#Hamish whatever his last name is

[emperorsfoot]

So it turns out they were already dead all along.

[operationnope]

Listen, maybe it’s just that I’ve done almost every slow burn route this game has ever thrown at us (Jake, Noah, Finn, now Ozzy, I also went for Oliver who was a last minute LI in S4), but I’m kind of… hopeful still? I won’t lie lmao, that hurt. It really hurt for a minute there. But at the end of the day, after you get a minute to sit back on it, it’s kind of understandable.

I seriously don’t get why people can do whatever they want in this game (MC included), but, if Ozzy does it, he’s the villain. Was what he did great? No. But was he hurt and confused and just made a mistake? Yeah. It’s actually not that different from what Grace did in CA, just less intentional. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think Grace is a bad person. She’s not my favorite (I won’t lie), but she’s a good gal. So, I get it (I still have to get completely over it myself), but let’s not talk about Ozzy like he’s this bad person, please.

He’s no Suresh. More than anything, Ozzy gives Noah vibes with an even softer personality, more baggage AND more insecurities.

MC was absolutely right to be mad at Ozzy right about now, but personally I also defended him from Marshall and Grace, because what was that. The hypocrisy (Grace), the gall (Marshall).

Also, I see that a lot of people are forgetting this is Love Island and Ozzy had no obligation to anyone at the time in which CA happened. We have every right to be upset, of course, but he’s no snake or player. Personally, I kind of just want to hug him.

Again, MC is completely right to be mad at Ozzy now (though I’ll admit, I’m already dying for the two of them to sort things through), but the fact that Ozzy was spiralling so bad he went for a three-way kiss while skinny dipping (when we know how he feels about intimacy) absolutely broke my heart.

(Not to mention, when Ozzy said he immediately regretted that night and was beating himself up about it, I swear I felt his words down in my soul. Plus, he’s the only one who owned up to his own mistakes. That, in my opinion, is more important than not making them at all.)

ALL 👏 OF 👏 THIS 👏

Fact: We weren’t in a couple with Ozzy

Fact: As MC, you can make so many choices throughout the game (kissing, bits, lap dances, etc.) that you get away with

Fact: It stung, but I still love Ozzy

Maybe we are all just making excuses for him, but I really don’t think he’s a bad guy. He owned up to it and seemed so remorseful. Grace was unapologetic for kissing Hamish, which I don’t really care about, but then she’s livid about Ozzy. I like her but I’m over her antics.

At the end of the day, I’ve put up with much worse in this game- Cherrygate, Blake, S5 to name a few. We’ll get over this, too 💖💖

[alitgblog]

season 9 vol 8 thoughts: my hype has died down from last week, now Stefan is just another man, and I'm again critical of the choice to paywall everything and spend so much time focused on Kat

first of all before I post screenshots (of which there are few btw bc it wasn't super eventful imo) I did have a moment looking at my mc and was like damn get her some brown contacts so she looks different that's why. and I think I may have accidentally switched her skin tone too, point being, as a result, I take back what I said last week about not going for Cassius bc he looks like my mc's cousin

but the lunch with Uma, I have mixed feelings on the concept in general. Like for story it's interesting bc the other person could lie, but if I think about it like it would actually happen on love island, maybe the other person downplays some stuff, but straight up lying? nah. and then it would in theory get the girls to stick (just bc usually it's the guys that are being messy and flirting it up with the casa girls), but in my head the postcard/video always does the opposite. it's like a sneak preview into what the guys are doing so it encourages the girls to get angry or get back at them

In fact, lunch with casa girl to spill secrets usually happens AFTER casa so having it here is weird.

in execution though, no doubt, kinda lame. I mean I like the insights into casa, but you could get that info next week when everyone's together or in movie night or like a mean tweets challenge or whatever. You have to pay for info so it's already awful but also MC doesn't get the option to lie/be vague to Uma, so she just tells Uma everything we the audience already know and then Uma doesn't really tell us anything. Like we don't even get to know the names of the other two casa girls and we told her about everyone.

Speaking of Uma, they couldn't have fixed her hair this season????

Finn's being flirty, sure, and I might be kicked off his route now (I'm not sure if rejecting him by the pool did that), so I don't know if he acts any different if you're on his route bc he claims to have changed???

Hamish how dare you say you've changed then actually change this is why everyone's on his route 😂😂

Jude's a mess who gives a fuck but also that observation may be apparent to the audience, but I wouldn't picture a casa girl saying it. LIUSA S6 has a perfect example: it's not the casa girls saying "oh he sucks because he's been egging on the other guys" but them saying "oh he's the sweetest, because he's encouraging the other guys to explore connections" and then in game it would be letting the reader figure out what that means. it's in part them always having such surface level writing (tell not show) but it gives all their "villains" this weird gameplayer vibe. like I don't think Uma and Jude are genuine and they are acutely aware of the public, but I don't think they should be written like that, I think they should just be written to be assholes. Uma's a liar and Jude's a bully. Not saying we can't have gameplayer characters, just don't make it so obvious.

Anyway, coming back into the Villa and then for some reason you have to pay gems to tell the other girls information?? I don't like the paying gems to receive information but this is more confusing bc it's the opposite lol. Actually, Kat, if you want to know what happened on the date you're gonna have to give ME 17 gems.

there's a chat here MC has with Stefan about how he didn't know what he was expecting before coming back but once he saw MC it was clear he wanted her. And just to repeat what I said last week, Stefan should've started casa a little upset with MC (instead of having it be Lyle) and then ask her for forgiveness midway through the volume and here is where that chat can go where he's like yeah I tried but they weren't you.

and then I decided to give Cassius a fighting chance bc Stefan has that advantage of being her ex and i think MC should explore her options and im still mad at Marshall breaking things off with S6 MC. Cassius seems sweet and he so is during the date. It's just a shame I don't like doing the cutesy loyal casa boy route ever. If he was an OG though? Goodbye Chen and Henri

there's a part he asks about MC's job which I've been begging for someone to bring up and this chat was really cute

Ice cream thing only reminds me that I'm kinda put off the Natasha route now. If she wasn't the go to character to give exposition about Stefan and MC, then maybe. But now, I'm so stuck always having to not choose her and it's a shame. It also feels like with how much she talks about him and knowing that she brings him back if you don't, plus the Hamish stuff pre casa, it just feels like MC is second choice to these other guys. it's not as bad as Kelly, who straight up does say she's here for Finn, but it's irritating. I know Claudia kinda ends up doing that too towards the end of casa when she decides to work things out with Theo, but idk it feels different this time.

Kat screaming about going exclusive with Lyle during the date was so on brand for her to draw all attention on her I don't even know if I can be annoyed bc it made sense, I just wish the ratio of time spent talking about Kat was less. Like it doesn't need to get cut down, I just think we deserved a few more scenes where MC gets to talk with the guys.

the casa guys' day wear outfits are very good imo, very stylish, except Marshall.. it feels unnatural to see him in those colors idk

omg the wild night thing. first off, once again annoyed at texts cutting people off, like how many times can you stand doing that, fusebox writing team???? but uh sure, Marshall hears about this wild night between Stefan and Chen. and you hear about it in the game

Which side note, I hate the game and I also could've sworn we've already played it in casa this season. but I guess it's just to show once again that Kat and Lyle are having problems. Could've been a chat instead. Only useful piece of information was that Cassius likes nerds and I'm like damn once again, in another life, would be my pick. Pretty much everything else about the LI's was information we've already learned (even the info about Cassius I'm sure if I romanced him earlier in casa it would've been obvious).

Also just once again, taking a backseat in the game. it's like they think the player doesn't wanna be wrong so they settle for just sitting around but that's much more fun to have the chance to be wrong. also bc it would influence people to replay I think so they can get the right answers.

anyway, wild night thing, I did fork over the gems to find out and i know this happens every gem scene for info but it was especially annoying to me this time that MC pulls him aside and is like "tell me the story" and hes like "i dont know... do you really wanna hear the full story?" im like YES she pulled you aside for this. MC confronts Stefan and I saw what yall posted about bruno so I went ahead and asked about Claudia and she was dancing with her partner from her season, and for me that's Theo and what a shame. sorry I'm a jealous ex I don't even know if my S8 mc is happy with Jin.

ANYWAY for a split second I thought the "wild night" was alluding to Stefan and Chen hooking up? which, I think wouldve been a great option. and if fusebox is so scared of making all the LI's bi, then I would've voted Stefan is bi and then Chen/Henri/Lyle/Jude maybe aren't but like hey they gave it a shot. But alas, no...

Then Stefan says he was crushing on a DJ and I know in this instance it makes less sense for them to pick a real person bc they say that the DJ tried to hook up with Chen, but I do miss some like random info about the characters and their type. like, I just remember being surprised S2 Lucas's celebrity crush was teyana taylor and I want stuff like that again

so not wild but I guess Stefan was ashamed he screwed over Chen. Then he was like "isn't that so cool of Chen to give up a hookup for you?" and idk I don't care about DJs so I was glad MC to be like oh boohoo whatever

Lyle's speech to Kat was cringe but I'm giving him benefit of the doubt bc I would actually like him and Kat to be happy so Kat can stop bothering Finn and stop bothering MC.

And Kat of course goes to flirt with whoever you went on a date with, and I guess luckily, I happened to pick Cassius who I wasn't gonna bring back anyway. Then you get like five lines of dialogue each with Marshall and with Stefan (who's hanging out with Natasha) which could've and should've been longer for final chats.

you can match with Kelly now fyi

(I wish I had a picture of Kelly's partywear I swear it's nearly the same dress)

Then stick or twist just feels so tacked onto the end of the episode, but it should be like a huge thing. They stretch that shit out SO LONG in the show. Like in the three episodes this volume, the second one should end with cliffhanger announcing the girls are going back to casa that night. then the next episode starts with final chats and the map opens up and you can talk to Stefan but maybe Natasha interrupts, then Cassius saying he understands you gotta do what you gotta do, then Marshall who gives you one last plea he's changed (similar to the actual game again it should be longer). Add on Lyle talking about how he feels he fucked up with Kat here instead of right before the firepit. Honestly also a chat with Kat and Kelly wouldn't hurt either, with Kat contemplating her options and then seeing what Kelly's thinking about Finn, just to remind you about the guys back in the villa.

Then pep talk in the dressing room where it's revealed/implied what each girl is gonna do (Natasha can be vague since if you pick Stefan then she picks Marshall, so just have her say she's not sticking with Hamish for sure) AND THEN stick or twist. And I think each couple should be revealed in order. I don't think we need to give Kat too much time in the spotlight, so Kat goes first, picks Lyle, then walks into the Villa and the girls and casa boys are waiting outside but can hear them yelling (bc I just assume there's gonna be yelling around kat). And then MC picks, walks in with her guy or single, and then sees Uma and Chen together, then cliffhanger.

and that being said, despite what I wrote about the date with Uma, I like the idea that MC spilled who the casa guys are and then she made the decision to go for someone insecure and easy so she could stay and then couple with the casa guy she really wants later, and it just happens to be the guy she wanted was the one MC chose. Or alternatively, she did actually want the villa boy she picked (and also was lying during the date about him being close with Jessica). Very snakey and calculated for love but not too gameplayer-y for my distaste.

but for predictions, I think Hamish sticks bc he said he was gonna try to be loyal. I think Finn sticks bc if you're on his route, it would throw another wrench if he had a new girl. Chen/who you're with obviously twists. I could see Jude twisting, but he gives off the vibe that he sticks to try to win the show. In that case, there are two single islanders so which I'm fine with but fusebox likes to dump single islanders post casa even though it doesn't make sense to, but maybe they get the other islanders to choose to save Hamish (or I'm wrong and Hamish twists). I could also see them saying if MC is single then she chooses a boy to couple with, and can save Hamish since clearly a route (and if this is the case then I would heavily consider replaying the last chapter to keep Hamish in the game).

overall, like I said up top, kinda back to my normal level of enjoyment for this season. I was really hopeful after last week, but I was distracted by pretty faces. also I started playing perfect match and the Stefan thing reminded me of the whole neighbor thing going on in perfect match and in both it's really such a shame they send in someone from MC's past to use the second chance romance trope to distract me from a drop dead gorgeous woman named Natasha.

oh other thing, with the way my game has been going, everyone is in a mixed race couple except for Kelly and Finn, which I think is fun bc then I can pretend the audience is tweeting some version of "why is this season giving shondaland right now?"

anyway so thth3 new episode tomorrow woooooooo

[suekreandtheidiots]

Teenage Squad

Any time I get into Hallie and Lance's teenage saga, it probably appears like it was only the two of them plus their friend Cal, but that wasn't at all the case - many others shaped their young lives and I actually have quite a bunch of their classmates on my mind with whom they 'ruled the school' together.

Some of them are these lads. This is just a noseless doodle but I still think they're cute. 😂 They are on their post graduation vacation here. Lance had plans to come with them but once it was certain that his pa would not survive the Summer of 2006, he dropped out and stayed home.

I mentioned Cal here and there already. His full name is Calum Hamish Fitzgibbons (*November 6th 1987) and he was a nice kid, actually. A teenager of his time, with the appropriate brush of occasional overconfidence, because he had the looks and the wit. A lot of his peers just looked up to him... literally, because at sixteen, Cal was already 6'4 ft tall (topped out at 6'7 ft). Cal wasn't bad, he was just spoiled. His parents are quite wealthy and he was used to getting whatever he wanted, without having to put in any effort. That being said, when he was pining for Hallie, he kinda just expected that she would see the light one day, but he never dared to make an actual move to win her over. Partly because he didn't see the necessity, and also because romantic feelings for a friend are an awkward thing sometimes. When she didn't just fall for him like he had hoped, and even picked his best friend over him during his absence, he was raging for several reasons. Being a bad person isn't one of them... but a male (teenage) ego is often a fragile one.

Mark McGrath (*February 7th 1987) had to repeat 8th grade and somehow started hanging out with the cool kids of the year. Mark was a cool, calm and collected fella, never as loud and obnoxious as others, but well, how do they say? Still waters run deep. Mark was the one to ask for "special favours", such as getting weed/speed/acid/whatnot. Mark knew everyone and everything. Mark was the guy one would call if they had to get rid of a body. Mark never judged. Mark just did what had to be done. Mark was... remarkable. There is not much else to say, actually... which is kinda due to the fact that not even his closer friends ever got to know him on a super deep level and just enjoyed hanging out with the easygoing guy he was.

Timothy "Tim" Irvine (*March 3rd 1988) was the good soul of the gang. Very outspoken, not shy to voice his opinions, but where others of the same age just blurted out with whatever came to their minds at the moment, Tim actually thought about what he said. True friend material, always eager to understand both sides in an argument and staying respectful, even when mad. Didn't love what Lance did behind Cal's back while they were away on vacation, but was very willing to cut his friend some slack. Was definitely not okay with the way Cal, Fozzy and Mark wanted to pay Lance back and had a little fall out with them as well. Last person of the former gang that Lance sent a message to ("I'm alright, thanks. Take care, mate!"), after the blow up, and before they all went their separate ways in late Summer 2006.

It's hard to sum up Lowell "Fozzy" Foster (* September 17th 1987) in just a few sentences... he was an experience. Not at all a bad kid either, but... well, let's just say that Fozzy's loyalty and integrity had limits, namely any time he sensed that there could be something in for him, when there was a lass he liked involved... or when doing the right thing was simply too much of a hassle. Aside from all this, Fozzy was a music freak, too, which is what always brought him and Lance back together, despite their quarrels. In the end, Fozzy enjoyed being with his friends most... even if he should've had looked up a thing or two about what friendship actually means, but well. They had all been young and dumb after all.

[dandelionlovesyou]

The Hunger Games characters have some unique names based on many cultures we've lived in today.

What's your favourite character names from THG world? What's their names meaning?

Bonus questions :

If you're a fanfic writer writing about characters who lives in Panem, what's their name gonna be?

If you're a reader, what's a name you read in a THG fanfic that stuck with you?

Thank you, @curiousnonny

Hello there @curiousnonny ,

It took me a while to answer this as I looked through my culture for anything related to THG names but lo and behold, I come up with nothing. I'm from southeast Asia and I suppose SC didn't quite pluck out names from this region. I might also be very wrong 😁

My favourite THG name is Haymitch. Katniss and Peeta are a given because I love their characters, of course. Haymitch is very unique sounding to me.

I looked it up a bit and saw that it was close to 'Hamish' which in Arabic means edge or corner. This was a nice discovery because looking for the edge or end of the arena was Haymitch's strategy on the 2nd QQ. He was also in a cliff/ edge where the axe bounced back from a force field, killing his last opponent. Interesting, huh? 😊

As for the names when I write, I use Free and Julian for my toastbabies. I haven't actually posted my story with those names yet. They are still in my WIP folder, but I hold those names dearly.

Free means to love, dear, or beloved. Being the daughter of two victors and born in a peaceful Panem, Free is free to love whoever or to choose whatever she wants to be. She, being the first child, is also dearly loved.

Julian means youthful, young, or downy-bearded. He is the wild son of Katniss and Peeta. Also, a free spirit. Climbing book cabinets and eating soil 😁 He also loves art like his Papa.

As a reader, I have always liked nature names. Or two names like Katniss May, or Beatrice June. Bread names are cool, and Rye, Wheaton, Graham, and Bran are often Mellark names. Katniss' mom is named Lavender or Lily in a few fics.

