#or a glass of truly ancient scotch

[cuubism]

Okay but AFTER Dream dramatically storms into Desire's realm yelling "WTF did you do to Hob" I can't imagine Desire just...ignored that. They 100% had to go check out this human and see what is so interesting that Dream is all twisted up in knots over him. Can very much picture Desire swanning into the New Inn in their craziest Lady Gaga outfit already drinking a cosmopolitan and introducing themselves to Hob. Because Desire realises that rather than plotting Dream's downfall they can fuck with Dream INFINITELY more by bothering his immortal crush. It's the sibling instinct.

oh. they DEFINITELY will. and like. eventually dream explains his whole thought process, and the fact that desire has fucked with him in the past (hob: dear god why is your family so fucked up), and dream is basically like: DO NOT. ENGAGE WITH DESIRE. IF THEY TRY TO TALK TO YOU. just call me (he still does not have a phone so unclear how this will work) and i'll kick their ass.

critical point: dream did not in any way tell hob how to IDENTIFY DESIRE.

---

The person who struts -- it's really the only word Hob can think of -- over to the bar at the New Inn makes him uneasy, though he can't say why. Hob is not made uncomfortable easily, he's lived too long and been in too many scrapes to feel intimidated in his own pub, of all places.

But something about them makes his hackles rise. The eyes, maybe. They're too cunning.

But he's not in the habit of throwing people out on looks so he just offers a tight smile and says, "Get you something?"

He's tending bar himself, today. Gives him something to do between terms. And he finds himself strangely grateful to have the bar between him and his strange customer as they slide onto one of the bar stools.

"Cosmo, please," they say, voice like sugar halfway to caramelizing, a bit of pop and smoke in the smooth glide.

This is a bit of an odd drink selection for eleven in the morning, but Hob has, at various points in his life though thankfully no longer, done lines of cocaine before even having breakfast, so he really has no pedestal from which to judge.

"Coming right up."

The bar at the New Inn is well-stocked nowadays. Used to be, they served mainly beer and wine, nothing fancy. Then Hob made the horrible mistake of promising his students an end of term cocktail-making class if they came to all the exam review sessions -- because he does actually know how to make drinks, he's been alive for six centuries, thanks very much -- and now it's become a thing and he's stuck doing it forever.

Then Dream took to his drinks, and alcohol is no substitute for food but getting Dream to eat or drink anything is a bloody miracle, so if that anything is the bougiest mixture of alcohols Hob can come up with, well--

Actually. Actually that might be worse than nothing at all.

Makes Dream happy though, so what is Hob to do? Keep ordering luxardo cherries and elderflower liqueur until he outlives them, that's what.

He finishes shaking the drink under the heavy gaze of his guest and pours, sliding it across the table to them.

Hob feels like he's being sized up by a predator as they take a long, delicate sip. The color of the drink matches the pink of their blazer. Hob is struggling to recall if said blazer was actually pink when they arrived.

"Ah. You mix a good drink, Hob Gadling," they say, propping their head on their hand, looking a him from under their lashes, and, ah, so that's what this is.

Hob leans on the bar. "What sort of... entity are you, then?"

Their whole face brightens in what Hob thinks is delight. "Oh! So you are a perceptive one. Get a lot of entities in here, do you, Robert?"

"'Bout as many as can be expected. That's not an answer."

They pout. "Neither is yours. And can't a being just pop by the local speakeasy for a drink without being interrogated?"

"Seems a little unfair that you know my name, and I don't know yours," Hob points out. "Names have power, and so on, isn't that the thing?"

His guest studies him. "You are both far more normal and far less normal than I'd been expecting. Fascinating."

Um.

Before Hob is forced to respond to that, the door swings open to reveal Dream, shrouded in darkness and nighttime and vibrating with electrical fury. Shadows crawl up the windows. All the lights in the inn flicker out.

Oh boy.

"I," Dream says, each word a thunderclap, shining gaze fixed on Hob's guest at the bar, "Explicitly. Forbade. You. From. Interfering."

"What are you going to do, hit me?" taunts the other entity, leaning back on their stool, drink balanced in one hand.

Hob looks back and forth between them, wondering if he should fetch a weapon. He keeps a cricket bat here somewhere, surely...

"Dream, love," he says, once he's decided it's better to try to deescalate the situation rather than introducing further weaponry, "your usual?"

Dream nods, stalking over to the bar. His gaze flits briefly to Hob, softening, before snapping right back to the other being.

"I see you remain incapable of heeding a warning," he says, all ice.

"It's not really part of my nature," they say. "I see it, I like it... well, you get it."

Oh. Oh no.

Cautiously, Hob slides his drink over to Dream. Without breaking eye contact with... Desire? it must be, and thanks, Dream, for the complete lack of description, Dream picks up his drink and downs the whole thing in one long swallow.

Ooooooh boy.

"Desire," Hob says, and they perk up at his realization of their name, looking over at him, "might be better if you were going now."

Desire lets out a frustrated huff. "Ugh, of course. I certainly don't want to upset 'ole Nightmare here."

"You certainly don't want my fist in your jaw," Hob says, more audible threat in it than he intends -- but he remembers Dream's halting confession, about how often love had turned out to be manipulation, and he thinks he should be congratulated on his restraint, actually.

Desire just laughs, and-- ah, Hob is starting to see that there's no winning with this one. Even and especially when you haven't agreed to the game.

"I suppose I'll be going then, before the fists start flying." They slide out of their seat and glide towards the door, waving. "Nice meeting you, Robert! I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, soon."

I don't doubt it, Hob thinks.

They take their drink with them. Hob's not feeling particularly inclined to chase down that glass.

Dream still hasn't moved. He stares after Desire, empty glass about to crack in his grip.

"Dream?"

"I said that you should call for me," Dream says, the ghost of words.

With what means, exactly? Hob thinks. Damned enigmatic shadow of a man. "You didn't tell me who to look out for."

"Oh." Dream finally snaps out of his daze. "Yes. I apologize."

"Come sit down."

Hob fetches a glass of water and drags Dream over to their usual booth, pushing the water into his hands. "Drink that."

Dream stares down at it. "Why?"

"Because you just chugged a drink you usually sip for hours. Drink."

"I will not get drunk unless I choose to," Dream says.

"Have you tested that?" Hob asks.

Dream's brows furrow. "...No."

"Then let's not do that now. Drink. Come on."

Dream sips at the water. "I am sorry," he says, slowly, "about Desire."

"And I'm sorry I didn't actually punch them," Hob says, making Dream look up at him in surprise. "Well. Sort of. Wouldn't want to make it worse."

A smile tugs at Dream's lips. "You would... defend my honor?"

"Always," Hob vows. "I'd defend you. Don't care if the devil himself has it out for you."

"That may well happen," Dream says.

Hob stares at Dream. Dream stares back.

"Oh," Hob says, or maybe just hopes, "you're making a joke."

"No," says Dream. "Lucifer and I are on poor terms at the moment. She may seek revenge."

Hob keeps staring at him. Dream meets his gaze evenly.

Hob scrubs his hands through his hair. "Lucifer and you..."

Why was it always like this?

When he looks up again, Dream is smirking at him. "You're a menace," Hob tells him. "One day, you're going to give me the full rundown of everyone who has beef with you so I can be prepared."

"That will be a long list," Dream says.

"Of course it is," Hob sighs.

Dream takes his hand as if he can comfort Hob through all of the insane interactions he's sure to have with strange beings in the near future. The worst thing is, it works. Hob squeezes his hand and immediately remembers why he's willing to do anything for him.

"I'd go to Hell for you," he says. "I'd prefer not to, though, if it's all the same."

"That is my preference as well," says Dream.

There's a lot Hob would do for Dream. It's probably unhealthy. But what's the point of living six hundred years if you're going to spend it all being healthy, anyway.

"Why do so many people have problems with you, anyway?" Hob asks.

Hob knows. Hob fucking knows why.

Dream pouts. "Matthew tells me my social skills are 'less than adequate.'"

That's one way to phrase 'you act like an arrogant dick 85% of the time.' Matthew should receive a medal for his tact.

Hob loves that arrogant dick, though, God fucking damn him.

"All the more reason to get me that list, then," Hob says. "Maybe we can prevent you from creating an interdimensional incident."

"Will you accomplish this by threatening to punch them in the face?" Dream asks, completely neutral.

"Okay, you know what? Fair," Hob admits, and Dream chuckles. "Perhaps neither of us is cut out for diplomacy. The point, though, is: of course I'd defend you. I love you."

Dream kisses the back of his hand. As if he's only just now realized what he's done to Hob's pub, the lights all flicker back on.

"Thank Christ, I thought I was going to have to replace all those bulbs."

"Do you think I would do that to you?" Dream says with a tiny smile, Hob's hand still pressed to his lips.

You've done worse than that to me, Hob thinks. Better, too. So much better.

"No, love," he says, "I know you wouldn't."

[maltextract123]

BREWING MAGIC: THE WORLD OF MALT UNVEILED

When talking about the art of brewing, there is one of the key ingredients that usually takes the backstage despite its crucial role – malt. Malt is the unsung hero, the magic potion that turns water into beer and adds depth to your favourite whiskey. Let’s embark on a journey through the fascinating world of malt, exploring its history, types, and the intricate brewing process.

The Origin Story

Malt's story begins with ancient civilizations, where our ancestors discovered the art of malting grains. Egyptians and Sumerians were among the first to cultivate barley and transform it into barley malt. Over centuries, malted grains became an integral part of diverse culinary traditions, evolving from early bread-making to the sophisticated world of beverages.

Types of Malt

Malt comes in various types and forms, each lending unique characteristics to the final product. From pale malt, which imparts a light colour and mild flavour, to caramel malt, adding sweetness and a golden hue, and roasted malt, providing rich dark tones and coffee-like bitterness. Exploring this spectrum of malt opens the door to a myriad of flavours and aromas.

The Brewing Alchemy

The brewing process is where malt truly shines. Malted grains, typically barley, are soaked, germinated, and dried to create malt. During brewing, the malt is mashed with hot water, activating enzymes that convert starches into fermentable sugars. This sugary liquid, known as wort, is the foundation of beer. Yeast then joins the party, fermenting the wort into alcohol, producing a wide array of beer styles from lagers to ales.

Beyond Beer: Malt in Whiskey and More

While malt is synonymous with beer, its influence extends far beyond the brewing kettle. In the world of whiskey, malted barley is a cornerstone ingredient, creating the distinctive character of single malt Scotch and other renowned whiskies. Malt extract also finds its way into the kitchen, enriching sauces, baked goods, Malt based food, Malted milk food and even desserts with its unique sweetness and depth.

The Future of Malt

As the culinary world continues to evolve, so does the use of malt. Craft brewers experiment with innovative malting techniques, and chefs incorporate malt into creative dishes. The future promises exciting possibilities, from unique malt varieties to sustainable malting practices, shaping the way we experience flavours in the years to come.

In essence, malt is not just an ingredient; it's a storyteller, weaving tales of ancient civilizations, cultural traditions, and the artistry of brewing. Mahalaxmi Malt Products Private Limited is a prominent supplier of high-quality malt products, supporting the art and science of brewing worldwide.So, the next time you enjoy your favourite beer or savour a dram of whiskey, raise your glass to malt, the unsung hero that makes these moments truly magical. Cheers to the art and science of malting – where grains meet alchemy, and everyday beverages become extraordinary elixirs.

For more information about: Malt based food Please visit at https://www.mahalaxmimaltextract.com/

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (28)

The TVA or Time Variance Authority is an organization who monitors time lines and the multi-verse. Since you created a minor disturbance, Mobius was sent to set the timeline back on track. Their methods were harsh yet effective ranging from working for them for several hundred years to erasing you completely using the Retroactive Cannon. Mobius was not here to bring you in. In fact, you have now screwed things up so badly that he was charging you to correct your mistakes.

“I would love a drink. Thank you Y/N. May I call you Y/N?”

“You can start by telling me who you are.”

“Of course.” He drained his glass and set it down. You poured him another. “Mobius M. Mobius. I’m here representing the TVA. We monitor the multi-verse. You have made a mess of things and we want you to fix it.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He sighed heavily letting his head fall back onto the chair. “Yes, you do. Wife of Loki, witch from Earth here to save her husband from his certain doom. Am I leaving anything out?”

“Nope. Sounds about right. So are you here to arrest me?”

“Arrest you? Heavens no. We want to recruit you. Contract employee. 1099 you at the end of the month for tax purposes. Listen, we love that you’re going after Thanos. You’ll save so many lives except one. Tony Stark. He has to die.”

The floor fell out from under you. The whole purpose of this was to save your friends. You hadn’t even wanted the Avengers to be involved.

“I can’t do that.”

“Here’s the thing, you have to. He has already created civilization destroying weapons. He was supposed to be snapped. Thanos went rogue from the plan.”

“Wait! You sent Thanos?!”

“No. We merely offered him something to kill Stark. Instead, he thought it would be more poetic to let him suffer for five years. And to top it off, he had a child. She’ll continue with his work creating the worst weapon yet. If you take him out now, there will be no Ultron. Sakovia will be safe.”

“But no Vision.”

“Wanda is young. She’ll meet someone else. Good for her though, her brother will still be alive! Good news for everyone. If you succeed, as a thank you, we will restore your husband’s memory. If you refuse, I’ll erase you from existence.”

You couldn’t hurt your friends. You wanted to say no but Mobius M. Mobius was a smooth talker and knew just how to play to your weaknesses. “Tony Stark didn’t have a problem attempting to kill you when he thought you were a threat. Didn’t he poison you? Am I getting that right?”

Your face heated at the memory. You didn’t answer. You both knew he was right. But Tony was also given incomplete and downright false information. “How can I trust what you’re telling me?”

“Have I been wrong about anything else? You don’t have to trust me. In fact, you shouldn’t be so trusting. Thanos already knows what you’re doing. He has spies everywhere. Even on Vanaheim and Asgard. I wouldn’t trust the man who was under Thanos’ thumb just days ago. He’s already betrayed you once. The chamber maid?”

You were heated. Fact was he was right. Loki wasn’t healed from the affects of the stone yet he already knew your plan. Thanos could have still been listening.

“As a sign of good faith, Princess, I present to you the power stone. The Nova Corps is entrusting you with it. You will save Xandar from certain doom. Fun fact, you can expel any of the stones at any time. That should be helpful when you meet with the Ancient One. Be careful with this stone. It bites.”

You cast a protective bubble around you. When you crushed the stone in your palm the pieces crawled under your skin to your core. Once again the light spilled from you holding you in suspension for several minutes then dropping you. You let down the barrier to Mobius clapping. “Three down, three to go. Here’s your plane ticket to Russia. The Maximoff twins already had their brush with the mind stone. You won’t be robbing them of anything. Oh and remember to bring yourself a buddy on Vormir. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

He left a card in the credenza and vanished. You called down to the desk to have more scotch sent up and to extend your stay. You also called up to Heimdall to let him know you do not wish for the princes to disturb you for the next few days.

——————————————————————

Loki awoke the next morning excited to hear of your experience with the reality stone. When he arrived to breakfast you weren’t there. In fact, no one had seen you since you left the previous morning. He didn’t see Thor either. Maybe you had not yet returned.

When Thor came strolling in alone around dinner time Loki was concerned. “Brother, I trust everything went to plan on Midgard.”

“It did! I was able to spend the night with Jane. I should thank your wife for that. Will she be joining us for dinner?”

Now Loki was panicked. “She didn’t return with you?”

“No. She sent Jane and I off. I left her with Erik Selvig and Darcy. She healed him by the way.”

Loki looked away ashamed. His concern for you outweighed his embarrassment. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Perhaps she’s still angry over the chamber maid.”

Loki’s face blanched. How on earth did you know about that? “Nothing happened really. Just a flirtation. Who told her?”

“Brother the young lady answered your bedroom door when Y/N went to say goodbye. She is not an idiot. She was able to figure it out.”

Loki was mortified. Old habits truly died hard. You could not blame him. He had only known you to be his wife for a week. You couldn’t really expect him to give up everything. He felt like a fool. You were risking life and limb on his behalf, on behalf of his people and this is how he treats you. A cad and a scoundrel indeed.

He had to see you to apologize. He would throw himself at your feet and vow never again to stray. Beg for you to forgive him. Plead for mercy. And if none of that worked he would buy you something pretty. Though, if he knew anything at all, he would bring you snacks.

Thor called for Heimdall. Unless you cloaked yourself he would be able to find you.

“I know why you are here. The Princess has demanded that she not be disturbed, and I quote, ‘by those two fools’. You see you are the fools.”

Loki sighed in exasperation. “I believe I’ve cracked it. Thank you, Heimdall. Do you know where she is?”

“Yes, your grace.”

Loki closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “And where is she?”

“London. At a hotel where she wishes for quiet before she flies to Russia to retrieve another stone.”

“Brother, we should be with her. She already absorbed two stones....”

Heimdall cleared his throat, “Three. She took in the power stone last night.” He stopped speaking for a moment and Loki realized he was listening to you. “Please, Princess. I do not wish to repeat...yes, ma’am. The Princess says, again I quote, ‘I’m stronger than both of you. Leave me alone or it’s over for you bitches when I get back. Also leave Heimdall alone.’ Please forgive, your highnesses.” He twisted the sword and sent Thor and Loki back to Vanaheim.

Loki was furious. Fuck groveling. Loki wanted to march right into your hotel room and demand you apologize. How entirely rude of you to just pop off without a single care for him. And over what? A smack on the bottom of a nameless servant? How actually dare you treat him this way? You won’t see him? He is a prince and your husband. You don’t have the right to refuse his company.

Thor, on the other hand, was terrified. Leave it to Loki to pick a fight with the most powerful witch in the known universe. He thought it best not to antagonize the pissed off witch possessing the power of three infinity stones. He came up with a possible solution. He proposed Valkyrie accompany you to Russia just in case something happened. You were powerful enough to level Midgard. Best have someone who can keep you in check.

At first Valkyrie refused. It wasn’t her job to babysit the princess. When Thor promised she could use Midgardian weapons she was in. Heimdall refused to send her at first. Loki promised you probably wouldn’t kill him. Very reluctantly he complied. Little did Loki know, Hilde was just the girl to make you all better.

——————————————————————

Hilde knocked politely so she would not scare you. You were operating on a hair trigger as of late. She really didn’t want to die. To her surprise, when you saw her in the hall, you began to giggle uncontrollably. “They sent you to bring me back? Idiots.”

“Actually, they asked that I accompany you to Russia. Just in case.”

“Fun! First drinks though.”

After several shots of tequila and one failed margarita attempt, the two of you were pretty sloshed. It had been a really long time since she had this much fun. Equally as long since she allowed anyone to call her Hilde. Only her sisters called her that. You made her laugh with your drunken college stories. When you told her about your emo college boyfriend having a chronic twitch she damn near peed herself.

After polishing off some snacks from room service the two of you collapsed into bed together still giggling. You finally worked up the courage to tell her about your affair.

“You know, in the future, you and I are really close. Like super close.”

“How so?”

“Well I know you have that heart shaped birthmark on your left thigh and when I kiss it it makes you stupid. I also know you like being called daddy in bed.”

She belly laughed at the notion that you two were together. “Does Loki know?!”

“Nope.” You both lost it.

“Norns! Can I be the one who tells him?!”

“Future you asked that I take a picture of his face when he finds out. I’m glad you’ll get to see it in person.”

“Oh hi Prince Loki! In the future I bed your wife.” she mocked.

“Hilde. Would it be weird if I asked you to spoon me? It’s been a while since I shared a bed with someone who actually wants to be around me.” Without hesitation she pulled you close to her body and nuzzled your hair.

The next morning you left for Russia. Normally a whole team would be required to infiltrate a Hydra base. You didn’t really need the back up. Hilde watched your six while you dismantled their security system. You could feel the stone pulling you in its direction. No alarms sounded so you got to the stone and slipped it in your pocket. You heard shuffling from some corner of the room and pulled Hilde closer to you. Wanda’s magic illuminated the darkened room.

“Give back the stone and your friend lives.” Pietro had Hilde by the throat. She had her hand on the hilt of her sword but you singled her to wait.

“Wanda, I know you don’t know me but, in the future, we are great friends. Closer to sisters. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to free you. I know a place where you can go.”

“That’s funny. You must not really know my sister.”

“I can prove it, Wanda. Please?”

She was behind you now. When she placed her hands on the side of your temples she showed you your worst fears. All of your friends and family were dead at your feet. Your hands glowed with power. Your skin spattered with their blood. The stones had overpowered you. Where they ended and you began was unclear. You felt yourself sinking but not for long. You regained control and maneuvered to grab her.

You held her with little effort and showed her your friendship. She still didn’t trust you completely but she relaxed some and told Pietro to let Hilde go.

“How did you break free of my magic?”

“Because I’ve practiced with you. Studied your magic. We did it together. I can help you. Please.”

“You can take us out of here?”

“Yes. To a safe place in New York. We don’t have much time. I can take you there right now. No planes. I can open up a portal and we’re all there. What do you say?”

“Pietro? What do you think?”

“Anywhere is better than here.”

“Good. Take my hand.”

You jumped to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. If there was ever a safe space, it was here. The Professor greeted you all.

“Hello, Y/N. But you are not our Y/N. This much I can tell.”

“Do I look old?”

He laughed, “Nonsense. You look powerful. Come in. All of you. We can have some tea and Wanda and Pietro can show me their talents.”

The twins felt immediately at ease there. Ororo showed them around and helped them get settled. You introduced Hilde to the faculty. She insisted on staying by your side when it was time to take in the next stone.

You went to the medical unit with Jean and the professor. They hooked you up to some electrodes and put you in a padded fire proof space. While you did your thing, they waited far behind a glass.

Just as before the pieces of the jewel cut through your body. Light spills from the open wounds and you fall to the floor writhing in pain. “Don’t let it control you, Y/N. You are stronger than the stone!” The Professor calls out to you. Finally you are calm. All of the monitors attached to you are flashing and ringing. Xavier and Jean come in to examine you. They are extremely concerned. You raise your hand to heal yourself but he stops you.

“Y/N, you understand that every time you take in a stone you are irradiating yourself with gamma rays? You are doing irreversible damage to yourself. There is a reason mortals cannot wield all six of the stones. You have taken in four. I’m not sure you can survive two more.”

“I can. I have to, Professor.”

“Or what, Y/N?” Jean asked.

“Or the time police guys are going to erase me and Tony Stark’s kid will make a weapon capable of destroying planets. Please. I have to finish my mission.”

The Professor and Jean order you to rest for a few days while they figure out how to treat you. You sent Hilde back to Vanaheim to let everyone know you were ok and being cared for. You stayed in the medical ward and the Professor put you into a medically induced coma. He monitored your brain activity to ensure you wouldn’t be a danger to anyone in your unconscious state.

You dreamt in vivid colors. What Wanda put in your head, you couldn’t shake. The stones were possessive of you. They fed off of you draining away all that you were. Eventually you would become the power. Everything seemed to be more alive. Even in suspended animation your muscles ached. They were growing and changing just as every other cell in your body mutated. On the outside you remain unchanged save for your hair color. You kept hearing Mobius’ voice reminding you that you could expel the stones at any time. The stones made you feel bound to them. You would be nothing without them. Wandering around your psyche you fought them for control.

When Hank brought you out of your coma you took a breath and your lungs burned. You coughed and sputtered grabbing at the air for anything to hold. To connect with something. Your vision was too blurry to see who was on the other side of the hand who held yours. Wanda’s soft voice filled your ears, “Open your eyes, Y/N. We’re here.” You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hanks sharp toothed grin.

“There she is.” Hank said softly.

You pulled Wanda closer to you and embraced her. You were unsure if you could trust what you were seeing to be real. You fought a battle for control of your mind, your body, your energy, your perception. Four down and you didn’t know if you had the strength to take the last two.

Once everyone was satisfied with your recovery you asked for a meeting. You explained your journey and what Thanos planned to do. They would support you. For the next stone, you had to go back to Manhattan to meet with the Ancient One. You purposely saved the soul stone for last. You couldn’t comprehend whom you would even sacrifice. It had to be a sacrifice though. Someone you loved. Someone you cherished. You set it aside for now and headed to 177 A Bleeker.

[imnotwolverine]

The Holiday

August Walker x reader one-shot

Disclaimer: Mostly fluffy fluff, with a sniff of smut and mention of injury. 

Author’s note: I received this request from @cherrybloomn​ and how lovely it was to dream away of going on a holiday, especially since my current holiday plans have been postponed indefinitely - and I surely am not the only one who faces that problem right now. Please enjoy a little soft!August on a holiday with his wife, whilst cruising through the beautiful city of Rome. * melts *  

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

“ La vita e bella, la vita e amore / Life is beautiful, life is love “ 

--

The Roman sun kissed the square as hundreds of tourists passed by, their sweaty faces trying to find a spot on the overflowing terraces. Rome was busy this weekend, a parade blocking parts of the city and making the sparse seats on the cobble stoned squares even more lusted after.

You sat back in your chair, a half smile gracing your lips as you watched the people ponder their next moves. Continue walking or wait for a table to free up? Your smile grew as you saw a pair of chubby Americans huff and puff, whilst trying to convince a poor waiter that they had reserved a table.

’No no no..’ The waiter shook his head, pointing to the door of the restaurant. ‘Only in-side.’ His English was so heavily accented, that the husband had to lean in closer to understand him over the loud noises of people laughing and chatting at the closely pressed together tables.

