The Day of the Jackal part 3

A/N: This is quite a terrible part as it explains some of Diane's past. It's quite gruesome and, unfortunately, a reality for so many people. There, you can see why her business became something personal to the Jackal. He is determined to find their enemy and put a bullet in his head. 

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

When Diane woke up, she found Alex fully dressed in linen khaki pants and a blue cotton shirt with a plunging neck. He had taken a shower and was ready for the day, which made her question about her own situation. It took her a minute, but she realized that she had fallen asleep right there and couldn't help but sheepishly smile. Wasn't she supposed to help him with her research? He didn't seem upset when he turned around and set his icy blue gaze upon her. 

"Morning, sunshine."

"MMhhhh... I'm sorry I fell as--"

"Don't mention it. Yesterday was quite heavy on you. You needed that sleep. Today, you're well-rested, so you're sharp again. You should tackle that mission with a clear mind and a belly full."

"I have worked under worse conditions, you know?" -She pointed out- "But you're right, I needed to sleep it off. I'm determined to catch that bastard. I also acknowledge that there is no talking you out of helping me." -he smirked and nodded. She was right about it. He wouldn't be talked out of helping her ever again-

----

1 year ago, in London, air B'n'B: 

"I want to see you, Enora.  All of you.- " The Jackal said, almost pleading with her-

"You won't like what you see, Charles..." she sternly claimed. "Nobody can stomach it, not even me."

"Try me!" -He said in a stern voice. 

The Jackal's tone startled  Ghost, who blinked several times. Why did he insist on seeing her naked body in the light? She thought he would be satisfied with having sex in the dark, but apparently, it wasn't enough for him, at least that was what she thought-

"Sit on the bed, then. I'll stand up and turn on the light. I swear to God, Charles, if you ever make me feel like a monster, I'll kill you." -She warned.- 

He couldn't see her but could hear her voice tremble. He knew she was about to cry, and he felt a pang in his heart. He hated the panic in her voice, the quickness with which she stood, and the fact that she was preparing herself to be rejected. Why would he reject her?  She was shaking from head to toe but resolved herself to remain pro-active. She swallowed a lump and turned on the light. He watched her, a side he was familiar with. Her thick legs came first, with a few scars on them. He noticed one on her knee, a deep cut caused by a sharp object. He noticed the other scars on her legs. Bullet wounds on the top of her left thigh. They seemed more recent than the one on her knee. 

He noticed her taut belly,  also bearing scars: a mix of knife and bullet wounds. He could tell that these were recent and almost faded. He then noticed her face. She was defiant, but he could see her shaking. Her lips were still trembling, and she swallowed a lump. His own gaze softened up as he wanted to encourage her to turn around. She took a deep breath, then another, and he watched the scar on her upper lip. He never asked about it, but it became obvious that something sharp cut through her lip, and he wondered when she got that cut. Was it when she was young, or was it the business that caused that scar?   She lowered her head and swiftly turned around. She rested her forehead against the wall and bit at her bottom lip, hard, enough to draw blood to her teeth.

The sight made his heart skip several beats. Her back was covered with scars.  He could tell they were old, given how they blended well with her skin. Something sharp gave her deep cuts; a knife? Maybe something bigger. He could figure out a couple of gunshot wounds, one on her shoulder and the other on her lower back. He also noticed the type of scar that only a body trailed over rubble could do. Had she been trailed over when she was younger? He couldn't quite figure out what had happened to her, but one thing he was certain of was that someone did it to her. Anger, cold-blooded anger, overwhelmed him, and he rose to his feet. He quietly walked towards her and put his hand over one of hers. She was still shivering, and he could feel she was barely standing, so he wrapped his powerful arm around her waist and leaned his chin against her shoulder. 

"I am sorry for what happened to you. All I see is that you've been hurt, and all I feel is anger towards those who hurt you. I am not leaving you, Enora. I am /not/ leaving you." -he kissed her neck and nuzzled at the crook of her neck. The more he was giving her affection, the less she could hold it together, so she leaned into him and slowly slid down the wall so they ended up sitting on the floor.- "I have one question."

"Shoot." -She faintly said. He still didn't let go of her hand, nor did he stop holding onto her waist, which surprised Ghost-

"Are the ones responsible for this dead? If not, I will find the ones who are still alive, and I will kill them myself."

Ghost pinched her lips together, unwilling at first to speak about what she went through. The weight she carried on her shoulders ended up becoming too heavy for her, so the young woman sighed deeply and stopped fighting. The Jackal was the first person to actually stay after they saw her scars. He was the first person to actually hold her and the first to ask about those who were responsible for them. She felt that she could trust him with her burden and share her pain with him. It wouldn't change what happened to her, but she knew she wouldn't be judged if she spoke about it. She could trust him. Couldn't she? 

"I was 8 years old when that happened. I used to live in a very small city, almost a village, in the DRC Congo. I had good parents and a very fun and loving younger brother. I thought that my life would always be good because I was born into a good family. They sent me to school and on Friday, I was allowed to help my aunt at the orphanage she was running. I would do some chores, I would help with the babies... It was a good life. One day, a couple of weeks before I turned 9, our city was attacked. I was at the orphanage with my aunt, so I couldn't figure out what was happening at the time. My aunt tried her best to protect the youngest of the orphans. She hid us in the church's basement, but they found us. When they took us out, I saw the carnage, all the older orphans have been killed, and raped. my aunt was still alive, gravely injured and bound so she could watch her precious children die one after the other. The babies were killed swiftly. The children... Well, some were killed instantly, others were beaten and tortured, and I... I caught the eye of one of them."

