RETRIBUTION.

johnathan parsons. fifty three. rutherford family. boss of london. father of two. twice divorced. god is fair.

[jessi-reyes]

Jessica arches her brow while moving onto the bed, "Let the one with the medical knowledge determine the severity," Jessica said while she began cleaning the area. In a hospital, she would have tools and kits to sterilize the area and stitch the wound in a minute, maybe two if she focused well. But working from home -or Johnathan's home- would take a few more steps. Cleaning it was easy, but ignoring his remark was not. Not ever with everything they had been through together did she ever once wish for his death. She had every right to with the emotional whiplash she experienced. However, not even at her worst did she think she would feel 'good' to find out he was dead.

So, in Johnathan fashion, she ignores his comments.

With the wound cleaned, needle threaded, and hair pulled from her eyes, Jessica began sowing the wound for the second time. Her angle was uncomfortable, and after shifting multiple times she muttered 'fuck this' to herself before straddling his thigh to arch herself over the wound. Now at a better vantage point, Jessica continues to work with ease. "Breaking up with me as your fiance was one thing," she keeps working as she speaks, "But you can't break up with me as your nurse," her hands work at a steady speed, "I would be irate if you went to someone else and they botched it trying to cut corners because you intimidated them," coming to the end of the wound, Jessica begins to tie off the stitch and glanced up at him, "Fixed. Don't mess up my work again or I'll cauterize it instead," She says sitting back on his leg and looking down at him.

"Would you like me to leave?"

[johnnparsons]

Tread lightly, had lingered in the back of his mind, from the moment they’d headed upstairs, in the same place where he’d remind himself it was all for the best. He’s not sure if she shared the same idea. As she hovered over him, he’d watched her in silence, counting the freckles on her face to see if it matched the way he’d remembered them. "Is this how you treat all your patients?" Johnathan asks, though it's unclear whether he meant that in response to the way she repositioned herself or the possessiveness over her craft.

Once she finishes up, it’s clear he’d already been looking at her when she glances back at him. A lengthy pause interrupts them for a moment. Did she keep asking because she was unsure, or if she thought he was? She didn’t want to sleep alone. She wanted to be held. He wouldn’t have brought her here if he wasn’t willing to do all of those things.

And so, by way of answering, he pulls his duvet down and pats to the space next to him.

[lararutherford]

"My father is on his way to London. He intends to meet with Vorshevsky."

Lithe fingers wrapped around the glass placed before her, the movement accompanied by a simple, silent nod in expression of her gratitude.

Johnathan's candidness with regards to his growing impatience should have been out of place, but he knew his audience well. Enough that the Rutherford didn't offer him a once habitual look of scorn for those who dared, even if indirectly, question Andrew. Kept nothing but a tight-lipped, stoic expression after her first taste of vodka.

For a decade, she had taken her father's every word and valued it above all others; defended it, too, when the occasion called. For so long, he had proven himself an exceptionally competent leader. Even when his decisions made little sense to those who had no ground to question them in the first place, those very doubters were always guilty of said hesitations when the day was done. Andrew Rutherford scoped their world in a way most couldn't understand. Saw, and comprehended, the bigger picture with rare erudition. Lara had always understood. Respected that things worked out in the end, and not by accident, but by careful orchestration.

Until now. Now, she no longer understood the game he was playing.

Now, she was the one questioning.

"I've informed him that I plan to do so first."

And, no. Lara was not here seeking permission or encouragement.

"I need you to be prepared for a worst case scenario, but also to understand that it's not what I'm seeking. But it's time this alliance," a word that still dripped with full disdain, "paid some dividends instead of bloodshed."

[johnnparsons]

There's the privilege of being her father's daughter that shines down on her in this very moment. It does not mean she is treated with exception or placed on a pedestal.

Friendship is such a smooth-sounding word to describe what Andrew and Johnathan shared, one that stretches back to before Lara was even born. To stand the test of time is one of it's weakest achievements. His cruelest words and cruelest actions, unfiltered in his rawest moments, had all been taken in stride, and in return Johnathan held the same space for Andrew. His loyalty stemmed much deeper than that of the business. He would see this through for free, and whatever cost it came with would be his price to pay.

And, by extension, she'd duly earned the same.

