#thread: a pint owed

[milf-murdock]

Well, I’m about to hop out of the bath, and unfortunately I did have to stop just before things got ~juicy 😔 but here’s a lil WIP to hold ya over

Kate Laswell x Wife!Reader

Warnings: gross men being creepy, but Laswell comes to your rescue 😘 canonical swearing, and just a lil nsfw (I might keep writing if there’s an audience for it lol) I do owe you some Top Laswell, anon

Truth be told, you hated coming to base. It was all so rough and rugged, a veritable Good Ole Boys Club that smelled like cigars and gunpowder. You keep your head held high as your step across the gravelly terrain, the small heel of your shoes adding a slight wobble to your step. You catch the eye of a couple of soldiers and ignore their thirsty gazes as they stop to gawk. Picking up the pace, you hurry to your destination: the bar. Just past the far edges of the base, it was obvious the foul-smelling, secluded establishment was less intended for civilian patrons and catered more to offering a place for military officials to take the edge off. You hated this place even more than you hated the base itself, but you know Kate loves a beer right after a job, and John had texted you to meet them here, which could only mean one thing—Kate was back.

The pungent smell of stale beer and cigarettes floods your nostrils as you open the heavy door. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but you find your way to the bar. Once again, you keep your head held high, pointedly ignoring the men who don’t even try to pretend they’re not checking you out.

You adjust the hem of your skirt as you take a seat on the bar stool, anything to keep your hands busy. It’s only a matter of moments before a slurred voice comes from behind you, and your shoulders stiffen.

“Well what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Despite your better judgement, you glance over your shoulder to see a tall, older man in uniform. You can smell the beer on his breath, and you don’t even bother to hide your grimace.

“I’m waiting for someone,” you respond curtly, turning back around.

“Hey now, don’t be like that. Just give me a smile and I’ll be on my way.”

You ignore him, busying your hands with a stray thread at the edge of your skirt, tugging to pull it loose.

You hear a scoff from behind you before you feel a rough hand on your shoulder. “I’m talking to you, bitch,” he growls.

Your breath catches in your throat, completely frozen under his touch.

And in the next second, you hear another voice—a female voice, low and full of a threatening malice.

“I suggest you take your fucking hand off my wife.”

Relief floods your body, your eyes fluttering close as the weight lifts from your shoulder.

“Shit, I- I didn’t—“ the man stammers, hands raised as he takes a step back.

Laswell steps closer. “And if you ever call my wife a bitch again, you will find yourself on the fucking street with nothing but a dishonorable discharge to your pathetic name. Is that understood?”

Without a word, the man turned to flee the bar, not even passing a glance to his group of encouragers, who all found themselves instantly fascinated by their pint glasses in hand.

“Katie!” You exclaim, leaping from the bar stool to throw your arms around her neck. Her laugh fills your ears, and it sounds like rays of pure sunshine.

“Hi, bun,” her voice is low in your ear as she holds you close. “Told you I’d be back before you know it.”

You squeeze her even tighter, standing on your tiptoes to match her height. “Every minute apart from you feels like an eternity, Kate.” You can’t stop the slight break in your voice as tears well up. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

Kate pulls back just enough to press a fierce kiss to your lips. Your mouth parts in surprise at the passion; typically Kate’s kisses are on the more reserved side in public. Kate uses your parted lips as an opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth, immediately taking dominance. You melt like putty in her hands, falling into the kiss. All too soon, Kate breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and your lips swollen.

She smiles down at you with a tenderness only reserved for her wife, one hand coming up to brush your cheek. “Let me take you home, bunny.”

You struggle to put together a coherent thought after that damned kiss. “But don’t you want—you usually like, uh,” you blink furiously, trying to think past the rising need taking over your body. “Beer?” You finish lamely, feeling the flush in your cheeks as your gaze bounces between Kate’s lips and her bedroom eyes.

Kate chuckles, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “Fuck the beer, sweetheart. I have better plans.” A shiver races down your spine and you can feel the wetness pool between your legs.

Kate pulls back just a bit, her lips hovering above your own. “Does that sound ~good?” She’s teasing you, her sweet breath fans over your face, and you can’t help but imagine that breath elsewhere. Your cunt clenches, and you bite your bottom lip, holding back an audible moan as you nod your head eagerly.

Kate has you eating out of the palm of her hand. And she fucking loves it.

“After you, my love,” she coos as she steps aside and lets you lead the way back to the car. You stumble across the bar, looking for all intents and purposes like you were the one to overindulge, though you hadn’t had a sip of alcohol. But Kate knows how you get when she’s gone for long periods of time. She knows how you get when the need is absolutely eating you whole, that fire of desire coursing through your veins. It turns you into a puddle, nothing more than a weeping mess entirely at her mercy. Kate clenches just thinking about it as she watches your ass sway in that perfect fucking dress she knows you wore just for her.

[cuubism]

Enchantment

"Hob," Death greets, and Hob has never heard her voice go tentative like that - though it is, as always, still friendly and kind. "You called for me?"

"Hey, hon," Hob says, or croaks, throat dry and overused. "Yeah, I did, but I meant it in more of a do you think you could help me get out of this situation sort of way, not like, you know." He makes a slicing motion across his throat with his free hand. "Off me."

Death chuckles, crouching before him. "Yes, I see that now. I admit I was concerned, for a moment."

"To be fair, this is not exactly not concerning," Hob says, gesturing to his bound wrist, the frankly alarming amount of blood all over his body, and the situation more generally. "But what's one more dungeon rescue among friends?"

Death touches the binding on his wrist with light fingers, considering. Try as he might, despite having one hand and both legs free and considerable experience in picking locks, Hob has not been able to get it off. It must be magical in some way. "You did not call for Dream?"

Hob sighs. "Listen--" he starts, and Death snorts.

"Didn't want to be responsible for the leveling of the entire street?"

"Dream has not exactly--" Hob shifts and winces, that cuff is starting to burn under Death's touch-- "proven himself capable of moderation."

"And he won't, if the past billions of years are anything to go by," Death agrees, with the fond exasperation of an older sister.

She leans in close, studying the metal chaining his arm to the wall. "You couldn't have known, but I think you've prevented more than that in calling me instead."

"What's that thing say?" Hob asks. "I couldn't make out the language. Looked old."

Death runs her finger along the runes encircling the cuff. Hob winces again as the burning sensation flares. "It's a spell. A trap for Dream. Drawing on your connection to him."

"What?"

"I don't think it would've been powerful enough to work as intended." Death's lips purse in displeasure. "But that doesn't mean it would have no effect."

"What effect?" Hob asks, sick at the thought of Dream snared in another trap.

"As soon as he touched the binding with the intent to free you, it would have hooked into his power; the more power he used to pull away, the tighter it would have wound, like a finger trap. It is an enchantment that..." Death hesitates, "draws on emotion."

"Oh." Hob scrubs a hand through his ruined, greasy hair. "Fuck."

"It is fortunate that you called me," Death says grimly.

"It's not going to hurt you, is it?"

"No. But I doubt this will be comfortable."

Hob braces himself. "How will you break it?"

"All things have an end," Death tells him, pressing her fingertips to the runes. Hob feels each touch through the metal like a brand. "Even non-living things die. I've found the loose thread of that end, and now I will unravel it."

She twists the cuff around his wrist counterclockwise, and Hob yelps, cringing back against the wall, not entirely sure she hasn't burned his hand right off. The enchantment flares brighter than the sun, then disappears, leaving smoke behind.

She undoes the cuff easily after that.

Hob's wrist is intact, though terribly burned. That'll take a while to feel any better, unfortunately. He holds it against his chest. "Thanks, hon. I owe you a pint."

Death laughs. "No, you don't, but I won't turn it down. Do you want a ride home? I'm heading that way anyway."

"That's disturbing to think about," Hob tells her. "But sure."

