year. Kinder. But why did we never get that? Why did you have to work, and I had to starve? Why is it never better for everyone? Why do the hungry stay hungry, and the poor stay poor? And yes, I know it’s ironic for me to ask this. But it’s bothered me. It’s always bothered me.” He shook his head.

“Greed is honest. Kindness isn’t. I don’t understand it. I never have. And I don’t like Christmas. I’ve tried. I really have. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe there’s something that will always be wrong with me, no matter how much I try. Maybe it got starved out of me. But I don’t understand.”

He looked out on the city below. So many lives scampered by. Each one had value. Each one had worth. But some of them starved anyway.

“How can people celebrate Christmas and also run out of turkey dinners?” He asked. “I don’t understand.”

Kim didn’t say anything, but he stood up. Marley was afraid to look him in the eye. These were selfish thoughts from a selfish man. He was supposed to be thinking positively after all. Wasn’t it him who had paid to have the office decorated, and who had approved the monumentally huge Christmas bonuses, and who had stocked the kitchen with hot chocolate and tea and all sorts of Christmas cheer? He’d been thinking positively for weeks. He’d steeped himself in Christmas spirit up to his eyeballs, and he felt worse. Kim would look at him, and he would see what a wretched man Jacob L. Marley was.

But he didn’t. When his friend walked over to him, Marley only saw compassion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He said sincerely. “I think anyone would struggle with Christmas if they had that happen to them.”

Marley tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. Kim reached out his arms and pulled Marley into his grip.

“I hate that you’re taller than me so much.” Marley murmured against his chest.

“I know you hate it so much.” Kim replied, unrepentant. But Marley didn’t move away.

-

No doubt half the reason he’s floundering tonight is because Ellen is away. Marley still wasn’t cleared to fly long distances, so much of the traveling for work had to be done by Ellen. His dear beloved concubine was in Beijing. She was only gone for a week, and she’d be home in two days, but he missed her terribly.

She video-called him when he got home from work. It was 3 AM in Beijing, but she called anyway. The bleary, blurry image of Ellen Scrooge stared at him from the iPad as he pulled out a tub of soup. She’d made oceans of soup for when she had to travel. It was to keep him from eating garbage.

“You’re not feeling any better.” She said flatly as soon as she connected.

“Hello to you too.” Marley said as he dumped the soup into a pot. “How’s Beijing?”

“It snowed, which is nice to look at,” She said. “I went to my favorite Zhajiangmian place. It was nice. I sat there and watched the snow and ate more food than I should have, and the woman who ran it told me I was too thin. But don’t change the subject. You’re unhappy.”

“I’m always unhappy when I’m away from you.” Ellen gagged.

“Spare me. You’re not feeling any better?”

“Not especially,” Marley shrugged. “I’m struggling with the nature of humanity.”

“Humanity is made up of bastards,” Ellen said flatly. “I don’t understand why you struggle with that.”

“I struggle with trying to be less of a bastard while bastards exist,” Marley said, rubbing a hand over his face. He pulled on his skin, dragging his lower eyelids down. “I confess I find it hard to bother. I do it anyway, because there’s no other option. But I struggle all the same. Therapy brought up some garbage.”

“The thing with the turkey dinner?” Ellen asked. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it’s a very sad story all the same. I wish I could offer constructive advice.”

“You should go to bed. Maybe you’ll think of something clever.”

“I’m not tired,” Ellen yawned. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine, woman,” Marley insisted. “Just- blue. I thought this Christmas might be different. I’m not developing a brain bleed for one. But I still can’t help but be unhappy.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

The soup began to bubble. Marley poked it with a spoon. “Before I forget, and not to change the subject,” He said. “I noticed a large charge on the ‘fun money’ account from one of your pet charities. Did you mean to do that?”

“Was it for Stemettes?” Ellen asked.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Yes, that’s accurate. I gave them a blank check. They’re looking to buy a bunch of computers for girls’ schools in the country, but they weren’t sure of the final price. I told them to just take the blank check and cover the final cost.” Ellen placed her phone down as she curled back up into bed. “I’d rather they have it than not. No sense in running out halfway through.”

Marley prodded at his soup. He had no appetite, but Ellen would be on his case if he didn’t eat. “I suppose, yes.”

“…Do you want me to return early?” Marley knew Ellen well enough to know what she was really saying: I’m concerned about you.

“No, stay. Get what you need to done. You’ll be back Christmas Eve, right?’

“I am on the earliest flight possible.” She said. “Will you manage?”

Marley forced himself to smile. “I always manage. I’m the king of managing. I have a ‘World’s Greatest Boss’ mug from the folks in Advertising to prove it.”

“Suck ups,” She grumbled. “They’ve forgotten the taste of fear.” She didn’t seem too unhappy about it.

“…I love you,” Marley said, a bit uncertain. It was nearly a year of saying it, but he still felt a little strange actually saying it. Love was hard, especially when you were repentant sinners. But he’d rather do it with her than with anyone else.

“I love you too,” She replied. “I’m going to try and sleep. Make sure you eat that soup. If you don’t, I’ll just come home and make more, and drown you in it like Richard III.”

“It was his brother who got drowned, and it was in wine, not soup. I wouldn't mind being drowned in wine.”

“You would.” She said, and the screen turned off.

-

Christmas Eve dawned bright and happy. Marley did not.

He laid in bed for a half hour after his alarm, pillow shoved over his head and face buried into the mattress. He only started moving when his phone vibrated. It was from Ellen. She’d gotten to the airport. With any luck she’d be in London for dinner. That was something to look forward to.

He forced himself out of bed and to dress. Marley was a very sharp dresser, but he found himself reaching for the most shapeless sweater and slacks he had. Half his job was to be pretty, but he didn’t feel like being pretty today. He showered, and dressed, and poked at a piece of dry toast before he finally dragged himself out the door.

The world was almost insultingly cheerful. Marley pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and started the walk to the train station. The scar in his hairline felt cold in the open air.

He'd almost died a year ago.

Marley had spent much of his adult life living in South London. He’d kept an apartment in Canary Wharf since he was about 32, and now that he was…older than that, he’d been in this area of the city for well over a decade. He knew the area well, and the landmarks were as familiar to him as his own face. He didn’t look up, then, as he passed Southwark Cathedral on his way to the stock exchange. Marley usually went to the office right away, but on Tuesdays he had a standing meeting at the exchange. So he just passed by the cathedral without lifting his head. He’d seen it a million times, and he’d see it a million more.

Yet he’d never seen it so crowded. Marley was forced to look up as he approached the familiar spires of the cathedral. An entire crowd of people, mostly teenagers, were swarming around the cathedral like ants. They were picking things up and putting things down, unloading and reloading things, moving things here and there and every way. Marley watched with mild surprise as they descended inside the church, and then reappeared outside to take more things. Amid all of them, standing upon a pile of boxes, was a nun.

Marley had no strong opinions on nuns. He’d been raised strictly secular by a church traumatized mother, and hadn’t had the opportunity to meet many in his line of work. But something in her face made him stop. She seemed quite flustered.

“Excuse me,” Marley said, moving among the crowd. “Do you mind if I get through?”

“Not at all, sir. Sorry for blocking your path.” She apologized.

“Not a problem at all. What’s going on here? I’ve never seen the cathedral so busy.”

The nun, who was younger than he thought nuns could be, sighed. “Today is our Christmas dinner.”

“So early in the day?”

“It’s for the poor,” She said. Marley mentally kicked himself. Yes, you dolt, people do that for the poor. “We like to get things done as soon as possible, but things are a bit unruly today.”

If a nun called something ��unruly’, it must be dire. “How so?” He asked, not entirely sure why he was bothering to talk about this. He had somewhere to be, after all. But something made him stay.

“Oh, our turkey deliverer held out on us,” She said sadly. “We ordered a certain amount, but it seems they oversold. I have no idea what we’ll do.”

Marley had never believed in God before he almost died. But he did now - and he was coming to realize He had a sense of humor.

“Oh,” Marley said, frowning. “That’s terrible. I’m very, very sorry.”

She smiled at his sincerity. “It’s alright, sir. We’ll make do. Even if I have to order pizzas, I’ll make sure people are fed.”

Marley nodded, and bowed his head. The two said goodbye, and he started on his walk. He turned his head up to look at the cathedral as he walked, mind unhappy. The sun was just starting to peek through the spires. It was already reflecting on the glass of the skyscraper behind it. Marley had never noticed how out of place Southwark Cathedral was. It was surrounded by modernity, and yet it held its own. A strange fusion of the past and present, the here and now and the then and when.

The sun shone down, warming his face. There was no snow outside this church. There was nothing but the warm sunshine above.

And then he had clarity.

And then he turned and was running back to the nun at full speed.

“Madam! Sister! Er! Whatever you are!”

Her eyes widened as he approached. He no doubt looked quite silly as he rushed back, coat unbuttoned and eyes wide. He was already reaching for his pocketbook.

“The dinner,” He said, fumbling for a pen. “The dinner.”

“Yes?” She asked, alarmed.

“How much would it cost you to feed everyone that came?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” She said. “Usually we can feed about 300 with what we order-.”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking how much it takes you to feed everyone who comes. Late comers and stragglers alike.” Marley asked. “How much do you think it’d cost you to have food all day, until the evening.”

“I haven’t an idea,” She admitted. “Usually we run out well before then.”

“Can you guess?”

She said a number. Marley nodded.

His hands usually shook when he made out checks, but for once his hand was perfectly steady.

“I am going to quadruple that figure.”

-

Ellen’s flight got in at exactly 6 PM. Marley was waiting at the gate for her, some caffeinated he’d bought at Starbucks in hand. She looked stern, as she always did. She was rolling her shoulder when he spotted her, no doubt sore from being shoved into a seat for over half a day. When she saw him, her mouth twitched slightly. That was like a smile.

“Hullo,” She said as he got close.

“Hello.”

Neither was sure what to do. In the past, they just shook hands when they met at the airport. That was when they weren’t openly involved with one another. Even now, open affection felt strange. They weren’t sure what to do, how to perform this feeling. So he just stuck out the drink.

“This is for you,” He said. “It’s some peppermint mocha bullshit. I figured you could use the boost.”

“Thank you,” She said, taking her suitcase in hand. “Thank you.”

Ellen paused, and looked at him. People they knew were all around them, but she didn’t stop.

“I am glad to see you,” She said finally. “Very glad indeed.”

Marley leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Her face colored slightly.

A year ago he’d almost died. Neither had forgotten.

The drive back to Canary Wharf was quiet. Marley had driven the car there, but didn’t like to drive with the numbness in his hands, so Ellen drove on the way back. They sat in a contented silence, watching the world go by. They had no set plans for this evening. Tomorrow they’d have Christmas dinner with Fred, and he would call his mother and sister. But tonight was for them. Despite being more likable, nobody had extended an invitation. Marley suspected their new friends were avoiding him on the one year anniversary of his stroke. It was a fair reason.

“Anywhere you need to go?” Ellen asked as they reentered the City of London.

Marley paused. “Take Tower Bridge, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Southwark Cathedral was still busy. There were less people than before, but they were still there. And there was still food. Piles of pizza boxes lay abandoned around the church as the volunteers served up slice after slice. Happy, fed faces shone in the light, each person grateful for the hot meal.

A poor, harried-looking mother stood in line, two children firmly in tow. They were twins, a boy and a girl. The boy watched the cars whir by with a wide-eyed look. For a moment, Marley and his eyes met.

Marley waved. The boy waved back. The car drove on

“Who are you waving at?” Ellen asked.

“Oh, just somebody,” Marley said, settling back in the chair.

He’d tell her about it in the morning. For now, nobody needed to know about the benefactor of Southwark Cathedral.

“How do you feel about pizza for dinner?”

[clickerflight]

Esial: Part 10 - Night walk

Aaaaand we're back, bois!!! I know I said I was going to do Fallen, but Fallen is complicated in my head right now so I came over here. Hopefully there will be even more writing since I'm feeling recovered from the story I put on here in October.

Masterlist

Part 9

Content: Mostly just sad boi hours. Mentions of tramatic expiriences and that's about it. Our boi does break down.

..........................................

Joseph was tired, but significantly more relaxed as he went back into work after his day off. He had to keep from opening his phone to look at the pictures he’d taken with Muir at the museum together. 

He reached the front desk to pick up the paperwork he needed to do for the evening before he got on with his other tasks and nodded to the vampire behind the counter. 

“Evening, Paliop.”

“Evening,” she said, not looking up from what she was typing. “You clocked in?”

“Not yet.” 

“I’ll wait to tell you, then.”

Joseph felt his heart sink as he opened his phone and clocked into work. He put his phone back and asked, “What?”

“Now, don’t get too freaked out,” she said in the way of person who fully understood that you would freak out upon hearing their next words, “But there was an accident with Esial yesterday. One of the glass hallways got smashed and he got roasted. I did most of the paperwork for you since you weren’t there and it needed to be done quickly. I deserve a coffee for that, by the way. But he’s fine. Anastasia took it upon herself to watch after him and he seemed fine. Well, as fine as he could be, I guess. It would probably be a good idea if you talked to him.”

Paperwork and chatting would have to wait, then.

“Right,” Joseph said, trying to keep the sigh out of his voice. “I’ll get right on that, then. Thanks.”

Paliop nodded and went back to typing as Joseph picked up his packet of paperwork, stopping at his office to drop it off, and headed through the halls to Esial’s door. He didn’t hear anything inside, though he could smell the ancient vampire. Esial was a strange dilemma. He was so incredibly old, but really not mentally older than a couple centuries. It made the task of helping him a little more tricky. Joseph would of course do his best, but it was a lot to try and navigate on top of all of his other tasks. 

He knocked gently on the door and listened quietly as there was movement inside. 

Esial opened the door, dark eyes watching Joseph with a softness that wasn’t there before. 

“Hello,” Esial said politely before simply turning and disappearing into the darkness of his room. Right. Even before Esial’s incident he was a loner. Manners weren’t really necessary out on your own. 

Esial came back with the two crocodiles that Joseph and Muir had picked out for him, one tucked under each arm. Joseph noticed the damage the two appeared to have taken, and after a long moment of silence, Joseph asked, “Did you like them? I hope it didn’t upset you. I just wanted to get you something that might help.”

Esial looked down at each one carefully and nodded. “Yes. They are….” he cleared his throat and Joseph recognized the emotion that filled his face. “They are good.”

“Do… did you name them?”

Esial nodded. He turned to show the one with damage to the tail and said, “This is Jesep. And this one is Keta. They were… my favorite crocodiles.”

Joseph nodded. “Right. I’m glad I got them for you, then. Um… do you want to go for a walk?”

Esial hummed. “Is it dark?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and turned, putting the crocodiles back and coming back out with a cloak that appeared to have been made of one of his blankets. Joseph didn’t comment as he turned to lead the way to an exit, opening the door for Esial. 

They stepped out onto the grass, which had Esial pause to feel the soft plant life on his bare feet before he continued. 

Joseph put his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat as they started walking. “So, I know that things are… confusing. And hard for you. I want to help you in any way that I can. If you have questions you can ask me or anyone else, for that matter. We want to help you feel comfortable in the world again and go on living your life.”

Esial was silent, but nodded faintly, watching the ground in front of him as they walked, like he was making sure he wouldn’t step on anything that could hurt him. 

“I think we’ll just start you off in the language classes. You’ve learned English really quickly, actually, but I know it’s hard to really get everything when you still don’t-”

“You lied to me. You said they were called forms. They are called paper.”

Joseph nearly choked on his surprise at the accusation. He searched his memory and faintly remembered the small talk they had at the precinct. “Oh, right. I didn’t lie to you, Esial, though I should have been more clear. I’m sorry. Do you want me to explain what forms are?”

Esial seemed to approve of the apology and nodded. 

Joseph breathed an internal sigh of relief and said, “Right. So, paper is a sheet made from wood pulp. It’s used to write things down on.”

“Oh,” Esial said, nodding a little. 

“The things written down on them can have different names as well. Like when you start classes, you’ll be giving homework, which is usually paper with the tasks witten on it given to you to help you learn. And forms are kind of like that. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to explain it very well to you, but forms are just important things written down on paper so we can look at them and remember what happened.”

Esial nodded, brow wrinkled with thought. “Okay. I understand.”

