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luniellar · 3 years

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The Union: Chapter One - Sebastian Stan X Chris Evans X Reader

Summary: This fictional story takes place between the three kingdoms that hold great power in the untouchable lands located in Europe. Despite the modern developments in the other countries, these three kingdoms, Callisto, Europa and Io, exist hidden from the rest of the world and embrace the cultural customs shared for centuries from the early human civilizations.

You are the daughter of the Europa Kingdom led by your father, King Jovian. This year you reached the fruitful age of 21, meaning that it’s finally time to fulfill your duty as the princess of Kingdom Europa. The arranged marriage between Kingdom Europa and Kingdom Callisto has been something that your father planned for a long time to finally bring peace between the three kingdoms. Whether you like it or not, you are the key piece to it all. King Stan of Callisto is who you will be sharing the honor of the arranged marriage. He is known by all as a man of savage fighting nature and very few words. You know there is no hope wishing for the passionate love your father and mother shared, but will you be able to bring peace to this land to fulfill your father’s last wishes?

Link: Prologue | 1 |

Warnings: Inappropriate languages & minor heated scenes

Word Count: 2.6K

The dining table was filled to the brim with the fancy reception feast. High level nobles and knights sat around the table as they dug into the feast as if they had been starving for weeks. You and King Stan sat at the head of the table and your father sat by your right hand talking to the other noble men. When you glanced over by the King’s side, there was a handsome male with golden brown hair that reminded you of the warm autumn’s sun. He looked much too young to be the King’s father.

The Callisto’s family tree has been hidden under the table for a while after King Stan took over the land. One rumor said that his father died during one of the many battles, but no one ever heard about his mother. Some said that she passed away when he was young and others spoke of an illegitimate birth. You glanced over at the brown hair smiling lad by the King again.

Hm…

“How bold,” the King’s velvet voice spoke calmly, startling you. “The queen dares to look at other mates in front of her king already.”

Your face turned red as you quickly darted your eyes from the blonde male and back to your plate. The food was untouched and starting to get cold.

He chuckled, sending shivers down your cold skin. “I can introduce you. He’s a close friend and my right-hand man, Duke Christopher Evans.”

You glanced up and made eye contact with the clear, crystal blue orbs that belonged to Duke Evans. He made a pleasant, genuine smile that lit up his entire face and tipped his head towards your direction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess Euro- I mean Queen Callisto.”

You smiled back despite the awkwardness you felt when he spoke your new name. Any small amount of appetite you had left over was lost.

“The pleasure is mine, Duke Evans.”

“Please, call me Chris.”

You were taken back from the friendly nature of the Duke and didn’t know what to reply.

“Oh, uh-”

Before you could finish your sentence the king interrupted. “Aren’t you going to eat at all, my queen?”

You reached out for the brass fork beside the porcelain plate and stabbed a piece of salad through it. You felt the King and the Dukes’ eyes on you as you quietly chewed and placed the fork back down.

“The food must not be to your liking.” The King said out loud causing your father, who was engaged in another heated discussion with one of the nobles, to turn his head.

“My daughter loves all the food prepared at our castle, King Stan.” He replied disapprovingly. Your father took pride in the exceptional quality of food prepared in the Castle Europa kitchen. He even made sure to hand pick each and every staff member who was assigned to the kitchen.

“My apologies, King Jovian. I didn’t mean any harm in my comment. My queen looked like she was having a hard time finishing her meal.” King Stan replied with respect.

Your father cleared his throat which he did often when he disapproved of something. Ignoring the King’s comment, he turned to you. “Daughter, are you alright? Should I ask them to bring you something you would like to eat instead? What would you like?”

You smiled politely and shook your head. “No father, I appreciate your thoughts. My body is just exhausted from the long day, I’m looking forward to resting soon.”

King Stan’s smiling face and amused tone attracted the attention of the few sitting near us. “My queen, I didn’t know you were so eager to share beds.”

You glared up at him and saw a few unfamiliar eyes in your direction who caught his words. Your father’s pale fist around his steak knife caught your eyes. At this rate, there was only going to be one King standing after this dinner and King Stan was the one with a perfect track record. You looked over at Duke Evans who hung his head in shame at his friend’s embarrassing behavior. This dinner was already over.

You stood up from your seat and every pair of eyes around the room looked up including King Stan’s. “Please excuse me while I check on the preparations for my leave. Enjoy your dinner and thank you for coming.”

Whispers drowned behind you as you navigated yourself out of the dining hall. You walked over to the grand lobby and saw the helpers organize the boxes of your belongings for the move to Castle Callisto. You stood in the lobby and your chest felt heavy again.

“It looks like they are almost finished,” the velvet voice echoed behind her.

The tears teased around your eyes and you bit down on your lips hard to the point the taste of iron lingered around your mouth. You were going to make sure the King never saw your tears today. You were the Queen now. The last thing you needed him to think was that you were just another female body he could push around like a lifeless puppet.

He stopped next to you and your shoulder was touching his hard biceps through his commander uniform. You nodded in response without turning to look at him. “I am excited to see the beautiful Castle Callisto, King Stan. I should head back to say farewell to my Father.”

As you were about to head back, his strong grip grabbed your left wrist. His warm touch felt like needles against your cold skin.

“I’ll be waiting outside in the jet. Don’t make me wait too long.”

You wanted to rip your wrists out of his grip and shout profanities for asking you to cut your farewell to your own father short. You let out a soft exhale as you moved your free hand to move his warm hand. Despite the grip, it was fairly easy to move. Your hand felt tiny holding his large, masculine hand.

“Yes, I’ll be quick, my King.”

✧✧✧

You begged your father to continue the dinner instead of coming to say farewell. You knew that your goal of staying tear free this wedding was going to be ruined if you had to formally say goodbye. He then went on cursing about how he was going to kill that boy, but you had to quickly talk him out of that idea.

You looked at the massive Callisto Kingdom private jet that lit up the dark forest surroundings. A loud sigh escaped your lips as you looked behind the great Castle Europa. So many memories that made you into the woman you are today existed in this land. Biting your lips again, you closed your eyes to remember the air, soul, and people this land meant to you.

It was time to say goodbye.

“Goodbye Europa.”

✧✧✧

The jet trip was a little over two hours. Despite the empty seat next to the King, you sat in the row behind him. Surprisingly, he didn’t request you to sit next to him. Across from you was Duke Evans who fell asleep in the plush seat the moment the jet took off.

You stared out at the window the entire ride without a word. You couldn’t tell if the King also fell asleep, but you assumed he did since he also didn’t move a bit for the entire span of the ride like Duke Evans.

When the flight attendants came out from their space at the front of the jet, they announced that we landed in Callisto. You felt anxiety in your heart increase as you got up from your seat. As you were making your way to the aisle, a hot hand gently touched your arm. Unlike the prickly needle sensation from before, the touch was different, it was soft and caring.

The King quickly took off his jacket. In one motion, he wrapped your tiny frame inside the velvet material. You were still wearing your reception gown that was a toned down version of your white crystal wedding gown. It was sleeveless and made out of thin material. You didn’t realize how cold you were until the warmth encompassed your shoulders, arms, and bare back.

“It’s much colder in Callisto,” he said as continued down the aisle towards the exit.

“Thank you,” you managed to get out as you felt his warmth soothe your anxious feelings.

You followed the King and the Duke out of the jet. Like Europa, the landing field was located in the forest for privacy. When you got out, you couldn’t see anything but a large black SUV vehicle that was parked further out.

“Queen Callisto,” Duke Evans said as your feet touched the Callisto land. “Welcome to Callisto. I’ll be driving you and Sebastian back to the Castle.”

✧✧✧

Everything was a blur from the car ride to Castle. King Stan didn’t speak a word. You only captured a quick dark view of the castle as the car circled around through a private entrance and went underground. After what felt like five minutes in the tunnel, the car reached an empty parking garage.

Once the car parked, King Stan got out first and came over to your side to open the door. Half surprised that he still had manners after today, you hesitantly stepped out and looked around the space in curiosity.

“This is the private parking garage that gives you direct access to the King’s Suite.” Duke Evans spoke as if he could read your mind.

You knew that Castle Europa had similar security systems in place, but you never witnessed one in person.

Duke Evans led the way and you followed him and King Stan towards a glass door that led to the elevator. There was only one button that Duke Evans pressed and the elevator doors opened wide.

King Stan stepped inside and you followed. Duke Evans smiled as he waved back to us. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Queen Callisto and Seb. Have a good night.” Then the elevator doors closed.

✧✧✧

Each of the three kingdom’s castles had their own special charm. Castle Europa was unique from the others because it maintained the tradition and legacy of the old castle. They did make modern upgrades like jet landing sites and other security features, but the castle still maintained most of the original state. On the contrary, Castle Io was redesigned from the ground up with the latest security and highest quality materials. You never visited, but your father always made disappointed remarks about how the Io King was eager to tear down centuries of history for an iron fortress full of “useless” technological updates.

When the elevator dinged, the doors opened to a contemporary designed hallway. Black granite floors and gold accents in the wallpaper reminded you of what the penthouse floor of the royal hotel suite would look like. Dim circle warm lights lit the hallway as you quietly followed the King. As you shared the car and elevator ride before and now this hallway, you noticed a unique scent that lingered from him. He had a warm and spicy scent that was a mixture of rum, tobacco, and vanilla.

After a short walk down the hallway, the King stopped at the grandiose tar black wooden doors. There were elegant brass knobs as the handle. He biometrically scanned his hand on a glass panel next to the doors and there was a soft click signaling the doors were unlocked.

“We will make sure to add your biometrics tomorrow for access to my chambers.”

His intoxicating and addicting scent rushed towards you as he opened the doors. Unlike the modern and contemporary design of the hallway outside, most of his room still resembled the King’s chambers that was passed on for centuries. The dark stained wooden floors were covered in ornate deep purple carpets. The same deep purple color saturated the walls and the gold accents looked as if it was etched into the damask pattern like it was some precious fabric. The room was dimly lit with crystal chandeliers around the room.

His overly large four poster bed was stretched out in the middle of the room against the back wall. The rich gold and purple fabric hung from the bed frames.

His velvety whisper from the wedding ceremony played in your mind.

“I will be looking forward to tonight, my queen.”

You glanced around to the king who was starting to remove his formal wedding attire. He expertly removed his commander uniform and dropped it on the purple velvet couch. The numerous amount of medals on his uniform made a soft thud as it landed.

“Aren’t you going to undress?” He asked nonchalantly as he walked to the bathroom.

You froze in place not sure of what to do. You wanted to wash up and go to sleep after a long day like today, but you had no idea where your change of clothes were. Most importantly, the wedding night tradition was just as important as the wedding.

You were going to lose your virginity tonight.

You took off the king’s velvet jacket and placed it on the same couch he dropped his uniform. Unsure of what to do next, you started to make your way to the bathroom. Your heart was racing in your chest as you got closer.

At the same time, the King stepped out of the bathroom and your eyes widened in embarrassment. He was shirtless and was only wearing his black suit pants hanging from his hips. You had never seen a shirtless man before. Well, that wasn’t completely true, you studied Greek and Rome art enough to know what it looked like, but you never saw a live one in person. The only references you had was the Statue of David, but his body was so much more than that. His entire body was covered in muscle and each muscle was tight and hard. There were some faint scars around his body that you could catch in the dim light, but it was still a chiseled, marble perfection.

“Are you done staring?” He asked with an amused voice and you felt your face heat up.

“Oh- um-” You quickly diverted your glance to the carpet as you brought up your hands to the side of your face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry- I- I- didn’t mean to stare.”

You heard his footsteps move closer to you until you saw his shoes across from your feet. His hands moved over yours as he brought your face up to meet his. Your eyes searched for his familiar jade orbs and your heart was beating louder against your chest.

His rough lips collided with yours as he kissed you softly, biting at lips. The feeling caused little butterflies in your stomach as you reciprocated the kiss back tasting his lips with your tongue. His warm aroma saturated the air around you. When he felt your tongue, he immediately responded by erasing the space between your bodies and pushing his tongue into your needy mouth. His warm body felt comfortable against your body. He explored your mouth like he did at the wedding, but this time taking the measures to feel and learn every inch. You kissed him back, entering a piece of you into his unfamiliar and enticing territory.

By the time you both pulled away, you were both gasping for air. His forehead gently touched yours as your hands fell from your face. His right hand grabbed your left hand as he brought it up to his lips. He gently kissed your hand and held it in his. The warmth quickly traveled around your body like an infection.

“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath. “You have no idea how long I waited for you.”

---

Note: This chapter was getting too long and I had to cut it here. Next up is their first bed night, I promise. Thank you for the likes and comments on the prologue. Please share any feedback with me! Thank you for reading!

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CVII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m not entirely pleased with this book, I could’ve added more stuff but it was already too big so I’ll just write 'em as hidden moments. The last two chapters are still a MASTERPIECE, i can’t wait for y’all to read them -Danny

Words: 3,467

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to ‘Six Feet Apart’ -by Alec Benjamin

Chapter Five: Out of the Routine.

"You think he'll be all right?"

"Harry did nothing wrong– conjure a Patronus in the condition he was... that's impressive!"

"You can make one, can't you? What form does it take?"

"A dog of course," Sirius smiled. "A shaggy, fluffy lad..."

"Mine's an eagle– Matt could conjure a phoenix, but I guess you knew that..."

"So, Sirius..." Mel hopped on the table. "How was my mum when she was younger?"

"I was a loving, rational witch," The woman replied. "Next question–"

"You were loving all right," Sirius raised a brow. "But that wasn't it. I distinctly remember one afternoon when I said you were nowhere near as skilled as James to play quidditch... When you finally made it into the team –as a beater, mind you– you threw a bludger right at my face."

"It proved my point," The woman said. "However, I'm trying to teach this one better manners than the ones I had–"

"Doesn't seem to be working," Sirius teased.

"What I really wanna know..." Mel continued, interrupting their playful banter. "Who was the real heartbreaker of the group? Was it you, Sirius?"

"Me?" Sirius snorted. "I had a few dates but I didn't break hearts. People considered me too childish."

"They were right about that," Emily said. "I used to think James was the heartbreaker..."

"James was harmless! He spent years chasing Lily like a puppy– But of course, you wouldn't have noticed–"

"Remus was quite the catch too," She gave him a pointed look.

"Ah, yes– Remus," Sirius stammered. "Remus... you know what? I reckon we held him back from getting a few lovely girls back in the day."

"How come?"

"He would always think that girls were after us– You know, James and I– but I believe most of them were after him and Matt!"

"Can't blame them," Emily smiled.

"Ruddy was the heartbreaker, to be honest..."

"What?" Mel laughed. "My dad? The same bloke that spent years chasing my mother just like James with Lily?"

"He was in love with your mother, but the bastard was clever!" Emily scolded Sirius and he apologized distractedly. "He knew how to flirt his way out of detention!"

"Flirt his way out?" Mel couldn't believe it.

"Those eyes..." The woman sighed. "One look and a dashing smile and you were a goner! I was so glad when I discovered you didn't have 'em! Hard to say no when he was looking at you in a certain way..."

"She may not have his eyes, but she certainly got the look," Sirius smirked. "I could tell you exactly when I've seen her do it–"

"Padfoot, you're playing with fire," Emily warned him. "Teach that girl how to trick others and soon enough she'll have a group of fools under her command!"

"Is that so bad? Ouch!" Mel joked, earning a slap on her arm. "All right– I promise I won't use any tricks with you... What about school, though? You know some kids are bullies, this might come in handy."

"Sounds good to me! Here's what you do..." The man stood in front of her.

For the next hour, Sirius practised with her until Emily gave up and sat as well, sharing a few tricks of her own. By the time they walked out of the kitchen to do their chores, Mel was well versed in the tricks of the Marauders.

She promised that she wouldn't do any of those things for the fun of it, and never to a friend. Desperate times required desperate measures, that was all. She was aware of how she'd rambled for years about hating lies, but she also needed to convince everyone that her crush had vanished. There was no other choice.

Harry announced, looking much livelier than before, that all charges had been taken and he was going back to Hogwarts for another year.

"I knew it! You always get away with stuff!" Ron exclaimed.

"They were bound to clear you. There was no case against you, none at all..." Hermione smiled, but she was a bit pale still.

"Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I'd get off," Harry joked as Emily stood behind him, running a hand through his hair with pride.

"You've got your sense of humour back, then?" Mel asked. "Good, you were starting to get annoying..."

Harry gave her a look divided between amusement and doubt, he didn't know if she was joking. She wasn't planning on clearing things out either.

"He got off, he got off, he got off —!"

"That's enough, settle down!" Mr Weasley told his kids, waving a hand as if that could quiet them. "Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry —"

"What?"

"He got off, he got off, he got off —"

"Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."

"Absolutely– We'll tell him, don't worry."

"Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green waiting for me. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner —"

"He got off, he got off, he got off —"

"That's enough — Fred — George — Ginny!" said Mrs Weasley. "Harry dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast..."

" 'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," said Ron, sitting down in front of Harry and putting a bunch of food on his plate.

"Yeah, he swung it for me," said Harry.

Mel leaned against the cabinets, examining him carefully. For some reason, Harry acting all giddy and happy only made her feel sadder. She wanted to look like that too, she wanted to pretend nothing was wrong and she was sure that if she were to try and sit next to him, Harry would let her. Still, part of her was hurting, Harry'd walked away because he'd gotten scared about the lifeline and true to his nature he'd tried to protect her.

The idea made her blood boil. Who was he to decide? It was her life! Not only that, but his stupid plan hadn't worked at all, now she could feel even more stuff than the previous year. To hell with pretending they were still friends. She moved away from the cabinet to leave the kitchen when Harry hissed, touching his scar.

"What's up?" said Hermione.

"Scar– But it's nothing... It happens all the time now..." The boy caught her staring and she froze.

"Well," Mel replied crudely. "You should learn to control it– Don't want that happening during class..."

"Mel! Don't be so unfeeling–"

"She's right," Harry agreed, giving her a hard look. "I don't want to give any more ideas to the Daily Prophet."

Sirius was acting like a child and it was driving her crazy. It was half selfishness and half worry. She wanted nothing more but to make Sirius realize he wasn't going to be alone nor unhappy. He had Emily, and Mel was pretty sure that they were on the verge of something.

Without Sirius, she was forced to spend more time with Ron, Harry and Hermione, because if she were to spent time with Ginny she would only think about Harry and their time together.

The twins were excellent distractions, but Fred was always trying to flirt and though it was a joke and wasn't making her uncomfortable, she was starting to like it. That worried her. She didn't want to ruin their friendship.

"You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he's being selfish," She heard Hermione say one afternoon while they were cleaning more rubbish.

"That's a bit harsh, Hermione, you wouldn't want to be stuck inside this house without company," Ron explained.

"He'll have company!" said Hermione. "It's headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it? Emily is here almost all the time! He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him."

"I don't think that's true– He wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him if I could."

"He just didn't want to get his own hopes up even more– And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you'd be expelled. Then you'd both be outcasts together."

"Come off it!" said the boys.

"Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron's mum's right, and Sirius gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry."

"So you think he's touched in the head?"

"No, I just think he's been very lonely for a long time," Hermione shrugged.

"I have to agree," Mel was dying to talk about her suspicions with someone apart from her uncle. "I think that's about to change, though..."

"What d'you mean?"

"I'm saying," She looked around. "My mother and Sirius are spending a lot of time together..."

They looked at her silently until Hermione asked, "Wait, you don't think..?"

"I do."

"And you're okay with it?"

"Mum's been alone for years, it's time. Even better if it's Sirius."

"Dunno," Ron said awkwardly. "Bit weird to think of Sirius and Em together, don't you think? Them being friends for so long... I mean, Sirius was friends with your dad, wouldn't that make things weird?"

"Why?" Mel frowned.

"It'd be like betraying him, wouldn't it?"

"My dad's dead, Ron," She replied bluntly. "Don't you think he would've liked to see my mother with someone that would treat her well? Someone he knew?"

"Maybe..." He shrugged. "I just don't see Sirius as a dad–"

"Whatever," She thought it had been stupid to think they would support her idea.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Mrs Weasley interrupted.

"Still not finished?"

"I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!" said Ron "D'you know how much mold we've got rid of since we arrived here?"

"You were so keen to help the Order, you can do your bit by making headquarters fit to live in."

"I feel like a house-elf..."

"Well, now that you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.! You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time — we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds —"

"I'll sponsor you to shut up about spew," Ron muttered, Hermione didn't hear it.

"Have you guys gotten your letters?" Mel entered the boys' room. "You won't believe who's got her Prefect–"

The twins apparated, causing her to scream.

"You twats!"

"Sorry, Lady! We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book," said Fred.

"Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said George.

"And about time too."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back, and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year."

"Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?"

"One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months," Harry counted with his fingers. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

"The dead one and the idiot without memory had it coming," Mel mentioned, sitting down on Harry's bed.

"What's up with you, Ron? What's the matter?" Fred approached the boy and read over his shoulder, his eyes widening. "Prefect?"

"Prefect?!" George got closer and snatched the letter from Ron's hand, the badge falling from it. "No way..."

"There's been a mistake– No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect... We thought you were a cert!"

"We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you two!" said George, pointing at Mel and Harry.

"Funny you mention it..." Mel said, but they didn't let her finish.

"Winning the Triwizard and everything!" Fred continued.

"I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him," said George.

"Yeah... Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right, though I must say, Mel, I'm a tad disappointed about you being a Prefect."

"How d'you know I'm one?"

"C'mon! There's no way you're not! Private lessons and all..." Fred walked over to Harry and glared at Ron and Mel. "Prefect... ickle Ronnie and Lady Dumbledore..."

"Oh, Mum's going to be revolting," George rolled his eyes.

Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, and then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it. A large P was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.

The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.

"Did you — did you get — ?" She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek. "I knew it!" she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. "Me too, Harry, me too!"

The twins turned to look at Mel with matching shocked expressions.

"No," Harry quickly dropped the badge on Ron's hand. "It's Ron, not me."

"It — what?"

"Ron's prefect, not me."

"Ron?" Hermione blinked. "But... are you sure? I mean —"

"How come you're not a prefect?" George asked Mel. "Hermione's clever– but you–"

"I've caused as much trouble as Harry," She shrugged. "And I would've told you so if you hadn't interrupted me! And yes, 'Mione, that badge belongs to Ron."

"It's my name on the letter," Ron straighten his posture as if daring her to speak.

"I... I... well... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really —"

"Unexpected?" said George.

"No! No, it's not... Ron's done loads of... he's really..."

"He's clever, brave, and has done nothing to prove he doesn't deserve that badge as much as Harry," Mel replied. Ron blushed furiously.

Mrs Weasley walked into the room holding some folded robes.

"Ginny said the booklists had come at last... If you give them to me, Emily and I will take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pyjamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing... what colour would you like?"

"Get him red and gold to match his badge," said George in disgust.

"Match his what?"

"His badge," Fred grimaced. "His lovely shiny new prefect's badge."

Mrs Weasley rose her face in slow understanding.

"His... but... Ron, you're not..?"

Ron held up his badge timidly.

"I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"

"What are Fred and I, next-door neighbours?" said George, huffing when his mother pushed him out of the way. Mel patted his shoulder, holding back her laughter.

"Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh Ronnie —"

Mel laughed, incapable to hold any longer. Both twins were beyond displeased. What surprised her the most, was that she found herself pleased about not being a prefect.

"Mum... don't... Mum, get a grip..." Ron groaned as his mother continued to kiss all over his face.

"Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course."

"W-what do you mean?"

"You've got to have a reward for this! How about a nice new set of dress robes?"

"We've already bought him some," Fred lamented.

"Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one's rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers —"

"Mum... can I have a new broom?" When he saw her mother's look of uncertainty, he added, "Not a really good one! Just — just a new one for a change..."

Mrs Weasley smiled lovingly.

"Of course you can... Well, I'd better go get Emily if we've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later... Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks... A prefect... Oh, I'm all of a dither!"

"You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?" said Fred as soon as their mother left.

"We could curtsy if you like," said George.

"Oh, shut up," said Ron.

"Or what? Going to put us in detention?" Fred smirked.

"I'd love to see him try," sniggered George.

"He could if you don't watch out!" said Hermione.

Mel laughed along with the twins. She heard Ron mumble 'Drop it, Hermione' and she took pity on her poor friend.

"Enough you two!" She hit Fred's arm lightly. "Ron didn't ask to be made a prefect."

"We're going to have to watch our step, George," said Fred, pretending to be fearful, "with these two on our case..."

"Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over," said George with a dramatic sigh.

The twins Disapparated after that.

"Those two!" said Hermione furiously, staring up at the ceiling, through which they could now hear Fred and George roaring with laughter in the room upstairs. "Don't pay any attention to them, Ron, they're only jealous!"

"I don't think they are," said Ron doubtfully, also looking up at the ceiling. "They've always said only prats become prefects... Still," he added on a happier note, "they've never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose... She'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's the new Cleansweep out, that'd be great... Yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows..."

Mel watched him rush out of the room.

"Harry?" said Hermione.

"Well done!" His voice sounded too happy to be genuine. "Brilliant. Prefect. Great."

"Thanks... Erm — Harry — could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased — I mean, prefect is something they can understand —"

"Yeah, no problem," He had his back to them, still talking with too much joy. "Take her!"

Mel waited until Hermione left with Hedwig, she waited until their friend closed the door... Harry straighten up from packing his trunk and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. He hadn't noticed she was still there and quickly covered his face with both hands as he grimaced.

She didn't know what to do, if this had happened a year back she would've held his hand and they would've found a way to cheer up. She wasn't upset about not being a prefect because her priorities had changed a bit since she was a kid, but seeing the disappointment in his eyes... They weren't friends, but she was decent enough to not walk away.

"I suppose you feel hurt."

Harry gave a start revealing his teary eyes to her, Mel continued calmly.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine," She made her way to Ron's bed and sat down. "But I get it, my twelve-year-old self is rolling on her grave."

"I... I don't..." Harry stammered, then fixed his eyes on the corner of the wardrobe.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds before a bitter, sarcastic laugh came out. He shook his head slowly and cleaned his nose with the back of his hand.

"You're right– Ron didn't ask for this... I shouldn't..."

Mel wasn't going to pressure him. If he was going to talk great, if not, she'd done enough. The sound of footsteps brought them back and Harry composed himself at the speed of light. He stood up and fixed a casual grin on his face at the exact moment Ron burst into the room.

"Just caught her! She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can."

"Cool... Listen — Ron — well done, mate."

Ron's face changed drastically.

"I never thought it would be me! I thought it would be you!"

"Nah, I've caused too much trouble," Harry admitted. "Mel's right, we're too far gone."

"I have to pack my stuff..." Mel stood up, patting Harry's shoulder but retreating her hand as if he were burning to the touch.

She didn't know what she could've said. That he wasn't completely alone, perhaps. That they could still find a common ground and talk, hopefully soon.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

Kids, Monsters, D&D, and Adults (Sriracha, Part. 18)

Description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: You decided to give Hopper a short break from seeing you every day... But you didn't know how much can happen in your hometown in a week and a half you're gone.

A/N: And... Welcome Mr. Demogorgon disrupting everyone’s life on the stage, please, give it up for him! (Reader is on holiday in North Dakota during the events of the first season.)

A/N 2: I went a bit off the OG events, but here, I have drunk Hopper on the phone mumbling about being cursed for you, enjoy, please. Actually inspired by Heroes (Peter Gabriel's cover) - the song playing when they found Will's body.

Word count: 4.1 K

Tagging: @nemodoren, @creedslove

Master list: H E R E

Just as your mom asked you to, two days after the dinner at your parents’, Jim dropped you off at your house in the early morning. It was more or less safe since it was only five in the morning and Hawkins was dead asleep at the moment. You didn't want him to be alone, but he brushed you off with ’it's only twelve days, what can happen during that?’ and you reminded him of what you had done in twelve days, leaving him with a nasty grin.

You both almost fainted, because just in the middle of your heated making-out session, just as his hand palmed your thigh as you basically climbed onto his seat, your brother came out of the house along with Steve, grinning. Steve looked at both of you with confusion before turning around and disappearing.

Steve Harrington had a girlfriend now, or so you heard. Nancy Wheeler became to lucky one, at least that was what the rumors were saying. He couldn't forgive about the endless crush on you, though.¨

You told Hopper to leave for work before your mom sees him there, laughing as Aiden helped you with your stuff, greeting Hopper. He really did drive, honking at your parents, waving at them as he left for the station.

It was the third of November - you were supposed to see Hopper again on the sixteenth day of that month. And you were honestly ready to take a short break from the everlasting dishes and laundry at your house and just relax before coming back to the arms of the man you grew to adore.

To be honest, you loved your father’s parents’ house in North Dakota - it was a big house in the middle of nothing, ten minutes away from the nearest signs civilization. The sixteen-hours lasting road trip in your/Aiden's car was almost endless and it was hot like hell at whiles, but in the end, you loved the view more than anything.

You had also a lot of family members, like aunties and cousins your age there and you were excited to meet all of them after such a long time. You promised a call to Hopper as soon as you reach their house - and so you did, giving him the number as well. It was midnight, but you knew that he’s waiting for it. And of course, he picked up as soon as you started ringing, laughing like a small kid when you told him that he rather should go to sleep.

It was a quick call just to reassure you that he's fine - you asked him about food and laundry and he told you, with a chuckle, that you're worried too much and that he managed to survive forty years without you - that thirteen days is basically nothing.

Most of the days, you spent walking around in the wilderness. Your cousin Corrie showed you a pack of wild bison living near your grandparent’s house and a great overlook. Other days, you and your other cousin Jane helped your granny with baking and cooking or tiding up. Everyone was thrilled to have you there because they saw both you and Aiden once a year. They took you to the local cinema, for some shopping and even for a time at the local pool and local dance. You were enjoying yourself the most you could.

Everyone was surprised when someone asked you the typical question - ’And do you have a boyfriend already?’ - and your mom answered ’She, in fact, has. And it's a lovely lad.’, winking at you. She still wasn't okay with Hopper, it was only four days since the dinner, but she was slowly adjusting to the situation. They asked you a lot about that mysterious ’Jim’, but you never told them much about your man.

It came on the third day you were in Dakota - the sixth of November. You were just playing with your four-year-old cousin Marty, building Lego spaceships, when your grandma came into the room, holding a phone in her hand, handing you the handset.

“It’s some Mr. Hopper. He told me that he has to speak to you immediately. He told me that he knows you.” - She whispered while you put Jim on your ear, nodding. You let Marty play with the Lego and left to an empty room.

“Do you miss me that much, Mr. Hopper?” - You joked, but at the moment you heard Jim sighing, you knew that somethings extremely wrong in Hawkins. First, you thought that maybe he wants to break up with you - but then you remembered him asking about your panties yesterday when you called him around two a.m. and shook the thought off. - “What's going on, Jim? I'm here. Is it Vietnam? New York? Sara?”

“No, it's not that... I just... Jesus, I feel like I need to talk to someone and you're the only one who is goin’ to listen to me and actually understands.” - Okay, so Mr. Hopper was clearly drunk and smoking on the other end of the line, so you sat down on a sofa, exhaling slowly. - “Sometimes... I feel like shit, but you know that. But now, I feel fuckin' cursed, Y/N. And you're not here to stop me from doin’ shit.” - He giggled drunkenly and you stiffened. What was his fucking deal? Had something happened after you left Hawkins? Had Diane called? Did something happen at the station? Did Steve fucking Harrington tell someone what he saw? You swore to God...

“Jim, what you're after? I don't understand, baby, you need to tell me what's wrong.” - You mumbled back and looked at Aiden, who was just checking in on you. You mouthed ’Hopper’ and he nodded before closing up the door after him, telling everyone to keep off the line and out of the room.

“I'm a fuckin’ black hole, y’ know? All the fuckin’ shit that ever happened in Hawkins... It follows me. The last case of person goin’ missin’ happened in the summer of ’23 and the last suicide here was on the fall of ’61, y’ know?” - He asked you rhetorically and you just kept on being silent, trying to decipher the meaning of his entire speech.

“And when I find someone or somethin’ I can fight for or when I feel safe for a minute, it all goes to shit after a while, it all just fuckin' goes to shit.” - Jim said and you could hear him crying.

“Will you tell me what happened finally? You're freaking me out, Jim.” - You asked silently, playing with the hem of your sweater. Hopper was clearly angry and terrified of something - he would probably get drunk even if you were in Hawkins. His voice was emotionless, he was playing the tough guy card at the moment.

“A kid got lost today.” - He answered honestly and your breath got stuck a bit, but you kept your damn mouth shut since you could hear him taking a breath to continue. - “I thought he has just wandered off the main road or somethin’ but it really looks like that kid’s missin’. It's the Byers boy, that younger one.” - He told you and you closed your eyes. No wonder he felt like shit when a kid got lost in the woods, probably.

“Have you found something, Jim? Don't be angry or sad, there's still hope.” - You whispered, watching your cousin Diane in the same age little Will was playing outside with a ball.

You knew Joyce Byers from occasionally visiting Melvald’s in the downtown. You remember the day you walked in and while you were handing her the cash, she pointed out on a drawing of a big rainbow spaceship and proudly, she said ’My son Will drew this.’ You knew her boys from meeting them sometimes. The brothers were a bit weird, but when a kid goes missing, you don't care if they were weird or not.

You just want to find them as quickly as possible.

"A bike if that's what you wanna call 'a find'." - Hopper mouthed back and you could hear him crying, he just couldn't handle the situation anymore. It was breaking your heart to hear him being this much fucked up. You wanted to hug him, press your body onto his, hold him tight and whisper him sweet nothings. You wanted to kiss him and make things right at least for a second.

"James Hopper, you better listen to me right now. You're the best cop I've ever seen. Stop whining, go to sleep now and you're going to find this fucking kid because that kid is lost somewhere in the woods, it's freezing to death, it's terrified and alone, you hear me?" - You said aggressively, being completely done with him and his self-shaming shit at that point. - "You won't duck out and you will make me proud."

You talked to him until the moment he really fell asleep, walking out of the empty room after the phone went silent. There were emptiness and horror inside of you. Will Byers got lost and your boyfriend promised himself to find him. You were destroyed, tired and worried for Jim, but you encouraged him enough to trust in himself. Or at least you thought so.

"What happened? Is Hopper doing okay?" - Your mom asked with a furrow as soon as you entered the door and you shook your head, looking at her with terror. They were just having a huge family dinner outside your granny's house, everyone from the family came to greet you.

"A kid went missing in Hawkins. You remember that little Byers? He always rode the bike with his friends, they were inseparable." - You mumbled and your mom only let out quiet 'Oh God' to summarize the whole situation. She went on a and gave Joyce a call - to tell her not to lose hope in finding Will.

You haven't left the house for the other two days - Hopper could call literally every minute and almost everyone got invested in that kid going missing. You missed a few cool trips here and there, but Hopper hadn't disappointed; he gave you heads up every few other hours. And you even laughed at times which you definitely didn't expect - like the time when it came to talking with Will's best friends.

"You wouldn't believe how bad I am with kids, these little fuckers were just fuckin' around with me, talkin’ about Lord of the Rings and stuff... Jesus." - Hopper mumbled with a quiet chuckle, lighting up another cigarette. He was calling you from a telephone booth and left Powell with Callahan in his Blazer, and according to his words, those men watched his every move. You chuckled at that. Jim really took your words directly to his heart, doing his best to save the damn kid. He was not giving up on that boy.

To find what happened, he talked with his best friends and the way he told you the investigation was going was so hilarious it made you laugh like crazy.

"No way. Jim Hopper is good at everything." - You hummed back and crossed your legs, thinking about some really nasty things.

"Am I? At what exactly, I can't seem to remember." - He asked in his deep voice and you knew that it's about to go really nasty. You yelled at your mom to get off the phone immediately through the whole fucking house just to have some privacy. Hopper, again, chuckled at that.

"Like... I don't know, folding clothes?" - You asked innocently still worrying that your mom's listening to that conversation. But as soon as you heard her yelling something at your cousins, you knew she really got off. - "After you tear it down off of me."

"Someone's in the mood to play, I see. I would like to stay and hear you foldin' your clothes, but the boys are in a hurry." - Jim whispered, yelling something at the two cops.

"Jim?" - You asked and you got only a hum as a response. - "Be safe out there, okay?"

"I'm missin' you here. I'm lookin' forward to seeing you." - He answered and the line got quiet again. You missed him as well, but in the end, you had only eight days in front of you. What could go wrong? And that was a dumb question to ask.

Well, a lot could go wrong actually, since the other day, Hopper's calls got less and less frequent until they stopped completely. It was the ninth of November when mom woke you up really late in the night. He handed you over the handset, making you sit up

"It's Hopper and he was really... Weird. It seems urgent. He was ringing the number fifteen minutes in a row." - She whispered and sat next to you on the bed, hugging your shoulder. It didn't matter how old Hopper was or what reputation did he have. He needed just as a human being needs another one to lean into. He needed you as a partner and no matter how stressful that was, you wanted to be there for him. And your mom understood that clearly.

"Jim, Jim, it's me." - You mumbled sleepily and listened to him hyperventilating. He was crying again, but he was trying to calm down now. He sometimes woke up with these panic attacks. Something went awfully off the rails in Hawkins. This wasn't the Jim you grew to know and love. - "Baby, stay here with me, let's do this together. Breathe in and out, just like that, that's it, that's it. In and out."

"We found the boy." - He muttered out when he calmed down finally. sobbing. He may pretend to be the rough edge guy, but you knew that's the exact opposite of his character when no-one can see him. He didn't get too friendly with people in Hawkins, but he cared about each one of them. That's why he was the Chief in the end.

"And what happened? Is everyone alright? Is he safe now?" - You asked and mouthed 'They found Will' to your mom. You were about to cry as well - he was making such heart-wrenching sounds that only that alone made your eyes water.

"He drowned in the quarry." - Hopper told you, lighting up a cigarette. - "He was decomposed, but the guys from the CIA told us that it's the boy for sure. Jesus." - And that was the moment you started to cry, putting a palm in front of your mouth. It wasn't hard to make out what had happened to little Will Byers.

"How's everyone doing? What about Joyce? Do you want me to come back? Just say a word and I'm on my way back, just like that." - You asked when you finally caught your breath. Your mom was holding you tight because it really had shocked you and she was also listening to everything Hopper said. She kissed your shoulder, closing her eyes. You have never spoken to that kid, but... He was so young. And according to Joyce really bright and creative. This wasn't fair. This just wasn't fair. He had a whole life ahead and now, it was just gone. Hopes were lost just like that. You felt the cold and emptiness growing in your chest again.

"No... Just stay there until I know it's safe here again, alrite? We'll be workin' with some guys from the state for a while now, closing the case up. " - Hopper told you sincerely and you hummed, crying again. - “The boy has a funeral tomorrow. I feel like this is on me, you know? Everyone was believin' that Jim fuckin' Hopper, the New York detective, will find the Byers boy alive and well... It's my fault."

"This doesn't mean you're a bad cop, Jim, okay?" - You asked him after a while when you made yourself calm down. - "This doesn't mean you suck at your job, baby. Don't put yourself down, you're a great cop and even a better person. The boy... It isn't your fault. I swear. We'll talk about it once I get back to Hawkins, okay?" - You asked worriedly. - "Please, send Joyce my deepest condolences. I'm..."

Hopper needed to be strong and so you needed to be strong as well. For him. You'd do everything for that man. If he would want you to go back to Hawkins immediately, you would go.

"Just keep out of Hawkins until I secure it again. If somethin' would go wrong with you, I don't think... I'm just really missin' you, sunshine." - Hopper mumbled tiredly and you understood. He needed to be alone, so you put the phone off the bed, looking at your mom. Hopper didn't cause this, but you knew he's going to put himself down horrendously after that. A boy's life was lost, but Hopper wasn't the one to blame.

But the worst thing about all of that? He hadn't called after that, not even once. You tried to occupy yourself with hikes and board games with your cousins, even playing some D&D, but there weren't any calls from Hopper from that day on. No matter how hard you wished for them, he hadn't call you. You called into the trail many times, but no-one had picked up.

That was the exact moment you had enough. If he was in danger, you wouldn't leave him like that, whether something bad happened to him or if it was his mind again.

You decided to come home earlier to check on him, which your mom agreed with. The sixteen-hours long drive with your car was horrendous, to say the least, but that very night, you stopped in front of Hopper's trail, basically storming inside. It was dark and empty, but you still hoped that Hopper left you a key under the mossy rock. It really was there.

You stopped yourself for a small moment before actually opening the door up, trying to prepare yourself for what will be inside of that trail. You almost threw up next to the stairs, opening the door finally. And for the fucking love of God, there was some serious mess inside of that trail.

You walked through it and saw at least a few tubes of Tuinal, each one of them empty, remnants of various fast food, beer cans, and full ashtrays literally everywhere. The furniture was messed up, the phone ripped out of the wall, TV laying on the side. The place looked robbed and for a moment, you got really, really worried.

Hopper wasn't nowhere to be found, so the last thing you could do was to sit and wait for him. While doing so, you decided to clean it up and cook some actual food. Before moving the furniture back in place, you checked the drawers, not finding his personal gun. Where was he and why did he take the gun with him?

He drove in pretty late in the night, it was almost midnight; you took a nap on the couch in the meantime, being dead asleep by the time he turned the engine off.

Hopper was thinking that he's hallucinating when he saw your car parked directly on its spot, but then he saw the turn on the light and you passed out in front of the TV through the window.

He took a deep breath in - he just came back from the Hawkins lab, closing another deal with them including Joyce and WIll, and he needed to think about what should he tell you. He wasn't willing to try his chances with telling you the truth; as he said, he wouldn't put you in danger under any circumstances and the men from the government weren't fucking around with anyone. He needed to come up with a story that would be believable and easy to swallow, but at the moment, he was just too tired to think of one. Jim slowly entered the trail, taking the coat off, putting it on a rack, trying not to wake you up yet.

You were beautiful when you fell asleep - your cheeks got rosy, you snuggled deep into the blanket, having a dreamy emotion on your face. He kneeled behind the couch, kissing your temple and smoothing your hair, gently waking you up.

"You're here sooner." - Jim whispered with a smile when you opened up your eyes. He just needed you by his side, no matter what anyone in Hawkins is going to say. Fuck them and fuck the rumors. It was safe now, you were his girl and everyone else could go fuck themselves.

"And you stopped calling. I was worried." - You mumbled, nuzzling closer to his hand, reaching out to hold the other one. - "Where were you? It's really late."

"Was visiting Joyce's, she needed someone to talk to. I would be here sooner if you'd give me heads up." - Hopper kissed your temple again, helping you with standing up. He watched one of those lazy smiles.

"How's she? Feeling better after Will..." - You whispered in a broken voice. Oh. Hopper realized that you still thought that Will has drowned in the quarry. He hadn't got exactly the time to call you since he was held at the lab of driving around Hawkins with children in his Blazer most of the time.

"The boy was found alive, thanks to God. He's in the hospital and he's gettin' better and better with each passin' day. He's a fighter." - Jim said quietly and tried not to put too much emotion into it, but you knew that it's making him happy. He led you through the whole trail, kissing your collar bone though the fabric of the shirt once you were standing up in the bedroom. - "I've missed you so fuckin' much." - The man moaned into the fabric of his very own shirt and just when he was about to lay you down, you stopped him and palmed his jaws, making the man look at you.

"I'm proud of you, Jim Hopper." - You said quietly with an adoring look in your eyes. Hopper would swear that he hasn't seen so much awe and love in someone's eyes until you gave him this look. - "You are a great man. And I can't imagine being in Hawkins without you." - You whispered and pulled him in for a kiss.

You gave him many kisses, but this one was somehow full of feelings and Jim warmed up when he felt the love radiating out of it. For a while, the thought of him saying those three words was lingering on his mind as you took off the shirt, pressing your naked torso into the fabric of his uniform.

It would be so easy to say them. Every time he called you to Dakota, you were there and listened to every word; you laughed when you were supposed to laugh and you were sad when you were supposed to be sad. To say that he found everything he asked for was just too little to express everything about you.

You continued with kissing him, not leaving him alone in that freezing night for a single second. Nothing felt better than having you back and at that moment, he first realized that he's in love with you. It never crossed his mind so clearly. He was deeply in love. But he didn't want to ruin the moment, so he helped you with taking your pants down.

It didn't matter how smelly he was, it didn't matter that he had a huge bruise on his arm, the only thing that mattered was it was him. That it was him staying there with you.

And you realized how much you've fallen for that guy. It was the best feeling you've ever felt.

#jim hopper imagine #jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #james jim hopper #jim hopper stranger things #stranger things hopper #stranger things netflix #stranger things #sriracha

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Note

Would you mind writing something around Fergus coming back to Lallybroch and his/Claire's comments that he was meant to be with the Frasers? Feeling robbed that we didn't get to see that or an arrival at the house in the show. Thank you!

The Tagalong - Part Nineteen

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen

*****************************************************

Fergus vacillated with each step he took toward Lallybroch. Should he just go back to the stones and try to get back to Mother Claire and Brianna? Would he even be able to get back if he tried?

What would he tell Jenny and Ian when he appeared on their doorstep? Would they even allow him to stay without Milord or Mother Claire there? He would be just another mouth to feed and he knew from Mother Claire and some reading just how bad things got in the Highlands after the Rising failed. But he had two hands and his time in that prosperous future had given him strength and health and a bit more learning than he’d had before. He could make an argument that he would earn his keep.

But what would he tell them of Mother Claire? They were sure to ask. Should he tell them about Brianna? How would he explain why they hadn’t heard from them in the last two years?

He doubled back twice but his fear of what might happen if he touched the stones for a third time turned him right back around again.

When he crested a hill and spotted Lallybroch nestled quietly in the valley below, his legs went out from under him and he spent at least an hour just staring at it, telling himself he would figure it out, whatever else happened. He would make Mother Claire and Milord proud.

The women of the house were in the yard managing the laundry with several children playing around them. Fergus paused outside the gate, watching. He knew how quickly the little ones could grow, having watched how fast Brianna went from sleeping most of the day to crawling and finally walking and talking, following him around and toddling to keep up with him. Maggie was tall enough to help her mother stir the steaming kettle of clothes while Kitty wandered around waving soiled hosiery above her head.

A cry came from a basket on the ground and Fergus watched as Jenny bent to pick up and soothe a baby who couldn’t be older than a month or two.

Kitty suddenly stopped her dancing and scurried to her mother’s side, tugging Jenny’s skirts and pointing to where Fergus was concealed among the shadows. He’d been spotted.

Fortifying himself with a deep breath, he stepped into the light and self-consciously walked toward the group of women.

Jenny muttered something in gaidhlig under her breath and set the baby back in its basket with shaking hands. Then she shooed Kitty away from her skirts and strode forward to stand before Fergus as he came to a halt.

“Mistress Murray,” he croaked, offering her a small bow. “You may not remem—”

“Fergus,” she breathed, shock causing her voice to crack. She lunged and pulled him to her breast, pinning his arms to his sides as she crushed him in her embrace.

“Mistress,” he murmured, surprised himself by the greeting. He hadn’t expected—

Then she released him and held him away from her at arm’s reach, her eyes taking in the new inches, the cropped if dusty hair, the strange clothes and shoes. Her hands went to her hips as she pulled herself up and began to scold. “Where in heaven’s name have ye been, lad? Jamie was beside himself when he came round and heard ye’d no shown up. We thought ye were deid!”

That was more along the lines of the reaction he’d expected.

“For him to lose you on top of losin’ Claire,” Jenny continued to lecture, but Fergus jolted at the mention of Claire, part of what Jenny said clicking into place.

“Milord? Milord is alive?” he sputtered.

“Aye, lad. And no thanks to you for it. He was in a bad way when he arrived here after the fightin’ was through and it was all I could do to keep him from slippin’ away on me and joinin’ the lot of ye we believed were gone and buried.”

“Where is Milord? I must have words with him. There is much he should know,” Fergus babbled excitedly. Just as the stones had brought him to Mother Claire so she wouldn’t be alone while she carried Brianna, they must have brought him back so he might tell Milord about the family that had survived and thrived despite his greatest fears.

“I’ll send word to wee Jamie in the field to steal away and tell my brother he’s needed at the house as soon as he feels it’s safe. It’ll no be till dark at least so best get ye in the house, washed up, fed and rested,” Jenny insisted. “I s’pose it’ll be best to wait and make ye tell yer tale once rather’n tire ye wi’ tellin’ it to ever’one ye see.”

Fergus might have tried arguing but his stomach grumbled at Jenny’s mention of food, so she refused to be put off her plan.

He let them lead him inside and ate the food Jenny set in front of him, pushing from his mind all he’d learned of the deprivation that struck after the Rising. A stream of people came through to see him and welcome him back while he ate—some he recognized, but there were several new faces as well.