She shook harder and started to cry. Jackal's heart twisted in rage. He knew what was to come, and he hated that it had happened to her. Ghost moistened her lips and wiped the snot and tears off her face with the back of her hand. She had to continue telling her story, even if she sounded very stoic and distant from the events she was describing. She had to keep going.  The Jackal remained silent, as he wanted her to keep talking until she couldn't before he said something. He couldn't take the risk to stop her as she was telling the story.

"I tried my best to fight him off, but he was just so strong. He grabbed my arm and took me to the unfinished side of the church. Some of his buddies followed him because they wanted to watch what he was going to do to me. I felt helpless, and I was so shocked, I couldn't even call my parents. I couldn't speak.  He tore my clothes off of me, pushed me on the rubbles on the floor, and raped me. Once I realized he wouldn't listen to my pleas and that my pain was arousing him, I stopped fighting.  I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain anymore, so I remained there, lifeless. That angered him. It angered the other men with him. So he took his knife and he slashed my face. The scar above my lip that goes into my cheek? That was him.  He thought I would give in to him again and that I would scream, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. I cried still, but I made no noise. So he took me harder. He hurt me, but at this point, I was hurting so badly that I didn't care about how rough he was. I wanted to die."

How could he blame her for wanting to die? Anyone would want to if they were in her shoes.  He knew that the story she would tell him would make his blood boil, and it really did. He had a code of some sort; he only killed bad people. He only killed adults. He loathed those who killed, tortured, or assaulted innocent people. Heck, he even killed his own squad for killing innocent wedding-goers! He held onto her tighter and pressed his lips to the top of her head. It gave her some warmth, and she found the strength to keep talking. 

"I prayed that I would just die, but then I realized that my aunt was there and she saw me. She saw the blood between my legs; she saw my naked body violated by this monster. She heard them laugh at me, calling me names, and she couldn't take it, so she managed to grab one of the guns within her reach. They had tied her hands in front of her, which gave her an edge, I guess. She grabbed the gun, shot at the man she took it from, and killed him. That angered the rest of them and the man who was raping me. I watched as they killed my aunt, whose only crime was trying o try and protect me. That sent me into a rage. I wanted to kill them all instead of dying; I wanted them to die. So I looked at their faces, looked at what they were wearing. I wanted to remember everything just in case I survived."

Ghost couldn't stop crying as she told her story. She realized that after keeping her story for so long, speaking the truth felt like taking her first deep breath. In this room, with the jackal, she was at her most vulnerable, but she also felt the safest. 

"And the man who raped me? Well, he couldn't finish if he wasn't killing me, so he turned me around. He took me from behind while he slashed my back with his machete. He cut deep and I felt him cum inside of me as he tore my skin apart with his blade. There was blood everywhere on him.  When he grew tired of slashing me, he withdrew from me and stood up. He grabbed his gun and shot twice at me, just to make sure that I was dead. I didn't move because I needed him to believe I was dead. He didn't even bother to check my face. He simply left.  I waited until  I heard the noise of their truck to painfully stand up and walk my way to the window so I could see the type of truck they drove."

  

The jackal gritted his teeth as she kept talking. His mind was racing since he was trying to keep the details of her story in his mind. He already made a mental note to ask her about the man who assaulted her. He needed to get his name and whatever he could possibly use to track him down. He needed to know what she knew about him in detail so he could help and could kill that man himself. For her. For his selfish desire to see him gone from this planet. 

"It was a military jeep. They were wearing tactical gear, calling each other with military ranks... These guys were, or at least had been, in the military.  I walked to my parents' house, but they were all dead already. I remember I cried and passed out, and only after a couple hours, was I found, still breathing, by the survivors... those who fled to the forest and later came back. I survived by sheer luck and determination. That day, all I wanted was to find these men and kill them. I still had an uncle, the one who found me. He treated me well, made me go back to school, and gave me to his British friends so they could take me to the UK and give me a proper education." 

She didn't have to tell him how she came about becoming Ghost but he acknowledged that she felt the need to tell her story to him. He acknowledged the trust she had in him and planted another kiss on top of her head, mind-absently so.  Unlike him, her past shaped her decision to become a hitman. She got blood on her hands out of revenge and a need to punish the bad guys. Somehow, for someone who claimed she didn't have any humanity, he found out that she was, in fact, far more humane than he thought. 

"I researched, fine-tuned my skills, and learned to become an efficient killer. Once I was ready, I went to see my uncle on his deathbed and promised that those who came to our home and destroyed it would pay for it. He gave me his blessings, and I went to work. One after the other, I found them all. Ex-military turned mercenaries; That's who attacked us.  They first worked for Wagner and then left because they wanted to make more money. One by one, I killed them, and I made sure they knew it was the little girl in that small Congolese town who was cutting their throat. The only one I was able to find but couldn't kill was my rapist. He... Every time I see his face, I just freeze, and I can't shoot. I can't stab... I can't get close to him, so he's been eluding me for years now. I need to find him, and I need to kill him so I can finish what I started, and I can make him pay. Why aren't you disgusted by my scars? Charles? Why are you still here? Why did you want to know?" She ended up sobbing, unable to contain her tears any longer-

"Why would I leave you, Enora? Why would I be disgusted by your scars? I was in the military, and I've been to war. I know the horrors of war. If anything, this is familiar to me. What I want right now, is to find the bastard who did it to you and put a fucking bullet in between his eyes. He would pay for what he did to you and to countless others. He will pay. I swear!" 

He then gently cupped her chin and lifted her head so she could stare at him. She couldn't believe her ears, but she could see that he was genuine. So she nodded and sobbed harder. That night, she wouldn't be able to speak more about what happened to her. She wouldn't be able to talk about /that man/. But she promised him that he would know soon enough. When she's ready to talk again. He put her back to bed and turned off the light to help her fall asleep again. As they found each other under the sheets again, this time Ghost knew that she was safe and the Jackal felt that there was no turning back from then. 