I suppose that's it. This is such an interesting question and thank you for asking it!

Take care, @curiousnonny 😉

[enaelyork]

Can you do father Paul x Millie the first time she sees him after he becomes young again? Like her reaction and stuff and maybe even his? Thanks!

-Yeah i absolutly do ! It was very difficult cause I had never thought of that moment. But I found it interesting to imagine that even in her state Millie recognized him and the emotion that he caused in her.

Gif by @hamish-linklaters

Taglist : @ysamans, @sullyosully , @elisabethvanroseblood , @wolfieellsworld, @justme12200, @cherry-acid

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For whatever is hidden is meant to be disclosed, and whatever is concealed is meant to be brought out into the open.

Mark 4, 22

I have never been afraid of death.

My mind has been slowly abandoning me for a long time now, step by step I felt it slip away.

Will I forget him too?

Am I going to forget John?

I cling to his image, to our lie, because that's probably the only things that keep me alive right now.

And my daughter.

Our wonderful daughter ...

Every day when I look at her I see John. I marvel at her big dark eyes that remind me so much of hims, at the stubborn character she inherited from him.

Sarah,

My loving Sarah.

- Mom ? Someone wants to see you.

Her voice echoes around the room. My hazy mind sees her, I squint and catch a glimpse of my daughter and a shadow behind her.

A shadow.

Which freezes me.

It is said that death presents itself to us as the most wonderful of our dreams. And I'm sure now that my time has come.

I don't have the strength to blink my eyes anymore, barely to breathe again, but seeing him there in front of me, with our daughter, my heart never stops beating.

She, him, us ...

Finally reunited.Isn't that the most beautiful thing in the world?

-John?

My voice escapes me, my words fail me and only his name manages to escape my mouth. I want to sit up and I can't. Why is he so young? Is this the only memory I have of him? Her youth ? The one in which we met? The gentle, benevolent face I fell in love with?

John ... and Sarah ...

- Mom, it's Father Paul.

Father.

Yes, he's your father.

But not the one you believe ...

My darling, this man is indeed your father.My dear, you are the most beautiful in my eyes, for we have loved each other with the purest love there is.

I no longer listen to what she says to me, my hand reaches out to him, because it is only him who matters, him and the expression on his features. Right now, I'm pretty sure I'm dreaming, he can't be there, not like that.

-I came to celebrate mass, young lady ...

In his eyes, maybe I am still the young woman he loved.

I am too tired to continue, to struggle. If I look at him again, I know my gaze and my tears will betray me, so I turn my head away, for I feel the storm within me overwhelming me.

Because I know that when I turn my head towards him again, he will be gone or I will have joined him in the hereafter.

Yet as Sarah walks away, I still feel his presence.His warmth.His smell. If I look at him, I am lost forever. I don't have to see it to understand it.

If only my body gave me the strength to ask him the question, if only I had the strength to hug him.I surrender to my lazyness, to his hand adjusting my waistcoat, my gaze into space, avoiding meeting his. The emotion that is going through me at this moment, I barely perceive it.

If this is death, then I hold out my arms to him.

--

Fear.

Regret.

When she opens the door for me, I remain frozen and silent.What to say ?

- Sarah ...

Fear. Regret.Cowardice.

Her last name rings like a stab in my heart. It sends me back to the man I was, so cowardly, so selfish ... If I had had this courage once, she would wear mine ...

-I heard about you Father ...

- Paul. Hill

Father, that word in her mouth has such a powerful meaning that it is impossible for me to hear it again. If she's going to be the only one on this island calling me Paul, so be it, but I never want to hear that word from her again. Not so long as she doesn't know the truth about me ...

About us ...

I recognize her mother by the way she talks, her gestures and the way she moves when she brings me to Millie. I can't take my eyes off her and my mind from anything i might say to her and when I finally see her, I know.

I know that despite the death that awaits her, the health that leaves her ...

She recognized me.

What an irony! Why did we have to come together like this for the first time in our lives?

When she says my name i think i collapse, but again i'm far too cowardly to let go of my lies. I prefer to hide everything behind the humor.I cannot let myself be carried away by my emotions.

Soon the truth will emerge, Forwhatever is hidden is meant to be disclosed, and whatever is concealed is meant to be brought out into the open. Said Mark in his Gospel.

Soon we'll have our second chance my love.

I thought as I knelt beside her.

At that moment, everything we have been through comes to mind as well as its delicate fragrance. I contemplate her, thinking to myself that maybe it only took a few days for her to abandon me ...

God gave us a second chance.

Ours,

To Sarah,

My love, I can't tell you anything, but you know, don't you? It would be enough for you to look at me to see it, for you to understand.

Because that's always the way we spoke, you and me.

Fear and doubt envelops me. Does she blame me? Did life and circumstances feed his resentment towards me and my cowardice?

Does she refuse to see me for this reason? Then it all fades, as I feel her peaceful in my presence. I know she understands who I am and that my appearance can only be God's work to allow us to be together again.

My darling, I understand your silence, and you, do you understand mine?

Do you understand what is happening? The chance that God offers us?

My eyes fill with tears before i start the service. Her celebration, ours.

I bring the holy cup to her lips. The blood of Christ and his messenger flows gently into her mouth as she painfully swallows. I can't help but think that she almost left me without my being able to say goodbye to her.And now she's about to come back to life.

We will finally be able to start afresh, in a simpler world, in a life that does not endlessly threaten to end.

[wellntruly]

akahypotheticals replied to your post "MIDNIGHT MASS"

[Caterwauling about Midnight Mass plot holes below the cut! SPOILERS!]

HOW did the padre get that box through customs???? how did HE get through customs???? WHEN did he make a side trip to buy those skinny jeans??? things I like to think about and have a little chuckle at. this show is a comedy.

Well first of all, through God all things are possible

Haha but like for me it's not even Father Paul's Most Miraculous Adventure at all, it's OH MY GOD EVERYONE WOULD FUCKING RECOGNIZE HIM. The dialogue NAMES that Monsignor Pruitt was 80 years old and he has CLEARLY been on the island since he did indeed look exactly the same and was able to be photographed about it, so if Father Paul is the same age as Hamish Linklater, ~35 years ago half this cast would have all been in their teens and twenties, like!!! Even Riley was an altar boy to Monsignor, you're telling me the man he knew at ages like, idk, 10 and 55 respectively, suddenly looks like A Whole New Dude just a decade younger? This was INSANE.

For me that's the most glaring bizarrity, but cloooose seconds are that Ali COULD NOT HAVE TAKEN COMMUNION, no way no how. You can't even take communion as some flavors of protestant, this Muslim kid who has been to one (1) mass, where Father Paul wasn't even there? No way no how. So it's impossible this boy would have had any angel blood in his system, and yet he vamps back after taking the poison no problem, because... ?? And I would accept that they were just playing fast and loose with the rules of how this all worked in the tumult of Easter Night, if not for the fact that later they make a BIG TO-DO about someone who hasn't been to mass in years being a vampire at the end of the night, which Bev treats as a smoking gun that someone had to have saved him before he fully died as he hadn't ~saved himself~, and that guy Scruggs or whatever is like yeah that's what happened. So what on earth with Ali!! Hoo boy I was distracted when he did not die right in front of his dad as I had been presuming was happening with that moment!

AND TIED: how is it not that Bev killed Father Paul with the rat poison, how. HOW! He died in the *exact same manner* as the dog and then everyone else, we SEE HER put some rat poison back on the shelf during the dancing montage earlier in the same episode, and yet this is NEVER ADDRESSED, and Alex informs me that Mike Flanagan in interviews has been like oh he just drank too much angel blood and OD'ed, that's what killed him. This is mind boggling. Why put in that shot of the canister! Why have him die with identical convulsing and foaming at the mouth! Why not dig into the *JUICY* concept of Bev fucking trying to murder Father Paul after (because??) she sees the newspaper clipping on the wall, when it would SEEM she cleeeaaarrly did! Incomprehensible choices.

I know I said four, and I'll admit now this last one is less a plot hole than like, a plot black hole, but never getting a single glimpse into the mind or motivations of The Angel baffled me continuously. We have to come up for ourselves why he would bother to stick around after he gets sprung from his ruins, and just go along with Paul's little schemes and outfits and be forced to eat feral cats because there's not enough people on the island for him to keep picking them off without notice, and sure it's HILARIOUS that seemingly he just wants to see what this pathetic hot nerd gets up to, but it IS weird that the show doesn't even gesture at why an ancient immortal creature who can fly is still hanging around Crockett Island pop. 127 letting Paul put him in a hat and bleed him for the communion wine. It honestly would have taken just one moment, and optionally wordless if you wanna keep that up, where they indicate that they are like bound to each other in some way or another, but no, gotta make room for three separate age-long speeches about what happens when we die. (My god, when we started doing that the third time....)

Anyway yes this show is a comedy

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Idiots ~ H.D.

A/n: God I love requests when people KNOW my branding!!

Request: “Hamish duke x male reader we’re the reader is a magician but can’t tell when someone is flirting with him and hamish trying to get his attention” by anon

Word Count: 3800+

Masterlist

Once upon a time, two boys sat at a table together in a little coffee shop. One of them went on and on and on about something and the other watched him with an expression that channeled both confusion and adoration. Everyone looking on had the same mixed expression, but this time with different emotions: charmed amusement, and frustration.

See, Hamish and Y/n were adorable and obviously in love and those who didn't even know them looked at them and saw a couple and smiled because young love. Because young love gave everyone hope. Because it was fresh and pretty and admirable and kind of funny when you thought about all they were going to go through, imagining it with a happy ending of course.

Unfortunately, for those who did know them, Hamish and Y/n were really fucking annoying.

They were obviously in love with each other - or at the very least attracted on some level. Y/n always listened to Hamish ramble, even though he obviously had no idea what Hamish was going on about most of the time. Likewise, Hamish dealt with Y/n's severely annoying ability to not perceive literally any attempt at flirting Hamish threw at him.

Don't get me wrong, Hamish was trying. REALLY HARD. He's been trying since they first met. Hamish had been forming a friendship with this girl- the only person who could keep up with him when he talked about his field and major. But there came a moment when he noticed that she lost interest in him and what he was saying, even as she talked and joked along in time. The day he'd met Y/n, the boy had been talking to that girl that Hamish was sort of becoming acquaintances with. He used to know her name, but she had been quickly forgotten when Hamish had noticed how Y/n never lost interest in him, even though the poor English major was obviously way over his head trying to understand what Hamish was saying.

Long story: the girl and Hamish stopped talking in favor of Hamish giving Y/n all his attention. He preferred to be cared about and he appreciated the effort Y/n was giving, even if he couldn't deliver with any results. He liked that he could go on and on about anything - even things outside of school - and Y/n would listen without complaint. There was something so genuine about Y/n. It drew Hamish in a lot. After a while, their conversation drifted from Hamish talking and Y/n listening to Hamish trying to get as much information about Y/n as he could. Y/n was willing to talk about a lot, and where he was hesitant Hamish recognized the line he'd drawn and let it be. They were only friends for five and a half months, but in that time Hamish had developed very deep feelings for Y/n. Which had lead him to try his hand at flirting.

At first he'd thought Y/n wasn't interested, but then someone had made a joke about them being a couple and Y/n had gone along with it without hesitation. Which seemed to Hamish as if he didn't mind the idea. He had looped in a classmate on a promise he'd do the kid's next assignment. The kid had flirted with Y/n, getting the same complete lack of understanding Hamish did. It seemed that despite Y/n being super affectionate and kind, and even though he was quite smart if Hamish gave the time and effort to help him understand, Y/n was the single most oblivious person Hamish had ever met. At some point Y/n had decided that no one would ever like him, or maybe he'd accepted flirting in some other form. Whatever it was, Y/n did not pick up on any common form of flirting at all.

Hamish tried for two months. TWO. MONTHS. He gave up and even tried straight up pick up lines. Y/n's response had been to return with pick up lines of his own and then to say, "I love that we can joke around like this. It's so refreshing, when everyone around here seems to be so gloomy and shit these days."

Hamish was at his wit's end. He was ready to just take a leap of faith and tell Y/n his feelings straight out and take the hit if Y/n rejected him. Before he could, unfortunately, he found a blue rose on his desk one morning as he prepared for his TA period. He'd looked around to see what it could possibly mean and after several hours and dark holes and wrong paths, came across the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose. Instead of confronting Y/n about his feelings, he decided to go to this thing tonight. It seemed interesting and might give him time to clear his head. He enjoyed new things and learning opportunities. Something fresh to figure out might even clear his head and help him with this whole Y/n predicament.

That evening as Y/n and him did their usual afternoon studying together, Y/n seemed upset about something. Hamish wasn't going to prod about it, as he'd learned that Y/n only shared his thoughts and emotions when he was ready to, but it was setting a weird mood.

"Hamish?" The blonde boy looked up, expecting Y/n to finally share. Whatever he'd been expecting, what Y/n said next threw him off. "Don't go tonight."

Hamish's eyebrows came together. "Don't go to what?"

Y/n pursed his lips before looking at the colored pencils he'd been doodling with. They'd found that if Y/n took a few seconds every once in a while to do something other than homework, he had a lot better time studying. That didn't seem to be what he was thinking about now. He picked up a blue pencil and reached over, handing it to Hamish. "Will this one be okay to use on your notes? I know you're peculiar about how you organize them.”

Hamish didn't highlight his notes. He stapled them by units and had a different folder for each of his classes, but that was it. If he really needed to remember something, he would use blue pen instead of black. He hated using pencil though- it faded and smeared.

However, despite the oddity, Hamish was not confused about the message Y/n was sending. There was only one thing Hamish was doing tonight, as they'd made no other engagements. And the only way Y/n would know about it...

Y/n was part of the Order of the Hermetic Blue Rose. And he was telling Hamish not to come to the whatever it was.

In Y/n's eyes, Hamish saw a plea for Hamish to avoid the thing altogether.

"It'll be fine," Hamish said slowly. Y/n's level of code and secrecy lines up with the Order. After all, they were kind of like the Illuminati, if the Illuminati were real. It was super secret and most people thought it a big joke. Hamish had thought it a joke himself before he'd gotten that rose. He'd only heard of it in passing, mostly when homework "went missing" and people joked about the Order whisking it away, or someone wasn't in class and people played with the idea of them having crossed the Order. If Y/n was apart of it, he would never say it in any way.

"No," Y/n argued. He seemed to think for a second and Hamish realized that he was trying to deliver a message to Hamish. "Honestly Hamish I think this class is bad for you. You seem to struggle with it a lot. Maybe you should just drop it. I've been... meaning to tell you for a while now."

Raising an eyebrow, Hamish tried to figure out what Y/n was saying. Did he think this would be too hard for Hamish? That he wasn't smart or tough enough? No, that wasn't in character. Y/n always encouraged Hamish to do things even when Hamish himself set a limit. He decided to test the waters, push back a little. Try and get more information. “I mean it's not that bad. I've been enjoying it."

Y/n frowned. "I took it last year and it almost ruined my transcript. I know how much you care about your grades- it might really hurt them. Dangerous stuff you're playing with here." Hamish's eyebrows came together. Before he could ask, Y/n stood and gathered his stuff. "I'll see you tomorrow." He gave a tight smile, fear in his eyes. What was he afraid of? He left and Hamish gave only a small nod.

Was the Order really so serious? I mean honestly it was just a bunch of college kids. Were they... cruel? Maybe it was more of a gang than some powerful organization. Maybe Y/n was in trouble.

Well that meant that Hamish absolutely had to go. He needed to know what was going on and how to help Y/n, if he could. If he couldn't, at least they'd be able to watch each other's backs.

So he did.

And before anything happened, a weird ringing sound took over his entire mind and the next thing he knew he was in a room he sort of recognized but had no memory of. Naked. Covered in blood.

The next time he saw Y/n, surprise surprise, actually wasn't when they were all attacked by those they'd been closest to the last six months. And by they, he meant the three other people he also kind of recognized but, yet again, had no memory of. No, it was actually a little after he discovered what the Order really was and found out he was a werewolf. Alyssa Drake of all people popped out of nowhere, promising to give their memories back. And as she talked to Jack and tried to convince him to trust her, Hamish spotted Y/n next to her.

He became human and put a robe on, coming into the room. He felt a lot of emotions. They pushed him to blow right past Alyssa and Jack, straight to Y/n. Hamish pinned him against the wall, anger seeming to have taken the most hold for now. Y/n looked terrified, but when their eyes met his expression softened. Hamish got the impression that Y/n was not afraid of him, but something else. It made worry boil up and he pushed it down, trying to keep hold of himself.

"Tell me you weren't sent to watch me. Tell me you aren't one of them, Y/n."

The room was very quiet as the others came in, everyone watching. Y/n searched for the words for a second. "I- Hamish, I'm part of the Order." Hamish stepped back and Y/n's eyes watered. He seemed to be more panicked now. "I didn't become your friend just to watch you like the others though! We weren't ever supposed to meet or talk, not like we did. The- the girl I was talking to the day we met. SHE was supposed to watch you. But you started ignoring her and seemed to take to me better, so I- I- I hate it now, but back then I was just doing what I was told."

"So you took my memories?" Hamish demanded. "That didn't strike you as wrong?"