He's going to have to do some cleanup here later. But for now, he'd just like to get out of this blasted place.

~~~~

"Hob Gadling."

Dream appears in his living room a few hours later, when Hob is ensconced on the couch with his laptop, trying to figure out how he's going to clean up this whole mess without alerting the authorities. Dream looks stricken, and Hob feels abruptly bad about not calling for him, even though that had been a fortunate bit of foresight, in the end.

"Hey, love." Hob sets the computer aside, and Dream comes over to him, sitting lightly on the couch at his side. He takes Hob's bandaged wrist in his hands. "Sorry about all that."

"Sorry?" Dream echoes, voice tipping up a note in what Hob can only read as the infliction of a wound. "I would have come for you."

"I know you would." Hob lays his hand over Dream's. It adds uncomfortable pressure to the burns but he doesn't let go. "I just didn't want--"

But it wasn't really about maintaining the peace at all, was it? It wasn't about Dream's overreaction, not deep down. It was only about Dream.

"Didn't want you hurt," Hob says quietly. "Not again."

Dream's jaw tightens. "Do not decide what risks I should take."

"They wanted you, did Death tell you that part, too?"

"She did. Do you think so low of me as to expect that would change my decision?"

I don't think low of you at all, Hob thinks. "That's not what I meant. Death just seemed the more... practical... choice at the time," he says, which is a weak argument, but Hob stands by his decision. Dream is safe, not trapped, and that's what matters. Outcome over intent, he's learned.

"Practical," Dream repeats. "Yes. I see my presence is unneeded. I will--"

Hob catches him by the wrist before he can stand. "Don't. Please."

"Considering you are no longer in peril, and do not wish for my help besides, I fail to see what purpose I am serving here," Dream says, still tensed like he means to jump up.

"No purpose needed," Hob says. "I just don't want to leave it like that. I know you're upset. And I know, I know, I would have been upset too if you were in trouble and didn't ask for my help, so don't even bother saying that--"

"You would?" says Dream.

Hob looks at him, both eyebrows raised. Yeah, obviously.

Dream raises a single eyebrow in return as if this is not, indeed, obvious.

Funny, Hob thinks, that silent communication. Hob is a talkative person by nature -- too talkative, more often than not -- but Dream is not and so Hob has learned to read him like this. The confusion in the way his brow pinches tighter, the way his body settles just so back into the couch, listening again, no longer on the verge of flight.

Surely he knows. Surely there's no way he doesn't know.

"I'd want you to call for me," Hob says. "I wouldn't want to leave you trapped."

"This was a trap," Dream says.

Exactly. "Did Death describe the enchantment?"

"Try to escape and tangle yourself further," Dream says. "Yes. I understand."

Do you? Hob thinks. Do you know why it would have worked on you?

They haven't actually gotten there yet. Hob can feel it approaching, though, with the inevitability of the moon reaching its perigee above the earth. He hasn't felt the need to rush it. Each careful step Dream takes towards him is a gift.

"There are many such traps in this world," Dream says, studying Hob.

Each careful step is a gift, and Hob hates the thought of that progress being used against Dream, those painstakingly untied feelings employed to trap him all over again. He can picture Dream tangled and bound and trying to pull away from him, and he hates it so much that he makes probably the exact opposite decision he should make, takes Dream's face lightly between his hands, tosses their careful timeline out the window and kisses him, right there and then.

Dream makes a surprised sound against his mouth, which means he really must be telling the truth about not looking in on Hob’s dreams because Hob has not been subtle in his dreaming. Dream wraps careful hands around Hob’s wrists, once again bracketing where the cuff had burned him. Holding Hob to him. His kiss is sweet with just a nip of fire, which is what all moments with Dream have felt like since his return, really.

Dream leans against his cheek when they part, hair brushing Hob’s temple. “When my sister told me you had called for her, it— I believe you would phrase it as ‘gave me a heart attack.’”

“I’m sorry, love.” Hob runs a hand through his hair, and Dream leans into the touch. “I would never do that to you, okay? Even if I did choose Death – which I won’t, but – I wouldn’t just disappear on you without saying anything. Alright?”

“Very well,” Dream agrees, though Hob doesn’t think he really believes it. Truly believing in Hob’s relentless commitment to life is a tall ask for Dream at the moment, but it’s okay, Hob has plenty of time to convince him.

“Believe it,” he says, and kisses Dream again.

[imagines4thefandoms]

Killing for Love

Mystic Falls, Virginia, is a small town. Home to 5 thousand mystical creatures such as vampires, witches, werewolves, and 2 humans: me and Matt Donovan. One of said vampires happens to be my loving boyfriend. Sure, he has killed people, but I love him and he is sometimes very cute.

That was what came from the 2 hours of effort you put into your history paper. The assignment was to write about the history of your hometown. Easy. Finding the actual motivation to thread out the vampire history and the human history. Hard. You were sitting in the common room of your dorm room at Whitmore College trying to fight the urge to bang your head into your computer. Either to end it all or to knock some ideas out of your head. 

“How’s the paper coming, love,” you heard your boyfriend ask as he sat down next to you and placed a nice hot cup of tea in front of you. 

“It's going,” you mumbled after resting your head on his shoulders. 

Enzo looked over at your computer and let out a small chuckle. “I'm sometimes cute,” he asked bending his neck so he can see part of your face. 

“Yes, like right now, the mocking-not cute,” you scorned him as you turned your head to bite his shoulder. 

“ow, darling. Put the teeth away. I'm sorry for the mocking but I don’t think this paper will get you the A you want,” he said rubbing circles on your back. “I might get you a nice little vacation with a very snug jacket and slightly bouncy padded walls.” 

You tried to turn and bite him again but he put his palm on your forehead and held you at arm's length as you snapped your teeth like a piranha. Once you stopped trying to bite him he pulled you into a hug and brought his mouth to your ear. “Darling, we both know I’m the biter in this relationship,” he teased as he gently nipped your ear. “Now how about we get your mind off the terrible paper.”

You were going to bite him again but he held his finger up as a warning. “I'm telling you, love. You bite me again I bite you.” He looked over your body before meeting your eyes again, “and Im starving”

You didn’t know if he meant literally like he wanted to BITE you or if he was hungry in a sexual sense. And honestly either way you trusted Enzo completely. If he really needed to, you would let him drain you of a pint or two but he always refused. He first said he didn’t want to hurt you, then your skin was too perfect to puncture then he joked about how one doesn’t eat where he fucks. 

Before you could argue that the paper was due at the end of the week, he closed your computer and put it in your bag. “Enzo I can’t,” you started to say before he stood up and picked you up to toss you over his shoulder. “Don’t forget my bag,” you sighed accepting your fate and falling limp as he carried you through the dorm building to your room. 

When he got to your room you pulled your dorm room key off your wrist and held it out for him to take. Your roommate was a little startled by the sight of your boyfriend carrying you like a sack of potatoes but went back to her work when Enzo informed her of his plans to help her relax. “Carry on, will she be back for dinner,” she asked without looking up from her textbooks. 

“Nope, you will see her in the morning,” he replied slapping your ass and walking back out of the room after placing your bag on your bed. 

“I can walk you know,” you told him as you playfully slapped his ass. 

“I thought you enjoyed the view, I know I am,” he said placing a kiss on your hip. 

“I'll stab you,” you threaten. 

“You’re as violent as a bunny. I recall you crying about a spider and asking me to kill it but then crying when I tried to kill it.”

“Its family was waiting for it. He just got lost and scared me.”

He let out a chuckle at how sweet and innocent and pure you were. Enzo never went a day without thanking the gods about you coming into his life even though he knew he will never deserve someone as good as you. 

As he was carrying you to his car, you happened to pass Alaric. He stopped in his tracks and just gave you a small smile. “How’s that research coming,” he asked you when you raised your head to look at your occult professor. 

“It's coming, she requires a bit more in-depth research,” Enzo said with a slightly deeper voice trying to get the double innuendo across. 

Understanding what he was meaning, Alaric shook his head and continued to wherever he was heading. You once again slapped your boyfriend over the awkward interaction. Not only was Alaric your professor he was a good friend and while it shouldn’t have been awkward to say such things in front of a friend, it was seeing how said friend was also your history teacher in high school. 

“I hate you.”

“You are a terrible liar, love.”

When you finally reached his car Enzo opened the door and buckled you into the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel. He took his phone out of his pocket and put on your favorite playlist before he started the car. He was driving away from both the campus and Mystic Falls so your curiosity was peaked. 

“Where exactly are we going,” you asked grabbing his hand from the wheel and holding it. 

“It's a surprise,” he said quickly looking at you and smiling at your look of annoyance. 

After 2 years of dating, he knew you hated surprises because in Mystic Falls they ended with someone dying, but he loved seeing the look of pure joy on your face whenever he surprised you with things. Your brain was finally relaxing from your intense study session. You were softly singing and you were absent-mindedly writing “Mrs. St John” over and over on Enzo’s hand which was resting on your thigh. The action brought a smile to his face cause he had that name running through his mind over and over again too. He adored you and if he knew you were ready he would ask you to marry him right now.

Suddenly a car rear-ended you guys. It was a small fender bender so no one was hurt but this look of anger came across Enzo’s face. He didn’t care about his car hell if it was just him in the vehicle he would wave the guy off and call it a day. But you were sitting in his passenger seat rubbing your neck cause the seat belt dug into it. 

“Are you okay,” he asked grinding his teeth and trying to control his vampire face. 

“Babe I’m fine,” you promised but he wasn’t looking at you his eyes zoned in on the motion of your hand rubbing your neck trying to soothe the sting. “Please take a breath Enzo, I’m fine. The redness will go away. Listen to my heart.”

You could hear the other driver getting out of his vehicle and could hear him say he was sorry. Grabbing his hand, you placed it over your heart and held his face so he was looking into your eyes. “Don’t kill him. It was an accident. I’m ok.”

There was a knock on the window. You held him til you saw the anger fade away. He placed a small kiss on the redness on your neck then turned to the other driver. 

“Man I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I was on the phone with my wife and she was rambling on about what we needed from the store. Shit are you guys okay,” he asked as soon as Enzo stepped out of the car. 

“We are fine mate, be more careful next time,” Enzo said trying to compel him. 

In his mind all his plans to help you relax flew out the window. Now all he wanted to do is to triple-check you were okay and just hold you. 

“Yeah, I’ll be more careful next time. I’ve already called the police,” the guy said walking back to his car to check the damage. 

Enzo walked to the back of his vehicle. There was a small dent nothing major. He looked up and saw that you were staring at him. He knew you were keeping an eye on him so he wouldn’t kill the other guy. Enzo gave her a small smile and mimed an ‘x’ over his heart and held his right hand up. He heard her laugh and she turned forward trusting him. 

He was going to tell the other driver he could just leave and the police were not needed when something sharp pricked his neck. The other driver injected him with vervain. Enzo quickly passed out and collapsed onto the truck on the car than on the ground. You quickly turned toward the sound and saw only the other driver holding a syringe in his hand. 

“What are you doing,” you called out as you got out of the vehicle. 

Before you could get closer to your boyfriend a cloth covered the lower half of your face and a strong-smelling chemical filled your lungs before you passed out. 

You woke up to the sound of Enzo calling out your name. He was on his knees and had chains around his neck and both wrist. The chains were connecting him to the brick wall behind him. Instinctively, you tried to get up but there were ropes trying you to a wooden chair. 

“Are you hurt,” Enzo asked baring his fangs at the thought of these men touching you let alone hurting you. 

“My head hurts,” you said goggly. You tried to move your arms again but whoever tied those knots was a very good boy scout when they were younger. 

“I know I promise, love, but I'm going to rip out all of their throats for hurting you,” he said trying to rip the chains off the wall but failing. The vervain was still in his system. 

Before you could reply two men walked into the room. One was the guy from the accident but you couldn’t see the other one. The guy from the accident was throwing water on Enzo but based on the fact that he was groaning in pain it was more likely vervain. 

“Stop leaving him alone,” you cried once again trying to get out of your restraints. 

“Calm down sweety, once he is gone you will be safe,” the other guy said. 

You stilled when you hear that voice. The voice you have known all your life. The voice that read you bedtime stories and told you it would be ok whenever you cried. You turned your head and saw your father standing behind you. 

“Daddy,” you asked as tears fell from your eyes. 

“I'm so sorry sweety. If I have know you were with him I would have waited til he was alone. But now you can see what Enzo is,” he said kneeling in front of you and untying your wrist. 

“Please don’t do this dad,” you cried as you rubbed your wrist. 

“Enzo is a vampire. He has killed people. He will kill you,” your father announced as he helped you up out of the chair. 

You looked past Enzo who didn’t retort to what your father just said. He didn’t need to. You knew his mind, body, and soul. He knew he didn’t need to give your father the satisfaction of his reply. But he did see the hurt in your eyes. You knew this was going to end one way. With someone dying. 

“Leave, love. I’ll keep my promise,” Enzo said when your tears started falling harder. 

You took a step towards Enzo but your father’s hand gripped your upper arm. Enzo thrashed at the sight. It wasn’t a tight grip but it was the fact that he was trying to stop her from going to him that angered him. 

“Don’t,” your father warned you. 

You pulled your arm from his grasp and fell on your knees before Enzo. He rested his head against yours and kept whispering “I’m sorry”.

“He would never hurt me, dad. He’s a good man,” you said looking back at him. 

A look of confusion appeared on your father's face over the fact you were not shocked or scared about his news of what Enzo was. He collapsed in the chair and just stared at the two of you. 

“my own daughter. Friends with vampires,” he said in disbelief. 

“Just let him go. He won’t retaliate,” you tried to reason with your father. He was a good man. He never hurt anyone. 

“They are liars. You can’t be sure of that.”

“He will cause he loves me. And I love him. And if you hurt him I won’t forgive you.”

Your father got up and you thought he was going to let Enzo go but he instructed the “accident” guy to take you to the back room. 

“Don’t you fucking hurt her,” Enzo yelled as you were being dragged out of the room. 

“Im ok. I’ll get Damon,” you whispered knowing Enzo could hear you. 

You were brought to a small room with a dining room table and 3 chairs. There was an old tv on the counter by a sink and a metal framing of a bed in the corner. It looked like any movie bad guy’s safe house. 

“Why are you with the bloodsuckers,” the guy asked you. 

“The biting is very useful in bed,” you replied hoping to get him to leave but all you got and a look of disgust and disappointment. 

“You’re a disappointment to your father. Sleeping with a vampire.”

“What do you expect? I read twilight growing up. And I wasn’t team Jacob.”

There was no reaction to your comment but when Enzo’s screams filled the air the guy had a look of enjoyment like his favorite song just came on. You tried to run to him but the guy forcefully pushed you back in your seat. 

“It's ok. You are going to be ok. I’ll help you,” you said staring down your new capture. 

“I don’t need your help,” the guy replied thinking you were talking to him. 

Enzo’s screams filled the air again but then they quickly stopped. Dread filled your bones. Then your father walked in. 

“Keep her here, til I get back,” he said not even looking at you. 

“Daddy stop hurting him,” you warned him making a fist like you were about to punch your father. 

“You see I’m doing the right thing when the compulsion is gone.”