You looked onward, glad you had opted to wear a pair of large sunglasses and a white hat today, your face perfectly hidden from any curious onlookers. Besides.. your little getup matched rather well with your flowing knee-length white dress. Chic.. but simple.

Bringing a cup of scorching hot espresso to your lips you blew on it whistfully, your eyes further examining the happenings on this ancient square. Large white umbrellas were everywhere, keeping people shaded and comfortable as the sand coloured buildings basked in the hot sun. The sky was a crisp blue, no clouds drifting by to offer any relief from the strong August rays.

August. 

Where was he anyways? It wasn’t like him to be late.

You took a pensive sip of the bitter, rich-smelling coffee, savouring the hot liquid kissing your tongue. It wasn’t often you got to drink such good coffee, so you would enjoy every tiny, minuscule sip of it. Sighing softly you licked your lips, placing the small cup back on the table so you could study the menu card. Plasticised and filled with poor English translations, you couldn’t help but grin at the section of “small bits”. Which probably should be small bites, but alas, none would be the wiser.

Movement. Peculiar movement. With half an eye you gazed over your menu card, seeing something that was obviously not an animal, moving with cat-like grace down one of the buildings. A..a man? Looking around without moving your head, your glasses still perfectly hiding your eyes, you checked if anyone else saw. But no, it seemed like people were too occupied with their food, drinks and each other.

Looking back at the man you found him already lost in the crowd. You frowned. Had you just hallucinated this? Did you have a heatstroke or something? Keeping your eyes trained on the spot where you had last seen the man - somewhere just above the first floor of one of the ancient buildings - you missed the fact someone now stood besides you.

‘Is this seat taken?’ A deep baritone made you look up from your studious gaze, your head slowly tipping towards the sky so you could look at him. Blue eyes that matched the cloudless heavens, a tumble of dark curls falling around a neatly trimmed face with moustache. Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t show it, your face a mask as your eyebrows rose carefully above the edge of your dark sunglasses.

‘In..corrigible.’ You sniffled softly, moving to remove your bag from the chair. You could hear him chuckle in turn, an amused grin gracing his cupid bowed lips as he shirked off his sweaty blouse, the same blouse you had spotted on the man that was climbing down that building.

Before taking his seat he leaned over, moving close enough to kiss you, making you wait for him, head still tilted up.. but..he didn’t. You frowned again, then felt his fingers slip around your face, pulling your sunglasses from your face, warm eyes looking into yours.

‘Hello beautiful.’ He smiled.

You chuckled, then smiled in turn. ‘Hello husband.’ You hummed as he finally closed the distance, pressing a sweet kiss on your coffee-tinted lips.

‘I thought you wouldn’t come.’ You said as he took his seat next to you, his blouse discarded on the edge of the table. He shook his head, offering you a bemused glance as he took the menu from your hands, eyebrows raising as he checked out the menu items. ‘I promised I’d be here, though unfortunately a little later as the streets were in complete lockdown.’ He said simply, eyes cruising down the menu, a glimmer of amusement flickering over his lips as he probably noticed the same poor translations of the listed items, the sweat of his parkour-tour still gleaming on the edge of his forehead.

‘Hmmm..’ You hummed, smiling up at the sun, eyes closed, your skin smooth and warm in its rays. ‘So tell me..Why here?’ You asked. 

You heard him grumble as you heard the sound of the card being placed back on the table. You raised an eyebrow, eyes slowly blinking open again, his blues hovering so awfully close next to you once more.

‘Well..’ He reached down his pocket, procuring a golden ring from it and taking your left hand, moving the item back on your ring finger - the place where it belonged. You sniffled and looked at the ring for a moment, the gold sparkling in the sun. Without a word you reached for the necklace around your neck, clicking it open so you could remove the ring that hung from it.

Before you could return the favour, he stopped you, his hand folding over yours, taking the ring and showing you the inscription. An inscription you knew well, but still. ‘Amor?’ You asked, not understanding what he was aiming at.

‘Anagram for..’ He offered. You smiled, sighing. ‘Roma.’

‘Assolutamente mia cara.’ He smiled in fluent Italian, his fangs sparkling in the sun. Your August in the August sun. You giggled and poked him playfully in the arm, to which his smile grew into an equally playful grin. Quickly he pushed the ring in his hand onto his finger, catching your hand so he could pull it towards his face, his lips pressing a most gentle kiss on your knuckles.

Your August.

—

Five years earlier.

This London bar was rowdy, but “hip”. Young professionals with their cool clothes sipping on far too expensive cocktails and half a litre pints, their bodies on the roam, looking for entertainment for the night. You had been sitting at this bar for a good twenty minutes now and you wondered if you had just been stood up, but was unwilling to accept your faith just yet.

Sipping on your red wine you felt an unwelcome hand brush down your back. Which in all fairness could be accidental, since this bar was busy, but.. it wasn’t. It travelled down further, before testingly squeezing the meat of your buttocks, making you frown before you quickly turned on your bar stool. Your eyes met with a man whose hands were already raised up in the air, his whole being acting as if he was all innocent though he clearly was anything but.

‘Fuck off!’ You growled, making him shake with laughter. ‘Oh come on lil’ bird. I dinno do nuthin’!’ He feigned shock, pressing his hands into his chest. ‘Truly! Knights honour!’

‘Just fuck off will you?’ You warned, turning back around, not in the mood for these kind of shenanigans. You were supposed to be having this blind date with a man who, according to your best friend, was like “the perfect match” for you. Smart, suave, handsome. And..as of right now..not here.

Did he forget? Or was he maybe at a different bar, waiting for you too?

Another hand slipped around your waist and the annoying man was back for round two.

‘Hey baby, looks like you could use some cheerin’…’

‘FUCK OFF.’ You bit back, looking at him with seething eyes. He chuckled again, not willing to stand down and heed your more-than-clear warning. ‘Or what..sugar? Hmm.’ He laughed, pulling his whole arm around you and trying to squeeze himself in between the bar stools.

Thankfully, he couldn’t, the man on your right now turning around, picking up on the little kerfuffle.

‘Mate. Time for you to leave.’ He said, standing up and towering a good few inches above the other man. The annoying laugh died right on his lips as he looked up at the man, the man’s height not being the only advantage; he was much broader in build and from the looks of it he could pack a mean punch.

With the blink of an eye the annoying man disappeared into the crowd, the large man sinking back down on his seat, his hand moving back to his drink. A scotch or something equally honey-coloured and strong. You muttered a thanks and quickly looked back at the door as it swung open, another man entering.

‘Waiting for someone?’ The large man asked, fingers now wrapping around the tumblr glass. You stretched your neck to check the new-comer, deciding that wasn’t your date either. You shrugged, annoyance laying thick in your voice as you responded. ‘A date.’

‘Hmm..when should he arrive?’ His brows furrowed in honest curiosity, his deep blue eyes studying you. You quickly looked away, your hand gripping your glass of wine more tightly. A pained smile crossed your lips before you quickly retorted. ‘Pff..that’s not of interest to you, good sir. Thanks for the help though.’ You nodded. ‘Good night.’

You turned away from him a bit, nervous lips taking a sip of the wine. But you could still feel those mysterious eyes of his, burning into the back of your skull. 

What you didn’t see was that he was in fact no longer looking at you, his eyes now roaming around the bar, studying the crowd.

He hummed, his voice so deep and strong you could still hear him loud and clear. ‘Hmm..did he happen to mention that he’d be carrying anything with him?’

You frowned, turning on your seat to look at him with a mild confusion. ‘What?’

The man shrugged. ‘A..rose? By any chance?’ He smiled, then nodded at a man that was clearly trying to hook up with a brunette whose boobs were near falling out of her dress. A dress that was very similar to yours. A dress you had described for him to find. Oh you have got to be kidd...

You gasped, studying the two for another hot second before you turned your angry and clearly shocked gaze at the stranger next to you. You felt quite hurt, having sat here for twenty minutes, only for your date to apparently be hooking up with a girl just a few meters away. Feeling the embarrassment burn on your cheeks, you quickly slipped of your bar stool, taking your wine in your stride and disappearing in the crowd, hoping the dance floor would offer you some relief.

Well. It didn’t. After being pushed and pulled around, your wine near spilling over for at least a dozen times, you quickly emptied your drink and left the bar, a London-esque drizzle making you shiver in your winter coat. 

You had just called a cab and, seeing one stop right in front of the club, made you jump with delight. Your cab! Your…eh…hold on! You gasped as two other guests quickly jumped in your cab, the door already swooshing closed before you could start to protest.

This really wasn’t your night. Growling in quiet frustration you decided to forgo calling a new taxi, your tired feet clicking on the pavement as you started to walk home. And of course, as things seemingly couldn’t get worse..it started to rain. 

The thick cold water dripped heavily into your hair, slipping down your burning hot face. Hot with alcohol, dancing and..well..embarrassment. Your friend would sure get to hear all about this, because hot damn what an awful night it had been.

*SSWLIP*

An umbrella opened above your head. The frown on your face grew as you looked up, your tired brain taking a good moment to realise what was happening. First you saw the big black umbrella that was now shielding you from the rain. Then it was the face of that stranger again, his body now sporting a thick, dark grey wool trench coat and scarf. Quite dandy in combination with his neatly coiffed lob of curls and moustache.

Sighing you shook your head. ‘I really don’t need a..-‘

‘Let’s eat a slice of pizza and wait for the rain to pass then?’ He smiled, nodding at a 24/7 pizzeria just across the street. You frowned again, then felt your stomach growl at the mere thought of eating. Besides, you didn’t REALLY want to get wet.

‘Only pizza.’ You finally agreed, looking at his unfazed smile, his head nodding ever so slightly in agreement.

—

The Roman sun was losing its force as it sank down beneath the rolling hill tops, the scattering of ruins you were walking through being kissed with a golden hue. It was a perfect afternoon, most tourists having moved to see the parades, leaving you and your dear August in a relative quiet as you strolled through town.

You had never been in Rome before, so with true amazement you looked up at the huge pillars and foundations that lay before you, indicating just how huge these buildings had been. You could imagine the life here. How the streets must have bustled with markets and people dressed in rich silks, going about their daily business. What would it have smelled like? Tasted like? Looked like? You knew how colourful it probably had been - you had picked up a thing or two in college and the initial thought of pale white marble statues and buildings had long been debunked. Rome had been colourful. A melting pot of cultures, spices, people.

Just like it was right now, you thought, walking over a small pedestrian bridge with August’s arm wrapped around your waist, his large physique keeping you snug and safe. 

Beneath you a slow river streamed, its sound muffled over the laughter of playing children, running over the bridge, dodging around the few tourists that walked here. You smiled, seeing their happy faces, the remains of a previously devoured ice cream still sticking to their lips and noses.

You could feel his gaze on you, his arm pulling you even tighter towards his chest. You looked up, both your feet halting for a moment as your eyes met, his free arm moving to cup your cheek, tilting your head just so he could look at you better.

You had removed your hat and sunglasses now the sun was no longer burning into your heated skulls, offering him free access to your face whenever he pleased. He smiled, admiring eyes brushing over you.

‘How about..dessert first?’ He asked, a smirk playing at his lips. You raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on his broad chest. ‘To what do I own such pleasure, hmm?’ You jested. He quirked up a playful eyebrow, making the tumble of curls on his forehead shift. ‘Well, it’s our first holiday in..what was it..?’

‘Three whole years.’ You grinned, biting your lip.

‘And you still put up with me.’ He sniggered.

‘And you with me.’ You laughed, poking him, to which he growled, his strong arm pulling you flush against his chest, the hand cupping your cheek now holding you with a certain possessiveness.  Leaning down he brushed his lips over yours, your lips curling up in an amused chuckle, to which he bit down in your lip, his tongue quick to sooth whatever sting he caused. Which.. was exactly what August was. A playful combination of tender dominance, pain and pleasure working together in a heady mixture of love.

He leaned back ever so slightly, a cheshire grin gracing his beautiful lips. You smiled. ‘Mmm..I do know what I want as a real dessert.’ 

He hummed in agreement. ‘Mm-mmm. I can’t wait.’

—

Your apartment was quiet and the curtains were drawn, the bedroom smelling slightly tangy. Of blood, sweat and bitter medicine. Slipping inside you noticed he had not moved since you last checked on him, his body still propped in the pillows, eyes closed, arms folded over the blanket at either side of his body.

Your dear August.

How scared you had been when you learned he had gotten entangled in a cross-fire, your year-long boyfriend now suddenly so fragile and pale under the white sheets. But, you knew this was as much a part of him as you were. You knew who he was, what he did..and this..well this could happen.

With silent steps you moved around the bed, placing the tray with chamomile tea and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the side table. His favourite cookies. You could hear him breathe in more deeply, his eyes still closed as he sniffled his nose, a grumble rumbling through his large chest. You smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed, moving to cup his cheek in your left hand.

‘Hey.’ You said softly.

‘Hmm..’ He hummed, eyes slowly opening. You smiled a sad smile, studying his face, seeing how tired he still was despite the weeks of rest, his skin still slightly pale and his beard grown out slightly. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter at the idea that he was alive and healing, make you beam with pride and happiness.

‘I missed you.’ He hummed, his voice croaking.

‘I was only in the kitchen.’ You admonished, your lips curling in a smile.

‘Mhm.’ He agreed, the mirth clear in his hazed blues. Slowly he moved his eyes to side glance the new treasures on the side table, his smile growing when he noticed the cookies.

‘Hmm.’ He smiled in satisfaction, his eyes moving back to you, the haze clearing, but instead making place for a darker hue.

Your breath choked as his hand reached down your arm, taking your hand and pulling it over his shoulder, making you topple over him. 

Even when severely wounded, he easily out-weighed you in strength, your other hand having to shoot up to steady yourself before you crashed right on top of his chest.

Suddenly you were hovering so close to him, your lips near inches removed from one another. He smiled, looking up into your eyes, waiting for you to kiss him. In fact he almost seemed to test you, his smile holding a teasing glint.

‘What?’ You smiled in turn, raising a testing eyebrow.

‘You smell of cookies.’ He breathed, deciding he couldn’t wait, a grunt leaving his lips as he pushed himself up, his lips locking with yours. You wished to push him back in the pillows, but he didn’t let you, his lips instead murmuring in sweet delight: ‘And you taste of them too.’

—

After your city stroll you found yourself sitting on some clanky plastic chairs, a large carafe of wine placed on the wobbly table. You weren’t quite sure why August had been so adamant on eating here, of all places, but at least the pizzas on other people’s plates looked good. Besides, it was super busy and that’s usually a good sign when you eat in some back-way street.

A waiter took your order, August taking it upon himself to order for you both, as his Italian was far better than yours. The waiter jotted something down on a little note block and smiled at you and August, his feet quickly moving to help some of his other guests.

‘Now dear wife. I’d like to introduce you to the best pizza in town.’ August smiled, raising his wine glass to his lips. You scrunched your nose, looking around, confusion clear on your face as you looked at the plastic tables that were squeezed together in this little alleyway.

‘Mmkay..So what’d you order?’ You asked suspiciously.

‘Your favourite.’ He said, smiling happily as the confusion on your face grew. ‘I have a favourite?’

—

‘Sorry love, we’re all out of salami.’ The man behind the 24/7 pizza counter shrugged.

You scowled, pressing your lips together in thought as you looked over the other slices behind the counter, the people in the line behind you sighing in impatience. You were really not one for making fast, pressured decisions. Especially not when you were having an off-day.

‘Quite your lucky day.’ His voice sounded behind you before he stepped in, following your gaze to also look at the slices. He leaned his umbrella on the tile floor and pointed at one of the slices.

‘A slice of Bufala please.’ He nodded at the man and with a few swift movements the slice was moved over the glass counter, the man behind the counter now looking back at you, expectantly. The umbrella-wielding stranger smirked and looked over his shoulder, seeing your puzzled face.  

‘Try a bite.’ He said, offering you his slice of pizza.

‘Naa..’ You waved him off, scrunching your face even more. ‘I want…mmm…I want ehh-.’

‘Try it.’ He repeated, more pressingly.

You looked up at him, then at the pizza, your stomach growling at the sight. The smile on his face grew as he raised a challenging eyebrow, noticing you were about to accept his offer. You frowned, but gave in, moving to grab the slice from his hand anyways. ‘Don’t think you’ll get a bit of my slice in turn.’ You warned.

He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Try. It.’

You kept your eyes trained on his mysterious blues, your mouth taking a tiny hesitant bite of his slice of pizza. And hot damn was it a good bite. You hummed, closing your eyes for a moment before you quickly shrugged yourself out of this exposition of utter delight. Opening your eyes again you were met with an amused grin on the strangers face, his hand carefully prying his slice of pizza from your clutches.

‘Fine. I’ll have one of those too.’ You muttered, looking at the man behind the counter who sighed in relief, his arms moving up to aim at the sky, waving them about with a sense of drama. ‘Mamma Mia! We have a converter! One Bufala coming up for the lady.’

You rolled your eyes, then thanked the man after you and the stranger both paid for your slices.

—

A pizza was put on the small, square plastic table, it’s sheer size big enough to nearly fill the whole surface. It was actually quite difficult to squeeze in the carafe of wine and two sets of cutlery, but you and August managed. Chuckling you took a sip of your wine as August started to cut the pizza into slices. 

It sure did look like an amazingly delicious pizza. A thin but sturdy crust, fresh dollops of buffalo mozzarella that had just melted on top of a rich tomato sauce. A few sprinkles of fresh basil and ..that was it. Simple but truly delicious.

Yep. This was your favourite.

‘I see.’ You nodded.

‘You like what you see?’ He smirked. You looked up, meeting his hungry gaze, though this time it wasn’t for pizza. It was for you.

‘Always.’

—

You and the stranger squeezed yourself in on a red leather bench that ran along the wall of the narrow 24/7 shop, the place completely filled with fellow late-night snackers. Finding a good spot, sitting close and shoulder-to-shoulder you dug into your cheesy slices of heavenly goodness, your eyes taking the time to study the small pizzeria.

You were sitting at tables covered in plastic red-white checkered table cloths, bright TL-lights flickering atop your heads and the air permeating with the welcoming smell of the pizza oven in the back. Smokey, cindering hot..cosiness. 

You felt the strangers arm shift next to you, his mouth catching a string of cheese that was trying to escape. You chuckled quietly, but quickly looked away when he noticed your gaze. Instead you looked at the other late night snackers. Fellow Londoners who talked so loudly you barely could hear your own thoughts. Truly..Brits weren’t the most charming of drunk people around. You snickered as one of the girls shrieked when some of the toppings of her pizza dropped down in her décolletage. Which truly..wasn’t a surprise as she was so busty you could probably stuff a few whole pizzas in there.

You looked back at your pizza. Cheesy, tomatoey goodness with quite the perfect crust. Crunchy, but chewy. With another hum you bit into your pizza, your eyes continuing to wander..though this time at the mysterious stranger besides you. A lock of curls flopped over his forehead, and just below his nose that silly moustache that kind of worked for him. And mind you, his smell which was overwhelmingly sexy somehow.

He noticed your gaze again, his tongue flicking over his glimmering lips before he locked his eyes with yours. Your pizza slowly lowered, near forgotten, as your eyes remained locked with his. He swallowed back the last of his bite, his pizza also forgotten as your eyes and his eyes were all there were in that moment.  

‘Hi.’ You blurted out, immediately scolding yourself for being so stupid. What was wrong with you?!

A quick smile washed over his lips before his eyes flicked for the shortest moment to your lips, then back to your eyes. His intention was clear and your breath choked, you eyes blinking as you saw him lean into you in near slow-motion. Closer…closer..closer. His blue eyes drowning out everything around you, until you felt a tickle on your upper lip. His moustache, the whiskers coarse on your tender skin. You shivered, feeling the softness of his warm lips on yours. And then his tongue flicked out, this time to caress your lips, first brushing over your upper lip before begging entrance.

You didn’t even know his name. But heck. The kiss deepened and you felt yourself getting swept away, body melting into his, your breath choking in this sweet, midnight..pizza-bliss.

—

‘Fuck kitten.’ He growled as he pushed the white dress off your shoulders, your lingerie immediately being admired by his roaming hands, his lips not leaving yours as he pulled you through the little hallway of the hotel room. He didn’t even bother to flick on the lights, his and your feet shuffling awkwardly past the furniture until you found the bed, your bodies tumbling on top of the bouncy mattress.

You let out an airy chuckle, feeling his body crawl on top of yours like it had a hundred times. Familiar calloused finger tips caressing your skin, the alcohol buzzing through your veins, your belly filled with a shamefully large amount of good food. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

‘One...’ He pressed a kiss on your belly. ‘..whole..’ His hot breath trailed up, his facial hair scratching and burning up your skin whenever you pushed air in your excited lungs. ‘..month.’ He whispered, pulling the cup of your bra down so he could lather your nipples with equally blazing trails of kisses. You snickered, fingertips brushing through his curls, legs looping around his strong thighs.

‘I missed you so much.’ You muttered, shivering beneath his wanton touches. Gods you missed him. This.

He hummed, then moved up, his dark timbre now suddenly so very close to your ears. You could nearly hear him smile. In fact you just knew he was smiling, his breath brushing over your cheeks.

‘And now ..for dessert…’

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. ‘Mmm…More like..for starters.’

Another Author’s note: Why Rome for me? 

2017. My boyfriend had one simple task..and that was ordering plane tickets for our holiday to Greece. Little did he know he forgot to check the “direct-flights” check box and next thing you know you are spending 12 hours on an airport near Rome. Not wishing to waste our precious holiday we booked train tickets and traveled to the city centre. What followed was a magical few hours running past tourist attractions to eat as much as we possibly could. Yes, my dear readers, that is love.

Tips:

- Best gelato (ice cream) - Gelateria del Viale - try the lemon flavour!! The texture’s so perfectly creamy and the slightly bitter, rich lemon flavour quenches your thirst like nothing else can.

- Best pizza (REALLY THOUGH) - Dar Poeta - the place looks clanky and cheap. But dear gods are their pizzas good. Later at the airport we found someone walking around with one of their pizza boxes; “I’m taking it home to my wife.” So yes; eat their pizza when you’re in town. You won’t regret it. 

--

Tagsquad: @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ 

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommates AU :)

Chapter 11 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here. 

Happiness Feels a Lot Like Sorrow

Present

Dean was doing his best to uphold his end of the scotch-induced bargain of Monday night. At the very least, he told himself, it would make the next week more bearable, with Cas lingering in his apartment at all hours.

He’d still been making himself busy. He spent twelve hours at the shop on both Tuesday and Wednesday, trying to catch up on the work he’d missed while he’d been out. Bobby had saddled him with the worst of the lot; Honda Odysseys and GMC Yukons that needed tire rotations or oil changes before enormous families made their Christmas treks. He’d started on Cas’s car, but hadn’t gotten much further than getting the old timing belt off.

By the end of his shift on Wednesday, he was exhausted. It felt good, though, being back in the shop, music accompanying him (at a decidedly lower volume than normal), his hands constantly occupied, mind numb from the easy work.

As he drove home from work, a sign in a shopping center caught his eye. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pulling into the parking lot of a local bookstore. He turned off the Impala’s engine and walked into the store, not entirely sure what he was looking for.

It was by impulse, really, that he picked up a copy of The Great Gatsby. It was a special edition, with extra content bound up at the end. He remembered Cas saying something about that book once. It seemed like a reasonable gift.

Dean almost put the book back on the shelf three separate times before forcing himself to the checkout counter. He paid for the book in a hurry, tossing it into the back seat when he reached the car. Stupid, he thought to himself. He wasn’t even one-hundred-percent sure that Cas still liked that book. He supposed, if he chickened out, he could just give it to Sam, instead.

When Dean arrived at the apartment, Sam announced that he was picking up Taco Bell for dinner. Dean and Cas replied “crunchwrap” at the same time when Sam asked them what they wanted. He raised his eyebrows and the synchronicity, but didn’t say anything, just made a note in his phone. Cas went bright red. Dean stared resolutely at the ground.

Cas was sitting in the armchair with a book as Dean sunk into the couch, exhausted from two long days in a row. The history channel on. Dean wrinkled his nose and punched in the numbers for the Food Network.

“You watch the history channel? By choice?” Dean asked, feigning disgust.

Cas smirked as he closed his book. “I wasn’t really watching it,” he said, “But on occasion, I do like to listen to the conspiracy theorists on Ancient Aliens.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s what you and Sam do all day? Nerd out over crazy historians?”

“Mostly,” Cas said sarcastically. Dean snorted.

“You sure you don’t want Sam or I to drive you home for Christmas?” Dean said. He’d made the offer the day before, but Cas had refused.

Cas sighed. “I’m sure. I appreciate the gesture, but Christmas with my family is the last disaster I want to saddle with myself after…” He waved his hand generally.

Dean nodded. “You still talk to any of ‘em? Your family.”

“Occasionally,” Cas said. “My father called yesterday to ask your same question. I suspect he suddenly feels quite guilty about his treatment of me, considering accountants make quite a bit more than small-town preachers.”

“He’s worried about his retirement fund?”

“Most likely. I do still talk to Anna, though, on a regular basis.”

Dean felt a memory pull at his brain. “She’s the, uh, the therapist, right?”

Cas smiled to himself. “Indeed.”

“I’m assuming you’re spending Christmas at Bobby’s?” Cas asked after a beat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “The usual thing. It’s always a good time.”

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “I’m glad.”