"Okay first of all," Y/n snapped. "I didn't even know who you were for like two and a half weeks after we started talking, okay? When they told me, they introduced you as some incredibly dangerous monster who was hellbent on killing everyone who used magic so even if I had, it would have been in self defense because I thought you were dangerous."

Lilith stepped forward. "If you had?"

Y/n huffed, straightening his clothes. "I didn't ever dust you. By the time they told me who you were, they only told me because I was talking to someone about this guy that I-" he cut off, and Hamish shifted upon seeing the blush rise up his throat. Lilith and Alyssa both wore the exact same look. They knew exactly how Y/n felt. "I was friends with." It was then that Jack's eyes went wide with understanding too. "They tried to convince me to stay away because of what you are, but all you've ever been is funny and smart and really talented and snarky as hell." He huffed in amusement. "I was always kind of impressed with you, your sass is like next level it's amazing." Everyone in the room felt the oddity of the warring emotions of everyone else with the weird sort of light and humor Y/n brought to the table. They wanted to smile, but there was too much else going on. Y/n cleared his throat, trying to not default to humor. Hamish cursed himself for being concerned- he knew that Y/n struggled a lot with being emotionally vulnerable. "Anyway, I don't know who did it or how or when, but they never even asked me to. They thought that we had stopped talking for the most part. I never talked about you again at least."

"Until now," Alyssa spoke up. "He confronted me. Begged me to help because he said I would understand since I was... friends with Jack. I told him about my plan to come here and help you guys and he was more than willing and ready. We were hoping that together we might be able to convince you."

The Knights got quiet, all listening to each other. But it was clear that everyone but Randall was nearly completely convinced, and Randall didn't care enough to argue. If  his friends were going, so was he.

They all lined up and Alyssa dusted them. At first they panicked but when they all woke up with their memories completely returned, Hamish's eyes immediately landed on a very hopeful Y/n. He scrambled to his feet, trying to find his words. "You lied to me." Y/n paled. He seemed to be terrified again, but this time Hamish knew immediately why. He was scared of losing Hamish.

Again.

"Hey guys! How are we doing?" Y/n was smiling as usual. It was dazzling to Hamish.

"Better now that you're here."

Y/n laughed. "I know you've been having a hard time with homework, but have you really been so miserable without the comedy relief around to lift the mood?"

Everyone exchanged looks. Everyone but Y/n, who was as always oblivious to everything. Hamish had struck out again.

The first memory was the easiest to swallow.

"Hey Hammy."

"You've been spending too much time with Randall," Hamish sighed as Y/n greeted him upon entering the Den. Y/n laughed. "Maybe you should be spending more time with me."

"Miss me?" Y/n teased.

Hamish looked up from his book, locking eyes with Y/n. "Yeah. Maybe just us? Tonight? Dinner? Movie? Something else?"

Y/n shrugged, his expression unchanged. "Yeah sure dude. I'm starving, and the new-" Hamish stopped listening after that. His message had gone unreceived once more.

He could remember everything, and yet he found himself mulling over the ones about Y/n the most.

"You should wear that shirt more often. You look very good in it."

"Thanks man."

And-

"You free later? I was thinking maybe we could get better acquainted."

"And see I was sitting here thinking we were already best friends." Y/n’s frustratingly beautiful laugh rang out again and Hamish felt his shoulders slump. "Yeah I'm down to hang. Anything for my best buddy."

Then there was-

"Hey Y/n nice pants. They'd look great on Hamish's floor."

"Very funny Lilith," Y/n hummed as he read a book. Hamish shot her a death glare as he sat next to Y/n, his arm draped over the back of the couch they both sat on.

"Not a joke," Randall chimed in. "I think they'd really match the walls. Maybe try it out?"

"I would have to take them off to do that, and I don't see the point of going all the way back to my dorm to get another pair of pants for me to wear just so we can see how these look on Hamish's floor. Total waste of time, especially when I have to have this book read by tomorrow for class."

Eventually Hamish had just turned to pick up lines.

"Hey Y/n, can you hold this?"

He held out his hand and Y/n went to take whatever he was holding, only for Hamish to interlock their fingers. Y/n laughed and didn't drop his hand, even as he rolled his eyes to dismiss what was happening. "Now who's been spending too much time with Randall?" After Y/n looked the other way, Hamish frowned and dropped his hand.

Attempt after attempt after attempt....

"Kiss me if I'm wrong but dinosaurs still exist right?"

Y/n didn't even blink. "Dinosaurs do exist, silly. Well, their bones do. We can go the museum to check them out if you want to?"

Hamish huffed. "What about the kissing me part?"

"Well you were wrong, so I'll have to pass," Y/n reasoned calmly. Hamish glared at the opposite wall so Y/n couldn't see.

He had tried everything.

"You remind me of my homework, because I'm going to slam you on my desk and do you all night."

Y/n burst out laughing. "That's a good one! I haven't heard that one yet. Did you go on some weird kick and look all these up? You've had a load to share lately."

Hamish sighed. "Yeah. Randall got drunk and shared them all with me. I thought they'd make you laugh."

Until he'd finally just said it.

Hamish stood in front of Y/n, desperate. At this point, even his friends thought Y/n was a hopeless case. Maybe they'd been wrong. Maybe Y/n didn't like Hamish. Maybe he was just trying to be polite. "Will you go on a date with me Y/n?”

Y/n smiled at Hamish. "Lose to Cup Pong with Randall again?" Hamish didn't even waste the time to come up with something. He just turned around and walked away, ignoring Y/n's familiar laugh behind him.

He'd been sure that Y/n just wasn't into him. Until:

"If we die today, I need you to know that I love you."

"I love y-"

"No." Hamish grabbed Y/n by the shoulders, his eyes boring into the other boy's. "The Order is probably going to kill us today, or the next chance they get, now that they know about us.  Even if it's not today. I can't die without you knowing that I've legitimately fallen in love with you and it's driving me insane."

Y/n's eyes were wide and earnest, but before he could respond Vera and him had to face the magicians outside who had found the Den, and after there had been too much going on... He hadn't even gotten to get Y/n alone before his memory of Y/n had been taken completely in one go.

Hamish remembered everything. He remembered scheming with Randall, who knew Y/n the most of course because-

Randall was the first to move after they all woke up, dazed and trying to process all their new memories. He, of course, tackled Y/n in a hug immediately. They were both crying. "I'm sorry I forgot you."

"I knew you'd come around," Y/n reassured. "We're brothers man. You can't get rid of me even though you totally want to."

Leaning away, Randall laughed as he wiped his tears. The pair had been a duo for as long as any of the pack had known either of them. Randall was the one who acted like an idiot but was super smart. Y/n was the one who everyone thought was super smart because he got great grades and knew fun facts, but who was actually a total idiot in the sense that he had absolutely no people skills and misread almost every situation and made everything either really fun or super awkward. With help from Hamish he'd been able to figure it out a little. That's how they'd all met. Hamish had told them both about the Knights, but only Randall had been chosen by one of the furs. They'd all been friends until...

"Wait, you're part of the Order?" Hamish voiced.

Y/n sighed, Randall's arms falling away from him. "Alyssa came to me before. She begged me not to tell you, because if they didn't dust you then they were going to kill you. I figured it would be better to have you guys forget me than to be dead, at least until we could figure... something out. I told mom that something really bad had happened and you had disowned me. Said-" He blushed. "I said you and Hamish were together and I'd made a move on you. She was PISSED and left it to me to fix. I was just glad she didn't mention me to you at all. She's been mad at me for ages and demanding I figure out a way to fix it, so when Alyssa had the idea to just work with you guys instead of doing what we were told... I was all for it."

"He joined the Order so they wouldn't wipe his memories," Alyssa continued. "Because all of last year's additions had been... eliminated one way or another, we needed more people anyway. And since Y/n already knew about magic and you guys, it was only too easy to convince the Grand Magus to induct him."

Hamish stood and Y/n did with him. Randall immediately got protective, but Y/n placed a hand on his shoulder and he calmed. Not that he could take Hamish... maybe. Now Y/n was curious, but this wasn't the thing to be worrying about right now.

Hamish opened his mouth to speak, and from the look in his eyes Y/n could see what he was thinking. So he skipped the pleasantries and rushed to him, pulling him close by the back of his neck so their lips could press together. Everyone else, despite everything going on, cheered. After everything they'd been through and all the hardships they'd faced, finally - FINALLY - Y/n had figured his shit out.

When Y/n pulled apart, both boys were grinning. "I've been being your friend for the last few months so that when I finally found out a way to get your memories back, they wouldn't question it when we got together because goddamnit Hamish, I love you too. And I hope you still feel the way you did then, even knowing that I'm part of the Order. That I... I know magic, and use it." He looked like he was ready to get rejected.

"You still know nothing," Hamish whispered. "The fact that you could feel me miss you back and you still think I would chose any other relationship or person over you or let anything get between us... How can you be THAT stupid?"

Y/n socked him on the shoulder. "Asshole."

Hamish just grinned before hooking his finger in Y/n's belt loops. "Your asshole."

"Damn right," Y/n whispered, smirking.

Lilith reached over and chucked a pillow at them. "OKAY OKAY! We do have shit to deal with other than your guys' love life." She was right. The boys parted and everyone got ready to do whatever they had to next to make the scales balanced again. To make it all right.

But as they all headed to the the temple, Y/n leaned over and added, "I owe you a date."

Hamish just smiled at that. "More like you owe me ten."

[fischerfrey]

Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Summary: The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has some extracurricular activities in mind, and Ben struggles with the events of last year.

Pairings: Eventual OC/Merula Snyde

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mild swearing, canon typical mean Merula

Previous / Next

Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Their first class of the year was DADA, and that made Verna extremely nervous. Rowan had made it clear they didn’t think Rakepick could be trusted. In their words, she had been shifty at best and suspicious at worst last year when she had worked with Verna. Rowan was not happy about Rakepick’s appointment as a professor and that made Verna uneasy too. She had always known Rowan had far better judgement than her, and most days Charlie and Ben agreed with that sentiment. So, after breakfast, when the Gryffindors were filing into the DADA classroom, the mood between the four friends was not over the moon. Rakepick was already in the classroom, writing something at her desk. The class went through some major decorative changes each year when a new teacher took it over. It had become routine by now. For Rakepick, the theme seemed to be artifacts of various sizes and ages, that were spread all over the room on pedestals and tables, cabinets and other surfaces.

“Cursed items,” Rowan noted, when they took their seats.

“A niffler,” Verna replied, pointing out Sickleworth, Rakepick’s niffler whom she had had an unlikely partnership with last year, while investigating the Sleepwalking curse.

That was when Professor Rakepick got up from her seat, cleared her throat and snapped her wand, closing the classroom door and making writing appear on the blackboard in front of the class.

“Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts,” she announced, in a tone that implied not a small amount of unimpressedness. “I realize I am your fifth instructor in as many years, and that most of your other teachers’ methods were as questionable as their characters.”

Next to Verna, Rowan balled their hands into fists. They obviously had a thing or two to say about that.

“This year, I am not only going to teach you how to defend yourselves, but how to attack the Dark Arts,” Rakepick continued. “You will receive the finest instruction from someone who has actually faced the worst the Dark Arts have to offer.”

Something about the speech did make Verna listen. She couldn’t deny being interested in learning combat spells, the more the better, because she was sure to need them. From the corner of her eye, she also saw Merula listening intently. This year was gonna be another one spent trying to beat Merula to the top of their class. DADA was pretty much the only subject where she had any chance at all. Usually, it was Rowan and Merula vying for the title, but Verna wasn’t hopeless when it came to duelling and martial magic.

“They say this position is cursed,” Rakepick was saying now. “But breaking curses is what I do best. Now let’s get started, take out your books.”

~

After a whole class spent on how to deal with Ghouls, Verna was feeling much better about DADA. Maybe Rakepick wasn’t going to be so bad. Rowan didn’t feel the same way.

“She might know what she’s talking about, but she has no teaching experience, and I still don’t trust her after the way she dealt with you last year Verna,” they were saying, a little heated. “I think you should be careful if she decides to ask something from you, or… something…”

“Don’t you think you’re maybe overreacting a little bit?” asked Charlie.

“I agree with Rowan,” Ben inserted. “I don’t like her either.”

“We’ll be careful,” Verna assured her friends. “But Dumbledore must’ve had a reason hiring her.”

“Yeah, that’s true… I don’t know, I just don’t like this…” Rowan said and slowly the conversation turned to more casual matters, such as Barnaby Lee’s new pet crup puppy. The general consensus seemed to be that it was extremely cute.

~

After the day’s classes Verna was officially introduced to one Percy Weasley in the library. She and Charlie headed there to get started on charting out how much cramming they’d have to do for their O.W.L.s, only to find Bill and Percy already there, both noses buried deep in books, a scrappy-looking rat sitting on the table next to their study-material.

“Oh, hi Verna,” Bill said with a smile. “Did you two come to actually study?” The surprise in his voice was neither flattering nor unexpected.

“We came to plan on studying,” Verna told Bill, as she and Charlie sat down.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Bill chuckled and then patted Percy on the shoulder. “Percy, this is Verna.”

“I know,” Percy said in a manner that seemed much too adult-like for an 11-year-old. “She gave us a rather short introduction of Gryffindor common room last night, but I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself, I’m Percy Weasley, future prefect, Head Boy, and Minister for Magic.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Percy, sounds like you have your future pretty well planned out,” Verna said and emulated her tone and smile to Beatrice from the previous night, with wildly different results. It appeared Percy was not a fan of hers.

“If you let him, he’ll plan your life for you, too,” Bill said, amused.

“This is my loyal rat, Scabbers,” Percy continued.

“Loyal?” asked Charlie. “It runs off every chance it gets.”

“There’s something off about that rat, yeah…” Bill agreed.

“Ron likes him!” Percy defended his pet.

“Ron’s eight, he likes everything except for spiders,” Charlie complained. Both of the older Weasleys seemed to have such a weird aversion for poor Scabbers that Verna felt bad for it.

“I have a rat too; his name is Hamish. He actually belonged to my brother, but I’ve been taking care of it in his absence.”

This seemed to appeal to Percy, whose tone towards Verna changed a little, when he said: “That’s really kind of you, to take care of your brother’s pet.”

Verna considered this a victory.

~

Their study session was cut short, when Professor Rakepick approached their table something like thirty minutes into Verna and Charlie trying to figure out what exactly to focus most on.

“Mr. Weasley,” she started, and all three of the Weasleys replied with an immediate ‘yes?’.

Verna stifled a laugh.

“William Weasley,” Rakepick specified. “Come with me. You too Miss Malinda, we have work to do.”

Exchanging a glance with Charlie, and Rowan’s misgivings about Rakepick running on a loop in her head, Verna followed Bill and the professor out of the library.

“What is this about?” she whispered to Bill.

“No idea, I guess we’ll find out soon, though…”

 ~

Rakepick took them up to her classroom, where Merula Snyde was already sitting on one of the desks, preoccupied with changing the colour of her painted nails to pay much attention to Verna and the others entering. Verna wasn’t happy to see her. Whatever Rakepick had in mind seemed to involve Merula, and that was never good news.

“Cease your activities Miss Snyde, we have important matters to discuss,” Rakepick commanded, and Merula immediately jumped down from the desk and stood straight. Verna and Bill walked up next to her as Rakepick went on to stand beside the teacher’s desk. She was tall and had a bearing of someone accustomed to commanding respect. Verna found it quite easy to believe she was capable of handling anything that was thrown at her. That’s how I want to be, she thought briefly.

“Congratulations you three. Of all the students at Hogwarts, I’ve chosen you to be my apprentice curse-breakers. Mr Weasley for his bravery and determination, Miss Snyde for her ambition and strength, and Miss Malinda for her natural talent, and obvious connection to the cursed vaults.”

“Why is Merula here?” Verna asked without missing a beat. She was not about to compromise her chances of rescuing her brother for the sake of Merula’s ambitions. She knew by now that Merula would never sacrifice her chances of getting whatever power and knowledge the vaults could give her, not for Jacob’s sake, not for anyone’s.

“Because she is a powerful witch and you’d be a fool not to accept her help, after all, I had to save you from Mr Copper’s attack just months ago.”

Merula remained quiet but gave Verna a smug grin.

“Enough. We need each other’s help to find the next vault and end its curse before anyone gets hurt,” Rakepick said. “I’m going to train you so that you can be more of a help than a hindrance to me, starting with the Incarcerous spell. Wands out!”

 ~

The three of them spent the next three hours attempting to learn the Binding spell with Rakepick’s instruction. She was a good teacher. Strict, demanding, but very clear in the way she instructed them, not leaning on any extra flash, just taking the simplest route to the desired outcome. Unsurprisingly, Bill was the first one to nail the spell. He had two years’ worth more experience and had always been talented. When Verna finally managed to cast the spell on Merula, she felt a sense of accomplishment far greater than if they had used training dummies. The spell conjured ropes that wound tightly around Merula, trapping her arms and binding her legs together. She wobbled for a while and then stumbled to the floor with a grunt. Verna couldn’t help but grin.

“Verna, I don’t think she can breathe…” Bill interrupted her victorious train of thought.

“Oh, shit,” Verna cursed. “Finite Incantatem!” she pointed her wand towards Merula and the ropes around her unbound. “Are you alright?” she asked despite herself.