Jenny rattled on telling him of what had passed at Lallybroch since he had ridden away to join the Bonnie Prince’s army. The potato harvest had yielded more and more each year, which was a relief since they had lost more and more of their other crops, both to poor conditions and army raids. The men Jamie had sent home ahead of Culloden had arrived safely but many drifted in and out of hiding whenever the soldiers passed through. More of the tenants had been forced to abandon their crofts and some had fled to Edinburgh or Glasgow in the hopes of finding work.

“And… Milord? How did he make his way home? From how he spoke when I saw him last… he did not mean to leave the battlefield,” Fergus inquired, cautiously.

“He didna leave of his own power,” Jenny said, sitting at the table to nurse the babe from the basket along with his twin sister. “He took a nasty wound across his leg and near bled out but somehow he was pulled free alive, packed in a wagon, and sent here. Fever nearly killed him after that but we pulled him through it. He’s… he’s no been the same… no wi’out Claire. Keeps hidden and away from the house most of the time. He’s a price on his head again. Hunts and traps a bit, brings it back to share. Can go weeks wi’out seein’ him in summer. Stays in the priest hole more in the winter—my parents would never forgive me did I let him freeze to death in a cave.”

Fergus pushed his empty plate aside, watching as Jenny rearranged the baby in her arms, wiping his face clean. The baby yawned, emitting a squeak. A moment later, Fergus lost the fight against a yawn of his own.

“I’ll show ye to a bed. Ye’d best get what rest ye can ‘fore nightfall. Jamie’ll have plenty of questions for ye to answer, and what he doesna ask, ye can be sure I will.”

*****************************************************

It was twilight and Claire was struggling to carry a slumbering Brianna and keep an exhausted Roger moving forward when a car came driving along the road. It’s headlights were dim and it took Claire a moment to realize what it was, causing her to jump out of the way at the last minute, startling Brianna awake and jerking Roger from his daze. Luckily, the car was moving at a slower pace than most vehicles traveling that road did (perhaps because of the limited light coming from its covered headlights).

It slowed further when it noticed their movement, pulling up along the side of the road where Claire was suddenly struggling to calm Brianna.

“Do ye need a lift to town?” the driver asked. “Ye ought not be walkin’ the road this time of day and ye ought to be indoors after nightfall wi’ the blackout restrictions.”

Roger looked up at Claire.

“Yes, thank you. Is there an inn that might have a room for us tonight? Our vehicle broke down a ways back and we’ve been walking for a while,” Claire lied.

“Aye. I ken a place’ll take ye. Can put in a call to have someone out to tend yer car but it’ll no be done till it’s light again,” the man told her, reaching across to unlock the passenger door.

“Oh, I can make the necessary calls,” Claire told him, ushering Roger into the car. “Thank you though. We just need a place to sleep and we’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

“As ye say ma’am.”

Within an hour, Brianna was bathed and in bed. Roger, too, had had a quick wash and was resting while Claire inventoried her supplies. There would be time in the morning to restock a few things.

“Where’ll we go to find Fergus?” Roger asked, watching Claire.

She began repacking her bag. “We’re going back to Craig na Dun.”

Roger took an unsteady breath before continuing, “And what will we do when we get there?”

“It’s apparent Fergus didn’t follow you to this time… so we must follow him wherever he landed.”

“I’m comin’ with ye? Ye’re no takin’ me back home?”

Claire looked up and her heart squeezed tightly at the fear and disappointment in Roger’s voice. She left her things half packed, circling the bed to kneel beside the low settee where Roger lay.

“I’m so sorry, Roger… I can’t take you back. I don’t know that I can make more than one trip more through the stones. I can’t explain why or how… but I think if I try too many times—”

Roger blinked and nodded. “I ken,” he told her.

“I promised your father I wouldn’t leave you alone,” she said. “And I can’t leave Fergus alone wherever he is. So you’ll have to come with me and we’ll have to figure out our way whenever that may be. Is that alright with you?”

Roger sniffed but nodded again then closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

She brushed some hair away from his face before pushing back to her feet and going back to the bed where Brianna slept and their supplies were half packed. She knew Roger was trying to keep the noise down while he wept and her heart went out to him.

The poor boy had lost both his parents in the war and now he was losing the only family he had left. It wasn’t fair. But she couldn’t think of any other way forward. Sending him alone and hoping he ended up in the right place was out of the question. Each time she’d passed through the stones, the voices and screams she heard in that between place had gotten louder, more forlorn, like they were calling her to join them. She wouldn’t leave Roger to navigate that space between on his own—she would spend the rest of her days haunted by the fear his voice had gone to join the others.

So she would bring him with her and Brianna. And there was only one place she could think of where Fergus might have ended up.

She just hoped that the next time she touched the stone and heard those voices, Fergus’ voice wouldn’t be one of the ones she heard trapped and calling her.

#;mod lenny #The tagalong #fergus through the stones #featuring: fergus #featuring: jenny #featuring: roger #featuring: bree

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scripted-dalliances · 5 years

Text

Faithless Fairy Tale

Title: Faithless Fairy Tale

Word Count: 5432 words

Summary: Laura and Sweeney get a happy ending. (Canon up until the last episode.)

Author’s note: I haven’t posted to tumblr in six million years and it shows by the fact that I still don’t know if I even posted this right, and if I mess up I’m sorry and just tell me. All of this is Neil’s and it’s pretty obvious I’m only playing in his sandbox. *There are a few direct lines from the book, between Laura and Shadow, freakin’ important ones I hope they one day put in the show.

Despite what one might presume given…well, his everything. Mad Sweeney does better in the company of women than he does men. Sure, he can drink and fight with the lads, take the piss and make them do the same with a dirty joke, but when it comes to the grit of his bones and silence of the night, its women that make him feel more at ease.

Its just the nature of his being really, women believe in the likes of fairies and leprechauns more easily than men. It is their kind that want something a little bit wild and uncontrollable, and free. Its really only a woman who could understand and appreciate a dual nature. Not good nor evil, not nice or mean but ever changing in opinion given the direction of the wind.

Men. Men wanted firm rules. Give and take, all the details finely written down like a bloody equation.

I pray this much, I sacrifice this much and in return by this time I shall have received my list of demands or else some other bloody God gets my belief.

Men wanted Gods of War. Gods that kept their dick hard and Gods to take away their pain.

Leprechauns were by nature then, seen more as little devils. Annoyance that were more likely to steal and trick them than to help.

So its hardly a thought given to him, that when all settles down. When the three of them fall into a routine of travel; making pit stops every five hours it seems to either piss, eat or pray, he keeps closer to the bitch dead wife rather than the Genie Rubber.

“Why are you on my side?” Laura bitches, the second he sits down. The worn red seat of the ancient Waffle house is at best, a fucking bench with a whisper of a pillow above it. His weight makes it whine and crack, like a living beast about die.

“Shut up and order. Oh, that’s right you can’t because you’re dead, so how about you shut it anyways or else you can go back to the cab and rot.” He bitches right back, only to get her tiny fist shoved into his side. Clearly she is holding back, as he does not fly across the room, but it does make him keen like a whelp and curl up to protect the rest of his insides. “Fuckin hell!”

“Tell me to shut up one more god damn time, Ginger minge and I swear I will give you a very unwanted vasectomy with a fucking fork.”

Across the table, Salim with his wide doe eyes and soft heart begs them to stop.

“Please, we are in public.” He says, like he is their mother and they are just two rowdy kids as opposed to what they really are. A 6'5 leprechaun and 5'1 dead woman about to fist fight in a Waffle House at three am.

It continues on like this, him without thought keeping to her, even when she breaks his bones and insults everything about him seven ways from Sunday. Like she’s got a stick up her pert little ass a mile long and just as wide with his fucking name on it.

He can’t say he doesn’t probably have a matching one with her name on it.

He pays no mind to it, but of course she does.

“Is it the gay thing?” She questions apropos of nothing. They had been sitting, watching Salim pray on the side of the road from within a little coffee shop. Its shit, the coffee but they have amazing doughnuts that Sweeney eats several of.

“What is?”

“Why you never seem to want to be near Salim.”

He tilts his head toward her, “I’ve just spent three days stuck in a fucking mini piece of rolling shit with the man, with hardly a breathing inch between us. If I was any fucking closer, I’d be inside the bastard, and it’s my fucking name he’d be thanking five times a day.”

She waits a beat before answering.

“So do you want him to be? Are you jealous because of the God thing or the sex? Or is it a weird combo where you are just a repressed homophobe with God Issues?”

“…What the fuck.” He whispers in ancient tongue. “Did they pickle your fucking brain, dead wife?”

“Just an observation.”

“Oh. Is it now? JUST A FUCKING TERRIBLE ONE.” He roars, the patrons of the shop sleepily look over but ignore him after a second. He shoves a doughnut into his mouth and chews through his anger. “I ain’t jealous, Gods are fucking high horsed pricks. Fuck the lot of ‘em. And I ain’t got nothing against any bloke who can take it up the arse with a smile, not my slice of cake but you don’t live as long as I do and not get curious.”

Laura smirks, as if he has confirmed something for her. Like a child, he has the sudden need to steal it from her and horde it.

“-and before your pickled brain can get too many rotted ideas. No. Salim isn’t the ugliest bugger I’ve laid eyes on, but he isn’t making me twitch down below.”

“Gross.”

“So are you, dead wife.”

She rolls her eyes but continues. “So what is it then? You always seem to hang out with me, and we both know its not my winning personality.”

Sweeney takes a sip of the shit coffee and looks out the window to Salim. “Does it matter? Maybe I just want to keep track of you. You and my coin.”

“That’s not it. For one, we both know if I wanted to lose you I could. Two, you can’t keep track of shit, example A.” She gestures to herself, “-and its weird.”

“Is this your shit way of saying you don’t want to be friends, dead wife? And here I thought we were on our way to braiding each others hair and trading friendship bracelets.”

“Fuck off.”

“Heaven above, you have no idea how much I wish I could.” He sighs deeply, wishing he had such a choice. That she didn’t have his coin, that she didn’t look like-

But she does. She fucking does and maybe that’s the part of it. Laura Moon is the haunting mirror of Essie, the color of their hair different, and skin not as freckled but there she sits. Just as mouthy and unwilling to bend against the course of nature as ever. The only difference being that Laura did it out of pure stubborn will, where Essie had done it out of faith. Faith that had brought him with to the new world, and just looking at Laura reminded him of that fact. Made it feel like there was a hole in his chest, missing something vital.

The worst part was that, given different circumstances he wouldn’t have minded. In another reality, where she had a beating heart and no husband to chase, he would have chased that feeling. Stupid as it was, as mean as she could be. He would have tried to fix the feeling with crass words, rough sex and shades of affection. Try and figure Laura out, what she believed in and try to make her believe in him, as a lover or a man.

He thinks in a different life, he would have been happy to try.

-but they aren’t in that world. No, instead she’s dead as a fucking door nail and he’s just the unlucky tool that did it. Her piece of shit husband the reason why, even if he didn’t know it.

Instead, the hole in his chest just gets infected by guilt. With what feels like several bleeding centuries of it. From the loss of Essie, to the own sad truth of what he has become and even if she is a cunt, Laura hadn’t deserved to become a pawn in some God’s half assed plan. She wasn’t meant to die, scraped across pavement like roadkill with a man’s cock in her mouth.

“Come on, he should be done soon.” She says, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Sweeney nods, finishes his drink and follows her out. Salim is just packing away his rug and hat as they approach the cab. Laura making a beeline for the passenger seat (is if her tiny legs could somehow beat his stride if he put his mind to it.) And he once again attempts to shove his frame into the back seat. As always he fails. Curled up, with his knees bent, his boots still push against her seat.

If he was in mood. He’d kick it.

Kick it like a fussy toddler on a six hour flight.

-but decides he likes how his balls are attached to his body and keeps himself in check.

They lose Salim, the cab and the helpful buffer between within seconds. In hardly a days drive from that, Sweeney finds himself face first in a fucking window with an red, white and blue popsicle up is his arse like it’s fourth of the fucking July.

And his coin.

His fucking coin had, by the grace of gravity knocked right out of Laura’s corpse. His problems solved, he had it back. Not freely given per say but his once more never the less.

But then he looks down at her; once more smeared ungracefully and undignified on the road, this time dry and hollow. Her chest split open, showing him the pale white curve of bones that protects her heart and lungs. She is flayed open, and he should want nothing to do with her.

Still he does not walk away.

He roars, stomps and loses his god damn mind. All in his ancient tongue, all but lost to time, to the heavens above.

He isn’t evil. He isn’t.

(He puts it back, because there is a hole in his heart, a renewed sense of self and it’s the biggest middle finger to fucking Odin he can think of. He doesn’t want a new start, doesn’t want to be absolved of this sin and mistake, he wants Laura to have her revenge, even if it means she’ll probably wring his neck. Even if it means his own death. He’s done being a fucking coward.)

He puts the coin back into her and they continue their journey.

“What do you believe?”

“Everything.”

Death has done a lot of damage to Laura Moon’s insides. She feels empty, like there is a growing hole in her chest -but not physically. No, physically she can feel the cold, the dry pull of limbs as they move with every step. She can feel the odd heavy weight in her guts, of fluid never fully drained and of maggots growing. Making it feel like she has to puke or shit, but not really. She is in her body, she feels it, but it’s obvious to even her that the decay is setting in.

She thinks about Mad Sweeney and his stupid words. Yer meat will slide off your bones

She hates that his words manage to stick, place a bit of fear in her. She hates that even for a second, she believes him.

-but the truth is, she is coming apart at the seams.

Can there even be a resurrection if she’s a pile of moldy meat?

Laura watches Easter break out the big guns, watches in passive disillusionment as the woman draws life out and back into her, like breathing. Watches as she seemingly turns into a bundle of brightly colored flowers as the Earth turns hollow and dead as Laura herself; and all she can do is feel is pissed off. A Goddess of this power, who could have brought her back to life, can’t. All because she wasn’t just dead. No not just murdered.

She was a fucking sacrifice. A lamb slaughtered for an uncaring God.

So she politely clears her throat, to get their attention.

“I’d like to have a word with my husband.”

Shadow smiles up to her, like she’s a gift for all of three seconds,before his expression falls. As if remembering something.

(And it pierces her heart, like a bullet, because she isn’t stupid. It doesn’t matter what those gods of death had said. He’s not grateful for her return, he’s not able to forget or forgive her sins. He isn’t her puppy any more. Confessed by the man himself.)

Wednesday takes one glaring look at her, and then to Mad Sweeney behind her and butts in like he’s reading from a dramatic play, “Might have to take a rain check on that m'dear. As you can see, things are heating up, might not be too good for you…considering your,” He pauses, eyes going over her appearance, as if he can taste the rot on her, “-let’s say delicate condition?”

“I’m dead, not fucking pregnant you asshole.” Laura spits out.

“Laura-” Shadow attempts to call out to her; but he does it in that stupid soft voice of his, the one that she’s so familiar of. The one that is to calm her, to gently tell her to reign it in and not start a fight. He’s used it at her family’s dinners whens he got to mouthy with her mother over something stupid, and it’s the last straw.

She will not stand by and let him protect this asshole god from her wrath.

She starts walking down the steps, hears Sweeney follow, and makes her way to the group. Intent on ripping them all a new hole, physically and mentally. First Wednesday, then Shadow and then maybe the rest of them too. Sweeney as well. Fucking everyone.

-but she gets about a foot away before Wednesday gives her a smirk.

“What is it that you really want, Laura. Your man or your life? What are you really afraid of? Death or being alone? What is it that you believe in, that makes you chase Shadow?”

“Fuck you, I want both, I love him. His love brought me back!”

The old man’s devil of a smile, grows wider and she can see his two colored eyes sparkle with amusement. He is laughing at her. It makes her want to break every bone in his body, slowly.

“Did it?” He questions, looking back at Shadow curiously, “Did you?”

Shadow, looks like he’s a deer caught in the head lights. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and Laura’s rage turns into dust. The bright light he seems to effortlessly shine with starts to dims. Flickers like a candle in the wind and all she wants to do now is cup her hands around it, protect it.

Please. Please don’t go out.

“I…I gave her the coin, but I didn’t-” He admits slowly, confesses each word with a stutter before it all comes out. “I didn’t know it would bring you back Laura.”

The light goes out.

He gave her a gift he didn’t mean to give, it’s not his love that keeps her on this plane of existence, it’s a fucking mistake. She’s been following him blindly, just like Salim and his Jinn, just like him and his Gods but here she is. Before him, and the truth is a little less like heaven and more like the hell she probably deserves.

She doesn’t really know what to do with that.

“He killed me Shadow,” She spills the secret with a lot less gravity than she thought it deserved, but now she’s not even sure he’d care. “He might have ordered Ginger minge over there to do it, but it’s him that wanted me out of the way. It’s him that sent you to prison. That ruined my perfect plan. He is the reason our lives went to shit.”

Shadow glares -there’s just enough righteous fury in his eyes to make the light flicker back on, but then Wednesday is once again talking and swaying the breeze.

“Am I?” He questions, and Laura goes to kick him.

“Shut the fuck up, with your stupid questions. Yes, yes you are!”

-he moves out the line of her kick too fast for her to track.

“Ah. So. It was me then who planted that dangerous plan to rob your place of work?” No. That was Laura. Fed up and bored with her life once more. “It was me, that asked you to get Shadow involved?” No. That was Laura again. “It was me, that after a year and a month…a baker’s dozen of months, that caused you to start fucking Robbie? That pushed you to bend over and suck his dick?”

Her own words, phases and classless tone comes back to haunt her. She doubts that Shadow told the bastard any of this, and knows that it’s just him. As a God, reading her sins like they are printed on her face. The truth of her actions, that still would have damned her even if she was still alive. That was all Laura, screwing herself over.

“Tell me. What would have happened if you had lived that night. If you hadn’t of died.” He opens his arms, looking to the crowd now as if they have the answer. Everyone is silent, old gods and new, even Shadow. Laura feels suddenly, like she’s on the chopping block. Like she’s once again, sitting before the God of Death, and being told to weigh her heart against a pure white feather.

She already knows the answer.

“Tell me Laura Moon -Laura McCabe. Who used to try and suffocate herself in a hot tub with bug spray when no one was looking, when her husband didn’t make her feel any more -what was your life going to be?”

It’s in that moment, that Laura realizes she’s too dead to cry. There’s nothing to give, even though there’s a growing crack in her being. Wednesday’s rips her apart, with his accurate accusations. Spilling not her blood, but her secrets. The one she never thought she’d ever have to share.

“Oi, you fucker!” A voice finally rings out, Sweeney’s roar. He dares to venture into the fray. Pointing a finger at the Norse God, “You are on trial here, not her. Whatever her life might have been, good or fucking terrible, that was her right. It was her fucking life to live! You bastards,” He glares out to all them watching and sneers, “Old Gods. New Gods. Fuck the lot of you. Same pricks, different fucking names that’s all. All greedy, all selfish. When was the last time any of you did anything fucking productive? You scramble and you fight, and you demand worship, like any of you deserve it. Well, surprise. You fucking don’t. None of ya, and all this is,” He waves his arms out, striding forward to Wednesday to spit directly into his face, “All this bloody is, is a war to find out whose the bigger cunt to a bunch of dumb mortal motherfuckers who don’t fucking need you.”

Sweeney laughs, “They never have, and that’s why they forget. That’s why, you can suck the life out of his whole damned planet-” He points to Easter, with a grin , “Like a toothless whore, and it won’t matter. They’ll just assume it’s nature. It’s the planet dying. They’ll fuck off to space before building you an alter, love. And maybe they’ll have their gadgets and their little stories on the box, but once again they’ll be focused on survival. Those things will be pushed into dark little boxes of the old times, won’t they?”

“He’s…got a point.” Techno Boy Wonder says in reply, he isn’t exactly eager for this war. He just wants his kicks, his slice of pie and then honestly, to fuck off and mind his own business again. “Why are we fighting them. Like really. If it doesn’t matter if they win or lose, then what does it matter if we fight? This is twenty-first century. No one is going to start plucking out eyeballs for the old geezer unless they’re already crazy.”

Media is slower to reply, but even she softly admits, “And then they’re nothing but mad men. Delusional. Cults do have a nasty habit of burning out before too long…”

-and just like that. The tides and winds are changing.

“There won’t be a war.” Media decides. Grabbing her hat off the ground. “Too much trouble. This was…impressive.” She says to Easter, “but he’s right. Without our meddling, they’ll figure it out. Call it something else. Cover it up and forget it.”

-and just like that, Media and Technology Boy leave.

Easter too, sullenly walks back into her home. Her earlier joy fading with every step.

It’s not a fitting end, but it’s an end never the less.

There’s a fight of course, a violent one, but it’s just between Mad Sweeney and Odin. Laura breaks it up by slicing Odin’s head off with his own blade. Just as he was about to snap Sweeney’s head off.

It’s not really important, because honestly, Laura doesn’t want it to be.

He’s better left forgotten.

“You didn’t mean to bring me back.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to see me.”

“It wasn’t that,” Shadow hesitated, “No. I didn’t want to see you. It hurt too much. At first I just thought…I don’t know what I thought, but looking at you, it hurts.”

Laura bows her head, it’s not surprising. This talk with Shadow. It’s simple and blunt, like a hammer doing it’s job, and nailing in her coffin once more. It’s time to bury what is between them, because it’s pretty clear even if she wasn’t dead, their marriage was.

“I want to bring you back. I don’t want you dead.” He tells her, but it’s not with passion as so much guilt. He wants to right a wrong, not get her back. Not fix things because he wants to be with her.

She is, of course hurt by this fact. Splinted between knowing she’s lost such a good man because of her own stupid fault and the growing sense of fuck it, you never really wanted him, did you? You were bored with him before you died, before he went to prison. You were just holding on to something you didn’t deserve, a Goddess with a single mindless devotee.

“I love you,” She said, dispassionately. “I know you loved me. You spoiled me, gave me everything…and it would have been enough. Should have been.” Admitting it is easier in death, because what does she have to fear? Wednesday was wrong. She doesn’t fear the nothing that comes after death, and even when she was with Shadow she was alone. Laura doesn’t fear anything, just as she doesn’t believe in anything. All she wants is something in her life that doesn’t make her feel like she’s dead. She wants to feel her blood pumping inside her veins, not just because her heart is pushing it but because something is causing it to. “I wasn’t unhappy with you Shadow, I was unhappy with life, and I suppose in a way I guess that does include you even if I never thought of it like that. It’s only in death that I can admit that to you without holding back. And that’s the truth of it. I was always holding back.”

“You could have shared. I would have-”

“You would have told me you loved me. You would have told me it’s okay. Maybe taken the step to get me to a doctor, who would have medicated me to hell and then I would still be this. Dead on the inside.” She points out, “I’m not a nice person with a lot of issues. I’m broken, Shadow and that’s just who I am and you’ve always been too good of a man to say so. That’s why I think…I think I followed you, I believed in you. Or rather I wanted to. I mean, I don’t believe in any Gods or that shit…but I knew you were a good man, and you could do something. Anything to fix me.”

“…You still don’t believe? After everything you’ve seen today?” Shadow asks her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the kitchen counter. Easter had all but disappeared into her rooms. Leaving the trio to themselves. Sweeney was recovering in the living room while they had gone off to talk.

Laura shrugged, indifferent. “Nah. I mean. Ginger Minge out there said it didn’t he? Doesn’t matter what they are or aren’t, they’re still pricks. And anyone can be a prick, so it stands to reason anyone can be a God. Seems kinda like that’s a shit existence any how.”

Shadow cracks, smiling just a bit. “I suppose it does…but what about you? You’re still dead, Odin might have been the only one to bring you back…”

“Actually, I’ve got a theory about that.”

“Let’s make a deal.”

Sweeney attempts to open his eyes, but really his face is bruised and swollen he only manages to see out of one. And all he gets for his trouble is the smug mug of the bitch dead wife. He frowns.

“Fuck off.”

“I mean it. Let’s make a deal, Lepercunt.”

“I also mean it. Fuck off.”

She pinches the skin between his wrist and his hands, causing him to scream so loud the house windows rattle.

Laura smiles. The bitch.

It goes like this.

“I’ll believe in you if you believe in me.”

“That’s not how it fucking works, dead wife.”

“Oh yeah?” She questions, standing before him. Despite being half his fucking height, she manages to make him feel nervous. “How does it work, because I’m going out on a limb in saying that you’ve got no fucking clue. Hell, I’ll gamble and say, none of you dickwads do.”