Dean drummed his fingers against the side of the couch. “You know,” he started, and he was already regretting it, “Sam wants you to come. To Bobby’s. For Christmas.” He cringed. The words sounded lame, like he’d made the whole thing up.

“He does?” Cas asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, but I told him it’d probably be weird, you know,” Dean said with a shrug. “Big crowds aren’t your thing, and all.”

Cas eyed him. “Why didn’t he ask me himself?” He wondered. “We spend a lot of time together.”

Dean stared at the TV. “I dunno, that’s on him.”

Dean could still feel Cas’s eyes on him. “Is this your way of inviting me to spend Christmas with you?” He asked.

Dean nearly fell off the couch. “What? No,” he rushed out. “I mean, it’s not… Not with me. With everyone. I dunno, if you’re gonna be here anyway…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, Christmas alone is kinda shitty. Especially in this shithole,” he added as he gestured at his apartment. “You can come if you want,” he said finally. “Everyone would probably be happy to see you.”

Cas was staring at him, staring through him, like he always did. Dean turned his attention back to the cooking show playing on the television.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“Nothing,” Cas said, tilting his head. “Déjà vu.”

Dean’s chest tightened at that. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “What d’ya say?”

“Okay,” Cas said eventually. “I’ll come, unless that would make you uncomfortable.”

Dean’s head snapped up. After everything, he hadn’t really expected Cas to say yes. “Uh, no, man, like I said on Monday. New start.”

“Right,” Cas said slowly. “And you don’t think we should talk about why we need a ‘new start’, as you say?”

Dean glowered at the TV. “Nope,” he said. Did he always have to make everything difficult? It had been three years, and Dean truly wanted nothing more than to forget about all of it. He didn’t want closure, he didn’t need closure. Neither of them did, seeing as Cas would go back to his glamorous life in less than a week, anyway.

He could feel Cas’s eyes on the back of his head, but he ignored them. “If that’s what you want,” Cas said, his voice resigned.

Dean sat up, then, finally facing Cas. “Don’t you?” He asked, unsure if that was a question he was ready to hear answered.

“I suppose, in a way,” Cas said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

It was Cas, now, who looked away. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “Nothing important, anyway.”

Dean wanted to pry, but knew he would be a hypocrite if he did. He got up and moved to the kitchen for a glass of water. He brought a second one to the living room for Cas, who uttered his thanks.

“You ever finish that thing you were working on in college?” Dean asked.

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought we were on a clean slate. ‘Forgetting about everything.’”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, that doesn’t count.”

Cas took a sip of his water. “If you’re referring to the pages that are sitting in your bedroom at the moment —” Dean winced “— then no.”

Dean shot him a confused look. “Why not?”

“I… Lost the inspiration,” Cas said carefully.

“Oh.”

Cas regarded him thoughtfully. “You ask me a lot of questions,” he said. “Am I allowed to do the same?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Dean grumbled.

Cas gave him a sideways grin. “I mean, will you become willfully taciturn if I ask you questions about yourself?”

Dean was ruffled at being called out so bluntly. “No promises,” he muttered.

“What has your life looked like the past three years?”

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not real interesting,” he said. “Working for Bobby during the days, bartending at nights. Saving up money for Sam’s college. Living here.” He shrugged. “Pretty normal, I guess.”

“Do you still bartend?” Cas asked.

“Nah, I quit that when Sam got his scholarship,” Dean replied. “I make enough at the shop to cover what that money won’t.”

Cas smiled. “That’s quite impressive.”

“I’m just a mechanic.”

“I meant paying for Sam’s college.”

Dean felt heat crawl up his neck. “Not a big deal,” he said.

“I would have thought you were on your way to settling down,” Cas said slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “But that doesn’t appear to be the case.”

“No,” Dean said, and this conversation was getting dangerously close to acknowledgement of their history. Dean didn’t dare look at Cas. The fact that he thought, after everything, that Dean would be anywhere close to “in a relationship” was downright comical.

Dean, too, chose his words carefully. “I could say the same about you,” he said. “Unless there’s some guy waiting for you in KC,” he added, realizing he couldn’t possibly know otherwise. “Which, if there is, he’s kind of a dick for not —”

“There’s not,” Cas interrupted.

And that was surprising.

Dean hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he had fully expected Cas to be halfway down the road to marriage by now. The fact that he wasn’t erupted feelings that Dean wasn’t entirely ready to face.

“How’s the eye?” He asked, changing the subject.

Cas put three fingers up to the bruise, which was looking less black and more like splotches of blue and green. “Better,” he said decidedly.

“Good,” Dean replied.

They stopped talking, each turning their attention to the program playing on the TV. Dean had a brief moment of disassociation, watching the scene from somewhere beyond himself. It was strange, he thought, to be sitting in his living room with Castiel Novak, two twenty-somethings living vastly different versions of the same life. Inexplicably, he felt the same thing he’d felt when he was eighteen, lying in the dark, talking to Cas across the room. He felt known, he felt seen, like each and every part of him was open for voyeuristic display. It was nothing Cas had said, nothing he had done, it was just him. The way he pushed and pushed against Dean’s shoddy walls while somehow managing to meet him in the middle, every time.

Dean was grateful for the distraction of food when Sam returned. Dean was quiet during dinner, finding comfort in an observatory role. He wondered at Sam and Cas’s closeness, after only a few days spent holed up together. He rolled his eyes when the two of them began communicating in sign language, because of course Cas knew sign language. When Cas’s eyes flicked to Dean after Sam signed something, and the two of them laughed, Dean huffed and gathered the trash to take it out.

It was a frigid night, his breath visible in the low gleam of the floodlights. He tossed the bag over the side of the dumpster and paused. He dug in his pocket, and, finding both his lighter and a pack of cigarettes, lit one up and leaned against the dumpster.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he stood there, taking long drags until the end of the cigarette burned his fingers, and then just standing, staring into the parking lot.

“Dean?” A gruff voice called, and he turned to find Cas standing across from him, a tan trench coat thrown haphazardly over his black t-shirt and jeans. He cocked an eyebrow at Dean. “What are you doing?”

Dean dug the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket in answer. “Smoke,” he said.

Cas gave a short nod and made his way over to the dumpster. He leaned against it, next to Dean, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. Dean gave him a sidelong glance, but Cas was looking straight ahead, deep in thought.

“You and Sam seem to be getting along,” Dean said, his voice gruff.

“Your brother is extraordinarily kind,” Cas said in reply, not bothering to look at Dean. “He talks about you often,” he added.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well,” he said, but didn’t complete the thought. He hadn’t bothered to throw on a jacket, and he shivered as the wind blew straight through his thin flannel. Cas was standing close, their elbows almost touching, and Dean could have been eighteen again. He could feel it, somewhere deep in his stomach, that same bundle of nerves and excitement that had always come when Cas was just a little too close. He almost shut his eyes against the strength of it, but he willed it away, looking at Cas instead.

Cas still wore that intent expression on his face as he stared off into the distance. “Hey,” Dean said, elbowing him in the arm. “You creating world peace over there or something?”

The ghost of a smile. “No,” Cas said. “I’m just thinking.”

That was vague. Dean raised an eyebrow. “’Bout what?”

Cas side-eyed him. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made a motion with his hand that said, go on.

“It’s just strange,” Cas started, wrapping the coat tighter around himself, “That I should end up stranded here, in Lawrence, of all places.”

Dean resisted the urge to pull out another cigarette before continuing this conversation. “I guess,” he said.

“Stranger still that your shop should be the one closest to me at the time.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, it’s kinda weird,” he said. “I never expected… Well, that’s why I hit my head, anyway.”

Cas whipped his head around to look at Dean in confusion. “What?”

And, yeah, this was embarrassing, but Dean couldn’t exactly stop now. He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I heard you talking to Bobby,” he explained, “I just kinda… Well, I was pretty friggin’ shocked to hear you, of all people.”

Cas stared at him. “Oh,” was all he said.

“So thanks for this,” Dean said, aiming for levity as he pointed to the soon-to-be scar on his forehead. He smirked.

Cas faced forward again. “I didn’t mean to shock you,” he said. “Actually, I had no idea it was you under that truck.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “What, even after you talked to Bobby, you didn’t figure it out?”

Cas shrugged. “The life I always pictured you might be living was very different than the one you live.”

Dean immediately felt defensive. “Okay, asshole, my life is —”

“I didn’t say ‘better’,” Cas interrupted. “Just different.”

That shut Dean up. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway, “What did you picture? For me?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Nothing very specific. I suppose a girlfriend, a good job, doing something you like, in a place that you liked. You used to speak so fondly of Texas, I thought maybe you’d moved there. You told me, once, that you had thought about engineering. I usually pictured you like that, an office job. A stable life.”

Dean was watching Cas paint that picture. An office job, coming home to some faceless girl and planning his life around the possibility of an okay-marriage and two-and-a-half kids, waking up at forty and wondering what exact point in his life had lead him down this road. It looked wildly unsatisfying from where he stood.

He just made a grunt of understanding. “Well, you were way off, pal,” he said.

Another small smile, like it had almost been contained. “Apparently,” Cas said.

“You know,” Dean said, uncomfortable with the attention placed on him, “You didn’t turn out how I thought either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well after… You know, I read that thing you wrote. And it was good, Cas, it was damn good.” Something lodged itself uncomfortably in the back of his throat as he recalled the nights he spent wondering where Cas had been, what he’d been doing. He coughed. “I guess I just expected that, by now, you’d have published it. Made a shit-ton of money and bought a douchebag-sized house in, like, Ohio, or something.”

“You make it sound like it’s disappointing that that isn’t the case,” Cas said, and, though he was giving Dean a smirk, his eyes looked sad. Dean felt a pang in his chest at having caused unintentional pain.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Not… I dunno, I guess… I thought that writing stuff made you happy. And…” And you deserve to be happy, even without me. Dean had the words, they were right there, but he couldn’t say them, couldn’t take that first step in bridging the now-unacknowledged divide between them. “Well, it’s not like I pictured you depressed or anything,” he said instead.

Cas turned to look at him. “Are you happy, Dean?”

The gravity of the question, the look in Cas’s eyes, curious and almost pleading, sucked the air right out of Dean’s lungs. And there was something screaming at the back of his brain, that no, he wasn’t, that he hadn’t been, that he could never be, because the one key ingredient to that happiness was —

“Yeah,” Dean replied in a small voice. “I guess so.”

Cas stared at him for a moment longer, still searching, before dropping his head and turning away.

“Are you?” Dean asked, almost defiantly, as if the question had been a test that now he was forcing Cas to take.

“I’m very fortunate,” Cas said carefully. “If I am unhappy, it is of my own doing.”

And that totally wasn’t an answer, but Dean let it slide. It was cold, and his back hurt, and he was tired from a long day at work. Silently, he pushed off the dumpster and began to make his way back to the apartment. Cas joined him, settling into a comfortable gait by his side. The air was languid between them, like it was too heavy to move.

Dean let both of them back inside and Cas excused himself to take a shower. Sam was watching something on TV and raised his eyebrows at Dean’s re-entrance. Dean just ignored him, settling onto the couch, thinking about fate and happiness and whether or not the two might be connected.

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

taglist! let me know if you want to be added/removed :)

@nguyenxtrang @castielsbeeslippers @fortiusnitius 

[e-of-west-glendia]

Wishful Thinking (Part 3)

I would highly recommend reading Part 1 & Part 2 before you read this one! But for everyone else, here is the third and final part of Wishful Thinking.

*********

The party was stifling, filled to the brim with chattering people and loud music. Everyone drunk on firelight and laughter. It was long past midnight and the party was in full swing. They were celebrating that afternoons Quidditch win. They’d beat Ravenclaw 210 to 30.

Sirius had always been one for parties. He lived off of the carefree joy and cheap thrills they provided. Tonight was no exception. His arm was slung around James’ shoulders, one hand reaching up to ruffle his already impossibly messy hair, while with the other clutched a bottle. He couldn’t remember what kind of alcohol was in it. Scotch? Whiskey? Fire Whiskey? Who knows, he’d grabbed the first thing he’d seen off the table and popped it open.

Besides, that was the least of his concerns. Currently he was more worried about being heard over all the noise.

“I can’t believe we actually won!” Sirius shouted in James’ ear.

“Did you really doubt my abilities as a Chaser?” James asked, cocky as ever.

Sirius paused for a moment, tilting his head back and squinting at the ceiling. “Ummmmm…”

James shoved him off. “Oh fuck off, you. You knew full well that we’d win. Their seeker was out and we all know the backup is shit.”

Sirius chuckled, amused by his friend's indignation. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed to be commentator if you thought we’d lose.”

“Nah, mate, I still would’ve. I’d never pass up the chance to watch you make a fool of yourself in front of Evans. Oh...wait, that’s everyday!”

James scowled at him and flipped him two fingers, which in turn made Sirius laugh harder.

“It was a group effort, remember?” Sirius said, chasing after James who was doing his best to get away from him. “I couldn’t have done it without Marlene.”

“Without Marlene?” A flutter of red and gold fabric drifted by his eyes and wrapped around his waist.

Sirius spun around, grin widening when he saw Marlene. She was dressed from head to toe in Gryffindor colors, blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Several banners had magically wrapped themselves around her, looping over her shoulders and trailing behind her.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Classy.”

“Wearable.” Marlene corrected. “I heard my name?”

Sirius nodded. “I was just chatting with James over here— where’d he go?” Sirius looked around him. At some point between Marlene’s arrival and the present moment James had disappeared.

“Huh, guess he skipped out on me. Anyways, we were just talking about how we’d have stayed commentators even if we thought our team would lose. Purely for the purpose of making fun of James.”

Marlene snorted. “Never did take criticism well, did he?”

“Nope, never.”

The pair grinned at each other, shared memories of their friends passing between them.

Finally Marlene said, “It’s been quite a night hasn’t it? I lost track of Lily and Dorcas ages ago. Quite honestly I’m surprised McGonagall hasn’t shut us down yet, think she knows?”

Sirius nodded fervently, mind a bit distracted as he said, “Oh she definitely knows. Minnie has a sort of sixth sense for when parties occur. I figure it’ll be another hour or two before she comes up here. Say, have you happened to see Remus or Peter?”

He’d seen some of his friends throughout the night, but since Marlene mentioned it he couldn’t recall having seen them for a while. Sirius scanned the room, eyes falling over kissing couples and every manner of dancing. No sign of his friends.

Marlene shook her head. “Not for a while. Last I saw of Peter he was by the snacks and Remus was with Lily.”

Sirius nodded, still searching. “Right...what direction was Lily in again?”

“I dunno, you’d have to look for her.” Marlene tugged lightly at Sirius’ wrist. “Come on, come dance with me.”

As fun as that sounded, Sirius found that he was struck with the sudden urge to know where his friends were. Specially Remus.

“I think I should find Remus first. Although, I’m sure your girlfriend would love to.”

“Fuck off, Sirius.” Marlene said, with a glare. “I’m not dating Dorcas.”

“Mind as well be.”

Marlene snatches the bottle out of Sirius’ hand. “What’s in this?”

“Not a clue.”

“Of course not. I’d say your best bet to finding Remus would be Lily. She’s pretty good at keeping tabs on people.”

Sirius nodded, starting to move away from Marlene. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. You owe me 20 galleons by the way,” she called after him.

“What on earth for?”

“A bet.”

“Which one?”

Marlene laughed, throwing him a wink over her shoulder and raising the bottle. “You’ll figure it out. Cheers.”

Then she disappeared into the crowd. Sirius shook his head, shouldering through people in search of Lily.

He finally found her sitting in one of the chairs near the fire. “Have you seen Remus,” Sirius asked, leaning over the head of the chair.

Lily twisted around in her seat and sent him a reproachful look. “Were you trying to sneak up on me?”

“Sorry.”

Lily’s glare didn’t fade, but she pointed towards the portrait hole. “He said something about fresh air. Party was getting a bit much for him.”

Sirius looked towards the portrait hole, he had an idea as to wear Remus had gone.

“Thanks Lily.”

“No problem. Now leave me alone and try not to scare anymore unsuspecting women, Black.”

Sirius walked around the chair, stepping over bits of broken glass. “Will do, Evans.”

*******

Remus was in the Astronomy tower. The cold air and starlight a nice break from the chaos of Gryffindor tower. He hasn’t expected to be out there for that long, but he’d gotten lost in scenery and the smell of pine trees and magic.

That was the first thing he’d noticed when he first came to Hogwarts, how it smelled. The scent of trees mingled with the pleasant burn of magic. All perfectly in sync with the mysterious air the ancient castle and its surrounding forest gave off.

The air up in the tower was somehow crisper. Different from the dusky smoke and polished wood smell of Gryffindor’s tower. From up here he could see almost all of the grounds. Slightly eerie in their silence, the forest a dark warning against the starlit sky.

He could also had a spectacular view of the moon from here, or at least what he was able to see of it every month. His relationship with the moon was a curious one, marred by contempt for the pain it caused him, and yet filled with an insatiable need to be closer to it. It truly was odd how much people wanted what they couldn’t have.

So many stories were told in its light. Moon-drunk kisses on dark piers and secrets exchanged under the cover of silent alleys, only the moon to guide them under a starless sky.

Remus remembered standing on the railing one night. Everyone in the dorm had been asleep except Remus. The full had been coming up and with it came a lack of sleep. He’d come up here to stare at the moon, his own silent war. He’d never intended to climb on the rail, his arm wrapped around a pillar so that he didn’t slip. It was an odd response to curiosity, putting yourself on the brink of death. He remembered briefly wondering what would happen if he fell. Would the moon catch him? Finally giving back to him a life it had spent so long taking?

Even now he wondered about it sometimes. Staring upwards as he leaned against the rail, resting his body’s weight on his arms.

Remus head the footsteps before the person even got up the stairs. Soft and light from years of sneaking out in the dead of night. Sirius.

Remus turned and sure enough, there he was. Sirius Black. Almost ethereal in the halo of the moonlight. Wrapped in his trademark leather jacket, strands of midnight black hair whipping around his face.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” Sirius said, joining him at the rail.

“You thought correctly.” Remus winced internally, he wasn’t sure how more standoffish he could get.

“Lily told me you wanted to get away from the crowd,” Sirius started turning to look at him.

“She’s not wrong,” Remus said. Apparently he could get much more standoffish.

“Do you want me to leave?” Sirius asked, he tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ear. Glaring at it as he did.

Remus shook his head. “No. No, stay.”

Sirius nodded. “Ok.”

Remus watched him for a moment. This boy that he’d been in love with for longer than he could remember or cared to admit. He couldn’t imagine a world without Sirius Black. He couldn’t imagine his world without Sirius Black. Remus remembered what Lily had said about him never being able to drive his friends away.

“I know and you won’t. No matter what happens between you guys, you’ll always still have each other. I might not be fond of your idiot friends but I do know that deep down— very deep down, they’re good people. Loyalty is everything to those morons, they wouldn’t trade your guy’s friendship for the world.”

But I’m still scared, Remus thought. Scared of losing everything and everyone leaving. Scared of being left behind.

Then he remembered the dandelion. That small seed carrying a dream away on the wind. Remus knew that the first step towards making a wish come true, was doing something to help it along. Staying silent wouldn’t do anything, it never did. And Lily was rarely wrong about people, she might not be wrong about Sirius.

Remus took a deep breath, mentally kicking himself as he turned to Sirius. “I made a wish the other day.”

Sirius looked up. “A wish?”

“Yeah, Lily was reminding me of this muggle superstition that dandelions grant wishes.”

Sirius grinned at him, grey eyes crinkling in amusement. “Oh yeah? And what did you wish for?”

“For the person I like to like me back,” Remus replied, slowly. He was honestly surprised that his voice was still working.

Instantly the amusement dropped from Sirius’ face. It was replaced by a passive, slightly melancholy look. If Remus didn’t know any better he’d think he looked...disappointed?

“Well, did it come true?” Sirius had turned away from Remus, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answer to that question.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

The few moments that followed had to be some of the longest of Remus’ life. Sirius had turned back towards him, those grey eyes flickering with a thousand emotions. Remus was seriously beginning to reconsider not throwing himself off the tower when he’d had the chance.

“What,” Sirius breathed.

“I..er—“

“Did you just...ask me out?” Sirius asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes?” Remus said, more question than answer.

For a second they just stared at each other, unmoving. Then, Sirius pulled Remus forward, tugging his head down and pressing their lips together.

And all of a sudden Remus understood why people liked the moon. How it could seem so beautiful in moments like these.

Finally they broke apart, Sirius’ arms still wrapped Remus’ shoulders.

“That was…unexpected,” Remus mumbled.

Sirius laughed lightly, “Sorry...I just never expected you to…” be trialed off.

“How long?” Remus asked. “How long have you—“

“Years,” Sirius finished. “Since third, at least.”

“I— yeah, me too.”

Suddenly Sirius broke off into laughter, leaning against a pillar to keep from falling down.

“What?” Remus asked, mildly alarmed.

“Nothing—nothing it’s just something that James said. I finally understand what he was laughing at me about.”

Remus was beyond confused but he decided not to ask.

Instead he asked, “so what now?”

Sirius stopped laughing and smiled at him. It was a look of pure adoration. Pure adoration and love. He looked beautiful, absolutely beautiful, Remus thought.

“Now, I think your wish gets granted,” Sirius said, and then he pulled him back into another kiss. A million thoughts were racing through Remus mind, but the most prominent one was: I guess sometimes, wishes do come true.

******

Special thanks to @sirrriusblack for giving me the idea for this trilogy in the first place and for helping come up with ideas for part 3. Again, thank youuuuu!!!

(Aaannnddd that concludes this mini series!)

[flyingkiki]

The Screaming Bunny (2/?)

A day late, but Happy Halloween. You asked for a Halloween treat, so here it is. Enjoy!

~

Halloween was a terrible time to go out. The streets were packed with people dressed up as drunk monsters, superheroes, sexy costumes of whatever possible, and terrible imitations of the Gotham criminals and their ragtag gangs. Also, sexy Joker costumes, ugh. Petty crimes also saw a spike on this night in Gotham, though it was nothing the GCPD or Batman and Robin couldn’t handle on their own.

Admittedly, Tim should be out on patrol right now or perhaps working on those new business acquisition reports for WE. There are a million other things he should be doing right now – like monitoring criminal activities tonight or keeping an eye out on anyone dressed like an Arkham Criminal. He should be also reading a new book, Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance, because Human Resource has been getting on his case to finish the book.

There are honestly a million other things Tim should be doing right now. He definitely should not be squeezing through a packed crowd of sweat, latex, leather, and lace.

But here he was at The Screaming Bunny. In that stupid domino mask. Again.

The private club had sent out an email to all its members of tonight’s “Spooks and Spanks” event. He shouldn’t be here but Tim would be lying if he said that he was not intrigued after the interesting run-in last month.

The club was packed tonight, drawing a crowd dressed in virtually anything or nothing. A couple of bloodied nurses in uniforms too tight to pass hospital standards scurried past Tim and disappeared around the corner. Tim carefully maneuvered his way through the club and towards the bar, hopeful to get a drink.

Soft techno music filled the club and allowed people in the lounge area to either dance or talk to each other. Club policy allowed for alcoholic drinks only by the bar and common area, Tim learned. Alcoholic drinks, and drunk members for that matter, were not allowed in any of the pleasure chambers or dungeons.

Yes, Tim made an effort to go through the club’s policies.

“Hey, what can I get you?” a topless bartender appeared, dressed nothing but a pair of extremely tight police shorts with a pair of handcuffs dangling from his belt.

“Just a scotch,” Tim replied, this time unfazed by the display of nakedness (or the potential violations of health codes by the lack of clothes). He paid for the drink as it slid across the counter and thanked the guy.

Picking up his drink, Tim pushed himself away from the bar and idly surveyed the scene in front of him. Save for the general nakedness, and the occasional grunts and whipping noises that drifted through the room, the club seemed very much like any other Halloween party tonight. A woman dressed in stockings from head to toe walked past him, roughly tugging along a man in nothing but boxers and a latex mask over his head. Tim blinked at the sight and took a sip of his drink, a few stray thoughts flittering through his mind but he quickly squashed these.

There were a couple of tables and lounge chairs in the corners of the room, Tim thought it would be best perhaps to hang out in the back for a while and let the whole party scene sink in. Tonight was the first time he was here as an actual patron and not tailing a criminal. Dodging a couple of plastic horns and demon wings, Tim easily slid through the standing crowd and spotted an empty spot on the couch next to a couple of purple and pink furry monsters (monsters? Tim wasn’t all too sure).

Sliding past a group of men in lingerie, Tim made a beeline for the lounge area. He immediately stopped in his tracks however and quickly spotted why he came tonight. Or why his curiosity peeked in the first place. His grip tightened around his scotch glass and something in his chest fluttered.

Over the crowd of lace, latex, leather, nakedness, and fake blood, purple eyes caught his own. Tim swallowed and felt his breath catch.

From across the room, Raven – Rachel – stared at Tim for a millisecond before turning her attention back to the couple covered in body paint seated across of her.  He watched her chuckle and talk to the couple before her eyes slid back to him and he swore her lips quirked just a little bit. He felt heat rush to his face as he took in her appearance, her pale skin and black hair stood out against the white of her impossibly tight leather corset. And, oh, was that a little halo over her head?

Should he go over? Tim found himself momentarily fumble. Of course he should. Wasn’t this why he came back? Because he was curious? Because he wanted – Tim blinked and caught his thoughts as Raven waved him over.