Joseph, once again relieved, said, “Learning a new language is hard. You’ll get it, though. Hey, I heard you made a friend yesterday. Anastasia, right?”

Esial nodded again. “Yes. Although, I do not know if we are friends.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Joseph said. “Well, she wouldn’t be a bad friend to have.”

The two vampires walked through the dark for a few more paces in silence, Esial still watching the ground and giving no indication of what he was thinking until he spoke again. 

“I do not think I am safe for the humans to be around.”

“Oh?” Joseph asked, more worried than confused this time. 

Esial nodded. “I… ever since I drank her blood, I want to drink theirs. I was hurt and I wanted to bite the human who came to help. I do not want to hurt them, but I want human blood all the time now.”

Joseph was surprised by this revelation and asked, “Wait, you never had any human blood before Joanna?”

Esial shook his head. “Only hippo blood and grains. Occasionally pig’s blood.”

“Ah,” Joseph said. “I’m surprised. Being a vampire born in the age you were, I would have thought you needed human blood to stay healthy.”

Esial shrugged. “I feel…. Stronger now. Breath better, sleep easier.”

Joseph nodded slowly. “Sounds like you needed some human blood. Animal blood will get you by, but you would have eventually gotten sick. I’ll get you into one of the therapists that help with the bloodlust issues. Controlling yourself really isn’t that hard and they can train you to help you keep your cool in intense situations so you don’t bite anyone on accident. Okay? You’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?” Esial asked doubtfully. 

“Yes. I’m sure. We have a lot of vampires who have some issues with controlling their thirst. We have people who will be able to help you pretty easily. Alright?”

Esial relaxed and nodded. “I am… glad. It is strange to not be on my own in things anymore.”

“I can imagine. Were you always alone? Besides your crocodiles?”

Esial shook his head. “No. I lived in a village with my parents, once.”

“How and when did you turn, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“There was a man traveling through. He spoke to my father about his magic… I think my father refused? I cannot remember well. The man stole me in a rage. I don’t remember anything until my father found me. I was unable to die after that, and I craved the blood of the forest creatures.”

Joseph nodded. “Do you remember what the man looked like?”

Esial shook his head, leaving Joseph not surprised but a little disappointed. There was a tale told by the older vampires that the whole stock of them originated from a single man who had gained immortality at the price of almost everything else. The stories changed from telling to telling, but Joseph entertained the idea and asked because Esial was old enough it was possible he had been turned by the oldest of the vampires. 

“That’s alright. It was probably pretty traumatic. You don’t have to try and remember it for me.”

Esial nodded. They fell into another silence, this one a little more comfortable than the last before a detail registered in Joseph’s mind. 

“Wait, magic? Your father could use magic?”

“Yes.”

“And he was human.”

“Yes. Is that strange?”

“Well, there’s never been a first hand account of a magic user being human. Some vampires can use magic and there’s a few giant folk around still that can give it a go, but no humans.”

Esial simply shrugged. “My father used magic. He created a stone for me that would protect me from the sun. It was the last thing I had of the village when that man came back and killed all of them while I was hunting for blood. I did not see him, but I recognized his smell.”

“I’m so sorry, Esial,” Joseph said softly. He wanted to hold back, to not let his curiosity and burning eagerness take from this moment, but he had to know. “That stone must have been incredibly precious to you. What happened to it?”

“I lost it,” Esial said, stopping in his tracks with great sorrow in his voice. “I lost it while I was being hunted. It was how they finally caught me.”

He rubbed at his eyes as Joseph gently put a hand on his shoulder, but Esial dropped out from under Joseph’s hand, soft sounds escaping his lips as he buried his face in his crouching knees. 

Joseph sat down in the grass next to him, folding his hands in his lap while he waited. 

Esial cried for a long time, occasionally slipping into the ancient forgotten language he had been raised with, pleading or apologizing from the tone of it over and over and over again until he finally calmed down. 

He slowly leaned back till he sat on his butt, uncurling his legs and staring at his feet. 

Joseph opened his mouth to say something, to comfort him or ask him if there was anything Joseph could do, but Esial got there first. 

“Kyle,” he said, voice still watery. “I would like to speak with Kyle.”

Part 11

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[shostakobitchh]

chapter 60: sneak peek!

Remus had slowly come back to the world of conscious beings Sunday morning, when the sunlight had beamed behind his eyelids and woken him up. 

He staggered to the toilet and managed to lift himself into the tub long enough to actually get a bath going. He fell asleep — again — to find the bath overflowing and became very annoyed that the castle didn’t have the sense to stop something like that from happening. 

There was a note from Snape on his nightstand where he returned, along with a cloudy vial. 

Drink this. Now. 

There was something scratched out underneath it — Remus could almost make out an obscenity. 

Do NOT take on an empty stomach unless you want to give yourself an ulcer. 

There was an “I don’t care either way” somewhere in there, but Remus was too tired to feel annoyed by Snape’s callousness. Remus downed the potion and then rinsed his mouth out for the fifth time, iron between his molars, his tongue dry and heavy. 

Maybe he was dying. Maybe this was his punishment — being eaten alive by what he could not say aloud. 

"Or perhaps," Remus murmured aloud, breaking the silence. "I am already dead, and this is my purgatory." 

The room gave no response, and Remus collapsed back onto the bed with a groan. He nearly dozed off again before he shook off the haze and stood up, put on his robes, and started making a pot of tea. Lily had given him a particular blend during her last trimester, when she’d finally been able to match his level of fatigue, a calming concoction meant to soothe the nerves. It wasn’t much, but he hoped it would stave off his constant exhaustion, at least momentarily. 

With unsteady hands, he poured the hot water into his mug and watched as the steam curled up towards the ceiling.

And then, there came a soft knock from the door. 

“Professor Lupin?” a muffled voice called hesitantly. 

Remus went very still. 

Ariel. 

He hadn’t seen her since Halloween — well, he’d seen her, but he certainly hadn’t tried to have another conversation with her. Between Sirius and the full moon and Snape’s deadly suspicion, Remus had been forced to push Ariel to the back of his mind, a painful reoccurrence that he'd hoped would fade. 

But hopes, Remus had learned long ago, were brittle and easily broken.

"Professor Lupin?" the knock repeated, a touch louder this time. Ariel's voice was perfectly composed, so unlike the last time they’d spoken, her thin face shining bright with betrayal she didn’t even know the true depths of. 

But then Professor Snape said something — 

You knew him, didn’t you? My dad — 

My dad my dad my dad 

I told you I heard him with the Dementors — 

It took Remus a moment to summon himself back into the present, fingers tightening around the warm mug as if it could provide some form of fortitude. He thought of Sirius smashing mugs the night James had told them they’d need to go into hiding — for the baby. 

Did you — know me? 

Remus threw the door open. 

Ariel looked momentarily startled before her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. 

“Hello,” she said, very matter of factly. She folded her hands together tightly in front of her, cheeks rosy from the chill of the corridor outside, which seemed to seep down into Remus’ bones. 

He raised an eyebrow at her, rallying his parched vocal cords to sound somewhat normal, but nothing came out. 

She swallowed, as though she were steeling herself, and lifted her chin up at him. “Can I come in?” 

Remus didn’t know what else to do, so he gave a nod and stepped aside. 

She glanced around the small chamber, eyes taking in the cluttered desk, the rumpled sheets of his bed that had wound up on his office floor, the worn out rug beneath their feet. Remus could almost see her mind cataloging each detail. 

“I came to talk,” Ariel finally said, crossing her arms up at him. Something shimmered in the back of her dark eyes, something hard and quick. “About Halloween — but you look dreadful.”

How very Lily-esque of her, being that blunt. Remus had to swallow his laugh. 

He rubbed a hand over his face and smiled. “Thank you.” 

“I’m serious,” Ariel scowled. “Hasn’t anyone been taking care of you?” 

Something like a fist curled around his heart. “There isn’t much to be done, unfortunately.” 

She didn’t look like she liked that answer very much. She did that strange movement with her jaw again, which gave Remus an even stranger sense of deja vu before her dark eyes flicked back up at him. “Is there anything I can do?” 

The question hung in the air between them, hanging heavily like the truth that remained unsaid. Remus felt a chill run down his spine, an instinct telling him to move away from this dangerously innocent question.

Her face fell when he did not answer, before something like resolve twisted her lips and corners of her eyes. 

“I’m still quite cross with you,” Ariel began. 

“I figured.” Remus said automatically. 

She scowled. “I’m being serious.” 

"So am I.” 

There was a quiet moment between them, punctuated by the distant ticking of the clock somewhere in his office. The silence made Ariel uncomfortable — he could see it in the way her eyes darted around the room, avoiding eye contact. 

"But," she started again with some hesitation. "I don't want to be mad at you anymore. I — I want to understand."

Remus crossed the room, motioning for her to sit. He took the chair behind his desk as he Summoned a mug for her, floating it to her as she chewed at her lip and settled her rucksack at her feet. He tried to muster together every ounce of energy he had — and perhaps it was the adrenaline kicking in, the prospect of explaining, of clearing the air that made him feel suddenly alert.

“I owe you an explanation.” Remus’ voice was rough.

“If that’s what you think,” Ariel shrugged, but her voice was cold, colder than Remus would’ve liked. 

His gaze burned into the worn desk between them, the murky brown of his tea reflecting back at him. For a moment, he wished he could lose himself in it, drowning out Ariel’s expectant stare.

“I could give you many reasons,” he began. “But I’m afraid none of them would suffice. Your parents would be — just as cross, I’d imagine — were they here. They wouldn’t really credit anything as good enough for why I’ve been so distant, why you’ve never heard from me. I — I owed your parents more than that. I owe you more than that. I made them many promises, and I’m afraid I have broken them. I know I can’t rectify it, not completely, but I can hope that I can start with — this.”

Ariel watched him with an intense stare, her features unreadable. Then, folding her arms across her chest, she tipped her head slightly, as if contemplating his words. “What does that mean — this?” 

“Answering your questions. And explaining my absence.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Just how — how close were you? I didn’t recognize you in any of the photographs. I had a whole trunk full of them that Mum left.” 

He shifted his gaze away guiltily. “That would be my doing. I took most of the pictures with me after — everything. I didn’t think I would ever see you again, if I’m being quite honest.” 

"And why did you think that?" Ariel asked, her tone sharpening. "Did you not want to see me?”

"No, Ariel." Remus' voice was strained. "It's not that at all."

The intensity faded from Ariel's eyes as she watched him, replaced by a glimmer of something else. There was the same stubborn tilt to her chin that her mother used to have — a defiant little twist of her lips that James had never worn. It kept dawning on Remus, over and over, that he could not find James in her, and it hurt more than he would ever admit.

The silence that followed was a tangible thing, expanding until it filled every corner of the room. Ariel's gaze did not waver, fixed on Remus in a relentless demand for answers. He could not recall Lily or James’ own stares holding such power — even Lily, who had snarled and bit at every attempt to make her more comfortable, to everyone who had tried to tell her what to do, whether it was well-intentioned or not. 

She would have snarled for him to stop with the bullshit already. James would have cut through it already, seen down to that unreachable, shiny thing he saw in everyone. 

"I didn't want to see you because I didn't want you to see me," Remus admitted finally.

Slowly, Ariel set the mug of tea down on the surface of the desk, the sound shockingly loud.

"I don't understand." she confessed, her voice little more than a murmur.

"You're not supposed to." Remus replied, running a hand through his graying hair in frustration. "I didn't want you to know me as I am now. I wanted you to remember me as I was — when your parents were still alive and everything was — better."

"But I don’t remember you.” 

“I know. And I — I would think it was for the best.” 

She looked genuinely stunned. 

“How could it be for the best?" her voice shook suddenly, betraying the fierce composure she had clenched onto thus far. "I grew up without any of you. I didn’t even know what they looked like until I found Mum’s trunk.” 

Remus's gaze dropped to his hands, lost in the aged lines and scars. "Ariel, we were in a war. We were all soldiers, all risking our lives every day. I didn't want that to be your first memory of us. Or your last."

"You should have let me decide for myself," Ariel said, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. “That’s a pretty bad excuse, if you think the war that took them from me was the reason to keep them away forever.”

"I suppose it is," he conceded softly, his throat tight with regret. 

Ariel watched him quietly, her eyes reflecting a strange mixture of anger, confusion and an inkling of understanding. It was that last emotion that startled Remus — how could such a young girl understand the complexities of his guilt? How could she understand the countless nights he had spent haunted by it, shrouded in loneliness? He knew what she was getting at — they could of had one another, could have had that much at least, but the full moon and the horror of that night, knowing they were all gone — all of them — 

The memory cut through him with icy precision, slicing open old wounds. The grim despair through which Albus had told him — Remus, half-mad with grief and blaming himself for not being there. The way the world seemed to end and start anew in the same dreadful moment. And the baby — the baby had truly been collateral, but before he could even comprehend what had happened — last piece of a puzzle he wished he could forget — yet he wouldn't dare to, because forgetting meant losing them completely — 

Ariel’s voice cut through the past, threatening to drag Remus somewhere he’d buried, somewhere thick with dirt and darkness. 

"I guess it doesn't matter now," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. She stood up, the slight tremor in her hand the only sign of any inner turmoil. "But I would — like the chance now — now that I have a say. At least, I think I do.” 

Remus blinked, the shadow of his grief lifting in the face of her words.

"Of course, you do," he agreed softly. He could not strip her of that right, not when she had been deprived so much already.

"Then I have a lot to catch up on," she said, lips curling into a half-smile that was more wistful than truly happy. She looked older at that moment, like a ghost of a future not yet arrived. “And — you owe me.” 

Remus just stared. “I beg your pardon?” 

Her smile turned into something — mischievous. 

And for the first time, Remus could have sworn it was an echo of James.

[jeanniebug623]

🕸️🕷️ Weaving the Web 🕷️🕸️

Chapter 9: Filling In the Blanks

Quaritch waited outside the interview room while Nash McCosker gave his statement regarding the incident in the cafeteria.  Miles had not only smashed his face against a metal table which left the man with a broken nose, but he’d landed three more solid punches before the colonel tore the boy off.  According to the medical report, each additional blow left him with a facial fracture to the right cheekbone, orbital fracture, and a dislocated jaw.  To put it bluntly: McCosker was a fucking mess to look at because Miles seriously fucked him up.

Quaritch couldn’t even be proud of how well Spider could fight.  He could have killed the man.  Just what the hell was Miles thinking?!  With the help of some heavy painkillers and a bit of force, McCosker’s jaw was reset but he was a swollen, discolored, bloody mess.

”Thank you for your time, Mr. McCosker.” 

The security officer ending her interview and exiting the room brought the colonel back to the present.  She nodded in acknowledgment that Quaritch could now go in and have his own interview with McCosker.  Taking a long breath from his mask, the recom ducked under the low entryway and mentally reminded himself to let the man tell his side of the story first.  It’s not that Quaritch didn’t trust Spider, or Miles for that matter, but he would get more information if he was sympathetic to the victim.

”Mr. McCosker.” Quaritch said, appraising the man sitting at the table with butterfly stitches holding a gash together under his right black eye and heavy duty sutures holding his upper lip together.  He was holding an ice pack over most of his face but managed to make eye contact with Quaritch and nod.

”Yea, that’s me.” McCosker said gruffly.  Quaritch couldn’t blame him.  If he’d taken hits like that, he’d take a shot of morphine with a shot of whiskey and call it a night.  McCosker stared at Quaritch, narrowing his good eye slightly.  He looked like he was trying to remember why the recombinant looked familiar and finally asked, “Do I know you, sir?  I didn’t realize there were new avatar pilots…”

Avatars?  No.  Recombinants?  Well, that was a need to know and if Nash McCosker had a history of switching sides, the last thing he’d have is the clearance for knowledge of the Sec-Ops first recom unit.

”There aren’t.” Quaritch said, only eliciting more confusion from the man, but quickly changed the subject, “How you holdin’ up?  That was a hell of a beating you took.”

Despite the discoloration of his bruised face, McCosker’s face turned red.  Quaritch couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger.  Based on the clenched fists and furrowing brow, the colonel went with the latter.