“Im not under Enzo’s compulsion. He has never forced me to do anything I haven’t wanted to. I love him will all my heart and If you kill him you will lose me forever,” you yelled trying to get out of the room. 

“Sit down,” your father yelled slightly scaring you. “When I get back you are grounded.”

“I'm a grown woman, you can’t ground me.”

“Watch me.”

Your father left and the guy watching you had a Hugh smile on his face. He was watching some game on the little tv but you tried to tune it out. You didn’t hear a car so where ever your father was taking Enzo it wasn’t far. You thought you could knock out this guy then your father and you and Enzo can just run away. Leave Virginia, leave America. 

Your capture was enamored with the game that he didn’t notice you grab the broken piece of wood off the floor. After a while, he did notice that you were too quiet. As soon as he turned to look at you, you smacked him upside the head with the piece of wood. You ran out of the room and into the woods before he fell to the ground. 

You kept whispering Enzo’s name hoping he would somehow tell you where he was. You just kept running and running til you hear the guy you just assaulted yell your name. You had made it a good couple of yards til he tackled you to the ground and pinned you. 

“You little bitch, just cause your daddy is my boss doesn’t mean I’m going to let that slide,” he said picking up your shoulders and slamming you to the ground. 

He was about to do it again when someone tackled him off you. The guy let out a scream and you heard the sound of his throat being ripped out. Dots filled your vision but then you saw Enzo. He fed you his blood so you could heal. And he helped you off the ground. 

“Are you okay,” you both asked at the same time. 

“I'm not the human, love,” he smiled as he brushed your hair behind your ear. 

You wanted to melt into his touch but remember what was going on. Your capture was lying not 3 feet away from you and a lot of blood covered his neck.

“Is he….,” you asked not being able to tear your eyes away. 

“No, he should be but no,” he replied grabbing your face and kissing you. 

Enzo let out a groan of pain and he fell to his knees. Behind him stood your father with a gun. You yelled out and tried to help him up but before you could your father pushed you away from him. 

“Damn it, you are going to let my daughter go,” your father yelled pointing his gun at Enzo. 

“Stop it. He can’t compel me. I wear vervain,” you yelled. “I've worn vervain every day since freshman year in high school.”

Your father stopped and turned to you. You were lying on the ground and he towered over you with this murderous gaze. “Enzo can’t compel me. No one can. I love him. I will always love him. Please don’t do this.”

“My own daughter,” he spat in disgust. “A vampire killed my father and you over there spreading your legs for one like a whore.”

“Daddy,” you cried at his words. You weren’t super close to your father but he never raised his voice to you and certainly never said such nasty things to you. 

He ignored your plea and turned back to Enzo who was still weak from the vervain and the wooden bullets in him. Also based on the look of his shirt he was been bled as well. There was nothing you could do to save him. All he wanted to do was hold you in his arms once last time. Enzo know he was going to die. It wasn’t on his list of things to do today but he would rather die than you hate him for killing your father right in front of you. 

“I love you. You are going to be okay,” he said closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable. 

You felt around the ground for anything that you could use to stop your father. A rock, a stick. Hell a flower to shove in his face to disorient him. You had just about given up hope when your hand came across something sharp. Your attacker dropped his knife when Enzo pulled him off you. 

“Dad, please put the gun down. I won’t ask again,” you warned with a little trimmer in your voice as you held the knife out. “I will hurt you if I have to.”

Enzo opened his eyes to see his sweet innocent girlfriend holding a knife to her father. There was a look in your eyes that told him that you would stab him. Enzo used the last of his strength to knock your father off his balance before he completely collapsed to the ground. You ran over to him and tried to wake him but Enzo had passed out. With little to no blood in his system, he might die before your father could shoot him. So you did the one thing Enzo swore he would never do. You gave him your blood. You took the knife and cut a small line on your wrist and held it against his mouth til he started to open his eyes. 

“No, love,” Enzo said after 3 seconds. He knew he needed more blood but he didn’t trust himself to stop, even though he did have a ton of self-control.

“Enzo, you need more please,” you cried trying to bring your wrist back to his mouth. 

“No, I have blood bags. Just give me a minute, love. I still have a surprise for you,” Enzo said placing a small kiss over the cut as if he was trying to kiss it away. 

“You are not going anywhere,” your father said standing up. He stood over you and Enzo. The gun was pointed directed at his heart. It was one second but that’s all it took. 

Your hand gripped the knife tighter and you lunged toward your father. The next thing you knew you were kneeling next to him as he was bleeding out. 

“Oh god daddy, I’m sorry. You wouldn’t leave him alone,” you cried trying to press down on his abdomen to stop the bleeding. “Enzo please I need your blood.” 

Enzo slowly but surely made his way over to you. He didn’t have much blood in his system but he would happily give every drop so you wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of having blood on your hands.

“No. I won’t become one of them,” your father said pushing Enzo’s arm away. 

“No daddy, it’s just a little. It will be out of your system by the end of the day,” you tried to convince him but he was adamant about no vampire blood to heal him. 

“I didn’t mean to daddy. I'm sorry. Please don’t leave me,” you said pressing harder but the blood just kept flowing. “I'll call 911.” 

You tried to grab your phone out of your back pocket but it wasn’t there. The other guy must have taken it while you were passed out. “It's not here. I’ll run back to the cabin.”

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” Enzo said trying to stand up. 

You turned to him then your father who wasn’t moving. “No,” you screamed collapsing to the ground. Enzo tried to put his arms around you to comfort you but you jerked from his touch and curled up into a ball in the middle of the forest. 

Enzo gathered all the strength he had to search your father's body and the other guy who was passed out and he found a phone. He hid it from you not wanting you to see that thinking you might reel further into this breakdown seeing it. He called Damon and told him what had happened and asked for his help to take care of the body. 

He sat against a tree close to you but far enough to give you the space you needed and waited for Damon. You didn’t come back to reality til you heard Damon, Stefan, and Caroline’s voices. Caroling helped you off the ground and helped clean your father’s blood off your hands. Damon tossed Enzo a few blood bags and commented on how there are two perfectly good blood bags here which earned him a slap from Stefan who had covered your father's body and compelled the other guy to forget everything. Everyone was talking about what had happened but your eyes never left the blood sheet that covered what used to be your father. 

The next thing you knew you were back in Enzo’s car. This time there was no music. No smiles. No excitement/dread over the surprise. There was just silence. You sat unconsciously leaning away from Enzo rubbing your hands like there was still blood on them, like in Macbeth. Enzo stopped the car in front of a beautiful 2 story home. There were about 2 acres of land in each direction of the house. You could see a diving board for a pool behind the house. 

“Whose house is this,” you asked. 

Enzo’s heart ached. Your voice was scratchy and weak but he finally hear your voice. You didn’t realize that you hadn’t said a word to anyone in the past hour. “Ours. It was a surprise. I figured you wouldn’t want to be bombarded with a ton of questions from your roommate just yet,” he said getting out of the car. He was going to open your door but you had already gotten out and walked towards the front door. 

Enzo was right behind you. He leaned over and unlocked the door. You stepped inside and looked around the living room. 

“It's in your name. I can leave you alone if you want,” he said standing at the doorway. He pushed his selfish need to hold you and make sure you were okay out of the way. He was being truthful. If you told him that you wanted to be alone he would. 

“I don’t…,” you said holding on to the wall as your started to fall. “I killed him.”

Enzo tried you run in and catch you but since your name was on the lease he couldn’t come in til you invited him. So he had to just stand there, helplessly. 

“Please let me in,” Enzo begged to grip the door frame. 

You sat there on the ground crying into your knees for five minutes. Once the tears stopped coming you looked up and saw the pain on your boyfriend's face. You knew it wasn’t his fault. But a small part of you resented him. The reason unknown. Maybe if he drank more of your blood he could have gotten you guys out of there and your father would still be alive. And that part of you didn’t want to see him. But the rest of you just wanted to fall into his arms and wait for everything to get better. 

“Enzo please come in,” you said with a raspy voice from your screaming and crying. He quickly ran to your side and just held you. And this time you were leaning into him. 

“I'm so sorry,” he said kissing the top of your head. “I would give anything to take away your pain. To make it where that never happened.”

“I hate that I killed him. But I also don’t regret it,” you said looking up at him. “Does that make me a terrible person?”

“Compared to me, love, you are still an innocent bunny.”

“Why wasn’t I good enough,” you cried again. Tear steadily fell down your face and stained Enzo’s shirt.

“What are you talking about,” he asked slowly raising your face so he can look you in the eyes. 

“I wasn’t good enough for him. He didn’t love me enough to not kill you and then he didn’t love me enough to take your blood. He didn’t love me.”

“Shh, it's going to be okay. And he did love you. He was just set in his vampire-hating ways,” he said trying to console you. “He adored you. He told me. He thought he was protecting you from me and yourself. And even though he put you through this pain I respect him for that. If he could have shown me proof of how I would hurt you in the future. I would have let him kill me, I would have killed myself. Because you are the most important person to me.”

“But he….,” you started to say. 

“He didn’t listen 'cause he thought what he was doing was the only way to protect you. He loved you enough to kill for you. As would i. You are more than enough. You are perfect,” he said picking you up to carry you upstairs to the master bedroom. 

He sat you on the bed and went to grab some clothes out of the dresser. 

“How are your clothes already here,” you asked when he brought you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers to change into. 

“Your clothes are here too. Well, the ones you left at home when you went to college. And I bought you some more. Everything you ever need is already here. This place is ready to move into,” he said from the closet as he changed into basically the same thing you were wearing. “But that doesn’t matter right now. We are going to go to bed and I’m never letting go of you,”

“Is that a threat or a promise,” you asked getting under the covers. 

He slid in behind you and pulled your flat against his chest. His left arm was under your head and his right arm held you close to him. “Both. I'm going to be here to help you through this and long after, love. You are never getting rid of me.” 

Even though there was no space between the two of you, you tried to get closer. Because you knew he was going to be there. Even though you were still spiraling from what you just did you knew as long as you had Enzo, you were going to be ok.

[wordscrafting]

Brewing Up A Storm: Vancouver's Rising Stars In The Craft Beer Industry

Rejoice, craft beer enthusiasts! best breweries in vancouver—now a vibrant hub for the craft beer scene with an impressive diversity of breweries—is reshaping its beer culture. Through this article: we'll guide you on a hop-infused journey into Vancouver's burgeoning industry; spotlighting not only unique flavors and innovative brewing techniques but also introducing passionate individuals fueling these local gems.

The Craft Beer Renaissance

A surge in artisanal breweries marks Vancouver's craft beer renaissance, with each brewery possessing its distinctive character and committing to push the boundaries of brewing excellence. As we explore the city's diverse beer landscape, we will uncover why these establishments attract attention locally as well as globally.

Crafting Excellence: A Brewery Showcase

The Hop Haven Brewing Co.

Hop Haven Brewing Co., nestled in Vancouver's heart, illuminates the craft beer scene with its creative prowess. The brewery's bold and experimental brews - a source of renown - draw their essence from locally sourced ingredients: an expression of pride in infusing each pint with Pacific Northwest flavour.

Beyond the Pale Ale: Exploring the Wonders of Malt

Beyond the Pale Ale redefines the malt game for those seeking a departure from the conventional. This brewery meticulously blends specialty malts, introducing beer enthusiasts to an expansive spectrum of flavors: rich caramel undertones and a velvety-smooth finish that lingers on their palates.

Brewmasters at the Helm

Meet the Visionaries

The best breweries in vancouverhave a brewmaster who, fueled by a passion to transcend flavor boundaries, stands as the catalyst behind every exceptional brewery. These visionaries in Vancouver are crafting liquid artistry--their dedication palpable with each sip. From mastering hop combinations' art to boldly experimenting with fermentation techniques: these unsung heroes–the city's craft beer revolution is indebted to them.

Craftsmanship in Every Batch

The heartbeat of Vancouver's craft beer community is craftsmanship. Here, breweries produce more than just beer; they curate experiences with every batch. The choice of ingredients and the brewing process itself—each step testifies to a commitment to quality that characterizes the city's craft beer landscape.

Artisanal Techniques: A Peek Behind the Scenes

Small Batch Magic

Vancouver's rising stars define themselves through their commitment to small-batch brewing: a practice that guarantees unrivaled attention to detail. Each bottle or pint, in turn, becomes an individual masterpiece; this is owing largely--and significantly--to the intimate nature of the brewing process. Every sip from these beers indeed unravels a compelling story—this is where their magic lies.

Barrel-Aged Elegance

Exploring the world of barrel aging, some breweries take a step further: this technique imparts layers of complexity to their beer - flavors that evolve over time. In Vancouver's craft beer scene, several establishments not only boast barrel-aged brews as novelties but also present them symbolically—testaments indeed—to tradition's marriage with innovation.

The Tasting Experience

Not solely about the beer, embarking on a craft beer journey in Vancouver promises an immersive tasting experience. The breweries elevate the act of savoring a pint to a multisensory delight with their taproom ambiance and food pairings.

Not merely a trend, best breweries in the Vancouver craft beer scene stands as a triumph. The industry's rising stars are redefining beer with every pour; they infuse creativity and passion into their concoctions. From Hop Haven Brewing Co.'s experimental brews to SteamCraft Brew Co.'s small-batch magic — each establishment weaves an integral thread in the rich tapestry of Vancouver's craft beer renaissance.

[memories-n-dreams-blog]

A Pint Owed || Obsidian & Harry

Harrison emerged from the bathroom, one hand still down below, pulling his belt tight, only to grumble at how much more crowded the back room had gotten in the moments he had been occupied.  People bumped and jostled, piling in until it seemed there was only standing space left available.  In the far corner, he could see a small group setting up speakers, pulling out instruments and microphones.  Not that Harrison wasn’t a fan of live music, but the din was already enough for him without being deafened by drunken rockers.

And so the large man made to maneuver and push his way through the crowd.  One or two elbows were knocked and the way, one of them whirling with a look of dull, inebriated anger that was swallowed when they came face to face with Harrison, his coffee eyes giving a cool ‘don’t try it’ before he was on his way again.  It was only when he heard the shattering of glass after he was knocked into, bowling him into someone else that he sighed, turning with an apology on his lips that was lost, forming a smile instead.  

“I suppose I do.  It’s getting crowded here, Glass.  What’s say we continue this at Kisa.  I’ll get you two beers even.”

It had been so hard to see in the little shed. So many people pressed against each other, the music blaring at a decibel that wasn’t obnoxious but annoying enough that you still needed to shout. She hadn’t been to a party like it since she was in college. When the beer hit the floor and smashed she was reminded of how much she had hated these things when she’d been in school. If her protections weren’t in place, she would have been mind surfing the second she’d been touched. It was such an easy thing to trigger that she had to make sure her wards were always in place. 