Maybe. But he doesn’t tell her that. Just glowers and mutters under his breath in another language how he can’t believe his fucking luck. Lack of luck.

“You told me you were a king once. Don’t you want to be one again?”

Sweeney stays silent, giving her any words is like selling his soul. Maybe he owes it to her, but fuck her, he’s not giving it without a bit of a fight.

“All you need is someone to believe. Really believe, and maybe a new story right? A reinvention. A rebirth.”

He catches on, what she is selling ain’t new, but fuck him…it sounds good.

“A resurrection.” He adds.

There is a new story.

One of a man, of a bird, of a saint and a trickster. Who came to America on broken wings and lost his crown, his coin and belief. (Oh yeah, Americans love a good immigrant story, of someone who lost everything and got it all back, Laura laughs.)

A hundred years, give or take, he spends wandering like a curse. Each road familiar, each day a repeat of the last. He makes deals with the devils, with the angels and even the ghosts but none of them change anything for him. All his pain, all his luck good or bad, doesn’t matter. It’s fleeting and he starts looking for an end.

He finds the end in a girl.

He murders her, leaves her dead on the side of the road because a mean ugly God told him to. Told him this was an important piece to bury, to shove out of the way for the grand end the once king was looking for.

-but the dead girl, she doesn’t stay where he puts her. She leaves the comfort of her grave, she tracks the sun and the moon until she finds him and once she finds him, she puts her hands around his throat and demands life.

The man who was once a bird, whispers to her he has none to give. None to share. All he has is the name of the God who wanted her dead. The girl takes it, though no heart in her beats or blood in her veins and she has nothing but luck of the damned on her side; she finds that God.

Hidden behind the shadows of the moon and sun, he stands and judges her.

In any other story, she and the trickster would be punished. She would have been struck down for her disobedience. For thinking she could get her way, just because. The trickster would have been killed, just like he wanted.

In any other story, neither of them are heroes and therefore their story ends with death as punishment. The bitter lesson of what happens to the boys and girls who don’t follow the rules.

-but that isn’t this story.

In this story, the girl doesn’t have a drop of fear in her and so she spits in that God’s eye. She blinds him, steals his blade and cuts him right out of the sky. The girl, who is just a girl and nothing more, kills a God.

She sheds her death, her mortality and becomes a God Slayer; something feared by those who rightfully should, and unknown by those who don’t.

It’s in her new embrace, that she brings the faithless man’s story to an end.

Because now he believes.

So she gifts him with a new crown, one of bronze and steel. She gives him wings not of a bird, but of hope of a new world. She takes his heart as payment, but fills it with something stronger than just faith.

She fills it with love.

“That’s a bit sappy.” Laura muses. Bright and warm, more so even before all this. Next to her, Sweeney fiddles with some precious trinket -that he promptly shatters between two fingers. He is still getting used to having his strength back.

The God of Death, Anubis as she now knows looks up from his brother’s book. Where their new story is written. Ink fresh to the point it’s still semi-wet.

“Gods and mortals alike, like a good love story.” Is all the man says. He is not pleased per say by the events. He still feels like he’s been cheated, after all. Laura McCabe should have died and vanished into the nothing of the world. It had been his job, and for whatever reasons, that had not come to pass. Not by his own lack of powers, but because the budding of hers.

She’s not a God. She is not holy or known enough to garner attention of mortals…

but she is something new.

Free of the restrictions dealt by most, she is a story now. Told between Gods like a promise. She can not be killed, she can not be reasoned with or bribed. She is an end and a beginning and there is something simple and absolutely terrifying about that truth.

All she needs is Mad Sweeney; not because of love, but because of everything else. He is now the start of her story as much as he is the end. He makes her, unmakes her and cycles between the two. He is her murderer as much as he is her savior. Without him, there is no life, no death and no story.

Doesn’t mean she’s nice to him, though. Why would she?

“Come on, Fire Crotch. I want Burger King.”

“They have shit fries, Wife.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Laura waves him off. A gold band around her finger catches the light. It’s a matching one to his own. A melted down version of the coin, split between them. Forged into rings by some God too afraid to tell them no, and given back to the other in a ceremony of marriage. Not a pledge or a vow to some other God, but to each other.

Laura puts her sunglasses on, and slides her arm between his. She’s strong enough to still throw him across the room, but now he’s strong enough to take it. She likes that. Seems fair.

“Come on, husband, let’s get the fuck out of here before I get bored.”

He laughs, “I can always throw you into the fucking river, wife. Try and drown ‘ya like old times. Would that amuse you? A little of tickle of death?”

“Little tickle of death? Sounds like a good name for your dick.”

His laughter turns into a bark, “We both know what I pack ain’t little, wife.”

They leave the funeral home, bantering like this all the way until Anubis can’t hear them any more. After which he sighs deeply in gratitude.

They exhaust even death.

#madwife #mad wife #mad wife fic #american gods #american gods fic #mad sweeney #laura moon #mad sweeney x laura moon #dead wife #laura x sweeney #madwife fic

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islareeveswriting · 5 years

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You’re never fully dressed without a smile.

Molly had loved the film ‘Annie’ as a child - the original that is. She felt an affinity with the character Molly, mostly because she shared her name with her, but she liked to think she had the same spunk and sass as the little girl in the movie, the same cheeky charm. In reality she didn’t, she was far too shy and well behaved, but in her head Molly wasn’t afraid to stamp on an adults foot who was being mean to her, or stick her tongue out when she was being told off, or boss the other children around. However, even as she got older, Molly never forgot the message about not being fully dressed without a smile. The tune and the words alike stuck in her mind and she found herself hailing back to them whenever she was having a day when finding a smile felt a little harder than it should.

On the whole, Molly thought she was a pretty happy person, she never really felt down and when she did she didn’t find it hard to pull herself out of it. She considered herself lucky for that, and she truly believed that for her, just smiling at a few strangers could change her day, and she hoped it changed theirs too. Lately though, Molly didn’t find herself pushing a smile onto her face at all to try and lift anyone's mood, she found she woke up with a smile, woke up in a good mood. Things were going well across the board, things felt great, she felt great. It was a feeling she was finding herself getting dangerously used to, but she was enjoying it too much to question whether that was a good idea or not.

It had been over a week since Molly had spent the day with Harry and Lola, and six days since she’d last seen Harry. The warm, whole feeling she had on the Sunday was sticking around though, and when her and Harry had decided to spend the following Wednesday evening walking along the promenade a twenty minute drive away from home, it only intensified. Even the critical analysis Molly had been dreading had gone well, the professors hardly had a bad word to say it, and the bad words they did have to saw were more in relation to the photography, or layout of her presentation than the clothes themselves, so Molly could happily take that. She supposed they had to find something critical to say, it was a critical analysis after all.

It was Tuesday, late afternoon Molly was awaiting her results and final report on the project. She was sat in the library headphones in, trying to focus on the essay she’d been set the day before (she was on a roll with uni work and she was fighting to keep it that way), rather that continually flicking back to her emails and refreshing. It wasn’t even four o clock, the results weren’t due to go live until four o'clock, but still she was eagerly awaiting the link for the results page to hit her inbox.

For a second she thought about messaging Harry to try and take her mind off it, but he’d text her that morning to tell her he wasn’t going to work that day as he was feeling a bit rough and she hadn’t heard from him since, so Molly decided to leave him be, let him rest. Although she was already making plans to pop in on the way home, look after him the way he’d looked after her not too long ago, and hopefully give him the good news about her grade. Molly knew it might have been tempting fate thinking like that, but she had a good feeling about the project. It was her favourite by far, and it seemed that her professors had loved it just as much. They’d actually seemed interested in what she was saying, and enjoyed hearing her talk for the whole fifteen minute slot, which rarely happened in Molly’s experience.

Eventually four o clock hit, and Molly sat a little taller, clicking off the word document onto her emails and hitting the refresh button as quickly as she could. It was as if she was waiting for tickets to go on sale for her favorite band, eagerly awaiting for the page to change and the option to purchase tickets would set a spill of butterflies off in her tummy. The reaction was the same when the ‘link to results page’ subject line fell to the top of her page.

Molly held her breath as she moved her mouse to open the email and click the link. She was still holding her breath as the page loaded, the blue circle seemingly spinning endlessly. Molly began to wonder if it was even ever going to work - until eventually it did and a long list of students names filled Molly’s page. Molly scrolled down to her own, in alphabetical order by last name, Molly found herself near the bottom as always, not at all interested in what anyone else in her class had gotten. Other students moaned about how they wished grades were emailed individually, but Molly never looked at anyone elses to worry about anyone else looking at hers. All she was worried about was how she’d done, and it wasn’t in a selfish way, but she’d put in so much hard work on her own project she failed to understand why anyone would worry about how anyone else had done.

Molly Thomson FTD091119976358 78% First

There was a squeal in Molly’s chest and she had to really fight not to let it out in the middle of the library with two lads she didn’t know sat at the table opposite her. Suddenly the last thing on her mind was the essay she had been trying to write for two hours and gotten just shy of half way through. If she’d have calmed herself down, maybe got a coffee, she could have focused completely on her essay and gotten it finished that evening. But truthfully she didn’t want to, and she had another five days to do that, but Harry was poorly at home and she had chicken soup in her tote back to warm up for him, and good news that would surely put a smile on his face. At least she hoped.

And so Molly packed up her things back into her bags, collected her coat from the back of her chair, shrugged it on and headed out of the library and off campus. There was a smile on her face that she truly couldn’t wipe off, she felt proud of herself, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like that was something to be shy off or to try and hide. There was no shame in being proud of achieving her goals, and somehow she found herself realising that more and more as of late.

From the library Harry’s flat wasn’t far, and seeing as it was a nice evening Molly decided to walk. Spring was in full swing, it was getting closer to five in the evening and the birds were still singing, the sky was still blue, and the flowers were beginning to open up. Molly revelled in it. Despite the slightly cold breeze that was still lingering around, not quite stolen by the changing seasons yet, Molly felt warm as she walked away from campus towards Harry’s place.

It was a walk she knew well. Over the nearly six months since they’d met Molly had done it a fair few times, and she was finding it was like second nature, she didn’t really even have to think about it anymore, her legs just took her where she wanted to go, and her mind wandered elsewhere. It wandered to her project, and her suits, and Harry in her suits, and how good he’d looked in them, and how well they’d suited him, and how the whole project really had come together just perfectly. Molly had never believed in fate, or that everything happened for a reason, not fully at least, but it was hard to think otherwise when Harry had literally waltsed into her life the way he had, and they’d ended up where they were now - with Molly letting herself into Harry’s building with the code he’d text her earlier in the week. She’d used it once, meeting him at his flat after she’d finished uni before they drove out of town to the seaside for chips by the river and a walk along the front.

The stairwell was as arctic as always, like an ice box that made goosebumps instantly rush over Molly’s skin, she trotted up the stairs quickly, eager to get into Harry’s flat and the underfloor heating that she knew would be on. Harry liked a warm space as much as she did, liked to be cosy as much as she did, and he never flinched from folding them up under another blanket together when they were curled up on the sofa in his flat, or on her bed. Once she was stood outside Harry’s door, one arm folded across her middle, trying to keep any warmth hugged into her, she knocked and quickly folded her other arm across her, waiting patiently for Harry to answer the door and trying not to shiver. It got to her, and it was only when her teeth were nearly chattering that she realised how long she’d been stood waiting, so she knocked again a little louder. She knew Harry was in, from the car park she’d seen both his car and lights on in the kitchen. However, still there was nothing from the other side of the door.

Molly looked down at her feet, stood on the mat, that was covering the key she knew was hidden underneath. It wasn’t a great hiding place, but clearly Harry had never had any issues with having a spare key kept under his door mat. Molly was chewing her cheek, thinking about it, wondering if she really could let herself in so literally. He did say. Molly reminded herself, thinking back to the smile on his face when Harry had told her she was more than welcome to use the key, and even how he’d said he’d like her too. She’d used it once before, but he’d text her to do so just before she did it, ‘use the key’ it had said, and this was different now. He wasn’t expecting her, he didn’t know she was waiting outside his flat, and it felt like there was far more weight in picking up the key this time. Eventually Molly gave in and stepped off the mat so she could get the key from underneath it and let herself in.

“Hello,” Molly called out, shutting the door behind her and beginning to kick her shoes off. When there was no response, Molly tried to peer around the shelf unit that seperated the hall from the lounge, but she couldn’t quite reach, so instead carried on with her shoes and placed the key in one of the shelves, making a mental note to pick it back up when she left at some point. “Harry?” Molly tried again, rounding the corner, carrying nothing apart from the pot of chicken soup, and glancing over the flat.

There wasn’t a sign of him anywhere. The TV was on and it was muted, there was the leftovers of a nap on the sofa, a dent in the cushions that looked like a body had been there at some point, pillows laid on one arm, a blanket strewn over it, but kicked away at some point. Molly guessed Harry had taken himself off to bed, and so quietly she moved to the kitchen to put the soup away and tidy up a little bit for him, not wanting to disturb Harry if he was resting. There were popped packets of pills on the side, a half full glass of water beside them. Molly sighed. It appeared Harry really wasn’t feeling well.

It was when she closed the fridge and turned back to the kitchen that she noticed the white t-shirt on the floor. Molly moved closer to put it in the washing machine that it had been discarded in front off. It was only when she picked it up, that it fell apart, out of the crumpled mess that it had been put down in, that she noticed the crimson stains covering it. They were streaked over the t-shirt like paint. Thick marks of it and little splatters, but Molly knew instantly it wasn’t paint, Molly knew it was blood. And just like that she knew whose blood it was, and impulse told her Harry wasn’t ill in the traditional sense of the word.

Molly dropped the t-shirt without a thought and suddenly felt like she was out of her head, like she was stood back, watching herself move towards Harry’s room, like she’d left her mind behind and was acting purely on a whim, on instinct. Molly wasn’t quiet when she pushed the bedroom door open. It was dark, but she saw the shadow of Harry sit up quickly, a sharp intake of painful breath as he did so, and she saw him wince before she turned on the bedside light.

Any breath that her lungs were holding onto was knocked out of her in a second, at the sight of Harry. He was a mess in every sense of the word. The black eye he’d worn all those months ago was nothing compared to what was over his face now. There was blood, dried and congealed under one eye, perhaps made to look worse than it was due to the fact that it clearly hadn’t been cleaned away when it was wet. There was a large, dark bruise on his chin, nearly purple and spattered with red. He looked swollen and drained all at once, and his hair was a matted mess around him. He was fully dressed, and Molly was dreading what might be hiding under his clothes already.

“Don’t panic,” Harry started roughly, his voice dry and nearly stolen. Steadily Harry moved, to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs down, but it was clearly an effort to do, and Molly could see he was holding himself tight, trying not to cower. He reached out for Molly, but somehow she found herself stepping back, one hand clutching her chest the other her mouth as her eyes scanned over Harry. There was a red stain on the grey t-shirt he was wearing. It was darker than the stains that covered the t-shirt in the kitchen, and there wasn’t as much, but Molly’s eyes were stuck on it. “Lolly-”

“What happened to you?” Molly choked, cutting over Harry, eyes not able to look away from the blood soaking his t-shirt. It wasn’t fresh, she could tell that much, it was dry, but it had made the grey fabric darker and look vile.

“Lolly don’t freak out,” Harry begged, rising to his feet carefully. Molly’s eyes wandered down his body look for signs of more injuries but there weren’t any obvious ones, though the way Harry was unsteady on his feet suggested to Molly that underneath the jogging bottoms, it might have been a different story.

“Then tell me what has happened,” Molly shuddered, her voice shaky, emotion very close to spilling out as her mind ran away from her and she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

“I had a fight,” Harry whispered, and Molly looked up to his face, eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring as tears began to spring into her eyes.

“You promised.” Molly’s voice was all but gone completely, there was nothing left of it apart from a wobble and a near sob as she gulped back a breath.

“It’s not like that,” Harry told her, reaching for her again, but Molly just stepped back.

“Not like what?” Molly shrieked, gripping her own jumper tighter, knuckles going white around the fabric. There was fear and anger but most of all concern and worry and an overwhelming need to know and make it right, and make him ok, and get him out of whatever he’d gotten himself into to end up looking like he’d somehow walked away from a serious accident.

“It wasn’t random,” Harry started, swallowing on nothing, and Molly’s eyebrows flinched for a second, blinking quickly, too distracted by the bruising of Harry’s features to really hear what he was saying. “It was organised,” He added gently, carefully, cautiously. Molly’s eyes went wide, as dots began to connect, and the door suddenly felt very far away. Harry saw the cogs turn, Harry saw the conclusions she was making, and he couldn’t blame her, but he saw the instinct to run and not look back and he couldn’t let her, he couldn’t have her run from him, he couldn’t lose her, so he reached out and took her wrists gently in his hands and swallowed on nothing, holding her eyes tighter than he was holding her arms. “Don’t run away from me Lolly, please.” Molly shook her head and blinked quickly. “Don’t go,” He begged, eyes stinging, tears welling, blurring his vision, but he blinked quickly, he had to see her, he had to know she was really still there. “Don’t go,” Harry sobbed, choking on the lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down anymore. Molly shook her head again.

“I’m not,” Molly breathed, but it was shaky, full of fear and confusion. “But what do you mean?” She asked her lips barely moving, her back teeth locked together.

“It was an organised fight,” Harry told her again.

“But what does that mean?” Molly pushed, blinking, her eyelashes wet, the inner corners red.

“It means-”

“Don’t say the fight was organised,” Molly cut in quickly. “I understand that, but why? What...how… I don’t understand how this, why you,” Molly sighed and shook her head, eyes falling to their feet. There was even a bruise there, colouring the top of Harry’s foot green, it looked like he’d been trodden on.

“I think we should sit down,” Harry suggested, one of his hands moving down Molly’s wrist to take her hand. Without really thinking he lifted their knitted hands to his mouth and kissed gently against the soft skin on the back of hers. It was then Molly noticed his knuckles, nearly all cracked and open, red raw and heavily bruised. The image of that stuck in her mind as Harry led her out to the living area. She was trapped in her mind, going around in circles over a hundred and one different thoughts.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Harry asked, dropping her hand and suggesting she sat on the couch with his hand but Molly shook her head.

“No,” She said. “I don’t want to wait for the kettle Harry, I want to know what’s going on what’s happened, how on earth you’ve got yourself in an organised fight that’s left you in this state,” Molly explained, hand motioning to Harry’s battered and bruised body, her mind flicking to the bloodied t-shirt still on the kitchen floor. “This isn’t just boxing is it?” Harry shook his head and began to chew the inside of his cheeks. Molly nodded, her own cheeks sucked in tight as the cogs fixed into place and the picture became clearer. “This is illegal isn’t it?” She was dreading the response, and though it was slowly, Harry didn’t hesitate to nod. “Fuck,” Molly hissed, turning from Harry and scraping her hands into her hair.

“Lolly listen to me, please, it’s not going to happen again, you don’t need to worry,” Harry tried, and Molly could feel him following her pacing steps towards the wall as her mind raced.

“Don’t need to worry,” Molly flipped spinning to Harry with brows dropped hard and cheeks flushing as angry, hot tears fell from her eyes, quickly glancing around the kitchen the empty pill packets and half empty glass of water suddenly holding a different meaning. “Are you joking? Don’t need to worry? Harry your face is a mess, there’s a t-shirt covered in blood in the kitchen, there’s blood on your shirt, there’s a bruise-”

“Ok, ok, ok,” Harry hushed, stepping closer as Molly fretted and taking her hand again, “I’m ok though,” Harry tried to promise, but Molly shook her head. “I am ok, it looks worse than it is,” Harry tried to smile, but it wasn’t exactly convincing when even that obviously hurt. “It was stupid, I was stupid, and it’s not going to happen again,” Harry truly promised then.

“Why?” Molly asked, and Harry tilted his head. “Why would you take part in a fight like that?” Molly elaborated.

“It’s a long story,” Harry breathed.

“Well I need to know Harry, I really need to know this time,” Molly told him and Harry nodded, realising and understanding exactly what she was saying. Harry dropped her hand then, looking to the ceiling. There was still tears in his eyes, muddling with the fear and the panic and the urgency. In any other situation it might have pulled Molly back, but her heart was beating faster than it ever had before from the dread she was feeling, and she couldn’t let it slide this time, no matter how much she’d rather do exactly that and tend to Harry’s broken parts. “This goes back a bit doesn’t it?” Molly asked, and Harry nodded. She could see he was scared, but she wasn’t entirely sure what of, maybe everything, maybe too much. “Start at the beginning,” Molly encouraged and Harry sighed.

“After mum, well, I was angry, and I was fighting all the time, I got into a really, really, bad fight with Liam, it’s why he doesn’t like me so much, I broke his collarbone and he was in hospital for a week, thankfully he decided not to press charges but I was suspended for a long time,” Harry started, swallowing again, licking his lips before carrying on. “While I was off one of the older kids told me about this fight club, reckoned I’d be good at it after everything, I thought it might be a good way to blow off steam get into less fights at school, and it worked, Nan didn’t mind cause she thought it was just boxing, but it wasn’t, it was dodgy and shady and well, illegal, but I enjoyed it and it kept me out of trouble at school, I didn’t want to let Nan down after everything she’d been through so I just did it, no really realising the irony of that” Harry explained, and Molly found she was holding her breath. As much as she knew what she was being told was wrong, she found she couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Have you been doing this the whole time?” Molly asked quietly, suddenly very aware of how little she really did know Harry if that was the case.

“No,” Harry told her quickly. “I got out of it when I was about twenty or so, but after…” Harry sighed dropping his eyes.

“After what?” Molly asked, nervous for the answer, but desperate to know. Harry looked up again and pinched his lips together, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a couple of seconds.

“After Ryan jumped me that night, I felt angry, the angriest I’ve felt in years, I didn’t know what to do so I went back, just to throw a few punches, nothing serious,” Harry explained, and Molly felt her heart fall to her feet. “It’s not your fault,” Harry added quickly, stepping closer, eyes wide and wild. “None of this is your fault.”

“I know, but I should have known, did Ryan really give you that black eye or did you get it at this club?” Molly asked.

“No, Ryan gave me that, I didn’t fight anyone that night, I didn’t fight anyone until a couple of weeks ago,” Harry told her and she knew he was telling the truth, so Molly nodded and sighed. She was trying to pin down a question, pin down the right question, out of all the ones flying around her mind.

“Why have you been going back?” Molly settled on.

“Just everything,” Harry started quickly. “Everything’s been a lot lately and I’m not good at dealing with anything, especially emotions, I’ve been the best I’ve been and the worst I’ve been in the last few months and the only way I’ve ever known to deal with that is to fight,” Harry told Molly. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine, I’m the one who doesn’t know how to deal with it,” Harry promised again, but Molly was less convinced. “I felt vulnerable and scared and angry at things, and it gave me the relief I needed,” Harry told Molly but she could tell he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew it wasn’t right.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Molly questioned, rolling her lips together and biting down. He could lie if he wanted to, tell her what she wanted to hear whether it was the truth or not, but she was silently begging him to be honest with her. She’d rather be hurt by the truth than comforted by a lie.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, and Molly nodded. She supposed that was what she wanted, and she supposed that was something. “I just know I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Harry admitted, and again Molly nodded. She didn’t want to either, but in some sort of way she was glad she had.

“When did you first fight someone again?” Molly asked.

“After I left yours that night, after Ryan had…” Harry hesitated, but Molly nodded, she knew.

“And why this time?” Molly asked, nodding at the state of him in front of her then.

“Don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “After that fight, someone asked if I wanted another, and in the moment I said yes, I had an argument with Shane at rugby on Thursday, and to be honest I wanted it, I wanted to hit something, and I wanted something to hit back.” There was so much shame in his eyes, and Molly felt sick with it. Tears were welling amongst it and as one fell she felt herself crumble too, a sob racketing her body.

“I don’t blame you for the first time round, but this isn’t ok,” Molly whispered, but only because if she spoke any louder she was scared her emotion would steal her words. “You can’t do this to yourself every time you feel something that’s a bit stronger than you’re used to,” Molly told him, voice shaking as tears tumbled, and Harry nodded, his own emotion all over his face, glossy from tears, lips plump from how hard he’d been biting down on them to keep it back, but it was no use. “This scares me,” Molly admitted at last.

