Jurassic Park 2: Quirky old white man back at it again with his bs

TroS reaction (1st view)

Necessary premise in bullet points:

- I liked TFA when it came out and still do but as I dug into the franchise/canon (Disney only by choice) my enjoyment of it became more lukewarm. Came out of it dreading a potential Reylo but liking the two charas on their own. 

- went into TLJ worried I’d hate it, came out with it being my favorite saga movie and sold on the Rey-Ren connection, whatever road it would’ve taken. Loved the “Rey’s powerful on her own/bc the Force wants to set Kylo’s wrongs right”. It felt good after two years of being bombarded with “this fucking Mary Sue can have any power only if she’s connected to powerful men of the saga, she has otherwise no right in being powerful” in forums spaces.    

- went into TroS non-spoiled, wary of Palpatine return but relatively hopeful if soured about the “JJ our lord and saviour pleease save us from evil evil Jonhson” (HA!). The rumors about lore from the tv series being featured into the movie had me excited.  

That said, here goes: [SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MOVIE, ENDING INCLUDED, RIGHT OFF THE BAT]

I didn’t like it. I really hope to warm up to it more in future views, there’s absolutely stuff I liked or even loved, but as it stands now it was overall a massive disappointment on many sides and -worst of all- threatens to retroactively ruin my enjoyment in other previous stories. 

First, the positives: 

- Parentage notwithstanding, Rey was good. Her rage, her fears, her good heart, her commitment to the fight and the training, her longing for guidance… truly, if the bloodline revelation hadn’t retroactively ruined my investment in the character and themes I’d have fully, 100% loved her even if every single other part of the movie had been the same. 

Except for a brief war flashback to Starkiller game abilities (I lolled) I wasn’t even troubled by all the new abilities or their scope. Movies’ been inventing new powers since the beginning and the Force does what the Force wants. Again, fuck the genetics “twist”, garbage stuff. 

- Kylo, next to… 95% that involved him? TLJ did a great job selling him to me and surprisingly this movie added to that instead of retconning it away. More competent but still stupid and petty from time to time. I’m glad he came back, glad he choose right and glad he was allowed more time on the right side than Anakin. I love redemptions and he was portrayed as wavering the entire trilogy, I don’t even really care that it could’ve done better. I’m happy for him and his family, that’s all. The kiss got a laugh out me but not a malicious one, I was kind of running out of reasonable reactions by then. 

I’m just conflicted on how I feel about his death. Back when TFA was released I wanted him to survive to face what Anakin didn’t: justice (the kid-friendly setting prevented a death sentence anyway), atonement and growth from there, I still wish it happened and maintain that a different pacing would’ve allowed it. On the other hand, I’m also kinda okay with him dying. He righted at least a bit of his many wrongs, he saved a person he cared for, that his parents cared for and that could help the galaxy much more than he ever could and he was at peace. It was a good death.      

- Kylo’s vision/illusion of Han. A surprise but a very pleasant, well acted one. Would’ve I maybe liked Anakin more, as Ben idolized him so much and for all the wrong reasons and because I love that disaster? Yes. Does Han work much better in the economy of the movie and trilogy story and do he and Ben have a much rawer relationship and history? Absolutely. I am a teeny tiny bit baffled as  for why Luke didn’t also show up, but the actual scene was good enough I forgive it.  

- Rey and Kylo bond and connection was one of the saving graces of this mess and I utterly loved it. Both actors worked their asses for for all their scenes and it payed off, oh if it payed off. Their DSII duel was perhaps a tad long but great nonetheless (Republic era Jedi jumps!), the hurt and the sense of absolute loss and grief they both conveyed -and shared!- after Leia’s passing was incredible, Rey regretting the near kill and softly going “I would have stayed, had you renounced the dark side”. She cared, yes, but not to the point of ignoring the horrors (something Anakin never quite understood). The “dyad” stuff was a bit overkill, just call it a force bond, we can see it’s freaking powerful, but the Force Skype and sharing of objects that came with the package, that I loved. Surprise lightsaber, Ren fuckers! :D Bet Anakin and Obi Wan were really jealous, that would’ve come in handy during the war.       