Oh god.

“You’re back,” Raven said to him once he finally approached their table. She offered him a playful smile and her purple eyes danced in the dim lights. She tilted her head and leaned back just a little bit as she eyed him with that amused smile of hers. “Why don’t you join us?” she asked, scooting down the leather sofa to make room for him in their little corner of the lounge area.

“Sure,” Tim felt a rush of emotions run down his back at the invitation – and that smile – and sat down next to her, leaving respectable room between them. Trying not to focus too much on an intriguingly amused Raven (why was she so amused? He needed to know), he placed his scotch glass on the small glass table and offered the other two women a smile. “Hello.”

“This is Tracy and Lady X,” Raven introduced, pointing at a small redheaded woman in a skimpy Super Mario costume with a dog collar and a blonde woman in complete leopard body paint. Raven gracefully pointed at each woman with her drink in her hand. Tilting her head towards Tim, she eyed him in mild amusement. “And this is…” she trailed off.

“Red,” Tim supplied smoothly and smiled at the two women. “Nice to meet you,”

“Red,” Raven repeated with an amused lilt in her voice before hiding her smile into her mojito glass. She leaned into the sofa, looking impossibly comfortable and blissfully ignoring how surreal everything truly was – Tim and her in club filled with naked people. It just felt surreal. He swallowed.

“So what are you supposed to be?” asked Tracy curiously, leaning forward just a little bit and eyeing Tim’s costume skeptically.

Tim felt his neck and cheeks burn at the attention. He had not put much thought into wearing any particular costume tonight – because what does one wear to a private BDSM club Halloween party really? “Ah, a random biker?” he replied, chuckling softly. He hoped his jeans and the leather vest he was wearing passed those standards.

Tracy chuckled with him and offered him a sympathetic smile. “Good try,”

“Random Biker Red,” Raven hummed next to him barely audible over the noise. He caught her staring at him, that amused smile never really disappearing. Tim swallowed and caught her eye briefly before reaching for his drink.

“How did you guys meet?” asked Lady X curiously. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,”

“He’s a new bunny,” Raven easily supplied and Tim felt his inside twist lightly at the word bunny. There it was again and he fought every urge not to openly stare at Raven. “I just bumped into him a few weeks ago,” she said.

“Ohh,” Tracy leaned forward just a little bit, her eyes sparkling in clear mischief. “Is he going to be your dom, Rachel?”

Tim coughed loudly into his drink at her words and he was sure Raven felt his spike of emotions as she shot him a quick glance. Dom? As in – holy shit. He blinked and tried to ignore how loudly his heart beat in his ears. He ignored the hot jolt than ran through him. “I – ugh, her what?”

Raven rolled eyes at Tracy and sent Tim an amused smile. “Easy. He’s new, Tracy,”

Ignoring Raven, the woman dressed up like a very sexy Mario brother leaned over their glass table and whispered very loudly. “She’s looking for a dom or a switch, just so you know,”

“Oh,” breathed Tim and his gaze involuntarily turned to Raven, who quirked her lips lightly in response. Well, was that information Tim needed? He wasn’t sure. But will he store this information for later? Yes. He inhaled softy as his stomach flopped and stray thoughts flittered through his head. He silently wondered if Dick knew about all of this – Dick would kick is his ass if he knew he was here with Raven.

“So you were saying about your plans?” Raven turned her attention back to the couple across of them. Crossing her legs, Tim’s heart jumped at the sight of thigh-high white stockings, Raven comfortably leaned back into the sofa and eyed her friends. If she could sense his keyed up emotions, she displayed no indication. “Are you expanding your studio or not?”

“Oh, yeah. Like I said we hit a few snags when we opened one of the old walls and discovered that the piping needed replacing. Most of the pipes are ancient like Gotham,” Tracy made a face and took a hearty swig from her cosmopolitan. “I’m talking to some contractors to see what can be done,”

Raven frowned. “Didn’t they tell you about the piping issue when they sold you the adjacent complex?”

Lady X rolled her eyes and leaned back into her seat with a sigh of exasperation. Some of her silver bracelets clinked as she moved around. “They did but we didn’t expect that it’d be that bad.” She shrugged and sent Tim an annoyed look. “Some of these brokers are just lying assholes, you know,”

Tim blinked trying to catch up with the conversation. Admittedly he was a bit miffed at the normalcy of the conversation on renovation work in the middle of a BDSM club. But then again, what did he expect to hear tonight? “I’m sorry, I’m not following?” he blinked and offered them an apologetic smile.

“Tracy owns an art studio,” Raven explained and took a tiny sip from her mojito. “They’re expanding the studio but hit some snags along the way,”

Tim nodded. “You’re an artist? That’s amazing,” he said. Tracy blushed at the praise while Lady X seemed to beam with pride. Leaning forward over the table just a little bit, she grinned at Tim.

“She painted all of this,” she said and waved a perfectly manicured hand over her body. “Such a talented artist, my little pet is,” she practically purred and sent Tracy a fond smile.

Tim blinked and ignored the pet endearment. Briefly glancing at Raven, he shared an amused smile with her, and looked at the intricate leopard body paint on the woman’s body. He nodded and smiled at them. “That’s really beautiful,” he said.

“Thanks,” Tracy beamed. She fiddled with her empty cosmopolitan glass. “So yeah, I’m trying to get something arranged with a few contractors to fix the old piping. We tore down a few walls to open up the space and discovered the piping was rusty and not up to building code. We need that fixed before we can proceed with expansion renovations of the annex building,”

“You could also go after the guys who sold you the place. If they were not totally upfront with the issues of the complex you’re getting, maybe there’s something that could be done?” suggested Tim. And he immediately went into details of some legal remedies they could take.

“Oh wow. Okay,” Tracy nodded and released a deep breath. “That sounds like something we could do,”

Tim took a sip of the last of his scotch and offered her a smile. “Talk to your lawyer to figure something out,”

Lady X sent Raven a look and her black eyes sparkled mischievously under the dim orange lights. “Looks like your new friend is pretty useful,” she said.

Raven chuckled and shrugged. “Looks like it,” she said playfully and the two shared a smile.

A man dressed in nothing but black appeared next to their table suddenly. The words ‘Dungeon Monitor’ were written across a bright orange sash he wore. “The St. Andrew’s Cross is ready for you, Lady X,” he said before turning around and heading back to the pleasure areas.

“Wonderful,” Lady X clapped her hands and stood up. “Come, my pet,” Tim watched as Lady X bent over just a little bit and hooked one of her fingers through the large silver hoop that hung from Tracy’s collar. She tugged the woman into a standing position and gently pulled her away from their table. “You’ll come watch us?” she asked them over her shoulder.

“Watch?” Tim breathed, his brain catching up with what that truly meant.

Raven smiled and shrugged at the woman. “We’ll try to catch up. Enjoy,”

The woman in leopard body paint shrugged with a smile. “Your loss,” she said before roughly tugging Tracy through the crowd.

Tim watched them disappear around the corner and into one of the pleasure corners, or dungeons, he wasn’t all too sure. They were likely the same – and did they just invite them to watch them? He stared at the corner for a second too long.

“Curious?”

Raven’s voice brought him back from his thoughts and Tim turned back to Raven, and finally, finally¸ got a better look at her as she turned her full attention towards him and shifted in her seat to face him. She was dressed in a plain leather white corset and tiny white booty shorts that really left nothing to the imagination. He was sure he stared a second too long, as Raven tilted her head expectantly and the corners of her eyes crinkled just a little bit in amusement.

“Oh,” Tim breathed and felt his ears ring just a little bit. He watched her shift gracefully in her seat and folded one of her legs under her as she faced him. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. He swallowed nervously and surveyed the crowd of naked people around them. “I’m honestly not sure why I came back,”

Raven shrugged and idly took a sip from her mojito. “That’s okay. It’s a lot to take in,” she said. She offered him a small smile. “It’s nice you’re back though,”

Something stirred inside of him and Tim smiled lightly. “Yeah?”

Raven tilted her head lightly and her eyes shone under the dim lights. They could hear the loud cracks of a whip through the air, and Tim watched her gaze slip over his shoulder. Her lips curled just a tiny bit. He swallowed as a thought crossed his mind – did she want that? He felt heart jump into his throat at the stray thought and watched a languid smile grow on her lips as her attention turned back to him. “How do you like it so far?” she asked as she propped her left elbow on the back of the sofa and dropped her chin into her hand, eyeing him in amusement.

“I got good company,” Tim chuckled as Raven snorted softly. He absently fiddled with his glass before placing it on the table. “I’m surprised how normal conversations are here,”

“What? The building expansions? What did you think we’d talk about here?” Raven asked teasingly. She watched Tim look around briefly and take in the people milling around the lounge area. “I don’t know,” he replied as he turned back to Raven.

Raven smiled assuringly. “Clubs like these are close to any other club. What makes places like these special is the level of trust and respect that goes into these places and among the patrons. You come here as yourself, you can explore and enjoy what you like – with appropriate safety limits – and there’s no judgement. Just as safe space for being yourself. With the level of trust and respect that goes into places like these, you’d be surprised how much safer they are compared to your regular clubs,” she said. She looked around briefly before turning back to Tim. “Consent is important here.”

“I noticed that,” said Tim, nodding his head in agreement. He did see how vastly more respectful the crowd was here compared to any other club he had been too. He turned his attention back to her, taking in how comfortable, and alluring, she looked. “So, I’m a Random Biker, what are you?” he asked playfully.

Raven laughed, a sound he was growing to quite like hearing, and titled her head making the little plastic halo dance over her head. “I thought it’d be funny to dress like an angel, all things considering,” she said.

“You make a pretty impressive angel,” he said before he could really think it through. They both paused, ambient techno music falling over them, and they shared a look. Tim watched as Raven’s lips lifted into a small, pleasant smile.

“Were you able to have a look around?” she asked suddenly.

Tim shook his head. “No, when I saw you three I just about arrived.”

“Well then,” Raven breathed and offered him a mysterious smile. The ambient techno music shifted into a louder dance beat and the crowd cheered. “You’re not busy tonight, finally,” she began and leaned into his space just a little bit. He could faintly smell her lavender perfume. “Let’s go have a look around tonight.”

He watched her gracefully stand up and Tim was sure his breath caught in his throat as she stood before him in nothing but her leather corset. He knew it was impolite to stare, but – she was a sight. It was mindboggling to see such a different side of Raven from all the years he had known her – and he would be lying to say he was thirsty to see this side of her more.

As a muted groan drifted through the air and the two shared a look, and Tim admitted that yes, he was curious. So damn curious – he was Tim Drake after all.

“Sure,” he said. He stood up next to her and Raven beamed, bending over and picking up something discarded on the table. A thin riding crop.

Despite her strappy heels, Raven barely came up to his chin. She tilted her head up just a little bit and Tim watched as the shadows of some of the spider decorations danced across her collarbones and cheeks. He held his breath. She held the riding crop in her hands and smiled. “Great, let’s make sure you have fun tonight,” she told him softly.

Tim desperately wanted to know what that meant.

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Every Rose has its Thorns by Ether Solrac

So, remember when I mentioned how the Cyberpunk Mafia version of Rose managed to Kick Anakra’s ass? I decided to try and turn it into a full scene. It’s not much but I hope you enjoy it.

...

“God Damn it!”

The sound of broken glass rang through the establishment as everyone fell deathly silent to the outburst. Sitting at the bar was a woman decked to the nines in a vintage black mobsters outfit, with the exceptions being the classic fedora was replaced with a pirate’s tricorn cap and her right leg had been replaced with a mechanical peg leg, the end of which looked suspiciously like the muzzle of a rifle. The entire ensemble was littered in scrapes and tears. Her right hand was bloody with several pieces of shattered glass embedded in it. the counter was a mess of hard liquor and blood.

“Please, my love, you’re making a scene” her companion tried to soothe her fury, her short red hair was a mess and her own similarly styled suit was likewise in a state of disrepair.

“They were CHILDREN, Cali!” the woman shouted back in response, the burn of alcohol deep in her breath. “They were children and they turned ‘em inta robots!” she couldn’t stop herself from throwing herself into her still bloody hands, staining her face in her distress. “Gods! what woulda happn’ if we neva reached ‘em…”

“But we did. You’ve got a good heart Raka, but hurting yourself like this helps no one.” She grabbed a nearby napkin and, dabbing it lightly into her own glass of water, she began to try and wipe the blood away from her beloved’s face.

“She’s right you know” spoke a teen from behind the counter, her short blond hair and bright blue eyes radiated innocence but the tired upright way she carried herself spoke of the maturity gained through countless experiences she bore witness to far too young.

“Oh, what da fuck do you know Lass? Sitting here in ya wee cubby. When da fuck hav ya fought on the front lines. What I saw today nobody should hav to suffer and yet here ye be offering drinks to the fuckin corporate weasels that are makin this city a livin hell.” A few patrons with corporate logos stitched into their clothing turned their heads, trying to avoid attention. “Yeah, that’s right I’m talkin about you fuckers sittin’ with yer arses in here like ya don’t know what ya do.”

“I like you Anakra, out there you’re one of the good ones and I respect what you do. In here though? You’re just another person. There are no flags within these walls, and I will not have a fight in my garden.“ Her posture tensed and you could see the motors of her mechanical pack begin to hum to life.

“Oh! So the wee lass wants a brawl does she? Well bring it the fuck on then!” grabbing the nearby bottle of scotch she smashed it across the counter to create a makeshift weapon.

“Raka what the fuck are you doing? Stop this at once!” the red-head cried out, desperate to get things back under control.

“It’s alright Caline, I’ll be gentle” the teen replied all too serenely. “It’s been a while since I had to enforce my rules and she looks like she need to let her aggression out anyways.”

In an instant a mask flipped into place over the teens face and with a quick pass of her hands she released a spray from her gloves directly into the rowdy woman’s face. the world began to slow down for Anakra as the small bar began to melt away and thorny vines began to surround her from all sides, snaking into existence before her very eyes. At the center of the infestation stood the girl, a brilliant pink shining like a towering mass of flower petals much like her namesake.

One blink and the girl was upon her, landing a solid blow to her chin before vanishing in the next blink. Another tick of the clock and Anakra felt a sharp pain in shin of her flesh and blood leg, nearly toppling her over. And finally when she had almost managed to gather her bearings, she was met face to face with the girl in her armored splendor, her mask giving off the mystical fury of a fay with its glowing pink eyes burring into her very soul, and intricate vine carvings looking like the ancient tattoos of a warrior. It was the last thing she saw before, with one final hit, she was out like a candle that tried to hold its ember against an entire storm.

To everyone else however, the fight was over before it ever began. The gas brought the woman into a deep haze, and with a few precise strikes to her nerves, she was rendered unconscious before she could ever throw her first punch.

The victor removed her mask, but instead of the smile of a victor, there was only the tired eyes of someone still fighting a much longer fight. Pulling a small container from bellow the counter, she passed it on to the red head who was attempting to gather her partner from the ground.

“Here’s a fresh batch of healing salve from Max, it should help with her injuries. Make sure you take some yourself, don’t think I didn’t see you wincing earlier” the teen said.

“Thank you, Rose. I’m truly sorry about her. The last mission really wasn’t a good one” Caline replied, Anakra’s arm strung over her shoulder.

“I understand. Honestly, I really do feel the same way she does, but this place has to be neutral. She may not like it, but a lot of these people don’t have a choice when it comes to who they work for. I’ve seen entire families disappear overnight because someone refused to cooperate. The best I can do is make sure that they’re truly safe here.” She sighed, rubbing the space between her eyes “..But to think the Bourgeois could do something like that to their own daughter… Her and her friend will be safe here, you have my word.”

“There was never any doubt about that. She speaks harshly but I know she trusts you too. She just hasn’t touched a bottle so heavily like that in a long while. She wears her heart on her sleeve but damn it if she doesn’t have a dagger ready in the other.”

“It’s why this city needs her. She’s crazy as all hell, but she cares. I’ve rung up Luka and he’ll bring the hovercar around now to get you two.” She pushes a few buttons in her gauntlet and a new bottle pops out, a small heart shaped thing with an almost luminary pink mist within. “Take this too, maybe it’ll give her a chance to let off some steam in a better way. I hope you don’t mind me taking Juleka for the night either, it’ll give you some privacy and honestly I need something to cheer me up too.”

The red-head’s face blushed a red almost as deep as she gingerly took the small bottle from the teen. A small honk could be heard from outside. “That would be our ride I suppose, that boy is a little too good a pilot for his own good. I suppose this is a good night, enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Oh, I will, just as I’m sure you’ll be enjoying yours” she smirked as the blushing woman made her quick retreat.

With that the teen began to shut down the counter, she had a date line up with a certain goth warrior after all.

——-

OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO NICE

THANK YOU

That ending with the Love Potion was hilarious, also, fUCKING TRIPPY WOW I LOVE THEM EFFECTS Rip Anarka 

[likesomekindofcheese]

Have you ever done a Gwilym lee x Capricorn reader 👉👈 if so, I can't find it..

Hello anon! I haven’t done one yet, so you got it! (I’m a Capricorn so it might be a little biased, hehheh)

Your first date, he noticed you had maturity and wisdom. Gwil was just cracking wise and making you laugh and relax.

You and Gwil happen to meet at the right time. Normally he likes freedom and fears anything that could trap him but with you...it was right. He feels ready.

Both of you are complimentary. He is expanding his horizons, always wanting to explore more. You are mindful of the responsibility. He helps you grow and you help keep him in check.

Such as one time you were both hiking and came across a wooden bridge. He urged you to cross and you were extremely hesitant. It looked rickety. And the landing looked too far for survival. So he took your hand and helped you across it.

Though both of you are incredibly smart. You complete each other intellectually with discussions about books over small glasses of scotch.

You go on museum dates all the time to ancient places, castles, to see art and history and science preserved and see what you can learn.

But also to classical concerts, all dressed up, and holding hands during parts when the music is so gorgeous you feel tears well up in your eyes. So then you look up at him and he kisses your hand with a smile.

And sometimes you get into a dark mood. You feel sad. Like you have done nothing and accomplished nothing in your life. Gwil assures you it isn’t true and holds you to his chest and lets you cry it out, kissing your forehead. He then says something to make you laugh. He is always your sunshine.

 But he helps you play hard in addition to working hard and you encourage him to take his energy into ideas and take action. He adores you for it. Your differences meet in your compatibility and you truly love each other!

Taglist: @queenlover05 @stardust-killer-queen

[flutistbyday2020]

White Horse

I just watched the most recent episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I’m heartbroken. So y’all get this.

This is part of @choicesmarchchallenge hosted by the lovely @lovealexhunt

Today’s prompt: Love Letters

TRR

Maxwell x MC

Warnings: None

Word count: 810

Song inspiration: “White Horse” by Taylor Swift.

Maxwell gets a letter that changes his perception.

Maxwell prized himself on how cool, calm, and collected he was in tense situations. He was the easygoing Beaumont brother, letting Bertrand be the serious, brooding one.

As Maxwell read the letter on his desk, he was anything but cool, calm, and collected.

No, he was angry. Blood-boiling, temple throbbing, blood-pressure-spiking angry. 

Maxwell threw his glass of scotch at the wall. The glass shattered almost cartoonishly, in the way the shards scattered in a perfect diamond shape. The glass left a hole in the wall where it had impacted. The noise alerted Bertrand, who took the stairs to Maxwell’s study two at a time.

“What the hell, Maxwell?” Bertrand exclaimed, hand over heart. “I thought you were being attacked!”

Maxwell didn’t respond, just set the letter that caused his anger on the desk and walked out. Maxwell didn’t even make eye contact with his brother on the way out.

Bertrand made his way over to the desk, confused as to the scene that lay in front of him. He picked up the letter and examined it carefully. He didn’t recognize the handwriting.

Dear Maxwell

This is a copout, and I know it. I’m kind of sorry, but not enough to prevent me from doing this.

Maxwell, I love you. I’ve loved you since the beginning of the social season. You forced me to go to all of these events for Liam, but all I wanted to do was spend time with you.

You woke me up every morning. You helped me get dressed every day. You held my hand when those pictures were released of me. You helped me track down the reporter. It was always you. It has always been you.

You’re a damn fool for not seeing it, but I can’t blame you. You’ve always put your feelings Second. You joked saying that Bertrand was the heir and you are the spare, but it’s not fair that you treat yourself like second-best when you are not.

I am writing this letter as a goodbye.

Yes, it is cruel. Yes, you deserve better. But I can’t give you better.

Liam is in love with me. That was the whole point, right? The whole point of all of this? To make Liam love me? It worked. But I can’t get married to him knowing that I am in love with you.

Liam proposed to me, that night New York. He took me to the Statue of Liberty and he proposed, using Duke Ramsford’s help. I said “yes,” hoping I could make myself love Liam enough to marry him. And I thought I did. I had convinced myself I’d be okay until my bachelorette party, when Liam said that I got one hall pass before the wedding. I thought about using my hall pass for you, but then I knew that I would never be able to let you go. I couldn’t do that to you or myself.

So I am leaving Cordonia.

I spoke to Liam, and he understands. Liam is giving me two weeks to figure out what I want. Liam said, “take two weeks to figure it out, Riley. If you decide that you can’t live without Maxwell, we can do an ancient Cordonian marriage. But, Riley, I will never love another woman.”

I don’t plan on coming back, Maxwell. I can’t face you or Liam anymore. I just can’t. Liam doesn’t know. I plan on writing him a letter after I arrive back in New York. I am packing my things in a U-Haul as soon as my plane touches down. I’m moving. Hopefully, none of you will ever find me. I have done enough damage to the dynamic of your friends, and I do not plan on doing any more.

Please believe me when I say I love you and that is the easiest thing I have ever said. The hardest thing I have ever said is in this letter: that I’m not coming back to you.

I hope that you can forgive me one day. I hope Liam can forgive me one day. I hope you both find love as well.

Please don’t come looking for me. If you do, I will never leave your side. I need to do this for myself.

Yours truly,

Riley

Bertrand stares at the letter. He couldn’t believe it. Riley seemed so happy with Liam. Maybe it was just the glory of being with a king that made her seem happy. Maybe it was Liam’s infectious happiness. If Riley had just said something. He only wanted happiness for his brother.

Bertrand sighed heavily, heartache weighing on his chest. He found the corresponding envelope, flipped it over, and looked at the return address. He briefly wondered about sending Bastien to that address, but he knew that Riley wouldn’t be there anymore. He knew that she would keep her word and move before anybody could find her.

The letter was postmarked for a week prior. Yes, Riley was definitely gone.

[inkstaineddove]

A Marriage Story

Ships: PruHun, AusHun

Characters: Prussia, Hungary, Austria, minor France

Summary: 1867: The formal marriage between Austria and Hungary, creating the Austro-Hungarian Empire and ammunition for Roderich to use in his personal war against Gilbert.

January 1867, Berlin.  

Gilbert had never been feeling better. With every passing day, Prussian hegemony over Germany grew stronger. He was becoming a nation feared and respected by all others, no longer possible to write off as a bit player in Europe. He found himself standing taller and walking with a spring in his step. It felt like the culmination of one long struggle that began in 1740, his quest to make a glorious kingdom out of a backwater electorate. He stood before the portrait of Frederick the Great in his office and grinned. "Old man, you'd be so proud of me. I took those damn Austrians out in a matter of weeks!" Gilbert grinned from ear-to-ear. "You should've seen the fear in their eyes, you would've loved being there."

A knock at the door. One of his maids entered and bowed her head. "Herr Edelstein is here."

"He is? Bet he wants to sign away more territory to Italy! Send him up." Once she was out, Prussia began scrambling around the study. He needed to look his most powerful, needed to show that prick who the seat of power was. He grabbed his old sword in the corner of the room and retook his spot before Frederick's portrait.

Austria entered and, seeing what the Prussian was going for, rolled his eyes. "You went too heavy on the symbolism."

"It's my first showing before the new sick man of Europe. You're all about appearances, shouldn't I try to impress?" He set his sword down on his desk, smirking at his reflection in the metal. "I don't think you're here for me to show off, though I wish you were. I make a good peacock. What's your purpose? I wouldn't think you had a lot of spare time, considering there's an army you need to replace."

Normally, this kind of taunting would grate on Austria's nerves. Today was a special occasion, he came bearing good news. Such good news that he actually managed a chuckle. "I let the generals do the repairs. In return, they let me don my uniform and rally the troops before battles. It's a better arrangement for us all." A smile spread across his face. "I'm here for an exciting reason. I'm getting married."

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Oh my god, that's fantastic! I've got just the thing!" He removed a bottle of champagne from one of the cabinets and poured them a glass. "I've still got a few of these in here from when we were celebrating the end of the war last year. This is amazing, Roderich. Remember? You were all nerves only a few months ago, thinking about what everything meant for you. Your bedroom diplomacy works again! It's like they always say: if you can't take it with a sword, take it with charm." They clinked glasses. "I presume that means she's in Budapest?"

Roderich sipped slyly from his glass. "I don't think I've ever heard that phrase, but maybe it's one of those new ancient Chinese proverbs." He smiled sincerely at his host. "She is, though she'll be back in Vienna very soon. Erzsébet's finalizing the details with her people. It all has to be very official. Though I don't quite understand why you're so excited for me. This comes at quite a cost for you."