“You have nothing to be scared of,” Harry vowed. “I swear to you, I’m never going back, I’m done, I promise,” Harry sobbed, and not able to hold himself back anymore he took one big step to her, and wrapped his arms tight around her, pulling her into his body and holding her as close as he possibly could. They shook and cried into each other, Molly’s face buried into Harry’s chest, his into her hair, breathing her in, trying to find the reverie he found in her. Harry’s hand was wide on her lower back, through her jumper, and his other was in her hair holding her head. He pressed a kiss on top of it, gentle and barely there, like a whisper. “I’m so sorry, I should have told you, and I shouldn’t have done it, and fuck you deserve so much better than the person I am, but I just can't let you go, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to let me go Harry,” Molly mumbled, turning her face so she could speak into the air rather than his t-shirt.

“It’s selfish,” Harry sighed.

“Then we’re selfish,” Molly told him, standing a little straighter. Harry noticed how gentle she was about placing her hands on his chest, how it was habit until she thought about it, and the movement became conscious and she laid her hands down carefully, hoping not to hurt him. If Harry had regretted it before, he regretted the fight tenfold when Molly did that. “I’m not just here for all the good stuff, I’m here cause I like being with you, I want to be with you, yes you do stupid stuff, I do stupid stuff too-”

“You don’t get involved in fight clubs though do you?” Harry grumbled with an eye roll.

“No, but you’ve promised me this is where that ends, and as long as that’s the truth, then we can move on,” Molly told Harry trying to catch his eye, though it was hard not to be distracted by the bruising and the blood around it. Harry nodded softly. He wanted to kiss her, but his lip was still throbbing from where it had bust, and he didn’t want to reopen the wound that had taken hours to stop bleeding the night before, so instead he just pressed very slightly pouted lips against her head. “Does it hurt?” Molly asked gently, hand moving up to his face and trickling over the bruises and the cuts. Her fingers never quite met his skin, just sent a flutter of air over him.

“A little,” Harry admitted, but shrugged as if it was no big deal. Molly fought the the need to roll her eyes at how easily he brushed his own needs and concerns off.

“I’ll run you a bath, we need to clean that,” Molly told him, thumb brushing just under where he knew his skin had split over his cheek bone.

“We?” Harry asked, as Molly finally stepped back out of his arms. Molly didn’t say anything, just nodded, like it was obvious. Harry felt something inside him that was warm. He’d ached all day, he’d felt sick all day, his head was pounding and everything was sore, but what flooded through him then made all those pains seem like a secondary concern, they all took a back seat to the way Molly made him feel. It was bigger and stronger and far more consuming than anything physical he’d ever felt.

Molly took herself off to the bathroom. There was still a shake in her hands that came from the fear she’d admitted to Harry. She was beginning to feel easier, she believed he wouldn’t go back there, but the fact he’d gone there at all, made her feel sick. It was entirely new to her, and she didn’t know what she was doing. That side of the world, where it was dark and dangerous, but still the better option, wasn’t like anything she’d ever known. She was grateful for that. But Harry wasn’t so lucky, and she knew she wanted to be with him, and she knew she couldn’t fix all the things that were broken, but perhaps she could lead him to something better, something brighter, and keep him from the places where he felt like he was anything less that how much he was to her.

The bath filled quickly, with warm water that steamed into the air, and Molly was sure would soothe Harry. She swirled her hand around in it, making sure the temperature was ok, and it made her feel better just doing that. She trusted Harry, not because she had to, not even necessarily because she wanted to, but she just did. There were parts of him she was just getting to know, parts he wasn’t letting out into her light until now, but with every little thing that crept out of the shadows she felt she knew him better. But she trusted he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her in anyway, and she could see that with him hiding things, keeping them back, wasn’t him being deceitful, but just a defence mechanism, a survival instinct that Molly couldn’t even begin to understand.

They’d probably go over all these things again later, when they’d both calmed down, gotten over the initial shock of Molly seeing Harry that way, but for now, Molly just wanted to try and make Harry feel better, and she supposed that spoke louder than all the question she could have asked, and all the answers she might have gotten.

“You coming?” Molly asked softly, peeking her head around the bathroom door. Harry was lingering in his bedroom, and Molly could hear music playing. “What’s that?” She asked as he got closer, hands shoved into his pocket as he padded from the bedroom to the bathroom to join her.

“Just a new playlist,” Harry told Molly, and she nodded a little, trying to listen, but it made no odds she was too entranced by Harry, and it was more than likely she wouldn’t know the song anyway. Without prompting, Molly turned for the bathroom door, deciding to leave Harry in peace for a little while, thinking she’d clean the blood from his face later.

“Stay with me?” Harry asked softly, his voice a low rumble of sound echoing around the bathroom and Molly’s head. It pulled her to a halt, and she looked over her shoulder to Harry. He was already shirtless, the t-shirt he’d been wearing a pool by his feet. The state of him only looked worse for it. His torso was black and blue, a large bruise fully formed and coloured on his shoulders, marks across his abdomen, bruises that hadn’t really come to be, just left red blurs on his skin. And the cut that had left the stain in the t-shirt he’d had on in bed was loud and aggressive across the left side of his chest. Molly couldn’t even begin to think how it had happened, but instead of wonder too much about how exactly Harry sustained his injuries she just swallowed and turned on her heel. It was a lot to process, it was hard to process, seeing him so damaged. He was someone who came across so strong, always, so defiant and resilient to anything and everything, “Please?” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper, barely there at all, and where he was normally the one propping her up when she needed it, the roles were very clearly reversed as Molly nodded silently and stepped back into the room, leaving the door open so they could hear the whisper of music Harry had put on.

Steadily Harry finished undressing, slipping his shorts down his legs and wincing a little. Molly saw why, there was a huge bruise, bigger than any of the others, darker too, over his leg, below the scar, but moulding around it a little. Harry stood again, just catching Molly’s eyes that were fixed on him, kicking his shorts away leaving him completely naked. Though it was entirely different to the last time Molly had seen Harry naked, the tension in the room quite opposite to what had been between them before, somehow it felt more intimate, as Harry lifted his arms to tie his hair back and his skin rippled over ribs and muscles. They were silent and Molly stayed back a little until Harry carefully stepped into the bath and lowered himself into the water.

When Molly had run the bath, she’d looked at the bubbles and the oils and the salts that Harry had collected in the vanity unit and decided against every single one of them. They didn’t seem necessary. All Harry needed was hot water over his skin, over his muscles and bones, and that showed as Harry sat back in the bath and let the water rise over his chest, his eyes fluttering closed. Molly moved forward then kneeling at the side of the bath, and resting her arms on the side of it, glancing over Harry’s face, his eyes still closed, and he looked peaceful so Molly looked to take in the bruise on his chin, the cut under his eye that seemed to follow his cheekbone perfectly. Molly felt herself swallow on nothing as her eyes dangled over the injuries.

“Don’t look at me like that baby,” Harry breathed, reaching for Molly’s chin and tipping it slightly so she had to find his eyes, open again, and soft and sad, and as green as ever despite the bruising and the dried blood he’d obviously not cleaned away properly. “I’m still me,” Harry promised, and Molly nodded, eyes leaving his and moving down his body over each broken piece of skin, each bruised muscle, taking it all in and trying not to feel overwhelmed. “Talk to me Lolly,” Harry begged, hand trailing down her arm and round her back a little, his damp fingers sticking to her t-shirt, the jumper she’d been wearing discarded in the living room.

“Is this from before?” Molly asked fingers reaching towards his thigh, to the scar there, but never quite reaching, instead lingering back, like a child with the adrenaline to hold the spider, but the innate fear to step back from it. Harry lifted his leg from the water, bending at the knee water splashing around him and rippling. The light reflected off the water moving, and danced on his skin like glitter. Molly didn’t notice it though, too drawn to the broken flesh he was showing her. Her eyes moved down the length of it for a few moments before turning her eyes, but not her head, to Harry.

“Yes,” He told her simply, a subtle nod of the head, Molly’s eyes moved back to his leg and looked over it again. In her head she remembered it bigger, deeper, darker, and she hadn’t seen it since the first time. In reality it was about six inches long and carved a dent into his leg like a crack in a stone. There was a tiger’s head inked beside it, clearly an attempt to disguise the cut, but that was a second thought to Molly, it had been when she first saw it, and it was even more so then. His naked body seemed secondary, even though there’d been a fluttering in her tummy at the sight of him without his clothes, completely unabashed, his scar was taking up all of her thoughts somehow, and she supposed that was just evidence of how much she wanted to know about it.

“How?” Molly asked, her voice was neither brave or weak, though she suspected it was a subject Harry would rather avoid, the way he’d lifted his leg from the water made her think he wasn’t about to run from her questions and that in turn made her feel comfortable, like they were just talking, just chatting, the way they always so easily did.

“I was stabbed,” Harry told Molly, it was calm, and simple, but Molly’s head snapped to Harry then, eyes stumbling over his face wildly, brows dropping, jaw bouncing as she bit her teeth together quickly, trying not to let something that felt like it might be more fear creep up from the depths of her. “You don’t need to worry, it was a long time ago, before -before I’d met Shane and everyone,” Harry started, but that didn’t do much to settle Molly, and she felt herself frowning deeper though every movement and sensation felt like an out of body experience.

“How old were you?” Molly asked, and her voice was quieter now, not quite as strong, but certainly not weak either.

“Nineteen,” Harry told her. It was strange to have Harry being so brutally honest and open, answering her questions without thought or consideration, keeping eye contact and not shying back. But Molly supposed he didn’t have a lot to hide from anymore. “I’d organised a fight with a lad who thought he was the bee’s knees, kept trash talking me, saying I’d never fight him cause I was too scared, too weak, and being the arrogant prick I was I took the bait and organised a fight,” Harry began to explain. “Everyone told me I’d never beat him, he was older than me, quicker, stronger, I didn’t stand a chance, and when I managed to get off my high horse I decided to try and pull out, thing is with this sort of thing, you can’t pull out,” Harry went on. Molly found herself nodding, this was brand new to her, something she knew nothing about, and each word Harry was saying was a lesson, an overwhelming lesson in the sort of things Molly had thought only existed in the dark and edgy movies her father liked. “When Aaron, the guy I was meant to be fighting, found out, he cornered me one night leaving the club and stabbed me, told me if I didn’t fight there’d be more where that came from,” Harry sighed. “I fought, I lost, and I have a scar to show for my stupid arrogance,” Harry finished at last.

Molly didn’t say anything, just nodded and turned to look at it again. Once more her eyes ran the length of it, and then she reached out to it, not hesitating at all that time and her fingers finding the broken skin. Under her touch she felt Harry tense, his thigh tightening. Molly looked back at Harry, but his eyes were fixed on her fingers so he didn’t notice. With her eyes back on his leg, Molly let her fingers travel down the scar, feeling the way the skin had fixed itself back together.

“You never got this stitched did you?” Molly asked.

“Of course I did, I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t want to, but Niall told me I had to oth-”

“Niall?” Molly snapped surprised, eyes back on Harry, fingers forgotten, scar forgotten. Harry nodded. “Why Niall?”

“Didn’t know where else to go, didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to tell Nan I’d been stabbed over a fight, didn’t want to tell Nan I’d been stabbed at all, so I went to Niall and asked him to help and he said I had to go to A&E and he practically dragged me into his car and made me go, but if he hadn’t god knows, I mean the scar isn’t tidy at all, but the cut was huge, I don’t want to- but you asked,” Harry hesitated and Molly nodded. Harry sat up then, pulling his leg a little closer. “He stabbed me there,” Harry started pointing to the part of the scar nearest his knee, “Twisted it as he spoke,” Harry carried on, finger moving around a wider part of the scar, like an asterix of puckered skin. “And as he pulled it out he dragged the knife up,” Harry explained swallowing on nothing, blinking fast, Molly could tell he was reliving the moment, remembering it second by second with each word. “This part wasn’t so deep, mostly just skin, but there was a lot of blood, I just wrapped it up with something, I can’t really remember, think I had a t-shirt in my bag or something, and hobbled to Niall’s,” Harry breathed finally, but he didn’t settle back into the water. Molly looked up to his eyes from his fingers.

“Were you scared?” Molly asked, it felt like a stupid question, but the way he spoke about it, she couldn’t be sure.

“A little, I was more scared people would find out about what I was doing, I was terrified the hospital would have to tell Nan, or they’d force me to report it but they didn’t,” Harry told Molly and her eyes went wide. “Don’t look at me like that Lol, if I’d have reported it I’d have had to tell them everything, and I wasn’t innocent either.” Molly sighed, she didn’t like the reality of that, but she knew it was true.

“What if it happened now?” Molly asked, eyes narrowing.

“It wouldn’t,” Harry promised, Molly just cocked an eyebrow at him. Harry moved forward then, quickly, sending a wave of warm water over the side of the bath, soaking Molly’s leggings, but neither of them paid that any mind. Harry was on his knees, facing Molly and holding her head gently, not letting her drop his eye contact even if she’d wanted to. “It won’t happen Lolly, I promise you, this is done, I am done with this.” His eyes didn’t even flicker, he didn’t even blink, he held her eyes as he held her face, fingers tangled in her hair, as his eyes tangled in her mind. “I don’t want to be this person anymore, I want to be the man you deserve, I want to be a better man for you,” Harry promised quietly. Molly nodded and offered a soft smile because she appreciated it.

“You need to do it for yourself too though, you need to realise what you’re doing to yourself like this,” Molly pointed out.

“I don’t mat-”

“You do,” Molly told him, hands falling over his and intertwining her fingers between his. “You do matter, it’s thinking you don’t that’s led you to these places, I appreciate what you’re saying Harry I really do, it means the world that I mean so much to you, but you mean a lot to me too, and you mean a lot to a lot of people to Niall to Shane to your Nan to Lola, and you need to want to walk away for yourself as much as any of us, otherwise you’ll find yourself back there again,” Molly sighed, eyes dancing over his. Harry shook his head, sinking back down a little but still with his fingers tangled in her hair.

“No Lolly, I promise this is it, I am done,” Harry asserted with wide eyes.

“Ok,” Molly breathed with a nod. Both of them sighed then, and Molly moved forward to kiss his lips. She could see the cut on his lip, and she was gentle with him, but he wasn’t, he pushed his lips harder into hers, holding her head firmly but softly in his hands. Molly found herself breathing heavily through her nose, the feeling firing up in her hard to ignore as she rose up onto her knees a little as Harry did the same, her hands finding his chest and sliding around his neck where they linked. Finally they pulled back, though neither had really had quite enough. Their foreheads rested against one another, Harry’s hands still at the back of Molly’s head.

“It’s gonna be ok,” Harry told her.

“I know,” Molly nodded. “I trust you,” Molly whispered her breath tickling Harry’s lips, still bruised, but tingling in a different way to how they had been before, as they curved into a smile. “Lay down,” Molly instructed quietly, falling back down so her feet were on her bum. Harry did as she asked lying back under the water. “I’m gonna take these off,” Molly told Harry, and she saw him swallow on nothing, something hitching in his throat that he had to clear before he could speak.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Harry strained, rolling his shoulders back, nostrils flinching as Molly stripped off her bottom half.

“It’s ok” Molly smiled, throwing her leggings behind her and reaching for the wash cloth from the side of the sink. “Look at me,” Molly encouraged, simultaneously turning Harry’s head to her and dampening the cloth in the water, her hand brushing Harry’s side a little. As Molly wiped at his cut, gently removing dried blood from his skin, Harry found he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. She looked beautiful, her pale was skin was spattered with freckles and it looked as smooth and soft as silk. All he wanted to do was reach out and touch her, pull her close, but she was so concentrated on him, eyes fixed on the cut on his face, head tilted and bottom lip pinched under her teeth, that he was loathe to disturb her.

“You don’t have to do this,” Harry told Molly quietly, and for a second her eyes flashed to his, but just as quickly they were back on broken skin.

“I know,” Molly told him, her tongue flicking out against her lips quickly.

“So stop,” Harry told her, reaching for her arm, but she pulled it out of his grasp, leaving his hand lingering in mid air. Again she turned her eyes to him, and it was very clear who held the power seat in that moment, Harry swallowed hard, looking back at her and stirring under the water a little, wishing there were a few bubbles to hide what was beginning to happen to him thanks to the way she was looking at him, and her t-shirt hugging her body tightly, and her bare legs.

“I want to do this Harry,” Molly told him, leaning forward a little more, and laying his hand back in the water “Just let me look after you for a change,” Molly breathed, dabbing at his face, glancing to his eyes. Harry didn’t say anything, but he felt it, or at least he was very sure he did, what she was implying as she moved the cloth down to the blood on his chest and began working on that.

The water was beginning to get mirky from the blood Molly was washing away, but it wasn’t enough to hide what her other hand was doing to him as it tickled over his chest, her touch soft but purposeful over his abdomen, each muscle fluttering as she ghosted over them. Molly was still cleaning the injury on his chest when she looked up under her lashes to his eyes. They were dark, hooded, aiming back at her as his cheeks sucked in. It was very clear where they were going, and maybe it seemed like a strange time, the wrong time, but it felt very right to both of them.

With one glance back at the cut on Harry’s chest to check it was clean, Molly discarded the flannel back in the sink. Water trickled from her arm, and pattered into the full bath, but apart from that the only sound was the distant one of the music Harry had chosen, and Harry’s breathing getting a little deeper. She turned back to Harry, and scooted closer to his face, her hand reaching over the side of the bath to his thigh, where she drew subtle circles on his warm skin, over his scar, over the bruise, and the ink that all collected there, matting the hair on his thigh a little but not painfully so.

“Not all the way yet,” Harry told Molly quietly, and she just nodded. That wasn’t what she had in mind, in fact she had no intention of satisfying herself at all. Her mind was fully focused on Harry and his needs, the way he’d been so focused on her last time. It had been all about her, he was good at it and she felt amazing, but in that moment he wouldn’t let her return the favour. It felt like it might be the opposite now as her hand wrapped around him and she felt how much he was aching for some relief.

Harry’s eyes buried into hers, as slowly but confidently, for the first time, Molly did more than just touch him. Molly’s wrist flicked slowly, thoughtfully, and throat clenching a little as she did so, obviously a little nervous, a little unsure. The last time she’d touched anyone like that, it hadn’t meant the same, nowhere near the same. It had been so different, almost just for the sake of it. In that moment with Harry it was anything but for the sake of it. Molly flicked her eyes to what she was doing, taking it in fully, taking him in fully. Again she swallowed on nothing, she didn’t have a lot to compare him too, but he nearly made her eyes water just at the sight of him, hard and nearly leaking, her hand not even nearly covering the length of him, and that had never happened before.

It didn’t take long for Harry to give into the sensations she was sending through his body, like tidal waves of brimming ecstasy. Eventually, he gave into it fully, leant his head down on the back of the bath, and closed his eyes, sighing as he gripped the edges, far firmer than Molly was gripping him. His reddened knuckles lost some of their colour as he bit down on his bottom lip and lost himself to what was happening.

It had been a while since anyone else had touched him like that, got him to that place, and it was far better than he’d maybe ever experienced. Harry supposed it wasn’t a lie that it was different when it meant something, felt different when it meant something. It wasn’t just a means to an end, Harry was savouring every twist of Molly’s hand, every new flick of her fingers and when she adjusted so one hand was diving beneath the water, to cup his balls and massage at them gently, he nearly lost it entirely. Letting out a low almost growl of a moan.

“Molly,” Harry whispered. It was more encouragement for Molly, she didn’t necessarily need it, the way he was reacting was enough, but the mention of her name, almost like praise for the way she was making him feel egged her and her pace on. “Fuck,” Harry hissed, gritting his teeth and lifting his head to look at her. But she wasn’t looking back and he wanted her too, he wanted to look in her eyes when he finished, but the words were stuck in his tightened throat as he felt the knot in his stomach tighten, tighter, and harder, and faster than he’d ever experienced. He reached out for her, took her chin between his finger and thumb and softly twisted her head. Molly’s tongue swiped slowly at her lips once her eyes were back on his, and Harry couldn’t be sure if she was intentionally teasing him, but it sent him wild. Another guttural groan as his stomach twisted, and he shot his head back to look at the ceiling.

Molly felt Harry’s hand move from her face down over her shoulder, and to her hip where it settled and gripped firmly, but not painfully. Even lost in his blissful state, Harry didn’t become the person he was running from. There was something keeping Molly focused on Harry’s face, the way his jaw hung loose a little, the way his nostrils flinched every so often, and his eyelashes fluttered as he rode the motions to his climax.

“I’m gonna-,” Harry spluttered, lifting his head again and finding Molly’s eyes without even really trying, but cut himself off with a low groan as the knot got as close as it would to snapping before it did. “Fuck,” Harry rumbled, and his head flew back again, neck straining and veins popping underneath the skin as warm, milky streams of him laced over his belly and drained away into the water. “Holy shit, Molly,” Harry breathed, it was strange to hear that name from his lips, but it felt fitting for where they found themselves. Molly made sure he was completely finished with a final few slow strokes, before letting go. “That was so fucking good,” Harry grinned, the rosy look on his face evidence enough of that to satisfy Molly, she just grinned back.

“Want me to wash your hair?” Molly offered, resting her head down on the edge of the bath, and staring up at Harry, who was a little breathless, and twirling her hair around his fingers that had now left her hip behind.

“In a minute,” Harry nodded, sighing. “Let me just,” Harry never finished his sentence, just relaxed into the water, playing with Molly’s hair still, and closing his eyes to the world and the nightmare that had been the last twenty four hours, that was beginning to feel more and more like it had been another life, another him. Or at least another version.

Dun dun dunnnn some truth from Harry who’d have thought it!? Of course that’s assuming it’s the truth at all. Who know!? I’m not even sure I do at this point.

I hope you like it though and come at me with your thoughts and feelings and theories, loved talking with you all about the last one, so let’s do it all again with this!

Have a great weekend 💕

#dive #TALK TO ME #ASK BOX OPEN #TO TALK ABOUT THESE AND THEM #AND YOU #i mean its open for anythign really #but would love to talk about this with you lot #let me know your thoughts #and theories #and feelings #harry styles #harry styles fan fic #1dff #harry fluff #harry angst #dark harry

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veevvee · 5 years

Text

sorry it took so long @derelict-blade , and sorry if it's not what you expected >///<

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- the date on this thing says "October, 13, 2287", and all the clues lead me to believe that... the prototype 0078-yh...

- one of the functions of this thing is a journal on which I can write and save in a flash drive similar to a mini-disk (who uses mini-disks anymore?).I've decided to take note of everything that may help me understand what happened and to sort things out; if it's true that it's been 270 years since the day of my test on myself... no, I don't want to think about "that" question, now it's of no use to me.

- I managed to get out of this "vault", finally, only to come back with my tail between my legs. The scenery presented to me outside makes me believe that, at some point, during my hibernation, that atomic war finally happened.The state of the surrounding vegetation suggests that at least 50 years have passed.

- I think I killed all the giant cockroaches that infested the vault and I was able to make some terminals work, at least those are still intact... The hacking was so outdated that it was literally the last card I played. I found the diary of one of the scientists who worked here, and with it the confirmation of a nuclear strike occurred in date October 23, 2077; so they brought me here with the prototype between 2017 and 2077 and they used us to develop other cryopods, in which they locked twelve people against their will... those people survived the bombs just to be imprisoned here, maybe forever… or at least until the reactor stops working.

- I've had enough for today, I'll try to sleep and continue tomorrow. It's so cold here, but it could be me...

- 10/16: I decided to try to explore the surroundings once more, at the first giant spider that I meet I'll shoot myself straight in the head. I brought with me the gun I found, 22 bullets, no, 21... I’ll keep one for myself.

- before I left I checked the vital signs of the twelve hibernates, they are fine, as long as you can feel fine in a cryogenic induced coma... I promised (to who?) that every once in a while I'll be back to check on their conditions. now let's see how I handle this shit…

- I stopped almost immediately, at a gas station (?) a few steps from the vault. From the hillside you could see a hamlet, very small, maybe ten houses, but for now I prefer to avoid - I was going to write "population centres". I… I'm too scared of who or what I could find there, but here I was lucky, I met a dog, an healthy and friendly-looking German Shepherd... REGULAR SIZE. Good boy.

- from here you can see what looks like a water supply, and if it’s telling the truth, we are (meaning the dog and I) near Concord, meaning, we are not too far from Cambridge... I wonder if it wouldn't be better to… all I had was there... I need to see with my own eyes that... now...