With a tilt of the head, he regards Lara in a new light. This seemed like the first step taken out of her father's shadow. She'd learned from the best and it showed.

Lara understood one very important thing, something most still had to learn. Loyalists waited for orders. Better people offered solutions. This is the problem, here is how I intend to fix it. It went a long fucking way, and it's how he'd gotten this far.

"Lara..." He sighs, concerned, only from the position as having known her since she was a child. But she was no longer a little girl. "And Andrew agreed?" Was he fucking insane? The Russians had attempted to assassinate Yvonne, what would stop them from taking out Lara instead? They'd be having words later. "What is your plan? And who are you taking with you?"

[johnnparsons]

yvonne

"The fuck is this--" Johnathan scowls, pushing the flag away from his face. "They run out of ink or something?"

Yvonne shoots him a look. "Johnathan... that's the bisexual flag."

@yvonne-rutherford

[johnnparsons]

* jessica

They stand outside the pub he grew up in, wrapped up in thick coats as he held an umbrella over them. There were some people he wanted her to meet.

“Remember what I said.” They can be a lot.

After stealing a small kiss, Johnathan opens the door and they’re greeted with a warm and slightly over the top cheer. Griggs, Marmy, Thick Boy and Jim are all sat in their usual seats, and Pete waves from behind the bar.

Without looking, he knows if he reaches to the left, he can slap Dicky’s head down with a warning, “Eyes on the floor.” Then, with hand in his, he takes her over to them, but it’s Marmy that stands up and approaches her first.

“Hiya Zoe, I’m Marmy.”

@jessi-reyes

[johnnparsons]

* melissa

Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep.

Johnathan waved his apron frantically beneath the fire alarm to clear the smoke that filled his flat. A burnt roast chicken sat in the middle of the table, and the mashed potatoes looked like porridge.

Then, he hears the sound of keys turning. Fuck. Luckily, the door chain stops her from coming in. Johnathan? He shoves all the dirty cutlery in the sink and scrambles to put the flowers in an empty milk bottle. Johnathan! Wiping the gravy off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, he finally opens the door.

"Happy anniversary."

@msmelissalin

[johnnparsons]

* vidal

Johnathan jumps to his feet, almost tipping their glasses over. Pointing at the screen, he speaks loudly over the crowd, "Russian."

Surrounded by South Londoners, he's the only one celebrating, and he doesn't even support Tottenham. He grins, glancing down at Vidal, and holds his hand out. "Pay up, mate."

A pound coin is placed in the middle of his palm. Years later, the mindless bets continue, each holding a staggering wager of a pound, no matter how big or small. They've yet to settle the score.

@franciscovidal

[derangcdarchive-blog]

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

[johnnparsons]

johnathan / yasmin

[jordana-velasquez]

"Johnathan."

Jordana corrected herself, and at some point she would eventually call him by his first name.

"There is." The Lieutenant stood across from him, knowing the hurt her family was feeling, three of the most important men in her life shattered by all of this, she felt this need to do anything she could. "I want my niece home." Exhaustion hinted in her tone. None of them had been sleeping properly, running themselves to the ground.

"Is there anything more we could be doing?" A beat. "I could be doing?"

[johnnparsons]

I want my niece home. Johnathan notes how worn down she looks, and recognises it's not just from doing her job. He understands her frustration, and shares it, perhaps not in equal measure, but he'd grown to care for Gianna all the same.

Her question deepens his frown. If he thought there were, neither of them would be here. But, could we have done more? It’s the kind of question that plagues you so uselessly when the worst happens, in the same way it torments him after having let her go that night.

So, he’ll hear the Lieutenant out. “I take it you have suggestions…”

[yvonne-rutherford]

Yvonne blinked and moved out of the way so that Johnathan could come into the house, gesturing to her bodyguard that it was just his boss. Truthfully, she didn't expect a visit from him after their last conversation, and there was a part of her that was glad Félix was out of the house, if only for his sake. "I'm fine. Just tired with a backache. So pretty normal for this part of pregnancy. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

[johnnparsons]

A stern gaze is cast towards the bodyguard, though at least the man's doing his job, so there's a pat on the shoulder as Johnathan steps passed him. "No, no," he says with a shake of the head, glancing down at Yvonne's bump. "Let's just sit." At the very least, she should be comfortable for this conversation. She was so big now. It should be a happy sight, but he was teeming with ire at how the Russians thought it was acceptable to target a pregnant woman. "Where're the kids?" This wasn't something they should overhear.