- Finn was now fully invested in the cause, at ease, visibly happy to be with his friends, ready to bond and reach out, quick to plan, to act and to adapt to the situation, brave but cautious and calculating. I wish it was given a bit more focus, but I loved he found other young FO defectors. Also fuck yeah, he’s force sensitive and his ability is used, not just thrown in as a useless wink. Jedi Finn in future material, c’mon!

- Poe’s also grown. He was probably going to have more screen time with Leia had Carrie not died but there was nothing to be done for that. I’m not as happy as for previous 3 charas for the backstory retcon I’ll tackle in the negatives.

- Jannah was cool, the addiction of other FO defectors a welcomed one and the scene were she and Finn excitedly went over their “I broke free” moment was adorable. Good bean, I’d read more about her and her company. 

- A bit lot annoyed at Bloodline being kinda tossed outta the window but getting Leia with lightsaber was nice. Give me some ancillary material to deal with the clash and I’ll fully forgive it. 

- Jedi! MY GIRL AHSOKA MY MAN KANAN! I mean, I sure wish they were in a better movie, but hey, recognition for something more than the OT? No slandering of the Order but all of them collectively kicking Sidious ass once and for all? I’ll gladly take it. Anakin, my dude, I’m sorry your sacrifice was next to nullified but it was good to hear you again ;_;  I didn’t hear Ezra’s voice anywhere so I can still hope he’s alive, well and with the Ascendancy teaching all their Navigators. “I am all the Jedi” remains a terrible line. 

And now, oh boi. Here comes the long list of annoying - bad - stinking shit stuff: 

- If I wanted to watch a 2 and half long videogame cutscenes I’d have done that in the comfort of my home without spending money for tickets. Go to level x to retrieve related macguffin, move to next level to get next macguffin and so on and so on. I liked close to everything in the DS II sequences, but what would’ve that dagger pointed at if the wreckage had fallen even a little bit differently?   

In general, many plot points gave me the feeling they were stolen from the tv series and badly executed, like a mockery (or incompetence?). Case in point: Hux betraying the 1st Order out of personal, spiteful hate? Potentially good! The execution? A poor man’s Rebels Agent Kallus, already over in little more than 5minutes. 

- Palpatine himself is a poorly, ridiculously poorly executed Maul resurrection storyline from tcw and rebels. 

Because Maul was 1. explained and 2. got a good, long arc that made you forgive the undoubtably contrived ass-pull it took to bring him back while Sidious is just… there. You gotta accept it because the writer said so. 

How did he survive? We don’t know and fuck you if you expect an explanation (they really had the absolute galls to have him say the iconic/meme line from Rots and apparently it was supposed to be enough?!) How could he “have all Sith reside inside me” when canon’s clear that Sith do-not-get-to-retain-their-individuality-in-the-Force, do not work well together (lmao) and he as an individual never gave a shit about the Sith except when they could serve his own personal desires? His entire approach to the rule of two and other Sith stuff is “fuck that noise, everything in the galaxy exist to serve me”. He’s fine dying as long as “the Sith rule”? Who IS this character, because he’s not Darth Sidious (as presented in Disney’s own canon, mind). Oh, you wanted explanations? FUCK YOU, screams the movie. 

The mess gets somehow salvaged in the end as he comes to his senses and siphon the life out of Rey and Ben to de-rotten/revive himself to rule in person, now *that* was in character. Was he actually lying his ass off the entire time waiting for the moment he could siphon them? Hopefully but who the hell even knows.

In the end it just wasn’t worth bring him back. A holocron, a different Sith, even a hive-mind of old records/tainted wraiths of Sith (perhaps wearing Palps face to buy the old empire aficionados loyalty, idk) would’ve been better than “actually, Anakin suffered nearly his entire life and sacrificed himself for barely more than 25 years of peace and it still wasn’t enough to rid the galaxy of the monster who destroyed his and countless other lives”. But Johnson was the one shitting on beloved characters legacy and accomplishments, uh? Surely at least he’s got company. 

Ian was clearly having a blast, so there was… that? And the initial sequence being legit creepy and the Sith storm or whatever the fuck was that. That can stay, it was cool.     

- Poe, the latino character, got retconned from former Republic pilot (a backstory established before TFA came out and faithfully respected ever since) into a smuggler and gang member. Classy. What does Lucaslfilm have a story group for if not for stopping stuff like this from happening? Bonus Zorii being used for a “no homo! homo? no homo?” wink wink and for generally being a poor man Solo’s Qi’ra.   