"What, did you think that little skirmish meant the end for us? Please. If we were fine after the Seven Years' War, we're certainly fine after this one. All's fair in war, or however it goes. Which is why I'm excited for you! You can't have multiple spouses, we've evolved beyond that. Who's the lucky nation, who do I get to welcome into the family?"

"Oh no. Gilbert, I'm terribly sorry. You seem to be confused." Austria had an expression of mock pity. He put his hand to his chest. "We're not getting a divorce. It's a new phase of our relationship, a marriage of equals, or so I tell her. That actuality remains to be seen, but she gets her name tacked on and regains sovereignty. That was enough to avert a potential disaster."

Prussia's blood ran cold. He set his glass down, no longer wanting to touch the champagne. He felt a fool. "I'm glad you're finally giving her the respect everyone else knew she deserved. I'll make sure to get her a gift celebrating this." His eyes narrowed. "Was the ride from Vienna worth it? I'm glad you've gotten in your laugh for the day."

"You're going to kick me out already? I have an invitation for you. This time we're having a ceremony - my idea, I thought it would be fitting for propaganda purposes. It would be an honor to have you as my best man. There's no one else I'd rather have by my side on such an important day. Think of it, you'll be so close that it'll be easier to pretend she's reciting her vows to you instead."

Gilbert's fist twitched. He needed to break something, needed to explode. His heart had dropped to his feet and prevented him from moving. "Why would I do that, I don't believe in marriage." He swallowed down bile and looked outside the window. "I would never fantasize about that. What I care about is only the physical. Real men care nothing for romance." He felt Roderich's stare, knew how unconvincing he sounded, and wanted to puke.

"Are you sure? I've heard you make statements on the contrary when it came to her." Roderich shrugged nonchalantly. "But if that's the case then you won't mind giving her away to me either. Would you? There's no one else to ask, we don't exactly have fathers do we?" Their eyes met. Roderich's smile was cruel. "I was certain this would be another favor. You'd at least know what it was like to walk down the aisle with her, even if it was the wrong way."

Something inside of him broke. Gilbert leaned against his desk for support. "Marrying her once wasn't good enough for you? Why are you doing all this?" He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from breaking down. He would not let Roderich catch him cry, he would not let anyone see him so weak. "If that's what you have to do to prevent her declaring independence, whatever. There's no need to waste the money on publicly humiliating me."

"There's no price tag on revenge." Austria sat an envelope on the desk. "There's all the details. I must be going, I don't want to return home too late." Heading to the door, he turned around. He handed Prussia a bottle of scotch. "I figured you'd need this. See, I'm nothing but caring." With that, the Austrian left as quickly as he came.

Gilbert drank thirstily from the bottle. He slumped down in front of his desk, his head in between his knees. All his earlier bravado had flown out the window. He bit down on his fist, repressing an anguished cry. For so long, he felt like he'd been in the command of his personal situation. Politics was rough, it was turbulent, and the winners of yesterday easily became the losers of tomorrow. He'd accepted that for centuries now. But his personal relations had felt so stable. Naturally, Roderich would get his hits in occasionally but it was never anything he couldn't handle. Nothing that could never be returned. This was cutting the marble, this was a laceration that would not heal.

Finally, the tears began to fall. This was truly personal.

---

March 1867, Vienna.  

Prussia's carriage pulled up to Austria's home and he hated himself. The past two months he'd debated over whether to actually show or not. Watching this whole affair, this sham wedding, would kill him. The thought of not being there for Erzsébet would kill him more, to let her down when she might actually want him around. He'd sucked up his pride and forced himself here. That didn't stop him from being embroiled in self-loathing.

Nor did it stop him from drinking the whole way there. Gilbert had always been a heavy drinker, but he'd begun leaning on the habit more as the wedding moved closer. He took a sip from his hip flask to calm his nerves before entering the home. Roderich was waiting for him in the parlor. "Gilbert! I'm thrilled you actually decided to make it. How's my favorite cousin?" He hugged the Prussian, who didn't return it.

"If I could kill you in your sleep and have you actually be dead, I wouldn't hesitate to do so." Another sip from his flask.

"You're such a tease. I'd lead you to your room, but you know where it is. Your usual place next to mine, I know how fond of it you are." Roderich patted him on the arm. "I'm sorry for being rude, but I have to run a few errands. Make yourself at home."

"I would appreciate if you fell off a cliff on the way there."

Roderich laughed, not paying him any mind, as he walked out the door. Gilbert glowered and slumped onto a sofa. He hated Roderich, hated his stupid castles and his extravagant home. There was no modesty to it. There was no subtlety to it. Looking around, he understood why Erzsébet would consider it a gilded cage. It certainly made you feel as if you were trapped in a sadist's world. And what a sadist he found himself cornered by. His mind drifted off, trying to come up with various plans for satisfactory revenge.

He didn't realize Erzsébet was there until she stood in front of him. "You actually came, I'm pleasantly surprised." She smiled gently and cuddled up besides him. "Selfishly, I hoped you would, though I would've understood if you stayed away. It's not my particular idea of a good time either."

Her presence perked Gilbert back up again. He kissed her cheek and let his head rest in the crook of her neck, smiling against it. "I didn't figure out what I was doing till last night. It felt wrong to not be here with you. And, if we're both being selfish, I want to see you in your dress." She brought his lips to hers. Apparently, he'd given the right answer.

They sat, nestled together in quiet contentment. Gilbert's nerves had calmed down simply by having her in his arms. It made what would be coming in two days seem much more bearable. "Has this made your situation better yet? If this is done and nothing gets changed, I'd be willing to declare war to help you." They both knew Bismarck wouldn't agree to it, but it was a nice sentiment.

"Too early to tell. He seems happier, but that's probably because I've quit threatening rebellion in the interim." She sounded bored. "Many of my people aren't thrilled about it, so I doubt it'll be an easy peace between us. I had to do what I could for them - my people, I mean. Life was becoming even more unbearable. Even if I find the solution personally distasteful, I'll go through with it if it means they won't be treated like criminals." She sighed. "It's a curse."

"Is this the only way he'd accept the deal?"

"If I pressed hard enough, I don't think it would've been. I'm so tired, Gilbert, it felt better to accept this nonsense than to fight over it. I'd rather suffer a personal indignity than drag out negotiations longer then they needed to be."

"I wish you would've! I wasn't asking to get involved in all this! It's not like he's humiliating one of us!" The Prussian huffed.

She shot him a look. "Are you really going to blame me for this?" She smiled, receiving his silence well. "This doesn't have to be so horrible. We can make the most of our time together." Erzsébet kissed him sweetly, trying to convince them both.

Gilbert smiled and slid her onto his lap, his arms wrapped securely around her hips. For now, his complaints settled back below the service. "That's a much better way of looking at things. Erzsi, it's your weekend. Anything my sweet love commands and it will be done."

She giggled against his chest. "I should probably help you practice your dancing. I'm sure some poor woman will want to dance with you before she realizes you have two left feet."

"Right, this is all about practice, absolutely nothing to do with you wanting to dance with me." The pair rose. Gilbert bowed slightly and extended his hand out to Erzsébet. His smile turned tender. "My lady, would you do me the honor?"

She took it, returning his smile. "Most certainly." They swayed together, Gilbert twirling her around and being hyper-aware of where her feet were and Erzsébet teasing him whenever he stepped on them. Eventually, Gilbert couldn't suppress his laughter. Curiosity shaped Erzsébet's face. "Everything alright?"

"There's no music. Can you imagine how silly we must look to anyone passing by?"

"What, you can't hear it?" He looked at her as if she were insane. It was her turn to laugh before humming. It was a mixture of various harmonies, those coming from her memory and those newly invented. "Hear it now?"

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't wipe a stupid smile off his face. "I do. I think it goes like this though." His turn to invent the music. An even stranger mix of the usual classical pieces and some military marches. Erzsébet joined in, turning their song into something new and chaotic all together. Both found themselves unable to stop or unable to quiet their laughter. It was ridiculous, but it was also magical.

Neither of them noticed Roderich in the other room. He'd stood there for a few minutes, observing. Gilbert had been right, it looked incredibly strange from a distance until he'd heard the hums. His fingers itched to sit at the piano and provide them something much more coherent to dance with. He forced the urge aside, reminding himself that he only felt that way because he was a showman and enjoyed his craft. He also ignored the small part of him that felt a pity for both of them, knowing what would be coming in a few days. It was the weak part of him, the part that sympathized too much with humanity's foolishly compassionate nature. He buried that small part of himself down. What good would it currently serve him?

Roderich entered and cleared his throat. He hated the slow way they parted and how Gilbert's hand still lingered on her hip. He hated the conspiratorial looks they shared between each other. "I hope my absence wasn't too deeply felt. I also hope it won't be too upsetting that I'll be out for a few hours tomorrow as well." The hate went deeper, for himself, for his humanity.

"Oh, did something all of a sudden come up?" Erzsébet cocked her head to the side in confusion. "If it's something that concerns both of us, I can come along."

Roderich shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I can take care of everything on my own. It's best if you stay here and attend to whatever matters need to be taken care of in the home." He glanced at Gilbert, who seemed relieved. If there was a heaven, Roderich considered, this moment better be what allows him to enter into it.

---

Gilbert laid besides Erzsébet in bed, her head on his chest and his fingers threading through her hair. He stared at the portrait of Roderich in the room. "He does realize how weird that is, right? To fall asleep over your own ever-watchful eye. It's unsettling."

"I've tried to get him to move it into any other room, but he likes it." She shrugged. "I don't think he really does, I think there's a safe or something behind it. That's my theory that I will do nothing to confirm or deny."

Gilbert's mind had already drifted back off. He couldn't stop considering the oncoming marriage. The whole thing was a farce, nothing more than a ploy to get into his head. He understood it as that, but he couldn't stop having it dominate his mind. He kissed the top of Erzsébet's head. "You don't have to go through with it tomorrow."

"Really? Then what would I do?" She peered up at him through her eyelashes, a bemused smile dancing across her lips.

"We could run away. Bring the dress with you, we can get married and I'll hold a coronation for you as my queen in Königsberg." He took her hand and kissed it. "I'll pull out all the stops for you."

She wrinkled her nose. "You're going to make me choose between Vienna or  Königsberg? Is that really a fair contest?"

"No, but then I'd take you to Versailles and you'd be crowned again there, a magnificent gesture befitting a magnificent woman. Then we can sail across the Channel for our honeymoon and see the cliffs of Dover. Or maybe we can tour Italy, running around through Rome and getting lost there. Or St. Petersburg, it's been so long since I've seen the Amber Room and I'd love for you to show it to you." Gilbert gently caressed her cheek.  

"If we're running away, shouldn't we get out of Europe? Everyone will be able to find us here." Erzsébet hesitated, not wanting to feed either of their fantasies, but finding the romanticism irresistible. "Brazil is supposed to be beautiful. I've never seen the Pacific Ocean before, we could flee to Canada or America."

"Anywhere! Anywhere to be with you, I'd chase you around the whole world if I had to." She was right there, yet Gilbert's whole being was filled with deep yearning. He looked down at her, his eyes burning with intensity and desperation when they met hers. "Say the word. One word and we can be rid of all this." He barked a nervous laugh. "Shit, Erzsi, think about it. We might even be happy."

"Gilbert, seriously. You don't really mean any of this. If we became outlaws, who would you have to fight?"

She'd never seen him look so old, so tired, as in that instant. It seemed as if the weight of the world was upon him. "The fighting takes its toll. Erzsébet, I'm covered in blood. It would be nice to have a chance to wash myself clean of it, to start something pure." He looked at her and she hated the spark of hope in his eyes. Abhorred it because she recognized it within her too. "I need something to believe in and I quit God long ago. Why can't I believe in this?"

"Love, or whatever this is, can't save us. Nothing can save us." She feigned strength, but her voice was no more than a whisper. "We survive, Gil. In that process, maybe we scrape out a few moments of genuine happiness, but none of that is promised. It's not some piece of territory, you can't take it through force." Erzsébet sat up, hugging herself and looking down at the sheets.

"You really think that?"

"No, but I have to."

Silence hung thick between them like fog. He reached out for her. "Gilbert-"

The Prussian returned his hands to his lap. "Life is shitty, trust me, I understand. If you live only to survive, you won't know when you can stop and actually enjoy what's around you. If there can be no respite in the present, fine. That's fair." Seeing she was more relaxed, he took her hands and kissed them. "But please, Erzsi, allow yourself to imagine a future. One where there's no more worries, no more lordship and you have more than paper sovereignty."

The Hungarian smiled. She had always feared the present, feared the uncertainty and hardships it wrought. How there could be no stable ground to stand on and how, no matter the moment, she was still a bit-player in larger dramas. He was right, though. The future, with its unknown qualities, was hers and hers alone. She visualized herself, high atop it all and unable to be forced into situations that didn't suit her, situations that compromised her dignity for short-term relief. Finally, something she could believe in. Erzsébet kissed him, smirking against his lips. "You owe me a vacation. I'm warning you that I don't travel cheaply."

"On second thought, Roddy can keep you. Hey!" In retaliation, Erzsébet pushed Gilbert back down onto the sheets. Tomorrow would be a day for their worries to be fully felt. But for now, in lighter spirits, all she wanted to do was feel at ease.

---

Hungary stared at herself in the mirror. She couldn't hide the disgust in her eyes. She closed them, drawing her thoughts to Budapest and the demands of her own people. Since 1848 they'd wanted more. Equality, dignity, common respect. This renegotiation of terms would do little to quell those demands. Everyone had to know this was temporary, that this wouldn't (or, really, it couldn't) be her permanent fate. Erzsébet shuddered at the thought, her eyes open again and staring with a quiet determination.

She took a sip from the bottle of wine besides her. An empty one laid on the floor. Erzsébet had been drinking all day, trying to quiet the noise in her head. It hadn't been effective. Deep breath in, out. In, out. This was purely political, nothing personal. A rap at the door roused her from her thoughts.

Prussia sauntered into the bedroom. He stood before her and took both of her hands in his. "I do." At her incredulous look, he smiled. "What? I'm practicing for when it's my turn." He took a step back to admire her fully. "You look absolutely gorgeous. I'm jealous."

She kissed his cheek. It was her turn to check him out. "I'm impressed. You look so natural, no longer like a scared dog when you're dressed up." She laughed at his aggrieved expression. "I'm teasing, though it's true."

He rolled his eyes, not wanting to comment on that. Instead, he went to the window to see whether they were ready for them down in the garden. They had some time still. Gilbert sipped from his flask, though it did nothing to calm his upset. "Are you still sure we can't flee? I think we could get away with stealing a couple horses."

"We could, but I'd feel bad for the guests that had to travel." Her head appeared on his shoulder, arms enveloping his waist. "Let's get this over with. The sooner the inks dried, the sooner we can all forget about this."

They made their way down the stairs, hand-in-hand, providing quiet support for the other. Hungary stopped suddenly before they could enter into the garden. Prussia shot her a look. "What happened to 'getting this over with'? Some of them can see us, you can't get cold feet now."

Erzsébet pulled him down into a deep kiss, onlookers be damned. "I do." His eyes shot open, pleasantly startled and surprised. He began trying to speak, but she pressed her finger against his lips and winked. "Just practicing."

As they walked out, Prussia suddenly didn't care what was happening. He didn't care that he very noticeably had red lipstick on his face nor that the Austrian dignitaries looked about ready to send some strongly worded letters to Berlin about his impropriety. He did appreciate the knowing smile from France, who was shaking his head in amusement. For now, he was on top of the world and could imagine they were here for him. He even felt bold enough to give her a peck on the cheek before taking his place to stand besides a fuming Austria.

It quickly began to fade away as the minister spoke, reciting vows that he was not apart of. He knew his eyes were supposed to be on the priest, but he couldn't remove them from Erzsébet. Her beauty was overtaking. She was so close, what was stopping him from shoving Roderich to the side and taking his place besides her? This was symbolic anyways and, at the very least, it would make for a good show. He could easily overpower any of these people here - except, possibly, any other nation but why would they stop him? Only Austria cared - so it was purely a moral conundrum. Look! It was his chance! He had plenty of reasons why these two should not be wed, he could list them by heart right now.

"Actually-" the whole wedding party's eyes shifted to him. Austria looked ready to strike, silently urging him to go on so there could be a brawl. But it was Hungary Gilbert was really looking at. Hungary, his Erzsi, who shook her head just slightly. Prussia swallowed his bile and fixed his gaze on Roderich, turning his contempt at him. "I don't think he can handle her."

The crowd, pleased and taking it for familial ribbing, laughed. The trio at the altar shared an uneasy moment, Prussia and Austria begging each other to start something right there. Hungary was staring the minister down, forcing him to continue. The priest complied, clearing his throat and drawing back the two men's attention.

As the ceremony continued, Gilbert felt himself being sucked back in, able to willfully ignore Roderich from his vision and again only see Erzsébet. His breath caught in his throat. How beautiful she was, how absolutely stunning. The life he could imagine with her. Hell, the life he'd been imagining with her since they were two little rascals, terrorizing all of Europe in their zeal. She was his partner-in-crime, his soulmate, the only being alive who ever understood him so completely. He caught himself mouthing along to the vows, promising to cherish her for better or poorer, for sickness or in health. He caught her eyes. She blushed and Gilbert's heart swelled till it felt ready to burst. Roderich elbowed him in the ribs and his head was yanked from the clouds. How bitter reality tasted.

The crowd, especially the Austrian and Hungarian delegations, erupted into cheers. When they parted, Gilbert couldn't stop himself. "Have you guys ever slept together? That was such a sexless kiss, do you want me to take her on the honeymoon instead?"

Erzsébet tried to hide her laugh behind her free hand. Roderich forced a smile for the crowd and, through gritted teeth, hissed, "I would sooner wish you dead."

The reception began without affair. Prussia made himself comfortable by the bar, ordering back beer after beer without a care. Once he had a nice buzz, the day began to feel much more tolerable. Gilbert looked around at all the suits before him. Sure, the company was stuffy, but at least he could drink for free and would be left reasonably enough alone. The dream of isolation was crushed by a worried Roderich approaching. "We're in trouble."

Gilbert raised his hands up. "I've been here, I haven't broken anything! France probably did it, go start something with him!"

"Not that kind of trouble! Unfortunately, my people want this looking as real as possible so you have to give a speech. I don't know what they think our relationship is really like, but apparently they think you capable of not making us all look like imbeciles." Roderich crossed his arms over his chest, his left foot tapping in agitation. "Try not to let your quest for making me look stupid take everyone else down with you." He grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to hand it to Gilbert. "Take this instead, it makes you look more dignified."

"Roderich, we already look like morons, how much worse can I make it?" He sneered at the champagne. "To hell with sophistication, I'm drinking what I'm drinking. Piss off."

They stalked away to the center of the room. Once Austria was seated by Hungary, Prussia started banging a knife against his glass. Instead of a delicate tapping, it was a loud clanging that certainly got everyone's attention. Showtime. "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. None of us are here because we want to be, but because we have to be. Doubly so for the bride and the groom." Receiving a warm laugh, Gilbert felt emboldened. He turned to the couple and smiled. "I should talk mainly about them, I guess. This is, ostensibly, their night. What a beautiful bride, you don't deserve her, Roddy. Oh, Erzsi, you'll have to be on high alert. You don't know where some treacherous Prussian might try and take you." He shot a knowing look at his crowd before turning his attention back to her. "He might be sleeping next to your room, be careful." The crowd roared in approving laughter. She shot him a look and he kissed her hand. "Really, I mean it. You're the most amazing woman on the earth. If you ever need to get away from him, I know a hotel in Berlin that's always open."

The crowd was loving him. Roderich, on the other hand, was not. Gilbert turned his attention to him. "Aw, Little Master is getting jealous. Don't worry, I'm getting to you too." He opened his mouth to speak, a thousand taunts in his mind. "After you got married to Spain, I never would've expected to see you wind up with a woman. Though, if we go by medieval standards, can we be sure this really is a valid marriage?" Prussia held Austria's gaze, daggers passing between them. "Makes you wonder who's arranged so many political marriages: you or Queen Victoria." The audience was still receptive, still believing all parties were in on the joke. A thousand different taunts danced across Gilbert's tongue. It would be so easy to keep going. He shook his head and smiled, conjuring up something different. Prussia looked out at the guests. "Isn't he a bastard? I've had to deal with him for centuries. Centuries, always chasing at my coattails." Prussia shook his head, nostalgia getting to him for a second. "What a bastard. Now, I'm supposed to give him these warm regards and act like we're best of friends. He's the France to my Britain, the Athens to my Sparta, the thorn in my side."

Austria put a hand to his chest, genuinely touched. "Prussia, that's quite sweet actually. The Athens to your Sparta? You detest me that much?" The guests, finding their whole dynamic peculiar, returned to idle conversations and dancing among themselves. "And here I thought my loathing for you was too strong."

Prussia gave him a strange look. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Three glasses of wine in the morning and three of champagne after the ceremony. Can you tell?"

Gilbert nodded. "Horribly." An idea came to mind. "Hey, are you two going on a honeymoon afterwards? Not much of a real one, but to get these fools to buy into the whole charade?"

"We're going to Venice for a few days. Some beautiful hotel my emperor booked to make her people think everything is warm and loving on my end." Roderich dramatically rolled his eyes. "Like it would be. They think their lady is incapable of being so cruel and selfish."

Said lady patted him on the arm. "I can hear you." There was a lack of emotion behind her eyes. "I would consider your words with a bit more tact if I were you."

In his stupor, Austria disregarded her. "Oh, please. You've said worse about me to my face." He began considering where they were and who they were around. "On second thought, that's probably good advice."

Just then, France sauntered up to the three of them. He raised his glass of champagne, his eyes filled with mock joy. "My congratulations to the couple. What a beautiful union." He turned his attention to Prussia, who was growing more annoyed by his presence. "Any idea on when you'll officially join or will you be forced to continue in your supporting role?"

Prussia glowered, balling his hands into fists. What he would give to smack that stupid look off the Frenchman's face. Austria, in his stupor, mistook his derision for genuine kindness. "Thank you, Francis. It's a lovely thing, isn't it? How wonderful it all is." He drank down another glass of champagne and shook his head. "Ah, my head feels fuzzy."

Hungary handed him another glass. "Drink this and you'll feel better." At France's surprised look, she shrugged. "Isn't it better for us all if he's completely out of it?"

"It's probably...for the best if I...mingle with the other guests. See how. They're doing." Roderich muttered. He rose on shaky feet. "Yes, I should. Make the rounds." He smiled at the three nations in front of him before turning to walk back to the house.

"Roderich! The guests are the other way! Oh, never mind. It's better he goes and sleeps it off." Francis chuckled, sipping from his glass. He cast a conspiratorial look between Gilbert and Erzsébet. "What do you two have planned? I can't expect that you'll both take this lying down. I was hoping for a better show." Silence. He sighed. "I'm not asking for the intimate details on...whatever this mess you three are in. Simply enough, I don't care. But I came here expecting a bigger blowout and I'm desperate for it. It would be out of character for either of you to take such a provocation with no push back."

Gilbert rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did not want to be having this conversation with Francis of all people. They really had no choice though, especially with how he was staring at them. "I'm trying to figure out a way to get rid of Roderich so I can go on the honeymoon instead. Erzsi thinks it's an insane idea so she's not being very helpful."

"Because it's ludicrous! His people paid for the damn trip, Gil. They're going to ask him about it and he has to have some idea on what to lie about." She huffed, crossing her arms. "This isn't as easy as locking him out of his own bedroom."

Francis raised an eyebrow. Now that was a story he'd like to know more about. The best way to hear about that juicy bit of gossip would be to get in their good graces, provide them with some sort of indispensable service. He snapped his fingers. "He went back inside, he's probably passed out cold in bed. How soon do you think it'll be before he wakes up?"

"I don't know, not until mid-morning at the latest. Why does that matter?" Erzsébet sighed, sipping from her glass.

Gilbert understood. His eyes lit up and a grin cracked across his face. "My God, Francis you're a genius! If we sneak out tonight, we'll be in Venice in no time! Between the hangover and how much time it would take, Roderich won't be able to do anything to stop us!" He took Erzsébet's hands and kissed them. "We can stick it to that bastard! Come on, Erzsi, let's do it!"

What a tantalizing idea. She bit her lip. There would be hell to pay when they came home. Roderich would be in a rage. But, he wouldn't want to appear weak to his own government. He'd likely lie to them about what happened. There would be no reprisals against her people. She was a big girl, she could handle all the negative personal repercussions. Erzsébet smiled, laughing. "Why not? It'll be a much better time."

They got up, giggling to each other. Francis stopped them, a mischievous glint in his eyes.  "Before you two go, a favor. I think it's only fair that you provide me with some indispensable information in return for my assistance with your predicament. Please, tell me about that incident where you locked him out of his own room?"

---

Sunlight beamed down into the bedroom and into Roderich's eyes. He groaned. His head was throbbing violently. Remembering yesterday, he cursed himself for how much he drank in his victory. "Erzsébet, are you awake yet?" His voice was hoarse and his mouth felt like sandpaper. "We should leave soon."

No answer. He reached his arm across the bed, his hand grasping mattress instead. "Erzsébet?" Roderich sat up and looked around the room. There was no trace of her. Her packed bags were gone. He stumbled across the hall to Gilbert's room. "Gilbert, have you seen Erzsébet?" He knocked on the door and received silence.

"No." The room was empty of all of Gilbert's belongings. Panic settled into his stomach like a brick. They wouldn't. No, they absolutely wouldn't. It was too brazen, even for them. Roderich ran down the stairs and grabbed one of his servants. "Where the hell are they?"