”For what it’s worth, you ain’t the first person that kid’s put in the hospital.” Quaritch remarked.  Spider had gotten in some brawls when he was first captured but it was more justified.  It would have been strange if he didn’t try to fight back given his upbringing.  Maybe this Nash guy could fill in some of the blanks…

”That fucking kid…” McCosker growled, “I didn’t even know he was here.”

”I doubt prisoner records show up in your work.” Quaritch said smoothly, crossing his arms as he continued the small talk.  It was no surprise that the man knew Spider.  All the humans that stayed behind all lived at Hell’s Gate so it was likely they’d crossed paths at some point.  But from that remark, Quaritch figured the man knew more about Spider than just that he was a baby left behind.

”We’d heard about someone getting captured…” McCosker said, “…we figured it was a Na’vi.”

”Would that have been better?  Given how much help you offered the RDA a year ago.  You’re practically a damn hero for humanity.” Quaritch praised, putting up a good act.  Nash McCosker’s loyalty was low on his list to trust, given he’d switched sides twice already.

”I’m no hero.  I was looking out for my family…and Jake was…” he started then let his sentence trail off.  He readjusted the ice pack with a slight hiss of pain.

”You were loyal to Jake Sully.” Quaritch said, his ears pinning back.

”Yea…back when Jake was loyal to us too.” McCosker said with a growl.

”Guess that’s fair…Sully switched sides and doomed a lot of good people.  He’s got a decent following.  Includin’ the kid who tried to turn your face to ground meat.  That must be why…” Quaritch said, baiting the man to keep venting in whatever way would get more information about Spider out of this.

”That little bastard is the reason Jake and his family got away!” McCosker snarled, immediately regretting it when shouting required him to open his mouth more to do it.

Quaritch’s tail flipped angrily and he set his jaw.  He’d heard plenty of people make comments like that about Spider since being captured but it hit him differently to hear how visceral it was coming from Nash McCosker.  The soldiers who’d guarded and escorted him around made comments about him being ‘wild’, ‘out of control’, or ‘savage’.  But those remarks came after a scuffle.  McCosker’s rage was old.

”The RDA lost the Sullys due to a, what…?  Fifteen-year-old at the time?” Quaritch said, remaining calm but wanting to smack the guy himself.  He knew what it looked like to have a deep rooted anger in one’s eyes; he’d seen it every time he saw his reflection after Sully’s betrayal.

”We’d managed to catch a few of Jake’s kids.  He would’ve surrendered and none of the shit that followed would’ve happened.  But Miles busted them out and the Sullys got away because of it.” McCosker said, remembering the night like it was yesterday.

Quaritch frowned but noted that McCosker had called him ‘Miles’.  Of course Spider had done something like that…the colonel had seen how he acted when they were all caught in the forest and how defensive he was of the Sully kids.  Especially the older girl.

“Not surprised he turned out so wild.” McCosker grumbled, “Sure as fuck never listened growing up.”

There it was.  Confirmation that McCosker knew Spider on a more personal level.  It was time to pull that stitch loose.

”You used to look after the boy?” Quaritch asked, the keycard and tooth burning a hole in his pocket.

”Yea…” he answered nonchalantly then continued, “We took him in.  That kid was a terror.  Older he got, the less he listened.  My wife and I tried to raise him to be a good kid but he’d just run off whenever we tried to enforce any rules.”

”And you’d let him?” Quaritch asked, slipping his hand in his pocket and catching the contents in his palm.

”It got tougher when we had kids of our own,” the man admitted, “Someone else should’ve taken him.  It was a mistake.  Miles was a mistake to begin with…”

Quaritch couldn’t stop the growl that escaped his teeth, not going unnoticed by McCosker.  The man suddenly got a nervous look on his face recognizing what an angry Na’vi, or recom in this case, looks like.  Quaritch slipped his hand out of his pocket and put his hand flat on the table, slowly sliding the keycard and broken tooth over to him.

“His parents made a mistake, but SPIDER is not the mistake.” Quaritch growled. “Let me take a good guess on how it all went down.  You took in the little tike because you didn’t have any kids yet.  Just being a Good Samaritan, right?  You sure seem like a family man but that boy was never part of your family, was he?”

”Who the hell do you think you are?” McCosker asked, getting to his feet but still being towered over by the colonel. “We put a roof over his head, food in his stomach, did everything we could to raise him as one of our own.”

“Did you?” Quaritch said, feeling his anger rising, “Your sons are model citizens, aren’t they?  Good students, helpful in the community.  Real poster child quality for the recolonization efforts.  AND they were born on Pandora.  Just like Spider.  Except Spider isn’t like them…it’s almost like you stopped caring as soon as you had your own.”

McCosker froze when Quaritch mentioned his sons.  The room turned silent as the colonel took back his hand and the battered man could see his ID keycard and tooth on the table.

”Spider didn’t attack you because you betrayed Sully…he already got you back for that by freeing those halfbreeds.” Quaritch said, eerily calm, “He bashed your face in for somethin’ else so what’d you do to him?  He said you threw out his teeth.  Did you knock them out when he gave you a hard time?”

”His goddamn baby teeth, I never hit him in the face!” McCosker huffed out but regretted the latter half of his statement at the narrowed gold ears and wrinkles on recom’s nose from the start of a growl.

”But you did hit him…” Quaritch said, his quiet tone not matching his facial cues.

McCosker was flustered but still tried to defend himself and said, ”We didn’t abuse him!  Put him in his room, maybe spanked him once or twice.  Nothing we did worked and it’s clear he’s still a lost cause as he was back then.  Too wild and dangerous!  It’d be best for everyone if you just had him put down-…”

The sound of the metal table crashing into the wall drew the attention of security minding their own business out in the hall.  When they peeked into the interview room, they were too shocked by the sight of Quaritch having pulled the table right off its bolts to get at McCosker.  The man was terrified, back against the wall with the recom’s massive hand across his collarbone.  

Quaritch had a fraction of a second of sense to push this sad excuse for a human being against the wall by his chest and not his throat.  He was growling low in his throat and wanted to finish the job his boy had started in the cafeteria.  There was much more to Miles attacking McCosker the way he had than an ass whooping or being sent to his room.

”Colonel Quaritch?” one of the guards had the courage to say, “What’s the issue, sir?”

Despite the bruises, all the color in McCosker’s face drained.  The ten-foot-tall blue version of the old head of Sec-Ops suddenly looked VERY familiar.  Quaritch slowly took his hand back and stood back up straight.

”Not at all.” Quaritch answered, “Isn’t that right, Mr. McCosker?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Several excruciatingly long hours later, Quaritch received an alert from the staff in solitary that Spider was awake.  He’d spent the time decompressing in his apartment and absorbing all the information he’d learned from Nash McCosker.  His annoyance that Spider was the reason Sully got away a year ago was easily overlooked now knowing how hard the boy’s childhood had been.  But despite it all, Spider was still a great kid…

He was down in the solitary confinement cell with Spider as fast as possible, borderline jogging through some of the long corridors to get from the living quarters to the prison block.  Quaritch stared at the boy, tucked into one of the corners as small as he could make himself.  When he was sedated, they’d changed him out of his native attire into a hospital gown and boxers.  What really completed the ensemble was the straight jacket.

It made Quaritch sick to see this poor boy snared like a maniac…

”Hey, tiger.” Quaritch said with a sigh.  The boy looked up and the colonel felt even worse seeing the tear tracks on his cheeks and terrified expression.  He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit really hit the fan…everythin’ will be ok.  But, goddamn it, kid…we gotta do better.  Alright?”

Spider bit his lip and sniffled, nodding his head quickly.

”Good.  Let’s get you something to eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Not wanting to risk triggering Miles again, Quaritch had some breakfast delivered to his apartment instead of going to the cafeteria.  Spider hadn’t said a word since leaving solitary.  He hovered very close to Quaritch as he led him back to the apartment and sat on the oversized couch with his legs hugged tight to his chest in complete silence.

”Eat up, kid.” Quaritch said flatly, putting the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the cushion next to him.  He sighed for the umpteenth time since coming back to the apartment as he sat on the other side of the couch, rubbing his eyes against the tension headache relentlessly pounding in his skull.

Spider looked up from where he hid his face in his knees but didn’t move to eat yet.  His eyes looked glassy like he was on the verge of tears again.  After a few minutes of silence, the recom looked at him with a disgruntled look.  It made Spider flinch.

”Eat.” Quaritch said more firmly this time.  The boy nodded and ate quickly.  The colonel watched him finish everything on his plate like his life depended on it.  He cleared his throat to get Spider’s attention and said, “I’m not mad at you, Spider.  I know you’re all mixed up right now and…didn’t mean to hurt anyone.  That McCosker is a prick…”

Spider stared at Quaritch wide-eyed then looked at his bandaged hand.  His eyebrows pinched together and he bit his lip as it trembled.  He sniffled again.

”Kid, I’m not good with whatever this is.” Quaritch said annoyedly and waved his hand to reference Spider’s emotional response.  “You gotta talk to me.  Or if you just…need time to yourself, you can go to your room.”

Tears started to slowly fall but Spider nodded and got off the couch.  He walked over to the two open doors with almost identical bedrooms and paused.  Quaritch watched him, concern brewing over the boy’s strange behavior.  He leaned his arms on his knees and observed him carefully.

Spider was standing in front of the bedroom doors, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of the hospital gown.  He seemed unsure of himself.  Lost.  Scared, even.

”Left door, Spider.” Quaritch said, realizing the boy didn’t seem to know.

Spider looked back at him, gripping the shirt tighter.  Quaritch raised an eyebrow but waited this time for the boy to speak.

”Um…” Spider finally started in a quiet, uncertain voice, “…uh, are we friends?”

”Uh…” Quaritch’s ears went back and eventually he nodded and responded, “Yea, I like to think so.  Why?”

”I-It’s just…only my friends call me Spider.” the boy started with a shrug.  His voice was quiet and meek, completely unlike anything Quaritch had ever heard from him. “Grown ups usually call me Miles.”

[indigosunsetao3]

Would It Be Enough?

Chapter 16 - Captive (TW for torture)

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Rated E - Please read the tags on A03 for any of your triggers

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Original FMC 11.3k words - AO3 Link

Emma had been placed roughly on the snowmobile before they headed toward the barn, her body pinned tight against Crane’s behind her as he steered. He knew Soap and Ghost wouldn’t risk a shot with her so close to Crane and with them moving, but Emma still didn’t make it easy for him. She wriggled, grabbed at the steering, and attempted to throw him off of her before he smashed her face into the windscreen causing her to see stars and taste blood. She stopped the fight as they got closer to the barn and more men with guns walked outside and opened the doors, their weapons raised scanning the area.

“Get off,” Crane instructed Emma as they pulled inside the building. He lifted himself off the machine and ripped his comms from his ear before reaching over and doing the same to Emma, stamping on the earpiece and microphone with his boot into the straw-laden floor. “Take her to the holding room,” he instructed two men who had walked over. They quickly shouldered their guns and one grabbed Emma roughly by the arm and began dragging her to who knew where. “Don’t break her either,” Crane instructed as he walked over to speak to another man before adding, “not yet.”

Emma yanked her arm hard out of the man’s hand which only caused him to laugh as he grabbed her again and quickly backhanded her across the face for her troubles. Spitting on the facemask that had been shoved in her mouth Emma saw there was blood on it as it fell to the floor and she ran her tongue over her split lip to try and assess the damage. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Emma called out to Crane as the man grabbed at her again and began marching her forward, “because the 141 isn’t going to just let you walk away you bastard.”

Emma didn’t see if Crane reacted, she was pushed through what looked to be a stable door to find stairs that lead down, concrete ones at that. Deciding that fighting wasn’t in her best interest at the moment Emma let the men push her down the stairs that seemed to go on forever before they came to a steel door. One of the men punched in a code and when they saw Emma discreetly glancing they quickly turned her around so it was out of view before shoving her through the sliding door. Once inside it was just another long concrete hallway that was lined with doors with plaques written in either Russian or Ukrainian, Emma wasn’t sure. No wonder they hadn’t seen much activity in the barn, they were all underground and it looked like this place could hold up for a while.

“In,” the man said as they stopped at a door and used a key to open it before shoving Emma inside. She stumbled a bit as she looked around, whirling on her feet just as the men shut the door behind her. The room was dark, the only light that came in was from under the solid metal door and she had to squint to see what was around her. It was carpeted, a small desk in the center with a chair tucked into it and an empty bookshelf. The room seemed to be an office or was one at some point, and Emma quickly went to the desk to start wrenching open drawers. All of them proved to be empty and she huffed before digging around in her vest to see what she had on her.

All of her vest pockets were full of medical gear but none that could be a useful weapon, just gauze, a tourniquet, and some other wrappings. She still had gun magazines full of bullets but no gun, nothing she could do with those. If she was Soap she was sure he could have come up with some sort of explosive with his demolition expertise but she hadn’t learned any of that yet and she sighed in defeat as she laid all her inventory on the desk and looked it over. For a moment, just a moment, she let her heart ache thinking about Soap, about what he would do if he were here and how he’d keep her safe. She knew he was already out there planning with the rest of the group but rescue right now seemed utterly impossible. She was underground behind steel doors and locked in a room where she couldn’t even read the plaques with no way of reaching anyone in the outside world.

Emma had one weapon left though, one that she had been keeping on her without anyone’s knowledge except for Soap. It was his knife from all those weeks ago when he had come to see her with his broken and battered body after a mission. It had been tucked carefully into his boot and when he had kicked them off at her insistence the knife had fallen out and slipped under her bed. She found it a few days later and had kept it safe in her room since. He never asked about and she never offered it up until he noticed her tucked into her boot one day while they had been out patrolling near the farmhouse. He had thought it was a smart idea and let her keep it, showing her a better way to hide it in the folds of her pants so no one would see. So today when they had headed out she had tucked it safely away when she had gotten changed. She didn’t want to use that card just yet though, not knowing what else was in store for her. So she just left it where it was, digging into the inside of her ankle as a feeble comfort.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been in the room when she heard a key in the lock. Scrambling back up to her feet from where she had been sitting leaned against the desk Emma slipped around behind it holding the chair as the door swung open. Her eyes stung at the sudden blast of light as Crane appeared and he flipped the overhead light switch from the outside on, illuminating the room in a yellow dingy light. His eyes went to the desk where some blood-soaked gauze sat where Emma had tended to her lip and cheek as best as she could. It was aching like crazy and she could feel, and see, a large lump had formed over her cheek.

“Been busy?” Crane asked as he shut the door behind him and walked over to the desk to look over the discarded packaging and medical supplies. “I probably should have done this earlier,” he said before his eyes flicked up to Emma, “strip.”

“Excuse me?” Emma asked, her hands tightening on the back of the chair as she stared at him. She had tucked all of her materials that she hadn’t used back into her vest after she inventoried them, not wanting to leave them behind if they suddenly came in to move her.

“You heard me,” Crane stated as he gestured his hand toward her, “strip. I need to see what you have on you,” he smirked a bit as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Make sure you don’t have any weapons or something you can use against me,” he continued.

“I don’t have anything, just medical supplies, gauze, and a few magazines for my pistol that you took,” Emma explained feeling her heart rate kicking up again.

“Too bad for you, I don’t believe you,” Crane stated simply before he moved to go around the desk toward Emma, “either you can strip down or I can do it for you.”

“Fine,” Emma answered with a snarl before her shaking hands began to rip open the pockets on her vest and she started throwing her things onto the desk. A few rolls of gauze slipped down to the floor in her haste and the bullet magazines clattered loudly against the metal desk. Once all the pockets were empty she held her hands up, “happy now? All my pockets are empty, even my chapstick,” she said as she pointed to the small tube.

“While I appreciate your thorough work, you still haven’t actually stripped,” Crane said as he stacked the gun magazines atop one another and slid them to the corner of the desk to take later. “You forget, I’ve been part of that team for a very long time, Emma,” he smirked, “and I know how they work. You think they don’t keep weapons under their clothes? You don’t think I know Soap would teach you the same thing?” His hand darted out quickly and grabbed at the velcro strap of Emma’s vest and tugged it open, “like I said you can do it, or I can do it for you.” He laughed as Emma pulled away from him and held up his hands in an innocent gesture.