- a few hours after leaving the gas station (??) it started raining, the dog and I (yes, he’s following me, and I must admit that I feel safer now), we found a shelter in an abandoned tool shed. I set up a bed and I locked myself in, now I want to take advantage of this time available to learn how to use this... wrist-computer (?); "pip-boy 3000" is says here, yeah there's no way I'm saying that...

- 10/17: I fell asleep while "playing" with this minicomputer, I were fooled by the puppy's body heat, or maybe it was his smell… but if it keeps away the beasts then it's worth it. I had breakfast with some canned water, I found old boxes of processed food that I don't trust to eat, I keep them aside for when I have no other choice... that could be a matter of hours, since I have not eaten in four days... oh right, 269 years, 10 months and 6 days, thanks a lot brain.

- the dog (I wonder if I should give him a name) hunted down a couple of birds to feed himself, I got a good look at them, he's so lucky he’s not a fussy.

- The dog is much smarter than many people I've met, he helped me find some medicines and A RIFLE! 38 caliber, telescopic sight, silencer, and 34 cartridges in a hip bag. Now I'm less afraid of meeting a giant spider... or nearly... He also brought me a can of Cram, regardless of the expiration date, I never liked it, but if I want to keep going with this experiment I'll have to come to terms with it, sooner or later.

- 10/18: I had to stop my entries because, like an idiot, I attracted a dogs pack with that goddamned Cram and... I had to... I've never shot anything alive before yesterday... I had never killed voluntarily... but those dogs were... I've never seen them so aggressive, they looked like those birds with which the dog (the friendly one) feeds occasionally, spot baldness, purulent sores, I managed not to get bit by the skin of your teeth. Who knows from what kind of bacterial mutant disease they were infected... they were five and... I shot three of them in the head after the dog (the friendly one) broke the first two's necks... then we had to run, I feared that the shots could have attracted something, or someone, even worse. Now we are safely locked in a wrecked bus, I cried for an hour and slept for another.

- it's an oddly beautiful full moon night, I can see the silhouettes of the buildings in Cambridge, if I leave at the first lights I could get to my old apartment by nightfall, if it works for everyone…

- in order to get my shit together I made an inventory of my "equipment": the clothes I'm currently wearing - a scarf (now in the bag) - my glasses - other sunglasses (now in the bag) - my pager (broken) - wallet - money ($ 518 in cash, $ 11 and 57 cents in change) - my I.D. did not survive the freezing, the data is illegible - 10mm gun - 17 ammo of the abovementioned gun - caliber 38 sniper rifle - 34 cartridges of the abovementioned rifle - 6 units of canned water - 1 unit of half eaten Cram (it sucks, but edible) - 2 units of Pork n’ Beans – 2 units of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes – a blue jumpsuit, new, too big for me (now in the bag).

- the food preservation industry has made tremendous strides while I was sleeping ... bah, America.

- inside the vault it didn't work properly, but I noticed that the radio of this minicomputer has intercepted some frequencies; as soon as I find a shelter I'll try to tune in. It's surely an indication of post-apocalyptic civilization, I don't know yet whether to rejoice or not.

-oh, this minicomputer also has a built-in thermometer, according to it I've a bit of fever and I'm almost dehydrated.

- I would give my left arm for a hot bath...

- … and the right one for some not 300-year-old cigarettes.

- I can't get those dogs out of my head... among all that happened to me, those dogs...

- it becomes increasingly difficult to avoid thinking of "that question"...

- 10/19 part 2: while I was having breakfast with the leftover of that Cram (ugh) I saw a person pass by, a woman, along the way nearby: she was alone, if we don't count the naked cow loaded with stuff (it had two heads?? Perhaps my dehydration is more severe than I expected), and she was armed, if we can consider weapon a gun made out of twigs and scrap metal (???), the dog was not alarmed, I was about to go and talk to her, but I'm a coward and I missed my chance...

- I waited to see her disappear behind a distant corner, then I waited another twenty minutes to not hear gunshots, at that point I followed her steps, we are pretty close to Cambridge, and more houses can mean more people, people who could be hostile, that's why I took the safe off.

- I wonder if it's not the case to go to the police station... I'm not stupid enough to hope to find Edward there, but maybe there’s some stock that could turn useful, weapons, ammunition, ESPECIALLY ammunition, better yet body armour, anti-aggression equipment... yes, it's DEFINITELY the case to go to the police station.

- Edward… when the war broke out he should have been 95... who knows if no fuck no, I can't think of this now, I don't want to do the same calculation for those assholes, they are dead, they are dead they are dead they are all dead I’m sorry Edward

- 10/19 part 3: I have two hours of light, I'm wasting time on this fire escape, it wasn't easy to get the dog up, he didn't want to hear of it, but I thought it was safer to try to get in from the roof, I didn't even see the main entrance... if there were people inside... if those people were armed and hostile... if that woman, that of the two-headed cow, went around armed there must be a reason... if those people were trying to kill me, how much further could I claim self-defense? Would I be able to defend myself? Would I be able to ... kill them before they kill me? This is going to be the most difficult experiment that I must ever conduct.

-OK that’s new: there are signs of recent activity, someone tried to set up a shelter in here, there’s ammo but no weapon, makeshift mattresses, FOOD, but I didn't touch anything; whoever did this could come back and I need to be ready, perhaps to fight, perhaps for a peaceful dialogue... I hope for the latter.

-10/21 I'm absolutely the most idiotic and lucky person in the world: after my last entry two days ago, due to the dog's body heat and to my belly full of 200 year old treats, I fell asleep AGAIN... I'm such a dumb shit…! The first unregistered voice that I heard in eight days woke me up, under threat and pointing to me what I later realized was a weapon, who highly invited me to identify myself and to declare my intentions. I've never been so close to wet my pants, but luckily that man was open to dialogue, maybe I'll write something about him and his group later, they are four, they know what they’re doing, and they don't want to hurt me... apparently.

- and now the bad news: when I was woken up the dog was gone. Danse, I mean Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel (?), said there was no dog with me when he found me, I looked for him a bit nearby the others warned me not to go too far because Cambridge is Ghoul infested (???)... that dog can take care of himself, he'll be fine... please let him be fine...

-Haylen wait, Scribe Haylen (oh my fucking god), is teaching me how to use the latest technology, hardware and stuff, she was nothing short of enthusiastic about my minicomputer, and advised me not to keep it inside my duffle bag, but always on my wrist (shit, it's as comfortable as a wooden underwear). She also told me to wear the jumpsuit I found in the vault, the one that was too big for me, because the fabric is made of a radiation-resistant material, has the ability to regulate body heat according as necessary and, lo and behold, it's not too big, the suit fits your size, you wear it, you wiggle in it a little bit, and it fits perfectly. I'm wearing it under my clothes, it's definitely TOO tight for my liking.

- speaking of radiations, Haylen says that the medicines I found are safe, in small doses even that pre-war food, although fresh food would be better (fresh food here???).

- I like Haylen, we share very much and I can talk to her pretty quietly, she asks a lot of questions, but can't say I wouldn't have done the same myself. Paladin Danse is doing his best to make me feel comfortable, he doesn’t always succeed, however I appreciate the effort, and his "power armor" is the coolest thing I've ever seen! Sometimes I find Knight Keane looking away from me, he hasn’t spoke to me in two days, almost makes me think he hates me, he would not be the first. Knight Rhys is dickhe

- Paladin Danse called a meeting in ten minutes, this time my presence is requested, and now that I'm writing it, I'm afraid it's because they've finally decided what to do with me...

#may #brotherhood of steel oc #dogmeat?#paladin danse #scribe haylen #knight keane #knight rhys #expect some reblogs #I put a lot of work into this shit #sorry for my shitty english

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 6 years

Text

Resource Management, pt28

Word Count: Tags: @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @feelmyroarrrr @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @little-study-bug @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife @samaxraph99 @anotherotter @outside-the-government @kingarthurscat @coyote-in-space @originalpottervengerlock @dolamrothianlady @curiositywillbethedeathofme @superheroesofbothuniverses @mtriestowrite @wanderingkat77

Author’s Note: OMG EDMONTON!!! You know people who live there!!

From Yorkton I pushed through to Edmonton. I sent a quick message to Tony asking if the caretaker was going to buy groceries for me when I checked into my hotel. His response was quicker than usual. Either he was concerned about me going shopping, or he was anticipating the question.

“Yes, the house is stocked. Is there anything special that you want that can’t be purchased in town?” He had told me that he’d spent quite a bit of time at his cabin, so he knew what kind of groceries were available there. I’d grown up two hours away from the village nearest the cabin, and also knew what kind of groceries weren’t available there.

“Is he willing to drive into the city and go to Costco? I’ve got a fruit list a mile long.”

“Forward me your usual weekly menu and I’ll make sure the food is there. I don’t want you stopping in the city.”

“Yes Dad.” I powered down and hit the bed. The short nights were wearing on me, and I was exhausted. But I was so close. If I stuck to the speed limit, I would pass through my hometown in about ten hours of driving, which should put me at the cabin within twelve. But in my experience, it only took me eight hours to get home from Edmonton. And I’d driven that road a lot. I’d done my undergrad at the University of Alberta, and had headed home every free chance I had. I could probably sleep while driving; I knew the road so well.

I slept longer than I’d expected, waking at five am. I showered quickly and packed up my things into the jeep. There was a Tim Horton’s beside my hotel, and I went in to get breakfast and a coffee for the road. I had just paid and was heading out when a short woman bumped into me.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t spill on you, did I?” I asked. She looked over herself and looked up at me.

“No, I walked into you, I apologize.” She looked up at me and a flash of recognition crossed her face. “Anna Ellis, right? We did Shakespeare together. Samantha King.” She spoke quickly, and that was actually all I remembered about her. Well, and she had a big mouth. And she didn’t understand Shakespeare at all.

“No, you must have me confused with someone else.” I affected my best D.C. accent and shook my head. She tilted her head skeptically and looked at me like she was taking in every detail of my appearance.

“You look just like her. Except the hair, Anna is blonde. She went somewhere to the States for grad school. Are you sure you aren’t her? It would explain the accent.” Sam King had also been like a dog worrying a rat when she thought she was right, I recalled. I sighed heavily.

“Statistics suggest there are six people in the world who look the same as you. Your friend must be one of my six. I’ve never been here before. I’m on furlough and wanted to see Alaska,” I lied smoothly. She raised an eyebrow.

“You know you’re in Alberta? Not Alaska?”

“I’m driving. From the east coast.”

“Wow, and you haven’t been recalled? We recalled most of our troops after the big SHIELD collapse. I work for the DND. I’m sure that all American military personnel have been recalled.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone. With a few flicks, she nodded. “I knew I had an email about it. Yes, all NATO personnel are on alert and have been recalled to home bases. Do you need me to help you get into touch with your commanding officer? We can have you on a flight out this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry, what gave you the impression that I was military?” I was on the verge of panicking. I took a slow breath and tried to mask the shock and dread of my discovery.

“You said furlough instead of vacation, I just –“

“It’s a very specific term, I know, confusing. I’m not military. My husband was, I’ve never got out of the habit. I’m on holidays.” I smiled, blurting the words out. I hoped my words would imply enough that she backed off.

“Was?” She asked and then her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“I really have to get back on the road.” I pushed past her and headed out the door. When I got to the jeep, I made my way out of the city as quickly as possible. I called Tony as soon as I was on the highway west.

“Why are you phoning? You haven’t phoned yet.” His voice was tinny through the speakerphone.

“I ran into someone I went to university with while I was getting breakfast. I think I convinced her I wasn’t me, but the woman has the biggest mouth in the universe, and works for the DND. I know she’s going to talk to someone,” I blurted. I heard Tony’s sigh of resignation.

“I wasn’t expecting this from Edmonton. Name?” He asked.

“Samantha King,” I breathed. I reached for my breakfast sandwich and took a bite.

“I’ve got it. Anything else?”

“Do you know if Erin is okay?” I asked. I’d been thinking about her a lot as I drove. Her boyfriend was awarded a position on one of the Insight carriers. So he was likely HYDRA. I had to wonder if she was too.

“She took a bullet in the shoulder when everything went down. Apparently one of the old broads in your office was HYDRA.” He sounded tired.

“But she’s alive?” I persisted.

“She’s alive. Should be out of the hospital tomorrow. How’s the drive been?” Tired, but reassuring nonetheless.

“Long. I’m exhausted, Tony. I’ve been trying to avoid the news as much as possible, so I’m not really sure what’s going on, but even in the podunk towns people are talking about SHIELD and HYDRA,” I offered. It had been weird to hear people talking about it while I gassed up the vehicle in the middle of nowhere, somewhere west of Saskatoon.

“The global fall-out has been pretty profound. The World Security Council is trying to place all the blame on SHIELD and there’s a lot of innocent people who are going to be affected by that. You’re kind of all out of jobs at this point. I hired Hill this morning.” He was back to speaking at his usual over-caffeinated speed. I found it particularly hard to follow, as I was so incredibly tired.

“I should probably go focus on the road, Tony,” I sighed, “thanks again.”

“Anytime, kiddo. Remember. No more stops except for gas.”

My heart started to get tight as I left the rolling farmland west of Edmonton behind and headed into the Rockies. The mountains around Jasper had been the playground of my summer vacations. I had so many memories of my dad taking me hiking and camping, climbing the craggy rocks, learning to build a campfire using nothing but a single match and what I could find around the campsite. Roasting marshmallows over the same fire I had triumphantly started, the hot melty sweetness of the marshmallows dripping down my fingers and chin. I could feel myself tearing up when Mt. Robson came into view, and I pulled off to use the washroom and get a snack. I found a picnic bench near the parking lot, and sat there, eating my bag of chips and drinking my coke, staring up the mountain remembering my last trip with my dad.

It was the summer before my last year of undergrad in university, and we hadn’t gone camping in at least a couple of years. Dad was considering early retirement, and wanted to go for a hiking trip to get the fresh air into his lungs before he made any final decisions. Mum had accepted that was how my dad worked years ago. He’d gestate an idea until he could practically birth it, all eventualities intact and considered, and one of the steps to getting there was getting out into nature, using his hands, relying on his wit and instinct. I loved trips where he was thinking best of all the trips we’d ever taken because we worked our hardest, hiked the furthest, and fell into our sleeping bags exhausted at night.

I was lost in my thoughts when someone sat down next to me. I jumped, startled out of my reverie, and looked at him. He smiled and I was taken by how handsome he was. He’d sat down, too familiar and close for a stranger, his thigh running beside mine with barely a thumbs width between them. His legs were long. He was slim, but wiry, the kind of physique that related to hard work, or long hours in the gym. He had a few days growth of beard on his face and a deep tan, which just accentuated how incredibly blue his eyes were. Along with the tan, the evidence of his hours working outside was evident in his sun-bleached curls. He was one of those suspiciously hot men. I didn’t need my intuition to tell me twice to leave. I returned his smile and rose, nodding at him as I collected my garbage. He followed me to the garbage can.

“You look tired, darling.” His deep voice betrayed an English accent. I stopped and tilted my head, taking his whole package in again. He was gorgeous. And tall. And for whatever reason, I found him incredibly creepy.

“Yeah, I’ve been staying in hotels since Toronto,” I admitted, and began to move toward the Jeep. I’d parked away from the cluster of vehicles at the front of the store, and was regretting the choice. I was moving away from the sparse little bit of population at the rest stop toward the base of the mountain and the trail entry. It was not my smartest move, and lately, I’d had a long line of stupid decisions to make me question my intelligence. This was feeling like yet another. My intention had been to take a half hour and walk up the trail a bit, offer my thoughts about dad to the sky and continue. Now I was wishing I’d parked right in front of the store.

“You should stay the night. Looks like you have camping gear. Me and the lads have a great set up at the campsite. It’d be lovely to have some female company,” he offered as we got to the Jeep.

“Oh, uh.” The confused look on my face must have been telling because he laughed a little and put a hand on my arm. I guess to reassure me, but I had to restrain myself from grabbing it and tossing him over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m William Barrett. You can call me Will,” his voice was very soothing. And the more soothing it got, the more on edge I felt.

“Barbara,” I replied. My fake name felt thick on my lips. The joke was not lost on Will. I caught his eyes flicking to my chest before he looked at me earnestly again.

“Can I be straight with you, darling? My mates and I, we’re rubbish campers. None of us have ever been out of London for longer than a week or so, and we’ve never really camped. It would be lovely to have someone around who obviously has some experience,” he gestured toward the back of Jeep, at the camping equipment that hadn’t even been out of the vehicle yet.

“What makes you think that because I have camping gear in my car I know anything about camping?” I didn’t think it was possible to become more suspicious, but the warning bell that had been gently dinging in the back of my head suddenly became a claxon, nearly deafening me. Will smiled at me, all brilliant white teeth and gorgeous blue eyes. He was perfectly dressed for maximum sex appeal, while still looking like a camper. Cut-off jeans that stopped mid-thigh, with strands of white thread showing off exactly how perfectly tan he was, a fitted flannel plaid shirt, unbuttoned just far enough to show of the smattering of chest hair between his pecs. Everything about him was screaming façade, and I knew I had to go. As soon as possible.

“Why would a woman alone have all that camping gear, half-way across the country from where she started, if she wasn’t experienced?” He laughed. Whatever he actually was, he was also confident and usually successful with women. I unlocked the Jeep and opened the door.

“I appreciate the offer, Will. But I have a long drive ahead of me still today. I hope you and your friends enjoy your camping trip,” I shut the door and waved as I backed out of my parking spot. I hit the button on the GPS to access J.A.R.V.I.S.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., can you please scan the vehicle and make sure nothing is wrong with it. I just had an encounter that is making me uncomfortable.” I requested.

“Scanning, Ms. Ellis. All systems are operational. No evidence of tampering. Should I forward a report to Mr. Stark?”

“No, but can you look up William Barrett? That’s the name of the creep I just met,” I asked.

“Of course, Ms. Ellis.” J.A.R.V.I.S. paused for a moment, obviously working. I turned from the parking lot onto the highway and set the cruise control for the speed limit. “William Barrett is a barrister working for the Shufflebottom & Knight law firm in London. He specializes in criminal defense.”

“That explains the skin-crawling badness I got from him. No connections to HYDRA?”

“To be fair, Ms. Ellis, we are only just discovering the extent of HYDRA. It had been considered dormant since the war.”

“He gave me the wiggins, J.A.R.V.I.S.” I could feel goosebumps come up on my skin.

“I’m not familiar with that term.”

“Heebie-jeebies? Creeps? Chills? Subconscious spook detector went off?” I tried to clarify. It was hard to know what an artificial intelligence would be familiar with.

“You should always trust your instincts, Ms. Ellis.”

“Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

I headed out of the mountains into the interior of BC, toward the city I’d grown up in. The farmland just west of the mountain gave way to tall stands of trees and curving highway. It was midweek, so there wasn’t a huge amount of traffic, but when I came across logging trucks I made sure to pass as soon as it was safe to do so. There were frequently moose along this stretch of highway, and semis had a habit of hitting them and swerving. I preferred not to be stuck behind them. Apparently the motorcycle that had been behind me since Mt. Robson was also familiar with the issue, as every time I passed anything, the driver was quick to follow suit, staying just near enough to me that there was no space for wildlife to see an opportunity to jump between us. On any other stretch of road, I would have found the motorcyclist’s decisions to be as creepy as I’d found William Barrett, but with the amount of wildlife activity between McBride and Prince George, I didn’t blame him at all for tailing me.