"Frau Héderváry and Herr Beilschmidt left around four hours ago, sir." The servant smiled, forgetting herself. "They looked quite happy. I had some cleaning to do and didn't wish to get in their way." With that, the maid went back on her merry way, not caring about the distraught look on her boss' face.

Roderich ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't stop himself from laughing. A thousand wicked plots rose into his mind. "I'm going to kill that bastard. They have to return to Vienna eventually." He had never been so sure of something in his life.

---

Gilbert looked out through the carriage window. He reflected on the previous day as he watched the Austrian landscape roll by. His heart still ached from what the confines of existence and the current political reality had forbid him from doing. But, in unspoken moments and through messages meant for an audience of two, he knew what really mattered. In all these years of sneaking around and growing feelings, he'd strangely never felt so secured in where he stood with Erzsébet.

"Gilbert? Are you paying any attention?" Erzsébet nudged him with her shoulder. She broke out into an easy laugh. "You're in a completely different world."

"That's not true. Even in my thoughts, I'm still with you." He leaned against her, breathing in the smell of her hair. If he closed his eyes, he could believe this is what tranquility would feel like. "When we get to Venice, what are we doing first?"

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #212: Men of Deadly Pride!

October, 1981

Here they are -- the new Avengers!

But not the New Avengers (the difference is that the hairy monster they have is Tigra instead of Wolverine).

And they are having difficulty.

I don’t know what they did to piss off Galadriel over here (I mean yes I do, she says it right on the cover) but she is kicking their asses.

A dark queen indeed.

Not much to actually say about the cover. Uh, the composition looks neat! There we go. A thing.

So lets jump inside.

Where in a moody dawn scene, Jarvis walks alone through a nearly empty Avengers mansion, little knowing he is being stalked until

RAWWR! IT IS CAT!

Tigra jumps out to do him a startle.

C’mon, Tigra. Be nice.

You’re the only Avenger actually staying in the mansion so try not to terrorize the butler.

And he was bringing you a glass of milk for your breakfast!

Although he says that he’s dealt with a lot of unsettling things and he’s learned to maintain him composure. He didn’t even spill a drop.

Jarvis: “I must say, madame, that I find you rather more unsettling than our previous resident Avengers!”

Tigra: “Oh? You a cat-lover, Jarv?”

AND DON’T FLIRT WITH HIM EITHER TIGRA GEEZ

Poor Jarvis is even allergic to cats which seems to include giant cat women.

Jarvis asks how she got this way, prompting Tigra to give a very laconic backstory that once there was a human Greer Nelson who got almost dead and then the cat-people saved her life by turning her into a cat-person.

Tigra: “And, so, here I am, one pretty kitty! But, c’mon, Jarv, does it matter how I got this sexy?”

Jarvis clarifies that he meant how she got this way as in her upbringing. Like, why you so rude.

I guess I’ll just be grateful that this is just playful Tigra flirtiness as opposed to ‘i must make out with someone 24/7 oh hey a supervillain sure I’ll make you with you’ hypersexuality she’d have while on the West Coast Avengers, in the future.

Elsewhere, Tony Stark is decompressing from his one night stand, Teri. Admiring her very comfy couch, grateful that she’s still asleep so he can sneak out (Tony, you cad), and lamenting being on the wagon. When all that’s left to drink is scotch, bourbon, and half a can of warm, flat Dr. Pepper, you drink that Dr. Pepper if you’re Tony Stark.

Tony calls his secretary to have a janitorial crew clean up after the party and to send up a dozen roses for Teri.

And then he flies out the window as Iron Man, the Man Who Kisses and Runs! as Teri wakes up and is like ‘hey tonykins what the hell was that whooshing sound?’

Tony, you cad.

And elsewhere meanwhile, Steve Rogers wakes up promptly at six o’clock in the damn morning bright as the sun and raring to go. Disgusting. Truly disgusting.

I joked about Steve getting up at 6 to run ten miles and whatever because of him criticizing Beast that time but its sickening to see it in action.

Anyway, after he damn sings in the shower like the perky morning man he is, he bounces out the window to the first Avengers meeting since the roster shake-up, musing how little they know about Tigra and how he’ll have to keep an eye on her because he doesn’t know if she’ll crack under pressure or not.

And then onto, ok wow, we are just having full pages of individual Avengers going about their mornings.

So we’re onto Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake reaching the end of the night shift he just pulled at a hospital.

Nurse Wilson pretty blatantly flirts with him (thinking to herself “C’mon, doc! Notice that I’m a woman! I dare you!”). Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake doesn’t seem to notice but his thoughts are on her, wishing he could take her out for lunch but that he has important Avengers business.

He then taps his walking stick and transforms into Thor and flies off towards the mansion.

And that brings us to Cresskill where Janet van Dyne aka the Wasp and Hank Pym aka Yellowjacket are going about their morning.

Befitting her blase attitude last issue, Jan just wants to stay in bed longer and cuddle but Hank is desperate not to be late to his first meeting as a newly active Avenger again.

So he’s in costume and ready to go while she’s still choosing which of her many many costumes to wear. Albeit with the ulterior motive that she’s trying to look good for him. She does put in like 90% of the effort into the relationship.

So she’s narrowed her choices down to a red and blue costume and a green and purple outfit that looks like maybe she raided the Green Goblin’s wardrobe. She asks Hank to decide for her.

And he does. In a sense.

He blasts the green and purple number to shreds and yells “Wear the other one!” and when she protests the destruction of her stuff he goes “So what? Like you said you’ve got lots!”

Hmm. We haven’t seen Hank in a while. And he didn’t talk much last issue what with all the Moondragoning. But he’s taken a bit of a level in being a jackass.

And then on the ride to the mansion, the limo gets stuck in traffic.

Yellowjacket: “That does it! You can ride in your blasted chauffeured limo so your two-hundred dollar hair-do doesn’t get mussed -- but I’m flying to Avengers Mansion under my own power!”

And then he ditches. He ditches hard. Leaving Wasp to fly after him begging him to wait.

You’re a bit of a rude, Hank.

Like Hank feared, the two do arrive late to the meeting and he is gently ribbed by sudden class clown Captain America.

Captain America: “Well, look who’s finally here! Now the Wasp has arrived with her new partner -- uh, Yellowjacket, right? We can get started!”

Is funny joke. Its been a time so they’re pretending he’s a new guy and ha ha he’s being described as Wasp’s partner instead of vice versa. What an upset.

And it is an upset. Tigra notices what the other Avengers seem to miss, that Cap’s joke just pissed Yellowjacket off.

And its not helped when Cap mentions that its time to elect a new chairman but Iron Man interrupts to say that he and Thor have agreed that its better for Cap to remain chairman. They did just reorganize the roster and all. Some stability is fine.

Thor: “We choose to waive the elections! Such is our right as founding members!”

And this sets Yellowjacket right the hell off.

Yellowjacket: “Is that so? Well, I resent not being consulted! As the Ant Man I was a founding member, too!”

Iron Man: “uh, of course Hank... you and the Wasp! But you came in late... we’d already decided...”

Yeah! The Wasp too!

But Yellowjacket has some kind of insect in his bonnet and he yells that he’s done being forgotten and treated as a has-been while Janet just silently cringes.  She wonders what’s happened to the man she loves. And why he won’t let her reach him anymore.

The meeting continues but the scene transitions.

To a cottage in an isolated glade among the wooded hills of Virginia. Where the olde talking power couple of Gorn and Linnea wake up. Linnea wants to lay in bed with Gorn a while longer but he decides NAY TIME TO GET UP NOW.

Hey wait.

Hmmm.

I’m sensing... thematic parallels. I’m sure its nothing, though.

Anyway, Gorn is tired of living a quiet idyllic life in a beautiful glade with a woman who dearly loves him, as they’ve done for ten thousand years. His dander is up and he wants battles to fight and glory to win! He’s tired of being safe in the glade, protected by Linnea’s power. He’s a warrior, not a farmer!

(I see no evidence of farming around the cottage, just saying)

And since its either be ditched or go with him, Linnea decides to go with him.

Gorn: “You are beautiful in that gown, Linnea. Men shall again call you Elf-Queen as they did in ancient days!”

Linnea/Elf-Queen: “They also called me witch and devil-spawn! They are ever so cruel to my kind!”

Gorn: “Aye, and once we fled them! This time, if we must, we shall fight them!”

Ah, geez, Gorn. The cover implies this won’t go well for you.

So Gorn and Elf-Queen, him on foot and her on horseback) wander into Washington DC literally looking for trouble.

But before trouble, something to eat. Looking for an inn, they wander into a random restaurant.

Gorn, being Gorn, immediately starts yelling at the maitre d’, who he assumes is the innkeeper.

And here’s a bit of an interesting and not often used touch. Even though all speech bubbles are rendered without <> as is sometimes used to denote someone speaking a different language, Gorn and Elf-Queen Linnea are in fact speaking an ancient language.

Nobody can understand a thing they say.

And they can’t understand modern English.

This is a perfect setup for some farce.

Gorn ends up just yelling that he wants food and the maitre d’ gets the gist even though he doesn’t understand the words. This is Washington DC. A lot of people from other countries wander through. So he shows them to a table.

Linnea and Gorn decide that the maitre d’ is probably the innkeeper’s idiot brother. I mean, that’s probably why he can’t understand normal language, right?

And there’s more culture shock to be had. Linnea is realizing how differently dressed everyone is in this era. None of the men are even wielding swords!

Elf-Queen Linnea: “And the women, Gorn -- ! The way they’re dressed --! Like -- like harlots!”

Gorn: “Aye! Hmmm...” -totally staring at a butt and not paying attention-

Linnea: “Gorn... ?! I-if we stay here... would you like me to dress so? I do not know if I can learn the ways of these women... but for you my love, I would try! Gorn... ?”

Gorn: “Mmm...” -still not paying attention-

Linnea: (Oh, Gorn! For ten thousand years we have dwelt together in solitude, as one in our love! Am I to lose you now, here in this city of temptresses?)

Hmmm.... this reminds me of something.... but what?

A Barry Kaplan interrupts her inferiority anxiety by coming up and trying to hire her as a fashion model.

And neither Barry nor Linnea can understand each other still.

But she senses something of his intentions and warns him that this isn’t a good idea since she’s sitting next to a warrior and all.

Barry is like ‘maybe if I try other languages?’

And then Gorn notices. And Gorn is displeased.

Gorn: “NO ONE TOUCHES GORN’S WOMAN!”

Barry: “I warn you, I’ve had six jiu-jitsu lessons!”

Wow!

So Gorn gets up from that and just bodily lifts the guy over his head (Barry lamenting that he dropped out before jiu-jitsu lesson seven). But if you get the barbarian or warrior dropped into a modern setting trope they’re usually just way better than any soft modern man. So its funny to see this random dink get the better of Gorn, even if its just the preamble to what would have been Gorn delivering a thorough beatdown.

Its just not what you expect to see in this story.

Linnea magics Barry out of Gorn’s hands, trying to defuse the situation but Gorn interprets the situation as her ‘unmanning’ him.

Gorn: “Why, Linnea? Why do you seek to unman me? Is it not enough that your power has preserved my youth and kept me for centuries? Must you now interfere in my battles?”

Linnea meekly apologizes.

And then the maitre d’ comes pissed off that this loud, shouting weirdo started a fight and is going to call the police on them. Until Linnea goes ‘oh right we should pay for the damage we caused’ and gives the maitre d’ a gold and diamond necklace.

And the maitre d’ mentally goes cha-ching and reroutes an order about to be served to give to the big spending non-English speaking weirdos.

When Gorn and Elf-Queen finally leave the restaurant wouldn’t you know it, someone stole their damn horse!

What kind of city is it where you can’t leave a horse tied to a parking meter without someone making off with it??

Linnea once again is like ‘hey lets go home to our nice glade where nobody ever stole our horse’

Gorn: “It is your home, Linnea, where I am but a guest -- nay, a pet kept by your grace. Ages ago, I was a renowed warrior, honored and feared by nations and kings! If I am to be a man in my own eyes I must regain the glory I once knew!”

And then a cop comes up to Gorn because you can’t just carry a sword around Washington DC.

Gorn: “Eh? His words are gibberish but the intent is clear! This blue-clad warrior issues me a challenge! Have at thee scoundr- AHH!”

And then the cop just maces Gorn.

Its not funny like the talent agent tossing him into a salad bowl because: cops. Its still a little funny because: Gorn.

Anyway, while Gorn is screaming and coughing the cop just slaps some handcuffs on him.

And Linnea magics the cop away from her boyfriend and worries over him.

Given this new horrible thing that has happened to them, another in a line of horrible things happening to them once they left their home, Linnea begs Gorn again to give up this quest to fight a random thing to make himself feel manly.

Linnea: “I am so worried, Gorn! The world has grown so strange! There is so much here that we do not understand! Please, let us go back before something terrible befalls us!”

He again refuses and she asks if he would die for his pride.

So he slaps her across the face.

And after all that she’s meekly gone along with his whims and tantrums and whatever else ways to describe Gorn’s exceptionally gornish way of being, she draws the line here.

Linnea: “Go ahead, Gorn -- stay! Win your stupid ‘glory’! I do not care! Farewell!”

And she just walks away into the sky, twinkle, because she can do that.

When she’s too far to hear he whispers an apology but its too late and he sadly trudges off alone into the city.

Wow, that was six pages of just Gorn and Linnea, Elf-Queen. That’s nearly a fourth of the whole issue! We spend a lot of time with these two new characters!

Back at Avengers Mansion, Iron Man and Yellowjacket prep the Quinjet to fly.

Wasp: “You mean we’re going all the way to Washington, D.C. just because somebody there claims they saw a woman walking on air? What’s new about that? I do it every time my sweetie Hank gives me a wink! Then, again, they do have some wonderful stores there! Last time I went there I bought six fur coats!”

Tigra: “Sounds expensive! I’m lucky! Mine’s built in!”

Iron Man chimes in that the air-walking woman also assaulted a cop so clearly this looks like a job for the Avengers.

But when they finish up checking the Quinjet, Yellowjacket says that he’s discovered the ‘sonomodulator circuit’ on his disruptor gun is acting up.

He’s pretty sure he can fix it but Wasp chimes in with a more different idea.

Wasp: “I’ll just ring up Jeeves over at the East Side Penthouse! He can grab one of those doohickies from your lab there and zip right over in the limo! It’ll just take a few minutes!”

Yellowjacket: “You love doing that, don’t you? You love taking every opportunity to flaunt your blasted money! Well, I don’t need your butlers, your cars or your money -- and I don’t need you!”

And Wasp runs off crying that she only wanted to help. Yellowjacket storms into the Quinjet telling the other Avengers to forget Wasp and get going.

Making the other Avengers feel very awkward about witnessing this fight. Cap even feels as if he should do something but doesn’t know what since its a personal matter.

A suggestion? Mandated couples counseling since this kind of thing could affect the team, will be the reason you give? Like. This clearly is something that’s going to cause trouble. Get ahead of it, Cap.

Meanwhile, back in Washington D.C. because yes Gorn didn’t just walk out of the book forever alone. He walked into a very honestly uncomfortably stereotypical gang who decide hey maybe we should mug that guy with the sword, it’ll probably pawn for something.

Gorn still can’t understand a thing anyone says but they’re carrying weapons and finally here’s a situation he understands. And finally he also doesn’t get played for a chump. He just wades into the crowd of six and starts laying them out with his bare hands.

This is what you’d typically see for a warrior type dropped into modern world thing.

Oh and then the cops hear the fight and go hey its that guy with the sword that there was an APB about.

And Gorn goes, hey its guys wearing the same livery of the guy that got me with that stinging vapor. Time to run at them with a sword.

So they shoot him five times.

And he dies.

It turns out that Linnea has been watching Gorn from a distance this whole time, apparently unwilling to actually ditch. So she sees him get gunned down.

She floats down from the sky to his side and realizes that he is already dead. The cops mistake sky woman for an angel (but there was an APB out for Gorn so why didn’t the flying woman warrant a mention?) but if Linnea is, she’s an avenging one.

She turns on the cops with her magic and makes them sink up to their necks into the concrete.

Elf-Queen: “Are you begging? It is for naught! He’s dead! DEAD! My love is dead -- and this city, this world shall PAY!”

And she turns her magic on Washington D.C., blasting a building and a helicopter, lashing out in grief at the world that killed her dickbag boyfriend.

This is when the Avengers finally arrive to the Plot, in this Avengers book.

The Avengers just see someone breaking property and go to stop her.

Captain America: “Avengers... attack!”

Of course, Tony being Tony, and kind of a loose man immediately gets distracted at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Iron Man: “Excuse me, miss! Couldn’t we discuss whatever’s bothering you... say, over dinner at the diplomat club?”

Its... not a bad idea. A little bit of empathy. Its just his motive that’s bad.

And also, his inability to speak ancient languages. Elf-Queen still can’t understand a thing anyone says. She does think a flying man in armor is something Gorn would have liked. But that just makes her mad.

So she magics a railing to wrap up Iron Man.

Thor grabs Elf-Queen from behind, pulling her arm behind her back. Its strikingly reminiscent of the Standard Female Grab Area trope but Elf-Queen doesn’t believe in that trope.

Elf-Queen: “You are strong, jackal! Your strength might have been enough to hold even me -- had you not presumed I was as frail as I appear!”

And she throws Thor into what is probably a monument.

Hmm, Iron Man and Thor got dunked so far because they really underestimated this woman because she’s a woman. Maybe don’t do that?

Meanwhile, Yellowjacket is thinking that this is his chance to prove what a star he is, if he’s the one that takes the threat down with his disruptor blast.

While Elf-Queen distracts herself with the dropped Mjolnir, Yellowjacket tries to shoot her with his disruptor from behind.

But it shorts out again!

Maybe he should have gotten the replacement part instead of trying to jury-rig a repair!

Elf-Queen senses the power in Mjolnir and tries to pick it up to better smash the world but finds she can’t lift it.

She guesses that there’s some enchantment on it since it doesn’t crumble the ground beneath it.

SO

So she magics the ground to form a hand to grab and lift Mjolnir.

And then she hits Thor in the face with his own hammer. Hah.

Another for the list of silly Mjolnir loopholes.

Linnea monologues about her backstory because. Look. She may not be a villain. And people may not be able to understand a word she says. But people in comics have to comic.

Elf-Queen: “I am Linnea, called Elf Queen and great is the power I was born with! It transported my love and me across the ocean to this land ages ago in search of solitude! It preserved our youth! It kept us hidden when civilization spread its taint hither! The forces, forms and sustenance of the world bend to my will -- but all my power cannot help my Gorn now! Now, my gift serves only as a means for vengeance!”

Iron Man manages to tear free of the railing wrapped around him just as Tigra loudly pounces at Elf-Queen.

And Elf-Queen just gestures and sends Tigra flying into the air. High, high into the air. So high, so into the air that Iron Man has to fly after her to make sure Tigra doesn’t end up asphyxiating in space.

With all of the other Avengers out of action (or standing around uselessly like Yellowjacket), Elf-Queen turns out wrath on Captain America.

She blasts a building, sending a whole wall at him.

Cap dodges through the rain of rubble and berates himself. He realizes that he should have attacked sooner but he’s been holding back, trying to figure things out.

She’s speaking a language that doesn’t sound like any he knows of. Her clothes seem to be of ancient design. And he’s wondering if she maybe just popped out of the past, somehow surviving from some age undreamt of.

And hey, relatable, kinda. He spent decades in suspended animation.

Elf-Queen throws a lake of fire between her and Cap and Cap figures hey she’ll expect me to go around. So he jumps over it, doing her a startle.

Cap: “Good! I took her completely off guard! This is a perfect chance -- to show her that we want only peace!”

So he stands in front of her, hands to his side, palms showing. Showing no aggression.

Elf-Queen: “You did not strike when you had the opportunity! I could slay you easily now! Unflinchingly you face death! How like... my Gorn... my brave warrior!”

The fight could have ended here. Could. Could have. Could’ve.

Because Yellowjacket has been focused entirely on fixing his disruptor this whole time and has not paid any attention to how the fight has been going.

So when he gets the disruptor fixed, he doesn’t think ‘oh hey Cap is standing there and nobody is currently fighting!’ he thinks ‘wow this is a really easy shot’ and shoots Elf-Queen in the back.

And turns out that Linnea - a person who can toss Thor around - can also weather a disruptor. So she’s just mad. Furiously.

She figures that Cap’s courage was just a bold ruse. So she’s going to kill him. AFTER she throws a car at Yellowjacket.

Yellowjacket: “Oh, no! My sting’s shorted out again! No time to dodge! I’ll be crushed!”

But before Hank can be crushed like some kind of insect, can’t really think of a specific example, he is saved by Jan, who comes out of nowhere and blasts the car away with all of her might.

And apparently car blasting is under that umbrella.

But it takes it out of her and she weakly flutters to the ground.

Hank has mixed feelings about not being dead.

Yellowjacket: “You -- you saved me! You shattered the truck with your bio-electric sting! You saved me! You! She must have followed us down here... probably chartered a plane! She followed us down here, and when I was dead meat for sure, she saved me! Why her? WHY?”

Where are you in your life where you have to ask that, Hank?

Elf-Queen is like well that just happened but I’m just going to try to kill him again.

But Cap jumps in front of her again and very assertively non-aggressives.

Captain America: “Don’t do it! Don’t you see? It was a mistake -- an accident! If only you could understand me! Don’t kill him!”

Elf-Queen: “You dare stand in my way? Can you not see the rage in my eyes?”

But nonetheless, she subsides. The Avengers all re-assemble, ready to rush her but Cap tells them to stand down.

Elf-Queen Linnea starts crying and just walks away from the team.

Feeling a bit awkward, Cap decides to follow her to see what’s what. And they find her crying over Gorn.

Thor: “A fallen warrior! Her husband, perchance?”

Captain America: “Somehow I -- I think I knew! I mean... I’m not surprised! She seemed... grief-stricken!”

Iron Man: “I -- I wonder how this all came to pass?”

They’ll probably never know. The shot isn’t wide enough to say for sure but I think that if the Avengers saw, they’d say. I’m pretty sure those cops Linnea sank into the concrete have finished sinking. So it goes.

Cap says he’s sorry for what happened, knowing that his words will probably mean nothing to her. Language gap and all.

Linnea: “I hear compassion in your voice, brave champion! Is there such a thing in this cold, cruel place, save in your own heart? I cannot forgive your world for what it has taken from me.. but, for you, who are so much alike my beloved... for you, I will go in peace... for now!”

Yeah. She’s never coming back.

This is her and Gorn’s only appearance.

So despite Tigra wondering if she’ll be back and despite Iron Man’s suspicion that she might be a mutant, it doesn’t matter.

She’s done her role in the narrative and she’s gone.

But as the Avengers try to figure out what this was all about, Wasp looks at Yellowjacket with worry. For the issue ends with him still consumed in bitter thoughts and oblivious to Wasp.

And the big next time teaser says COURT MARTIAL! so. Yeah.

We’re coming on to a storyline that anyone who knows at least two things about Hank Pym knows. You probably already know it or will be able to guess it.

I was familiar with this story but only the moment where Hank shoots Elf-Queen in the back and makes things worse for himself. I hadn’t absorbed via osmosis how much of a shit he was being throughout. And nobody ever talks about Gorn.

Which is a shame.

The title of the issue comes right out and connects the obvious dots.

“Men of deadly pride!”

And that can only be Hank Pym and Gorn.

Much of this issue doesn’t actually feature the Avengers. There’s this long stretch in the middle that just has Gorn and Linnea leaving their home, traveling to the big city, Gorn’s attitude getting worse and worse, and finally his death.

Its clear enough that Gorn represents Hank Pym.

Hank rails against Janet for flaunting her money and emotionally withdraws from her and even becomes angry with her. He rankles at the idea he might be perceived her partner instead of vice versa. Feels he’s not being given the respect he deserves.

While Gorn resents that Linnea is the one caring for him. He emotionally withdraws from her. He perceives himself a pet to her. That he was once renowned and desperately needs to regain his glory.

And he just gets angrier when Linnea has to rescue him from his dumb mistakes.

Much like Jan had to rescue Hank in this issue, something that basically made Hank check out of the rest of the issue.

I don’t know what Gorn may have been like ten thousand years ago that Linnea sees him in Captain America most, but he’s a shadow for Hank Pym.

And what’s interesting is how the story looks at Gorn and his machismo. His obsessive preoccupation with proving himself. The story highlights the problems he creates for himself eventually leading to his death. It shows a person that just can’t live in the modern world.

And then the story looks at Hank Pym. One of the 60s style manly men holdovers. Paints him in much the same light. And seems to ask. “Can you live in the modern world?”

The question is in the air.

Its not particularly deep symbolism. But it surprised me that nobody ever mentions it.

Interestingly, if Hank is Gorn then Jan is Linnea. Their personalities are different enough that this might seem strange.

But they both draw the line in a similar place with their partners.

And there was a What If? based on this issue What If? #35 where Hank did die, much as Gorn did. And Wasp became an avenging angel of her own. Taking the identity of Black Wasp and brutally attacking criminals.

She even contemplates letting Cap be killed by falling debris, blaming him for Hank’s death.

All I can say is that this has been one awkward first day for Tigra.

Follow @essential-avengers​. Like or reblog this post. Stay tuned for more of this sort of thing.