She looked up when a smooth voice floated over her annoyance. Bright eyes met deep chocolate and she gave a half smirk. “Well it’s the least you could do,” she told him as she crossed her arms. “It wasn’t a shit drink, that. I was looking forward to drinking it.” 

She turned on her heels and headed back the way she’d come, careful not to jostle too many on her way. She stopped at the door to make sure he was following. “Kisa it is. You’re driving.”

@thestclair-era

[charcubed]

Let's talk about Supernatural 15x07, "Last Call."

Or as I like to call it, "the episode that makes me go feral because it tells us so much about Dean's sexuality, character, and arc." 

YES others have written meta! YES I will talk about it myself for the satisfaction! I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

This post was originally a thread on Twitter and I am crossposting it to my blog.

Alt image IDs are included in that linked Twitter thread!

Join me on this journey.

What's the context of this episode? Dean's been kind of down/depressed, feeling hopeless in the face of the idea that they have to defeat God (and not really working towards that goal much), and he's mid-divorce with Cas. He goes out on this solo case to try to clear his head.

And he ends up at Swayze's Bar. 

 Look, there are many things to be said about this. Dean loves Patrick Swayze. Arguably has a CRUSH on Swayze. It's very tied up in Dean pretending not to like "chick flicks" but he secretly does, which is queer coding. This was a Choice™️.

Speaking of Choices™️: professional actors made many here. Deliberately. 

 Dean is smacked on the ass by a woman and then Lee smacks him on the ass too. Dean and Lee CONSTANTLY have physical familiarity and fond eye contact. I will limit myself to 1 paragraph about this lest I list it all.

My point is that I just really need every person to digest and accept the fact that this is textually bi Dean. Not subtext; it's TEXT. 

Dean and Lee had a relationship. Their history is alluded to in touch and in words. They had an orgy together. Dean's bisexuality is not repressed.

It's also now canon that Dean tries to hide that he can sing well. Most people don't know (like Sam) but some do (Lee). Hence "Eye of the Tiger" callback.

And so: that's also the implication for his sexuality. Dean singing ON STAGE with bi lighting is him being ready to be Out.

They dedicated an entire half an ep at minimum to emphasizing he's bi... and to Dean having a conversation with someone he (initially) trusts about potentially having a break from hunting, and what that could mean.

LEE: You're chasing missing persons, huh? I thought you'd be on to something bigger by now, like the Loch Ness Monster... Bigfoot.

DEAN: Trust me, uh, bigger doesn't always equal better. Besides, who's gonna look out after the little guy? God certainly isn't.

LEE: Damn, brother, that's dark.

DEAN: Yeah, it's been a rough, uh... it's been a rough decade, Lee.

LEE: Yeah.

DEAN: But that's a conversation for a different time, 'cause this, this right here, this is all right.

LEE: Well, I'm glad you approve. This is nothing you can't have, man.

DEAN: Oh, come on. Who's gonna kill the bad guys?

LEE: Somebody else. Dean, how many lives you think you saved, huh? Hundreds? Thousands? You deserve a break, bro. Hell, you might even deserve two.

"But Lee turns out to be a villain!" some might say. "Isn't the point that giving up hunting is bad?" 

Nope. 

Lee's a DARK MIRROR for Dean. He exists to exhibit the truths behind Dean's desires, and then what they'd look like if they turned bad. Take it from him: "I am you."

There are LAYERS here. You can't focus on the dark side and ignore the truths that take place in the (often bi) light. 

The singing? The conversations about taking a break? Throwing men out of the bar, which is framed heroically? "Road House rules" (another Choice™️)?

NONE of that was bad. It shows what Dean wants. 

Things only get bad–literally and visually–when Dean's tied up as Lee suddenly says wrong things in the dark. 

The contrast exists to show that maintaining Goodness is a choice, and Dean would have no problem upholding that.

LEE: It's called a marid. It's a freaky-looking little thing, isn't it? [Lee laughs, and Dean stares at him, incredulous] Ah. As long as you feed it, it gives you money, it gives you health, everything you dreamed of.

DEAN: And so, what, it just costs innocent lives?

LEE: Dean, you and I both know no one's innocent. After everything we've done, aren't... aren't we owed a little happiness, huh? Don't we deserve that much?

DEAN: Listen to yourself. "We're owed." "We deserve." Come on, man. You're not God. Hell, God's not even God.

LEE: Good or bad... the world doesn't care. No one cares, Dean.

DEAN: Well, I do.

LEE: Yeah. And that's what got you here. Now, takes a while to drain a man, but listen to me. Don't worry about it, all right? Don't worry because once you lose a couple of pints, you just fall asleep, and then it'll be over.

[Lee pats Dean on the shoulder]

DEAN: Lee.

LEE: This... this is not how I wanted this to go, Dean. When that blonde girl walked in here last night, I should've know, you know, Dean Winchester, the righter of wrongs, you were gonna keep digging, and you were gonna figure me out. And if it's got to be you or me, well, I got to pick me, man.

"No one cares, Dean."

"Well, I do."

It's a reminder to himself as much as it is to Lee. It's a re-centering of purpose that he sorely needs.

And what's also key? Lee is human, but is now a "monster" in Dean's words. Because Lee lost his ability to care, Dean can't abide by that.

(Side note: bonus for the fact that Lee dies up against a wall by being impaled and he coughs up blood. You know who doesn’t cough up blood in their very weird and unrealistic death scene? Dean in the finale.)

Remember: Lee is a dark mirror for Dean. "I am you." 

By fighting and (tragically) killing Lee, Dean "kills" the darker side of himself. The side that's struggling to keep going right now... AND the side that fears eventually wanting a break means you must be selfish and stop caring.

He can keep going. He can find strength to fight God–and in the end, take a break and CHOOSE peace. It won't make him dark. He's the most caring man on Earth, even when it's hard. That’s reinforced later. 

Isn't he owed a little happiness? And that's not in the having. It's in just being.

The bonus is what's going on with Cas in this episode. 

Dean's clearing his head and finding his center again while Cas is calling him. 

Come home. I need you. Remember what matters.

And again, contrast: Lee turns out not to be "real/true" in the way Dean thought he was. But Cas IS.

And after Dean goes through all of this... he's grounded again, he recognizes that even amongst questions of what God controls there are still choices to be made, he's reminded that letting his caring heart lead him is priority, he's lost another friend... 

He comes home to Cas.

It's awkward. They're still distanced. 

But this episode is a turning point for Dean. He's not angry at Cas anymore, he wants to talk, he's ready to move forward... he just doesn't know how to yet.

And if you follow the through-line... then you get Rowena saying "fix it"... and then after that is the Purgatory prayer.

I just !!! 

S15 is packed with Dean development to hone in towards the end of his arc, but "Last Call" manages to hit SO many buttons. 

• He's always been bi, & is ready to be Out

• He can want a break–& maybe run a bar like the Roadhouse

• Caring is at the core of who he is

It's about the CHOICE. It's about wanting to live your truths, and that "caring" can mean many things–from defeating God and saving the world, to making the hard choices when it counts, to maybe running a bar where people are safe.

14x10 and its matching Texan Star also say hello:

DEAN: How come you always have a boyfriend?

PAMELA: How come you only want what you can't have?

DEAN: Whoa.

PAMELA: Besides, you don't want me. You just like to flirt. I'm a psychic, so I kinda know.

DEAN: All right.

PAMELA: So, still not ready to sell the bar, huh? It's a lot of money.

DEAN: Sell? This bar? This is my dream.

PAMELA; Yeah.

And I recognize that rereading this info is sad(der) now because of what we got in the end, so uh... sorry. 

But that's half the point: it's repeatedly blatantly clear what we were meant to get, down to deliberate echoes in word choice–caring, happiness, deserve, even Roadhouse.

Dean was meant to choose to take a break, maybe run a bar–whether on Earth or in Heaven. At minimum, if Dean was meant to end up in Heaven, he was meant to choose it with eyes wide open. And the next time the phone rang with Cas' name (15x19), he RAN for him. He was VERY ready.

And the whole season tells you that. This episode is just my favorite.

So... thanks for letting me ramble on about it!!! 

DEAN WINCHESTER: BI ICON, ONCE-LOVER OF LEE WEBB, THE MOST CARING MAN ON EARTH WHO DESERVED TO CHOOSE PEACE AFTER GAINING HIS FREEDOM, & SOULMATE TO AN ANGEL

And a very big thank you to the talented kings Jensen Ackles & Christian Kane, and their longstanding friendship. They gave me many rights with their acting choices. 

Here's an iconic bonus for the road.

[gritpyre-archived]

Drip.

Originally a reply to an rp I have with @clockworkgalaxies, I got carried away and wrote uuuh a lot, thought I might as well post it here! Basil belongs to my friend

Hours pass, languid, lethargic; the grey of the sky parts as the clouds let the sun peek dimly, coating the twilight in rust colored reds and yellows. Specs of dust see-saw their way to the floor, their trajectory illuminated briefly by little beams of light that dance around the room. Alma’s eye follows their sway indifferently, she has one ear pinned backward towards where Basil lays in bed, the other listening firmly to the sepulchral silence of the building.

She can hear the brat’s breathing; it’s rhythmical, regular, a comforting and blissful distraction. It’s enough for a while, she can focus on it and cast away the twitches of her hands, her grinding teeth, the ever building tension that makes her muscles burn with the desire to tear themselves apart. She tries to count Basil’s breaths, tries to let the numbers bury the gasping of her mind, but she can never make it past thirteen without a particularly violent twitch forcing her to start over.

But the scream resurfaces eventually - too early for her taste. It gnaws violently at her frontal lobe, banging around the bones in her skull, demanding attention, to be heard and acknowledged. She almost wants to yell to let it out but she knows it wouldn’t change anything, the scream doesn’t belong to her and therefore, she has no right to get rid of it. Without escape it keeps building up, she can feel its slow travel downwards when her brain isn’t enough to contain it, tearing through each of her vertebra, yanking down her shoulders, zapping the nerves around her hands, siphoning the strength in her legs, making the nothing in her stomach roil, threatening to burst through every single pore in her skin- 

Alma!

She grimaces, closing her eyes hard as she brings a hand to her face, palming around her head as if she could grab the echo and crush it in between her talons, but all her fingers find is a tarry wetness trickling lazily from under her eyepatch. It takes her a couple of muddled seconds before recognition hits her so hard she stumbles until her back hits a wall, the squelch that comes from the impact confirming her fears.

There is blood all over her, coming out through the markings. Her good eye looks down to find sinewy threads painting her body an almost pitch black red, the heavy drip… drip… drip… of her fleshy blood screeching in her ears, the shock finally silencing the scream, or maybe the body had just found a way to let it out through a different path. She swallows hard, hissing when her throat hurts and tastes of iron.

She stops her hands from trying to wipe the mess off from her, knowing the flow won’t stop until it wants to.  Alma hopes it won’t get bad enough for her to pass out like an idiot, but even then Tati could just throw her into a corner and wait for her to wake up or die; though she knows for a fact the older woman would prefer her alive, if only because she’s making a huge mess on the already fucked up floor and she’d love to chew her out for it as she cleans it herself because her dumb ass doesn’t even know how to use a mop-

That dripping is annoying.

Either way, she already owes her for what she did for the stupid kid, adding another nuisance to the mix in a single day is nothing new for her, and she’s sure she will handle whatever form of pay Tati requests of her, even if she has to do it a couple pints lighter, dizzy and nauseous and shivering, it really didn’t matter.

Shivering?

Drip. The sound makes her heart jolt, chest rising and falling as her eye looks for the source of the noise automatically, Alma chuckles nervously when she remembers it’s just her blood already making a small pool for itself at the base of her feet. It feels weird, she trembles at the sight.

Ridiculous, she thinks, she’s been covered from head to toe in her own ichor innumerable times, there’s nothing to be afraid of, it doesn’t matter how it’s happening when it’s a familiar situation. Her gaze pans to the windows, from where the sun is still making its way to disappear behind the horizon. She sighs, hugging herself tight, ears pinning themselves against her head when the movement sends trickles of blood clashing onto the floor, the sound reverberating through the whole building.

That can’t be right. It’s too loud, someone will come to yell at her and she won’t be able to hear them through the noise her blood is making, she can barely hear herself through the slow trickling encompassing her body, every single drop a cacophony.

Her head quickly starts pounding as strongly as her heart, and she finds herself hunching painfully, crushed under the tumult. Some nebulous part of her questions how is it that Basil is still sleeping with the dripping clamoring and threatening to bludgeon dozens of holes into the floor. She wishes he would wake but before she can wonder why the shivering intensifies, her body tensing with enough strength to make her gasp for air.

The fear returns when the noise starts coming through the walls, from the ceilings, she hears the slothful dripping coming in through the beams of light, ringing around in the specs of dust still drifting to the floor, mixing in with the scream she had torn from Basil and Ashlei and Ashlei and Ashlei’s throat. 

She needs to get away, she needs to escape the noise, beat it out of herself if need be, but she’s frozen in place, the oozing of her blood running cold like icicles piercing her joints, nailing her in place with a glacial grip. And in that moment of surprise she realizes the room is quiet.

But it’s so loud.

---

When Basil begins to stir she’s slumped in the farthest corner of the room, disheveled hair obscuring her face in the low light, a trail of acrid smelling blood following her from outside. She has a hand propped in one of her knees, holding her head. One of her ears flickers when she hears him swear, a laughter that doesn’t quite seem to erupt from her droning through the place.

‘‘Mornin’, sunshine.’’

[opalescedlotus]

Monday:

She’s started baking again. The other members of the Syndicate drop by sometimes to taste-test her recipes, and she shows them the progress she’s made in the construction of her underground city. They compliment the flower paths outside the city, the bridges and floating lanterns and the gorgeous high ceilings and furnishings within, the little subterranean forest and the waterfall, the decorations and details that make the cavernous space cozy. They see what she’s built and they praise her for it and it is exhilarating. She’s grown stronger day by day with the Syndicate in her corner; they pull her up to stand on equal footing with them, and when she expresses her concerns, they listen.

There are days, however, when she can’t bring herself to bake; on those days the heat of the furnace crawls uncomfortably against her skin and the knife block rattles in the corner with each item she sets down on the countertop. On those days she’ll climb. Buildings, mountains, trees—anything that’ll get her to a height where her lungs strain from lack of oxygen and the ringing in her head eases. She jumps, sometimes. They don’t know she does this. They don’t need to know; she’s strong enough to deal with that herself.

Yesterday was their leader’s birthday, and she’d left the party with leftover cake and cookies and brioche. Today is a good day; maybe she’ll share the cookies with Jack.

—

Tuesday:

He’s called the harbinger, the omen, the angel of death. Crows perform at his bidding and the great, lumbering bears of the north shake the ground as he directs them. He emerges from impossible battles with nary a scratch on his body. People across the earth have speculated that he’s a demon, or contracted with a demon, or one of the acolytes of the Blood God like the Blade. He likes to collect these epithets and rumors; when his crows perch on his shoulder to recount the news of the land or messages from his allies they update him on the tales they tell of the angel. They’re all wrong, in the end. Death herself graced him with her favor long ago to act as her representative on the mortal plane.

She’s been dormant recently; her absences had never affected him so strongly before, but ever since he’s entered this land, he’s felt weaker, more fragile. He watched his son destroy the country he founded with a haze across his vision, and then he killed his own son, and the act of it didn’t register until days later. Months fly by in a blur and the only person who can enforce any sort of focus is the Blade and so that simmering anger became his own and it fed into his own pain. There was something rotting in the land and it killed his son and he felt it his duty to purge it with the same TNT that destroyed his wings. He doesn’t regret it.