“I don’t have any weapons,” Emma emphasized again as she pulled her vest off and threw it on the desk, knocking the neatly stacked magazines to the floor. “I’m the medical person, I don’t fight unless I have to. You should know that by now,” she continued as she unzipped and unbuttoned her outer jacket and tossed it onto the table too. She stopped and stared at him hoping that was enough evidence, she didn’t have a single holster on her, and her shirt was tight enough to reveal if she had anything hidden. But Crane simply gestured for her to continue so she did, taking the emotion out of her face and thoughts as she wrenched the shirt up over her head and tossed it, leaving her in her pants and sports bra.

“Pants too,” Crane added as he leaned his hip against the desk and picked up her vest to feel around in the pockets just to be safe. He wasn’t watching her as she bent down and undid her boots, careful to let the knife inside just fall down into the boot before stepping out of them. She removed her tactical belt and undid the pants letting them fall to her ankles before stepping out of them as well. Despite trying to not feel the emotion of the situation Emma could feel her cheeks redden as she held her arms out and slightly up in a submissive gesture and Crane finished checking her tactical belt.

“Turn,” he said and Emma did as she heard him get up from the desk and walk over. She cringed as she felt his hands on her, his fingertips sliding under the back strap of her bra to feel around before patting around her ribs and right over her breasts to see if he felt anything. She was burning red, she could see it spreading over her chest and her ears were on fire as he moved to pat her underwear and slid his hands disgustingly down her legs to her knee-high socks. “Shame on Soap for not better preparing you,” Crane tsked as he righted himself again and moved to stand in front of her. “Not a single knife or hidden weapon. You were shit at hand to hand anyway, no matter how much Ghost tried. Probably thought you’d hurt yourself before you could do anything else so he never gave you a weapon.”

Emma nearly breathed out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t thought to check her boots, probably thinking her too much of a simpleton at weapons to be able to hide anything. “Can I get dressed now?” Emma asked, not wanting to rise to his taunting, “or are you planning on leaving me half naked for fun?” Her hand reached out for her shirt and when he didn’t stop her, she pulled it to herself and tugged it on before going for her pants. She reached for the belt but his hand shot out to stop her.

“Shirt, pants, and shoes, that’s it,” Crane said as Emma bent down to put her boots on, internally wincing as she set her foot atop the sheathed blade. She’d fix it later but she couldn’t risk adjusting anything now with Crane in the room. “I’m taking the rest with me, don’t need you trying to hide things on me, Soap mentioned you can be very…resourceful,” he smirked. “Medical supplies are coming with me too, your face looks fine enough now, I had to shoot one of the guys out there and we’re low on supplies. Thanks for the medical bag by the way,” he said with a snark as he started stuffing her supplies back into random pockets of her vest.

“Fuck off Crane,” Emma answered him as she stood up again, tired of hearing his voice sounding so proud of himself. She had never seen him so arrogant and almost excited as he worked, he had always been confident, a little bit of a swagger to him, but he was never outright full of himself. She supposed all of it had been an act though and this was truly how he was. “You know it’s just a matter of time before they get to you. It may not be today or a month from now but all you’ve done is made yourself a marked man.”

Crane dropped the vest back down on the desk at her words before taking a few steps to close the gap between them. His hand grabbed her face hard, fingers digging into the lump on her cheek as he wrenched her closer to him. “Are you really that stupid?” He asked as he twisted her face to the side a bit to look at the lump on her cheek, “I know they are going to come for you, those self-righteous heroes can’t help themselves. They can’t stand the thought of you here trapped with me, not knowing what I’m doing to you,” he smirked and moved his thumb to press into her barely healed split lip that instantly started bleeding again. “I’m ready for them, and when they do come for you Emma…I’m going to make it the last thing they do. They’re the last roadblock in this whole fucking thing and while you were inconvenient at first, slowing down my timeline, you’ve proven to be the best thing to happen in my plan.” He grinned and sarcastically patted her cheek right over the bruise causing her to wince. “Why pick them off one by one when I can just finish them off at once in their attempt to get to you,” he finished before shoving her face away hard.

“I almost had Alex though,” he laughed bending down to pick up the scattered magazines, “fucking sap. He couldn’t leave Soap to blow himself up properly with the laced C4. He thought something looked off and tried to get Soap’s attention,” he rolled his eyes. “So, I had to switch gears, shot him with a dead Russian’s gun so the bullet wouldn’t be traced back to me. But then Soap had to be all noble to help him and left the door to explode on its own so he barely got hit,” he shook his head a bit. “Ah well, worked out in the end, didn’t it?” He looked up at Emma who was staring at him, her mouth slightly agape at his confession.

“How long have you been at this?” She asked quietly, figuring the longer she got him to talk the better. Perhaps if she got intelligence out of him and she somehow got out of the bunker they were in it could be valuable down the road. “How could you turn on them? They treated you like family,” Emma continued.

“I’ve been ‘at this’,” he used a mocking tone at her words, “for years Emma. I was never theirs to turn on them; I’ve always been on my own side. The Russians paid better and have better perks.”

“What about at the club with Mikhail? You killed some of his men, surely your boss or whoever you work for wasn’t happy about that?” Emma continued to prod, hoping that his arrogance and need to brag about all he had accomplished would win out over his logic and he’d keep talking.

“Mikhail?” He laughed as he zipped shut the last pocket on her vest before throwing it over his shoulder. “He was just an annoying competitor for me. I laid that trail down so we could go in and get rid of him without it being obvious it was me. He recognized Soap that night thanks to an ‘accidental’ leak of my files and was instantly paranoid which is why he tried to get anything out of you. Too bad Soap didn’t just off him for me, but I got him in the end. They’ll find his body come spring when the lake’s thaw,” he smirked and headed toward the door.

“You know Soap is going to kill you right?” Emma asked, knowing in her heart he would if it were the last thing he did. He would make Crane pay for everything he had done, especially once they all figured out how far and long this deceit went on.

“It’s almost adorable how you think he has a chance against all this,” Crane gestured around the room. “This is a cold war era bunker made to withstand a nuclear blast. Your little boyfriends aren’t going to be able to just waltz in here and save you. There’s a better chance that you’ll be dead before they can even clear the main door,” he looked at her and noticed her eyes flared a bit at the underlying threat. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you, not yet anyway. I need the bait, a little more taunting to get them all riled up and chomping at the bit,” he walked to the door and wrenched it open. “Get comfortable you’ll be here for a while,” he finished before walking out and cutting the lights plunging Emma into the dark once again.

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Soap had been ready to go in full-bore into the farmhouse the minute the doors had shut behind the snowmobiles. Ghost had held him back however and instructed Alex and Gaz to meet them at the tower. Price had finally stirred and awoken, his words were a bit slurred as he came around but once he was fully aware of what had happened, he was on the move and on his way to meet up with the rest of the team. They needed to act fast before all of their information and intelligence was compromised, the safehouse was no longer safe but they had things they had to get out of it first. Ghost drove while Gaz and Price shoved into the front, Alex and Soap in the truck bed braced with their guns waiting for any threats but nothing came. The farmhouse had remained still this whole time, with no movement in or out or even a hint of a threat the whole way back to the safe house.

They tore apart the safehouse with brutal efficiency. The hard drives were pulled from their databases, papers burned in the fireplace, and all weapons and supplies packed and stashed in their van in less than two hours. Gaz had taken up watch in the extremely cramped attic space to make sure no one was coming but all remained quiet which was setting Soap’s teeth on edge as he tossed a duffle in the back of the van.

Soap had packed up the room he and Emma shared last, throwing all of his and her clothes and other personal effects into their duffle bags. He didn’t attempt, nor care, to separate their belongings into their respective cases at this point what was his was hers and what was hers was his. He had to dig under the bed on his stomach for Emma’s new favorite slippers he had bought at a local shop after she complained about frozen toes. He had kicked them under the bed in his haste to gather everything and cursed when he realized they were missing from the bags. She’d want them once she was back, not getting her back wasn’t an option in his mind. After one final sweep to make sure the room was clear Soap stopped and stared at the bed for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. His eyes roved over the still sleep and sex-mused sheets from just hours ago, where he had finally dug up the nerve to tell her he loved her before he left the room clicking the door shut quietly behind him. It wouldn’t be the last time he told her he loved her he told himself as he jogged down the steps.

Ghost had taken on the task of going through Crane’s items, tearing through the man’s personal belongings as if it were Crane himself. He ripped apart clothes, pulled his duffle bag apart at the seams to look for anything that may have been hidden inside, and made quick work of his green and brown turnout gear when he finally found something. It was small, no bigger than a fingernail, but it was a memory card. It was hidden inside the flashlight mount for Crane’s gun and Ghost had only found it when he noticed one of the screws was loose. The bastard either forgot to move it between his flashlights in their rush to leave earlier or he had done it on purpose.

“When we plug this in, we need to assume he’ll know,” Alex said as Ghost handed him the card in the living room. “And we won’t have much time to pull everything off. There’s always a risk it's password protected and it’ll wipe itself if we don’t have the password,” he added as he dug around in the bag of hard drives to plug one back into the computers to extract the information.

“Do it,” Soap said as he stood behind Alex, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed. “Just grab as much shit off of it as you can and we’ll look it over later,” he continued and Alex nodded before he brought the computers back online and plugged everything in. The memory card had a wealth of data, it had dates, times, locations, weapon stores, contacts, banking information, schematics and Soap spotted a file called Emma, along with other files titled with all their names, as Alex dragged it onto his data drive. “This fucker has been at it for ages,” Soap stated after a moment, noticing the date on one of the files was almost three years old.

“Time to go,” Price said as he came in from the back door just as Gaz came down the stairs brushing insulation and debris off his clothes. “Laswell’s set up another place for us but we have to go now,” he gestured for all of them to move, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. He was on edge after everything that had happened, not saying that he didn’t trust the rest of his team but he certainly was giving them all a second glance and was stiff around them. Alex had given him a preliminary once-over in the field to assess his injuries while they waited on Ghost to go get the truck. There was a suspected concussion and when Alex merely breathed the idea that Price should be resting Price told him he’d sleep when he was dead. To which Alex reminded him sleeping with a concussion was not a good idea anyway so he was glad they were all on the same page.

“I’ve got everything,” Alex said after a moment before popping out the hard drive and choosing to pocket it over putting it in his bag of other computer equipment. “Once we’re settled, I can start going through it all,” he stated and Price nodded as Alex bent down and grabbed his bag and his gun. Soap brought up the rear as they exited the house, his hand slamming the door hard enough that the windowpanes in it rattled.

“What do you think his play is?” Soap asked once they were all in the van and Gaz had turned onto the main road. All of them were sitting with their guns in their laps ready for anything, Ghost had taken up the back seat and was watching out the read window. “Why take Emma of all people? He had you right there Price,” Soap stated, “you’d be more valuable to him if he was looking for information.”

“He wasn’t looking for information,” Ghost said quietly from behind Soap, not bothering to turn his head to face them while he talked. “He’s been around us for years, he probably has more information than all of us combined with all that shit he’s been compiling,” he continued. “He took her because he knows we’d go after her and he has a shot of subduing her. Price wouldn’t break so easily and Crane would run the risk of him escaping. He’s not looking for a hard fight, he wants it done fast. He wants us, she’s just a ploy.”

The rest of the car was quiet as the words sunk in. Deep down all of them knew that was the answer but no one wanted to say it. Ghost had never been one to shy away from the ugly truth. Crane wanted them all dead, for whatever his agenda was, and Emma was going to be his means to his end. Crane knew they wouldn’t leave Emma, even if they were ordered to stand down and let her suffer at the Russian’s hands, they’d defy orders. Or even if the chances were not all of them were walking out of the fight alive, they still were going to try.

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Without having a watch or clock it was impossible for Emma to know how long she had been sitting in the dark for, but it certainly seemed like hours. She was starving, her mouth was dry from lack of water and she needed the restroom in the worst way. But she hadn’t given in and gone to the door to try and get someone’s attention, though she did almost crack a few times. Curled up under the desk for some semblance of safety, no one could sneak up behind her if her back was pressed against the leg covering, Emma stared off into the dark. She was listening for anything around her that could help, people talking, sounds of doors opening and closing, any type of pattern or routine. She squirmed a bit under the desk to relieve some pressure in her back from the position she had rolled into when the lights suddenly cut on in the room.

Scrambling out from under the desk she was on her knees pulling herself up with the help of the desk when the door opened. It wasn’t Crane this time and Emma narrowed her eyes at the person to try and figure out what they were doing here. They had a tray in their hands and Emma could see a bowl on it and a glass of water along with a package of what looked like soup crackers. She fought the urge to charge at the person and try to run as they walked into the room and set the tray on the desk. They were armed, the gun was draped across their back and if she had felt braver or more confident maybe she would have gone for it but the man was huge. He was bigger than Ghost and Ghost overpowered her without even trying and Emma had a feeling this man would break her.

“Bathroom?” Emma asked after a moment and the man blinked at her and she said it again hoping she wasn’t going to have to resort to mimicking what she was asking for. She asked once again, slowly this time, and stared at him before he backed out of the room and called down the hall to someone in Russian. His eyes darted between her and the person coming as he stood in the doorway, as if afraid she’d try to run when a woman appeared. She looked even less friendly than the man and she quirked an eyebrow at Emma as she asked for the bathroom a fourth time.

“Come,” the woman said and as Emma moved to the door the man grabbed her roughly around the biceps and marched her down the hallway. Emma twisted a bit in the grip, not trying to get away because there was nowhere to go, but more so he would loosen his hold. She was going to be bruised and if he held on much tighter, she thought, she was going to lose blood flow to her fingers. He finally let go when they reached what Emma was hoping was the restrooms as the woman opened the door and ushered her in. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing and Emma was quick about it before exiting.

She tried to look around on her way back to familiarize herself with the area but the man released his grip on one arm to grab the back of her neck and force her to look down. They didn’t even want her to take note of what the hallway looked like, though it all looked the same to her. A dreary grey cement with equally grey metal doors and signs she couldn’t read. Not fighting back Emma stared at the floor until they shoved her back into the room she had been kept in. They flipped the light off again and Emma resigned herself to eat in the dark. The soup was lukewarm at best and the water had an interesting metallic taste to it, as if it had been sitting in metal pipes for ages, but she gulped it down anyway. It only dawned on her halfway through that it could have been drugged but she was hungry enough that she continued to eat. If it was drugged maybe she’d at least get some sleep to pass the time.

Leaving the empty food bowls and tray on the desk Emma sat down in the chair and pried open the desk drawer again to feel around for anything in them. She’d even take a pen at this point but they were all barren, not even a loose screw that she could find. The food they had given her had no utensils so she couldn’t fashion a weapon and while she had the knife Emma told herself that was a last resort. Sighing she shoved the drawers shut as the lights in the room came on again and the same man walked inside. He quickly took up her tray turned and left the room without a word, plunging her back into the dark.

And so it continued. Emma had lost track of the time a long while ago and there was nothing else to help her figure out how many hours slid by. The only pattern she could pick up on was the fact the people who brought her food and water three times a day were different for each meal and the food varied with them. Breakfast was some sort of cold porridge that nearly made her gag by the gooey texture, lunch was stale hard bread with a little butter slapped on and dinner was more lukewarm soup and crackers. All of them were accompanied with water and each time before her meals she was taken to the bathroom, head shoved down to stare at the floor as she walked.

She was going stir-crazy. She was left alone without anyone saying a word to her for days on end now. There was only so much sleep she could get in and without burning much energy she was too awake to even try to doze. During the daytime, there was much more activity outside her room and she would spend her time leaning up against the wall listening through the crack at the bottom of the door. All of the conversations were in Russian but Emma did pick up on a few keywords that she knew from her training, mostly guns and she heard Crane’s name thrown around a few times.

When the door opened for her fifth lunch time Emma stood up and dropped her head like she was supposed to before being led to the restroom. Despite having to stare down at the floor she was learning her surroundings a bit, she knew how many doors they passed thanks to her peripheral vision and just how many steps it took her to get from her room to the bathroom. “Is there a shower?” Emma asked the woman who had led her to the bathroom. The woman just stared at her and Emma lifted her hands to her head, to which the woman instinctively went to her gun like Emma was going to hit her, causing Emma to hesitate before she mimed washing her hair. She was itchy all over from lack of bathing, she had done her best in the sink to clean up a bit with the short amount of time they gave her in the bathroom but it hadn’t done much without any type of soap. “Shower? Bathe?” Emma asked and the woman just shook her head and shoved her into the bathroom shutting the door behind her.