- The movie makes you worry for a character death three (3) times in a row only to immediately backpedal on it. The survivors are grieving, the scene is sober… and then suddenly! they’re alive! isn’t it wonderful? let’s insert a comical scene now that we’re at it! Sigh.   

- The whole Threepio stuff was a contrived waste of time in a movie already full of more relevant plot treads that could’ve put that screen time to better use. 

- Rey’s parents apparently aren’t assholes anymore bc they sold her into slavery to protect her from Sidious, which is… supposed to make it alright, a sacrifice in the name of love? If they had been shown trying to give her to a trusted person and then she was kidnapped that wouldn’t had been their fault, just unfortunate, but the movie shows them leaving their 5yo daughter with her in-all-but-name slaver so?? 

- Rey Palpatine… Rey. Palpatine. Gesù Cristo benedetto che minchia mi è toccato di vedere. That hurt. That was so hilariously over the top bad I just…I started laughing. On top of the entire thing, thank you so, soo much for validating all those fucking assholes who demanded Rey be connected to a powerful man in the saga to accept her powers and value, you hack. Jedi were never about power of blood and then you went and reinforced the very opposite. She ain’t powerful bc the Force recognized her as worthy to stop evil and chose to aid her anymore, she’s powerful bc grandfather was. Lovely stuff. Hilariously, now she has a lot more legit “Mary Sue” traits than before. 

- Rose’s sidelining was a blatant bow to her and her actress haters whims. If in VIII she jumped at the chance of action, now she was fearful and “had to stay behind” studying maps. Fuck that noise. 

- Even if she rejected it, underline is that the Skywalker line is wiped out and the Palpatine one thrives. I… just… wtf wtf wtf. A final “Just Rey” would’ve been more powerful -because now it would’ve been reclaimed- and less corny and in poor taste than a Palpatine taking on the Skywalker name. I’m not sure if Sidious is more offended or if he’s laughing his ass off in space!hell. Probably the 2nd. Bad.      

- The final scene on Tatooine. It rang so empty because the planet brings warm memories only to the audience, not the characters. In-universe, that place brought nothing but misery to the Skywalkers: Anakin and Shmi were brought there as slaves and lived as such for years, Shmi was tortured to death and Anakin began his descent into the dark for crying out loud. Luke had to hide and saw his relatives murdered. Leia had no connection whatsoever to the place. The mera idea of burying Anakin Skywalker lightsaber into the sands of Tatooine and considering it a way of paying respect is… I don’t know, hilariously in bad taste? Rey, dear, what did you have personally against the guy? Put those sabers to rest on Naboo! Ah, but we can’t truly acknowledge the PT now, can we? Wack.   

- It’s not TroS complete fault, that “honor” mostly sit at TFA’s feet but for all its omages, copies and almost slavish references, from a in-universe point of view it’s like the OT barely occurred. 

The same evil man has been defeated (until next time?), the Republic must be rebuilt from scratch, a evil military is all over the place and must be dealt with, the Jedi Order has to be rebuilt… it’s depressing. A new evil taking advantage of the empire leftovers would’ve been one thing, but Sidious? He’s been effectively winning nonstop ever since he was elected Chancellor. He had all the power, all the influence, all the control and he maintained it all even as a rotten corpse in exile, the entire galaxy marching on his tune, controlled by his strings. And as the cherry on top of the cake he even managed to wipe out the family that could’ve, should have been his undoing! He effectively destroyed the Skywalkers. He outlived every Jedi, every survivor, every clone. I hate this. It’s sickening. I can’t even be happy Rex was on Endor anymore.      

In general, the best word I can find for this movie is: coward. 

So blatantly desperate to please, to be “forgiven”, to reference every single irrelevant thing -except the PT and the TV series in a intelligent way-, to throw fanservice after fanservice after fanservice no matter how nonsensical from all over that crossed the “corny” to wander into embarrassing territory many times over (Maz giving Chewie a medal outta nowhere? Come the fuck on now). 

The cartoon series had twenty time the guts of this movie and I vehemently wish for Filoni to take the helm of the entire creative team in a very near future.                  