Today, he finds some measure of peace in building his training room. His son is back and everything is not-quite-broken and his body still aches.

—

Wednesday:

There are too many variables, too many uncertainties. He’s placed his fingerprints on too many projects and lives, and the guilt of his cooperation and his associations claws at his lungs. Dream, neutrality in the midst of war, Dream and his prison and the damned prison rules, Quackity, Las Nevadas. He doesn’t know what he considers his worst fuck-up: Tommy’s death, the torture he’d permitted in his collaboration with Las Nevadas, his betrayal of Ponk’s love and trust, or his inability to save anyone during the banquet.

The hotel stands as a testament to his failure to protect the youngest resident of the land. He plans detours around that plot whenever he travels between the bank and the prison; the little robot stationed by the hotel tells him the boy doesn’t come by anymore, and he knows automatons don’t feel emotions, but he grieves for it anyway. He sees his valentine walking along the wooden pathways and his heart aches to see the damage he had caused. He checks the prison’s security footage and he tells himself guilt has no place in his heart for what happened. He’s surprised the captain and the god and all the rest of the banquet victims still talk to him. But they do, and it gives him hope. His friends are back and free and even though one of them is trying to start a little scuffle with a god, today he’s having fun throwing weednip around and sliding down the pyramid with his closest friends.

The present’s a gift, and he intends on cherishing this moment.

—

Thursday:

He’s building a pub because Wilbur owes him a pint. He knows that man can’t be completely trusted, not now. Not since he died by his crossbow. But it feels good to be acknowledged as someone worth an apology, someone important. He has been abandoned and pushed aside and pushed into lava pits and into hell all within the span of a few months. No one cared. He hates it, he hates the way he’s been made irrelevant and a shadow of his friends’ stories. Even his plans for revenge had been inconsequential, unfruitful: the boy had lived and his accomplice had left him to brood in his own anger.

He’s held his grudges close to his heart and he’s let them fester and he won’t admit he’s tired of it all. If he lets go, then it all disappears and he’s really, truly dead, and if this is his afterlife, if all he can do is lag after the people he cares for, then it’s a fucking shit deal. So today, he’s continuing his work on the pub because he burned down his own home and because the hotel feels too sterile and empty, because he wants to have a space built with his own two hands where he can speak and someone will finally, finally listen. It’s not quite moving on. He’ll take it anyway.

—

Friday:

She tries to live by the code of kindness and reciprocity; that’s how she lived on the high seas of her youth, or so she suspects, based on the journal she found at the site of the shipwreck. Since the day she joined this land, she has made friends and found love and taken the young residents under her wing and vowed to fight against evil. She gives stacks of items to those who need them and she fixes up the holes in the road and offers therapy on difficult days.

The world isn’t as kind as she is. A country was erased from the map for grudges she still doesn’t understand, and no one will tell her the why discs, of all things, are so important. Two boys would have lost their lives to a monster she housed, had it not been for the money Tommy paid a mercenary for his aid. She mourned the loss of Tommy’s life as she fought to keep the hotel in his name, and when he requested therapy upon his resurrection, she was horrified at the effects of trauma he’d exhibited. The friends she’d tried to pull out of the Egg’s influence celebrated a young boy’s death and killed her son. And now this man has taken her friend’s turtle hostage for no reason she can comprehend.

She’s tired. She’s breaking; they’d presumed her kindness was a weakness and maybe it is. Today, she plans on destroying the red menace on the edge of her son’s land. It’s her turn.

—

Saturday:

He’s not sure how many sandstone blocks he’s carved out of the desert at this point, nor how many quartz chips and gold nuggets he’s pulled out of the Netherworld. The villagers know him by name and chat with him when he stops by to trade for emeralds and other goods. His hands bleed gold ichor from the opened blisters dotting his hands, and burns line the edges of his fingertips. Lately, his whole world is rushing by in colors of beige and yellow, green and white and blue. The color red started it, the scramble to build more and more—and it stopped it too, if only for a little while. Ponk asked him for permission to build on his land, told him it was a gift: a peace offering and an apology and a new beginning. It’s a silly build and it doesn’t match the aesthetic of the rest of his summer home, but it warmed his heart, to see the giant red refrigerator rising up from the top of the sand dunes for the first time. Ponk built it just for him. Quackity told him he was alone, and that he didn’t matter if he didn’t assert his powers like he did in the past, and he was wrong. Ponk stays, loves him for who he is now and not for the destruction he wrought.

He doesn’t know what to do now; his father destroyed the build for some grudge she holds against his friend, and he’s exhausted. He’s tired of being pulled into conflict. A vacation from all the tension occurring on his land would not be unwarranted, at this point—a few days, a week. It sounds relaxing—and he’ll do it, he’ll take a vacation, and he’ll tell Ponk that he’s in charge of the summer home later today. He has some packing to do.

—

Sunday:

He likes to splash around the pools and fountains in Las Nevadas when he has to visit. Sometimes he’ll climb up the needle and lean on the bannisters to feel the fresh air ruffling his hair and he thinks about jumping—the air turns hot and stale and the ground burbles up in orange and red—but his brother pulls him out of it, usually. Otherwise the place is boring. He’s not allowed in the gambling den or the club, so he hovers around the forests away from Las Nevadas when Wilbur and Quackity want to speak alone.

Today is one of those days. It’s fine by him; dealing with the two of them together makes him uncomfortable, with the way they push and pull him to their sides. The cigarette smoke lingering on their breaths remind him of the ravine, the explosions from the first war-second -Logstedshire-doomsday-nukes-prison. He’s escaped, for now. The air of the forest is crisp; he can spot flowers in the meadow ahead and he plucks them to form a careless bouquet. Alliums, lilies-of-the-valley, daisies; poppies and cornflowers and dandelions. He threads them together to form crowns and rings, places one on his head and cradles the rest to his chest to stash at home. It’s been a while since he’s made them; before he moved to this land he’d make them for his brother and his brother’s father, the dogs and cows and sheep around the farm. He feels like a child again and his lips twist at the bittersweetness. He’s found himself a bubble and soon Wilbur will barge his way in to speak of his loyalties and Dream and whatever the fuck he’s stormed up with Quackity, but for now, he’ll pick flowers and make chains and chains and chains that, for once, won’t drag him down.

—

  Monday’s child is fair of face.

Tuesday’s child is full of grace.

Wednesday’s child is full of woe.

Thursday’s child has far to go.

Fridays’ child is loving and giving.

Saturday’s child works hard for a living.

And the child born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe, good and gay.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Now or Never Now

A/N  Really more of a PSA: drunkenness and unrequited (or unacknowledged) feelings for your roommate aren’t the best of bed fellows.

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

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

May 1, 2018, The Pride of Spitalfields, London, England

If he were forced to account for his twenty-eight years of life, he reckoned he’d made a decent start of things.  It helped to have been born into a loving, boisterous family, cradled in the bucolic nursery garden of the Scottish Highlands.  A good education, good values, a strong sense of duty: these he owed to his parents.  

Since moving to London at twenty-two, he’d begun to weave the advantages of youth into the intentions of adulthood, with varied results.  Failed relationships, the struggles of establishing a career in his uncle’s shadow and the cataclysm of his accident were setbacks, to be sure, but they forged his character in the blast furnace of adversity.  He enjoyed the comradeship of a tight-knit group of colleagues and friends.  Only three months ago, he’d been promoted to Crew Manager at the Bethnal Green station, and he had his eye on a Station Officer post before he turned thirty-five, his ambition to finally break free of Dougal’s influence.  And Claire.  He couldn’t count his blessings without numbering his Sassenach among them.

He performed this annual stock-taking as he walked to his local pub.  It was his birthday, and he was meeting some friends for a celebratory drink.  To absolutely no-one’s surprise except her own, Claire had finished her first year of medical school at the top of her class, and he’d convinced her to join them.

The air was warm and sweet with blossoms as he entered the pub to a rowdy cheer.  His mates had secured two tables near the tiny stage where a three-piece band were setting up.  The party was well underway, and a pint of lager was thrust into his hand before he’d even taken his seat.

He thought he’d been rather surreptitious in checking the door each time it opened, but Hamish slapped him hard on the back and commented in a voice the whole table could hear.

“Yer Sassenach missus willna get here any faster wi’ yer eyes glued tae the door, lad.  Christ, has she got ye whipped!”

He felt the tips of his ears grow warm as the rest of the table laughed and joined in on the good-natured ribbing.  When he looked back up, Claire was standing there shedding her coat.  He momentarily forgot to breathe.  She was wearing black tights and the jean mini-skirt from their first meeting in this very pub, along with a sleeveless, cropped, ruffled confection that he’d definitely never seen before.  She was, quite simply, stunning.  The momentary lull from the rest of the table told him he wasn’t the only one who thought so.  He stood and hastened to greet her with a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Jamie!” she cried.  “Happy birthday!”  Her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned in to return his kiss, barely missing his lips.  He could smell whisky on her breath.

“Did ye get a headstart on yer celebratin’, Sassenach?” he asked, both amused and confounded.  Claire hadn’t mentioned any other plans, and it wasn’t like her to drink alone at their flat.

“Aye, I have,” she giggled. “I had a partner in crime.  Look who’s here!”

Claire gestured towards the coat check, where a familiar redhead was flirting with the attendant.  His wame plummeted towards his shoes.

“Geillis,” he greeted as she approached.  “Welcome back tae London.  I didna realize ye were visiting.”

“Aye, we just arrived yesterday.  Happy birthday, fox cub.  Ye look well,” she commented with a smirk.

“As do ye,” he replied politely, glancing quickly at Claire to gauge her reaction, but she was observing the band, who had just begun to play.

“Och, mince,” Geillis replied.  “My arse needed its own baggage allowance, but at least my tits are huge.  Ferget about the bairns, I hadta pry Juan Carlos off ‘em so I could join in yer wee festivities!”

It was comforting to see motherhood hadn’t dampened Geillis’ spirit in the slightest.

“I see the lads are all here,” Claire segued quickly.  “What are we drinking?”

Jamie slid his chair over to make room for the two newcomers.  Before she’d even sat down, Geillis bought a round of shots for the table, to the general delight of his mates.  It was going to be an interesting night.

***

“Com’ dance wit’ me!” Claire yelled in his ear louder than was absolutely necessary.  Several hours had passed, and he’d lost track of the number of pints and shots she’d consumed.  Realizing one of them would need to stay relatively sober, he’d been nursing the same ale for the past hour.

“Claire, I really dinna dance o’ermuch,” he stalled as she dragged him towards the small area between tables where a few other couples were rocking together to a slow ballad.

“Neveryouworry, lad.  I’ll lead.”  Of course you will, he thought fondly.

Instead of leading, Claire literally fell against his chest, allowing his bulk to catch her.  Chilly hands met behind his neck and began teasing his curls where they lay against his nape.  He couldn’t’ help it.  He shuddered.  Drunk, he reminded himself.  She is drunk, she is yer roommate, and she trusts ye.

“Are y’ havin’ a good birthday, Jamie?” she murmured into his clavicle, where her forehead was resting.  He couldn’t help smiling.  He’d once compared her to a lioness, but right now she was doing a fair impression of a dozy kitten, allowing him to sway their bodies side-to-side in complete contradiction to the music’s rhythm.

“Aye.  Aye, I am.  And ye, Sassenach?  Did I mention how proud I am of ye fer acing yer exams?”

The moist air of her chuckle seeped through his shirt.  “Only a dozen times.  Thanks for keepin’ me fed and caffeinated whilst I studied.  I couldinit have done it wi’out you.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach.  We make a braw team.”

He said it offhandedly, but Claire stilled in his arms, leaning back to peer up into his face.  There was something there, behind her slightly glazed eyes, that he’d given up hope of ever seeing.

“We do, don’t we?” she whispered, gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips, before skittering away.  The humid air of the pub seemed to press in on him from all sides, making it difficult to draw a solid breath.  A warning bell began to peel somewhere in his mind, alerting him to the fact he was in very grave danger of making an ass of himself.

She’s no’ yours, lad, he coached himself.  No’ unless she wills it, and she canna know her own mind when she’s hammered.  He tried to divert the conversation to safer territory.

“Tis good tae see Geillis again.  Ye must have missed her somethin’ fierce.”

“Mmmm,” Claire hummed noncommittally.  One of the hands that had been resting behind his neck began to thread through his hair, fingernails scraping lines of pleasure into his scalp.  Christ, that wasn’t helping his cause at all.

“Claire...” he entreated into the scant space between them.  Her long legs had somehow become entangled with his own.  She was practically riding his thigh.  Another few inches, and she was going to come into contact with the only part of him that was enthusiastic about dancing with a beautiful lass.

“I think iz time y’ take me home, James Fraser,” the limpet formerly known as his roommate purred in his ear.  Thank Christ.  Another few minutes of that sultry upright writhing, and he might have taken her right there on the beer-stained table in front of the darts board.

Navigating Claire’s increasingly pliant body towards the door and the salvation of the cool night air, Jamie ran directly into the diminutive roadblock of her best friend.  Pulling him aside, she grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged his head down to her level.

“I ken she’s yer roommate and ye look at her as though she’s the sun after a thousand days o’ rain, but she’s my best friend an’ I love her.  She’s scared, but she trusts ye.  Dinna fuck it up.”

Without awaiting a reply, Geillis spun around and returned to their table.  When he turned towards Claire, she was giving him a peculiar look.  He shrugged it off as nothing more than inebriation, and started the short three-legged stumble back to their flat.

“Ye know, Sassenach, this is twa times I’ve had tae practically carry ye home from tha’ pub.  Ye’re a verra predictable drunk.”  They were navigating Brick Lane with a heavy list to starboard, where Claire leaned heavily into his side.

“First of all, milad, I am. Not. Drunk.  You canned be drunk if y’ can shtill walk upright.  Thas your rule, may I remind you.”  Mid-lecture, the heel of her boot caught between two cobbles. She would have gone down in a heap were he not already bearing most of her weight.  “Ooops!”

“An’ second of all,” she continued undaunted, “when didyu carry me again? Since? Fuck!  Before?”

He chuckled.  If nothing else, Claire was a very amusing drunk.

“Twas the first night we met, actually.  Ye were shipping out tae Afghanistan the verra next day.”

They’d reached their front door.  He was fumbling for his keys when he noticed Claire had gone remarkably silent.  Even in the yellow glow of the hallway, her face was incredibly pale.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?  Are ye gonna be sick?”

What came out of her mouth next was even worse.

“You fucked Geillis.  That night.  In our shower.”

Golden eyes interrogated him, tearing away any hope of evasion.  Gone was the cuddly kitten, and the lioness was on the hunt for blood.  Christ, he was going to kill Geillis for sharing intimate details of their one-night stand.  Assuming he lived to see tomorrow.

She trusts ye.  Dinna fuck it up.

His father had an aphorism he was fond of repeating.  Being an adult has little to do with your actions, he would say, and everything to do with living with the consequences of those actions.   Any callow lad could stick his cock in a lass, but it took a man to live up to his responsibilities thereafter.