#avengers fanfic #avengers fanfic with OFC #Phil Coulson x OFC

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diplomatstime · 4 years

Text

My journey to Karomber Lake, the jewel in Broghil's crown

Syed Mehdi Bukhari As the blue waters of the Karomber Lake bathe in the golden rays of a late September afternoon, I immerse myself in its warmth. Laying almost half-dead on a bed of wildflowers, I feel emptiness and fulfillment simultaneously. Sealing the summer and ushering the autumn, September for me is a miraculous month, a doorway to a season that awakens my soul, letting me know that a time of cold mornings and chilly evenings is now around the corner. My porter, Saifullah, whispers in my ear: "Sahab, chai (tea) got cold once again. A cup of tea will soothe your fatigued body. Let me fix you some tea up once more." I respond in a muffled nod. The sun blazes liberally on this bank and my eyes steal the eternal dance of sunshine on the lake's deep waters, reflecting thousands of colours. I get up as I can no longer resist the beauty that's spread out everywhere. And well, although my gaze does not return from the endless waters outstretched everywhere, my tea does. My journey to this majestic lake has by no means been an easy one. By the time the car I am travelling in enters the Lowari tunnel, Pakistan's longest tunnel, the night has sunk back in and the horizon is glazing with hues of dawn. This tunnel connects the districts of Dir and Chitral to each other, and in the case of Chitral's residents, it's also the key way to connect them to the rest of the country. Life used to stand still in this region during the winters. All links into and out of here would remain closed for several months and the only route left to transport edibles was via Afghanistan. Former prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto had announced that the tunnel would be constructed but the project went nowhere for three decades. Finally, it was Pervez Musharraf who took it up to finally start the project to construct the Lowari tunnel. The vehicle runs through the tunnel and dawn welcomes me the moment I emerge from it. Mountains are bathing in sunlight by the time we reach Darosh. The sun covers almost half of the valley, illuminating the mountains and leaving the other half in darkness. A blue-eyed young lad knocks on the window of the vehicle as we break off in Darosh market and asks: “Sahab! chai?” I go past Darosh and now I'm travelling onward along the Chitral River. Gazing at the freshly sunbathed snowy peaks of Tirich Mir, I finally enter Chitral town. As roads begin bustling with people, this slumbering kingdom turns into a hip and happening city. Youths of all ages running to their schools and colleges, careful not to miss their first lecture of the day. What a memorable time in one's life which we live half-heartedly only to plunge into an age of never-ending responsibilities. Lost in the memories of childhood, I turn the car towards the town's Shahi Mosque. The former ruler of Chitral, locally known as Mehtar, Shujaul Mulk had the mosque constructed on architectural lines similar to Peshawar's Sunehri Mosque. I bow in submission instantaneously and the touch of the cold marble soothes my soul. I stay in submission for several moments. In total surrender, I come to a perfect stillness, one with my surroundings. Lying in the heart of the mountainous range of Hindukush, Chitral is a rare amalgamation of stillness and movement; of vastness and congestion, and its highest peak, the Tirich Mir, begins to beguile you the moment you venture into its grand territory. Another feather in the cap of this region is its declaration of accession to Pakistan in 1947. During the British Raj, this area was included under district Ghizer in Gilgit-Baltistan, with an appointed political agent. With a population of nearly 500,000, district Chitral contains seven tehsils or subdistricts. Broghil Pass, Darkot Pass, and Chambar Kun are some of its famous passes, whereas, Shandoor, Broghil, Yarkhun, Chan Tar, and Qazeda are some of its key valleys. Arkari, Laspor and Tourkho are some of the significant glaciers here, whereas Laspor, Molkho, Lutkaho, are all rivers of this area that get together and connect in the Chitral River. In its east lie Gilgit, Swat, and Yasin, and in its west lie Badakhshan, China and Russia. Whereas the Lowari tunnel and Dir are located in its south. Now at a local eatery near Chitral's main bus stop, I consume a cup of tea and take on a dose of vitamin D from the shining sun. My next destination, some 250 kilometres away, is the Broghil Valley that borders Afghanistan's Wakhan province and I start looking for a vehicle that can take me there. Several exhausting hours later, I hear the honk of a jeep on which I board and this vehicle runs on the road to Shandoor Pass to meet its first destination Mastuj. From that point, a stony road turns to Yarkhun and Broghil Valley, leaving the Shandoor Pass behind. Sixteen long hours are to be lost in this hide and seek that I’m all set to play. The man driving my jeep is the native of a village in the Yarkhun Valley. As we near Mastuj, the sun ultimately sets but its warmth still haunts me as we travel onward. The journey requires exposing oneself to a certain level of vulnerability, and that I’m up to — in some ways, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of the man driving me to my destination. As we move along, I see a board inscribed with the name Mastuj, and to my surprise, the driver turns towards Mastuj market instead of the stony road that leads directly to Broghil Valley. I protest the detour but can't help but surrender when he says, “boss let’s have a short tea break here”. The jeep's driver also seems to have learned other words in the English language, the result of regular interaction with foreign travellers. He misses no chance to reflect his knowledge of the language, and it's not always appropriate but I just smile away. Before boarding back on the vehicle, he purchases lots of candies and lollipops from a tuck shop. Usually long drives and music go hand and hand, and as the jeep starts, the driver puts on some music, with a vocalist who goes by the moniker safeer-i-dard (ambassador of pain) singing from the work of a Chitrali poet Shorash Bangash. Though I'm not sure this really works for me and as we drive on, with the jeep running on a stream of stones and boulders, the vocals end up making the ambiance of a difficult journey aggravating as opposed to enchanting. The tossing and swerving of the vehicle tells me something about the deep animosity between my driver and the rocks, and it seems he drives to shatter them into a thousand fragments. Alongside this rocky road, the Yarkhun River flows steadily with the sun out in its full might. My neck and back start aching badly with the constant shaking of the jeep but the continuous pain my poor ears have been bearing since long is indescribable. Unaware of how averse I was to the music he was playing, my driver seems to be enjoying the journey and pauses now and then to meet a passerby and offer them a candy. When the short and long meetings do not stop, I break my silence. To my surprise, he has no reason to be doing this other than compassion. I try to come to terms with the limitations as we move ahead but the songs on play still annoy me. As for the driver, he has his reasons, the most important one that it keeps him awake. Crossing nooks and crannies of various villages, we move forward and thankfully the heat is not all that bad as we go uphill. As the driver stops the jeep again to greet somebody, a child comes near our vehicle and asks us to buy him a football. Not able to say no to the little boy, I board off to buy him a football from a nearby tuck shop. The gesture fills my heart with joy, a joy that I can also see on locals' faces as they wave us goodbye. With this lovely memory to take along, we move back on track. My generous driver offers me a candy though I politely decline for the sake of my throat, which has already eaten up enough dust. Evening sets and with it my back and neck pain becomes unbearable, as do the driver’s short and long meetings. At last, I speak up. The driver realises my situation, but in less than 30 minutes, he breaks off by saying “let’s have a cup of tea.” Night falls when we reach the Ankep rest house in Yarkhun and I finally get to sleep. Next morning, we leave the Yarkhun Valley behind and are now moving onward. The weather gets pleasant as we reach the Garam Chashma Village. The blazing sun has no intention of going away in the afternoon but that's okay and I'm finally beginning to feel better. In Darkot, I look at the snow bemusedly, and watch a giant glacier fall off the mountain and into the river bank. One can cross the Darkot Pass through the Chakar Village to reach Ishkoman Village of Gilgit-Baltistan's Ghizer district. Passing this glacier is a unique experience. Moving ahead and viewing the mighty snows of Darkot, we end up at the Chitral Scouts check post. The driver mentions the purpose of the tour and we move forward after our entry is registered. The Ashkervaz Village of Broghil Valley starts here. The borders of this valley meet Gilgit-Baltistan on one side and Afghanistan’s Wakhan corridor on the other. The Karomber Pass lies in the heart of the Broghil and Ishkoman valleys; in fact, it separates them, and the Karomber Lake is also in the area. And it is this lake and its cerulean blue waters that made me leave home and come this far only to get a glimpse of it. Situated 4,300 metres above sea level, Karomber is Pakistan’s second and the world’s 31st highest naturally actively lake. Apart from this vast lake, there are several small lakes in between the mountainous highland. But to reach them, you'll have to go a little off track. And as winter falls, some five to six feet of snow covers the whole area and all links to and from can suddenly disconnect. So before winter arrives, the locals move to Chitral to sell their only bread and butter, the Yak. By selling the Yak, they are able to purchase household items for the rest of the winter season. From Broghil to the valley of Gojal in upper Hunza, locals speak the Wakhi language. An oral language with no script, Wakhi is hard to learn and even harder to understand for outsiders. Swiftly passing through Ashkervaz, we reach the Gharail Village — the jeep's last destination. From now on, I have to trek. Karomber Lake is still 24 kilometres away and my first stopover, the village of Lashkargaz, is two hours away. Once I'm there, I'll have to hire a porter. The evening is about to set and carrying my rucksack and camera, I begin my trek. On parting, the driver gives me a lollipop and says, “Boss! Enjoy it at Karomber Lake. I’ll be waiting for you right here after four days. Slipping that farewell gift in my pocket, I start trekking uphill. Soon after, I realise that only packs of Yaks are my travelling mates on these lonely roads. Most locals use horses or Yaks for travelling here, and very few of them have motorbikes to move freely on these slopes. After having managed to cover a long distance, I barely see anybody on these far off planes. On a journey like this, people are seen occasionally if not rarely and being by one self is all that one needs. And while one can enjoy the lush landscape outstretched and visible wherever the sight goes, it is a little intimidating being alone in this vastness. Seeing a few tamed horses and hearing the honks of Yaks, I pass meadow after meadow. I stop as I begin to near the Lashkargaz Village, seeing snow from the peaks melting and making small lakes here and there. Azure waters of these lakes are a breathtaking sight and as I decide to spend some time on these still banks, night falls and I fall asleep. As I wake up in the morning, the first chant I hear is; “Sahab tea is ready”. It’s Salman, the owner of the only hotel here. Today, the Laila Rabat campsite, that lies at a distance of a seven-hour-long trek, is my next destination and a young man from Lashkargaz Village is my porter for the next few days. Twenty-one year old Saifullah studies in Islamabad and when the season comes, he moves here to escort tourists to Karomber Lake, and thus helps his family financially. Yaks can be seen munching over the infinite pastures of Lashkargaz as locals cut the long grass to save for coming winters. Suddenly the grass turns its hues, and the wintry chill fills up the ambiance. But this time, besides yaks and horses, Saifullah is my companion in these deserted moors of the Hindukush. After tiresome trekking for four hours, we stumble upon the small village of Shawar Shair, comprising 15 to 16 houses. Children of all ages start whirling around us in this hamlet, where a traveller’s presence becomes major news, and everybody is interested. An older man offers me yogurt made from yak's milk along with a jug full of lassi. In this last human settlement, this is the height of hospitality. As we get further from this village, absolute loneliness and a murky silence starts to prevail the atmosphere. Lost in thoughts, I overlook the changing moods of the weather. Finally, as I look up, clouds have wrapped the sky and a chill air blows. It is as if somebody shook a magic wand and announced that winter is coming. Gashing against the wild winds, we don’t stop trekking. And that ferocious afternoon wind is the only and lonely vocalist in the whole moor. Suddenly, it starts to drizzle and that's followed by a heavy rainstorm. The band of yaks stops and surrenders to nature, and shivering, I too surrender to the Almighty, murmuring “we offer our prayers only to You, and we seek refuge in You.” After an hour, the rainstorm fades away and by evening, we reach the Laila Rabat campsite. Saifullah sets up the camp and tired, I move straight in and fall asleep. And all night, the sky cried and screamed. Saifullah tries to wake me up the next morning with a bright sunny day waiting for me. Half-heartedly, I get up, and the moment I open the camp’s flap, the sight before me is majestic. Giant mountains sunbathing in golden gleams and grass nurtured by the rain. The perfect morning and a cup of tea rejuvenates me, instilling a new zeal to travel ahead. My next and last destination is Karomber Lake which had kept me wandering. Morning turns into the afternoon, then melts into evening and crimson hues of the sky turn a grayish black and it begins to rain again. As I trek, Saifullah surpasses me and starts to set up the camp. Exhausted, I get straight into it. Lord Almighty must be laughing at me at this hour. Not feeling well, with a bad headache, I even start to feel homesick owing to Saifullah's caring nature as he worries about my condition and fetches me some medicine. A good porter is a real blessing. A new day has begun and I wake up and come out of my tent, seeing the sun scattering its glitters all around and the majestic Karomber Lake right in front of me. Overwhelmed by the grandeur of this marvel of nature, I freeze at this mesmerising sight. Spellbound, I remain still for a while. The chai soothes my aching throat, and the sight before me calms my nerves. The water seems still as I feel the whistling wind stopping and the grand snowy mountain around the lake reflecting in it. At the verge of mad tranquility, Saifullah voice breaks this spell I'm under. He seems eager that I imprison this sight of this marvel in my camera. "Sahab, you look better, won't you do some photography now?" I respond with a joke and with camera in hand start descending to go closer to the lake. Behind me, Saifullah says: "Sahab I will get the tea ready on your arrival." Have I become a part of this wild splendour, or have I been living here since forever; sipping on some tea I ask myself. Suddenly a strange chant intrudes the train of my random thoughts. I follow the echo only to find that sitting at a big rock near the lake, Saifullah is singing. His song makes me even more restless and I ask him what it means. "My Love! I am the receding sunshine on the mountains, the running wind on the lake, the fading chant of the shepherd. I’m the story that's over. Don’t call me or recall me for I’m gone now once and for all." As the deep waters of this lake change colours, a film of all the moments spent in search of this gem rolls-out in the backdrop of Saifullah's Wakhi song. All the lakes that have beguiled me in this journey come back to me in a vision, only to say goodbye. And the time has come. This magical world is all set to bid this nomad a farewell. Departing is painful, even if one is going back home. Sometimes we look for home all around and when we find one, the time comes to part with it. But that's life, with another memory made, and a new chapter written. I give the lake one last glance, that lasts only a few seconds. I'm afraid to look at it for long, not a jewel I can have, but the sight of it will always brighten my silent blues. Adding another memory, I turns back to the passage that brought me here. Paths don't go anywhere, even if we take one or we don't; they are there forever and I now take the one back to my hometown Lahore. I can't help but recall what Munir Niazi said: "One doesn't fall in love when they are with the beloved; one only falls in love in separation. Love ignites only in separation." Back home as I write, I take an imaginary flight to Broghil Valley, the land of Karomber Lake, which awaits another wanderer to discover her jewels. As I am to sink into its azure waters, my wife's voice brings me back: "I don't know what thought you are lost in, but your chai has turned cold twice." And with Saifullah's song playing in my head, I think to myself: don't call me now, I have gone far away.

Syed Mehdi Bukhari The writer is an instructor at the Creative Arts Department in the University of Lahore, and a traveler, poet, photographer and writer by passion. You can see more of his work here Courtesy DAWN Translated by Sameeha Khaliq from the original in Urdu here. Read the full article

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gtr24h · 4 years

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ACC Sprint Series continued at England with a blast!

Brands Hatch – Grass, gravel, no room for error. Farewell, modern design – welcome to the old school. With so many current circuits lined by tarmac and astroturf, it is refreshing to see what is undoubtedly a blast from the past. And, as seen today, long history does not make something obsolete. In fact, quite the contrary! The 3.9km (2.4 mile) loop from Paddock Hill to Clark Curve provides a challenge quite unlike anywhere else. Elevation change, technical corners, terrifyingly fast bends and no room for error. Combined with laptimes just over 80 seconds, the drivers would have to brave those turns time and time again. It’s one thing to put in a fast qualifying lap here – a whole other to do it for 2 hours. And speaking of qualifying, well, let’s see what happened there shall we? Qualifying Here’s an interesting question: What would you do when armed with a modern GT3 racer and told to go for it? Why, if you are one of these guys, you’d dutifully oblige. Brands Hatch is not the easiest venue to pass in, being known as one of the more technical circuits in our calendar. As such, hitting your marks and getting near the front in qualifying was going to be all the more important. Clearly, the drivers had done their homework in that regard – none so better than Musto GD e-Sports! With the Italian ace Pierluca Amato behind the wheel, they had managed to make that Porsche downright fly around this iconic circuit. None could match his pace, not even their sister team Musto GD Corse – but it wasn’t for the lack of trying. Alessio Pusceddu showed some promising pace but just couldn’t quite match the pole time. Still, no shame in 2nd place – especially if it meant an all-Musto, all-Porsche front row! Behind them, Burst Esport SimPlexity brought their Lexus to a respectable third place. With drivers like that, no wonder! Two pilots with world championship series pedigree, it was the EEWC GTE champion Jesper Pedersen who had to perhaps surprisingly watch from the sidelines as Casper Henningsen took the qualifying honours. Championship leading Triple A Esports shared the second row with them, and it would certainly be interesting to see if their fortunes would continue. A duo of World’s Fastest Gamer Hany Alsabti and his teammate Alexandre Vromant were the favourites heading into Brands Hatch, with the latter doing the qualifying. In row 3, Team Rookie Monsters and hometown hero Matt Beavis started alongside EURONICS Gaming Team Razer. Behind them, it was Simply Race Zansho in their #370 making Bentley Boys proud, while the two Buttler-Pal Motorsport teams and #23 Simply Race rounded out your top 10. Race Well, that’s that done. We have our fastest drivers and they are placed in an order of pure, raw speed. Thanks for watch- Oh, what do you mean it is not over? Yes, despite being a hard track to make moves in, one still has to race. And one still has to hold on to the positions gained against those constantly looking to improve their own standing over the next two hours. Scenes were painted from dreadful to terrible as people predicted all sorts of mayhem and melee heading into the first couple of corners. Meanwhile, viewers at home started getting their last fill of snacks in, prepared a couple of refreshing beverages, and got themselves in a nice, comfortable position. It was time to go racing! At the front the two Musto GD teams continued from where they left off in qualifying. They were looking to put that proverbial boot on the throats of their opposition right from the get-go. However, it’s not like Burst, Triple A, or Rookie Monsters were planning to just roll over and turn blue. They were just too busy fighting among themselves to really pay attention! Despite it being a long event, the name of the game was not patience. Drivers went side by side from the more traditional passing zones like Druids all the way into the downright suicidal ones like Sheene Curve. And yet – a testament to the skill of our competitors – there was little in the way of incidents, and outright wrecks were almost completely avoided. Few door mirrors and a hurt ego or two were the most significant casualties of the early scraps, as drivers shuffled time and time again. In a pack like this, one mistake could mean four, five positions lost. A little too relaxed of a style means you are easy prey for the pack of wolves behind, while going too aggressive risks angering not only those around you but also the live stewards, who kept their eagle eyes glued to the proceedings. It was a pressure chamber, surely someone would soon crack…? Starting from the sixth place, EURONICS Gaming Team Razer tried their best to get themselves in the front. At lap 30, their day was about to go a whole lot worse, though, as a rather ambitious attempt on the Team Rookie Monsters car left them facing a drive-through for their troubles. But merely a massive fight for positions this event was not. There was an element of method to the madness, too, and one had to be as keen strategically as they were in the driving department. It was time for the crews to prepare for their one and hopefully only stop of the race. Who had managed to save a bit of fuel? Where was the gap in traffic, and what could be the most opportune of times to dive down the lane? The clicks of wheel guns and rushed footsteps echoed amidst the engines and squealing tyres as one team after another came in and did their mandatory service, starting drivers hurrying off their heated machines as they were subbed with a fresh pair of hands and eyes. Needless to say, they were unlikely to get a nice breather in – no, they were probably already prepared to take over from where their teammates left off. Doing the best job in the pit sequence was undoubtedly Burst Esport SimPlexity. Henningsen picked exactly the right time to come in and as Jesper Pedersen jumped behind the wheel and put in some blistering laps, he soon found himself at the front of the pack with clear road ahead. We have seen Burst being absolutely divine over on Endurance eRacing World Championship, and looks like they were not planning to be classified as also-rans here either. Triple A were chasing second in the trot, with Hany Alsabti putting the chase on the leading Lexus. Previous leaders Musto GD e-Sports were reduced to third place and Tiziano Brioni was starting to crack. His pace was simply not good enough, and little mistake here followed a mishap there. The gap ahead grew steadily, and by the time the drivers headed towards the final half an hour, the question was less if they could catch up and more if they could hold on! Mike Epps in the Simply Race Zansho Bentley was coming, and he was coming fast. With such a short track and the amount of cars squeezed onto the space, it is obvious that blue flags and lapped cars would eventually come into the picture. Backmarkers generally did a good job in getting out of the way, though, so neither of the third place contenders were too badly affected. So, Epps was able to catch up thanks largely to his raw pace. Brioni could soon see the winged B looming in his mirrors. Spectators were primed for a great battle, but instead the Italian went wide at the penultimate corner – Stirlings – and promptly found himself out of the champagne places. As for the other Musto GD entry? Well, the #98 held onto second place all the way up to the pit stops, but was relegated to fifth place for the second half of the race. There was little that Daniele Primavera could do, but they were still in a great points-scoring position. The qualifying pace is undoubtedly there, but the Musto boys would need to get their Porsche working over the race distance, too. So, with less than ten minutes on the clock, the battles raged on. Crowd was cheering not only for the Astons, Bentleys, and Maccas, but also for the #52 Pulse SimSport entry. With two local lads driving their hearts out for a top-10, it was looking good. However, a miscalculation with the fuel reared its ugly head in the minutes of the race, and as a result Myles Dixon had no choice but to dive into the lane. They were able to resume, but a 15th place is unlikely to feel more than a participation award at that point. Going back to front, there was another source of drama with just couple of laps remaining. Race control was investigating Hany Alsabti in the #762 Triple A Esports car, and if guilty, they would surely lose that second place to the charging Simply Race Zansho! Mike Epps was fast capturing the hearts of Britain. Sure, he had shown his pace behind the wheel of a real car before, yet in such a field there were few who expected Mike to be quite this impressive. Nobody could catch Jesper Pedersen and the Burst eSport SimPlexity Lexus. They were mighty impressive in the second hour of the race and played the strategy game just right. The praise from both Ewan O��Leary and Aidan Millward in the commentary booth was well deserved. Hany Alsabti brought the #762 Triple A home in second place, but with the threat of a penalty looming was looking a little unsure after the event. And as said, #370 Simply Race Zansho rounded out the podium. There were few that smiled brighter than Mike Epps, and no wonder! The Brit has a great future ahead of him, no doubt about that one. Thanks to all our sponsors for making this championship possible, and massive credit to Peter Munkholm for handling the broadcast with his trademark expertise. Credit is also due for our live stewards Jon F. Turell, Paw Lindegaard, and Nick Newcombe. We’ll see you in two weeks at Zolder for what will hopefully be yet another fantastic race! Read the full article

#acc #ACCSprint #brandshatch #burstesport #Series #SimplyRace #sprint #TripleA

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scotwresnet · 6 years

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As we continue the celebrations towards Aberdeen Anarchy 2018 on September 1st I take a look back at the event that started it all at The Beach Ballroom. I wanted to take a look at this event specifically as I hadn’t watched it in full since being there live on June 1st 2013, over five years ago. It was my first Aberdeen Anarchy, my first WrestleZone event so there are plenty of memories about the event.

I remember not knowing where The Beach Ballroom was so I drove from New Pitsligo, where I lived at the time, then got the train from Inverurie to Aberdeen, the 25 minutes, then a taxi to the venue. My sense of direction hasn’t improved much since then as I just hung about the venue for hours even though Cadonas was a couple hundred yards away. The country bumpkin in me was lost. Anyway, I had bought two tickets thinking I’d find someone to go with me but alas it wasn’t to be and it was just myself toddling along. When I got to the meet and greet portion I bumped into a bald man in a suit, on his mobile device, who looked like he was important, so I offered my spare ticket which he accepted, about 5 minutes later he came past with £15 to reimburse my ticket as he’d sold it. It was the hottest ticket in town. Little did I know at that moment was I was speaking to Mr P, one of my favourites in WrestleZone nowadays.

So I lined up for the meet and greet to meet Billy Gunn and ‘Hacksaw’ Jim Duggan. Being the fan I was I had prepared some items to be signed, a foam WWF Tag Team Championship for Billy Gunn and part one of the Royal Rumble anthology DVD set for ‘Hacksaw’. What I didn’t anticipate was the nerves. I stuttered out something to Jim as I bought his book and he signed an 8×10. He also signed my title because he asked if I wanted him to and who was I to deny ‘Hacksaw’ Jim Duggan?? I got the picture then moved over to Billy Gunn, stuttered out something about being a fan, belt signed and picture taken.

Things I learned that day: prepare what to say being meeting people in general, don’t wear a thick hoodie on a summer day and don’t stuff your manbag with supplies because it’s a pain in the backside to carry around. I have since learned from this, and I have learned where the venue is so I can actually drive there, I say learn, I can make it to Aberdeen but Google maps does the rest.

So I went to the gym next door for lunch, yes the gym not any of the fine establishments on the beach like Pizza Hut or TGI Fridays, didn’t I tell you I’m an idiot? Burger and chips while I read Jim Duggan’s book. Once I had outstayed my welcome I kept reading the book in the play park nearby while I watched my phone battery die slowly but not before I recorded a video with the venue in the background!

I had just started OSWtv at this point, this is how long ago the event was.

So there were some wrestlers about as we filed in to the venue for the actual show, as I had VIP (oh yeah) it was a little earlier. When I went in I only recognised one wrestler as I had been watching some ICW, that being Kay Lee Ray. So I got a picture with her and two other blokes, who was steal the show later in the night, Stevie Xavier and Bingo Ballance.

I think that’s enough preamble about the show. Now to re-watch and relive Aberdeen Anarchy 2013! I’ll review the show and throw in my memories from the event.

Before the main show there was a VIP match triple threat but for the life of me I can’t quite remember what it was, I’m thinking it may’ve involved Cysto, Mr Malice and Blue Thunder but I could be wrong, there was a dog lead involved at some point.

I went back and found the match on the bonus feature of disc two.

Triple Threat – Blue Thunder defeated Cysto & Mr Malice by pinfall (I think).

The disc starting freezing and I couldn’t actually watch the match. Awkward.

Let’s move onto the main show.

A young, fresh-faced, Martyn Clunes was the first man through the curtain for the official show, even though the lights were low you could tell that the place was rammed. It goes to show how long ago this was when Martyn announced that the match was for one fall when there was no “ONE FALL!” reply.

Bingo Ballance defeated Stevie Xavier by pinfall.

Often hailed, by myself as well, as the best match in WrestleZone history. I was interested to see if this would still hold up in 2018 considering that there had been so many great matches since this one. The match started with quick counters, pinfall attempts and traded armdrags. Once they warmed up we got springboards, standing shooting star presses and dropsaults. The action was balanced with Bingo hitting a hard backcracker then a Monkey Flip. More dives to the outside with Ballance continuing the control. Near fall after near fall with the “oohs” and “aahs” getting louder and more frequent as the two threw everything into the match. A split leg moonsault from Stevie couldn’t get the job done as he climbed to the top rope he was only to be met with a springboard enziguri from Ballance. Ballance hit the G17 for the win.

Still holds up as a fantastic match in my opinion. It had loads of twists and turns with both having support from the crowd. They were there for the whole ride. I didn’t know if there was a story coming into the match so going from a cold open to being on the edge of my seat by the end was wonderful. As far as a singles match goes, this is still the best match in WrestleZone but with the added stakes and stipulation matches over the years it may’ve been knccked from the number one spot as my favourite match from Aberdeen Anarchy…

Scotty Swift & Ross McTavish defeated Sterling Oil (William Sterling & Alan Sterling) w/Mr Malice by submission.

So going into this one I was aware that Sterling Oil had been bullying Ross McTavish from the Evening Express. That was about it. The crowd were unglued for Scotty Swift’s entrance, a man that I had only seen in photos with his striking look. A slower start with the tease for Ross to be tagged in and when he was it was LOUD. William toyed with Ross, irritating him with hair brushes but Ross got a double leg take down into a kneebar as William scrambled to escape. A little distraction saw the Sterlings take over with slaps and chops to McTavish’s back and front, visibly leaving marks. William missed a big elbow drop as Scotty was tagged back in clean house.As Scotty was dealing with the Sterlings, Mr Malice interjected himself before being locked into a triangle choke by Ross. Swift busted out a rare hurricurana and tagged in a begging Ross McTavish who locked a prowling Alan Sterling into a triangle choke for the quick tap out.

While Ross didn’t have the finesse of a pro wrestler but what he could do he did well, when it’s non-wrestlers there’s an expectancy for cringe but this was highly enjoyable. A really fun match.

The disc was stalling at this point as it came to Zach Dynamite versus Damien. A quick ejection of the disc and a wipe with my t-shirt and it came back alive thankfully.

Damien defeated Zach Dynamite by pinfall.

This looked like it was a grudge match of some sort with the butting of heads in the beginning so quite rightly it avoided the collar and elbow and went straight to the fighting. Damien had the upper hand by keeping Dynamite grounded. Dynamite got back into the match with lots of pinfall attempts before Damien countered a sunset flip by sitting down and holding the ropes for leverage.

Something about this match just didn’t click for me. It didn’t get out of first gear and the ending was flat. Nothing much happened.

‘Hacksaw’ Jim Duggan & The Granite City Hotshots (Bryan Tucker & Shawn Johnson) defeated Aspen Faith, James Midas & Scott Maverick w/Crystal Rose by pinfall.