"Alex. My name is Alexander Duggan." -He admitted  as he wrapped his arm around her frame and pulled her into a tight hug.-

"Diane... My real name is Diane."

Indeed... There was no turning back from this.

----

TB: "Oh Sara."

 // This is Brett's POV. I despise this asshole. he is so bad! I do not condone anything he's saying here but I needed y'all to see how bad he is.//

"Oh, Sara. How I have missed you!

I have to say, I am tempted to pay you a visit someday, for old times sake. I know you would appreciate it, you always seemed to melt away whenever someone paid you attention. I noticed it pretty early and not to tout my own horn, but that also helped me get into your heart. You were starving from affection. You were desperate enough after your breakup with that girl, Ada? Sandra? Tara I think! Yeah, Tara. You were so heartbroken after your breakup with her that you didn't even notice me making my moves towards you. As a matter of fact, you got attached pretty fast, pretty early, and chewed most of the work for me. All I had to do, was give you a compliment here and there, open the door to you, and pull the chair and you ended up eating at the palm of my hand.  You were fun to be with. I could experiment with you. 

Oh, don't get me wrong, I do miss hanging out with you too. Your fame opened so many doors. I was able to go to the fanciest places and wear the most expensive outfits with/your/ hard-earned dollars. You always spoiled me and I relished in being pampered instead of making the effort to pamper you. If only you didn't want to be Sara most of the time, we could have been together for a longer time.  You were stubborn, perhaps less gullible than I expected you to be. You called that "dignity" or some shit like that. You wanted to be makeup-free when we were together but I couldn't look at you with these freckles on your skin. You are ugly without makeup, I don't make the rules! If women with freckles were beautiful, they would have been the most sought-after women, but they're not and you're not beautiful. I wanted you to do this simple thing that is covering your skin with makeup at all times but you still chose to disobey me and hurt me in the process. What could I do if not respond to your aggressivity? 

I had to discipline you. I had to break your spirit to make you comply more easily. I didn't like punching you in the face. I didn't like kicking your stomach or your legs. I didn't like using my ice powers to make you shiver and make you anticipate my mood to correct your attitude. You made me do it. You made me become a violent person because you didn't want to respect my boundaries. It's true, I let anger take over. I didn't always control the power of my hits. I didn't always stop when you asked me to but ultimately, you started to behave didn't you?  Ultimately, we got somewhere up until your rebellious mind made you act up again. I loved it, when we were the It Couple. I loved it, when everyone wanted to be like us. The paps loved us. The fans loved us! and your stubbornness destroyed us. Oh, Sara, I had to leave. I had to break your heart. I couldn't in good faith stay in a relationship that didn't make me happy anymore. I couldn't pretend to love you when all I thought when I looked at you, was disgust. You were ugly.. not even a good fuck.

Yeah, let's talk about this one. I pity the person you're going to date after me. I pity them because I know they would have to put up with someone who doesn't know how to make them happy. You always had demands impossible to meet. Make you cum, not once, but twice? Make you "lose your mind"? tell you that you're beautiful? Nah! I couldn't do it, nobody can. You were good to fuck when you were wearing your makeup, you looked good, well, as good as a fatty like you could be. Yeah Yeah... When we met you were curvy, a true bombshell but then you got older and larger and  I didn't like the way your flesh felt against me. Sure, you felt good around my cock, but that was about it. Fortunately for me, you knew how to care for me so I could come quickly but the rest of it? it wasn't that great. 

With all of that said, Sara, my dear Sara. I do miss you. I miss the face you made when I told you that I was dumping you. I loved the despair in your voice as I told you I was leaving. I missed the sound of your pleads. I also missed the way you were doting on me, truly, I felt like a king who had nothing to do but sit back and relax. So yeah, I moved on, I am engaged to a supermodel and I wish you could see our social media pictures, so you would see what it takes to be a good woman and a good and beautiful wife. Still, I miss the fun we had together and I want to see you again. I want to make sure that you do not find someone else after me. I want to make sure to be the last thing you'll have in mind and the last thing you cry yourself to sleep about."

TB: Impromptu meeting -angst-

 TB: Impromptu meeting -angst-

// Trying to explain the tumultuous relationship Sara had with her ex Brett and how much of an asshole he actually is.  She dated Brett Howard for 3 years. They broke up when she was 23 and she had been single ever since.

xxxxx

Unnamed Girl's private room. 

Dotty was applying the finishing touches on her protégée's face. She had noticed that her left eye was swollen and bruised. Sara had tried to cover it up with her make-up but the blonde voluptuous woman knew too much about this type of injury to not have noticed it. Usually, she would wait for Sara to speak first and tell her what was happening, but this time she couldn't keep it to herself. A concerned voice broke the silence and she cupped the young woman's chin. 

"Baby, what's going on?"

"I'm fine, Dot. Please, just... keep at it. I have to look good on screen." -She tried to deflect the conversation, but her lips started to shake. Dotty furrowed her blonde brows and released Sara's chin to resume applying makeup to her eye- "Dot... Don't worry. I'm fine."

"Sara. I know a black eye when I see one. Who did this to you? Brett?" -Sara flinched and chewed at her bottom lip in order to hold back a painful moan.- "Fine! You don't have to tell me it's him, I know it's him.  why? Why did he do this?"

Sara panicked and shrugged her shoulders. How could she tell Dotty what Brett was putting her through? She quickly became a superstar. Her career launched when she was 18 and reached new levels since its beginning. Unnamed Girl was what many called a megastar. She was invited everywhere in the world and filled whole stadiums with her unique performances. She had her hardcore fans who called themselves the Unknown and who dedicated internet shrines and blogs and fan clubs to this young girl. Her "long-time" boyfriend, Brett, was but a C-List superhero who leeched off of her fame. He was charming, at first, really charming and she fell for his fake kind persona. She fell head over heels for him and tried to please him in any way she could. yet, Brett wasn't satisfied. 