“Of course, Malinda, mind your own business,” Merula spat, looking more hurt by the audacity of Verna asking her if she was okay. She got up and dusted off her ropes, avoiding looking at any of them.

Rakepick cleared her throat and said: “This is a valuable lesson; we are a team now. A family. No matter what happens, we must protect one another. Do you understand?”

With a sideways glance at Merula, Verna nodded. She hadn’t had this good of a chance to finding any of the previous vaults. Rakepick was an accomplished curse-breaker and now it started to make sense why she had singled out Verna the previous year. Maybe she had already known she’d work here this year and need Verna’s expertise with stopping another curse roaming the halls of Hogwarts. That was something good to tell Rowan, at least, to put their mind on ease.

“And the rest of you?” asked Rakepick with impatience.

“Of course,” Bill said immediately.

Merula eyed both of them with nothing short of disgust and then said: “Fine.”

“Good, then that’s all for tonight, you can go.”

 ~

Rakepick ushered them out of her class, and the three of them were left standing in the empty, darkening corridor. Verna had no idea about the time, but she guessed it was quite late and that they most definitely had missed dinner.

“So that was kind of… strange,” Bill said, but he sounded more excited than anything.

“Finally, someone is doing something in this school,” scoffed Merula.

“And I don’t want you or your megalomania getting in the way of saving my brother,” Verna exclaimed.

“Don’t worry Malinda, you finally have capable people helping so there’s a chance you won’t fuck this up.”

“Fuck off Merula.”

The shorter girl laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the sound. “You like to pretend you’re above the rest of us with your little mission to save your brother, but let’s face it; you’re just scared to admit you like feeling special. You want what’s inside those vaults just as much as me.”

“Shut your mouth about my brother,” Verna snarled. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Of course you’re not, cause I’m not pathetic.”

Verna instinctively reached for her wand and Merula did the same, taking a threatening step closer.

“Verna, we should… probably go… now,” Bill interrupted and placed himself between the two girls. He then proceeded to practically drag her towards the Gryffindor common room by the arm.

~

“I had it under control,” Verna said once they were out of earshot.

“Maybe, but I’d rather not take either one of you to the hospital wing in several different pieces.”

“Fine, yeah, you’re right or whatever… She just gets on my nerves.”

Bill gave her a curious look Verna couldn’t quite place, and then said: “Yeah, I know. You shouldn’t let her get to you that much, it’s what she wants.”

“I know, it’s infuriating.”

“You’re gonna have to be able to work together somehow, though.”

Verna frowned. “I’m not risking my brother’s, or anyone else’s life because of some school rivalry, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Bill said and then stopped. “Is that… Ben?” he asked and pointed to an alcove not far from where they were standing. It was dark so he was partly concealed in shadows, but when he heard his name, he looked towards them.

“Oh, hi Verna, Bill…”

“What are you sitting out here for?” Verna asked and went to her friend. Ben looked rough, like he hadn’t slept.

“I wanted to be alone and there’s always someone in the common room or the dorm…”

“Oh, sorry, I can go- “

“No, actually, can I talk to you for a second, Verna… I…” he trailed off and looked at Bill apologetically.

“I’ll go on ahead, don’t stay out long though,” Bill said reassuringly. Then he walked off to the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

“What did you want to talk about?” asked Verna and sat on the bench in the alcove next to Ben.

For a moment, Ben didn’t look like he was going to answer. Verna had the sudden urge to hug him, but she didn’t move, fearing that Ben would change his mind and leave like last night. Finally, he cleared his throat and stammered: “I’m scared that someone’s gonna take control of me again, and make me do something worse, or that I already have but I just can’t remember.”

He really was in a state. Gently, Verna laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll work this out, you don’t have to deal with all this shit on your own, Ben, I’m the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“I still don’t remember what really happened before I attacked you… Do you… do you really believe me? That I was controlled?”

“I promise you that I do, please at least stop worrying about that,” Verna assured him. Ben huffed out a breath and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Thank you, Verna, I don’t know if I’d be as understanding if I was in your shoes…”

Verna bit her lip. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but she couldn’t exactly blame Ben. Everything had gotten so messed up last year with Rowan and Ben arguing and Verna feeling like she was losing touch with them both. They used to all be so close and now every single interaction was laced with something like doubt. An uncertainty Verna wanted so badly to get rid of.

“We should head back to the common room before Filch finds us here, c’mon,” Verna said and got up.

Ben stood to follow and they were about to head after Bill, when suddenly Ben grabbed Verna’s arm and pulled her behind him.

“Look out!” he yelled and took out his wand but before he could so much as utter an incantation, a purple light hit him and knocked him to the side. Verna looked frantically for the source of the spell, and had her wand out in seconds, but she wasn’t fast enough either. Suddenly she felt her entire body stiffen up, as she was hit with what must’ve been the full body-bind curse. As she hit the ground quite painfully, she saw a hooded figure approach them from the shadows of the corridor. Desperately she tried to move, knowing full well it was not going to work. Her breathing came in shallow gasps as she lay there, helpless to do anything. The red-clad figure walked closer and kicked Verna’s wand out of her reach, as if it would’ve been any use for her in this state anyway.

“I told you death was coming to Hogwarts, Verna Malinda,” the figure said in a voice that was impossible to place or describe. It was modified with magic. “We still need you alive, but before this year ends, one of your friends has to die…”

Verna tried to focus on getting her fingers to move, to do something, anything. Her thoughts were a flurry of desperation and anger. The hooded figure leaned over Verna. She couldn’t make out a face or anything that could be used to recognize the attacker. Verna braced herself for something worse, but nothing happened. Instead, the figure stalked off, back into the shadows.

~

Verna was still trying to force her uncooperative muscles to move, when she saw Ben move in the corner of her eye. The boy sat up and Verna lost sight of him. She heard his footsteps and a muttered spell, and then felt her body able to move again. Without a second glance at Ben, Verna shot up like a lightning bolt, chasing into the direction the hooded person had disappeared to. She had to catch them, she had to. Her ears rang and when she looked down to her wand hand, it was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, fear, or both.

“Verna, wait!” she heard Ben’s voice, and footsteps echoing after her.

Of course, there was nothing and no one to find. Verna was getting sick of this. She balled her hands into fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. How could she have let the wizard incapacitate her like that? Ben caught up to her and Verna took notice of him now that she could think a little more clearly. He seemed fine, just a little rattled.

“Verna, hey, it’s okay,” Ben tried to reassure her, but it wasn’t okay. Someone had threatened to kill one of her friends. The thought made her chest feel like it was filled with water. The ease with witch this stranger had knocked both of them out of the game made Verna feel sick all over.

“This is bullshit.”

“Verna-“

She took a deep breath. “Are you alright?” she then asked Ben.

“Yeah, you?”

Verna nodded. “Do you think that was someone we know being used against us?”

“I don’t know to be honest… but we should head back now, before someone else attacks us…” Ben said and there was nothing to it, he was right. Verna knew she wasn’t going to find anything but trouble if she stayed here, so she followed Ben back to the Gryffindor common room.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Don’t Call It Love

A/N  With Saorsa done and dusted, it’s time to return to the Metric Universe.  When we last left Jamie and Claire in October 2017, they were sharing comforting silence and attending a Depeche Mode concert together.  Will things fall easily into place now that they have tripped over the line from being roommates to being friends?   Oh, hell no.  What would be the fun in that? 

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Zero 7 (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

Winter, 2017 - London, England

It happened by accident.  Happenstance.  Serendipity.   Fate.  The words she used to explain the fact that she and Jamie started seeing each other outside of the flat in social circumstances that would typically be characterized as dates varied, but her opinion remained fixed.  They weren’t dates.  Jamie was her roommate, a good friend, a fellow enthusiast of the culturally obscure, and a brilliant pub trivia partner.  They had both agreed that a romantic relationship between them would be disastrous; ergo, there was nothing romantic about their increasingly frequent outings.  If she could memorize the names for the 206 bones in the human skeleton, she could certainly manage to keep her feelings for Jamie inside the tidy box she had built for them.

Non-Date #1

They crossed paths inside the massive Spittalfields Market, both of them with shoulders damp from the chilly November rain.  Jamie was on his way to the fishmonger, while Claire carried a cloth bag filled with late-season vegetables, determined to eat something other than take-out on a rare day off from lectures and the hospital.

“Are ye on yer way back tae the flat, then?” Jamie asked, physically fighting the urge to offer to carry Claire’s wee sack.

“No, I’m off to the charnel house first.”

“The what, now?”  Surely he’d misheard her.

“The charnel house.  Don’t tell me you’ve been living over top of a medieval burial ground all this time without realizing it?” Claire teased.

Intrigued as much by her beguiling smirk as the opportunity to explore a bit of London’s history, Jamie followed Claire to a commercial highrise near the edge of the market.  Descending a non-descript stairwell in Bishop’s Square, they came to a halt in front of a glass wall.  On the other side was an excavated ruin, the crypt of the long-vanished chapel of St. Mary’s Spital hospital, a quick scan of a nearby information plaque informed him.

“They only discovered it was here when construction of the office tower began,” Claire said, a wistful look on her face.  “For centuries, travelers and the victims of London’s many plagues were buried around the hospital, quite literally in the Spital fields.  When the graves overflowed, they brought the excess bones here and stacked them for safe-keeping until the Apocalypse.  Imagine, forgetting something so...fundamental.”

Jamie grunted in acknowledgement, seeing the reflection of Claire’s face superimposed on the glass.  He couldn’t decide if this human tendency towards forgetfulness pleased or disappointed her.

“Tis rather...”

“Macabre?” she suggested with a grin, turning away from the display and climbing back into the cloud-roofed square.

“I was gonna say morbid, but as ye like.”

“We build our present on the bones of our past, my Uncle Lamb used to tell me.  He was referring to archaeology, but I’ve found it to be true of life itself.”

They walked back to the flat, collars raised against the hastening rain.  Jamie had bought enough hake for two, so they shared the narrow worktop, dicing fresh vegetables and letting their shoulders bump together occasionally.

Claire ate at the two-person dining table while scrolling social media on her phone.  Jamie used the coffee table to hold his plate and the gaming magazine he was flipping through.

It wasn’t a date.

Non-Date #4

Her cellphone rang as she was leaving the bathroom, thoughts bouncing between her end-of-semester exams and her non-existent plans for the Christmas holidays.  She accepted the call with one hand while starting the tedious job of separating her soaking curls with the other.  At first there was only static.  She glanced at the screen, recognizing the familiar number.

“Jamie?” she tried.

“...mac na ghalla, Hamish...” followed by muffled noises and masculine jeering.  She switched hands and started to towel off, making certain first that the video call button wasn’t active.

“Hal-lo.  Paging Mr. Fraser.  You have a call on line one.”

“Ach, sorry Claire.  I didna mean tae... That is, the lads were just... How are ye?”

She giggled at his discomposure.  “I’m well, thank you.  And you?”  They had seen each other that morning, as he came off shift and she was leaving for her morning lectures, so she assumed there was more to this call than a polite inquiry into her state of well-being.  She had learned over their months as roommates that sometimes you just needed to wait for Jamie to get to his point.

“Braw, thank ye.  I was... weel, I’m at the park with some o’ the lads, tryin’ tae put t’gether a side, an’ we’re short a winger, an’ I was jus’ thinkin’, ye said ye wanted tae learn tae play an’...”

Another James Fraser quirk was that he rambled in broad Scots when he was nervous.

“Jamie, are you asking me to play rugby with you?”

“Aye.  Aye, I am.  If ye wish, o’ course.”

“I did just step out of the shower...” she mentioned, already peering outside at the threatening sky and mentally assessing her wardrobe for something suitable for a ruck and maul in the rain.  “Hello?” when there was no sound from the other end in some time.

“Aye, I’m here.  Nevermind, Claire.  I dinna consider, ye must be gettin’ ready to study fer yer finals, an’...”

“Where are you?” she interrupted, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of yoga pants.

“Victoria Park?” Jamie replied, sounding hesitant and hopeful.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“Splendid!”  She could hear his smile down the line.

“I better not get mud in my hair, Fraser,” she retorted before hanging up, her own smile lingering on her face.

There was nothing romantic about rugby.

Non-Date #7

The flat was strangely forlorn, even with Christmas lights twinkling merrily in the living room windows and a tiny fir tree precariously balancing its five ornaments standing in the corner.  

They had exchanged their gifts on December 23rd, sipping on hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua and grinning shyly at each other.  She’d bought Jamie the next Call of Duty game for his XBox.  Nothing intimate, just something he’d mentioned in passing he was looking forward to trying.  His boyish glee upon unwrapping the package warmed her more than her drink.   Hands shaking slightly, she delicately opened the tastefully wrapped rectangle he presented to her.  Inside was a cashmere scarf, luxuriously soft beneath her fingers as she stroked it.

“Is this?” she asked.

“Aye, tis the Fraser plaid.  Ye ken there’s no’ a clan named Bee-cham, right?”

She was deeply touched, and thanked him was a kiss against his scruffy cheek.

Jamie had left for Scotland the next day, having somehow managed to secure a week’s worth of leave from his uncle over the holiday season.   As was her wont, she’d put down for as many shifts as possible while medical school wasn’t in session, but by some fluke she wasn’t scheduled to work New Year’s Eve for the first time in recent memory.

Some of her classmates from nursing college had invited her along to a “raging party in Shoreditch”, but she’d made up some excuse.  The truth was, she wasn’t in the mood for loud music and over-priced drinks with a group of virtual strangers.  If Geillis had been in town, she would have allowed her friend to coerce her into whatever mayhem she had up her sleeve, but Geillis was still in Columbia and eight months’ pregnant with twins, to everyone’s collective shock.  Especially the mother-to-be.

No, what she really wanted was a quiet evening at home, snuggled under her favourite fleece blanket on their couch, the latest Ferrante novel in her lap and a glass of Pinot Noir at the ready.  Jamie had a turntable and a surprisingly well-curated selection of vinyl in his bedroom, but she didn’t like entering his domain without his permission.

Without giving it a second thought, she rang his cell.  It was only upon hearing the raucous sounds of a party in full swing that it occurred to her that just because she was spending New Year’s Eve alone, it didn’t mean Jamie was as well.

“Claire?” he yelled over something that sounded a lot like live music.  “Are ye all right, lass?”

“Oh!  I’m so sorry, Jamie.  I just wanted to ask... never mind.  It’s not important.  Enjoy your party...”

“Wait!” the background noise mutated, sounding like a riot underwater, and then there was a wooden slam.  Jamie huffed a sigh of relief.

“Mu dheireadh.   Are ye still there, Sassenach?”

“Still here,” she confirmed, suddenly feeling sorry for herself.  She might be the most pathetic thirty-year old in London.

“Did the hospital no’ call ye in for a shift, then?”

She tucked the blanket under her feet, warding off the chill that always seemed to creep in from the wall of windows.  The Christmas lights she’d strung reflected against the glazing in alternating colours: blue, red, green, blue, red, green.

“No. By some miracle of the festive season, I have the night off,” she joked halfheartedly.   “I’m sorry for interrupting your night out.  I wanted to ask if I could borrow your turntable and a few of your albums?”

“O’ course.  Ye didna need tae ask.  An’ I’m no’ out.  I’m at home, at Lallybroch.”  He pronounced the word with a guttural flourish that made Claire think of an exotic kind of pastry or a rare tribal custom.  Any time Jamie spoke of his family’s home in Scotland, he imbued it with an otherworldly quality, like a fortress in a fairy tale, a far away land of warriors and mist.  It was strange to think of him there now, while she sat alone in their flat.

“It sounds like quite the party.”

“Aye.  The Frasers take their Hogmanay celebrations verra seriously.  Ye shoulda come wi’ me.”  Then, as though realizing what he’d said, he added quickly, “We could use a doctor.  Dougal sprained his ankle doin’ a sword dance, and Angus singed his arse somethin’ fierce jumpin’ o’er the bonfire.”

She laughed, her mood suddenly much lighter, and asked for more particulars as to how his cousin’s naked ass came to be in close proximity to open flame.  Without either realizing it, the last minutes of 2017 crept by.

Fireworks erupted outside, followed by the tolling of bells and honking of horns.  On the other end of the call, she could hear cheering and an off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne.  They were both silent, embarrassed to have been so caught up in their trivial conversation as to have missed the arrival of midnight.

“Happy Hogmanay, Sassenach,” Jamie’s voice came soft and sure over the line.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” she replied.  “I should really let you get back to your party.   Your family must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

He hummed noncommittally.  It occurred to her that had they been in the same place, they would likely be kissing right now.  It sent a shiver of want down her spine.

“Jamie?”  Her voice sounded thready, like she had just woken from a deep sleep.

“Hmmm?”  Shivers, again.

“What’s a Sassenach?”

He laughed softly, and she had to bite her lip.  What was the matter with her?  “Tis a Scottish word for a foreigner, particularly an English one,” he explained.

“You’ve never called me that before,” Claire remarked.

“I’ve ne’er spoken tae ye while on Scottish soil.  T’wasn’t an accurate description ‘til now.”

There was a long silence.  She could hear the sound of revelry through the door of whatever room at Lallybroch he’d hidden inside.  Outside the flat there were firecrackers.   They reminded her of mortar rounds heard from a distance in Afghanistan.