[johnnparsons]

SETTING: Yvonne's home.

Johnathan had meant to check up on her after the After Party, but his time had mostly been pre-occupied with dealing with the after math. His mind wasn't at peace, knowing Gianna was remained in the hands of the Russians, but after his conversation with Lara, he knew a visit to Yvonne was due. When the door opened, he offered a tired and small smile. "You alright? You got a moment?"

@yvonne-rutherford

[jordana-velasquez]

@johnnparsons

It was rarely that she would check in with Johnathan, but what transpired from the awards after party hit home, and she was personally invested in making sure Gianna was brought home in one piece.

No one messed with her family.

"Mr. Parsons." A smile pulls on her lips catching his sight. "I wish I had news to share, but we still don't." They had orders to follow, but it was getting hard not to want to do it the way she would.

[johnnparsons]

"Johnathan," he almost pleads, never having taken to formalities. He doesn't think it's the first time he's asked her to drop them, either. It put an unnecessary distance between them.

"Okay," he sighs quietly at that, frustrated at the situation they were in. He couldn't imagine how much worse it was for her. "Thank you." Rubbing his fingers along the brim of his jaw, he looks up at Jordana. This kind of update could've been given over text, so he has to ask: "Is there anything else?"

[franciscovidal]

@johnnparsons

Vidal now sat across from his friend, clearly just minutes before blowing up. "I can't do it this way, John."

It wasn't because he thought they weren't doing enough. Though of course, Vidal himself wanted to rip the skin of the earth to find her. He felt embarrassed and incapable these days. Because he knew how much his niece was suffering.

[johnnparsons]

Johnathan nods, slowly. He knew there was little he could say to placate his friend. It was unfair, what he was asking of Vidal, knowing he wouldn't possess the same restraint. The longer they went without Gianna, however, more doubt plagued his mind.

"Tell me," he says, taking a sip of his drink. "Have I made the wrong call?"

[jessi-reyes]

She could feel his eyes on her, and that alone felt like a win. Though she had greatly sobered up after the events of the night, she would lying if she said the tequila from earlier wasn't a source of her bold behavior. Alcohol had a way of letting her behave with the freedom she often craved. Jessica's brows pinched together at the insinuation that she had forgotten something. Surely, she hadn't-

He began unbuttoning his shirt and her eyes followed his actions without shame. Only when he pulls it off completely does she shake her head, "Johnathan..." Her sigh is all too natural when looking over the mess. "You-" she points to the semi-healed injury on her stomach, "-broke my work," she says narrowing her eyes when looking up to him. She mutters in Spanish about his 'carelessness' and his 'inability to use his words, not fists' and pokes to tender flesh for good measure. "Lay on the bed, I'll fix it," she says turning around and pulling her long hair up into a bun, unknowingly exposing her backside, while retrieving the materials to reapply the stitches. "If you fuck up my work again-" she began walking back in and laying uth er materials, "-you better be dead for it,"

[johnnparsons]

Well, he'd expected that. Actually, it wasn't as bad as he thought, considering he didn't hear any curse words mixed in with the Spanish. He grimaces slightly when she pokes him, rubbing a thumb over his eyelid which hid the way the corner of his lips quirk upwards. "You're being dramatic," he says. "It's not that bad." Which is what he'd told her back at the estate, and he didn't believe she was lying to him. He looks away when she leaves and moves to sit on the bed, only slightly annoyed that he'd just changed his bedsheets and would probably have to throw them out tomorrow. "Be careful what you wish for," he says, letting out a tired yawn and making sure there was enough room for her to sit besides him. "This will be the last time. I shouldn't--" A beat. "I won't call you for... these things again."

[erdogan-nevra]

Without missing a beat, the assassin moves forward again but this time instead of going high, she goes low. The same swing of her arm up top to distracted him as her leg sweeps in a semi-circle, connecting with Johnathan's knees mid-way. She'd put enough force into it to feel the connection in her own leg. It travelled up her thigh and into her stomach but in a good way. A solid hit.