“Aye.  I did. Twasn’t planned, nor somethin’ I’m particularly proud of, but thas’ the truth of it.  It didna mean anything, Sassenach.  Twas jus’ sex.”

They were inside the flat now.  He was mentally trying to evaluate whether it was safe for Claire to shower, or if he should simply tuck her into bed with a basin and some Gatorade.  She wasn’t moving, though.   She stood in the streetlight that illuminated their living space, a disheveled, beautiful mess.

“It’s my turn.”  She sounded sober, all of a sudden.  He poured a tall glass of cold water from the sink for her, regardless.

“Yer turn fer what, Sassenach?”

“My turn for you to fuck me.”

There was a hollow thunk and the cool splash of water against the cuffs of his trousers as the glass he had been holding hit the floor.  His chest felt like he was trying to suck cake batter through a straw.  To make matters worse, while he was in the kitchen she had shed her top and was standing in a sheer black bra, the peaks of her nipples cast in silvered shadow.

“Claire...” he breathed out.

She approached slowly, extending a hand to lay over his sprinting heart.

“Don’t you want me?”  Asked by any other woman, the question would be coy, but he heard the truth behind her query.  She really didn’t know.  Either he was a better actor than he gave himself credit for, or she was still seeing him through the filter of her past mistreatment.

“So much tha’ it hurts tae breath, lass.  But ye dinna want this, Claire.  No’ now.” His body was already protesting his declaration, a pulsing ache centered in his balls, but rooted in his heart.

“It’s now or never now, Jamie.  This is all that I have to give.  Isn’t it enough?”

She took his hand and placed it over the scalloped seam of her breasts.  Without volition, his fingers curled, testing the pliant firmness beneath them.  His muscles ached from holding himself in check.

“Tis far more than I deserve, Sassenach.  But the answer is no.” He pulled his hand away, his fingertips still tingling from the velvet of her skin.  “Ye should get some sleep.”

Her glass face showed every emotion, each more painful to witness than the last: hurt, anger, embarrassment, spite, and finally betrayal.  Mumbling a hasty goodnight, she practically ran to her own room.  He could hear her there now, sobs muffled by the wall he placed between them.

Dinna fuck it up.

He cradled his throbbing head in his hands.  How could doing the right thing turn out so horribly, spectacularly wrong?

***

May 21, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

It has been twenty days since Claire’s drunken proposition, and they’d barely spoken a word to each other in that time.  As much as he was prepared for  awkwardness to descend upon their once-easy relationship, he was shocked by how much her avoidance pained him.  Couldn’t she see that he’d acted out of affection, and as her friend, ignoring the very great temptation she’d lain at his feet?

His first strategy had been to give her space.  He snatched at any excuse to be out of the flat: long runs, a pint after work with the lads, and even a long weekend with his family at Lallybroch.  Each day his phone was a constant weight in his hand, waiting for the moment she would text him about something bizarre she’d read, or call to ask where he’d hidden the olive oil.  She never rang.

Next he tried haunting their flat, planning to bump into her and force that first, clumsy conversation.  He was certain that once they got past that hurdle, they could begin to rebuild their rapport.  Almost certain.  Desperately certain.  She didn’t come home, working double shifts at the hospital and timing her visits for a shower, nap and change of clothes to coincide with his work shifts.  One night he fell asleep on the couch listening for the sound of her key in the door.  He woke the next morning covered in the plaid from his bed, but once again alone.

He sat in an outdoor cafe, watching London unfold under the warming sun like a rose, and considered what he knew about Claire that would help mend the breach.  She was stubborn.  The past twenty days were testimony of that.  She was proud.  She would sooner suffer than accept help.  She held herself to incredibly high standards, and hated to fail at anything.  She would have taken his rejection in the worst possible light.  She’d been badly hurt and deceived.  Their relationship had been one cautious step after another across the tightrope of trust strung between them.  Fueled by drunken emotion, she’d leapt forward, and he had not been there to catch her.

He opened his phone and stared at her photo in his contacts.  She’d been furious with him the day he snapped it.  He’d dragged her to a park on her day off to play rugby, only to find out the match had been cancelled on account of the heavy rain.  Heavy ringlets hung over a soaking jersey, and her glowing eyes promised swift revenge.

A dozen flowery or flippant texts were considered and abandoned before he opted for the simple and true.

I’m sorry.  I know I hurt you, and I want to make it better.  Please tell me how.

He pocketed his phone and crossed the road to the fire station for his evening shift.  If she hadn’t answered by the morning, he’d try again, and keep trying until she finally responded.

Twelve hours later, dawn was just cracking the sky as he prepared to walk home.  The station alarm rang out, but the day crew would take the call.  Even now, they were throwing on their gear and firing up the engine.  

“Corbet Place.  Isn’t that your neighbourhood, Fraser?” the driver commented as he hastened past.

Ice water flushed into his veins.  There were exactly two buildings on Corbet Place, and one of them contained a flat where a beautiful Sassenach was currently sleeping off a double shift.  A beautiful Sassenach who could sleep through a fire alarm.

He hoisted himself into the cab of a departing engine.

“Hey lad, this isn’t a taxi!” one of old hands joked, but sobered when he saw Jamie’s face.

The streets were empty.  They made the trip in record time that felt like an eternity to his racing heart.  As they drew near, the reek of a burning structure filled the air.  A half dozen other engines were parked haphazardly in the adjacent lot, their booms extending like insect antennae towards a cruelly familiar five-story brick building.  Flames licked the corner of one of the lower levels, punctuated by the pop of shattering glass and the skeletal groan of old beams giving way.

Grabbing a spare coat, hat and respirator, he ran towards his building, ignoring every professional protocol and ounce of common sense he possessed.  Claire was in their flat, and there wasn’t a power under the sun that would keep him from getting to her.

“Jamie!”

He spun towards her voice, thinking he might be hallucinating.  But no, sitting on a picnic table, wrapped in his Fraser plaid, was his beautiful Sassenach.   His knees turned to water and he sank to the bitumen at her feet.

“Claire...” he wheezed, adrenaline still coursing through his limbs.

“Were you on your...”

“How did ye...”

They both spoke, then lapsed back into stunned silence.

“Ye’re safe.” He said it as much to himself as to her.  “Ye’re here.  I thought.. when I heard the call... Christ, Sassenach.  I’ve never been sae scared in my entire life.  How did ye get out?”

“I got your text.  I was dozing on the couch, waiting for you to come home so we could talk.  The fire alarm woke me.  There was already so much smoke.  I used your plaid to cover my nose and mouth and ran down the fire escape.  Oh Jamie, I’m so sorry.”

Claire’s chin fell towards her chest, a lone tear streaking through the soot that marked her cheek.  He ran a shaking hand through her unbound hair.

“Why are ye sorry, Sassenach?”

“All your things.  Your memories.  They were all in that flat.”

He tilted her up by the chin.

“Claire, look at me.  There isn’t a feckin thing in tha’ flat that I care about that isna sitting in front of me right now.  Jesus, woman, do ye no’ ken the thought of losing ye tears out my guts?”

She looked deeply into his eyes, peering into his very soul.  For once, he did not think to hide behind a mask.  Let her see how she utterly destroyed and remade him.  All around them, the world faded to smoke.

“You... you love me?”

Nownownow.

“Aye.  I do.”

[onewheel-accesories]

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[crimsoncityhq]

The fall solstice is only days from breaking over the Crimson City. Heat is a rare commodity to the residents of Chicago, so they part with it bitterly every year at the annual End-of-Summer Festival. The season goes out with a bang and the rumble of food trucks every summer as patrons waltz their way down the Chicago art walk, indulge in all things saucy and boozy at the Chicago Bourbon and BBQ Festival, get in touch with nature at the Chicago craft beer tasting at the zoo, and shop at the Chicago flea market littered with street merchants from all over the country. Of course, the real selling point every year is the annual Chicago bar crawl, which sweeps guests through Cook County’s best bars, like The Pint, Rousseau’s, Cataleya, Wolves and Skyfall Bar. To attract more customers, each bar, restaurant, and club—even what goes on behind—will be steeply discounted for the ultimate occasion. 

And if you’re a little territorial, don’t sweat it—no metal detectors will be necessary at the End-of-Summer Festival. Who would want to ruin all this fun, anyway ?!

Part I of the End-of-Summer Festival begins at 7:15 P.M. CST and will conclude on TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 15 at 7 P.M. CST. You may continue your non-event  threads through the event, however we ask you don’t post any starters unless they pertain to the event

Under the cut are plot slots you may claim for this event; just send your preferred slot to the main. Plots slots are a first come, first serve basis.

We’re going to allow each person to choose two plot slots for two characters max .If there are any leftovers, we’ll let members know when they can sign up for thirds. Please try to pick one pertaining to your character and plot with those that take the other spots.

You’ll notice that some of these plots are public, so feel free to have your character react to them/ notice them even if they aren’t happening directly to your character. However, if something feels like it happened privately to another character, please check in with their Mun to see if it’s okay for your character to know.

To be clear: these are not the only things that happen to your character during this plot drop and you are more than welcome to cook up your own trouble.

1. IRA EVANS talks BIRDIE MENDOZA into taking five shots in under ten minutes. Now, it’s up to IRA EVANS to lug BIRDIE MENDOZA to each location on the bar crawl. Good luck—we hear they’re sloppy.

2. [LINCOLN ROSSI ] is having trouble finding their way out of the parking garage when they find [ CHARACTER D ] drunkenly screaming at an intoxicated [ CHARACTER E ]. [ LINCOLN ROSSI ] decides to guide them back to the party before they get lost.

3. [ EDIE JAMES ] accidentally drops a ten instead of a one into the tip jar while watching a street act. They awkwardly remove the tip but later get mugged by [ CHARACTER G ] and [ CHARACTER H ] who had watched the whole thing.

4. The Pint is running a promotion that promises six months of free drinks if you can outdrink two other people. [ LAVRENTI VASILE ], [ ANTON VOLKOV ], and [ ATTICUS MERCER ] compete to win, but the competition turns into drunken chaos very quickly.

5. [ VIOLET MADDEN ]is selected to go onstage and perform a duet with [ CHARACTER M ]. They end up sharing a heated moment over the microphone and head to the nearest restroom to talk. 

6. [ AUTUMN DAWSON ] accompanies [ MARCEL WALSH] to the craft beer tasting at the zoo. [ MARCEL WALSH ] feeds the goats in the petting area before getting mowed over by it. [ AUTUMN DAWSON ] tries to ward the goat off from the sidelines while [ MARCEL WALSH ] returns to their feet to make their escape.

7. [ OAKLEY BUTLER ] is showing off their artwork at the art walk. [ LEONID 'LEO' VASILE ] buys a piece and tries to scam it a few booths down. [ OAKLEY BUTLER ] busts them after a civilian buys the piece of artwork for triple the price. The confrontation is no bueno.

8. [ DIAMOND WASHINGTON ] has been texting [ CHARACTER S ] the whole entire event thinking it was an [ CHARACTER T ]. [ CHARACTER S & CHARACTER T ] meet up at the rendezvous point and [ DIAMOND WASHINGTON ] must sort this miscommunication out.

9. TYSON KANE uses a random dating app and schedules a blind date with [CHARACTER V]. 

10. [ CHARACTER W ] ‘accidentally’ sets a booth on fire, and now owes [CHARACTER X] the money for their artwork.

11. [ NADIA JAMES ] crashes into [ MARISSA ATKINSON’s ] car when trying to park. They have an altercation in the parking garage.

12. [ JUNO SONG ] is seen drunkenly trying to serenade the penguin exhibit to Gangsta’s Paradise. [ ADELAIDE HASSAN ] records the whole entire thing for ‘information purposes’ later.

13. [ CHARACTER C1 ] accepts a small baggy containing a questionable substance from [ CHARACTER D1 ]. Later, [ CHARACTER C1] runs into [ CHARACTER D1] completely convinced they are being chased by a murderous peacock. Bougie Thankskilling, anyone?

14. [ ARMANDE IVASHKOV ] & [ CHARACTER F1 ] stand in line to get into Cataleya, while [CHARACTER G1] tries to convince them to smuggle in [ SMALL ANIMAL OF CHARACTER G1’S CHOOSING ].

15. [ EMMA BARTLETT] finds a trashbag full of cash with a note that seems to be in a binary code. [ CHARACTER I1] catches [ EMMA BARTLETT’s] silhouette & comes over to inspect.

16. ROSALIA LEON trying to escape from their date, runs right through the doors of Gentile Fille. They collide with [ CHARACTER K1] that was there for the same reason. 

17. [ CHARACTER L1 ] finds themself in a pickle when they end up with the primates. Their panicked whispers gain the attention of [ CHARACTER M1] & [ CHARACTER N1] to help them get out of the exhibit. While the primates descend upon [ CHARACTER L1], Helen Branch Primate House will never be the same. [ CHARACTER N1] stops helping because they’re too busy laughing.

18. [ CHARACTER O1] misses their date’s ass, and smacks [CHARACTER P1’s] ass instead. It causes [ CHARACTER P1] to swing a fist, but they hit [ CHARACTER Q1’s] throat instead causing them to start choking. 

19. [ KATERINA VASILE ] is mistaken for [ EMMA WATSON ] by [ CHARACTER S1] that won’t stop bugging them for an autograph.

20. [ RAFAEL GONZALEZ ] hides their weapon(s) before they go into The Pint. [ BARNABY EATON] trips over the weapons and keeps them. 

21. [ CHARACTER V1] tries to convince [ CHARACTER W1] that they saw strange lights in the sky. They start arguing if it was helicopter lights or UFO’s.

22. [ SILAS HALE ] mistakes ANAIS "ANNIE" WASHINGTON for someone else, and pulls them into a kiss in front of the crowd at Eden.

23. [ DARREN MURPHY ] grows impatient waiting for their BBQ food order, but doesn’t realize [ ASLI DEMIR ] hijacked the food truck. 

24. [CHARACTER B2] drunkenly loses a fight with a street performer. [ CALLUM JAMES ], who witnessed the scrap, helps [CHARACTER B2] to the nearest first aid kit.

25.[ JOSIE LEON] drunkenly confesses their love for One Direction, however [ EZRA WASHINGTON ] misinterprets it as a confession of love for them.  

26. [ FOREST DUNCAN ] decides the End-of-Summer Festival is missing some pyrotechnics. They shoot off fireworks in the center of a small crowd and start a fire. [ CAIOLAINN 'CALLIE' WALSH ] is the only one who stays to help them stamp it out.

27. [ ROSALIE "ROSIE" HALLIDAY ] is sitting at a booth being drawn, and [ JESSE VALENCIA ] pays the artist to mess up the self portrait. However, the artist ends up drawing them BOTH together in a romantic position. 

28. [ GWENDOLYN "GWEN" ARNOLDS ] is probably the only poor sober soul, and they use this to charge [ JACKSON MARSTON ] to be their DD. However, they both witness when [ GWENDOLYN "GWEN" ARNOLDS’s] car is towed away for parking in the wrong spot.  

29. A discounted tattoo shop sits along the art walk and is charging only $20 for a small tattoo. [ ANDREA 'ANDY'PEREZ ] says they’ll pay for it—and dinner—if [ DARCY FAUST ] lets them choose the tattoo. [ DARCY FAUST ] agrees but is horrified to find [ UP TO PLAYER DISCRETION ] permanently engraved on their skin.

30. [ OLIVIA MADDEN ] notices an odd tattoo that glows on someone’s forearm. Several straight lines? Before they can inquire about it, [ CHARACTER O2 ] tackle them mistaking them for being a thief. 

31. [ DANICA SINCLAIR ] wins a dancing contest against [ UDORN “YURI” SASIPARN ], but twists their ankle in the process. [ UDORN “YURI” SASIPARN ] agrees to help them along only if they declare them the winner.  

32. [ ANTON VOLKOV ] lost a bet with [ KONSTATIN VASILE ] and now wanders the street with a bright pink wig, fishnet stockings, & a clown mask. 

33. [ VICTOR 'VIC' VOLKOV ] strikes a conversation with [ IGOR VASILE ] over a piece of artwork.  [ VICTOR 'VIC' VOLKOV ] buys the artwork only to find out it was counterfeit from the Art Museum. [ IGOR VASILE ] ends up purchasing the real one. They start to argue which one is the real one. 

34. [ CHARLOTTE "CHARLIE" ARDEN] is running a booth at the flea market and notices [ CHARACTER W2 ] pocket something from an adjacent vendor. [ CHARLOTTE "CHARLIE" ARDEN ] promises not to squeal if [ CHARACTER W2 ] works with them at the booth for an hour.

35.  [ JESSIKA DELMONICO] & [ KELLEN WASHINGTON ] break out into a paint fight at an abandoned art booth. [ JESSIKA DELMONICO ] is splashed with a neon green paint in the face.  [ KELLEN WASHINGTON ] tries to run away, but not before [ CHARACTER X2 ] splashes their back with a brown paint. Did they shit themselves??

36. [ CHARACTER Z2 ] ducks out of the way from a flying object that crashes the window of a closed shop. The alarms start to blare, and before [ CHARACTER Z2 ] can leave the scene they see [ CHARACTER A3 ] about to launch something else. 