“You don’t like fireworks, do you?” she guessed.  It didn’t take an advanced degree in psychology to know that bright flashes and sudden pops of sound would trigger his PTSD.  They really were a mess, the pair of them.

“Nay.  Jenny an’ Ian’s bairns love them, an’ I told them no’ tae hold off on my account, but they insisted on a bonfire instead.  It reminds me o’ when I was a lad, a’fore ye could buy fireworks along wi’ yer ham at the local Tesco.”

Jamie launched into a long account of the significance of bonfires in Highland culture, and she let herself drift on the melody of his voice, the turntable long forgotten.

“Tell me about yer most memorable New Year’s,” he prompted after his cultural diatribe wound down.

“Oh, well, they all rather blur together, actually.  Too much drink, too much spent on the cover charge.  You know how it is.”

“Nah, I mean when ye were younger.  Ye must ‘ave celebrated in some remarkable places.”

She thought back to her time spent following Uncle Lamb around the globe.  Truth be told, traditional holidays weren’t something that stood out in her memory.  They felt like a foreign custom, a series of drawings taken from a picture book that showed a mother, father and children crowded around a loaded table while snow piled up outside.  They bore no relation to her reality.  It was no wonder Christmas and New Year’s left her feeling ambivalent.

Still, she didn’t want Jamie to feel sorry for her, so she launched into one of her favourite tales.

“One year, I must have been eleven, Lamb was leading an excavation of a Berber oasis town in northern Mali.  The site closed down for the Christian holidays, but Lamb decided to stay behind rather than travel back to England.  We ended up riding camels through these enormous sand dunes, following a local guide on an ancient caravan route.  On December 31st, just as the sun was setting and we had begun to make camp, the camel Lamb had been riding let out this infernal noise, leapt to its feet, and started to gallop away.  Lamb and the guide set off after it on foot, hollering and waving their keffiyeh in the air.  It was the funniest thing.”

“They left ye all alone in the desert?” Jamie asked, horrified.

“Oh, well, they came back eventually.  The camel had been stung by a scorpion, you see.  Once it got over the fright, they were able to catch it and bring it back to camp.”

“Were ye no’ scared, tae be out there in the dark by yerself?”

“No.  Not as I remember it.  The sunset was glorious, and little by little the sky came alive with a million stars.”

“Ye brave wee thing.”  Jamie sighed.  “I wish I was there wi’ ye.”

She didn’t know if he meant with her on that sand dune, or with her at their flat.  Either way, her answer was the same.

“I wish you were too.”

They finally hung up well past two o’clock.  It didn’t count as a date if the other person was five hundred miles away as you whispered goodnight.

Non-Date #12

The Royal London was expanding its pediatrics wing, and Claire was invited to a fundraising gala held, fittingly, in the Museum of Childhood.  The invitation included a plus one, and she’d been putting off asking Jamie if he could join her all week.  It wasn’t that she doubted his suitability as an escort.  Far from it.  But the gala was taking place on February 14th, of all nights, and the symbolism made her nervous.  Still, the alternative was spending the night being hit on by a drunken internist or hedge fund investor, and that was a headache she could do without.

“So,” she began casually a few nights before the event, “any plans for Valentine’s Day?”  If he said he was working or had, god forbid, a date, she would just have to go stag.

Jamie set down his gaming controller and turned to face her desk.  The pulsing  colours from the screen lit his curls like a neon nimbus in the dim room.

“Nah, nothin’ definite.  An’ ye, Sassenach?” he asked tentatively, as though easing himself out onto a frozen lake, unsure of the depth of the ice.  The nickname he had assigned to her during his holidays in Scotland had stuck.  She didn’t correct the inaccuracy, as she rather liked the idea of having a name that was only his.

“Well, I’ve been summoned to a fundraising gala for the hospital, and I was wondering... not that you need feel obliged... it’s black tie, which is really the height of pretension, if you ask me... anyway, there’s no way to decline gracefully short of an aneurysm, so...”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach,” he prodded.

“Mightyouconsiderbeingmydate?” she blurted, before taking a large gulp of tepid tea.

“Yer date?” he asked as though he had never heard of such a thing.

She sighed, resigned to the fact he was going to make this difficult.  “Yes.  My date.  My plus one.  My social companion.  And hopefully, my defence against spending the evening being pitied and set up with someone’s second cousin, Nigel, the chartered accountant.”

“Do ye have somethin’ against accountants, then?”  The corner of his lip was twitching with the birth of a grin.

“Oh, very funny, you bloody Scot.  Look, I need a date on Valentine’s Day and you are the only man in the Greater London Area who won’t interpret that as an opportunity for a pity shag.   The offer is on the table.  Take it or leave it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes that she couldn’t interpret.  Then it was gone.

“Ne’er fear, Sassenach.  I’ll protect ye from all the wee Nigels.”

***

She’d forgotten to ask whether Jamie had suitable attire for a black tie event.   It was too late now, regardless.  They were meeting at the museum, since she was on shift until eight.  Using the nurses on-call room to get changed, she slinked into her burgundy chiffon gown, its gauzy layers wrapping around her like millefeuille.   Her hair was a lost cause, so she slicked it back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and hoped for the best.  Silver chandelier earrings and a dab of cologne below her jaw, and she was ready to go.  She carried a small beaded clutch and her dress shoes - there was no way she was navigating the Tube in stilettos. 

The museum was a single massive space, conversation and the tympani of glassware echoing against its high-arched ceiling.  She stood in the entryway after checking her coat, spinning in circles and trying to get her bearings.  More than one lascivious glance was directed her way, but she studiously ignored them in favour of looking for Jamie.  With his height and red hair, he shouldn’t be hard to pick out of the crowd.

There was an appreciative murmur from behind her, a gust of fresh air, and then a soft tap against her bare shoulder.  She turned around.

No.  Not hard to pick out from a crowd at all.  Standing before her was James Fraser in full Highland regalia.  He wore his family tartan, a black velvet waistcoat, brilliant white dress shirt and a black bow tie.  When her gaze fell to the floor, she noticed his polished brogues and white socks pulled up to his knees.  She’d never before considered how a man’s knees might be alluring, but there it was.   Jamie had very sexy knees.

“G’d evening, Sassenach.  Ye look... weel, ye look bonnie.”  Jamie’s normally deep voice was gruffer than usual, perhaps on account of the cold night air.  Or maybe his bowtie was tied too tight.

“Good evening, Jamie,” she replied once she found her voice.  “You look, well, if you were a Jacobite, I’d say you looked regal.”

The tops of Jamie’s ears went red, and he ducked his chin, his tamed curls falling briefly forward.  It gave him the look of a bashful child receiving unexpected praise, completely at odds with the strikingly masculine figure he cut.

“No’ a Nigel, then?” he teased.

“No.  Definitely not a Nigel.  Come, let’s get something to drink before all the top-shelf liquor runs out.  You wouldn’t believe how much some of these doctors can put away!”

Jamie was a perfect date.  He stood by her elbow as she mingled and greeted various colleagues and professors, nodding at their tales of medical misfortune and smiling at their awkward jokes.  He spoke confidently about his work and current affairs, and patiently tolerated endless jibes about what a true Scotsman wore beneath his kilt.

When she politely excused them from one such conversation, he leaned over to whisper in her ear as they walked away to fortify themselves with more alcohol.

“I’ve a mind tae lift my plaid an’ moon the entire assembly the next time one o’ yer wee doctor friends asks about my underthings.  Are ye sure they arena raising funds for a new proctology department, Sassenach?”

She snorted in a truly unladylike fashion and turned to meet his unrepentant smirk.  Just then, a figure approaching from the bar caught her eye.

Oh no.  It couldn’t be.  After five years, she’d finally relaxed her vigilance, had ceased anticipating his presence at every turn, and now, here he was.

“Sassenach?” Jamie was watching her with concern.  The blush had drained from her cheeks, leaving her wine-stained lips and sintering eyes the only colour on her face.

“Claire!  Fancy meeting you here!”  Had his voice always been so nasal?  His eyes so glassy and vacant, like portals into nothingness.  He’d obviously been drinking heavily.  A blond woman half his age had her arm linked through his.

“Frank,” she uttered his name.  Jamie stepped into her side, his posture erect, somehow sensing that she needed his protection from this unheralded threat.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.  I’d heard you’d gone into the army, or some such thing.  Afghanistan, was it?  Well, with your penchant for violence, I suppose that’s fitting.”

She breathed deeply through her nose.  She would not let him get the better of her.  She wasn’t that person anymore.  With a clammy hand, she grabbed onto Jamie’s fingers where they rested around her hip.  He squeezed back.  He was here.   She wasn’t alone.  It was all the strength she needed.

“Yes, that’s right.  I served overseas for a time, but I’m back in London now.  In medical school.   Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”

Focusing on each step, she turned towards the exit, Jamie’s hand now warm upon the small of her back.  Her chin wobbled, but she bit down hard to stave off tears.

“A doctor?” Frank taunted from behind her.  “Wouldn’t a demolition expert be more apropos, darling?”

She froze, spine trembling with anger.  Jamie made a questioning noise, asking without words if she wanted him to intervene.   She didn’t.

Glancing over her shoulder, she dealt her parting blow.

“Give my best to Amelia and the children.”  Without waiting to witness the aftermath of her pronouncement, she made her way out into the chilly night air, Jamie’s bulk a silent sentinel at her side.

It wasn’t a date if it ended on the floor of your bathroom, crying ugly sobs as mascara stained your cheeks, while your partner held your shoulders and made soothing noises with his throat.  

That wasn’t dating, that was survival.

***

mac na ghalla = son of a bitch

Mu dheireadh = finally

[nerdgenie]

Vermish musings

I don't really write fics. I wouldn't know where to begin, but this thought has been swirling in my head, and I wanted to get it out. Soooo, here goes:

Vera and Hamish are still together. They divide their time between Vera's home and Hamish's apartment. They've settled into a steady routine and have basically built a life together. Feelings are still not being said out loud because they're idiots who don't know how to function without the defective defense mechanisms they've developed through all the pain they've endured.

Cassie is alive because magic. She wasn't really dead, and another werewolf group found and took care of her. Apparently, there are more werewolves and hides out there. She got another hide and has been fighting bad magic with the other group. She did not go back to Belgrave and to Hamish because reasons.

Belgrave is under threat by another magic group. Cassie and her group had been tracking said group and ended up in Belgrave.

Hamish and Vera are being sweet and in love when Cassie revealed herself to them. Cue confusing emotions from everyone. Emotions needs to be set aside because of threat.

Vera decides to break things off with Hamish. She knows how much Cassie meant to Hamish, and now that he has her back, she was not going to stand in the way. She thinks Hamish was just too much of a gentleman to end their "purely physical" relationship so she does it for him. She also realizes she's in love with him, but love means doing what's best for the other person. She will keep her mouth shut if it means Hamish gets to be happy.

Hamish is understandably confused, but because of the threat they were facing, he had not had a moment to process his feelings. When Vera broke things off with him, he was not able to react. He just kinda.. stood there. Vera left. He finally snapped out of it, and felt bad for how he handled their talk. He's also still really confused. Everyone else assumed he and Cassie would get back together. Now, Vera breaks up with him so he can go back to Cassie. He's happy Cassie is alive and back, but thinking about being in a relationship with her doesn't feel right. He's a different person now. Cassie is different. They don't really know each other. He's confused. Also, apparently Vera doesn't really have feelings for him. It's a "convenient hookup that lasted longer than it should" Those words coming from Vera hurt more than he expected they should.

Everybody works together. Vera and Cassie are formidable together and have a mutual respect. They are both bad ass, and they know it.

They win against the threat. Happy hugs and high fives. Hamish is looking for Vera in the commotion. He sees her leaving. He realizes how much it hurts to see her leave. He's missed her. He's been staying in his apartment instead of the den because that's where Vera's scent still lingers. Her toothbrush and the coffee mug that still has her lipstick stain from the morning they hurriedly left without doing the dishes are still there. Vera's favorite shirt of his that she used to wear is there -- in their bed. He's never really stopped to think about it, he was just doing what his body (turns out it was really his feelings dictating his actions) told him to do - going through the motions. He's still staring at Vera's retreating form when the realization of how in love he really is with Vera suckerpunched him

Vera doesn't love him he reminds himself. To her, it was just sex. It's like a knife through his heart. He's feeling sorry for himself when he gets a text from Vera about Order business - just your standard Grand Magus text - but his heart swells. He can't do anything if she doesn't feel the same way. The important thing, he decides, is Vera is still in his life. He'll take whatever she's willing to give.

Cassie talks to Hamish. She and her group are about to leave but she and Hamish has a lot they need to talk about. She explains her reasons for not coming back. He says that it hurt and confused him, made him angry even, but in the end, he forgives her. Cassie tells him she wants to try again, maybe even pick things up off from where they left. Hamish tells her they can't do that anymore. They are different people now. They've grown in the last almost 10 years. Cassie realizes he's right - that she just asked Hamish to try again because it's what people would expect them to do - but it's not what she wanted ultimately. Her life is with her pack, and she wants to be with them. They hug goodbye. They will always be important to each other and will always be there when the other needed them. As she's leaving, she turns and gives Hamish one last advice "tell her how you feel." Hamish just gives her a sad smile.

Vera and Hamish are both idiots. Hamish is sticking with 'she doesn't love me but that's okay because at least she still talks to me.' He hasn't told her there's nothing going on between him and Cassie and that Cassie left because how would that go? "By the way, I know you don't really care but Cassie and I are not together. I don't have feelings for her. I'm in love with you." That would probably make Vera cut him off from her life completely and that was the one thing he can't allow to happen. Vera doesn't ask him either because it hurts too much to think about. She assumes Hamish doesn't mention his happy relationship to her because he really is a gentleman and is avoiding hurting her. She also doesn't ask Hamish to help out with Order business despite her needing his counsel and his constant visits to the Temple to offer help. She just sends him home because she promised herself she'll do what she can to make Hamish happy. That includes not taking time away from his personal life. Idiots the pair of them.

Vera is going on a date. Hamish finds out when he arrived at the Temple after his class as he always does. Vera is dressed in the black dress she wore that one time. He remembers how she finally relented to him planning a "celebration" they were calling it. He took her to her favorite restaurant, walked around holding hands until they went home and made love. She awkwardly explains an old Order friend asked her out. Hamish tells her to have a good night. Vera leaves. He decides to stay in the Temple. He pours himself a glass of bourbon after being sober for almost a year.

Vera thinks about how stupid she'd been agreeing to a date. She and (what's a good handsome name for her date?) goes way back when they first started in the Order together. They were also dancing around starting a relationship, but he was transferred to another chapter. She thought going on a date with someone she was interested in might snap her out of the feelings that she can't seem to get rid off. She thought wearing that dress - that dress that made her feel like she actually had a chance at happiness, like the look Hamish had in his eyes that night was love - on her date would somehow replace the memories of that night with the memories of her date. Stupid, she thinks. She and whathisname had a good enough night. He's a good guy, but he's not Hamish. She resigns herself to her annoying feelings, cuts the night short (it wouldn't be fair to string him along. She considered spending the night with him but the thought of someone other than Hamish's hands on her makes her recoil) and decides to go to the Temple to for a drink.

She's still feeling sorry and mostly angry with herself for being so pathetically in love with a man who's in a happy relationship with someone else when she finds Hamish slumped in the Temple bar with a drink in his hand. Whatever she was feeling for herself immediately turned to concerned for Hamish. He has been sober for some time now and doing so well at it. He's never really struggled to the point of a relapse, and here he was with a drink in hand.

She approaches him slowly and attempts a light touch "I hope that drink's for me" she says. Hamish is surprised to see her there. How long has that been? Two hours since she left for her date? Why is she here? He slides the glass to her and asks her how her date went. He can't help but torture himself. She shrugs, sits beside him and takes a sip. She tells him it was okay but that she doesn't really want anything resembling a relationship -- with someone who isn't you, she thinks but doesn't say out loud. She starts to ask Hamish why he has a drink. He cuts her off by saying he never actually drank anything. He was really close when she walked in. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks. "It's just something I need to work through. I'll be okay." "Okay. How about we both don't drink and just sit here tonight." she says as she lightly bumps her shoulder with his. "I'd like that." And for the first time since their relationship ended, they both felt whole.

My head still needs to work out a happy ending for them, but that's all I've got for now.

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 3 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART  3

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,000

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gwendolyn, having played her last card, shares a drink with Harry and Eggsy while she tells them who she is, where she came from and why she was spying on them.

------

The Black Prince Public House stood on a quiet corner in South London’s, Kensington. The pub dated back to the early 20th century and its name referred to the road where it stood. The wall were painted a dark forest green with black trim. Its name was displayed in gold. It was the place to go, its sign stated, for FINE ALES AND STOUT, but the three patrons inside, seated at one of the booths at the rear, decided that something a little stronger was appropriate after the evening’s turn of events.

Gwendolyn decided this was a drink she was waiting for her whole life and, therefore, if she was going to “celebrate”, was not the right word, perhaps “commemorate the occasion” was a better term, she was going to do it properly. She had acquired a taste for fine scotch and chose accordingly. She was quite sure the two men were slightly taken aback when she ordered three The Macallan 25’s, neat, for the table. She was fairly certain that this warm, friendly, unassuming neighbourhood pub would not carry The Maccallan M Edition, or the Silver Jubilee, or the Dalmore 64.  so she didn’t inquire, but even the cost of the three glasses would be relatively extravagant. The price wasn’t a concern of hers and she was sure it wasn’t a concern of the Kingsman, whose coffers went deep. She wasn’t beyond offending any gentlemanly sensibilities this evening. They were beyond chivalry. And she wasn’t about to tolerate either of them possibly ordering for her.