He was controlling once they were together. She had to dress a certain way, behave a certain way, and talk to him a certain way. If she failed to do as he requested, he would remind her. Usually, his words were enough, he would demean her, and criticize her every move. He'd tell her she wasn't pretty enough, wasn't good enough, and couldn't be loved by her fans if she didn't change things as he saw fit. She loved him so much that she didn't realize at first what he was trying to do and his words started to impact her and Sara ended up believing them. Brett had never been physical with her until a couple days ago. he lost his patience because she didn't do as he asked. She didn't cover her freckles before going out on a date with him and he decided that she was defiant and disobedient. She argued her case, hoping he would understand that she wanted a quiet night at their favorite joint but he didn't like it. so he punched her face and told her she looked disgusting. 

"I didn't....put my makeup on. I know... I know he told me to cover up when we're together but that night, I wanted to let my skin breathe. I wanted privacy. There was my mistake, I wanted something I knew he didn't want." -She said, trying to justify his reaction. Dotty's face turned livid as a cold fury started to wash through her body. How could he get away with this behavior for so long? How come she did not see it happening? Dotty shifted the blame on him, refusing to take it on herself and she let her fingers run over her client and pulled her into a hug. "What... are you doing? Dot... I'm fine."

"This isn't fine, Sara. Don't you see? Don't you see he's trying to take from you? Come on, baby. You have to set yourself free from that man or you'll be living your life in a prison like at the Orphanage. Do you want to live your life like that?" -Sara was struggling with keeping her emotions to herself. She was about to cry and ruin the makeup Dotty had put on her face. She wanted to scream and ask for her help because she didn't know how to escape her boyfriend but words died at the back of her throat.  Instead, she held onto Dotty's arms and tried to swallow her sobs back. 

It didn't last long, for she felt it, the air turned colder and she realized that Brett was in the building. He used to create Ice on his path, enough to turn the atmosphere in the room or building extremely cold. This way, Sara would know he was around and she would behave before he opened the door. He enjoyed seeing her shake before him and recoil to a corner of the room he entered. He enjoyed seeing her try to placate him because that made him feel powerful and in control.  She blinked and shifted her eyes from left to right before her faint voice came out, issuing a warning to her manager. 

"Leave. Please. He's coming..."

"No. I won't lea--"

"Dot! For the love of god, Leave the room. Brett doesn't like you and I can't... Deal with him if I also have to make sure you're okay. Leave. I'll be fine. I'll have to perform."

She watched as a conflicted older woman struggled to move away from her and sighed in relief as Dotty finally left her private room. The air was still getting colder, so cold that when she exhaled, she could see the fog coming out of her mouth. Brett was very near, and she had to be on her best behavior if she didn't want to upset him. She would gather the strength to leave him, surely she would, in the future. She wanted to believe that her desire to be safe and alive would supersede her desire to be loved. Brett didn't love her, he used her. He used her for everything come to think of it. He needed her fame to bring some focus on him too. He needed her love because he damn well knew that he couldn't be loved like she did. he needed her affection and her dedication to him to give meaning to his fucking life. He needed her money to keep living a lavish life. he needed her for everything and held her in the palm of his hand because he convinced her that nobody loved her and nobody could love her like he did. 

Sara had already had her heart broken by her ex Tara. She didn't want to lose Brett because she felt that if she did, then she would be on her own forever. She had survived the orphanage and the violence she witnessed there and suffered from. She had survived her parents and their lack of love...but she couldn't survive -in her mind, at the time- another breakup.  Yet, her heart was beating fast against her ribcage. What if he got angry? what if he hurt her again? She stroked her cheek and bit her thumb anxiously.  That night, Brett would lovebomb her. He would treat her like his princess and would smother her with his affection to drown the little noise in the back of her head. It would work and she would not see it coming when Brett would very publicly break up with her, humiliating her in the process and shredding her confidence to pieces and the idea that maybe someone, somewhere could be decent enough to want her, honestly want her and treat her right. Brett was that type of man, brutal, manipulative... a real sociopath who tried (but failed) to destroy Sara in hopes she would never be able to move on from him.  He noticed she still lived in their old apartment and she still had her little habits and he decided to very soon pay her a visit and see what he could get from her again. 

-TBC-

A vintage touch: Brutal force

// You don't touch Mary. You don't fuck with Mary because if you do, You'll fuck with Arthur and he's far less pleasant than most.  This took place a while before the start of the storyline. I just wanted to show the bond between Arthur and Mary. 

xxxxx

"Mary... Mary.. look at me, please." -Arthur's begging voice was tearing down the silence that had settled between the two of them-

Mary was shaking, from head to toe, her cheek was cut and she could still feel the bruise on her stomach from a punch she had received earlier on. She had her eyes wide open, her arms were dropped and she was barely standing up.  She wasn't looking at him, her lips were still trembling but Arthur ended up cupping both her cheeks, staining them with fresh blood.  She was shocked and he realized that it was because of him. Mary had never seen Arthur lose his mind before. She'd always seen the aftermath of his fights when she patched the boys up. She'd scold them about their tendencies to fight and would urge them to be careful so she wouldn't have to attend their funerals. Tonight, things were different. Arthur was drenched in blood, her cheeks and some of her hair were soiled too.  Her green eyes were unfocused but Arthur's voice became louder to the point that it snapped her back into reality. 