On the way back to the room, Emma’s face and neck damp from washing them in the sink, the sight of Crane waiting for her stopped her in her tracks. The woman shoved her hard to keep her walking and Emma stumbled a bit coming to a halt in front of her capture. The two talked briefly in Russian before Crane dismissed the woman with a wave of his hand and turned his attention to Emma. “She said you asked for a shower?”

“Yes,” Emma answered, reaching her hand up to scratch a bit at the nape of her neck. “It’s been, well, four or five days? I’d like to clean up a bit, I can only do so much in a sink,” she stated before dropping her hands again. “But I’m going to guess you aren’t going to allow that,” when he didn’t answer she sighed and reached a hand for the door, hoping he was just going to let her pass and he was only there to check up on her.

“Not yet, we’ve got some work to do.” He grinned as he placed his hand on her shoulder and clamped down hard as he turned her back around the way she had just walked before leading her down a hallway to the right. She tried to remember the amount of turns and twists they took but everything blended before he finally opened a door and shoved her in. The room was empty save for a lone chair in the center of the room that had leather cuffs on it and it was positioned suspiciously over a drain.

Emma knew exactly what this was before Crane said a word and she started to backpedal on her feet as the door behind her clicked shut. “Ah come now,” Crane crooned as he pushed her toward the chair, “sit like a good girl and it’ll be over before you know it.” He smirked before he forcefully shoved her down into the chair and Emma began thrashing.

“Why?” She questioned as she shoved hard at him with her hands, curling her fingers into talons to scratch at him as he secured one arm down. “I don’t know anything to tell you! I’ve been in a room for days without any type of news or information. Please Crane,” she was panicking as he finished the buckle on one before turning to the other side and attempting to catch her still flailing arm. Emma could feel the tears as she started to sob, the fear getting the better of her as she continued to fight. She had been locked up for days not knowing what was next and the mental exhaustion had turned into a full-on panic.

“That’s just it,” Crane said, his words frustrated as she squirmed and bucked up against him trying to get away. “It’s been days and nothing but radio silence from the 141, they haven’t even come back to scope out the farmhouse. So, either I sorely underestimated Soap’s affections,” he paused, “or they just need a little prodding because Laswell is dragging her feet.” He grinned as Emma faltered for a moment, letting her realize that no one had even attempted to get her. That her saviors hadn’t even tried yet.

Emma’s hesitation didn’t last long before she continued to fight back again. Her hand connected with a sharp slap across Crane’s face as she kicked out and twisted. When he was whirled to the side she frantically reached to undo the buckle he had already done on her left hand. Crane wasn’t down long, he recovered and lunged up and grabbed Emma’s throat hard with one hand cutting off her air supply. “Stop fucking moving,” Crane ordered bringing his face inches from hers. “You like taking orders, don’t you? You practically drool all over yourself when Soap tells you to do something, so pretend I’m him and sit still.”

He shook her for emphasis and when Emma gave a small nod he let go before kneeling to get her ankles as Emma spluttered for air, gasping and retching. By the time she had caught her breath, she was fully locked into the chair and Crane was standing up looking her over like a predator sizing up a meal. “See? Not so bad, was it?” He pointed behind him at a camera that Emma hadn’t seen before in her attempts to fight him off, “make sure you look right over there when we start. We want them to see your pretty little face.”

Emma was holding onto the chair as best as she could watching Crane move over to a small table and bucket in the corner, wincing as he dragged it along the floor the scraping sound echoing around the room. She strained up a bit to try and see what was on it but Crane blocked her view as he picked around, the sound of metal pieces clanking sent a shiver of dread down Emma’s back. She glanced at the camera again, noting that the light was blinking red so it was on and probably recording. Or was it live? Would he risk sending out a live file where it could be traced? Though they already knew where Emma was so it wasn’t that huge of a risk.

“You know,” Crane said as he turned around and spun a small knife between his fingers, “if they hadn’t sat on their asses this whole time this wouldn’t have to happen.” He grinned as he walked toward Emma who pushed backward against the chair in an attempt to get herself as far away from him as possible. “If they would have just come after you right then, or hell even a few days ago, you wouldn’t have to go through this,” he leaned down when he was close enough, turning toward the side so he could look at the camera as he pressed the knife into Emma’s cheek. She sucked in a sharp breath as the blade pressed in, not breaking the skin just yet. “So, you have Price to thank for this. I figured your little highlander would have kicked in the door by now,” he flicked the knife against her cheek and Emma hissed feeling the slice and dribble of blood that came.

Emma squirmed as Crane dragged the blade down to her jaw, to her neck, and came to rest on her collarbone that was visible in her v-neck shirt. “This isn’t going to work,” Emma said, her breathing coming in short panicked pants, “they aren’t going to rise to this. You know how it…” she shrieked a bit as the knife pressed into the hollow of her neck and she felt the searing pain of the skin being broken. Her fingers dug into the arm of the chair as he continued the cut down to the edge of her shirt and felt the blood trickle down. She had tears in her eyes as she sat there and she was biting on her lip to keep from yelling out again.

“I’ve known them for longer than you,” Crane said as his other hand came up to smear the blood around her chest and neck a bit with his fingers. Emma twisted against the touch and jerked her body to the side to get him to remove his hands from her. She would prefer the knife at this point than him touching her bare skin. “Trust me when I say,” he leaned in to lick her cheek where she had bled which only caused her to splutter in revulsion, “they’ll be here to get you.” He ran the knife down to the front of her shirt, hooking it into the material so it split like butter, revealing her sports bra and bare stomach. “Soap isn’t going to stand for me touching you,” he ran the back of his fingers down her neck and between her breasts before coming to rest on her stomach. “And Ghost,” he tsked a bit as he moved to stand behind her in the chair, keeping his hand on her the entire time so his fingers brushed over her skin, “he can’t stand losing. He’s been suspicious of someone in the task force being a rat for weeks but could never quite pin anything on me. He thought it was Soap at first,” Crane laughed a bit at that.

Emma couldn’t fight back the tears now, utterly terrified and humiliated as she sat bleeding and exposed in a tattered shirt. She tried to follow Crane’s movement as he stood behind her but didn’t dare to tilt her head back because she knew she’d touch him he was so close. His hands were fiddling with the knife as he used it to flick the split shirt off her shoulders to expose more skin and he dug the knife in as he traced, leaving little cuts in its wake. “Just be done with it,” Emma hiccupped after a moment as his knife had worked its way under one of the straps of her bra and he twisted it up so the sharp edge was dug into the fabric. She suspected where this was going and at this point, she just wanted it over with, the toying was the worst part.

”What is it exactly you think I’m going to do?” Crane asked as he tilted the knife up a bit, the fabric splitting ever so slightly over the blade. “Oh,” he smirked before yanking the knife up and the strap gave with the motion. The scraps of the elastic fell forward and back but her bra didn’t budge from its position thanks to her arms and back pinning it into place. “I’m not interested in any of that,” he dragged the tip over her shoulder gently, “I don’t need the Scot’s sloppy seconds,” he paused and pushed down in the soft spot between Emma’s neck and shoulder over a hickey that Soap had left there. She hissed at the pain and squirmed a bit to the side as Crane kept talking, “I’m not Alex.”

Emma stilled at his last words and cut her eyes over to him, afraid to move because the knife tip was still poking into her neck. It was so sharp she was afraid any movement would just plunge it right into her throat and it would be over. “What do you mean you’re not Alex?” Was he in on this too somehow? Surely not. As if doubting her self-assurance her eyes darted toward the door as if expecting him to walk in, but the door remained shut.

“You didn’t realize? Oh, my Emma,” he smirked pulling the knife away and leaning down to talk right into her ear, his lips brushing over the shell of it as he stared into the camera. “Alex panted after you like a lost little puppy for weeks. I tried to tell him you’d pick the foreign little prick, American cunts always love little boys with accents, but Alex was still heartbroken nonetheless. He faked it though, acted like he was happy, and was just content on just being your friend. Pathetic.” He laughed before he grabbed the back of her head and shoved her forward on the chair in a surprise move, obviously using his words to distract her and prod at the 141 even more.

Emma yelped at the sudden jarring before she let out a loud scream of pain that turned into a shrill pleading shriek. Crane had slid the knife blade along a scar from one of her surgeries on her shoulder, tracing down the three-inch mark before coming to the edge near the bone and twisting the blade a bit before he pulled it out. Emma was groaning and panting as she sobbed before he yanked her face back up by the hair so she was staring into the camera. Her face was red and she was grimacing in pain but she fought back a bit as she twisted against the grip which only made Crane shake her to get her to hold still.

“That hurt, didn’t it?” Crane crooned as his finger swiped at the blood and prodded the open wound. “Tell them how much it hurt,” he ordered her as he scrapped a nail over the sensitive flesh causing Emma to cry out again. “Tell them what I’ve done, what I’m doing,” he pressed down on the cut now and Emma slammed her eyes shut trying to keep the cry of pain in.

Blood was seeping quickly from the wound; she could feel it freely flowing down to pool in her bra and soak into the fabric, Crane’s ministrations with his fingers were making it worse. This was why he had cut the bra away, so he had access to her scars because he knew she still dealt with pain in the area thanks to all the information he had on her, on all of them. “I’m not going to beg,” she said after a moment of gathering her breathing, “if that’s what you’re looking for. I’m not going to beg them to save me.”

Crane held her hair in a tight fist as he pulled her back to sit up against the chair again. The hardness of the wood dug into the wound and Emma huffed behind her teeth which were digging into her lip hard enough to split it back open again. “You will,” Crane said after a moment, “I promise you will. You’re going to be begging someone to save you, hell you’ll beg me end you to just get the pain to stop.” He moved away again and grabbed at the bucket that Emma had seen before and he lifted it by the handle, the water sloshing inside as he walked pulling out a hood from his pocket. “How about that shower?” He smiled before pulling the hood down over Emma’s head and pulling the ties tight around her throat.

Emma thrashed against the bag as it was tied over her, plunging her into the darkness again. The fabric was thick, too thick, and she felt like she wasn’t getting any air with her panicked breathing. She was squirming as Crane tilted her head back and the first splash of water came. It hit her hard in the face and soaked the bag, splashing down her front over her bare skin and onto her pants. The water was freezing and she yelped out only to get a mouthful of water. She spluttered and attempted to shake her head away to breathe but Crane held her head firmly in one place. He was going to drown her. She wretched and squirmed as best as she could, her shoulder screaming in pain as it rubbed on the chair and the water splashed into the wounds all along her skin stinging. The restraints were digging into her skin as she wriggled and fought to no avail, she felt like she was about to pass out, her body barely moving when Crane finally let up.

He laughed a bit as he released her head and peeled the hood off, turning to the camera, “four hours Price. Four hours or we raise the stakes.” He shoved Emma’s head away hard before going over to the camera and flipping it off, ejecting the memory card from it as he wiped Emma’s blood from his hands on his pants. Emma stared at him as he threw the hood onto the floor by her feet before he headed toward the door and opened it. “Don’t go anywhere,” he taunted before shutting the door tightly behind him and flicking off the light leaving her to shiver and bleed in the dark.

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

“Laswell just sent the file,” Price said as he stood behind Alex and waited for him to pull up the server. After a few clicks, Alex opened the message before moving the mouse to hover over the video file. Alex didn’t click to open it though, he just stared as they both read the name of it Emma_Conversation. He flicked his eyes up to Price who was standing at his shoulder and they both sat in silence for a second. “Give me the headphones,” Price stated as he held out his hands to Alex to remove them from his head, “go make yourself busy. I’ll watch it first.” Alex opened his mouth to protest but Price shot him a look and Alex removed the headphones handing them over as he rose from his chair. He had a look of relief mixed with uncertainty that he wasn’t going to have to be the one reviewing before he swept up his gun and headed out to the garage.

Soap had been led outside by Ghost to do a perimeter sweep when Laswell first called, the Lieutenant taking the hint from Price’s body language that Soap needed to be out. Soap had been getting antsier by the day, his rage barely being contained on a very short leash. A fight had broken out the night before between Soap and Alex, they argued about the best tactics to get into the farmhouse, and Gaz had to step in to drag the latter outside before fists started flying. They were all on edge waiting for any type of news, any sort of order to move in but there had been nothing. No movement at the farmhouse, they had been taken off actual recon and instead Laswell was using satellite imagery, and no one could agree when to move in.

When everyone was safely away from Price, he took a breath and double-clicked on the file to open it. The still image of the video was that of Emma sitting in the chair, her eyes huge as her fingers gripped the armrests that her wrists were bound to. Aside from the bruise on her cheek that was healing, she looked relatively fine, panicked, and scared but physically no harm had come to her, yet. He continued to look at the picture to take in the surroundings she was in before he clicked play.

The room was bare, nothing but concrete behind her and there was a single light above her that was bright enough to illuminate the room which meant it was small. The floor was sloped inward and Price could see a small drain under her chair and he cursed knowing what that was for. The audio and video were crisp and clear and he crossed his arms over his chest to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to watch.

The clip wasn’t overly long, just a few minutes, but it got the point across well enough. Price had nearly come out of his chair at the scream Emma emitted as Crane dug his knife around in her back. He was growing more and more frustrated as the battle of wills between Emma and Crane continued but she didn’t give in. She didn’t beg. It made him proud on the one hand but on the other, he knew she had just made it ten times worse for herself. He had leaned in when Crane waterboarded her as her limbs stopped fighting but Crane finally let up, opting not to kill her. The video cut as Crane walked over to the camera with his timeline and Price cursed looking at the time on his watch before the time stamp on the video. They had already lost over an hour, Laswell’s team had taken too long scrubbing the file for any type of virus or whatever else they were looking for.

“Alex,” Price called as he wrenched the headphones from his head. He knew Alex hadn’t gone far and sure enough, the man pulled open the garage door and stepped inside. Price caught a whiff of smoke and knew he must have picked up a discarded cigar and was smoking to take the edge off. “Get the rest of them,” he stated after a moment as he unplugged the headphones and slid the progress bar on the video back to the start. The team needed to see it, needed to know what they were facing, even if it scarred Soap and sent him into a rampage. Rising from the chair he moved to call Laswell back and stepped into the study of the house. This house was much nicer than the last one, more remote on an estate with lots of land and tree coverage.

“What is it?” Soap asked as Alex called everyone back inside over the radio, “are we finally moving in?” He inquired as he cut his eyes to Ghost who was standing by him listening. Gaz had set himself up at the edge of the property near the road to be able to watch for any cars. He had responded right away that he was on his way back, his breathing ragged indicating he was running.

“No,” Alex said and paused, “Crane sent a video. Price already reviewed it and he wants us to see it,” he breathed, “she’s alive Soap. You aren’t going to like it, based on Price’s face, but she’s alive.”

Soap was already on the move, not caring if Ghost was behind him or not. He was running through the snow, his gun gripped tight in his hands as he moved dodging the trees and brush. Looking over to his side Ghost was keeping pace and they made quick work of the trip back. Gaz came out of the woods on their lefthand side, causing Soap to raise his gun for a brief second at the movement before lowering it again. Once they were all at the door they scrambled in, Soap taking the lead not bothering to kick the snow off his shoes. He saw the laptop with the still image of Emma first and he went right to it, pulling up Price’s vacated seat. She looked okay, not perfect but alive and breathing though her face looked terrified as she was tied up to the chair.

“Fucking hell,” Soap breathed as he tried to take in the background of the room. Moving his hand to the mouse he went to click play only to have Ghost grab his shoulder to stop him. “Piss off,” Soap muttered as he shoved him away and went to click it again. He needed to see with his own two eyes that she was breathing, alive, and somewhat healthy.

“We wait for Price,” Ghost said quietly. As if on queue Price opened the door to the study and stepped out to the living room where everyone was gathered. He walked over to the folding table that the laptop was set up on before finally speaking.

“No matter what happens in this video,” he cut his eyes directly at Soap and held his gaze for a moment, “we don’t lose focus. Our focus is to get her out of there and eliminate Crane. We do it right, we do it properly, we don’t rush in and we don’t fight amongst ourselves anymore. I had enough of that shit the other night.” He then turned his gaze to the rest of the team, lingering on Alex for a moment as well before gesturing for Soap to start the video. He moved further back from the group to let them all see better, not particularly wanting to watch Emma be tortured again.