The two men regarded her if she were a new species of female. She probably was. There were female Kingsman agents, but they too, followed Kingsman protocol, regardless of gender. The behaviour, actions, mannerisms of all Kingsman were consistent, familiar, reliable, while she was under no such constraints.  If her behaviour this evening was unseemly, “unladylike”, she really couldn’t give a rat’s arse. She was here for a reason and her methods got her job done. Perhaps with less grace and finesse than she was hoping for, but she got her results.

The three short tumblrs of scotch were placed in front of them. It had been a very long time since The Black Black Prince had poured not one, but three from that particular bottle. As it was custom that the host, or hostess for this matter, make a toast and she didn’t yet make a move toward her glass, the two men waited to follow her lead. So now they decide to be polite, she thought.

“Well, then.” she began. She was slightly irritated at their seemingly perfect presentation, at least on Harry’s part. Eggsy was not beyond taking a more relaxed shape and leaned back into the booth. His tie was loosened and his suit coat unbuttoned. His hair slightly mused even though he did not participate in any of the more physical aspects of their evening, as if that was its natural state. He would have shrugged out of his jacket if it weren’t for his shoulder holster.

Harry Hart, returned back to his gentlemanly demeanour, sat straight, but comfortably, his suit and tie still perfectly in place. Even his hair had somehow returned to its initial state, smooth waves brushed back into shape. It made her feel somewhat uncomfortable to see him so poised after the physical contact they had made. She had flipped him over her head, had a knife to his throat, kicked him fairly hard in the shin, and he looked none the worse for wear. Only his expression, equal parts indignant, concerned, and vaguely offended, revealed that anything of interest had occurred.

In contrast, even turning toward him was likely to throw her off balance. A feeling she did not enjoy one bit. Just her quick glance in his direction and she could feel him behind her again, pressing against her, the long line of his legs, the broadness of his chest across her back, the sheer size of him, the smell of his wool suit and the cologne, soap or whatever made him smell so good and she felt a rush of blood rise up to her cheeks. She clenched her jaw and flushed. She was hoping that they would take it for her high emotional state after their confrontation, not the fact that she found herself neatly attracted to a man she only just met and almost twice her age.

His refined manner only made her that much more aware of her own disheveled state. Her hair, a black cloud that had been blown all over, her pedestrian attire, though not unattractive, in no way matched the elegance of their Kingsman suits. No cosmetics, no adornment, not that those elements of her outward appearance were particularly important to her, in the face of their stately masculinity, she felt decidedly unfeminine. And regardless of her feelings, she knew that her looks were as much of a tool for a spy as her words or actions. She convinced herself she wasn’t concerned just because she wanted Harry to find her attractive.

Her personal feelings seeped into her professional persona. She reeled back her thoughts and replaced them with a cool, calm, collected mindset with a specific objective. If she kept her personal feelings at bay now, she could let it all out after her mission was accomplished. She drilled into her brain, be smart now, feel later.

Until she felt differently, she approached this as she would any other meeting of an asset or target. What she needed from the relationship and how could she get them to do what she wanted was just as much about finding out what they needed, and how to make it seem she was giving them what they wanted.  Almost every relationship was based on a desire to be heard and understood. Wants and needs were always self-revealed, unwittingly or intently. She just had to listen.

Unfortunately, for this first meeting, she would be the one doing most of the talking. She knew being genuine, sincere, and honest, would be in her best interest.  The more and better we are heard and understood, she thought, the more we are willing to and want to engage and respond. The sensation of being listened to was a powerful motivator and feeling enhancer to all people, it was human nature.  It was why we befriended those that listened to us, worked for those that heard us, and fell in love with those that understood us.

——

“Well” she repeated, refocusing. She shifted her posture, drew her shoulders back, lifted her head a little higher, and held the space around her. Composing herself just as she would with any new asset would put her back on target. Remember your training.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” She opened up the table.

Harry, as direct as she, got right to the point.

“How are we to trust that you are really Merlin’s daughter? He never spoke of family.”

He folded his hands together, looking stern with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his brow with just a hint of a furrow.

Harry’s eyes roved over her, her posture, hands, the angles of her face. He listened to the inflections of her voice, searching for any tells that might indicate she was being less than honest. He looked for any hint of the tall Scotsman in this young woman. The loss of Merlin was still a wound that was raw. For both he and Eggsy. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone using his death as an excuse, no matter the reason, but especially if it was a false one.

“He wouldn’t have.” She replied bluntly. “

“ How much did you know of Hamish?” She asked.

She emphasised the pronunciation of his given name. Hay-mish.

“That is, before he came to Kingsman.”

The two men glanced at each other, but did not speak. Admittedly, they did not know of Merlin’s past. He never offered, and as gentleman, they never asked. They both knew that spies usually became spies because of something dark and fucked up from their past, and Harry had no doubt this was the same for Merlin. Hence, he never questioned his unwillingness to disclose his life prior to Kingsman. Harry was the same, just as unwilling to divulge his own personal information.

Eggsy, “That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can say that.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, emphasising the importance of his words. They were low and sharp.

“If you really are who you say you are, then you know that his loss is one that we still feel every day.”

He shot a glance toward Eggsy, who more than anyone, felt the weight of his death.

“We will not condone anyone using his name for their own motives. Have you proof?”

She surveyed them for a moment. She considered her words and chose them with care. Her words were all she had and they carried a heavy weight. They had to be strong enough to deliver the message she was about to send. He eyes moved to her drink, still untouched.  Mindfulness was key. As was paying attention to their responses, observing them with the intent to understand. Through her words, she would see how they felt, what they were thinking, and most of all, what they wanted or needed.

She cleared her throat. She met one pair of eyes and then the other.  She poised herself to say something that, to her, held the utmost honour and importance. She took a deep breath in. At the end of her exhalation, she spoke. Her voice was low as well. Her words were even more powerful for her lack of emotion.

“My father’s favorite song was ‘Country Roads.’ by John Denver.”

The entire room seemed to suddenly quiet with stupefaction.

“My father was singing it, when he stepped off of a land mine to save both of your lives. And to save your mission. For my father, the mission always came first.”

For the two men, this was an impossible statement. No one, set aside Eggsy and himself had that knowledge. Not even other Kingsman.

Harry spoke, this time with frank disbelief. He wasn’t even questioning her. He was asking himself. Out loud. Without his familiar strength and surety.

“That is impossible. There is no possible way you could know that.”

With the same poise, the same simplicity, she explained.

“I was there when he died.” Observing their state of bewilderment, she clarified. “Via satellite and reconnaissance drones.” Which didn’t ease their confusion.

“If you worked with my father, you knew he was a brilliant strategist. He wasn’t merely good, he was gifted. He had the talent of an artist. Some of that talent filtered down to me. I’ll never be as good as he was, but I was good enough to hack the communication band that Statesman had in place for reconnaissance and I had access to audio and visual of the events that led to, and after his death.”

Impossible would never have the same meaning for them again. Because this young woman’s story was utterly impossible. Yet, here it was, an impossible situation.  

She turned slightly toward Eggsy and held his blue eyes with her grey. Her voice took on an undefinable emotion, “I know that he took your place on a land mine, Eggsy.”

And with that confession, he was forced to drop his gaze. Is this how Harry felt when he had to tell him that it was due to Harry’s own mistake that Eggy’s father died? Guilt was physical. It was a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

“I know that he died in the way that he wanted.”

She added with a note of empathy and understanding to slightly ease their guilt and their shock.  

“He was able to give his life for those close to him.”

Neither of the men could think of anything to say. Harry Hart, who was never at a loss for words, found himself unable to find a single word that would be appropriate for a time and situation like this.

Gwendolyn sighed internally. At least now she had their full attention. She was quite certain that she would not be interrupted this time around.

“Perhaps,”  she said. Her voice now carried a softer note. It was not the voice of an agent. It was the voice of a daughter.

“Perhaps, I should start at the beginning”.

“But first.” she paused and picked up her glass, holding her arm out toward the men, the glass in her hand.

Harry and Eggsy, first exchanging a look in the other’s direction, followed suit. Each man took a glass and waited, with the warm golden liquid breaking up the lines of dim light that hovered over their table.

She suddenly felt overcome once more, as she had been when she first stepped off the train and onto the concourse on her arrival. She channeled that emotion into her toast, which was brief and heartbreaking in its simplicity.

Holding up her glass, “To my father, Hamish Mycroft.” She paused. “And to Merlin.”

Each of them held the gaze of the other two as their glasses touched with a light, crisp ring. Each drank back its contents.

——

As three glasses hit the hardwood of the table. Gwendolyn began to speak. Her story was a long and complicated one. And unfortunately, the two men could tell, it would be a sad one. An unknown daughter of a colleague that you’ve known for most of your adult life doesn’t suddenly appear after his death with good news.

“My father, whose given name was Hamish Mycroft, was married. He had three children. Two boys and a girl. I was the youngest.”

The slightly blank, yet confused faces made it seem like she had already given them more information than they could process. She paused, gestured to the barkeep for another round. The scotch would do good to kick in soon, because her story was not going to get any easier.

“Before he had a family, he worked with far east intelligence, recruited after his time in the army, where he had been stationed in Tibet, Bhutan, and other East Asian territories.”

She nodded her thanks to the barman, who delivered their second round of drinks. The scotch should have been savoured, but she felt at the time, a tip back for her father was right, even though he would have been horrified to see her shoot back a scotch of such high quality. This one however, she would sip.

“While he was working as a field operative at the station in Bhutan, he met a very beautiful Bhutanese woman, Evelyn, my mother, who was also working intelligence, but as a handler. Based on their skill assessment, they were assigned to work as a team. They would run missions together. My father as the operative. My mother, his handler. Hence, I myself am half Scottish, half Bhutanese. If you’ve had difficulty pinpointing my ethnicity. It’s not a common pairing.”

“Even though the agency opposed ‘close and continuing’, inter-agency relationships and relationships in general, Hamish believed that he could live a normal life. That he could have a wife and family despite working in intelligence. They were an example of having a successful home life in addition to a successful career and they were very happy for a long time.”

Merlin as a husband and father were the farthest roles that Harry and Eggsy could imagine him in. The brusk, often testy, disagreeable scotsman, with all the warmth of a potato, with a wife and children.

Gwendolyn continued with her story. Pausing after a long stretch for a sip of her scotch, but for the most part, continuously and without any interruption from the two men. They were both a bit stupefied that one of their closest, most respected and trusted colleagues had an entire past of which they had no knowledge.

—

Hamish was smitten at first glance. On Evelyn’s side, it was more appropriate to say that she tolerated his presence . And even that was putting things kindly. Eventually, he was able to win her over with his rough Scottish brogue, his biting sense of humour and dry wit. Underneath the sarcasm and abrupt, even gruff personality, she sensed a very kind soul who possessed a good heart. It was simply being protected by a shield designed to keep people at arms length.

Though as handler and operative, there could be no shields. There could not be even a hairs breadth distance between a team, let alone an arms length. The operative’s life was literally in the hands of the handler. If they weren’t working, existing, breathing as one, it would be only a matter of time until the operative would find himself in a position where he needed his handler, but the handler wouldn’t be able to provide. Or the agent, not fully trusting his handler, withheld crucial information, therefore setting up his handler to fail in the case where he needs life threatening assistance. These relationships often ended in the death of the operative, as he had to fully entrust not only the capability of his handler, but also fully trust the person behind his earpiece. The relationship had to be based, on not only on professional compatibility, but on a personal and emotional connection as well.  Whatever jesting nature, or standoffish front either of them first presented to each other dissolved when they were on mission. The trust was profound. It was scary to know the circumstances they had been through together and how much each of them put their lives in the hands of the other.

Their relationship was highly personal, intense, and emotional. The nature of their relationship was a powerful force behind their choice to be together and to devote their loyalties to a single agency, with a singular mission, to preserve life and to protect the innocent. However, this often resulted in taking out some very bad, very large, very powerful players off the world’s stage. When they both proved themselves more than capable individually, and even beyond exceptional as a team, they were brought on to the Maximum Threat, Maximum Risk Special Operations Division, or MTMR.

The MTMR, only dealt with the worst of the worst, and then the unthinkable of the worst. These were the terrorists, the warlords, those with enough power and influence to bypass almost any law, any treaty and any world decree. Those who would violate human rights and the rules of engagement. They were the worst of the worst, but also the lowest of the low. In their eyes, life was a commodity to be traded, abused or without value and discarded at will. This is what happened when psychopaths achieved power. Without empathy, without a conscious, without a sense of right or wrong or any moral accountability, without any value of life. These were the most dangerous and most difficult enemies to engage. Not only could they commit the most horrible atrocities, they were usually narcissists as well, dynamic, charismatic, even charming. Therefore, their inner circle was comprised of sycophants who provided his narcissistic supply. They eliminated those that were either immune to their charms, or were beginning to understand the true nature of their personality, which was that of a very highly functioning psychopath.

In this division, Hamish did not operate in the field, but joined Evelyn in strategic planning and outcomes. They worked as a team. Hamish, with his knowledge of the field as a Special Operations Officer, possessed the skills to operate weapons and explosives, to take on missions to gather intelligence and destroy targets in hostile environments. He knew the dangers, the variables, the best strategies.

Evelyn provided critical thinking.  She had the ability to predict outcomes, to make the most difficult life and death decisions without hesitation and be a leader to her team . The pair became an invaluable asset to the division. It was proof to them, when the agency acknowledged their value, not as separate agents, not as a handler and operative, but as a team, that they could be in the world of espionage as husband and wife with a family. The agency saw that their success was based on not only their expertise, but BECAUSE of, not despite their relationship. The closeness, the sheer absolute trust that they had in each other, and their love kept them committed to each other and their work. They experienced both a fulfilling family life and successful professional life for longer than anyone could hope for in their line of work.

During their successful tenure in the MTMR Special Ops, one operation took precedence over all others. They were both actively involved, not only in gathering intel, but in the entire intelligence cycle.  First, with planning, identifying possible threats and what they needed to know about the threat with world leaders and decision makers. Collection, which was the division they both began in, the physical collection of target information through operations. Analysis, examining the new information, looking for connections, key points, new developments, and combining it with what they already knew, creating useful and actionable intelligence. Lastly, was Dissemination, where the new intelligence was discussed with politicians and decision makers who then decided whether to take action or if more information was needed.

It was during one of these cycles, where Evelyn and Hamish were assigned as head officers of a mission. It was a mission that resulted from intel that their team had collected, analysed and produced. The target was an international underground world leader, not of any established or recognised government. He threatened to destabilise society. Not through government or any means of authority. He wasn’t targeting positions of leadership. He wasn’t engaging in the trickle down theory. He was starting at the bottom. First, was taking out crops, tainting water supplies, poisoning livestock. He did not bother with small areas. He targeted the largest ones. Locations with the most impact and the widest effect.  Civil unrest was next. Which turned into peaceful demonstrations. Then came active protest. Followed by violent protest. Then it was rioting, looting. And when fear took hold, it was domestic terrorism. He was using the countries own people to destabilise the structure, the foundation of civilisation, which was based on people working together.

Apparently, he was not one to follow the saying, “The fish rots from the head down.” Meaning that without sound leadership, the people will eventually turn bad and die off. When in actuality, the guts, the contents of the fish begins to rot first. Perhaps the warlord followed this philosophy. Corrupt the innovators, the providers, the creators of sustenance, essentially the life givers, and civilised society will begin to rot from, not the head down, but from the inside out.

In conjunction with the US, the British Armed Forces and other key international allies, they were able to coordinate an airstrike. It was successful in so much that they destroyed their enemies home base, their world HQ and well as almost all of their high level leadership. However, they missed their main target. Also on the strike list, was the home of Azal Aamon, which was where he was supposed to be at the time of the strike. His family, wife and two children were to be collateral damage. Unfortunate, but sometimes unavoidable in times of war. But after reviewing the DNA evidence to confirm the targets as deceased, his family was identified, but Aamon’s DNA was not found. No one had knowledge of how he was able to avoid or survive the attack. The last piece of intel that they had verified, was his location at the time of fire.

———

Inside the Black Prince, Gwendolyn paused. She reached for her drink, lifted the glass to her lips, and took a small sip. Harry saw her jaw working as she let the scotch rest on her palate, allowing it to reach all the areas of her tongue so she could appreciate its aromatic notes before she swallowed.  It was a gesture he was familiar with, one that he made every time he enjoyed his own drink, but it was especially interesting to see this decidedly, he was not a sexist in any way, shape or form, but this particularly male gesture take shape on her extremely feminine and delicate face. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. So he simply took her lead and followed suit with a swallow of his own. As did Eggsy, who was leaning forward at this point, his elbows on the table and his tie even more undone, as were the few top buttons of his shirt. Harry as always, remained properly attired.

She looked at both of them, her eyes inquiring, silently asking if they had any questions, if they needed any clarifications, to see if they understood. To confirm that they believed her.