The first of the two special guests, the first half main event. The place went crazy for Duggan coming out with his America flag and 2×4. Grabbing a Scotland flag from someone in the crowd and waving it about, which actually gave me goosebumps while watching this back. The disc starting skipping again at this point so I didn’t see the end of the match as it cut out just as Aspen was on the offensive right at the start. Subsequent disc polishing saw glimpses of the match but it kept skipping back to the menu so had to give this one up.

From memory the place went crazy for anything that Duggan did, he didn’t have to do much and the place was going nuts for him. Duggan got the win for his team with the three point stance clothesline onto Aspen Faith.

Billy Gunn defeated Rob Cage by pinfall.

Onto disc two with the second guest for Aberdeen Anarchy, Billy Gunn, taking on ‘The King of the Shining Wizard’, before he was Uncle Bobby but he still had the most punchable face in wrestling. Billy Gunn got on the mic and said that he learned a new name for Rob Cage while he’d been in Aberdeen which was ‘sheep shagger’, although most of the fans suggested arsehole. Quote of the night came during this with Rob Cage shouting “I don’t shag sheep!” in response to the chant accusing him of diddling the woolen beasts.

The match really started on the outside with Billy Gunn slamming the face of Rob Cage into the ring apron again and again and again. Cage rammed Gunn into the ring post to get the upper hand. I couldn’t make out the chants but I’m sure there was a ‘he’s a fanny’ chant but I am a bit hard of hearing. Gunn hit a headlock driver but Cage was too close to the ropes. Cage had a lot of offense with digging kicks and chokes in the early going but Gunn fought back with punches of his own and a Stinger Splash, a Famouser for the three made this a quick one.

Fun match, it was cool seeing Billy Gunn. Gunn was never known for your technical clinics so I wasn’t expecting flips and fancy things but it was fun and certainly entertaining. It’s hard to not be biased as Billy Gunn was one of my favourites when I was a young lad, even his ‘The One’ Billy Gunn phase.

Lumberjill Match – Kay Lee Ray defeated Carmel Jacob by pinfall.

When it came to women’s wrestling in 2013 I knew three names, Nikki Storm, Princess Sammii and Kay Lee Ray. Whom I considered the second coming of Lita with her red hair and highflying-ness. The lumberjills in this was The Granite City Roller Girls.

Carmel attempted to leave early on but was blocked by the lumberjills. Who also blocked her several other attempts even throwing her back in at one point. Fairly even match with Kay Lee having the early advantage before Carmel dodged a top rope dropkick and took over. Folding her up like an accordion following a German Suplex. There was a great bit where Carmel hit a Celtic Cross and went for a lazy cover, Kay Lee grabbed Carmel by the waist and bridged up, turned her into a backslide position then lifted her before planting a Gory Bomb. It looked so cool. Carmel got back in control with a second rope draping DDT. Carmel went for a second from the top rope but Kay Lee fought back and managed to sunset flip Carmel off the off the second turnbuckle. Carmel missed a spear and was given another Gory Bomb. A Swanton Bomb followed and it was a win for Kay Lee Ray.

A bit stumbly and bumbly in parts but overall a really fine match, bar a couple bits at the start the lumberjills had little bearing in the match.

Martyn Clunes announced that the show was a sell out, over 30 years since wrestling had taken place in The Beach Ballroom. 1,103 fans in attendance to witness WrestleZone.

Undisputed WrestleZone Championship – Special Enforcer: Len Ironside – Crusher Craib defeated ‘Tenacious‘ Johnny Lions w/Richard R Russell, Damien, Mr Malice & William Sterling by pinfall to win the Undisputed WrestleZone Championship.

This was weird for me to watch. I had only seen Johnny Lions at SWE at this point and he was as babyface as they could be, so to see him scowling and being the bad guy just blew my tiny mind. His opponent was the big and scary Crusher Craib, who was cheered. I didn’t know what to think.

Len Ironside and referee Mikey Innes ejected Sterling Oil from ringside before the match even started.

Craib smacked Lions about in the early stages, dominating the Undisputed WrestleZone Champion. Lions dodged a big boot and aimed his attack at the leg of Craib to chop down the beast. It wasn’t without error with Lions slipping off the ropes but recovered quickly for a coast to coast dropkick to the knee of Craib. Lions was like a shark sniffing out blood as he used every move and leverage to punish the knee of Craib. Craib rose from the dead to grab Lions by the throat for a chokebomb for a two count. Craib went for a big boot but his knee gave way which allowed Lions to jump back onto the offensive with a Best Legdrop Evah. Lions went up top again but was met by Craib how threw him off with a Fallaway Slam. Craib went for a boot but kicked Mikey Innes in the face, a follow up Blackhole Slam couldn’t be counted as William Sterling and Mr Malice returned. Len Ironside soon dispatched of them before Damien snuck in with a Superkick. Russell jumped in and smugly revealed a referee shirt of his own, shouting that he had a referee licence. Len pulled him out and of the ring and smacked his face off the apron. Lions recovered but couldn’t land the Lion Cutter, Craib smashed him with a big boot as Len Ironside counted the fall.

This match was far better than I remembered. The crowd were loud all the way through, there was some shenanigans and we got a new champion at the end. A great way to end the show.

Often when watching shows back there’s a danger of remembering it differently or rewatching it in your mind with rose tinted spectacles, like Aladdin Return of Jafar, I loved that film as a child then I rewatched it two years ago and it was just awful, that’s why I’ll never watch The Pagemaster again. There’s a danger of making matches and moments bigger than they really were. I wasn’t disappointed when rewatching this as it was pretty much how I remembered it. The event holds a dear place in my heart and in turn WrestleZone did exactly what they were aiming for. I was the person they were aiming the show towards, not me specifically, but the casual that would be coming to see Billy Gunn, to see Jim Duggan, it was then up to WrestleZone to build a show around them to get folk like myself back to Aberdeen or to Inverurie, Montrose or Keith to see their guys wrestle minus the international names.

Was it a 5 star show? No it wasn’t, the matches were good to great, bar one match which just didn’t do it for me, but was it entertaining? Absolutely. Did it have me coming back for more? Yes it did, every year since.

Five years and one month I’ve been attending WrestleZone shows. This was the start and I hope it won’t end any time soon!

Review: WrestleZone Aberdeen Anarchy 2013 As we continue the celebrations towards Aberdeen Anarchy 2018 on September 1st I take a look back at the event that started it all at The Beach Ballroom.

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ultrasfcb-blog · 6 years

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Liverpool v Real Madrid: Alan Kennedy on 1981 European Cup

Kennedy’s injured wrist made him a doubt for the final in Paris

This piece was originally published in October 2014, before a Liverpool v Real Madrid Champions League group game

Two hours before taking on Real Madrid in the 1981 European Cup final in Paris, Alan Kennedy and his Liverpool team-mates were not exactly ‘in the zone’.

Warm-up routines, pre-match rituals and Bob Paisley’s team talk were all put on hold because of a row with TV broadcasters over advertising.

At their insistence, Liverpool were obliged to cover up the Umbro logo on their shirts, prompting scenes more akin to an episode of Blue Peter than the build-up to the continent’s biggest club contest.

“It was absolutely diabolical,” recalls Kennedy. “A couple of hours before the game we were putting sticky tape on each other’s shirts. I was doing Alan Hansen’s, he was doing mine and Phil Thompson was doing Phil Neal’s.

“It was totally ridiculous and would never happen now, but Bob reacted in a good way. He said we should be even more determined to win the game. His attitude was always that if someone puts problems in our way, we’ll get over them, and that’s exactly what we did.”

Bob Paisley’s Liverpool line-up in the 1981 European Cup final

At a heaving Parc des Princes, Liverpool carried out Paisley’s instructions to the letter as Kennedy cut in from the left to decide a tense encounter with an 82nd-minute winner. His strike sealed Liverpool’s third European Cup success in five years during an era in when English clubs ruled Europe.

But it was a game he nearly had to miss.

“I broke my wrist in the semi-final first leg against Bayern Munich and the club doctor said it was a 10-week job,” says Kennedy, who joined Liverpool from Newcastle for £300,000 in 1978 and endured such a traumatic debut that Paisley joked at half-time that “they shot the wrong Kennedy”.

“I wanted to play but we couldn’t find out what we should do – strap it up or plaster it or whatever. In the end I had a metal cast strapped to my wrist. It was a bit cumbersome and heavy and would undoubtedly be classed as dangerous in today’s football world.”

With Kennedy listening on the radio back home on Merseyside – European matches were rarely televised at the time – Liverpool overcame the early loss to injury of Kenny Dalglish to draw the second leg 1-1 in Munich and go through to the final on away goals.

Bob Paisley became the first manager to win the European Cup three times

One month later, Kennedy boarded the flight to Paris still unsure over whether he would be playing but determined to soak up the atmosphere on his first trip to the French capital.

“We flew over from Liverpool on the Monday on Aer Lingus,” says Kennedy. “We always flew with them because it was a lucky omen. There were lots of fans waiting for us in the airport. I think they’d gone out on the Monday morning and were staying for the week.

“We stayed in Versailles for one night and then moved to a hotel in the town centre. There were a lot of fans who were staying in the same hotel so you did get interrupted but there were family and friends around too.

“Some of the other lads had played in two other European Cup finals [in 1977 and 1978, when Liverpool beat Borussia Monchengladbach and Club Bruges respectively], but it was my first. I didn’t get much sleep the night before. I was constantly thinking about the game and was still feeling some pain in my wrist.”

On the day of the match, the players ate steak together at 12.30pm and then headed back to their rooms for an afternoon nap.

They were woken at 4pm by assistant coach Ronnie Moran and gathered in the hotel restaurant once more for their traditional pre-match snack of tea and toast. When their bus set off for the stadium, they were still unaware of the starting XI.

“Bob told us the team when we got to the ground,” says Kennedy. “It was a shock to be included and I probably wasn’t fully prepared mentally. But once the manager gives you the go-ahead, you tune yourself in and get ready to go.”

Liverpool v Real Madrid past meetings Date Competition Result Scorers 27 May 1981, Paris European Cup final Liverpool 1-0 Real Madrid A Kennedy 25 February 2009, Madrid Champs League, Last 16, 1st leg Real Madrid 0-1 Liverpool Benayoun 10 March 2009, Anfield Champs League, Last 16, 2nd leg Liverpool 4-0 Real Madrid Torres, Gerrard 2, Dossena

Real Madrid’s line-up featured one or two familiar faces – German midfielder Uli Stielike, who had played for Borussia Monchengladbach against the Reds in the 1977 final, and former West Brom and England winger Laurie Cunningham. Beyond that, the six-time European Cup winners were something of an unknown quantity.

“We’d had them watched and [coach Tom Saunders] had picked out certain players, but it was nothing like today, when players have dossiers about all their opposition,” adds Kennedy. “We wouldn’t even have recognised some of their players.”

The match itself was a scrappy, tactical battle on an uneven pitch. Jose Antonio Camacho, who later became Real Madrid and Spain manager, wasted the Spanish side’s best opening, while Graeme Souness failed to beat keeper Agustin Rodriguez after being played through by Dalglish.

Captain Phil Thompson played 340 matches for Liverpool and won 42 England caps

As the match wore on, Liverpool grew in strength as Souness overpowered Stielike in midfield. With Cunningham largely occupying Phil Neal down Liverpool’s right flank, Kennedy had the freedom to get forward down the left.

Eight minutes from time, one of the then 26-year-old’s forays brought the ultimate reward.

“I wasn’t thinking about scoring a goal, I was thinking that if I could make a run here it might create a bit of space for Souness, McDermott or Dalglish,” says Kennedy. “But Dalglish had come to the byline so I ran into the space that had been left open for me.

“After taking the ball on my chest I remember the centre-half tried to kick me but his swing of the left boot missed me and I was through.

“If the goalkeeper had stayed where he was he would have saved the shot, but he made a little movement to his left-hand side so he was covering the far post as well as the near. That signalled to me that I could drive the ball into an area where there might be a goal.”

When his shot hit the net, Kennedy sprinted to celebrate in front of the delirious Liverpool fans behind the goal before being mobbed by his team-mates.

The celebrations would continue long into the Paris night.

Liverpool have won five European Cups, more than any other English club

“I went back to one of our hotel rooms with a few beers and had a bit of a sing-a-long with Alan Hansen and his family,” says Kennedy.

“Some of the other players went to the Lido club in town, a disgraceful place with six-foot dancing girls. They even took the Cup with them. Thank goodness they brought it back.”

With the trophy safely in their luggage, Liverpool’s victorious players flew back to their home city for an open-top bus parade. On the top deck, players held up a giant banner stating “Thanks Barney” – a reference to Kennedy’s likeness to Flintstones character Barney Rubble.

“The homecoming was unbelievable,” says Kennedy, who went on to score the winning penalty in Liverpool’s 1984 European Cup shootout triumph over AS Roma in Rome. “There was red and blue everywhere because the Everton fans came out to support us too.

“We were hanging off the bus and we had a bit of drink but we didn’t mind because we’d finished the season. It was time to enjoy ourselves.”

BBC Sport – Football ultras_FC_Barcelona

ultras FC Barcelona - https://ultrasfcb.com/football/3243/

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

A Whale of Unknown Species

ALTHOUGH I WAS startled by this unexpected descent, I at least have a very clear recollection of my sensations during it. At first I was dragged about twenty feet under. I'm a good swimmer, without claiming to equal such other authors as Byron and Edgar Allan Poe, who were master divers, and I didn't lose my head on the way down. With two vigorous kicks of the heel, I came back to the surface of the sea. My first concern was to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me go overboard? Was the Abraham Lincoln tacking about? Would Commander Farragut put a longboat to sea? Could I hope to be rescued? The gloom was profound. I glimpsed a black mass disappearing eastward, where its running lights were fading out in the distance. It was the frigate. I felt I was done for. "Help! Help!" I shouted, swimming desperately toward the Abraham Lincoln. My clothes were weighing me down. The water glued them to my body, they were paralyzing my movements. I was sinking! I was suffocating . . . ! "Help!" This was the last shout I gave. My mouth was filling with water. I struggled against being dragged into the depths. . . . Suddenly my clothes were seized by energetic hands, I felt myself pulled abruptly back to the surface of the sea, and yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear: "If master would oblige me by leaning on my shoulder, master will swim with much greater ease." With one hand I seized the arm of my loyal Conseil. "You!" I said. "You!" "Myself," Conseil replied, "and at master's command." "That collision threw you overboard along with me?" "Not at all. But being in master's employ, I followed master." The fine lad thought this only natural! "What about the frigate?" I asked. "The frigate?" Conseil replied, rolling over on his back. "I think master had best not depend on it to any great extent!" "What are you saying?" "I'm saying that just as I jumped overboard, I heard the men at the helm shout, 'Our propeller and rudder are smashed!' " "Smashed?" "Yes, smashed by the monster's tusk! I believe it's the sole injury the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But most inconveniently for us, the ship can no longer steer." "Then we're done for!" "Perhaps," Conseil replied serenely. "However, we still have a few hours before us, and in a few hours one can do a great many things!" Conseil's unflappable composure cheered me up. I swam more vigorously, but hampered by clothes that were as restricting as a cloak made of lead, I was managing with only the greatest difficulty. Conseil noticed as much. "Master will allow me to make an incision," he said. And he slipped an open clasp knife under my clothes, slitting them from top to bottom with one swift stroke. Then he briskly undressed me while I swam for us both. I then did Conseil the same favor, and we continued to "navigate" side by side. But our circumstances were no less dreadful. Perhaps they hadn't seen us go overboard; and even if they had, the frigate-being undone by its rudder - couldn't return to leeward after us. So we could count only on its longboats. Conseil had coolly reasoned out this hypothesis and laid his plans accordingly. An amazing character, this boy; in midocean, this stoic lad seemed right at home! So, having concluded that our sole chance for salvation lay in being picked up by the Abraham Lincoln's longboats, we had to take steps to wait for them as long as possible. Consequently, I decided to divide our energies so we wouldn't both be worn out at the same time, and this was the arrangement: while one of us lay on his back, staying motionless with arms crossed and legs outstretched, the other would swim and propel his partner forward. This towing role was to last no longer than ten minutes, and by relieving each other in this way, we could stay afloat for hours, perhaps even until daybreak. Slim chance, but hope springs eternal in the human breast! Besides, there were two of us. Lastly, I can vouch - as improbable as it seems - that even if I had wanted to destroy all my illusions, even if I had been willing to "give in to despair," I could not have done so! The cetacean had rammed our frigate at about eleven o'clock in the evening. I therefore calculated on eight hours of swimming until sunrise. A strenuous task, but feasible, thanks to our relieving each other. The sea was pretty smooth and barely tired us. Sometimes I tried to peer through the dense gloom, which was broken only by the phosphorescent flickers coming from our movements. I stared at the luminous ripples breaking over my hands, shimmering sheets spattered with blotches of bluish gray. It seemed as if we'd plunged into a pool of quicksilver. Near one o'clock in the morning, I was overcome with tremendous exhaustion. My limbs stiffened in the grip of intense cramps. Conseil had to keep me going, and attending to our self-preservation became his sole responsibility. I soon heard the poor lad gasping; his breathing became shallow and quick. I didn't think he could stand such exertions for much longer. "Go on! Go on!" I told him. "Leave master behind?" he replied. "Never! I'll drown before he does!" Just then, past the fringes of a large cloud that the wind was driving eastward, the moon appeared. The surface of the sea glistened under its rays. That kindly light rekindled our strength. I held up my head again. My eyes darted to every point of the horizon. I spotted the frigate. It was five miles from us and formed no more than a dark, barely perceptible mass. But as for longboats, not a one in sight! I tried to call out. What was the use at such a distance! My swollen lips wouldn't let a single sound through. Conseil could still articulate a few words, and I heard him repeat at intervals: "Help! Help!" Ceasing all movement for an instant, we listened. And it may have been a ringing in my ear, from this organ filling with impeded blood, but it seemed to me that Conseil's shout had received an answer back. "Did you hear that?" I muttered. "Yes, yes!" And Conseil hurled another desperate plea into space. This time there could be no mistake! A human voice had answered us! Was it the voice of some poor devil left behind in midocean, some other victim of that collision suffered by our ship? Or was it one of the frigate's longboats, hailing us out of the gloom? Conseil made one final effort, and bracing his hands on my shoulders, while I offered resistance with one supreme exertion, he raised himself half out of the water, then fell back exhausted. "What did you see?" "I saw . . . ," he muttered, "I saw . . . but we mustn't talk . . . save our strength . . . !" What had he seen? Then, lord knows why, the thought of the monster came into my head for the first time . . . ! But even so, that voice . . . ? Gone are the days when Jonahs took refuge in the bellies of whales! Nevertheless, Conseil kept towing me. Sometimes he looked up, stared straight ahead, and shouted a request for directions, which was answered by a voice that was getting closer and closer. I could barely hear it. I was at the end of my strength; my fingers gave out; my hands were no help to me; my mouth opened convulsively, filling with brine; its coldness ran through me; I raised my head one last time, then I collapsed. . . . Just then something hard banged against me. I clung to it. Then I felt myself being pulled upward, back to the surface of the water; my chest caved in, and I fainted. . . . For certain, I came to quickly, because someone was massaging me so vigorously it left furrows in my flesh. I half opened my eyes. . . . "Conseil!" I muttered. "Did master ring for me?" Conseil replied. Just then, in the last light of a moon settling on the horizon, I spotted a face that wasn't Conseil's but which I recognized at once. "Ned!" I exclaimed. "In person, sir, and still after his prize!" the Canadian replied. "You were thrown overboard after the frigate's collision?" "Yes, professor, but I was luckier than you, and right away I was able to set foot on this floating islet." "Islet?" "Or in other words, on our gigantic narwhale." "Explain yourself, Ned." "It's just that I soon realized why my harpoon got blunted and couldn't puncture its hide." "Why, Ned, why?" "Because, professor, this beast is made of boilerplate steel!" At this point in my story, I need to get a grip on myself, reconstruct exactly what I experienced, and make doubly sure of everything I write. The Canadian's last words caused a sudden upheaval in my brain. I swiftly hoisted myself to the summit of this half-submerged creature or object that was serving as our refuge. I tested it with my foot. Obviously it was some hard, impenetrable substance, not the soft matter that makes up the bodies of our big marine mammals. But this hard substance could have been a bony carapace, like those that covered some prehistoric animals, and I might have left it at that and classified this monster among such amphibious reptiles as turtles or alligators. Well, no. The blackish back supporting me was smooth and polished with no overlapping scales. On impact, it gave off a metallic sonority, and as incredible as this sounds, it seemed, I swear, to be made of riveted plates. No doubts were possible! This animal, this monster, this natural phenomenon that had puzzled the whole scientific world, that had muddled and misled the minds of seamen in both hemispheres, was, there could be no escaping it, an even more astonishing phenomenon-a phenomenon made by the hand of man. Even if I had discovered that some fabulous, mythological creature really existed, it wouldn't have given me such a terrific mental jolt. It's easy enough to accept that prodigious things can come from our Creator. But to find, all at once, right before your eyes, that the impossible had been mysteriously achieved by man himself: this staggers the mind! But there was no question now. We were stretched out on the back of some kind of underwater boat that, as far as I could judge, boasted the shape of an immense steel fish. Ned Land had clear views on the issue. Conseil and I could only line up behind him. "But then," I said, "does this contraption contain some sort of locomotive mechanism, and a crew to run it?" "Apparently," the harpooner replied. "And yet for the three hours I've lived on this floating island, it hasn't shown a sign of life." "This boat hasn't moved at all?" "No, Professor Aronnax. It just rides with the waves, but otherwise it hasn't stirred." "But we know that it's certainly gifted with great speed. Now then, since an engine is needed to generate that speed, and a mechanic to run that engine, I conclude: we're saved." "Humph!" Ned Land put in, his tone denoting reservations. Just then, as if to take my side in the argument, a bubbling began astern of this strange submersible - whose drive mechanism was obviously a propeller - and the boat started to move. We barely had time to hang on to its topside, which emerged about eighty centimeters above water. Fortunately its speed was not excessive. "So long as it navigates horizontally," Ned Land muttered, "I've no complaints. But if it gets the urge to dive, I wouldn't give $2.00 for my hide!" The Canadian might have quoted a much lower price. So it was imperative to make contact with whatever beings were confined inside the plating of this machine. I searched its surface for an opening or a hatch, a "manhole," to use the official term; but the lines of rivets had been firmly driven into the sheet-iron joins and were straight and uniform. Moreover, the moon then disappeared and left us in profound darkness. We had to wait for daylight to find some way of getting inside this underwater boat. So our salvation lay totally in the hands of the mysterious helmsmen steering this submersible, and if it made a dive, we were done for! But aside from this occurring, I didn't doubt the possibility of our making contact with them. In fact, if they didn't produce their own air, they inevitably had to make periodic visits to the surface of the ocean to replenish their oxygen supply. Hence the need for some opening that put the boat's interior in contact with the atmosphere. As for any hope of being rescued by Commander Farragut, that had to be renounced completely. We were being swept westward, and I estimate that our comparatively moderate speed reached twelve miles per hour. The propeller churned the waves with mathematical regularity, sometimes emerging above the surface and throwing phosphorescent spray to great heights. Near four o'clock in the morning, the submersible picked up speed. We could barely cope with this dizzying rush, and the waves battered us at close range. Fortunately Ned's hands came across a big mooring ring fastened to the topside of this sheet-iron back, and we all held on for dear life. Finally this long night was over. My imperfect memories won't let me recall my every impression of it. A single detail comes back to me. Several times, during various lulls of wind and sea, I thought I heard indistinct sounds, a sort of elusive harmony produced by distant musical chords. What was the secret behind this underwater navigating, whose explanation the whole world had sought in vain? What beings lived inside this strange boat? What mechanical force allowed it to move about with such prodigious speed? Daylight appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they soon broke up. I was about to proceed with a careful examination of the hull, whose topside formed a sort of horizontal platform, when I felt it sinking little by little. "Oh, damnation!" Ned Land shouted, stamping his foot on the resonant sheet iron. "Open up there, you antisocial navigators!" But it was difficult to make yourself heard above the deafening beats of the propeller. Fortunately this submerging movement stopped. From inside the boat, there suddenly came noises of iron fastenings pushed roughly aside. One of the steel plates flew up, a man appeared, gave a bizarre yell, and instantly disappeared. A few moments later, eight strapping fellows appeared silently, their faces like masks, and dragged us down into their fearsome machine.

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