37. [ TALIA ARSLAN ] eats a bad hot dog from a food truck, and [ DANICA SINCLAIR ] helps them to the nearest bar for a bathroom and a cool drink. [ TALIA ARSLAN ] talks [ DANICA SINCLAIR ] into doing shots when they’re feeling better.

38. [ LEV VASILE ] takes a few healthy tokes of the joint they’ve been saving for an occasion, and [ GENEVIEVE BISSET ] asks if they’re willing to share. They both light up and head on a self-guided tour to the food trucks.

39. [ CHARACTER F3 ] and [ CHARACTER G3 ] get into an argument with [ MATHIAS ATTANO ] after they lose at a drinking game for the third time in a row. [ MATHIAS ATTANO ] has been cheating the whole time and now has to lose [ CHARACTER F3 ] and [ CHARACTER G3 ] in the crowd.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 218: The Splendor of Cibola

As they arrived back at the Jolly Roger, they found the two agents. Unfortunately, Agent Brooks was long dead, but Agent Green was hanging on by a thread, as Eva quickly went to work.

"Can you save her?" Emma asked.

"She's lost too much blood. I can heal the wound, but she needs a transfusion," Eva replied.

"Agent Green...do you know your blood type?" Eva asked. The woman swallowed thickly and rasped an answer.

"B positive," she uttered weakly.

"Aunt Regina...can you use a little magic? I need at least two pints. I can magically infuse it into her," Eva said. Regina summoned what she needed from the hospital back in Storybrooke. Eva used her magic to heal and seal the wound, before magically infusing the blood transfusion into the woman. She felt exhausted when she was finished, but didn't collapse.

"She needs rest and she should be fine then," Eva said. Leo picked the agent up and carried her down to the Captain's quarters to rest.

"I'll get us underway for that island," Killian said, as he took to the helm.

~*~

Snow and David were led up the gangplank of a ship that looked like it was a luxury ocean liner and were relieved to see Bobby waiting there with Dr. LaGuerra, Malina, Thalia, and Johnny.

"Mom! Dad!" he called, as he rushed to them and they hugged him between them, as Queen Omaru boarded as well, with her two elite commanders, Louda and Kiyun.

"Oh baby...did they hurt you?" Snow asked.

"No...they just took some blood and they were analyzing it. And they've figured out the magic cuff thing," Bobby replied, as Snow and David saw the needle marks on his arm and the black cuff on his wrist. Seething, David started toward the sick doctor, but Kiyun held up a glowing blaster.

"Another step and I discharge an electromagnetic pulse from this gun that will incapacitate you for the foreseeable future," he warned. David stopped, glaring at them, as Snow put her hand on his arm.

"Charming no...we need you," she pleaded with him and he reluctantly retreated and slipped his arm around her waist. Dr. LaGuerra smirked smugly and David sent him another glare.

"Keep smirking, Doctor...because next time I get my hands on you and I will…" he warned.

"Next time, I won't be breaking your nose. Next time...it's going to be your neck," he threatened. The Doctor tried to seem unbothered by his threat, but it was clearly making him squirm. David hugged Snow close with one arm, while he put the other one around their son.

"It's going to be okay...the others are still out there," Bobby whispered to them and they both gave him a reassuring smile. He was right and they knew their older children and other family wouldn't be far behind them.

~*~

Flashback

Zeus gazed down over the Earth solemnly. His daughter was in love again and it should have brought him joy. But it didn't, for he knew their love, though true and strong, was cursed to end in tragedy. And there was nothing he could do to stop it or save her the pain.

"At least she is happy again, even if only for a little while," Athena mentioned.

"How can you say that? You know the pain that is ahead of her again," he said in frustration.

"Because of this curse, she cannot recognize that Adonis is identical to Anchises. He feels drawn to her, for he is Anchises reincarnated into a new life that will ultimately be cut short in violence as well," he continued.

"She will be crushed by her grief again and I, the supreme God, can do nothing but watch it all unfold!" he ranted.

"Father…" Athena tried to soothe him.

"We watched her mourn Anchises for almost a thousand years and we will soon watch her mourn Adonis," he said.

"If she had just listened to me and stayed here on Olympus...she wouldn't have to go through this!" he lamented.

"Father...nothing can keep her from her soulmate, not even you," Athena warned.

"She never listens…" he complained and Athena chuckled.

"Wonder where she gets that," the Goddess teased.

"I am in no mood, daughter," he warned.

"If she had just married Hephaestus as I implored her to, then she would have been safe from all this pain," he said.

"Safe and unhappy. I know my baby sister...she will choose happiness a thousand times, even if it's only for a handful of moments in her life," she replied. He sighed.

"I have failed my lovely Dione. She would be horrified if she knew the terrible curse placed upon our daughter and the hardships she has and will endure," he said.

"Dione is always with her in spirit...she will look after her from Elysian as much as she can. She knows her daughter is strong and would never deny her love," Athena reasoned.

"Fine...but remind me again why you encouraged me not to smite that fool Collector, like I did his father, with one of my lightning bolts?" he asked irritably.

"Father...you cannot just smite every mortal that gets your toga in a twist. The mortals already think you're...not very nice," Athena said delicately.

"Ooohhh...that's putting it mildly," Hermes deadpanned, as she appeared.

"Very funny, sister. Any luck?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not. I have searched countless realms for centuries and Eros is nowhere to be found," she replied sadly.

"Damn the Black Fairy...she continues to elude us," Zeus cursed. He felt helpless and that was not something that the supreme God took well at all.

~*~

Prince Adonis bowed to the visiting dignitaries, as they filed by his mother's Throne at another ball. He detested these balls, but as his eyes met Aphrodite's across the room, he didn't mind them so much anymore, since he knew he would spend much of the evening with her in his arms.

His relationship with the Goddess was considered scandalous and the nobility in his mother's court was livid at their courtship. They were protesting it with his mother, stating that they would refuse to accept Aphrodite as his Queen one day, due to her immortal status. He didn't care though and his mother, thankfully, only wanted his happiness.

"Prince Adonis, I am Tao Xang Li, advisor to the Dragon Prince, Esteban Zhu Ling, of the great Dragon Empire," the dark haired man said, as he bowed. Adonis followed suit as a show of respect.

Welcome to my Kingdom...though I must say I am a bit surprised that you've traveled so far," Adonis said.

"Forgive my advisor, but we are simply passing through on our way to the Kingdoms to the west," Esteban replied, as he bowed again.

"Ah...you've heard the rumors about El Dorado. I've heard it is but a myth and possibly not even of this land at all, but another entirely," Adonis said.

"And who, pray-tell, told you that little fairy tale?" another voice questioned.

"I did…" Aphrodite said, as she sided up to her love and he put an arm around her waist, glaring at the brutish man before them. She looked stunning, as usual, in a glittering pink gown.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Uh...forgive him, Goddess. He is but our Navigator and has forgotten his place," Tao hissed.

"Navigator? I am the greatest Navigator in all the realms," he boasted, as he bowed to her.

"Antonio de Mendoza...and may I say, you truly are the Goddess of Beauty," he complimented, as he kissed the back of her hand, which she quickly recoiled.

"But forgive me, Goddess, the rumors of El Dorado being in a land to the west is very credible," he argued.

"Of course," she placated, as she looked at her beloved.

"Gentlemen...if you'll excuse me, I owe my beautiful future Queen a dance," Adonis said, as he led her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms.

"So…El Dorado? Are they on a wild goose chase?" he asked.

"According to Hermes...it's real, but they call it Cibola. But yes, they'll never find it without a magic bean to take them to a far off realm, reportedly one where magic as we know it is quite scarce," she replied.

"Sounds like an intriguing place," he mentioned, as he kissed her tenderly.

~*~

"Do you think the Goddess knows the location of El Dorado?" Mendoza wondered.

"It does not matter...she is the daughter of Zeus and if she is not offering us the information, then we do not want to press it," Tao refuted.

"Tao is wise and we will heed this advice. If the rumors are true, then Zeus killed the last mortal that wronged his daughter," Esteban said. But Mendoza's gaze on the Goddess told him that he was not done pressing the issue.

~*~

"I understand that, General, but forcing this issue could be an act of war," Major Donovan argued.

"I am receiving a lot of pressure from the people truly in power in this world and they do not tolerate what they cannot control. They want all your Intel and everything you inherited from the one known as the Collector," the General said sternly.

"And if I cannot or will not deliver that?" Patricia asked.

"Then you will be court-martialed," he threatened, as the line went dead and she pocketed her phone, before going up on deck. She knew keeping her superiors out of this wouldn't be possible for long. She had never had torn loyalties before. She had always been eager and willing to serve her country. But she also knew that there was an underbelly in the world and the country of people that really ran things. People that had no loyalty to anything other than money and power. It was why she had chosen to bring David on board to take on Clayton's underground. Because she knew a lot of them were connected to the powerful bloodlines that actually ran the world.

She had also gotten close to David and his family during the two year curse in Boston and she had grown to care about them. Betraying them and unleashing these people on the United Realms didn't sit well with her. It would be a definite war with certain casualties and the thought of some of these evil people that were pushing the General for this power getting access to magic was unsettling to say the least. They already did terrible things with their money and power. If they got possession of the magic within the United Realms, it could have apocalyptic consequences.

She knew her loyalty with them was already in question and she didn't want to say anything to anyone without Snow and David there. She knew that they might be the only ones that would fully believe her that her loyalty might be swaying toward them and away from her once loved, but now corrupt globalist minded government.

~*~

The General took the video call and stared into the room of about a dozen people. They were not well known or known at all really. But they were all descendants of this world's oldest and most powerful bloodlines. They controlled almost everything that happened in this world. Those well known public figures were mere puppets on strings for those really in control.

They had looked unhappy, which wasn't unusual. Today seemed worse though, but he wasn't surprised. There wasn't much that this elite group didn't know about so when they had found out there had been a secretive town, full of magic and mysterious, gifted people in this country, hidden right under their noses, they were livid to say the least.

"General Mendoza...have you spoken to Major Donovan?" one woman asked. Though he was far from a good man, these people even made him shiver. Most of it was their eyes. While they were human, their eyes were all soulless and empty, filled with disdain and hatred for the masses of people they ruled over and often referred to as cattle. Millions of them could die and none of them would bat an eye or shed a tear. In fact, they would probably celebrate the thinning of the herd.

"I have, Madam Stavros...but she seems reluctant," he reported.

"That's unfortunate…" a man said.

"We must have access to the United Realms," Madam Stavros insisted.

"Major Donovan seems to think that they are not a threat to us," General Mendoza interjected.

"That's because she intends to use them to bring us down and dismantle everything our families have built for over a thousand years!" the man roared.

"Mr. Crane is right…" Madam Stavros agreed in an even tone.

"Do whatever you must to intercept the Major when she returns and take control of that magical family," she added. He had no idea how they expected him to do that, but he didn't dare voice this, as the screen went blank.

"You know...I've taken on the Charmings, as they are affectionately called, and they are formidable," a new voice said. The General turned and found a familiar man standing there.

"You…I've seen you. You attacked the museum a few nights ago," General Mendoza said.

"I am Mephisto...and I can help you with your Charming little problem," he said.

"How?" he asked.

"I can get into the United Realms with my unique abilities and there may be someone that can help us break through the magical barrier protecting it," he replied.

"And what would you want in return?" the General asked.

"Just the locations of the fools you were just talking to. They are the most powerful people in this world and by making them blackhearts...then I will easily control everything in one fell swoop," he replied.

"Blackhearts?" Mendoza asked.

"My minions...they have powers bestowed upon them by me, but they are enslaved to me and would be under my complete control," Mephisto replied.

"I am not privy to their locations...but I can promise to get them into the United Realms, then they might foolishly all come to the same place. I know them...they mean to infiltrate and destroy from within. It's what they do to all countries," Mendoza responded.

"I'll get that barrier down...then we'll proceed," Mephisto agreed, as the deal was struck between them.

~*~

Half Moon Island was within view, as the grand vessel approached the mysterious place. The fog was thick and there was something ominous in the air. In response to their new atmosphere, the chalice began to pulse with energy.

"Yeah...that definitely means something," David mentioned.

"We are close to the gates of Cibola…" the Queen interjected.

"And if we open the gates...what then?" Snow questioned.

"The gold will stabilize our power and we will take our place as true rulers of this world," she said.

"Seriously? That's your plan? The old generic rule the world bit?" Bobby commented with an eye roll.

"We are one of the oldest races in existence, boy. It is our place to rule!" Omaru snapped.

"Someone who thinks they are entitled to rule over others are always unfit to do so," Snow argued.

"You and your husband will open those gates," she ordered, as the ship docked. They were forced to disembark and looked at the mossy jungle before them.

"Where are these gates?" Bobby asked.

"On the other side of the island. Move," Kiyun ordered, as they made their way into the thick jungle.

"We need a plan," David whispered to her.

"If I could get this stupid cuff off, I'd have one," Bobby murmured.

"That has to be part of our plan. We can use the chalice for that, but it is still a risk and that's not a risk your father and I are willing to take with your life, honey," Snow whispered.

"Your mother is right," David agreed, as a bird flew by and landed on Snow's shoulder.

"And...we may not have to," she whispered, as she looked at her husband. He saw the bird and realized exactly what was going on. It meant that Leo was near, which meant the rest of their family was as well. He nodded and squeezed his son's shoulder, as they reached the center of the crescent edge of the island.

"There's another island out there," Snow said.

"Yes and upon that small island are the gates of Cibola. We will take these small boats," the Queen said, indicating the small boats that looked like they were made out of some kind of tightly woven reed.

"Yeah...cause those look stable," Bobby commented, as they were ushered into one of the boats with Kiyun and the Queen, while the others manned the other boats.

~*~

"Man...what's with this fog?" Leo asked, as they arrived on Half Moon island.

"I don't know, but we need to catch up to them quickly. Who knows what will happen once Mom and Dad open those gates," Emma said.

"Are there any animals around?" Summer asked. Leo smiled.

"That's brilliant," he said, smiling at his baby sister, as he whistled. A blue bird emerged from the trees and landed on Leo's finger.

"A blue bird?" JJ asked.

"That's my question...how does a blue bird help us?" Zia asked.

"Leo can speak to all animals, but our Mom can speak to birds. He's going to send a message to Mom," Summer explained.

"Wow...your family is something," JJ said, as he smiled at her.

"In a good way," he assured her, as she smiled in return.

"Find my mother, Snow White, and give her our message," he imported to the tiny creature. It chirped at him, before flying off into the sky to deliver their message.

"Let's get moving...we may not have much time," Rumple said, as they began their trek into the jungle.

"You must be excited…" Eva said to Natalie, as they walked.

"You probably think that's silly," Natalie replied, but Eva shook her head.

"Not at all. It's easy to see that you're passionate about artifacts from other cultures and exploring the findings. I feel the same way about medicine," Eva mentioned. Natalie smiled.

"I guess so...I've been looking for Cibola most of my adult life and it's not really about the gold. It's about the find," she said.

"I get that," Eva said.

"Why are you talking to me?" Natalie asked suspiciously.