"Arthur! Arthur!!!!.." -She screamed and held onto his arms. he pulled her into a tight hug and gently petted her hair with one hand while the other stroked her back. She was still shocked and he understood that he had to be in charge if he needed things to be done.-

He took Mary to the Pied Piper Pub, keeping her away from the carnage he had made on the streets. His victims were alive, but hardly recognizable because he had ruined their faces. Mary let him walk her back into the pub and sat her on the chair. He yelled at the men to clear the space and bring him a basin of warm water, and a clean cloth because he had to clean both of them up. The bar owner quickly rushed into action, unwilling to piss off the deadliest member of the peaky blinders. How could he? The rest of the men cleared the room and waited outside under the supervision of the peaky boys who never left Arthur's side.  Mary was still hysterical, still shaking, even though she was sitting at the table. She gasped and yelped when she felt Arthur's hand grab her ankle. He wanted to check if she was hurt in places he had no eyes on. She shrugged and swatted his hand off of her ankle. 

"Mary! Mary, it's just me. It's Arthur. I just want to check if you are alright."

"I... I am..." -but she snarled and he knew she wasn't.- "They... Are they dead?"

"I should have killed 'em for what they did to you, Mary. I didn't. They're alive."

"Arthur...Arthur...Are you, okay?"

"I am. Where are you hurt? where did these bastards touch you?" -He stopped focusing on the ankle and watched as the owner brought the basin of warm water and the clean clothes- "I'm sorry...I'm sorry Mary. Please tell me where you're hurt."

He smelled like alcohol and tobacco. He smelled that putrid scent of blood but she didn't care. She didn't care because Arthur came to her rescue. It shouldn't have been like that. She shouldn't have been assaulted just for walking into the "wrong" neighborhood. She shouldn't have to cower in fear of being hurt because she entered a bar. It was a very hot night and she needed to drink some fresh water. She joined the place and nervously felt the judgemental gazes of the patrons who had never seen a black patron before. They didn't accept them, no signs, but the pub was known for rejecting anyone who didn't fit the description. Mary was brave, she held her head high and walked to the bartender. He warned her that she shouldn't be there, but she told him that she only wanted to have a glass of water. He told her that he couldn't service her but she insisted on having a glass of water. If he had to make her pay for it, she could. Again, he refused to service her. 

One of the peaky boys assigned to her protection rushed to Arthur and asked him to come to the pub so he could interfere in case Mary needed some help. Arthur didn't need to be told twice. He followed the young boy, hoping that Mary wouldn't be hurt until he arrived. The bartender tried to convince Mary to leave, mostly because he informed her that he couldn't protect her if something happened but she was unphased. She needed to drink water and she needed it now. She convinced the man to fetch her a glass of water and was about to serve her when two men grabbed her arms and forbade the bartender to try anything. She protested and struggled so they would get off of her, but it only excited them. They teased her, about being a lone black woman in a pub full of horny men. She struggled harder, ended up scratching the face of one of the men, and injured him. That got him angry and he punched her in her belly, causing her to spit blood on the face of the other man. He became so angry that he pulled his knife out and started to lightly cut her cheek when the peaky boy who stayed back entered the pub and started to fight the two men.  

"I... I think I'm bruised in my belly... They punched me there." -She groaned and then put her fingers on her cheek as she felt a sting- "I think... they cut me here... How bad is it?" -She inquired, her eyes still wide open, her body still shaking as she couldn't believe her eyes. 

How could asking for a glass of water lead to such violence? As soon as they released her -and as soon as she recognized the hat of the peaky boy-, Mary ran towards the exit. She bumped into Arthur who put both hands on her shoulders "Mary! You good?" -She couldn't answer, but he noticed the cut on her cheek and the blood that was rolling down her soft skin. It was enough to push him into a berzerker rage. "Take care of her!" -He ordered the second peaky boy who took Mary out of the pub so she could get some fresh air. It happened so fast, so fast that she didn't fully realize what was happening. Once the fresh air hit her nostrils and filled her lungs, Mary slowly came back to her senses. She put both hands on her knees and bent a little forward in order to catch her breath back. She put her hand on her belly and then looked up at the front door.  

It didn't take long, some shouting, some yelling, Arthur's voice dominating the whole pub and the street and finally, she saw her assailants being brought out of the pub and into the streets, by Arthur and the other Peaky Boy. She watched as Arthur unleashed his anger and massacred the two men. She watched his fists breaking bones, getting soaked with these people's blood, his eyes dark with rage as they dared to attack Mary. Arthur's mind flashbacked to when he found her in the pub. The sight of her eyes filled with fear and disgust was enough to rile him up. he needed to make these bastards pay for what they did to his sister. he had to teach them a lesson. So his fists flew and hit hard. His fists would be relentless as he sought revenge for the young woman. Arthur's mind became blank, it was hot white with rage as he pounded into those men. The oldest Shelby didn't even realize the fear he might have induced in Mary's heart, for she saw the beast he was. 

"It's a light cut. you're gonna be alright. Let me see your bruise." -He didn't give Mary the chance to protest and helped her pull her skirt down on her waist and lift her shirt up -right under her bra- so he could see just how bad the bruise was. She had a fist-sized bruise on her belly and it crept up to her sternum. That wasn't as bad as he feared it would be, but Mary would need to take it easy for at least two weeks.- "You'll be alright. two weeks off of work and you'll be alright Mary." -He said as he grabbed the clean towel and dipped it in the warm water basin.

"I don't understand why they did it..." -She whispered as she finally let tears roll on her cheeks. Arthur started by cleaning her face, removing any trace of blood that had stained her soft skin. She was finally crying, her body still shaking from the sheer shock she went through- "I just wanted water... Arthur... I just wanted to drink some water and....and they told me that I couldn't drink because they didn't serve Black people... I just insisted on drinking water, even offered to pay for it..."- She said, shakily trying to grab her bag to show she had money in it. Arthur shushed her. 

"I know Mary. I know. They shouldn't have done it. Trust me, there would be retaliation." -he promised himself that he would burn the place down. He would talk to Tommy about the events, but he would first make sure that Mary was doing alright. He cleaned her face as she pulled her shirt back on her waist. and then washed some of her hair, her neck, and the places his bloody hands touched.