The moment he'd held his hands up, Nevra's mind had gone blank. It went blank more easily these days which was making her job all the more easier. Only her body felt and understood what was happening around her.

Jab after punch after sweep after block. She just kept going, each one channeling an anger she'd been keeping at bay the past few weeks. Or maybe it was months, she really didn't know. Her body wouldn't stop though.

Stopping meant thinking about what had happened. It meant facing the fact that he was never coming back, that he had left her behind.

"Fuck you." The words were mere air as they passed through her lips and they kept coming with each move she made. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you." She noticed a spot of red fly past and then a bit of it below her feet and yet Nevra didn't stop. She didn't register that the blood was coming from her own knuckles. What that meant for her boss she hadn't the faintest idea but she just couldn't stop.

[johnnparsons]

The knees. Always the damn fucking knees. It made him lose his balance as he wobbled to regain a steady footing. He could sense the tenacity with which she was attacking him with, but it didn't feel like she was doing so because she had something to prove.

Johnathan remained focused as they continued to spar, but he leaned more into the defence as every hit that she landed grew more and more vicious. But the more aggression she charged at him with, the more difficult it became to fend off. It was only once she began hissing at him did he began to fight back, pushing forwards with punches of his own, as blood trickled from the corner of his eyebrow.

This had to stop. What were they doing? He was sure pushing her off him would only make her come at him again. He wouldn't use his legs against her, though he's sure it would've been more effective, but with both hands and enough force, he drags her drags her to the ground and pins her down. His chest heaves as he catches up with his breath as he speaks lowly, "Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?"

[giorgiopecatti]

The man wanted to talk to somebody in charge, and yet his words dripped with such insolent attitude, it seemed he had no concept of what a civilised discussion was at all. Unfortunate, then, that Giorgio wasn't in the mood to entertain.

"It's astounding, truly, that you feel you have the right to feign outrage when you're the cretins who invited them here in the first place. You bring home a rabid fucking animal and then you're surprised it doesn't behave how you expected?"

Because from what he understood, this wasn't their first misstep against their allies...

It might well have been the Sovrani who poked the bear, but they had no fucking obligation to mitigate for Rutherford sensibilities. London mattered none, and they were lucky the Italians hadn't considered them enemy number one for the mere fucking association. The fact he thought himself entitled to any explanation was a stark indicator that he had no idea who the Sovrani were. What they were capable of. Delusional about their own standing in the food chain, and that this was no longer about politics, or white collar crime, or playing games where the odds were weighted in their favour. This might have been Rutherford territory, and their excursion into it was almost solely for their own anti-Russian benefit, but one more wrong move from the British and they'd bring an army instead of a hit squad. Rome wasn't so far away.

"Gianna might be something to you, but last I checked, she chose to be one of us. You don't have a monopoly on caring. Is your influence over the Russians so pitiful you daren't ask? Why don't you get down on your knees and beg ? They'd enjoy that."

"You demand explanations you're not entitled to. The fact you've been offered an audience at all is a courtesy graciously extended. A mistake was made. The video was never supposed to broadcast when it was, and we had no warning. We'll take accountability for our actions, a concept you're apparently unfamiliar with," still crying about the French, weren't they? "and if your allies refuse to return to you someone so important, we'll get her back when we get my wife." Giorgio didn't expect sympathy. Patrizia had been a casualty of their own doing, and that was a whole other bitter pill to swallow. But for this animal to waltz in here like he was somehow more scorned than anybody else? "You've got the explanation you deserve. Now get out."

[johnnparsons]

Words, words, and more words. If Johnathan had wanted a dumpster truck of emotions, then he would've fucking asked for it. So sensitive, so emotional... That was Italian-Americans for you. The Rutherfords might have brought the Russians to London, but the Italians had willingly joined them here. But he let the man speak, patiently waiting to hear something concrete.

What he didn't expect to hear was how they'd been blind sided as well. Organised crime was the root of the Italian mafia, wasn't it? He'd even go far as to say the English gangs had been influenced by their discipline. But what truly shocked him was to learn the Russians had taken his wife. That steeled him for a moment. A sliver of disgust seeps into his eyes before it's quickly blinked away.