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

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

Michael

1. Them as a child:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

19. Them drunk:

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

Ian

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

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

16. Them sleepy:

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

19. Them drunk:

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

Charley

4. Their laugh:

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

5. Their crying:

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

Dahlia

10. Their interactions with an enemy/rival

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

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

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

Rosie

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

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

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

Bia

9. Their interactions with their best friend

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

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

Michael

1. Them as a child:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

19. Them drunk:

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

Ian

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

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

16. Them sleepy:

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

19. Them drunk:

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

Charley

4. Their laugh:

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

5. Their crying:

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

Dahlia

10. Their interactions with an enemy/rival

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

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

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

Rosie

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

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

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

Bia

9. Their interactions with their best friend

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

a friend just posted a pic on fb of the coffee shop we used to hang out at, taken way back in the day. it’s just a shot of the place taken from inside, looking out the big glass windows and onto the street of downtown chattanooga. but one friend pointed out that she could see another friend’s van parked across the street, and one of the baristas came on and said he’d taken the photo and then proceeded to post a bunch more. 

anyway i’m feeling nostalgic so i’m posting about it. memories behind the cut. 

i started going there when i was maybe 15 years old. i don’t remember why, but it’s likely that the artsy nerd club i was a part of (we stayed after school to watch amadeus and monty python and we’d sometimes go to the local art museum) went there after a meeting one day. or maybe someone told me about it. anyway, it was my favorite place to go. i would drink pots of tea, always trying new things. 

on my 16th birthday my parents got me a teapot from there and a gift certificate to buy tea with. i had that teapot til it broke a year ago. 20+ years! it moved with me to and from college, to nyc, california, texas, and back to california. damn. 

anyway after i’d been going for a while i started talking with the owner. his name was ian, and he was pretty young. he loved tea and coffee and he had a roaster where they’d make their own coffee. it was loud and lovely, and for a long time it lived up front, right by a little elevated area with couches. when it was running you couldn’t hear anything and had no choice but to either shout or be quiet. 

ian encouraged my love of tea, and offered to keep track of everything i’d tried in a little notebook that was kept behind the counter. i got to make notes on every pot i drank, and i remember writing “terrible! grass!” after my first pot of green tea (it was oversteeped--my fault--and probably made with water that was too hot--their fault). i had my first pu-er there, and fell in love with its damp leaf flavor and that turned earth scent that it has. i drank multiple pots of jasmine pearls and wrote a caffeine fueled poem about it with a friend. i loved that little coffee shop. 

i don’t remember when i went from hanging out inside to hanging out outside, but i feel like i was 18 or so. the older people (they were probably barely 21-25, fucking babies) sat out there smoking and drinking coffee. i developed a crush one summer on a guy who made me think of arthur dent for some reason (don’t ask because i don’t know) and we went on one awkward date and didn’t kiss, and now i wonder what’s happened to him and if he, too, wasn’t straight. who knows? someone, i’m sure, but i can’t remember his last name anymore so is it even relevant? 

i’d never felt cool til i went off to college. it was like leveling up without trying, like when you’re playing a game and do one action and suddenly all your stats are refilled and you’re like...this is unexpected? but i’ll take it? i think that’s why i decided i could really sit with the outside tables. that and my bff, who was dating someone who was friends with a lot of those people, would show up sometimes and sit out there. 

(if you’ve actually been reading along so far, here’s where i’m gonna introduce you to a bunch of people i’ve never talked about before and will likely never mention again. just so you have fair warning.) 

the cast of characters shifted a lot, but there were always the constants. scott, the barista, who was much older than most of the people hanging out but looked young and seemed young. i look back with adult eyes and question the relationship we had, but at the time i just thought it was cool that someone so much older thought i was worth hanging out with. but he was 30 when i was 19, and man that’s a lotta years. he had a summer where he hit on my friend and i constantly, after his wife left him and he was kinda floundering a bit. but it never went past flirting and it never bothered me, though like i said it kinda does now. we were still hanging out when i was 21 and we’d go get beers after the coffee shop closed at ten or midnight. he’d turn up obnoxious music really loud and i’d sometimes help close. 

there was gabe and george, brother and sister in a family of people with names starting with the letter g. george was tiny and cute and either very drunk or very hyper from coffee at all times. gabe was a nerd who was usually quiet but loved to play scrabble, and we’d take the board inside sometimes and battle one another. he was much better than me, i won’t lie. liz and ever were both writers who would play with us sometimes. ever had changed her name at some point (to ever; any name she had before is irrelevant) and when we met she explained the meaning of her new name, which i won’t give because damn it’s very google-able. 