[crispy-crowley]

Ketubah (Aziraphale/Crowley)

Aziraphale grabbed the mug by its porcelain wings. In the next second, it nearly went falling towards the ground. Above the desk, there, by the window, hung a lively and ornately drawn Ketubah. The only problem with that was… well. He didn't really remember getting married.

Thanks to the lovely @theirdarkreturning for the prompt! Hope you enjoy :D

After things went sideways and the Ineffable Plan overtook the Great Plan, things were supposed to go back to normal. They went back to exactly how Adam had viewed them before. No horsemen, no Gabriel, and no antichrist involved.

Some things were different, admittedly, and Crowley was pretty sure he was the first person to notice.

He was sitting in the back seat of Mr. Young’s car, five minutes past the “end” of the world, after he’d begrudgingly agreed to give him and Aziraphale a ride back away from the air base. There was a faint buzz of the car as he looked out the window towards the darkening fields around them.

“My. To think what would have happened if the young boy really had been Warlock,” Aziraphale said. Crowley took a sharp intake of breath at that. Well. That certainly was a thought. He pulled his hand up, going to grab the bridge of his nose, when his reflection in the car mirror caught his eye.

His eyes. Specifically his eyes. They were blinking, his usually snake-shaped golden eyes, and yet the pupils were more… round. More human-like. They had the same color irises, and the pupils were still kind of slits, in a way, but rounder than they were meant to be. His head tilted in the reflection. Well. That's awful strange, isn't it?

Some things, like the Bentley and the Bookshop, were a Godsend. Their own little slices of home were returned to where they were meant to be. Some things, though, weren't quite so black and white.

The people killed by the Kraken were still dead, but the government was trying to cover that up as a “mass illusion.” Probably cell phones, insisted the Prime Minister. Aziraphale had been certain she had to be having a laugh at that, but then again. Who could tell these days. Heaven and Hell weren't quite as clear cut as they used to be.

It was Crowley who had suggested the body-swap idea to bring back some more normality, and frankly, Aziraphale couldn't be happier that he did. The whole matter was rather stressful, but that didn't mean it didn't spruce up the day a little. He was very proud of his performance, actually. He did do a mean Crowley impression. In fact, there was no one he knew better.

So, finally, things were going to be okay. He could return to the bookshop, left alone by angels and demons alike, just him and Crowley. Finally. As it was always written.

Aziraphale shut the door behind him, leaving the streets of Soho and the Bentley behind. A few weeks had passed already, and he and Crowley had just gone for some truly scrumptious pastries in Greece. He rather missed Greece sometimes. True, Rome was where he made his home most of the time during that era, but the ancient Greeks? They were quite a people.

There was a certain smell the bookshop possessed. Aziraphale took a moment, letting it wash over him as he walked past the doorway. He couldn't help but smile at his new books Adam had made appear. Prophecy books were always his favorite. It was rather sweet of him, really, to think of him like that. Perhaps it was an oversight, but Aziraphale saw it as a thank you of sorts. A way of saying he was valued.

He gently removed his coat, placing it on the back of his chair. Oh, dear, he'd left his cocoa out again. He really should learn to clean up after himself. After all, it had been over 200 years since he'd been living here, and it was about time he began to act like it! He grabbed the mug by its porcelain wings. In the next second, it nearly went falling towards the ground.

Above the desk, there, by the window, hung a lively and ornately drawn ketubah. The only problem with that was… well. He didn't really remember getting married.

It is of note that Adam Young was indeed raised Jewish. His father, of course, with a surname like Young, was a Jewish man. His mother was not, and that technically made him goyishe, or legally “not Jewish.” That said, he grew up in the Temple in Tadfield, and he was raised like any other Jewish boy in the town. Wensleydale in particular would get confused, sometimes, when he spoke about things like a mezuzah, or Hanukkah, or specifically the Ketubah. Adam didn't mind explaining. He thought it was kind of cool, in a way.

His mom and dad had theirs proudly displayed in the kitchen. It's a handwritten document, all the way from Israel, stating the true and faithful nature of his parents’ marriage. As far as eleven-year-old Adam was concerned, every married couple had one.

This, coupled with the fact that he was entirely certain that Crowley and Aziraphale were his godfathers, lead to a fairly simple conclusion: They, of course, were married, and as such had a ketubah in their living room.

Truth be told, it was a lovely ketubah. Adam’s imagination must really be something. Not that surprising, considering he was the antichrist and all. But really, it was something beautiful. A large black oak tree stood on one side, a silver-white birch on the other. They intertwined together, the Hebrew text on either side. There were ruby red leaves on both trees.

And underneath, in his very own handwriting, Aziraphale recognized his own signature.

On top of that? He recognized Crowley’s.

His phone was in his hand before he even had taken off his shoes. It rang once, twice, before Crowley picked up. “Miss me already, angel?”

“Not… quite. You, erm, may want to see this.” With that, he hung up, eyes still lingering on the wall. If Hell found out about this-- if Heaven found out about this-- there was no way the bodyswap trick would work twice. They were doomed.

So they wouldn't find out, then.

Crowley opened the door to find Aziraphale pacing in the front of the bookstore, several books on religious lore scattered around his feet. He was holding one open in his hands as he walked, nervously scanning over the words.

“My, angel. What's got your panties all in a twist?” Crowley asked. Truly, the little store looked like a construction zone.

Aziraphale’s head jerked up. “Crowley. You are a Sheyd, correct?”

“Well, I suppose. I mean, most people use the blanket term demon for all of us at some point, but I am one of the sh--”

“But you are experienced in Judaism, yes?” Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Right. Good. Right and good. Now, um, how does one cancel a ketubah?”

Crowley paused. His confused expression grew to rather incredulous. “I'm sorry, cancel a ketubah? It’s not an Amazon order, dear, you can’t just—“

Aziraphale shut the book in his hands with a sigh. Well, if he couldn’t tell Crowley, he couldn’t tell anyone. That person could read him quite like a book, if he had ever read.

“I, um. Funny story, really, we, heh. You know about the whole apocalypse?”

“Yeees?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Of course he knew about the bloody apocalypse. It had only been last week, for Satan’s sake.

“Well, as Adam arranged things, it seems he sort of, hm, bridged a gap of logic? I suppose? And he… well, he sort of--”

“Spit it out, angel.”

“Crowley, we’re married.”

Wait. Married. Married? Oh, come on, Adam. Crowley had at least wanted to break a glass and throw a party at his wedding. Then again, considering who his and Aziraphale’s in-laws were, it was probably best they didn't.

A courthouse wedding suited him anyways. He always wanted to run off and do something wild and rebellious, but now, during their “lay low” period, probably wasn't the best time.

“Well, I suppose it is a long time coming,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I mean, I would've assumed it would happened ages ago.”

“You what? Crowley, we are not in a-- in a relationship of any sorts! That's preposterous!”

“Is it though?” Crowley asked, giving Aziraphale a moment to think. Well. There was no one else he could really trust or relate to, and the humans lived such tiny lives, and Crowley was his best friend, and he had been madly in love with him since the early 1940s. So… wow. Maybe he did have a point.

“Well what will we tell Heaven and Hell? Surely they would disapprove.”

“Oh, angel, please tell me you don't care what they think. They’ve revealed their true colors, who cares if we reveal ours?”

Aziraphale looked slowly around the mess the room had turned into. His glance meandered up to Crowley with a sigh. “Say. How's about we get drunk?”

A smile cracked over Crowley’s face. “Oh, my dear, I thought you'd never ask.”

Two hours had passed, and they had made their way over to Crowley’s home in attempts to find more alcohol. Of course, being a demon of sorts, he was loaded with the stuff. Amber scotch bottles sat empty around them, and knowing the situation, it was a minor miracle they weren't numbering in the double digits.

“And don't get me started on Gabriel. He's such a shvantz… a schmuck. A putz. A…” Aziraphale trailed off, a giggle falling into his voice. “A penis .”

“Wow. You sure showed him, huh? Is that the best insult you've got?” Crowley asked. He casually threw a leg on the table, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Yes, I rather think it is,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “At this rate, I could be a proper demon, even!”

“Sure you could, Zira,” Crowley remarked. “Y’know, I'm fairly certain two demons can't get married, so then we'd be in even more of a ruddy mess. Can you believe the Duke of Hell trying to fill out paperwork on that one? I think Hastur would gouge my eyes out.” Aziraphale nodded solemnly, his smile slipping just a little. Crowley, who was convinced he knew everything about the angel, noticed straight away.

“You alright, dearest?”

Aziraphale shrugged, his eyes set rather steadily on his glass of scotch. “‘M fine.”

“Ah-ah, angels can't lie darling. Tell me what's the matter.”

Aziraphale momentarily met his gaze before his eyes sunk down again to the drink at hand. “I just wish we could have done this differently.”

Crowley paused, lowering his foot off the table. Oh, shit. This was going to be serious, wasn't it?

“You know, the whole marriage thing. It's supposed to be special, isn't it? A ceremony, a bouquet, a lovely gown. Seven circles, a father walking a betrothed down the aisle. Not just… I don't know, my best friend and me framing a marriage certificate. I wanted to--!” Aziraphale trailed off. He set his glass down with a start. “I wanted to kiss you, Crowley! On my own terms! I wanted to be the one to confess to you, and I wanted a lovely little honeymoon down in New York, and maybe a nice little stop in Vienna. I wanted things to play out slowly, nicely, not… so fast. Why is everything so fast ?”  Aziraphale’s voice was cracking now, his gaze steadily on his drink. He didn't think he could say any of this looking Crowley in the eye. He thought he just might break.

Crowley slowly reached for his sunglasses, pulling them down off of his nose. He put his other hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, giving a small smile. “Hey. Hey, there. It's alright, I promise you.” Aziraphale looked up slowly, their eyes finally meeting.

“Your eyes. They're… they're human,” he muttered, looking at the round pupils, the amber irises.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley continued, glossing over the comment. “You and me. We have an eternity to figure this out. We don't have to take it my speed, doll. I'd slow down time for you.” Aziraphale nodded, his fear all but melting out of him.

“You know,” Crowley said, “you're the bravest, the most interesting person I've ever met.”

All of a sudden, Aziraphale couldn't take it anymore. He leaned forward, firmly pressing Crowley’s lips to his. Crowley floundered for just a second, surprise and astonishment taking over. But then he pressed back, eyelashes fluttering closed and heart leaping in his chest.

They'd take things slow. One step at a time, always, until they're both as happy and content as any married couple.

And maybe one day, Crowley would dawn a long black dress and watch as Aziraphale walked down the aisle in a suit of white. Maybe he'd circle his husband seven times, before a glass is broken and they're both hoisted up on chairs among friends. Well, they'd need friends first for that, but maybe. Only the future would tell. And ever since Anathema burned the new ones, no prophecy could predict what would happen next.

But as Crowley leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale again, his strange and ineffable husband, nothing that far ahead mattered. What mattered was this very second.

Crowley was done moving too fast. For Aziraphale, he'd slow down time.

@litttlebrave @madhbh

[barinacraft]

Golf Cocktails - British Open Themed Drinks

Scotch Whisky Is Par For The (Old) Course At Saint Andrews

Part 4 of our series on golf themed cocktails focuses on drinks related to the British Open. Scotland is the birthplace of golf, home to its own unique whisky (that's the Scottish spelling, American whiskeys include the 'e') and the country with the most current Open Championship venues at five.

British Open Golf Courses

Scottish courses in the current rota include the Old Course at The Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews, the Royal Troon Golf Club, Turnberry in South Ayrshire, Carnoustie Golf Links and Muirfield in Gullane, Scotland (their 2017 vote to allow female members overturned their gender discriminatory policy which temporarily got the course banned in 2016 as a future host).

The four English golf clubs in The Open's modern rotation are Royal Lytham & St. Annes, Royal Saint George's in Sandwich, Royal Liverpool in Hoylake and Royal Birkdale in Southport, England. Royal Portrush Golf Club in Portrush, County Antrim, Northern Ireland now rounds out the ten venues and was the site of the 2019 British Open after last hosting in 1951.

Final rounds are normally played on the weekend containing the third Friday in July. Future British Open tournament dates include July 20-23, 2023 at Royal Liverpool, Hoylake, England; July 14-21, 2024 at Royal Troon, Troon, Scotland; July 13-20, 2025 at Royal Portrush, Portrush, Northern Ireland and July 12-19, 2026 at Royal Birkdale Golf Club, Southport, England.

The tournament may be named after its neighbor as part of Great Britain, but the Scots invented the game of golf on the Old Course at Saint Andrews. So it seems appropriate to start off our list of links libations by paying homage with some good scotch whisky cocktail recipes monikered to match that you can mix up at your home bar.

British Open Golf Themed Cocktails

Scotch Smash:

1 ½ oz  Scotch

1 tsp  sugar or simple syrup

3 sprigs  mint leaves

Celebrate that long drive you smashed which set up the next series of shots for birdie. Gently muddle the mint and sugar in a double old fashioned glass. Add crushed ice, stir in the whisky and garnish with a mint sprig. Some smash recipes also include a dash of orange bitters in the drink.

These next two drinks may remind you of the links style courses used in the rotation for the British Open which are all loaded with sand traps and other hazards.

Blood and Sand:

¾ oz  Scotch whisky

¾ oz  sweet vermouth

¾ oz  cherry brandy or liqueur

¾ oz  blood orange juice

This mixed drink is one of only a few truly classic cocktails to feature scotch in the recipe. The sand part of the name may remind you of the bunkers while the first part probably hints at one of the other hazards which can bloody your knuckles swinging out of or through them.

Neither of those is actually true of course. Its named after the 1922 movie starring Rudolph Valentino and the remakes of the film later which cast Rita Hayworth and Sharon Stone in the leading female roles. This drink's blood orange juice makes the flavor and the color a little more intense than the regular OJ in the classic recipe. You'll be seeing red and that's no bull.

The first version is still a good story to tell your golf buddies around the bar until they figure it out though. Add all the ingredients to an ice filled cocktail shaker. Shake well and strain into chilled glassware.

Sand Trap:

1 ½ oz  Scotch

½ oz  sweet vermouth

½ oz  cherry liqueur or brandy

½ oz  lemon juice

This is a twist on the Blood and Sand cocktail substituting the juice of lemons for blood oranges and using different recipe proportions as well. Now if all these recipes are too complicated, you could just enjoy your whisky straight up or on the rock a.k.a a big round ice ball which visualizes the golf theme of all these drinks.

Damn The Weather:

1 ½ oz  gin

1 tbs  sweet vermouth

1 tsp  orange liqueur

1 oz  orange juice

Golfers worldwide suffer from bad weather delays and cancellations, but the British Isles and Scotland may have arguably the worst reputation for wind and rain. So if you're home behind the bar instead of playing a round, this drink will help weather the storm.

The Putting Mixture - Let's Haggis Some Kümmel First To Calm Our Nerves

The pros who win the British Open may raise the Claret Jug as a victory trophy, but the members hoist something other than red wine in preparation of conquering their home course. They prefer to get the golf ball rolling, so to speak, with a nip of the herbal liqueur known as Kümmel (also spelled kimmel, or kummel) that's flavored with anise, caraway seeds and cumin.

Back in the old days the members used to have a wee nip in the locker room before they went out and always put a couple of drops on their hands to give a better grip on the leather. They used to call it the ‘putting mixture.’

You can’t come to Prestwick and not have a Kummel. In fact, Prestwick Golf Club is the biggest purchaser of Mentzendorff Kummel in the world. We buy it by the pallet-load!

~ David Bennett, Club Steward, Prestwick Golf Club*

No one knows for sure when or why drinking Kummel before a round of golf in the British Isles became such a tradition, but some speculate a Scottish regiment brought it home after fighting in countries during World War II where the liqueur was popular.

The origins are long lost in folklore, but it is the thing to do, like a pint after rugby or a Pimm's after tennis.

~ Tony Yeates, Secretary, Luffness New Golf Club, East Lothian, Scotland

Just exactly how nippy your nip needs to be to take away the yips is a matter of personal preference. A shot of the putting mixture can be with or without ice. St. George's Hill and Prestwick pour it from the refrigerator, while Luffness and Muirfield serve their Kummel straight from the freezer.† You'll have to judge for yourself though.

Perhaps This Twosome Would Be The Perfect Weekend Pairing

Of course, you could always pair some Scotch whisky and Kümmel together for a second round of British Open golf drinks like in the Vowel Cocktail and a few others. « Click through for more examples of this combo.

Irish There Was A Drink To Toast Ireland Being Back In The Rotation Again

Well, it turns out there is!

Cameron's Kick:

1 ½ oz  Scotch whisky

1 ½ oz  Irish whiskey

¾ oz  freshly squeezed lemon juice

½ oz  almond (orgeat) syrup

Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled glass. Garnish with lemon zest twist.

This cocktail embodies the spirit of both nations, but you'll barley notice the jolt.

Last, But Certainly Not Least - The Golfer's Favourite

Voted the drink of drinks by thousands of golfers, the Whisky MacDonald a.k.a Whisky Mac is a lock on the links and should be at your course as well. Plus, it just might be a cure for what ails you. Literally!

More Rounds Of Refreshments »

The Masters Golf Drinks  PGA Championship Golf Drinks  US Open Golf Cocktails

References

* - Whyte, David J. “The Birth Of The Open Championship” Linksland Communications 6 June 2010. Web.

† - Rocky. “Kummel - Calming Those First-Tee Nerves” Whisky & Fine Spirits Blog. The Whisky Exchange, 17 July 2014. Web.

[icecubelotr44]

Clear and Present Danger (15/16)

I’m... still sorry?

Summary:  Homicide detective Killian Jones has been searching for a way to bring Milah’s murderer to justice. There’s only one small problem: Robert Gold is the captain of the same homicide division. Enter Emma Swan, Internal Affairs investigator, looking into Gold’s shady dealings. Between the two of them, can they unravel the web of deals and lies that have gotten Gold to where he is?

Rated:  T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump (you expected different?)

TW: character death, mention of past self-harm, fatal car accident, school hostage situation

Other ships: mentions past Millian in a good light, Outlaw Queen, Snowing

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @cocohook38 made the cover you can see above and on her blog here. Later in the story, she’s illustrated some key points to the fic and I can’t thank her enough for her work! Chapter Four’s art is HERE.  The amazing art she did for chapter 14 is HERE.  Go show her some love!

Beta reader: @gusenitsaa took on this monster without probably knowing exactly what she was getting into (what do you mean 100,000 words?!) and any mistakes that you find are probably me being stubborn and ignoring her advice!  Thank you!

A/N:  Written as part of the 2018 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge.  You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Sunday from now until its completion.

Take it away, It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Word count:  ~ 6,950 (100k Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: AO3 / FFN

Current Chapter: ao3 | ffn

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: VIGILANTISM

The problem, it seemed, with telling Hades to go to Hell in a handbasket was that he was no longer willing to take Liam’s phone calls.  That, in turn, made it far more difficult to find the bloody bastard and take the price of Killian’s death out on his worthless hide before sending him to the Underworld.  Liam seethed, listening to the police scanner as Emma called every contact she had who owed her a favor or six. Part of him wanted - needed - to call David, to have his partner by his side for what might very well turn out to be his last suspect chase.

Liam didn’t much care if he survived this or not.

That, coupled with the questionable legality of this venture, was most of the reason Liam hadn’t let Nolan or Locksley know where he and Emma had holed up.  They’d both either jump at the chance to help and end their careers or they’d try to be the voices of reason, slowing Emma and Liam down and letting Hades get further away.

Hades wasn’t walking away from this.  Not while he was still breathing.

Emma looked nearly as furious as he felt.  Contact after contact either refused to answer the unknown number from the burner phone she’d bought or they couldn’t - or sometimes flat out wouldn’t - help.

“Son of a bitch!” she shouted as she slammed the ancient looking flip phone closed.  “Just answer the goddamned phone!”

Liam knew better than to ask, to speak, practically to breathe lest he turn her ire onto himself.  They’d both been short the past two days, had had their fair share of fights with each other over trivial things.

It seemed that Killian was the only thing he and Emma could agree on.  He didn’t deserve to die like that.  He deserved to be avenged.

Bloody hell, he deserved to be happy and healthy and alive, grousing over Liam’s needling and Emma’s… well, he deserved to be able to know the love they both shared for him.  Killian would be pissed at what they were doing.  Not that Liam thought for an instant that his little brother wouldn’t do exactly the same if their roles were reversed.

God, he wished their roles were reversed.  Killian was the good cop.  Killian was the hero.  Liam was just the baggage he had to carry around.  The worthless git who couldn’t keep up with the image his little brother had of him.  It was Liam’s job to protect Killian from the world, not to… not to murder him, himself.

Liam shut those thoughts down as quickly as he could, but not before they’d doubled him over like a sucker punch to the gut.

“Stop thinking about it,” Emma commanded, fixing him with a glare that would have cowed every instructor at the Academy.

Liam nodded, filing the emotions and the memories away for a time more suited to a glass or ten of scotch and no bloody demon to vanquish.  There would be time to mourn Killian later.

If there was a later.

“Have we learned anything new?” Liam asked rather continue to dwell on that happy thought.

Emma shook her head.  “Everyone I’ve managed to get a hold of is either a dead end or ‘will look into it’,” she said the last bit with every bit of mocking derision she could muster up.

Liam was a little impressed by it.  He’d thought his little brother had cornered the market on dramatic, but now…

No! he thought angrily at himself.  This was not the time.  Killian and all the feelings associated with him other than vengeance needed to stay locked in a box.

“Hades must know by now that I’m coming for him,” Liam threw in sadly.  “I almost wish I hadn’t-”

“Don’t,” Emma ordered again.  “You can’t do that to yourself.  You were under his thumb for far too long, Liam.  It was the right thing to do.”

“It got Killian ki-”

Emma stomped her foot and strode forward, jabbing Liam in the chest with her finger.  “Gold got Killian kil… it was Gold’s fault, not yours.  He was coming for us either way; the timing was just…” she trailed off.

“There was never going to be a good time for Gold to show up,” Liam agreed half-heartedly.  “But if Killian had been in top form… if he hadn’t been so hurt…”

“Then Gold would have changed the status quo so that Killian had no choice but to… to…”

It seemed neither of them could finish their sentences when it came to Liam’s little brother.  He scoffed, almost genuinely.  “My God, could I ever rile him up calling him ‘little brother’.  He used to love it, you know?  When we were very little, he’d go around telling anyone and everyone that he was ‘Liam Jones’s little brother’.  He’d say it like it was something to be proud of.”

“It is, Liam,” Emma allowed.  “He loved being your brother.  He always did.”

“Aye.”

They lapsed into silence for a while, both pouring over document after document on their respective laptops.  Between the information the department had on Hades and Liam’s documentation of every meeting he’d had with the man and his lackeys, they had plenty of paper trails to follow.

But none of them were worth a damn if Hades had decided to go to ground after learning that Killian Jones was dead right along with Robert Gold.  The man had far too many contacts and far too much capital to be caught if he didn’t want to be found.  Hubris might be his downfall, however, and it was Liam’s only hope at the moment.  It was all he had going for him.

If his little brother’s death was going to mean anything, then Liam had to finish what he’d started.  Had to truly finish it.

Only then could Killian rest.

Emma pounded the desk in frustration, shaking the box of pushpins and the flashlight that balanced precariously against the lamp.

“We’ll find him, Emma,” Liam tried to reassure, but it sounded hollow, even to his ears.  Hades’ bank account statements were as good as frozen, his assets untouched.  There was nothing to find on paper; they were just wasting time here.

“We’re wasting our goddamned time!” Emma echoed his thoughts as if he’d spoken aloud.

Liam nodded, shutting the laptop and folding his hands on top of it.  “We are.  Hades has no reason to do anything rash right now.  Killian’s de- he’s no longer a threat.  Nottingham’s death means that anything that ties Hades to Gold is hearsay at best.  I’m…” he trailed off, eyes wide as he stared at Emma.

“No.”

But Liam’s brain was already spinning.

“No, Liam,” Emma said again, looking angrier and angrier as he continued to stare.

Liam grinned ferally.  “It’ll work, Emma. You know it will.”

“How would we even contact him?  You’ve already tried.”  She nodded at Liam’s burner phone.

Liam shrugged.  “Turn on my actual phone.  You know he’s tracking me.  Make it seem like I’m running…”

“There’s no guarantee he’d come himself.”

Liam raised an eyebrow.  “The last man standing who can take him down?  He nearly lost everything trusting Gold to take care of Killian.  He’ll come, Emma.  He’ll be there to make sure.”

“Killian wouldn’t want this, Liam,” Emma tried.

“Well he’s bloody well not here to stop me, now is he?” Liam shouted, whirling on her.

Emma’s eyes widened, but then her nostrils flared.  “And whose fault is that?” she screamed back.

Liam felt like he’d been shot.

“I…” she gulped and shook her head.  “I’m sorry, Liam.  I didn’t mean that.”

Liam sat down - or, rather, his legs gave out and dropped him in a chair unceremoniously.  “Doesn’t make it any less true, lass.  Let me make it up to him.  Let me be the bait.”

“He’d kick my ass if I did,” Emma reminded him.

Liam laughed humorously.  “Aye, and mine, too. But he didn’t even get a chance to get closure for Milah before… I need to do this, Emma.  Please.”

Emma nodded slowly, still looking anything but happy about his idea.  “I’d rather be with you than try to stop you, I guess,” was her only answer.