Johnathan understood the Russians had been provoked, and in their profession there was little room to argue about what lines being crossed. But this warfare would not be brought to an end by taking wives and girlfriends. It would only bring on more bloodshed.

"I'm sorry to hear about your wife." It wasn't so much of a peace offering, but Johnathan understood the situation the man was in. If the roles had been reversed, he wouldn't have granted even a modicum of the same civility. And so, even if it sounded like they had no plan, that the Italians were relying on them to get back someone who was one of them, he bit his tongue. Even if, accountability didn't go so far in their world of an eye for an eye, he kept his thoughts to himself. "I'll be in touch."

[mishavorshevsky]

"And yet." Mikhail repeated, tone laced with acknowledgement. Unfortunately it did little to sway his current position. The Rutherford organization had invited them into London of their own accord, perhaps if they were not prepared for the implications of that choice then they should've taken their time before making it. Hasty, hasty. "Enough that you're still here having this conversation." It wasn't a condemnation of the other man, but a passing remark on where they now stood. "I don't blame you for any lingering frustration, but I will caution against idle threats. Let's not make another irreversible decision, hm?" He'd take them on the chin while the atmosphere remained poised, but Kosta was far less forgiving. If word got out that the Rutherfords were reconsidering this alliance... "Well, it's getting late and I believe they're about to announce." Setting his now empty glass back onto the counter, Mikhail offered the other man a placid expression. "We should do this again. Your place next time?"

[johnnparsons]

A hollow and cold laugh escapes him then, but that was not to say he wasn't genuinely amused by Mikhail's words. He shakes his head and takes a final sip of his drink. "I don't make idle threats," he says fairly. That tickled him. If he wanted to threaten the Russians, he surely would not make the youngest his target. He wouldn't take the warning personally, however. Johnathan had simply wanted to gauge the Russian's opinion on the matter, put him in their shoes, on whether or not they were justified in feeling even a hint of regret. If they would've been as understanding as the Rutherfords had, when it came to their mistakes. "If you're feeling brave enough." Johnathan places his glass next to Mikhail's, buttoning his suit jacket as he readies himself to join the crowd in the main room. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Mikhail."

[ceceliaahathaway]

As Cecelia made her way out of the auction, her mind raced with the myriad tasks awaiting her attention back home. She had emails to answer, calls to make to her daughters, Happy to walk, and a garden to tend to.

Amidst her busy schedule, she addressed the young lad, who had assisted her in carrying her new picture to her car. "Oh, Kieran," she called out absentmindedly, "just lay it down in the back. I've already prepared the canvas sheets."

Engrossed in typing a reply to an email, Cecelia was taken aback when she heard a voice that grated on her nerves like no other. Wait, what... was he trying to steal her picture? In a flash, she reached out with both hands, gripping the frame tightly. "THIS IS MINE! Kieran, get security!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with urgency and frustration.

As Cecelia hastily intervened, her heart raced with a mix of indignation and disbelief. How dare HE attempt to snatch her newly acquired possession right under her nose? With a firm grip on the frame, she refused to let go, her determination flaring like a beacon in the chaos unfolding before her.

Kieran, sensing the urgency in Cecelia's voice, sprang into action, darting off in search of security. Meanwhile, Cecelia's eyes narrowed as she faced off against the would-be thief, her resolve unyielding. She couldn't let him get away with this brazen act of theft, not when she had worked so hard to obtain the painting.

As she stood her ground, Cecelia couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. This was no mere inconvenience; it was a challenge to her authority, HER INTEGRITY! With a steely gaze, she held firm, refusing to back down until justice was served! "LOOK, Riffraff. You better let go or I'll scream." She meant it too.

[johnnparsons]

It was fascinating, really, how her voice seemed to tear at his ear drums. His features scrunched up in the same way he was forced to listen to noise, or what kids these days referred to as music.

As the boy, who looked like he ran doorbells to preach about the Latter-day Saints, sprinted off, Johnathan knew he had a short window to bring this ridiculous fucking shenanigan to a close, one that easily could've been avoided if Cecilia had just stayed in her lane.

"Cecilia," Johnathan says, keeping a strong grip around the frame and meeting her gaze with resolve, the kind where he hoped a message would successfully be sent across: he didn't want this situation to escalate more than it already had. "This is only going to end one way. Spare yourself, and just let go."