Harry was particularly intrigued. Out of all the coincidences that seemed to be happening, he knew precisely, the mission she was referring to. The British Armed Forces did take part in the Aamon mission and he knew this because he was part of the BAF at that time.  He had been directly involved in the operations side of the mission. How was it possible that he had this experience in common with Merlin and it never came up in conversation? He thought back to the rare times where they would share stories, sometimes while waiting out a mission, or after a successful one, over a drink just like this. He recalled sharing a few stories from his time in the military, but thinking back, could not recall a single instance that Merlin even mentioned his time in the army, or anything really prior his employment with Kingsman. Harry only knew that he had been military. Out of all the possible connections that they had, one of the biggest ones that they shared remained unknown until after his death.

Gwendoyn was regarding him thoughtfully, knowing that he had made some kind of connection or realisation, but she didn’t mention it and he was grateful. He tipped his head, asking her to please continue.

“As you can imagine, this was seen as a failed mission on paper, since they did not terminate their main target. But in many ways it was a huge success. An operation of this scale, with multiple targets on the board, with international military and intelligence coordination, with minimal collateral damage, is typically unheard of, and my parents were honoured to have lead their intelligence division. I’m not sure if Kingsman participates in this particular tradition, but after high risk missions of this nature, officers and operatives, if it is feasible, are offered time off, mostly to decompress. The agency is aware that if their officers and operatives work at that level of intensity for prolonged periods of time, they will burn out. It’s not possible to sustain that level of stress at length without a chance to wind down.”

It was quiet. Gwendolyn has stopped speaking. Harry could see that she was taking time to collect her thoughts again. He wasn’t sure why she needed to. She was recalling a very complicated and personal story with an eloquence, a clarity and a dignity that he respected very much. She wasn’t just reminiscing about a story, reciting history, or a past event. Their comprehension was important to her. This wasn’t about her “getting something off of her chest”. He had the feeling that she could be very happy never having to say any of these words ever again. She wasn’t looking for support or understanding. She was making sure that THEY understood her story. It wasn’t sympathy for her that she wanted. She was looking for absorbtion  Particularly from Harry. Most likely because he had the longest relationship with Merlin. But she was fixing him with a very intense gaze that he was not quite sure what to do with.

Harry already felt a particular sadness. He knew where this story was heading. He might not know the specifics yet, but you didn’t need to be a spy to know there was no happy ending for her. Out of a family that was once a mother, a father, and two brothers, this woman was the only one sitting in front of them. His respect for her was growing with each moment. He was feeling quite sorry now, for treating her so roughly.

She picked up her story, dusted it a little, found where she left off and resumed. Her voice became detached once again, but her words never faltered.

“We were all on break. Because they both got time off, that meant the whole family was on break. It was very rare for us. For the family, for me, those times were very special.  I don’t remember many other times we had that kind of chance. Of course, outings were still agency outings. I was really too small at the time, six, but that was our life. I didn’t know any different then. But my parents, because of their positions, were at high risk for retaliation and we always had protection with us. My brothers and I had protocol, even back then. No speaking to strangers, at all. Never speaking about my parents, never offering any personal information. Never giving out my name. If we were ever to get lost, we were never to ask for them or speak their names. We had one number to call and it was not even theirs. It was the agency’s number, created just for us to have in case of an emergency. There was actually a person whose job it was to be prepared if they ever received a call from us. Very few people, and only those with high security clearance, had information about our family. We were referred to as assets. Not by our names.”

As she continued, The more emotion left her voice, the more matter of fact she became, as she became more composed, more stoic, Harry felt his sadness slowly turn into inevitable dread. He was also aware of the second mission that followed up the first air strike. He was also assigned operations support for the BAF’s involvement. He had heard stories about what had happened at intelligence HQ, but never anything confirmed. If she had been involved in that, it was worse than he thought.

------

Look for future posts :) If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Feedback, likes and reblogs are always helpful and much appreciated. If you have a chance, would love to hear your thoughts!

[knightofthecourt]

Love Bites - Chapter 7

Belatrice Gray was a TA at Belgrave University, working hard to stay on top of her marking and trying not to flunk her own studies, when a night out with her bff Randall and his roommates, changed everything.

Hamish Duke x OC fiction with fluff, romance and angst. OC description has been left out to allow for reader personalisation!

Hamish was awoken by the watery light streaming in through his bedroom window. He turned his head away from the intrusion, desperately chasing the last remnants of sleep.

He’d been having the most unusually vivid dream. The taste of Bela’s lemon-tinted lips on his, the sound of her gasping his name as he grasped the soft curve of her hip, the taste of flesh, flashes of blood.

His eyes flew open. He sat up suddenly, heart racing and looked around the room. 

Next to his own unclothed form, there she lay, curled around his duvet, sleeping peacefully. His breathing slowed as his eyes traced her outline, searching for signs of injury.

There was no blood, no torn flesh, no sign of distress, but… he brushed aside a lock of hair, careful not to disturb her. On the patch of skin below the back of her neck, smooth and even, as if they’d been painted on, sat two faint red crescents. A bite mark.    

Hamish’ stomach plummeted. It hadn’t been a dream, he’d lost control and he - well, Tundra - had bitten Bela last night. As he scanned the discoloured marks that marred the previously unblemished area he began to feel more and more uneasy. He could still feel the pressure of his teeth sinking into her neck, the taste, but this bite looked like it had healed years ago. It didn’t make sense. 

Hamish rose from the bed, quickly and quietly and grabbed the closest outfit he could find. Bela wasn’t safe with him here, something was very wrong.

He needed to get to the Den, now. 

- - - - -

“So, you didn’t bite her?”

Hamish raked a hand through his hair as he stared at Randall. “No, I- Tundra did. It’s like I couldn’t keep him out, I had no control.” 

Lilith shook her head. “But it wasn’t there when you woke up? And Bela didn’t say anything?”

“What would she say,” Jack said, “Morning Hamish, I had a great time last night - by the way, did you turn into a werewolf and take a great big chunk out of my neck?”

“No,” Hamish said, “I told you, the bite had healed somehow and I left before she woke up.” 

“Ooh,” said Jack “Maybe she’s some sort of vampire with superhuman healing abilities”. 

Randall grinned, “Or a mutant, like Wolverine from X-Men.” He paused when he saw the look on Hamish’s face. “No, probably not a mutant. Definitely not a mutant... are you sure it happened? Maybe the mark is from something else - I fell asleep on a textbook after finals, had a line on my arm for three days.” 

Hamish’s head throbbed as he looked across the room at Jack, Randall and Lilith. He’d been glad to find all three of them in the Den when he burst through the door half an hour ago, strewn across the living room. Judging from the state of the place, they were recovering from a beer pong session.

After they’d finished making comments about his uncharacteristically haphazard appearance and lack of tie, he’d managed to explain what had happened with Bela - the bite, blacking out after and waking up this morning with her still in one piece.  

As he watched their conversation turn to the different ways they’d managed to injure themselves in their sleep, his mind drifted to the woman he’d left in his apartment. He wondered whether she’d found the note he’d left yet, a carefully crafted lie to explain his unexpected absence, propped against a glass of juice and packet of Advil on the bedside table. It took more willpower than he expected not to lean down and brush a kiss against her temple before he left, but he couldn’t risk waking her.

“Enough.” Hamish snapped, pulling the trio from their hungover musings. “This is serious. I’ve never seen anything like this, never even read about anything like it and… things have been different recently. I’ve been losing control. I’ve put Bela in danger - I’ve put all of you in danger.”

His three friends looked up at him, all traces of humour gone.  

“Ok,” Randall said. He threw off the blanket and walked over to the bookshelf in the corner of the room. “Let’s hit the books then.” 

- - - - -

“Wha-!” Hamish ducked as a leather bound volume went sailing past his head. 

“How could you?” Lilith was furious, her face a mask of rage, eyes flashing between silver and brown in a kaleidoscopic blur. 

Randall spun on his heels as Hamish regained his composure. “What the hell Lilith?”

“Without her consent Hamish? You mated with her without her consent?”

“Woah,” Jack chipped in from his perch on the stairs, “Even I know that’s wrong, dude.”

Randall spun back to Hamish, who looked baffled, and then held up his hands in an attempt to keep Lilith and Hamish apart. 

“Haim,” he said, keeping one eye on Lilith, who was now shifting from foot to foot, as if readying herself to launch at their leader. “What did you do?”

Hamish raised his hands in defence. “Nothing. I asked before we were intimate. I would never...” He trailed off when Lilith let out a small snarl. 

“I’m not talking about sex Hamish, you marked her - read the damn book.”

Hamish didn’t move. He looked stricken, the blood draining from his face. 

Randall retrieved the book from the floor and opened it to the page Lilith had marked with a scrap of paper. “Though often depicted otherwise in folklore, most werewolves will never find a mate. Those who do are rare.” He began, glancing up at Hamish who had placed his head in his hands. 

“Once a mate is identified the hide will compel the wearer to bond with their potential partner, before marking them as their own. This stage of the mating process is dangerous and, if the champion is not in control of the hide, often results in the death of their mate.”

Hamish swayed a little on his feet.

Randall continued. “Those who survive have little recollection of this process, though it is not known why. As well as providing a euphoric effect, the saliva produced by the wolf during mating causes the mark to heal quickly. The bond created through mating is irreversible and can only be severed by the death of the hide’s host, or the death of their mate. The benefits of mating include an incomparable sense of loyalty, enhanced resistance to magic and the ability to bear -”.

“Stop.” Hamish’s voice cracked. He lowered his hands from his ashen face.     

Lilith was ready to punch something, or someone. “Loyalty?” she snarled, “It’s brainwashing Hamish. How could you do this to her? She’s our friend - you didn’t even give her a choice.” 

Randall scoffed as he placed the book on the table next to the sofa. “Your friend, Lil? When was the last time you two hung out on your own.” 

“Stop.” Hamish’s voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“Well, apparently she’s going to be our new werewolf step mom or something so -”

“As if that makes you best friends. Wait a second - does that mean Hamish is our werewolf dad?” 

“More like grandad,” Jack piped up. 

“Urgh!” Lilith let out a wail of frustration and rounded on Randall, her eyes finally settling on silver discs. She growled again as her nails lengthened into claws. 

“STOP!” For a brief second Hamish’s eyes flashed and his face contorted as a change washed over him, then he took a deep breath and the anger seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped as he pushed past Randall and Lilith and sat heavily on the sofa.  

Randall glanced at Lilith, eyes wide. 

“I didn’t know any of this,” Hamish said, looking up at them. “I never would have gone near her if I’d known. And now I can’t... I can’t take it back. She could have died because of me - because I care about her and -” He broke off, placing his head once again in his hands. 

Randall sat down next to Hamish and put a steadying palm on his back. “Bela is my friend,” he said, emphasising the word 'my' as he glared at Lilith. “You both are - I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. And she likes you, she really, really likes you, even without this mate stuff.”  

Lilith looked at Hamish, her eyes clouded. “I’m sorry Haim, we’ll do whatever we can to help.” 

“No.” Hamish stood suddenly, jerking away from Randall. “I need to stay away from Bela. I can’t undo what I’ve done but if I keep my distance maybe she’ll be safe. I can’t lose someone I love. Not again.” He strode out of the Den, slamming the door hard enough to rattle its hinges on his way out.

“Right,” Jack sighed from the stairwell, “good to know we have a solid plan.”

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Part two of the first words au suggested by my girl, Sima, as demanded requested.

I am Not Happy about this

I'm a very big fan of saying "fuck canon" in favour of my otp happening but honestly ,,,,, the pain is too great to pass up so here we go.

It took months for Hamish to properly open up verbally. When he did, Vera asked about the ring. He told her all about Cassie and Nico, save the bit about the Knights.

It was a few more months when Hamish started visiting the old places he used to love to favourite with Cassie, but they still weren't the same. He didn't mind, though. They were just places now. Places that held pleasant memories. Now, important places are where he goes with Vera.

Hamish is on his way to meeting Vera when he runs into Randall Carpio. The man is crazy, Hamish first thinks. Then, he'd make a good knight.

"Who's the lovely lady? Hi, I'm Randall Carpio, and you are?"

"Taken."

"Damnit, Hamish!"

Vera finds him endearing, somewhat, as one would a toddler. Two days later, Hamish decides to invite Randall into the Knights. Greybeard chooses him and they celebrate. It feels good to have someone to talk to about things only a Knight would understand. He thought about Vera, but after Cassie, he didn't think he could handle it. Besides, Randall looks like he'd take on a wolf without being one of them. He's perfect for the job.

Hamish knocks on Vera's door late one night.

"Are you okay?" "Can I stay here tonight? Please."

Vera obviously lets him in.

"You ever meet someone and you know they've done nothing wrong at all, but it feels like they're trying to replace someone you've lost?" Vers tries a joke, "This isn't about me and Cassie, is it?" Thankfully, Hamish finds the joke funny. "You, no. Cassie, yes. Randall's made this friend and honestly there's nothing wrong with her but . . . it's like she's wearing Cassie's favourite jacket and I can't get her to take it off."

Hamish intentionally leaves out the part where he was the one who opened the doors for Lilith. Vera would find the metaphor much more impactful if she knew Hamish meant Timber.

Hamish doesn't talk much about Lilith to Vera, though it's not as if they get a chance to talk at all. Now with Randall and Lilith knighted, Hamish has found purpose outside of Vera -- taking down the Order. They were what got Nico killed and they were what got Cassie killed. Hamish knew the Order was the bad magic he's supposed to fight. In addition, Vera's just been made Temple Magus and it is a lot more more work than she'd anticipated. Not to mention, having the university in her jurisdiction included attaining the seat of Chancellor. Fuck the social life, I guess.

At least they're always able to come home to each other.

Unfortunately, that too starts falling apart.

Hamish gets pulled deeper and deeper into uncovering the Order with Randall and Lilith, slowly figuring out how to find the pledges and get rid of them. Since he'd told Vera about Cassie, talking about the departed Knight becomes easier. He struggles a bit to explain it all to Randall, but he's able to speak properly and tell Lilith all about Cassie. When Hamish reveals that Cassie had been Timber's champion, Lilith understands. She is harsh and brash and often rude, but she also has a heart to love, no matter how guarded and hidden. She makes an effort to distinguish herself from Timber and from Cassie. Hamish makes an effort to see Lilith instead of Cassie's replacement. Once they succeed on that, their relationship improves tenfold. (Randall is relieved. He was worried his days as a Knight were gonna be filled to the brim with tension and loathing)

Vera gets pulled deeper into the Order. She's sucked into the position she's been granted and no matter how much she tries to leave it for a break now and then, something or the other pulls her back. It doesn't help that the pledges decrease in number every year due to at least one of them dying.

By the time Jack Morton makes his way to Belgrave, things have quite nearly fallen apart. Hamish has stopped visiting an empty house. Vera's stopped trying to call when she finally leaves the temple, only to reach the voicemail of a sleeping Hamish, who's stopped trying to send texts every odd hour.

Given that Jack never actually said Vera's name to the Knights (I believe, and if I'm wrong shhh it's an au), it's no surprise that the the earlier parts of Finals Pt.2 is slightly more comedy than pain. (Let's assume Lilith never mentions Vera's name upon regaining her memories either)

Let it also be known that I, for the life of me, cannot recall how the entire scene plays out, so we just gonna make it up as we go along =)

Hamish is down in the basement when Jack brings a new ally to the den. An injured Lilith is there.

"Miss Bathory." "Bitch." "Fair enough."

Randall is in next, excited to see Lilith back in the den. "Hey! I knew you weren't dead!"

"Randall?" "Vera! Heyyyyy, long time no see, huh? Wh -- what . . . what are you doing here?" "You -- you're one of them? The werewolves?" "Shiiiiiiiit, you know?? Wait, you're not like,, in the Order, are you?" "How long have you been a werewolf?" *guilty face* "FROM THE START????"

Lilith & Jack: 🤨 wtf is happening here

Hamish returns. "Guys, who's. . ." Hamish stares at Vera. For a while, he wonders how she found the den. Then he wonders what she's doing at the den. Then he recalls Jack mentioning that he was bringing an unlikely ally. He'd figured unlikely ally meant someone in the Order. ". . . here?"

Vera shoots Jack a glare. "What the fuck is this, Mr Morton?"

"Uhh . . . I didn't-- I wasn't aware you guys were, uh . . . friends?"

Hamish is still staring at Vera. "This what you've been doing for years? Magic? The Order? That promotion . . . it wasn't about the chancellor position, was it?"

(Lil bit of comedy = Randall: WAIT, SHE'S THE TEMPLE MAGUS??????)

"You say magic like it's evil. Have you ever once thought about the fact that you've been murdering my pledges every year since Miss Bathory was expelled from the Order? Which is more evil, Hamish, protecting magic or killing its practitioners?"

"Your people got Cassie and Nico killed," Hamish hisses, "those practitioners you're protecting are the reason Cassie and Nico died. Magic. Is. Evil."

"Magic isn't evil! I was barely a Magistratus when your ex-girlfriend was killed! Do you think I enjoyed all those respondeo incantations? Wh-- why do you think I started spending so much time at the temple? Making sure I stayed Temple Magus? I am trying to make the Order better. But you? All you care about is murdering my Neophytes. Children."

(Randall: intense wincing as his parents fight. Jack & Lilith: perplexed but very invested in the drama. Jack's a lil upset that he's got plans to go and confront Edward. He kinda wanted to see the rest of that argument.)