The group was silent as the video began and as it progressed Soap’s body grew more and more tense. His hands were grabbing tightly onto his legs, curling into the fabric of his pants as he watched Crane restrain and taunt Emma. She put up a fight the whole time, trying to twist away from him, and had even landed a good hit on him before he choked her into submission. Ghost’s hand hadn’t left Soap’s shoulder and he could feel the pressure as the man’s hands also curled tightly in anger at what he was seeing. Emma wasn’t trained for this; she didn’t go through torture training like the rest of the team had when they joined their respective special forces yet she was the one going through it for Crane’s sick enjoyment.

When Crane got around to mentioning Alex, all eyes cut to the man standing there with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t give a single emotion away as he stared at the screen, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he watched, the only indication that he was uncomfortable was a slight shifting of his feet. Soap didn’t look at Alex long before he was back to watching the screen and when Crane dug the knife into Emma’s back Soap visibly flinched but he didn’t pull his eyes away. He struggled through Emma’s screaming that turned into undiscernible pleading and he felt Ghost give him a small squeeze as the screaming finally stopped and Emma was pulled to sit properly in the chair again.

When the hood came down over Emma’s head and she started fighting against the water Alex finally cracked. He dropped his arms from the crossed position over his chest and he turned away for a moment, running a hand over his jaw which was clenched so hard it was a wonder his teeth hadn’t broken. “Fuck,” he muttered as Emma’s fight finally subsided and she sat limp in the chair, her chest heaving for air. Crane smirked as he walked toward the camera and Soap had to restrain himself from slamming the laptop shut to not look at his damn face.

“Four hours,” Gaz said when the video stopped, only letting the silence linger for a moment, and then he looked at his watch. “How long has it been now?” He asked bending down to look at the time stamp on the video, “fuck Price. It’s already been an hour and a half,” he looked at Soap who was still staring at the screen, at the still image of Emma tied to the chair back again.

“Tell me we have a plan,” Soap said as he turned his gaze back toward Price who was standing there. “Tell me we have a goddamn plan right now or I am going in there without you,” his voice was calm as he spoke but his words were not and Price raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’ll do as you are commanded sergeant,” he reminded him. Even though he was sympathetic to Soap’s feelings, they all were, he wasn’t about to lose him to do something reckless. “We have a plan. The Americans are getting in the way though and are insisting they be involved since she’s a citizen,” he was cut off.

“Fuck the Americans,” Ghost said after a moment, “they always need our help and just slow us down,” he looked at Alex and Gaz who nodded their heads in agreement. “They are too busy licking one another’s boots and working their own agendas to actually get anything done.”

“I agree,” Price responded, “but this time we need the help. Britain has already said no,” he caught Soap’s flash of anger, “she’s not one of theirs so they aren’t risking a fight with Russia. Shadow company has offered up help us with aerial coverage. I called Graves myself,” he paused, “but we’re still waiting on approval from his Colonel. He’s having some issues getting the clearance.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Price, he said four hours. Emma doesn’t have time for them to figure their shit out,” Soap snarled. He was beginning to shake with anger and adrenaline and pushed to rise from his seat but Ghost held him down in his spot by the grip on his shoulder. “You cannot expect me to sit here and just fucking wait and see what other sick shit he decides to do to her,” he shook at Ghost’s hand but the man’s grip remained firm.

“I can and I do,” Price answered him, not frazzled by the temper or glare in Soap’s face. “The schematics that Alex found on Crane’s memory card show the facility is a huge underground bunker. It’s built to withstand nuclear attacks. We need the extra coverage, if we go in with just us as is it’ll be suicide and Emma will be dead along with us, which is what Crane wants.” He sighed, “Crane isn’t going to kill her, not yet.” He held up his hand as Soap opened his mouth to argue, “I know he’s going to hurt her Soap. I know. But there is nothing I or you can do right now.” He was just as agitated with the situation as Soap was but he had to make the proper call that would keep them all alive, it was his sometimes unfortunate role as Captain. “You knew what you signed up for, what I warned you about when I saw your relationship started. How things got messy and judgments get clouded when feelings get involved but you’ve proven you can handle it so I need you to keep proving you can. You are a soldier first, you take orders and I am ordering you to sit and wait. I’d give the same orders if you were stuck in there and I’d expect Ghost to give the same ones if it were me.”

Soap chewed on the words for a moment before shoving the laptop away from him, hard enough that Alex had to stop it from toppling over the other side of the table. “FUCK!” He yelled loud enough that Gaz flinched before Soap rose from his seat and properly threw Ghost off of him, stomping out toward the garage. No one followed him right away, they all looked at one another for a second. Price knew Soap was going to take the order, he wasn’t worried about him running off on his vendetta, but he still listened to make sure he stayed in the garage.

“I’ll go,” Alex said after a second and he moved around to follow Soap outside. The two of them had been the most tense with one another the past few days and now the whole team knew why. They needed to work out whatever it was between them now before they went in, there was no room for awkwardness or tension on this mission, and Price just watched Alex disappear behind the door before turning to the last two men to work out his plan.

Soap was in the garage seated on a folding chair, his body bent over with his hands on his knees and head hanging. He was frustrated with Price, angry at Laswell for letting the Americans get involved, relieved to see Emma was still alive but mostly scared about what was going to happen to her next. Just because Crane didn’t kill her didn’t mean that he would permanently scar her for life, physically or mentally. “I’m fine,” Soap said without looking up to see who it was that came out to check on him. He assumed it was Ghost.

“You’re not,” Alex said after a moment, stopping a healthy distance away to pick up the cigar he had been smoking a little while before and fiddling with the lighter. “I’m not either. The rest of the team isn’t, nothing about this situation is fine.” He got the cigar lit and took an extremely long drag, enjoying the feeling of the burn in his lungs. “I’m sorry,” he said after a second, “Crane lied about a lot of things but he wasn’t lying about what he said about me. About how I feel…felt, about Emma.” Alex hesitated, “I don’t anymore though. Not like that anyway…I’d never try to step in or,” he broke off as Soap pushed up from his chair and moved to walk toward him. With how bad everything had been these past few days he wasn’t sure how Soap was going to react to him, if he was going to just start swinging or walk away. He was willing to take the hits to let the man vent his frustration, he would prefer the anger of a fight then the sadness of defeat.

“I’m not an idiot,” Soap stated after a long pause of him just standing and staring at Alex. When he got close enough, he reached his hand out for the cigar. “I knew. I could tell because you smiled like a fool whenever she came into the room like I’m sure I did. Always volunteering to help her with training or watching her when you thought no one else was looking at you. I played the same game; it was a friendly competition in my eyes though. I guess Crane thought it was something more.” He laughed though it sounded hollow. “Ghost tells me not to trust anyone. And after what Crane did, I guess I shouldn’t…but I know you aren’t going to do anything to hurt her. Or me. Just as I wouldn’t if she had chosen you. We’re in this shit together and we'll continue to be in it.” He took a hit off the cigar and turned his head to exhale it quickly, he only smoked them for the action of smoking, not to feel the burn. “I’d rather have people that care about her on my team versus the political aspect of it like the Shadows. The rest of your American friends can fuck right off,” he grinned a bit and reached out to pat Alex on the shoulder, a gesture of friendship and to show him he wasn’t upset with him.

“Why do you think I spend all my time with you guys? I can’t stand Americans,” Alex grinned a bit before the garage door opened and Gaz poked his head out.

“Glad to see you didn’t kill one another,” he gave a half-hearted smile. “Price has a plan and we need to get moving so we are ready when the Shadows are. Laswell is pushing hard on them to figure something out, she even threatened to go ask the French for assistance if they don’t hurry up. We know American’s egos can’t handle being pushed aside so we need to be ready to party when they are.”

[harrison-abbott]

Mickey B and Me

Some kid wanted to beat me up after the final school whistle. I heard it in maths class when I was trying to do sums. One of the girls said,

“Mickey B is out to get you at the bus stop.”

I didn’t know what I had done to offend Mickey B. But I’d also seen what he’d done to other, smaller kids in the playground. He was only fifteen or so but he was also about six foot already. Man-size. If you put it that way. There was no chance I was going to win in a fight against him. And when it came to notions like legality; Mickey B was underage and therefore could violently attack as many people as he wanted, without retribution.

What could I do about this dilemma?

Well … I knew where Mickey B lived. He lived four streets away from me. I’d seen him around the road many many times and even though we were in the same year and same classes he had never once said Hi to me on any level.

I had my coat on the back of the chair and in my bag I had my phone (which wasn’t allowed in school) and my sandwich and some coins for the bus and something to eat on the way home. I retrieved the coins and my phone and put them in my trousers. Would have to leave everything else here. And then I got up from my desk and walked towards the maths teacher.

“Excuse me, Mr Atkinson,” I said, “I’m feeling a bit sick. Is it okay if I go to the toilet?”

“Eh, yeah. Okay.”

I was in the new corridor. Without my coat and with my new mission there seemed a new possibility across my body. I quit the corridor and headed out into the playground. And then I crossed the ground and went up the path to the main road and waited at the bus stop. The bus came pretty quickly and I was on my way home.

After twenty minutes I got off into my neighbourhood. With the dreary houses. It was around three o’clock in the afternoon. I was fairly determined not to get beaten up again; for, it had already happened to me so many times in my life; and it made me feel like I was no man; and just because I was skinny and didn’t speak like my beaters, just because I didn’t enjoy violence: it tended to make me be pathetic, drab, a failure, a lost cause.

I walked past the post office and the newsagent and ventured down the streets, passing my street, until I got to the road that Mickey B lived on and I turned right on to that. And walked all the way up to his house. I opened his gate and then I went straight up to his door and rang the bell.

To see if anybody was in. I waited five minutes after ringing the bell several times and there was no answer. And so after that I went down the side of the house and into his back garden. His side gate was unlocked. And suddenly I was in the garden, with the flowers and gnomes and mini windmills … All of these attributes bespeaking of a nice mother. She hadn’t created a nice child.

I remembered him kicking that boy in the nose repeatedly. The sheer span of gore. And the boy was half the size of him. And all he did, so I was told, was to call him “fat”. Mickey B. Yeah, he was a bit overweight.

I picked up a boulder that I found next to the little pond in the garden that Mickey B’s mother had made and then I lugged the boulder back over to the house and I threw it through the kitchen window. It smashed with this bristly crackly sound. And no alarms went off. Rather than pick my way through the broken shards, I unslipped the lock above the frame, and then lifted the frame up. And crawled into the kitchen.

There were photos of Mickey B and his family. Dotted around the walls in pinpoint portraits, all of them in full happy smiles; Christmas, birthdays. His mother and Dad both looked like him. And he was an only child. Nae siblings. I wondered if they knew about his playground assaults … Yes, very likely.

A cat. There was a photo of a cat, too. I didn’t want the cat to die in the fire.

So what I did was head through to the living room, scouting for a possible pet animal. I’d seen no meat bowl in the kitchen. And when I checked the two bedrooms upstairs there were no signs of fur or anything there either.

It wasn’t my intention to slay a little cat.

When all was clear, I returned to the kitchen.

There were tubs of vegetable oil and sunflower oil by the cooker and I poured out all of those into pots and I put the pots on the hobs and ignited the hobs full blast. And then I lit the cooker with the matches. And there were tea towels and bunches of tissue roll laying around. So I put those into the cooker, and made sure that the fabric caught alight with the flame. And soon there were these noxious scents snarling in the air.

I tied the towels together in a string and I made a loop of them that led into the sitting room. I got the matches and I lit the towels form that end, in the sitting room. My efforts were small and didn’t seem to be working much. So I went down the corridor to the downstairs toilet and looked in the cupboard above the sink. Found an aerosol can. [One of those cans that you see in commercials all the time, promoting sexual masculinity.]

I took the can through to the living room and I got another of the matches and I began spraying the sick chemicals all over the couches and pillows in the room. I tried the flameflower trick with the match. But the flame was a bit weak and the scoosh tended to blow it out. So I lit fire to the liquid that had soaked into the fabric.

All the while, the kitchen was burning.

I looked around my back and the kitchen was pulping these hard grey clouds.

Ha.

It was time for me to vacate.

The kitchen made me cough when I went in there; a full gust of burning plastic went up my throat and made me gasp and hack. I climbed out of the window.

Then took off back down the path by the side of the house and then I was in the street again and it was odd and sublime and perfect to be a criminal.

I quit the street and I returned the three blocks back to where I lived and then I simply went back to my own house, where I lived with my mother and my elder brother. My elder brother, who bullied me whenever he saw fit. And my mother who didn’t like me a toss. Neither of them were home when I unlocked the front door and went inside. I went into my kitchen and plonked some bread into the toaster. Got out a jar or jam. Boiled the kettle.

Maybe they would send me to prison. I put a tea bag in the cup and I spread the jam around the bread.

They weren’t going to send Mickey B to prison for repeatedly kicking that wee boy in the nose, outside of the high school, one random afternoon, over nothing. Nothing happened to Mickey, over that.

I took a bite of the toast. I sat on the floor of the kitchen and thought about what my life would be like in a jail cell. Was I a Baddie? Who cared …

[eric-the-bmo]

Blood and Silicon Ep5: The Dice Hate Us

[Summary: Blake and Leo decide to go check out the garage without Pauline. It doesn’t go well.]

Picking up from last episode, Blake goes off to feed from the woman Pauline brought in, leaving her and Leo alone in her office. There’s some silence, and eventually Pauline pauses from her typing (where she’s typing up all the information we gathered from the census quest) and lets Leo know that if anything is bothering him, he can talk to her about it. He holds his hands and says he just can’t tell her those things at the moment. She goes back to typing. Sebastian enters the room and asks Pauline for some time off, since college classes are going to be starting up eventually in the spring. She grants it to him, and he leaves. She goes back to transcribing the documents we got from Victor, and Leo pulls out his notebook to try and decipher some of the code he’d written down.

Blake returns from feeding and asks what they should do next; Leo suggests the garage and once again is immediately shut down. Blake offers to drive Leo home, and the two start to exit the club.

On the way out, Seb stops the two of them and recommends Leo change his wardrobe, since he doesn’t dress like everyone else at the club and is getting looks about it. Leo acknowledges this, drawing his coat closer around himself, and he and Blake exit the club and get into the Gangrel’s car.

Leo starts smoking a cigarette as they drive, and few minutes into the ride he realizes this isn’t the way to his apartment.

“Where are you taking me?” “...Somewhere I shouldn’t be.”

Leo is reasonably a bit terrified hearing that, but Blake is all “wait no hold on im not gonna kill you,” and it turns out they go to the garage of the Ashen Rose gang. There’s a chain link fence surrounding the perimeter, and a guard standing by the garage door entrance.

They get out of the car, and Blake asks Leo how long they should stake this out- Leo, a bit impatient from hunger, says “Or I could just do this” and turns invisible. Unfortunately, this causes him to gain a point of Hunger; His Beast begins yelling at him, and he tells it to shut up. Blake asks if he’s okay, but Leo ignores him and goes to investigate. His Beast tells him to go after the guard, she’s a Thinblood, won’t her blood taste great? He heavily considers this, but decides to stalk the perimeter of the chain fence to find an opening.

While trying to do this and be stealthy, Leo avoids kicking a can, and he’s very proud of himself, but then accidentally kicks a cat, which lets out a yell (and then knocks over a metal pipe!!!), and he’s like “oh god we fucked up,” and due to the hunger and anxiety of creeping around, he starts to dissociate because oh shit, oh my god they might get caught.

Trisha, the Thinblood guard, looks over and begins to head towards the sound; Blake realizes he should cause a distraction, and so he does a great impression of another cat.

Leo, still invisible, tries to continue finding a way through the fence, but ends up hitting the fence. His Beast goes full-paranoid- Leo fucked up, the guard is going to notice, they fucked up, they’re going to get caught oh god they should run- and so he runs away.

Smash cut to Pauline, still doing her paperwork. Sebastian enters her office and asks how long she’s been working with Blake and Leo [the answer is about a month for Blake, and only a few days for Leo]. He then asks if she’s certain she can trust them. Pauline responds that she can, and warns Sebastian to be careful.