“I’ll take it, lass.  Now,” he ordered, not giving her a chance to change her mind, “we have a lot of work to do.”

It was more difficult than he’d thought, however, to come up with a good place to stage the showdown.  It always worked out so well in the movies: find the equivalent of an Old West style box canyon, stash weapons behind every crevice, and then call out the bad guy in the black Stetson.

In reality, it was a lot more effort to find unregistered weapons.  For all Liam had been under Hades’ thumb, he’d never really crossed the line more than he’d had to.  Not like most of the man’s minions, and certainly not like Gold had done.  He had his own, personal weapon stashed away in a safe in the apartment, of course.  And Emma had a small arsenal to her name, apparently. But as much as Liam didn’t care what happened to him, he didn’t want this to end up with Emma rotting in a prison cell for his vendetta.

Killian would come back from the dead to murder him if Liam survived that.  And he’d haunt him in Hell for all eternity if he didn’t.

The ‘where’ was the easier option to figure out.  Hades had any number of warehouses near the Harbor that he used for shipping goods and property overseas.  Not all of them were monitored at all times and they could use his own holdings against him.  Liam knew of one, in particular, that was right on the water and had a speedboat moored just outside.  He and Hades had met there several times, the water and a rented boat of his own giving him a quick getaway if he’d needed.

Part of Liam wanted to finish this on the Jolly Roger… damnit, Killian, I’m not calling her that anymore… but he couldn’t bring himself to risk the ship.  The Jolly had meant too much to his brother, to both of them, to risk her now.

And, goddamnit, he’d keep calling her the bloody Jolly Roger for as long as she was seaworthy.  No matter how much it made him feel like a fool to captain a storybook character’s ship.

Liam still thought the Jewel of the Realm sounded much more regal, but he’d lost that bet a long time ago.

Finally, a contact of Emma’s - a woman named Lily who Liam trusted about as far as he could throw her - came through with a cache of weapons that they weren’t to ask as to the origins.  All they needed to know, she’d assured them, that any ballistics trace would lead back to some very cold cases with suspects who were either already doing life or had been shot down before they could be taken into custody.

Liam didn’t want to know anything else.

Neither did Emma.

It took them another three days to scout the area and assure that it was currently unused and unguarded.  Slowly, he and Emma began moving in the stolen weapons into blinds and slips throughout the office where they planned to confront Hades.  They mapped the exits and likely places for Hades to order his own men for backup.

They were as ready as they were going to get.

“I still don’t like this,” Emma mumbled as she rubbed charcoal over her face.  She had her own hiding spot picked out where she could be overwatch for Liam’s back.  “I’d rather be down there.”

“I’m not go-”

“I swear to God,” she interrupted, “if you say that you’re not going to risk me over this, I’ll shoot you myself.  In the ass.”

Liam gulped.  The statement was funny, but the look on Emma’s face and her tone of voice was anything but.  He nodded his acquiescence, but didn’t say anything else.

“The first sign of trouble, and I’m down there, you understand?” Emma asked, punctuating each word with a step towards him.  “I won’t sit by and watch while Hades kills you just because you think you owe some kind of penance to Killian for what happened at the cabin.”

Liam opened his mouth to deny it, to tell her to stay put, to… he didn’t even know anymore.  So he did perhaps the first smart thing he’d done since they started talking and shut his mouth.

“Good.”

God, Killian would kill him if he let anything happen to Em- no.  Killian wouldn’t kill him.  Killian couldn’t kill him.  Liam sighed, checking the clip of the unfamiliar Sig Sauer for the fourth time.  It was full, there were three extra clips stashed in various pockets, and there were a number more strategically placed throughout the warehouse.

Liam really didn’t want to know the details as to how they’d gotten their hands on so much ammunition.

“I think we’re ready,” Emma said quietly.  Liam still heard the uncharacteristic waver in her voice.  “I’m going to head out and get in position.  You’ll wait until 7:30 tonight and then turn on your phone, right?”

Liam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, checking the clip again even as he eyed the SIM card from his normal phone resting on the table.  They were both on edge, knowing what this meant and refusing to muck this up over some trivial detail.  “Aye.  And then I’ll take Storrow up to the Harbor and set up shop in the office, looking for the keys to Hades’ boat.  We’ll get him, lass.”

Emma nodded.  “We have to,” was the last thing she’d say to him before all hell broke loose hours later.

***

Liam waited by the door.  He paced the length of the hallway.  He checked and rechecked his weapon.  He brought out the cleaning kit and meticulously went over every inch of the gun Killian had given to him that day at the cabin.  He paced some more.  He made a bowl of pasta before staring at it until it cooled and then tossing it in the rubbish.

He wasn’t nervous.  No, not at all.

Finally, after what seemed like days, it was time to go.  Liam checked the clip on his Sig for the umpteenth time, pried the back of his phone open, and inserted the SIM card.  Two minutes - and a lot of cursing - later and the phone was on and broadcasting his location to whoever was looking.

Liam was positive that Hades was looking.

He left the ratty old apartment with its mice and questionable stains behind and headed down to the street, finally getting annoyed with his phone trying to explode in his pocket and turning it on silent.

There were over a hundred messages from David alone.

Liam was caught up in the need to call his partner again, wanting Nolan at his back when he did this.  But no, he wouldn’t put David through that.  Liam would rather have the man pissed at him forever than risk being gunned down - or worse - in front of him.  Besides, David had a family to provide for; Liam had nothing to lose.

It seemed the car ride took forever and yet was over in the blink of an eye.  Liam pulled into the warehouse’s parking lot and stashed the old beater deep in the shadows of the building.  Emma was here somewhere, hiding in the catwalks with as good of a view as she could find of the office.

He was trusting her - and no one else - to watch his back.  Liam hoped that Killian’s trust in her hadn’t been misplaced.

Not that it matters as long as I get Hades first, Liam thought derisively as he slid open the door just enough to squeeze inside.  This would be over before it began if he tripped some kind of silent alarm or a well-meaning patrolman saw the door opening.

It was eerie inside the building, the cold winter’s evening doing nothing to combat the chill.  The moon’s light filtering through broken window panes cast everything into sharp contrast, making Liam jump every time he moved.  What was that line? You’re not paranoid if people are actually after you.  Liam was certain that several people were after him, and any number of them could be hiding in the shadows.

Despite seeing images of hitmen and lackeys behind every box, Liam made it to the office unscathed.  He set his phone down on the desk and started rifling through the drawers.  He saw the keys under some files in the first one he looked through, but the boat wasn’t really his goal.

“Did you really think you could steal from me after turning your back on my generous offers?” an oily voice echoed through the room.

Hades.

Hades was his goal and the bloody bastard had sauntered right into their trap without a care in the world.

“You bloody bastard!” Liam shouted, coming around the desk to face the man head on and this wasn’t the plan.  “My brother-”

“Your brother was a crimp in my plans and the only thing keeping you from reaching your full potential within my organization.”

Liam stumbled to a stop.  The man was deranged. He’d thought that Killian was holding him back?  His head started shaking before the words even formed.  “If it wasn’t for my brother, I’d have put you behind bars the first time you cornered me on the Jolly Roger.  Killian was your only bargaining chip and your lap dog killed him, you… you… you demon!”

Hades shrugged.  “An unfortunate mistake and one I would have rectified myself if you hadn’t taken out Robert yourself.  He was under orders not to harm Killian, if you remember correctly.  That was part of the deal we made.  A deal that I never went back on, unlike you.”

“Don’t you dare speak his name,” Liam hissed vehemently.  “You don’t deserve to even think about my brother.”

The smirk on the bastard’s face had to go.  “Your brother was… shall we say, becoming problematic.  He and his little princess were coming far too close to discovering my ties to your depart… I’m sorry, it’s not yours any longer.” - he nodded to Liam’s side, where he’d been stabbed the year before - “Regardless.  They were going to erase my ties to Killian’s department and I wasn’t going to stand for that.  Robert got cocky.  Just. Like.  You.”

Liam heard the muffled shouting before Hades was finished and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach.  He pulled the Sig Sauer from the small of his back finally and aimed it at Hades’ heart. “I can end you; right here, right now.”

“Ah ah ah,” Hades tutted, not flinching with the barrel of the gun pointed at him.  “You might no longer care about yourself, but what about…”

He turned his back on Liam as the door to the office opened again.

“Miss Swan, how nice of you to join us.”

Emma hated waiting.  For coffee in the morning, for leads to come in, for stakeouts to come to fruition, for Killian to… nope.  She hated waiting.  She hated being kept on the sidelines even more, and this… this felt a lot like being sidelined.  She shifted in the rafters again, her burner phone off but still digging into her hip where she was lying uncomfortably on it.  She should have just left it in the car - there was no one she could call now and no one who would be calling her.  Liam was the only one with the number anyway and he had no reason to get ahold of her.

They knew the plan.  They had gone over it so many times and it was a good plan.  It would work and Hades wouldn’t be leaving here alive.  A tiny part of Emma was screaming in the background about justice and vengeance and vigilantism, but the part of her that had been consumed with grief after losing Killian shut it up quicker than she could blink.  Gold may have been the reason Killian had died but Hades was responsible and she wasn’t going to give him a chance to wield his power from a prison cell.

No, Hades was going to find his end here, today, and Emma knew that of all the things they disagreed on, she and Liam were on the same page with this.

Now she just had to find a way to keep Liam alive throughout this whole mess.

Emma rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks before she had to actually focus.  They’d agreed that she should get here hours ahead of time to scout out the location, but there wasn’t a soul within 500 yards of the place and nothing was moving in the cavernous room below her other than rats.

Which left Emma with far too much time to think.  She thought about what Killian would have thought about all this.  She thought about what might have happened with them if he’d had time to come to terms with Milah’s murderer being dead.  She thought about why she’d been so frightened of him and what they could be together.

She thought about the words she hadn’t said to him and if he knew she’d believed them.

Hours passed slowly, the dripping of water somewhere to her left doing nothing to speed up time.  She’d counted to a thousand and then backwards by sevens, she’d memorized the alphabet backwards in French, she’d named every capital and its state that she could remember - and would swear she got all 50 if anyone ever had reason to ask.

Finally, when it seemed like she was going to have to resort to naming every animal she’d ever heard of or something equally as ridiculous, Emma heard the warehouse door screech open.  She risked a look at her watch and frowned.  It was barely 7:30.  Liam shouldn’t have even left the safe house yet, never mind gotten through traffic and made his way into the building.

It wasn’t Liam.

Emma watched with bated breath, trying to see around an upright without moving.  She could just see the shadow of someone standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and not moving.  There hadn’t been anyone here for days; it seemed highly unlikely that Hades would - all of a sudden - decide to use it on a Wednesday night in February.  Unless…

Unless Hades already knows you’re here.  The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Killian, which was enough to give her a moment’s pause.  He… or she, she supposed, was right, though.  If their trap was actually a trap for Liam, for them, then she had to get out of there.  She had to warn Liam.  She had to-

She had to take better stock of her surroundings.  No one could possibly know where she was in the warehouse, if they even knew she was already here.  The place was huge and the scans they’d run over the past few scouting trips hadn’t revealed any cameras or wireless signals broadcasting off site.  If there were cameras they’d missed, they were on a local feed and whoever was here hadn’t even come in the building yet.

Don’t panic, don’t give your position away prematurely; Emma’s training ran through her head even as she mapped possible exits.  She’d left herself three egress points from where she lay - the path up to the roof behind her as well as left and right along the catwalk.  Unless her interloper had friends, she had options.

Emma froze as a man finally walked around the I beam that had hidden him and stopped in a beam of light filtering through a window.  He was tall and skinny, his head darting back and forth wildly as he looked around the room.  There was something familiar about him, but Emma was sure she’d never seen him before.  He wasn’t looking up at her, though, and that allowed her to breathe a little easier.

All she had to do was wait for him to move, to figure out why he was there, and she’d be set.  She could text Liam to let him know there was an unaccounted for variable and that would be that.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally the jumpy man left, sliding the door shut and leaving the warehouse blanketed in silence once more.

Weird, Emma thought, her own sharp gaze flicking wildly around the room below her, trying to figure out what he’d done.  Why he’d been there.  Who he was.  She slid the burner phone out of her pocket and flipped it open, glad that - for all its lack of features - it remembered her brightness preferences.  Emma squinted in the darkness, trying to make out enough of the screen to pull up the texting page and then Liam’s number.

She never expected to be blinded by every one of the warehouse’s lights coming on in an instant.

Emma couldn’t bite back the cry of surprised pain as she slammed her eyes shut against the bright light that assaulted her vision.  She blinked rapidly, shielding her eyes from as much of the light with one hand and scrabbling to find the phone she’d dropped with the other.  She’d only just brushed over it with her fingers when a sound to her right startled her.

The next thing she heard was the crash of plastic shattering against concrete after her phone careened off the catwalk.

Damnit!

Ignoring the phone, Emma rolled onto her back, pulling her sidearm and aiming it at the noise she’d heard first.

A burly man stared back, his own weapon trained on her chest and how in the hell had he gotten there without her hearing him?

“Get up,” he snarled, gesticulating with the weapon.  “Leave the gun.”

Not bloody likely, Killian’s voice echoed in her ear as Emma got slowly to her feet.  She eyed her other two exits as she stood, surprised to find the spindly man she’d been watching aiming his own weapon at her from the ladder behind her.  How had he gotten there so quickly?

“Kick the rifle off,” Burly ordered, cocking his pistol and leering at her.

Emma turned to face him, putting Panic at her left and keeping Burly in front of her.  She needed the rifle to watch Liam’s back once he got here, but she needed to not be dead in order to do that.

Emma hadn’t gotten as far as she had in life without learning how to improvise.  She took four huge steps back from the rifle instead, raising her weapon in supplication and wondering how far he’d let her go before-

BANG!

A bullet whizzed over her head and slammed into the wall far behind her.  Emma could hear the projectile ricocheting around the warehouse until, finally, it buried itself into something.

“That’s far enough, girlie,” Burly told her, his smile getting even more lewd as he blew on the barrel of the smoking gun.  “Boss wants you alive for his grand finale with Jones.”

Emma resisted the urge to hang her head.  If Hades knew who she was, and that Liam was coming, they’d never stood a chance.

She took another step back, watching Panic move steadily towards her and she wanted to swing the weapon down to bear on him, wanted him to back off, but Burly sent another bullet her way and this one nicked her ear.  Hot blood coursed down the side of her head even as she ducked away from the pain, clapping a hand over the wound and hissing when she put pressure on it.  Barely a graze, but enough to get the message across.

They had her dead to rights.

“Put.  The gun.  Down,” came the order from behind her.  A third man that she hadn’t even known was there poking his head out of the hatch from the ladder she’d climbed hours before.  His own weapon was trained on her back.

Well, shit.

Emma had no choice.  She put the gun down.

“Very good, lass,” the third man praised facetiously, grinning as he climbed off the ladder and moved towards her.  He motioned her backwards as he reached for her weapon, Panic’s own gun settling in the middle of her back.

She was trapped.

“This is some fancy hardware, love,” Burly commented idly as he picked up her rifle, swinging it around until the strap secured it to his back.

“Don’t call me that,” Emma hissed, every muscle in her body tensing for a fight.

The third man snickered and took another step forward, jamming the barrel of his gun under her chin and twisting.  If not for Panic’s gun in her back, Emma would have made the asshole eat it.

“I’m going to have some fun making you scream,” he promised, and Emma named him Pain.

“Not if I get you first,” Emma whispered back, pleased to see a flicker of fear cross his features at her tone before he lifted his chin and grinned.

“Once the boss is done with you and your… did you switch brothers so quickly?  Is that what this is?”

Emma bristled.

“Guess not,” Pain continued as if they were exchanging idle gossip.  “Either way, I’m going to have fun breaking you when Jones is drowning in his own blood.”

Emma’s sarcastic retort was cut off when he reached out and pinched her bleeding ear, twisting and giggling when she tried to suppress the cry of pain.

“Enough,” Burly commanded.  “Boss wants her quiet until Jones gets here.”

Emma didn’t have enough time to think about what that meant before the lights went out - metaphorically and physically.

***

When Emma finally came around, she was lying on her stomach with a gag in her mouth and one of the men sitting on her back.

“We’ve just got to wait for the signal, girlie,” the man sitting on her tapped the back of her head with what felt like his gun.  Burly, then, she thought.  “Then you and lover boy can be reunited.”

Emma didn’t know if he was smart enough to mean Killian or dumb enough to mean Liam.

It took a few moments but soon Emma heard the screech of the warehouse door and measured footsteps echoing over the concrete floor she was lying on.

Run, Liam!  Get out of here! she muttered angrily as she thought the commands as loudly as she could.  She could see Panic pacing the floor in front of her and hear Pain’s amused breathy chuckles to her side.  This was her last chance.  If she could just make some kind of commotion… if she could…

“Don’t even think about it,” Burly ordered as he slid the cool metal over her throbbing ear.  “You wouldn’t get two steps before we took you out and Jones is already a dead man walking.”

Emma squirmed anyway, ignoring the way Pain kicked her in the side and Burly shouted for him to be careful - he’d almost nailed the idiot in the jewels.  There was nothing for it; she’d have to wait for some more of Hades’ plan to work itself out before she could find a way to escape.

To keep herself and Liam alive until they could regroup.

All too soon, she was dragged to her feet, her hands still bound behind her and the dried blood on her neck pulling at the little hairs there.  Emma’s eyes watered as she was shoved along, Pain and Panic each taking an arm as Burly prodded her with his gun.

She was going to make him eat a bullet first chance she got.

“Ah ah ah,” she heard Hades scold someone - probably Liam.  Her heart sank.  “You might no longer care about yourself, but what about…”

Emma stumbled as Pain shoved her out of Panic’s hold and into the room.  He didn’t give her a chance to straighten up before he’d clamped one hand around her neck and jammed the pistol into the base of her skull.

“Miss Swan,” Hades continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, brandishing - of all things - a nasty looking dagger, “how nice of you to join us.”

Liam looked broken, holding his weapon shakily on Hades but looking at her like his world had ended.  And, she realized quickly, if they didn’t find a way to turn this on its head, it very likely had. They wouldn’t survive this without some kind of intervention and Liam would never rest if he didn’t avenge Killian first.

Neither would she.

“Let her go, you bastard.  It’s me you want.”

Emma almost rolled her eyes.  Leave it to a Jones to be chivalrous to a fault.  Even when it was futile.

“Actually,” Hades spoke as if he were teaching a toddler, “it’s both of you.  Did you miss the part where Miss Swan, here, is hellbent on taking down my entire organization?”

Pain shook her as if Liam needed the reminder that she was there.  Emma’s head was spinning, stars beginning to cloud her vision.  She needed to breathe.

“Let. Her. Go.” Liam commanded again, his hand shaking more violently as he raised the point of the gun a little higher.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Hades began conversationally.  “Miss Swan is going to keep us company for a little while. I’m sure my… associates will have some interesting things to show her.  Then-”

Burly piped up.  “Then you’re gonna-”

Hades nodded once and Pain pulled his gun away from Emma’s head long enough to put a bullet through Burly’s skull.

“I don’t like when you interrupt me,” Hades spoke to the corpse.  Panic started fidgeting, hopping from foot to foot and swinging his own gun wildly from Burly to Liam and back again.

“As I was saying,” Hades continued, “While these two imbeciles are keeping Miss Swan company, you’re going to go down to the precinct and make sure that any files on me have been erased.”

Liam shook his head.  “Not a chance.  Let Emma go.  She has access to the files; I don’t.”

Hades laughed.  “I’m sure you can get… creative.”

“And what if I don’t?  What if I” - he swung the weapon to sight in on Panic - “just take out your men one by one?”

Panic blanched, his eyes frozen on Hades while his gun hovered somewhere close to pointing at Liam’s abdomen.

Not a good shot, then, Emma thought, watching Liam warily.

Apparently he had the same idea, if the next few minutes of utter chaos were any indication.  Emma sagged completely in Pain’s grasp, falling to the floor and nearly passing out when his hand tightened around her neck.  But it gave Liam the opening he needed to shoot the bastard in the neck, killing him in the time it took Pain to sag to the ground and collapse on top of her.

“Liam!  Look out!” was all Emma could yell from where she was pinned to the floor, watching in slow motion as Hades snarled, raising the knife and charging across the room.  Panic fired his weapon, spinning Liam around and out of Hades’ direct path, but that was the only shot he was able to fire off as another bullet came out of nowhere, stopping him dead in his tracks as he looked down, comically almost, at the spreading flower of blood on his chest.  He threw one scathing look towards the door before he hit his knees and fell, face first, onto Burly’s back.

“Detective!” a voice shouted from behind her, but with the adrenaline flowing and the fear taking hold, Emma had no idea who was shouting.

Liam’s left hand clutched at his shoulder as he turned just in time to catch Hades’ arm as it arced towards his unprotected back.  They both fell to the floor in a tussle of limbs that left Emma lost as to who was whom.

“Detective?” a voice asked, booted feet in front of her as whoever it was watched the scene in front of him.  Emma tried to look up, but only got as far as jean-clad knees before Pain’s bulk halted her movements.

“Fine!” she shouted.  “Help Liam!”

Someone else kneeled next to her and Emma’s head whirled around, making something snap audibly in her neck and causing her to cry out.

“Hold on, Detective,” the other voice soothed, placing his gun on the ground in her line of sight before disappearing.  

Seconds later, the weight on her back disappeared and Emma scrambled to her feet, snatching up the gun and pointing it at whoever moved.

Robin and David both stared at her with raised eyebrows before turning back to the melee at their feet.  Every time one of them tried to get close enough to pull the grappling men apart, the knife slashed out and backed them up.  Emma tried to train her gun on Hades, but it was a lost cause; there was too much movement to ensure that she wouldn’t hit Liam.

“Help him!” she shouted again, dizzy now that she’d paused for a moment.  Adrenaline could only overcome so much and Emma had been unconscious for a considerable amount of time before this.

“We’re trying!” David shouted at her, looking as lost and terrified as she and Liam had felt after Killian was shot.

Robin peeled his gun out of Emma’s hands as she wavered, nearly stumbling into David.  She couldn’t see straight now and relinquished the weapon as she started to buckle back to the ground.  Arms held her up, slowing her descent, but couldn’t stop her fall.

She shook off the help, watching with bated breath as the two men rolled again.  “Help him, please,” she muttered, not knowing how they could do anything but watch.

David was shaking next to her, resting on one knee and gripping his weapon as if he could will it to fire the right shot.  “He needs this,” was all he muttered.

And then, it all ended in a flash of light and the smell of gunpowder and the pained shout that drowned out everything else.

Hades had gotten the advantage, one hand clasped around Liam’s as it choked the life out of him and the other raising the knife above his head.  Robin was the one who took the shot, firing through the middle of Hades’ back and not taking any chances with a head shot.  It didn’t matter; Hades was dead before he fell, but the damage was done.  The path of his knife drove it into Liam’s side as he landed on top of him, and Emma heard the clink of metal chipping concrete even as Liam screamed.

“NO!” they all shouted, and time sped up as Emma scrambled to his side, securing the knife in her hand as David peeled Hades’ corpse off of Liam’s chest.  Liam’s blood ran hot over her hand as she grabbed the shirt Robin pressed against the wound.

“Son of a bitch!” Robin muttered as he pulled out his phone.  “Killian is going to murder me for this.”

Everything stopped.

Emma started to shake.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her hands went numb.

Her eyes started to water.

She’d never been this cold.

She couldn’t hear anything.

Nothing except Robin’s words echoing.

“Killian is going to murder me.”

Killian!

Is.  Present tense.

Present.

Alive?

Emma’s eyes swiveled up, fighting off the blackness that was encroaching on her vision as she silently begged Robin to explain.

“Kil… Killian?” she croaked, her voice cracking on every syllable.

Robin nodded.  “I tried to find you two.  Bloody hell, would it have been too much to leave a damned phone on?  I didn’t have time to tell you beforehand and then, by the time we got him settled, you were gone.  He’s going to have my head for worrying you guys like this.”

Emma just shook her head, sure that it was some kind of oxygen deprived hallucination.  “Wh- what?”

Robin shrugged apologetically, holding up a finger when his phone finally connected with a dispatcher.

Emma whirled on David, snarling when he tried to move her out of the way to put pressure on the wound in Liam’s shoulder.  “What?” she screamed again, well aware that she sounded a little hysterical.

“I didn’t know, Emma.  I swear, I wouldn’t have done this to him” - he nodded at Liam - “or to you.  Robin got some credible intel from one of their sources that Hades had put a price on Killian’s head.  He didn’t have time, and he didn’t think about anything. He just… he got Whale to fake Killian’s death.  You two disappeared before we could tell you.”

Emma stared for another minute before she felt tears streaming down her cheeks.  Jones was alive!  Killian was… he was… they could…

Liam groaned, not really conscious and not aware that his life was slipping away and his goddamned brother was alive!  Emma pushed down harder around the knife, careful not to slice her hand open but unwilling to let him slip away.

It wasn’t going to be enough.  Liam went slack beneath her hands as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and then closed.

“Don’t you dare!” Emma shouted, pushing down harder on the gaping wound and ignoring the way her palm split open along the blade, their blood mingling together on the wadded up shirt.  

Liam went frighteningly limp and Emma swore.

“You self righteous asshat!  You don't get to die and leave me to tell Killian you were a goddamned hero!”

tagging: @killian-whump @gilliangrissom @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @courtorderedcake