Silence fell between the two of them. Mary was still seeing the scene of a berserker Arthur beating the brains out of her assailants. She had never seen Arthur in action before. She had never seen him lose control. Part of her was relieved that he did so in order to protect her because she could tell he was furious. She could feel his rage from where she stood and knew that he was enraged because they hurt /her/. Yet, part of her was scared. She was scared of that display of violence. She was nauseous about the amount of blood she saw him soak his fists up with. She was scared of this type of violence against her -not from Arthur! but from the people who had something against her family.-  And she was scared he would be hurt the same way he was hurting others.  Arthur could feel her fear but he misinterpreted it. Thinking that Mary was in fact, scared of him. he washed his hands, and his face, and removed his trench coat so he would be as clean as possible. 

" Mary... I need ya to look at meh." -She nodded, calmer than before and more focused on Arthur's face now. " I am sorry. It shouldn't have happened like this. The...The boys Tommy sent were supposed to take care of ya. They should have gone to the pub with ya." -He made a mental note about punishing the peaky who took too much time before he intervened.- "They didn't and ya got cut. ya got hurt." -He groaned, visibly upset by what happened to her- "I managed to come because it wasn't too far away but just imagine if I came too late? you'd be..." -he shook his head- "Mary. What you saw outside. The violence, the blood. I didn't want ya to see it. I didn't... I didn't mean to scare ya like that. I know it's not pretty and I know I'm a monster... I'm sorry if I scared ya."

"Arthur... no... No... You didn't scare me." -She said, leaning her forehead to his.- "You didn't scare me. You saved me! you saved... You saved me! I'm... I just realized how violent things could be for all of you. I'm... I've just realized you put your life in danger every day, that's all. I'm... I'm... I fear to see you at the end of those fists. I fear you'll end up like those guys on the streets.." -She shook her hands so he would release them and she could cup his face with both her hands.- "I fear for Tommy...But I am not afraid of you. I am not...Arthur, please, look at me." -He set his cerulean eyes upon her, prompting Mary to give him a coy smile.- "Good, that's good... You are not a monster, Arthur. You are a force of Nature. You...You saved me, Arthur." -She repeated and pressed a kiss on his forehead while he crumbled against her. 

His bravado collapsed and he became a puppy in her arms. Mary wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. Arthur hated that violence. He loved that violence too. He was a man who learned how to kill in order to protect his family and later on, his country. He was a man whose inner violence and pain both built him and destroyed him. He was a man very few could accept, very few could understand and most of them feared. Arthur Shelby? just the name was enough to scare people, but when they saw him walk on the streets, they would always step aside and cower in fear. Arthur was a monster, somehow... he projected that image and he sincerely believed he was one. Yet, he was still capable of being good, of being loved and Mary... well, she might not know it, but she made him believe he could be more than just a beast. Even now, as she was traumatized by the events that unfolded, she still managed to comfort the older man. She still found compassion and love within her heart to forgive him for the brutal display of violence in front of her.  He would take her home and would have a word with Tommy. He would make sure she was safely back to where she belonged. Next to Tommy. Yes, he would!

-TBC-

TVD- Witchy Hour: Unleashed

 A/N: I miss them. I also wanted to show what could happen if Asma let her anger out and why she’s desperately trying to reign in her anger. 

Xxxxx

Mystic Falls, Saturday night, 9 pm

Asma was playing with her glass of wine, twirling the glass as if she didn't care if it spilled over the table she was drinking at or not. As a matter of fact, the witch didn't care. She was too busy thinking about Klaus' whereabouts and the motives that had him come back to Mystic Falls. She had a clue, given how popular this place with supernatural creatures, was. Her time there had her meet with the resident trouble-makers and danger-magnet: Elena Gilbert and her best friends, the Salvatore brothers who happened to have caused a lot of damages since they became vampires. Klaus stated that he wanted to find his enemies and end them before they could hurt him and his family. She could understand. She would have done the same. As much as she hated that side of hers, the cursed witch had a strong survival instinct. She had not told him yet about what she did centuries ago. She had not confessed her bloodlust to him that was still taunting her. Hell, she even buried the memories she had when she was unleashed. Asma hated losing control, she hated it because she relished in it.

That night, she chose to drown her sorrow with alcohol, thinking that it would spare her the shame that threatened to burst out of the neat bubble she put it in. Shame... why would she feel shame for protecting herself? why would she feel shame for wanting to live? Her forefinger tapped against the half-full glass of wine and she pursed her lips into a pout. It was different and she knew it. There was a thin line between self-defense and straight-up murder. No matter how she called it, what she did to those witch-hunters, that was murder. She hunted her hunters and when the cursed witch found them, she was merciless. A frown crept on her face, causing a small crease in between her eyebrows. Why did she go on a rampage again? How did she do it?  Asma started to think. She searched through her memories, trying to unlock what she'd been avoiding for decades. Yes! Decades! Her last rampage was only a couple decades ago, during the '70s. 

Asma had found a shelter in France, a place that was far more welcoming than America at the time -or so she thought- She didn't feel like an alien anymore, instead she belonged. Asma managed to become a musician. She would play piano at night, complimenting the voice of the Jazz singers who wanted to try their luck on stage. She could enjoy the city life, she could blend in. The witch always made sure to hide her eyes with a pair of sunglasses, pretending to be blind so people wouldn't ask her to remove them and wouldn't be too curious about her. her hair at the time was still natural, a beautiful jet-black color that framed a perfect face. The woman was gorgeous, and her curse enhanced that beauty to extraordinary levels. She had to admit that it took her some time to recognize herself in the mirror, to dominate her fear of the odd color of her eyes. It took a while to see the impact her newfound beauty caused others. It would attract people whether she wanted it or not. It would make them curious, envious, jealous, and violent. It would increase the probability of incidents and she was proven right. 