she was a so fascinating to me, always talking about some feminist theory or philosopher, and i always felt so smart when we’d hang out. like a Serious Thoughtful Adult and not a kid. and liz was less serious but no less smart. she played scrabble a lot more and for a while we got pretty close. she took me out after coffee sometimes to a shitty bar with pool tables and tried to teach me how to play pool. she had her own cue and even though she was like 5′2″ she could break like nobody’s business. i never figured out how to do that part. 

alex would come with us sometimes. he was tall and handsome and rode a motorcycle, and was the first openly bi guy i ever met. one time he invited me over to his house and we laid around listening to the smiths and talking. he burned me a copy of their greatest hits that i still have, all scratched up so it probably doesn’t play anymore. he crashed his bike more than once driving drunk. dumb fuckin kid. now he repairs coffee machines and sails, i think. life is funny. 

a few other people ran in groups. meg and waide and the aforementioned jason and ardyce. some people called meg “big megan” and another megan (her family was really wealthy, rich southern politicians who knew the clintons and have a mention in sweet home alabama--the song, not the movie) was “little megan” because she was still in high school. i joked that i was medium megan, but the whole thing was awkward because big megan was fat and i was small fat and little megan was skinny. i’m gonna blame it on thoughtless dudes, but who the fuck knows? we all pretended not to mind it anyway. 

waide ended up being a connection with other people who i met later. my hometown is weird in that it’s actually a pretty big part of the southern punk scene, so a lot of punks i meet have spent time there, and anyone over a certain age probably spent time at the bar waide worked at (the stone lion, and then maybe also the pickle barrel) so he’s one of those people who i’ll end up mentioning even though we haven’t spoken in years. 

at some point a kid named ory showed up. i think he was 16 when he started coming around, and i used to call him puppy because he was excitable and silly, full of energy one minute and then mopey crashing the next. like a lot of people there he drank a lot and would be fucked up sometimes and make dumb choices. i always wanted to protect him. when i was 22 (and he was 19, i think) we ended up sitting together at the second lotr movie and having some kind of weird chemistry. that summer i drove him home one night and we had a super heavy make out with lots of clothed grinding. honestly the furthest i’ve ever gone with a cis straight(ish, he hooked up with a couple dudes but idk if he’d say he’s bi) dude and it was awkward in that we never talked about it? and then he came to visit me a couple years later in new york because he was in the navy, and he got super drunk and passed out on my couch and was a mess because he literally never stopped being a puppy. 

he’s fucked up now, fully cancelled bc he said shit about girls rock camp (really dude?) and also probably cheated on his wife on their honeymoon? idk, it was fb rumors and then he deleted. but i’d believe it, honestly. 

and then there were all these absolutely random downtown characters: dirty mark (a crusty punk who was drunk or high most of the time) and shirtless dave (yeah he really didn’t wear a shirt that much) usually came as a pair. sometimes dave hung out with a guy my friends and i called blue hair. he once hit on my friend and she panicked and gave him my number instead of hers because her brain didn’t make up a fake number fast enough. 

there was sandy the flower man, who just passed away a couple weeks ago. he’d get flowers from local florists and go around on his bike, stopping into the coffee shop or to bars with roses and carnations and daisies. people gave him money usually, but sometimes he’d just hand you a flower because he wanted to. i saw a picture from a memorial and there was a portrait of him that was sat on top of his bicycle, all of it surrounded with flowers on flowers. so pretty. it’s what he deserved. 

things changed around 2005 or so, i think. by that time, all the old baristas had left and the kids who came in were all weirdly religious and went to the christian college on the mountain. they made shitty coffee and sometimes played xtian rock and most of the old regulars couldn’t take it anymore. ian got sick around that time, too, and ended up selling the place. they stopped carrying much tea, if any. 

but they finally sold the space and moved in like 2015. i remember the first time i drove by and didn’t see the lights on inside. it felt like seeing a friend from grade school all grown up, maybe the kid you had a crush on but they have a family now and you don’t think they’d recognize you at all so you just have to walk away. gone. 

fuck this post is long as shit, i’m sorry for anyone on mobile. but damn it was good to get my memories out.