Cut back to Leo. He’s stopped running now, as his paranoia has now worn off, but he’s still incredibly hungry. He goes off into the alleyways of the city, still invisible, and eventually finds an extremely drunken man sleeping behind a liquor store. He bites down and begins to feed, ending his invisibility.

Blake, not knowing that his companion ran off, tries to see if Leo had managed to make his way into the garage or not. He spots a vent on one side of the garage, and determines that no, Leo didn’t make it in, actually. He decides to wait and see if Leo will come back, and that he’ll go out and search for him after enough time has passed.

Meanwhile, Leo’s still been drinking the man’s blood, and is aware that if he continues to do so he’ll also get drunk. He doesn’t really care- in fact, part of him is looking forward to it. He drinks, and while his Beast is practically chanting at him to drain the man, and while he’s still a bit hungry, Leo pulls away so that he doesn’t end up breaking one of the Chronicle Tenants [The weak deserve protection]; and at this point he realizes he doesn’t know where he is. That’s fine; he can try and retrace his steps.

Blake decides to go find Leo, going down alleyways and whisper-calling his name. He eventually finds the Malkavian, and is relieved at this a bit, because 1) he found him, and 2) Leo being drunk at least means he fed, yknow? He asks Leo what happened and Leo responds that he got lost, and the two of them sit down. Blake asks how he’s feeling, which leads to an interesting interaction:

[”At least he’s not yelling at me anymore!” “??? Why would I yell at you?” “No, no, not you- J.” “...Is J still here with you?” (laughing) “He’s just not yelling at me anymore.”]

Blake gets Leo to look at him- letting him know he doesn’t have Pauline’s dominate abilities- and gets him to agree that they’re not going to tell her any of this; it stays between them. They head back to the car.

Inside, Leo asks Blade why he took them to the garage, since he seemed against it; Blake said it was his way of apologizing for being a stick in the mud (and also Leo needs to learn some lessons). Leo then asks what was up with the look Blake gave him after meeting with Victor (specifically, after Leo asked the Nosferatu to look into someone named Jeremiah). Blake says it just reminded him of his own past, and refused to elaborate any further. Blake sends Leo a text after dropping him off a few blocks from his apartment to make sure he got home safe.

The next night we meet up at the Asylum- Leo actually has on a black sweater this time to try and blend in better. Pauline’s printed out her documents and has put them all in a black folder. The trio heads to her office, and she calls up Zane the drug dealer, telling him she’s got someone interested in the drugs the Ashen Rose gang is selling. He says to go to the Northeast dealers, and warns her that their stuff is dangerous; also, it’s too early in the night for them to be out selling it at the moment. She thanks him and hangs up.

Blake and Leo somehow manage to convince Pauline to let them go check out the garage, and she’s all “okay, you wanna go so bad? fine.”

Pauline does not want to do this, but here we are, at the garage. Blake pretends to just now spot the vent, and he and Pauline try and do a “stand on the shoulders” thing to get Leo up there, but the dice continue to hate the players here, so even after two tries they’re unable to do this. Blake somehow ends up ripping the vent off its hinges, I think, which makes a Loud Noise. This, like the night before, alerts the guard.

Blake gets on the roof somehow???? Leo uses Obfuscate to hide, and Pauline waits. When the guard shows up, Pauline casts Dominate [”There was a thief here, but you scared him away. Everything is fine.”], and when the guard leaves she heads the other way.

Trisha the guard meets up with another gang member who wanted to see what was up, and the two get into an argument; because why would someone try to steal from this garage, as far as everyone knows nothing is in there?- they should change locations, the other guard is saying. Trisha is adamant it’s okay, since she scared the thief away. The other guard opens up the garage door; Leo sees his chance and goes in.

There's all sorts of alchemical stuff in there; tables with shelves and vials and weird components in jars, notebooks with alchemy equations/numbers, some of the weed the gang was making- but the main thing was this: There is a fridge laying on its back. Black tubes are running from it, dripping liquid into containers and running up to the alchemical equipment on the tables. Leo is certain there’s a vampire in there, perhaps, but is unable to check; The two gang members were in front of the open garage entrance, and doing something like that would cause the invisibility to end- and even if he were to do it again super quickly, it wouldn’t hide the fact that the fridge would be open.

However, Leo manages to grab some stuff (alchemical components, a notebook, some weed), and does the Quick Invisibility idea mentioned above for it. The trio all gets tf out of there and into the car, where Leo tells them about his Vampire Fridge theory. 

The session ends with the coterie heading over to meet Harrison at his bar- It’s time to give him the information they learned from the census interviews, and to receive their reward (aka, feeding territory so they can eat without trespassing/fear of getting staked)

[bihanspookies]

A/n: a counterpart to this

Moments like these were the ones Alora despised the most.

The ones late at night when her fellow Black Dragon members (minus a few sane ones) were celebrating a job well done, one that could’ve easily gone down in the shitter if she hadn’t tucked away her conscience and shift into Kano’s stone cold muscle to get him the answers he wanted. She hated the moments she had to forcefully isolate herself, her fingers raw and caked with dry blood, white knuckling the neck of a liquor bottle she swiped from the Aussies office. It wasn’t necessarily rare for her to let herself slip, to drown herself in the familiar burn that she turned to whenever Kano told her to not hold back.

She’s used to having her fists crunch and smash bone, making blood gush from every orifice possible, making her opponents beg for sweet mercy. She was a fighter, that was obvious, it was something she did professionally and underground.

But the difference between fighting in an arena and fighting someone that had no idea what was going to happen in the next second was that at least both parties knew what they were getting into. In the arena, both people knew that there would be blood, sweat and tears, both fighting to be a winner.

When you’re someone on the other end of a Black Dragon deal and you didn’t pull through with your promise then you were just asking to be ripped apart until you fulfilled your side of the bargain.

Alora brings the bottle to her lips, taking large gulps and squeezing her eyes shut to push away the scorching taste that slides down her throat with every swallow. When she finally pulls it away half the liquor is already gone, its dark amber color sloshing around the pretty glass.

It’s around 3 a.m and she stands outside against one of the brick buildings, a minor breeze whipping past her face and making her stray hairs wisp around. The wind soothes the flush in her cheeks, her already naturally warm body heating up a smidge more due to her alcohol consumption. Shang Tsung’s magic had given her an impeccable tolerance to liquor, meaning it would take a lot more than one bottle to even get her a little buzzed. But she wasn’t necessarily trying to get drunk, just attempting to do something to distract herself and drown the little voice in her head that always came after a mission gone awry.

It was supposed to be a quick exchange, her and Kano had left to go and pick up a batch of weapons from someone they had done business with plenty of times. When they got to the meetup location, Alora immediately sensed something was off and Kano did as well not too long after. The first indication was that their usual seller wasn’t there, someone completely new in his place stood there with two big cargo bins right behind him, one with a sort of lock on it. Alora lingered back and watched as Kano proceeded like normal, a hand behind his back and ready to signal her if something was about to go to shit.

Which it did.

When Kano popped the lid of one container open, he was visibly confused and ready to tear a new one into man and ask why only half of what they agreed upon was in there. Alora clenched her jaw, a muscle ticking because she already knew where this was going.

Kano gave the good grace of allowing him to explain himself, the poor man doing his best to seem like he wasn’t about to absolutely vomit his stomach out. Alora faintly registered him saying that his boss wanted more money than they were getting, that once payment was made he’d get the code and other half of what was already promised.

It’s all Kano needed to send out Alora like a raging hurricane.

With a simple gesture of his hand Alora pushed herself off the wall and made her way towards the man who coward in fear as he saw deathly gaze in her blue grey eyes. He barely got to block his face before she sent a fist flying to his jaw, a sickening crunch echoing throughout the port. Blood and teeth spewed out, followed by horrid cries of pain but she didn’t relent, she couldn’t. She continued to beat him until Kano told her it was enough, the end result being several missing teeth, a destroyed nose and two busted and bruised eyes.

Adding insult to injury, Kano lobbed a wad of spit onto the man, saying that next time he wouldn’t be so lucky. They made off with their weapons, leaving the man a whimpering and bloody mess on the cold hard ground.

Alora takes another swig from the bottle, giving a small belch and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She blinks wearily, vision slightly blurry as she stares blankly at the ground. The distant cheering of her teammates blend into nothing in the background, the whoops and hollers of a job well done being lost under the ringing going through her ears.

She doesn’t allow herself to think of the man, doesn’t let herself wonder if he’s still there struggling to get up or if help came.

Or if he simply died.

She goes to take another a sip but realizes she’s finished the bottle and in a heat of the moment, turns and forcefully shatters it against the wall. Glass flies and a few pieces nick her on the face and arms but she doesn’t care. Instead she embraces the minor stinging because it’s something.

She’s feeling something rather than nothing.

[vidiaofthewind]

Silence {Vidia & Max}

An Alarm goes off at town hall

Set: March 12

@trackedbymaximus

Previous Reading

Bubbling to the Surface Like a Tornado From Blood to Dust

VIDIA 

The alarm blared and Vidia for once in her life had stayed completely still as she stared at the dust in her hands.

She destroyed the crown.

It didn't make sense. 

It wasn't that old. The case wasn't pressurized. Why was this happening?

Vidia's ears were ringing as blood from her hand and where she had punched through the glass dropped in an unknown pattern.

She didn't even hear the sirens.

She didn't hear the door slam open. 

Vidia didn't run.

MAXIMUS

It was Maximus’s turn to work the late shift, although those were usually quiet in Swynlake. Unless some magical disaster happened, the city tended to roll up the sidewalks which meant there wasn’t a lot to attract the criminal element. He didn’t mind, as it usually served as time to go over the information for ongoing cases in between patrols. 

Until the alarm went off for Town Hall.

Within moments, he and the officer that was working the shift with him were up from their desks and into the waiting patrol car, sirens on for safety as they raced down the street and to the steps of Town Hall. 

When they raced inside, Maximus could see a single woman standing there frozen, along with the glints of shattered glass on the ground. 

“Police. Don’t move.” 

VIDIA

Vidia didn't move. Not because she was demanded not to but because the crown was now dust in her hands.

How did that happen?

Why did that happen?

It had to be the humans fault.

Fairies crafted Items that would never crumble like that. But even that thought process didn't make her feel better that she may have destroyed a priceless Artifact.

The only motion in the room was the dust falling. The blood dripping from her hand.

MAXIMUS

Maximus cautiously approached the still woman, quickly taking in the scene in front of him. He knew the officer with him would have already taken pictures of the scene for reference since there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, and they would take more when they were able to return to properly investigate and clean the scene. 

For now, the story told was obvious. The case for the Fairy Crown was smashed. The woman standing there had blood on her hand from the glass of the case. The crown was gone. 

“Ma’am, I am placing you under arrest for breaking and entering and for destruction of public property. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention something you later rely on in court.” The rote phrase slipped out of his lips as he approached her with the handcuffs that he’d pulled off of his belt. 

When she didn’t make any sign of running, he quickly handcuffed her. They’d have to deal with the cut as soon as they got back to the station, but as it wasn’t life threatening, he wanted her out of there first. 

VIDIA

Vidia’s first reaction was to pull back. To not let the cuffs go around her wrists but he already had a good grip on her.

She could have used her magic. She could have him blown away. But that would make this worse.

She wasn't violent.

Even if the display here didn't prove that.

“I didn't take the crown. It just turned to dust. It shouldn't have done that.”

MAXIMUS

Internally, he raised an eyebrow. He found that hard to believe. That was supposed to be a gift from the fairies, and there was nothing in there that should have dissolved that quickly. 

But that was only one detail among many. 

After all, whether or not she currently had the crown didn’t change the fact that she had clearly been intending to take the crown, as evidenced by everything else on the scene. It didn’t change her other charges regardless. Theft was only one part. 

“When we’re back at the station, you can tell me exactly what happened.” 

Taking her elbow with a firm grip, he started to walk with her back towards the car. 

VIDIA

Vidia Cursed mentally. She should know more about police matters. What to say. What not to say.

Did She call Clarion?

Did she call Tofi?

What did she do?

As Vidia frantically worked all this in her Head James could be seen running to townhall. Stopping short as he saw the flashing lights and the fairy in handcuffs.

“Fuck.” Glancing at town hall and the police officers, James pulled out his own phone. He'd get some records and information before pulling Clarion in.

The RAS didn't need to interfere if this was just Vidia acting brash but brash and as impulsive as she was she did deserve proper representation. 

Put into the car Vidia let out a small Huff her magic blowing her hair away from her face.

First thing first.

Dont get in more trouble by talking.

MAXIMUS

It was a short ride back to the station before Maximus was helping her out of the car and inside. He walked past the initial desks and straight into the interview room with her. 

He hadn’t used the magic suppression handcuffs on her as he hadn’t thought of it in the moment, although with the better light he was questioning if he should have. But she hadn’t done anything stupid since he’d arrived hopefully she would keep it that way. 

As they’d walked past, he’d given a nod to the officer who had peeled off to grab the first aid kit and call the paramedics to take a look at her before handing him the kit. 

Entering the room, he let go of her elbow and took the kit, walking over to start the tape recorder before he said anything else. He set the first aid kit down on the table and let her choose which seat she would prefer.

“Interview begun at 11:30 pm on March 12, 2024 Deputy Sheriff Maximus Keaton is here. Please state your name for the record.” 

VIDIA

It was weird, he was weird. Letting her choose a seat. A trick. Something to get her guard down. Like he wasn’t out to get her.

Vidia didn’t like it.

She didn’t know what to expect.

And she really liked knowing what to expect.

Staring at the tape recorder, then the first aid kit and then him as he spoke. 

She didn’t trust him.

“Vidia Windwhistler.”

MAXIMUS

Her silent hostility didn’t bother him in the slightest. He was used to the distrust people held for the police, and as a fairy, that was likely to be even worse. In some corner of him he sympathized. 

But not enough to change what was happening here. Whatever she thought of herself, she had been caught in the act of breaking into a public building, destroying property, and interfering with something that was considered a town treasure. Fairy or not, there were laws she needed to respect. 

His tone stayed even and careful. “How do you prefer to be addressed Ms. Windwhistler? Do I have permission to perform some basic first aid until the paramedics arrive?”

VIDIA

“The paramedics don’t need to be called.” Honestly Vidia was relying a little bit on the pain to ground herself. It stopped her from going into her head. Lost in the thoughts that would and could strangle her.

She should have just run.

“Vidia is fine too.”

MAXIMUS

“Vidia, do you realize that you are bleeding? We will need to make sure that there isn’t any glass in your wounds.” 

He kept his voice steady, not sure what degree of shock she was in. He couldn’t interrogate her about what happened until she was stable, or until she formally refused medical care on record. 

He didn’t see the point in mentioning that the paramedics had already been called and were likely on their way there. She could argue with them when they arrived, as that wasn’t his problem. His problem was to respond to the emergency using his best judgment. 

VIDIA

Vidia leveled her gaze at the deputy. No shit she knew that she was bleeding. But why would she accept help from someone who just wanted the worse from her. 

“It's a biohazard Or something?” Vidia questioned though her voice lacked the usual bite it would have.

“Fine. Whatever.”

MAXIMUS

Technically yes and no in response to her question. If it was human blood, it was absolutely a biohazard. Fairy blood was something more complicated than that, and he knew how desirable some people had found it. He’d been involved once in arresting a black market dealer in fairy blood when he’d been relatively new to the Force, and what he’d seen in that place still lived in his memory - including how his fellow officers had reacted. 

So. He would treat it like a biohazard and clean this room thoroughly, and make sure that everything else her blood had touched was cleaned just as thoroughly. Better to think of it as a biohazard. 

He didn’t respond to the question as he saw the paramedic through the window of the door and he waved them in. 

Maximus took a moment to relate what he had seen and the potential concerns, and the cheerful medic quickly cleaned Vidia’s hand and ensured there wasn’t any class still inside. Once she was bandaged, the paramedic nodded to Maximus and stepped out again, presumably to talk to the officer who was still out there. 

“Now. Will you tell me what happened this evening?”

VIDIA

The man moved carefully. With purpose. Every movement he made. Every Movement the paramedics made she eyed carefully.

As if they would lunge at her. Dragging her into some black hole that she would never be able to escape.