She could trust no one. Humans, Witches, Vampires, and Lycans were meant to hunt her down. France was the first place she encountered witch-hunters and realized that her legend was still going strong. Witches kept the memory of what she did alive and some decided to take matters into their own hands. One of the musicians at the bar she was playing, told her that two women were looking for her. He described them to Asma as well as the tablecloth one of them used to doodle on. Asma recognized them as witchcraft symbols. She thanked the man and started her own investigation, using the tablecloth to cast a spell and find the witches. Her memory became foggy again. She couldn't remember very well what happened after she learned witches were looking for her. It was blurry but she could remember bits and pieces, especially how she was feeling. 

She felt like a trapped animal, determined to kill those who wanted to kill her. She remembered the anger at the whole situation, how unfair it was that she was denied a normal life and how that anger turned into a blind rage. She remembered the screams of pure terror from the witches, the blood that splattered all over her frame. Asma didn't know how long she stayed with the two witches, but she did remember taking her time killing them. She gave them a slow and painful death, throwing at them her frustrations, her pain, and her anger all at once. The memory almost made the witch throw up and she put her glass on the counter. It was awful, as a matter of fact, she did catch a glimpse of the gruesome scenes before her and the nasty satisfaction she felt upon seeing her carnage. 

They deserved it! All of them! They didn't know how it felt to have her curse! they didn't know how awful the solitude was, the betrayal, the constant fear of being exposed and hunted down. Asma had always looked behind her shoulders, always covered her tracks -or at least, tried to but her enemies proved to be relentless. she learned the hard way to always be cautious, especially in a monster hub like Mystic Falls. Still, she was sick to her stomach upon her memories. It felt as if she could smell and taste the blood that was on her face. It felt as if she could hear the pleas and screams of agony and her whole body was shaking from the inside. Shame should have been the emotion she would be feeling right now. When she was in her right mind, Asma felt ashamed for her past deeds...for her bloodlust and for the sadistic joy she had when she avenged herself on those who wanted to kill her. 

A tit for tat, after all, wasn't it? A tit for... she frantically searched for her money and threw it on the counter before she ran away from the bar. Her heart started to beat faster as she was uncomfortable and it was so overwhelming that she didn't notice when she bumped against Stefan. The Salvatore brother furrowed his brows and put his large hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" He asked, concerned about the witch. He instantly recognized her, mostly because not so many people in the small town of Mystic Falls had this type of hair color. There weren't many who would wear sunglasses at night either, so he recognized Asma. "Asma?"

"Stefan... I... I'm alright. Don't worry about me. I was just in a hurry."

"Anything I can help you with?" -He genuinely asked. She looked panicked as if she was running away from something. Since she was a witch, he suspected it was either a vampire or a werewolf but Asma was still shielding herself from Elena's friends and loved ones. He felt the reluctance of the witch to answer and released her shoulder. "If you need anything, Asma, you can come to our manor. You've always been helpful to Elena, Caroline and Bonnie. You also have helped my brother on several occasions. I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything. I chose to help, and I am glad it worked. I... Stefan... I have to go." -She begged him. her voice was shaking and he noticed her shivers and goosebumps. She was terrified, yet, he moved away so she could leave. 

"I insist. If you need help, please call me." -He said as she started to brisk walk away.- "Think about it!" -He said a little bit louder before he turned around and kept walking- 

She heard him loud and clear. She knew Stefan was actually a good soul trying to do the right thing and make amends for the days he was the Ripper. He didn't know her but he knew she was helping those he loved and that was enough for him. She heard him loud and clear and yet, her memories screamed louder than his voice. Her worries about Klaus' unfinished business forced her to consider what he was trying to do. His absence was stressful to her, mostly because she didn't know where he was and when he would be back. 

If he would be back. 

-    TBC-

GoT (Modern): Unscripted

 GoT (Modern): Unscripted

A/N: One too many scandals. One too many drinks. One asshole is getting broken ribs. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RyInjfgNc4

xxxxx

"What are you doing?" -Bäahal's drunken voice barely escaped her lips-

He was overpowering her, his hands were holding onto her waist as tight as he could, forcing the young woman to look up to his face. She was drunk, not enough to lose track of time or pass out, but enough for her to be slower and exhausted. His features were blurred, but she could tell it was a man. He was tall, fair-skinned, with a squared jaw. She tried to look at his face but she couldn't see him clearly. Instead, she felt his lust. His eyes were intensely staring at her, enjoying the sight before him. Bäahal was scantily clad in a very fitting grey dress that exposed her perfect figure. Her hair, formerly in a loose bun was now looking messy, as she was struggling against the stranger. It escalated very quickly, way too fast for her liking. 

"I am trying to have a good time. Come on, Bäahal! Don't tell me you don't want to have fun." -He replied, his voice coarse and his breath heavy.-

His piercing blue eyes had studied her unique features with surgical accuracy. He noticed Bäahal from the moment she arrived at the party. She was the main attraction of the party given the way her skin glowed under the neon lights or the way her silver hair captured light. He noticed the way her hips were swaying in tune with the music and the smile she had on her lips as she was dancing. She seemed to be out of time, lost in her thoughts and absolutely enjoying herself. She excited him and awoke the beast within him. He had to have her. 

Bäahal was the most sought-after bachelorette. Everyone knew about her infamous breakup with the dornish heir. Everybody knew how devastated and distant she had been since then. No other suitors made themselves known since her break-up and Bäahal quickly became a "target". The 8th wonder of the world with her sister Daenerys. The daughter of one of the richest men on the planet, rivaled only by Tywin Lannister and his empire. A woman who was so magnetic that she turned heads wherever she went. Single, available, ripe for the taking. 