"Oh, that's rich, V," Hamish snaps. Despite the clear rage radiating off of Hamish, Vera isn't afraid. The nickname is familiar and welcome. It's home. Hamish, no matter how far he is from her, is home. Doesn't mean she's not got her own barrel of problems to spill.

"Rich?? I'm not the one out here killing people before they get the chance to even live. You -- you -- you are -- you're a monster, you know that?" She says it factually, as if it's something common knowledge.

"Really, V? Are we doing this now?" "Might as well! If we're all going to die, I'm not going down without getting everything out. You know, while we're on the topic of being brutally honest before we die, Mr Morton, your sense of style is horrendous, Miss Bathory, your temper is infuriating and Randall . . . you -- you -- your jokes are lame!"

Funny enough, Randall is most offended. And then Lilith has his attention because she's hurt. "Can you help?" "I don't trust her." "I don't recall caring, do you want me to save your life or not?"

Hamish is pissed as Vera turns to help Lilith. Amusingly, he's pissed because Vera isn't paying him any attention. But there are more pressing matters, like the incoming army. "We have company."

"Fucking Kepler," Vera mutters.

Both Hamish and Randall squint at Vera. "Bitsy Kepler?" "Isn't she a bit . . . fickle and stupid to be in the Order?"

"Oh, you know Kepler too?" Lilith asks, more of a rhetorical question.

"No, V just complained about her a lot." "Don't call me that, Randall." "Sorry."

"They are circling the house. What are they up to?" "Knowing Kepler, something unoriginal."

*sounds of the order throwing burning spells.* The look of awe on Hamish's face as he watches Vera cast a protection spell does not escape Randall and Lilith.

"How long is that gonna last?" "Long enough for us to deal with them."

Vera is already following an undressing Hamish to the doors. "No killing." "No promises."

Lilith stares at the empty doorway. "Are we going to talk about th--" "Nope. Not at all. Never. Anything else. Anything but whatever just transpired."

When they get into the temple and set the Vade Maecum alight, Hamish thinks maybe it isn't so bad. Maybe Vera's right, maybe she can turn the Order around. Maybe magic isn't evil. Vera takes his hand. He gives hers a little reassuring squeeze. Come hell or high water, he'll always come back to her.

It's what soulmates do.

"So, Grand Magus, huh?" "Mhm." "I didn't think you remembered this spot exists."

Vera, despite her new persona of professionalism and perfection, gets down on the grass beside Hamish. She looks at him carefully. Is she doing the right thing? Probably not. But will it keep him safe from her and the Order? More likely than not.

"What is it, V?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Us. What happened to us?"

"Magic," Hamish jokes, lightly tapping his forehead against hers. I missed you.

Vera squeezes his hand twice. I love you.

Hamish closes his eyes. So much trust he has in Vera that despite knowing she's on the other side of the great divide between the Knights and the Order, he still trusts her enough to be around her blind. Vera's guilt starts eating at her insides already. It makes her sick, but she hasn't got a better choice. The alternative is allowing the order to launch an attack on the Knights -- and if the Order could kill werewolves before, they can kill them again. Vera never wants to feel the pain Hamish felt after losing Cassie.

This is losing him, but at least she knows he's alive and safe. Safe from the Order, from magic, from all of Belgrave's dirty little secrets.

She wants to be the one to monitor him, but Grand Magus duties steal her time and attention worse than Temple Magus did. She hates having to leave him in the hands of one of the Medicums, but she can't exactly do it herself, despite wanting to.

"I thought I was the quiet one," Hamish jokes.

"Shh. Some . . . peace and quiet is welcome."

"V, are you--" Vera quickly claps her hand over his eyes. "Sh. Don't . . . don't say anything. Don't open your eyes. I just . . . I just want to see you for a moment."

Hamish smiles and complies. Vera fights to keep her shaking breath quiet. She lowers her hand slowly. Could she spare time for one last kiss? Just one? No. One would never be enough. And she knows that if Hamish kisses her now, her entire resolve will break.

She squeezes his hand twice. I love you.

Before he can respond, Vera blows the powder in his face. She sits up slowly. Dear God, she was sure she'd done something horrible in a past life to warrant this kind of torture. At least for Hamish, losing Cassie hadn't been the product of his own making.

"Your name is Hamish Duke. You go to Belgrave University. You're a TA and -- and you study psychology. Forget the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose. Forget the Knights of Saint Christopher. Forget . . . Vera Stone."

Vera pulls him up. "Hey, that looked like a nasty fall. Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, I think. Thanks."

"Sure." Vera can't help the two subtle squeezes she gives his hand before leaving. I love you. She doesn't want to be there when Selena Durov leaves her class and arrives. She doesn't want to see what Selena says to Hamish, what lies she feeds him and what she does. Vera wants to lock herself in her office and never see another person again.

Hamish frowns as he watches her leave. He wondered what had happened to her that her eyes were so sad. Part of him want to run after her and ask her. Ask her name at the very least. But something keeps him rooted to the spot where he stands.

Who was she and why did he feel like she'd said something very important?

Hamish holds his own wrist for a moment, feeling the ghost of her touch. The slight squeezes he thought he'd imagined.

I love you.

Who the hell was she? And why did he feel like he really ought to know her.

Part 3

Did I win yet, ladies? Or do you want part 3?

@gingersimasnapsandvermishthings @bakulka @everythingabouthatship

See some other soulmate aus I've tried my hand at

[ecrirereadver]

On Season 2

Honestly, I loved it.

It felt better than season 1, the storyline was more complex, the cgi, was better the characters were fuller.

Personally I would have been happy if it had been a classic The Knights VS The Order for 10 episode with strategy and plays on both side, but I did like what they did with the storyline. 

I enjoyed the first three episode of the wolves trying to gain their freedoms again and being angry.

I really liked that Lilith was conflicted because she developed real feelings during that time, but I do feel like season 1 Lilith would have been waaaaay more pissed about the false memory. I mean she threw stuff out the window when she remembered what the Order took from her when she was expelled. Nicole would have had to work a little harder to earn her forgiveness.

The Knights screwing up with the demons was probably because they don’t know enough about magic to know better and was a pretty big screw up. 

Someone need to make a video of Lilith and Jack getting ready to die for the cause.  Fearless Alyssa was awesome!

Lilith getting send to hell… I saw coming. I mean character named Lilith in a supernatural world that includes a demon dimension? Yeah, she is going to hell. 

I wish we had gotten to see Jack right after Lilith was gone. Him screaming or crying and just plain sad. But I did like how they presented it. 

I do think the Knights should have been working a little harder on getting Lilith back instead of just doing whatever Vera told them to do, but it did make sense that they felt guilty and wanted to fix their error. Cause all of the magic getting stolen was kind of their fault. 

Randall, Hamish and Jack’s character change after Lilith. 

Randall is angry, he’s been angry since he got his memory back, but now he also lost Lilith. Randall loves being a Knight, not having to answer to anyone and getting to make decisions on beer bong. They took away his world and now it feels like its slipping through his fingers. He feels like he can’t turn to his fellow packmates and he has the guilt of pretty much having caused it all. 

Hamish becomes more protective of those he love. We see it with Vera and are told about it for the Knights (I do wish they had shown us more pack moments). He tells Randall and Jack to be more careful, he doesn’t want them to jump into things like in the past. After he gets captured by Salvador he becomes even more cautious. Not drinking and always being on guard. 

Jack owns up to his actions and for him in that moment it means working with the Order so they can help them get Lilith back. He trust Vera and he honestly wants to help the world. Him helping “erased” Alyssa’s memory proves that. He is all in.

I don’t think the knights should a part of the order but because I don’t think they should be part of any secret organization. I think they should be apart from them and police them. Or if they are part of the Order they need to have more power than most, that only the Grand Magus and the Gnostic Council (as dumb as they are) can question them and even then the wolves can go above them if needed. 

Praxis was brilliant villain and Salvador was so fascinating. It sounds like a great idea given magic to the masses, but the more people you give the less time you have to teach properly and then when someone screws up what are you suppose to do. Plus in this universe if you screw up enough magic you cause the apocalypse. Magic needing a sacrifice makes sense, you can’t have something for nothing. 

I wish we had gotten more backstory to Salvador. Did her dad try to teach her how to use magic? To be a Knight? Or would he have agreed? Why did she start Praxis? So interesting. 

Alyssa becoming an antagonist was awesome. She defines herself by how good of a practitioner she is, if she can’t be a practitioner than she feels like she is nothing. When she found out that Vera might be keeping her from her magic she was pissed and betrayed. The fact that Jack sided with the Order was another betrayal. Alyssa is also very easily manipulated I feel. Maybe because of her family, I don’t know. By Edward, by Orbid, by Salvador. 

Kepler is dead!!!! Ding dong the witch is dead. Oh, hello Maddox! That’s where you’ve been. Am I the only one who feels like there is more to this? Kepler said that “you’re father left exact instruction until he gets back.” And that “he’ll be back soon.” And she started playing nice once she saw Vera had the Vade Macum. At first I though it was because she got scared but maybe Edward had a plan and Kepler is in on it. I don’t think this is the last we’ve seen of Maddox Coventry. 

Midnight!!!! Have I said Midnight is my favourite Hide??? They are the only one we have meet personally but not the point. Midnight gets shit done. Midnight says it as it is. Midnight isn’t dealing with your bullshit feelings. Be Werewolves!!! 

I am a sucker for a good Redemption Arc and Gabrielle hit all the right spot. Girl just want to belong because her family treated her like shit and she was bullied in school. She started feeling like she had a place with the wolves and now she will have one until she dies. I am a little worried for season 3 but I have hope. 

In season 3 I am really hopping Jack doesn’t become an antagonist or at least not against the rest of the Knights. I know him and Gabrielle are going to at the very least be awkward with each other, but all the wolves have killed someone by accident and she was posses. It wouldn’t bother me if Jack was against the Order or joining Praxis, as long as he isn’t against the rest of the pack. 

Praxis hasn’t been dealt with and Vera still doesn’t have her Magic back and Lilith became a demon. I really want answers.

[stronglyobsessed]

If you’re still taking prompts, I’d love Merwin with Merlin realizing how much he loves to hear Eggsy talk when put in a situation where he can’t hear him (be it Eggsy in the hospital, on a secret mission with no audio, or whatever you want) and deciding that he’ll do whatever he can to make sure that not another day goes by without Eggsy’s voice in his life :)

If I’m ever not interested, or willing, to write angsty hurt/comfort Merwin, assume I’ve been replaced by a poorly designed clone ;).

Breathe...

There were many times Merlin assumed he’d never hear the sweet sound. A soft, gentle whisper where the warmth of his lover’s breath brushed against his ear, or the mirth filled chuckle through mission audio. How quickly Merlin knew it could be torn away. Assignments where Eggsy’s life was put at greater risk than the average man. There was always that uncertainty, that perhaps Merlin’s job wasn’t enough to bring the young agent home. To bring his husband home.

A relationship with a Kingsman agent brought so many risks. Some more deadly than others. So the last thing he’d expect to hear, were the voices of sorowful cops.

“...an accident.”

“...rushed into the ER.”

Merlin felt all the air leave his lungs. His chest ached with need for oxygen that his body just stopped providing. How could he be concerned with something as vital, so important to his survival, when he was being told his husband fought for his own life.

“...cab ran a red light. T-boned him before he could see it coming.”

It was painted for him. An accident Merlin hadn’t witnessed with his own eyes, but be damned if he wasn’t going to pull up surveillance around the city. Though revenge was the least of his worries, especially when his presence was needed at hospital. Merlin was fortunate to be dressed for the day, though he doubted clothing would be of a concern, and followed without question. He left behind a curious JB, and made sure to notify Harry on his ride. Thankful the cops offered him a lift; Merlin was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to drive himself.

Worry. Merlin lived in a constant state of worry. He had to learn to separate it from the job, needing to be the best he could be, guiding all agents; his own husband included. Worry was well ingrained by now. And worried he did, but he never once accounted for worry that would be brought by a civilian accident. Not when Eggsy faced the worlds villains on a regular occurrence.

Suddenly that bright, sunny laugh that resonated through their home, when JB did something that tickled Eggsy, or Michelle sent a video of Daisy walking on her hands, it all vanished. It was as if, in their five years of marriage, he worried for the first time he’d never hear it again. Or how Eggsy crooned their wedding song when missions went poorly, and Merlin was left feeling failure and regret. Soft melodies that caused him to yearn for a child, hoping one day Eggsy would sing tender lullabies to their children.

These were things Merlin worried, mourned the loss of, before he had a chance to find out how bad Eggsy was. Logistics didn’t concern him, not as he barreled through hospital doors, demanding information before he gave his name. His heart pounded, doing leaps and bounds against his chest, threatening to bust through his chest cavity and rush to find Eggsy. The man who was his world, every reason for living, his physical, breathing, living heart. Who at this very moment lay on a surgical table as London’s finest surgeons removed a lung—damaged beyond repair, Merlin was told—and repaired his shattered femur. The question of his ability to walk without assistive devices were on the table, but none of this was what troubled his mind. If Eggsy made it out of this alive was of the utmost importance.

It felt like years, decades, before he was given more information.

“...he made it out.”

“...if he wakes...”

IF he wakes. Merlin felt his heart stop, breathing halted at the notion Eggsy could possibly leave this Earth.

“...a long road ahead of him. He has age on his side.” They ran down the list. Four broken ribs, removed lung, repaired femur, broken humerus and wrist. All on the right side. Multiple contusions, bruises and swelling accompanied the ever growing list.

Merlin thanked them, and counted the seconds until he was permitted to see him. It was hours, Merlin was sure, when a nurse called his name. He felt numb. Unaccustomed to being the one to receive the information, and not the informer.

“We have him under a medically induced coma, to help him recover from the trauma.” The nice, short middle-aged nurse said. Bethany, he read her name tag, guided him through double doors that proclaimed this area the ICU. “He can hear you,” she promised with a gentle smile.

The expression was thought to bring him comfort, but he felt little right now.

From the right side Eggsy was near unrecognizable. The swelling was so sever it nearly took up his whole face. Merlin would have been afraid to touch him, but took some comfort that he could caress his left arm, avoiding wires and IV’s as he did. He didn’t speak for a long moment, afraid if he tried, he’d break down and if Eggsy could hear him, his ears would be filled with the sorrow of his husband. That’s not what Eggsy needed to hear now, not when his life hung in the balance.

It was as if Merlin’s voice was taken, too. Because he barely said a word since he’d been brought here. Only enough to insist on answers when Doctor’s gave updates. He waited, with baited breath, when they eased the sedatives three days later. Pleased with Eggsy’s recent MRI results, the swelling on his brain had gone down. They were uncertain if there would be any lasting damage from traumatic brain injury, unable to determine that based on his scans.

The first signs were slight, hand twitching, involuntary movements that confirmed Eggsy was in the process of waking. It wasn’t like you saw in movies, where the injured woken and recognized their surroundings, or even the person who sat beside them. The process was far slower, painful as it were to watch, and took a solid week before Eggsy opened his eyes.

They were unfocused and blearily scanning his surroundings. Merlin would have jumped the first moment Eggsy did this, but he knew not to startle him. He very carefully reached over Eggsy to press the call-light, earning attention to himself even as he tried to avoid it.

Glossy blue-green eyes widened for a moment, until recognition washed over his features, and his eyes softened.

Before he could speak a word, hoping to coax a small response out of Eggsy in desperation to hear his voice again, nurses and his surgeons arrived. Merlin was ushered out in order for an examination to be done, and by the time he was allowed back in, Eggsy was asleep again.

They told him he’d wake sporadically. Eggsy may or may not address him, but this was the process. Again, not flowery and romanticized like films. It was a long, grueling thing. Torture to the one who had to watch it, but watch he would.

And he did wake, on and off, sometimes he stared at Merlin, others it was just quick little spirts that didn’t even last thirty seconds. A day went by, hours passed where Merlin hadn’t seen Eggsy’s gorgeous eyes. His longing grew. When would he wake WAKE and just say his name? The answer was not an easy one to bear. Time, he was cautioned.

On the second day, when Merlin was sure he’d slip back into a coma and never speak to him again, Merlin began to sing their wedding song.

The Way You Look Tonight, never sounded as smooth off his tongue. His voice was too deep and certain notes were beyond his abilities to match Frank Sinatra. Though that never seemed to be a problem for Eggsy.

Merlin was on his second attempt at the song, feeling sure he butchered something that repressented the best day of his life, when someone softly said:

“I sing it better.” The voice was rough and scratchy, a hushed whisper that could barely be heard. “Hamish.” It was his name spoken by this foreign, yet familiar, voice that earned his attention. Eggsy’s eyes locked with his, realization filled the pair that Merlin loved so much.

All he could do was chuckle as tears filled his own, spilling down his cheeks until they soaked his face, and nodded. “Aye. Ye do.” He wouldn’t voice how relieved he was to hear Eggsy speak, not when his careful kiss said it all. “I love ye,” Merlin whispered in a rush, worrying Eggsy wouldn’t be up long enough to hear that.

Dry, chapped lips drew up in a crooked smile as Eggsy’s left hand fumbled to hold his. “I love you, too.”

Eggsy didn’t say much more past that, not for another day, but it was everything Merlin needed to hear to keep hope.

His heart would pull through.