But as soon as that process started. It had ended.

Would she?

Should she?

“No. I'd like to call a lawyer instead.”

MAXIMUS

Maximus bit back a sigh. He’d hoped that she would make this easy, simply confess and they could move on with their night as he started to move through all the steps that came next. But nothing in this town was ever that easy. 

Although this case was pretty cut and dried, and they would have all the forensic evidence they needed. But he preferred to have everything as neat as possible. 

“Very well. I’ll walk you to the phone so you can make your call. Interview terminated at 11:47 pm.” 

He stood up and stood at the door, holding it open for her so she could choose to walk through. 

VIDIA

Vidia had two options. Clarion who probably had a lot of say but there was part of her that thought Clarion would leave her to rot. The Queen had told her to leave it and yet Vidia couldn’t.

Even if the plan hadn’t been all of this.

The other option was more likely. Someone that would actually help her spin a tale.

Making the phone call, Vidia was careful as she spoke as she was advised.

She wouldn’t speak anymore, not until someone else that knew the system could intervene.

Vidia was in the right and honestly, considering the fairy crown was so obviously fake. The whole town could get fucked.

MAXIMUS

As Vidia made her call, Maximus stood nearby, making sure he was in between her and the door. He didn’t listen beyond first identifying that it wasn’t Belle she was speaking to. He didn’t know enough of the lawyers in town yet to recognize who else it might be. 

He’d know them all before long, he was sure. 

Whatever she thought, she had broken the law today and she would be answerable for that fact. 

As soon as she was done, he walked her back to the cell and locked her inside. She could make herself comfortable in there until the lawyer came, and then they would finish this conversation. For now, he had paperwork to fill out and clean up to organize. 

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #592

Top Ten Xbox Games That Could Be Movies

For the last thirty years, adaptations of videogames into film and TV has been met mostly with scorn, derision, and a good deal of suppressed laughter. Amidst the 16-bit console boom of the mid-nineties, the first round of adaptations – Super Mario Bros., Street Fighter, etc – weren’t exactly of the highest calibre, and it seemed that the best a game could hope for was to be adapted into a movie that was “okay”; “not bad”; “better than you’d expect” (e.g. Tomb Raider, Resident Evil, Sonic the Hedgehog). It didn’t help that for the most part these films weren’t exactly setting the box office alight, let alone burning up the loins of film critics the world over.

Things have changed recently. You could argue that, as games have become more complex, their narratives have become easier to adapt; the 2013 Tomb Raider reboot has an awful lot more story and script than the original 1996 game, and as such the 2018 film adaptation was able to skew closer to the game’s plot than the weirder 2001 version starring Angelina Jolie. Even as far back as the nineties, there was talk of adaptations of adventures such as The Dig or even The Secret of Monkey Island, but sadly they never came to fruition; instead we got Doom and Mortal Kombat. Nowadays, though, a generation of filmmakers who grew up on games, and who understand their nuances and culture, have produced a string of successful adaptations – both critical and commercial smashes. This year alone has seen The Last of Us on TV receive rave reviews, possibly on its way to awards glory as it’s hailed as one of the best new shows. At the cinema, in what has generally been seen as a disappointing year for big blockbusters, The Super Mario Bros Movie went bananas despite a mediocre critical response; it’s currently sitting at $1.3 billion internationally, easily the biggest film of the year so far, and with a very good chance of retaining that position. It feels like, eventually, films and TV shows based on games are taken seriously by filmmakers, studios, and audiences alike, and hopefully this will lead to some more interesting adaptations going forward (like – ahem – Monkey Island).

One common thread here is that the big game-to-film-or-whatever successes tend to be properties closely associated with, if not owned by, Nintendo or Sony (or Sega, I guess, with the pretty successful Sonic movies). Whither Microsoft, third player in the console race? Well, they had the Halo show on Paramount, which I’ve not seen all of so far; but it’s not been amazing and really it’s incredibly divorced from the Halo games anyway. It’s probably fair to say it’s not been an out-and-out success, and given how streaming services are killing off films and shows left and right, I do wonder how much more we’ll ever see of it. Maybe if he’d left his helmet on, eh, fellas?

But it doesn’t have to be this way! For Uncle Dave is here to give Microsoft the massive cinematic hit in requires. Commercial and critical success awaits, because they do, in fact, have a wealth of properties to draw upon in order to make their filmic dreams come true. Below, then, are ten gaming franchises owned by Microsoft (some, er, they’ve not owned for very long, to be fair). By adapting them in the way I describe they’re sure to become culturally relevant and part of the conversation. Just the thing to celebrate the FTC giving the greenlight to them purchasing Activision/cheer them up after the FTC ruled that they’re not allowed to purchase Activision [delete as appropriate once I know what’s happening]!

Fable (2004): the slightly tongue-in-cheek sword-and-sorcery world of Fable would fit perfectly into a movie. The games have often been described as Python-esque, and they perfectly capture a particularly British sense of whimsy and sauciness. I imagine Simon Farnaby and Paul King could write a perfect script, perhaps following young heroes who have to step up to face off against Jack of Blades. A little bit of smut and silliness could offset the high fantasy, separating the film from the likes of Lord of the Rings or even Dungeons and Dragons; but similarly the cheery tone, humour, and heart would make it distinct from Game of Thrones. As a moderately-large-budget fantasy film it’s got its own hook and style and could stand alone, and could really be quite a decent hit if done right.

Gears of War (2006): nearly didn’t put this one in because I think it’s supposed to be in development, but after Halo this is probably Xbox’s big franchise. As the games focus on a team of at least four or more characters, there’s actually a lot of scope here for an interpersonal team movie. I think taking it back to the beginning, and adapting the story of the first trilogy of games, is probably simplest; following Marcus Fenix and crew as they try to stop the Locust invasion. Apparently Dave Bautista wants to play him, but sadly I think he’s a bit old now; I’d probably go for Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, or Channing Tatum as Marcus. Whilst I think this does need a big budget, it also should be R-rated, directed with a sense of fun and an awareness of the absurdities of the source material so it doesn’t get bogged down in grimness or the weird locker room tone of the first couple of games.

Banjo Kazooie (1998): basically this could be Xbox’s Super Mario move. Rather than go the Sonic route of bringing a CG Banjo into the real world, I think this should be a fully animated affair. What would be important here is – a bit like Fable – there’s a strong vein of British sensibility running through the Banjo games, with incredibly silly Beano-style humour. This could be reflected in the voice cast: I’d go for Daniel Kaluuya as Banjo, building on his great turn in Spider-Verse; Karen Gillan as Kazooie; and Susie Eddie Izzard as Grunty.

Perfect Dark (2000): Xbox’s Bond, in more ways than one. This could be a sleek, stripped-back sci-fi spy romp; get Chad Stahelski in to direct it, make it super-swish and have loads of John Wick-esque gun-fu, with a suitably athletic young woman shooting people in the head with a lot of CG blood splatters. I imagine that a Perfect Dark film nowadays would hew closely to whatever the rebooted game turns out to be – and maybe trying to get a film together at roughly the same time is a nice bit of brand strategy – but if I was going for it right now, I wouldn’t go quite as broadly sci-fi as the first game; I’d hint at the aliens, maybe, rather than taking you to their world. Instead I’d make it a tale of corporate espionage and nefarious political skullduggery in the near future, with a young Agent Dark on an early mission. Who to cast? I think Anya Taylor-Joy would be a fine it.

Forza Horizon (2012): the new Gran Turismo film looks quite fun and interesting, even if I imagine its triumphant-underdog story might turn out to be a bit clichéd. I think here, rather than following the traditional path of the racetrack-bound mainline Forza Motorsport series, they should adapt the expansive and wilder Horizon games. Using the festival backdrop that most of the games have, it could feature loud music and fast cars, but also have a rollocking off-road feel – which would also help differentiate it somewhat from the Fast and the Furious movies. Perhaps our plucky young hero (I’m seeing Anthony Ramos, for some reason) wants to be a “proper” racer but gets in with some wrong’uns and ends up in a no-holds-barred chase across southern France and Italy to get to the Horizon festival in time, pursued by the bad guys and the Law. It could be a little bit Fast, a little bit Cannonball Run.  

Microsoft Flight Simulator (1982): this one might be a little similar to that Gran Turismo plot, but who cares; it’s cool. So it’s about a couple of amateur flight enthusiasts – maybe a big brother who has a microlight, and his kid sister who, get this, only plays Flight Simulator. But then they’re on an aeroplane and – oh no! – something befalls the pilots and, amidst a growing series of interconnected crises, the plucky rando has to fly an actual commercial jet. See, it’s actually part of some nefarious plot by bad guys to drug the pilots and hijack the plane or something, but they weren’t counting on some gamer chick to take the reins and fly the damn thing. Starring Millie Bobbie Brown, with John Hamm as the pro pilot who you think has been drugged but really he was in on it the whole time and is A Nasty.

Age of Empires (1997): loosely spinning off from the popular strategy franchise, this offers a degree of realism to counter the high fantasy and comedy of Fable (and also the dark supernatural elements of Hellblade – see below). The plot follows a Roman general, exiled for some reason (he’s been set up, basically) who washes up in some Celtic village and tries to warn the populace that entire Roman army is on its way. He has to earn their trust, learn their ways – he thinks they’re savages, basically – and help them prepare for the Romans, teaching them to fight the Roman way. It’s a muddy, Gladiator-style affair, with some period drama and intrigue before culminating in a huge, epic battle the likes of which the game is famous for. Starring Henry Cavill as the Roman with an assortment of Brits with regional accents as the Celts.

Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice (2017): this is one where you could actually follow the plot of the film relatively closely – although maybe you’d have to come up with something else to challenge Senua other than the weird trippy puzzles. But her mental status and the voices she hears as the game progresses – and the visions that could be supernatural or could be all in her head – would make for an excellent cinematic experience, and one that was thrilling, unsettling, and poignant. It would make a great Ben Wheatley film, actually.

Psychonauts (2005): another one that could be Xbox’s answer to Mario, a fully animated adventure. But, again, this is one that has its own sense of humour and style, delightfully weird. Journeying through someone’s subconscious inside their brain is an almost Pixar-ish idea (and sort of explored in Inside Out, although Psychonauts is more like a visualisation of psychiatry principles rather than anthropomorphising emotions). You could actually go fully Spider-Verse with this one, adopting different animation techniques and art styles as you venture through different parts of the psyche.

Crackdown (2007): this one would be a riot, just an absolute balls-to-the-wall violent gun-fest. It could follow a team of Agents – lead, naturally, by Terry Crews – who are assigned to take out a major kingpin and their henchmen, taking some cops with them for the ride. The rest of the film is a drawn-out firefight across the city as they work their way to the villain’s hideout, the Agents using enhanced abilities of their suits – and whatever is near to hand – to fight, at turns delighting and disturbing the locals. It would tap into that RoboCop sense of satire and critique, lampooning not just similar action movies but also wryly commenting on the notion of a state sending such firepower against its own citizens. As the film progresses, the true, nefarious intent of the Agency would be revealed, and our beleaguered Agents would have to make one final stand. But, like, it’d be funny, too.

So there we are. I nearly had Fallout on here, but thought as a film it might hew too closely to the Mad Max template; also Quake, but then it kinda treads similar ground to Gears and Hellblade; and Monster Truck Madness, but by that point I thought I was getting a bit silly. Anyway, the point is, Microsoft has tons of cool game properties it could adapt, and it should pull its finger out already.

Unless they’re waiting till they can make a movie of Call of Duty, of course.

[devildomditzy]

How they comfort you

Because I know I need this right now and I know I’m not the only one <3

Tags/Warnings: None, pure fluff

Gender Neutral Mc

Lucifer

He assumes the best way to comfort you is the same way he comforts himself

When he notices you’re upset he silently grabs your wrist and leads you to his office

He puts on whichever cursed record you’ve both been listening to lately and reaches a hand out to you gently, inviting you to dance with him

He pulls you in close, letting your head lay on his chest as one hand lies in yours and the other settles upon your hip

It’s slow, and it’s definitely not ballroom dancing, but it’s the softest swaying that calms you down in the arms of your lover

Whatever it is that’s bothering you, he’ll want to talk about with you after. If he can’t make it better himself, then at least he can take your mind off of it.

Mammon

The go-to brother for emotional comfort 🥺

He can pick up on your emotions quicker than you can at this point, and he is well equipped to deal with the situation! (he’s had a lot of personal experience thanks to his brothers 🥲)

This man will scoop you up no matter where you are and will not listen to your protests until he throws you (gently) on to the couch in his room

Brings the blanket over from his bed and wraps you like a burrito, sitting next to you and waiting patiently for you to vent

Will hold you if you’d like, if not he’ll keep his distance, comforting you with his words

After you’re done talking, he’ll put your favorite movie on (and you already know he’s got your favorite junk food on deck. he has to hide it in his room so Beel can’t get his hands on it.)

Won’t leave your side even for a minute until you’re feeling better

Even when you do feel better, he still won’t budge.

Levi

He’s not great with these normie emotions, but he’ll be damned (again ;D) if he isn’t gonna try his best for you

He remembers how beautifully you smiled last time you played against him in Superb Smash Sisters, and he’s dying to see that grin grace his presence once more

Gets your favorite games and animes loaded up, ready for a night of binging and battling.

Wont stop glancing over to gauge your reactions, even during the games

If he notices your face drop for even a second, he’s pausing the level so that his full focus can be on you

Bravely reaches out to caress the top of your hand before intertwining it with his

If you mention anything else you’d rather do, he’s ready at the jump. He’d do anything to help you.

Asmo

Self 👏 Care 👏 King 👏

One second you’re telling him you’re upset, the next second you are both in a luxurious bubble bath (which, you can’t even remember getting into - he’s just that fast)

Let’s you talk his head off while he washes your hair

Lingers so long soaping up your body that it becomes a massage

Once you’re both out, he’ll make sure to put his favorite face mask on both of you and insist on painting your nails while gossiping about the others to help you get your mind off of what’s bothering you

If that’s not really your thing, he’ll drag you out to Majolish, spending hours finding you the perfect outfit that will boost your confidence ten-fold

When you return home, he’ll pull you into bed and cuddle you. Only AFTER you give him a personal fashion show, of course

Satan

Another one to assume his partner is so like minded to himself, so he does what what he knows cheers himself up for you

Makes you your favorite cup of coffee or tea

Depending on how upset you are, he may ask Luke to make you your favorite dessert to serve along side it

Pulls you into the comfy little reading nook in his room, letting you lay in his lap as he reads you passages out of your favorite book

If he notices you’re still antsy, he’ll set it down and offer to listen if you’d like to talk

He’ll provide the best advice he can regarding what’s upsetting you, making sure to take in your reaction as he punctuates his thoughts with a soft kiss to your forehead

Then, he’ll pick up where he left off in the book until you drift peacefully to sleep

Beel

Ya allllllready know what cheers him up, so whatever food you want, this man is gonna get it for you dammit!!!

When you tell him you’re sad, he’s already walking out the door towards your favorite bakery

He’s knows how good it feels to receive your favorite food, and he wants that same feeling for you

If you aren’t in the mood for eating, he’ll suggest going to the gym together to work out your stress and get your mind off of it (well, FIRST he’ll gasp, then he’ll suggest the gym after the shock rolls over him. Who wouldn’t want to eat???)

He really is the best motivator out of the brothers when it comes to physically getting out your anger/sadness/stress in a healthy way

When you’re both wiped out, he’ll ask you to come rest with him in his room. He’ll never leave you by yourself when you’re feeling down.

Belphie

nap time :)

He’s got the comfiest bed in the either house and a hypnotic way of running his fingers through your hair that makes all your worries melt away, if only for a bit

If you really can’t sleep, he’ll lead you to the observatory where you can both look out at the stars (well, FIRST he’ll gasp, then he’ll suggest the observatory after the shock rolls over him. Who wouldn’t want to sleep??? they really are twins)

A lot of deep conversations happen between the two of you, the stars being the only witnesses

You know he’s troubled too, so it helps to talk to someone who understands

He may not have advice to give you, but sometimes it’s nice to just be heard

Once there’s nothing more to talk about, he’ll pull you in to lay your head down on his shoulder as you both look out at the universe, perfectly contented in each other’s silence