"I don't want to have fun. Let me go asshole!"' -She groaned. Bäahal believed that with just a very stern voice and an intense gaze she would have made him stop, but he didn't want to stop.-

"Come on, Bäahal. Don't be afraid. I just want to have a good time with you." -His breath stanked. It was tainted with alcohol. His grip was tighter on her waist and his boy was pressed against hers, suffocating her in the process. "I heard you were easy. That given the proper amount of drink, you would be wild."

Her eyes grew wide as anger slowly rushed through her veins. She was easy? What made them believe that she was easy? Was it the fact she loved dancing and didn't care if the whole world saw her dance? Was it the fact she was attracting many and was single? How dare he tell such awful things about her? How could he even think she was easy? She blurted words, unsure of what she actually said since her headache intensified. She was still struggling against him, pushing him away -still nicely so- so she could breathe some fresh air. Where did these rumors come from? She'd never heard of these and if they were true, Daenerys would have stormed into her bedroom for a "sisters chat". She didn't. He was just full of shit and trying to justify his disgusting actions. Blurred face grinned and tried to kiss her but she dodged his face and turned her head to the side. 

"Get the fuck off me, Loser!" -She growled and pushed him harder. Bäahal managed to surprise him enough for her to be able to breathe.-

"I saw the news! you went to Highgarden with Daenerys for "negotiations" didn't you? Everybody knows Bronn wants to fuck you! You can't tell me that your sister didn't give your pussy for a patch of dirt?!! " -He couldn't finish his sentence. Bäahal eyes were now filled with anger. So she slapped him hard.-

"Shut the fuck up! You don't know what you're talking about!" -She screamed and hit his chest with her knee. That was enough to make him bend forward and to have her slap his face as hard as she could. She hoped he would fall, but he didn't. Instead, it enraged him and he retaliated with a slap that made her hit the wall and but a vein.-

"Shut up bitch! How dare you slap me? You think you can strut around dressed like that and not get what's coming?" -He started to blurt out, pissed off by the heiress. He grabbed her wrist and spun her around so he could see her face. his other hand ran over her leg and tried to pull her panties down but she headbutted his face, cracking his nose in the process and making him bleed. "You worthless whore!" He screamed in agony, causing enough commotion for people to come and see what was going on. 

Bäahal had her eyes wide open and looked like a Fury who shouldn't be trifled with. She hated being violent, and hated, even more, being assaulted. His slap triggered her flight or fight response and for once, Bäahal's body was cooperative. She was probably too drunk to realize the full extent of what had almost happened but for a brief moment, she regained some clarity and recognized the guy. He was a random heir from the Iron Isles. He was even more of a nobody, less than the now destitute heir Theon Greyjoy. He was nothing. She didn't remember his name but couldn't forget his face. He was one of Elias's friends. He had always tried to have his way with her but she had always rejected him. This guy, whatshisface, was a drunk violent asshole. He was just saying whatever would get the reaction he wanted from others. Bäahal realized that he just wanted to take advantage of her and she tried to calm down but her heart was racing through her ribcage. She couldn't help but think of Jaime, of what he told her a while ago about the repercussions of her visiting Bronn. She could still see the face he made and the fact he was upset. 

Usually, people left her alone. She was the ugly duckling of the whole Targaryen family. They didn't care about her, nor did they want to. But, Bäahal was also a gorgeous woman whose beauty attracted all kinds of men. She had the respectful ones, the predators, and the assholes and this man was no exception. He was intoxicated and she was intoxicated and that was enough for her to find herself in a situation like this. Did she want to keep living this life? Did she want to still be a socialite? She was hyperventilating still, her nerves were set ablaze and her mind was filled with thoughts that kept trampling one another. Her body was shaking and the rush of adrenaline was keeping her acutely attentive. This place wasn't safe anymore for her, so she had to leave. When the host of the party, Eleonor Bigsby tried to apologize to her and check on Bäahal, the heiress snapped at her and asked why she didn't vet her guest list before she let this notoriously bad person in.

The answer was easy to find. This asshole was extremely rich and his parents were influential. Of course, he would be invited over to parties. Of course, he would be a complete douche. Of course, he thought he could "score" Bäahal that night. The lonely Targaryen. The sanest of the trio left to rule the empire. The half-breed of the pack. She was an easy target -or so he thought- and he was disappointed and shocked to discover that she had more spunk than she let on. It shook her up to her core but angered the silver heiress even more. Was there some truth in what he had said? could it be that Bronn said something to other people? Did he lust after her openly like he did with Jaime? who else believed that she ended up sleeping with the man so her sister could own pieces of his land?  On top of it all, how could she look so miserable that a low-life like that guy thought he could take advantage of her? she fumbled while looking at her phone but managed to get it and managed to text Jaime. "Come pick me up, please.. " and she proceeded to give him the address. 

Next to the building where the party took place, Bäahal found a public garden where she could find a bench to sit on. She did and sat there, allowing the fresh air to blow upon her and help her get sober. She already knew that this would somehow end up in tabloids and was already bracing herself for her sister's reaction. Was it her fault if she had been assaulted? of course not! was it her fault if she broke the nose of her assailant? hell yes! Was it her fault if she was nosebleeding too? No. It wasn't! she was still bleeding and that forced her to fumble in her bag in search of a handkerchief she could use. The sting of the slap was still being felt and her eyes slowly cried the tears that had pooled there. She reacted. she hurt him back... somehow, she protected herself from Viserys -and the slap he gave her a couple weeks ago-. Somehow, she allowed her own anger to take over... somehow the tears were her relief, or perhaps she was thinking about her Dad since the anniversary of his death was a couple days ahead of her. All at once, everything was hitting her, all at once.

What else could she do, if not just sob quietly on her bench?? what else could she do, if not just rub her arms in order to soothe herself. Damned be tomorrow! all that mattered to her was that Jaime found her and took her home. To their place. 

-TBC-