"Well...you're my Aunt, aren't you?" Eva replied.

"Uh yeah, I guess, but I'm not sure your Dad wants to claim me as his sister," she said.

"You don't know him like we do. Trust me...family is everything to him. He's going to come around sooner rather than later," Eva promised.

"What makes you think I want him to?" Natalie asked.

"Reading people is something I'm pretty good at and I have a feeling that you secretly think that being a part of a big, warm family might not be so bad," Eva replied, as she was silent and left her new Aunt to ponder those thoughts.

~*~

The liquid boiled in the beakers on the Bunsen burner, as Jekyll worked tirelessly in the lab on various experiments. He was frustrated, because wherever Snow currently was, even his nano surveillance technology didn't have access to it. He didn't like being out of the loop and he could feel the fire in his veins burning at being denied seeing her. He had observed all the events in Boston and even those in South America. But after that, the Jolly Roger disappeared from surveillance in the Pacific Ocean. This mysterious place called Mu was protected, even against his technologies. And he didn't like that at all.

To occupy his time, he worked tirelessly on new creations and lately, he had been studying the footage of the battle in Seattle. He had become recently fascinated with the star gems that the Charmings were in possession of. He had done much research and had stolen the book on star gems from Rose's library.

There was a soft sobbing that caught his attention, as his captive was awake at last.

"Ah...you're awake," he said, as he approached her.

"What...what are you going to do to me?" the dark haired woman asked.

"Oh...this is nothing personal, just an experiment. We had a lot of fun, but you were always a pale substitute for the real thing," he replied.

"You paid for my services...and I did what you wanted," she said.

"Yes...you paid the part in my little fantasy, but it was very unsatisfying. I should have known that a whore could never capture the magnificence of the real Snow White though. Some dark hair and red lipstick is hardly enough to be convincing," he replied.

"Fine...just let me go. You can even have your money back," she offered.

"Oh this was never just about sex. You're pretty enough, but hardly the vision that Snow White is. You took the edge off, but also made me realize that nothing but the real article will do for me," he hissed in her ear.

"However, all is not lost, because I have use for you in an experiment," he said, as a machine whined to life and she screamed, as he flipped a switch. A laser went into her chest and burned through her skin, as she wailed in excruciating pain. There was a glow, as the machine did it's part and her star gem floated in front of her dead body. His machine had extracted the gem from her heart, but in the process, burned her heart up.

"So...this is what makes the hearts of people from Misthaven glow when they are extracted," he said curiously. In his reading, he had discovered that all persons from magical realms had these gems within their hearts. But like this gem, most were powerless and insignificant. But the Charmings...they possessed magical ones that could be weaponized. However, his method of extraction would have to be improved.

He used a pair of pliers to carefully take the star gem and put it inside a case for later study.

"I see you're hard at work, as usual, doctor," Mephisto observed, as he slithered into his lab.

"Ah…I see you have obtained a new skin suit. It's as ugly as the last one," Jekyll commented. Mephisto chuckled.

"You're nothing to look at either, doctor. Just ask Snow White...you disgust her," he jabbed.

"What do you want?" Jekyll snapped.

"I have severed my connection to you and kept the power you bestowed upon me. I am not beholden to you," the doctor said.

"Yes…I'll admit, that angered me at first. None of my dark hearts have ever broken free of my control before. It is impressive," he complimented. Jekyll smirked.

"Complimenting me? That means you need my help," he goaded.

"There is a barrier around the United Realms. I want you to use your talents to find a way to nullify it," he said.

"That barrier was created by the Chalice...that won't be easy. It might actually be impossible," Jekyll countered.

"Oh, but not for you, Doctor. I've seen your work," Mephisto said.

"What's in it for me?" Jekyll asked.

"It's a long game...but in the end, Snow White will be in your grasp," Mephisto promised.

"I will see what I can do," Jekyll replied, as he looked at her image, which he kept upon the wall of his lab.

~*~

Flashback

A tear slipped down Adonis' cheek, as he lay flowers on his mother's coffin. The Queen had died in her sleep and the healers had determined that her heart had given out in her advanced age. The Kingdom mourned and Aphrodite was beside her beloved in every moment.

"I knew this would come someday...but I'm not ready for it. I'm not ready to be King," he lamented sadly.

"I know, my love...no one is ever ready to lose someone they love. But I know that you will be a wonderful King," Aphrodite promised.

"Sire...the scribes are here," one of the servants announced. He nodded.

"Of course," he said, as they approached.

"King Adonis...I am Aesop and have come to record your mother's story for the Archives at the library of Andresia," he said, as he bowed deeply.

"These are my assistants...the Grimm brothers," he introduced, as the pair bowed as well.

"Thank you...I trust you'll do justice to my mother's history," he said.

"We only hope that someday we can be permitted to record your extraordinary story as well, Your Majesty, and your courtship of the Goddess Aphrodite. You are the envy of many men in all the lands," one of the Grimms stated.

"Jacob...that is inappropriate," Aesop hissed, but Adonis put his hand up.

"It's okay, Aesop...I am never one to miss an opportunity to tell someone how much I love my future Queen or how beautiful she is," he said, as he kissed her cheek.

"If you'll excuse us," he said, as they walked away arm in arm. She leaned her head against his arm and they were unaware of the Queen's court's disapproving eye upon them.

~*~

They arrived at the massive, golden colored gates, which were adorned with a giant depiction of the sun on them.

"At last...we will finally have everything we need. Open them," Omaru ordered.

"I'm getting really tired of these people," David grumbled, as they joined hands and approached the gates, while Bobby held Snow's hand and went with them. The chalice glowed in response to the proximity of the gates and a pulse of power washed over the giant doors. They glowed brightly, blinding everyone present, as they opened. The sight before them was truly stunning, as an expanse city made entirely of gold was before them. The structures were reminiscent of the pyramids commonly found that had been left behind by ancient civilizations such as the Incas and Mayans. Even the streets were paved in gold and in the center was a very tall tower, glowing like a beacon and the chalice seemed to glow with it.

"Fine...you have your gold. Now you'll let us go," David said.

"That will not be the case, Your Highness. The gold will provide the energy we needed, but it is in conjunction with the chalice that will stabilize our reactor. That means you and your wife will remain our prisoners indefinitely and you will use it to do our bidding," Omaru responded.

"There's no way in hell that's happening," Regina said, as they arrived, encased in one of Summer's bubbles, bypassing the need for a boat.

"Guess we'll see about that," Johnny said, as he stepped forward, armed with his steel skin device. But Summer was ready for him and encased him in a bubble. Regina smirked, as he started beating against the bubble with his steel skin in an attempt to break through. Regina sided up to Summer and put a hand on her shoulder. She released a fireball and gave the bubble an extra layer of protection.

"The only place you're going, Junior, is a lovely cell in the United Realms prison," she said, as Emma dueled Kiyun and Leo fought Louda.

"Stop them!" Omaru ordered, as Killian used his hook to release Bobby from his magical cuff.

"Thanks," Bobby said.

"NO!" Omaru cried, as the power pulsed from the youngest Charming and the ground beneath her was unearthed. Seeing that the control was shifting, not unsurprisingly, Dr. LaGuerra and Malina tried to make a run for it back to the boats, but suddenly felt themselves frozen in place.

"We have prison cells for you too," Rumple said. Bobby raised his hands and vines emerged from the ground, trapping them effectively. Snow stepped forward and punched the doctor right in the mouth.

"Ow! You broke my tooth!" he cried, as blood leaked from his mouth.

"That's for putting needles in one of my babies," she hissed.

Kiyun and Louda stood ready with their army and motioned for them to attack. David joined Emma and Leo, as they charged them. They were outnumbered, but ready for the attack this time. David unleashed the full power of the chalice sword and with two expert swipes, he decimated most of their army. The pure power hit the soldiers and disintegrated them. He didn't like using such devastating power, but he had learned a lot from his darker half. These people had nothing but evil in their hearts and were a very real and direct threat to Snow and his children. And he was done letting people like that get a pass.

Louda sparred vigorously with Leo and managed to get a hand around his neck. She smirked deviously, as she squeezed and he began to choke.

"I'd snap your neck with ease, young one. You're just lucky that our Queen has need of your magical blood," she hissed, but then dropped him, as his body became alive with electricity. He shocked her and the force of the attack threw her into a tree. Rumple waved his hand and binding appeared on her as well.

"Down to one it seems," he said, as Emma dueled Kiyun furiously.

"We have waited too long for this moment! We are on the edge of greatness and not even you will stop us, Savior!" he claimed.

"Look around genius...we've already won," she replied, as their blades clashed.

"Your family has many adversaries...and is still haunted by demons," he said.

"If you're trying to get into my head, then forget it," Emma replied dismissively, as she matched him move for move.

"True love has saved your family...but far too many have designs on all of you, especially your parents. Those demons won't go away...they already plague your mother in the form of panic attacks," he goaded.

"There is nothing that my parents can't handle, because they have each other. My parents are none of your concern," Emma growled.

"Oh, but they are. Among many things, my Queen is a seer. She foretold the demise of the Dragon Queen and her King," he claimed.

"She warned her...but they did not heed her warning and then suffered the consequences," he continued.

"Yeah...screw your prophecy. My parents have faced death before and they always beat it. The evil they have faced has always fallen and always will," Emma refuted, as she used her magic to disarm the warrior and end the fight. Rumple secured him with bindings as well and only the Queen and Thalia remained. Her father was putting Omaru in handcuffs, while Xander approached Thalia with a pair of zip ties in his hand.

"So...you're going to lock me up again in front of our daughter?" she asked.

"I don't want to do that. But you're the one that's choosing Junior over her," he replied.

"Clayton looked out for us...unlike you," she spat back.

"I didn't know! You hid her from me!" he snapped.

"Because I knew you'd walk out on her just the way you walked out on your twin boys!" she argued.

"You don't know that! Clayton manipulated me for years! And looks like he did it to you too. He told you to hide her from me...didn't?" Xander growled.

"Mom?" Natalie prodded.

"It...it was for the best, honey," Thalia said. Xander scoffed.

"For the best? Seriously? Why? What does he get from that?" Natalie asked, as she looked at Johnny, who smirked at her.

"You know what he wanted...the Chalice and he would have done anything to get to it. Xander running off with Thalia and you didn't fit his purposes. Waking up Charming too early didn't fit his plan either," Johnny said, as he chuckled.

"Even dead...my father is still manipulating all of you! He was a master at it and still he worms his way deeply into this family," he continued.

"He hoped to sire his heir with the Goddess Aphrodite," Johnny said.

"There is no way you're Aphrodite's son…" Snow refuted, as David put his arm around her.

"You're right...he, unfortunately, was unable to seal that deal," he replied.

"Instead...he found another bloodline that was suitable. Not an immortal bloodline, but one that hated Aphrodite and everything she stood for. She was only too happy to sire me with my father when she learned that he was going to bring down Aphrodite's champions," he explained.

"Well, that didn't happen," Emma refuted.

"Yet…" he leered.

"And you're not a part of this family," Leo added.

"Oh...but I am, because of her," Johnny said, looking toward Natalie.

"Yeah...no you're not, because we are done," she refuted. He smirked.

"We'll see," he said.

"Can someone please put him on mute?" David asked. Emma waved her hand and he found himself unable to speak.

"You can have your volume back once we get back to Storybrooke and you're in prison," she said, as she joined her parents and they looked at the sprawling golden city before them.

"It's your choice now, Mom. Are you choosing Clayton over me again?" Natalie asked, as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I've never chosen him over you," Thalia responded.

"And I'll prove it to you, if given the chance," she said, as she and Xander locked eyes.

"Guess we'll find out in time," he replied, as he didn't arrest her.

"So what now?" Leo asked.

"Yeah...this is an amazing place. It has to be protected," Eva agreed.

"How do we do that? I mean, it belongs to Zia's people, but it would hardly be safe if we moved it to the Andes Mountains. No offense," Summer said.

"None taken...this would attract every greed filled person in the world and people would suffer," Zia agreed.

"Then what about moving it to the United Realms? Is it possible?" Bobby asked, as he watched his parents exchange a glance.

"With the chalice...I think it's more than possible," Snow said. David smiled at her and kissed her tenderly. It was time to prepare to return home.

~*~

Flashback

"Request denied…" Esteban said, as Mendoza's face fell.

"Sire?" he questioned.

"We have allowed many resources to be wasted on your quest for Cibola and it is time we come to the realization that it does not exist," he said, as his new Queen sat by his side, with their adviser, Lord Tao, there as well.

"Your own adviser has spun the tales of his people's guard of this grand treasure!" Mendoza claimed.

"The final writings of the people of Hiva are mere myth and legend, Navigator," Tao replied.

"No...this is her doing! She is keeping the treasure from us!" Mendoza claimed.

"You will not speak to my Queen in that manner, lest you wish to find a new home in prison," Esteban warned. Mendoza bowed.

"Forgive me, My Lord," he apologized, before leaving quietly, where he met up outside with his new ally, John Clayton.

"So now they claim it's not real," Mendoza said.

"They are lying...I've shown you the ruins of Atlantis and Tao is a descendant of the Mu. Trust me, Cibola is real too and she knows all about it," John said.

"It does not matter if we cannot find it," Mendoza replied.

"Perhaps we can. If we cannot implore them, then we will compel the Goddess to tell us. We are leaving for Cyprus," John said.

"How can we compel the Goddess to help us?" Mendoza asked. He smirked.

"By holding the life of her beloved Adonis over her head," John replied deviously.

~*~

The people of the United Realms gathered at the Harbor, having been summoned there by Queen Rose Red and Fandral. Apparently, the buzz was that Snow White and Prince David were returning from their journey had a grand surprise for all to witness.

A spiraling orange portal appeared in the ocean and the Jolly Roger sailed through it into United Realms waters, before docking at the Harbor.

Eva hurried off the ship and hugged Paul tightly, who enveloped her in his arms and they shared a kiss.

"I missed you, but I have a patient. One of the agents from Boston. She's stable, but we should get her to the hospital," Eva said. Paul smiled.

"So that's where those missing pints of B positive blood went," he realized, with a chuckle.

"I missed you too and I'll call us an ambulance for her," he replied

Leo wasn't far behind her and picked Elsa up, spinning her around. Killian and Emma followed, as they were eager to reunite with their daughter.

"Thanks for watching her for us," Emma said, as she held Hope.

"Please...we loved it," Joe replied.

Summer and Bobby followed their parents and the others off the ship, along with Zia and her parents, whom they had picked up on the way.

"So...what's this big surprise?" Rose asked, as she and Snow shared a hug.

"We found it and now, we're about to present the newest realm to everyone," Snow replied, as she showed her a small snow globe. David sided up to her and pointed out into the water.

"That seems like a good place," he said. She nodded in agreement, as they grasped the chalice together. The snow globe disappeared and the island of Mu appeared before them in the water. Most notably though, the burning mountain was gone. Snow and David had used the chalice to obliterate that threat, before encasing the whole place in a snow globe to be transported. And just behind it was Half Moon island and the incredible splendor of Cibola for all to see.

"Whoa...you did it. This is definitely my next story," Henry said, with a wide grin.

"We cannot thank you enough for preserving our ancestor's legacy," Santo said.

"It's our honor and with the amount of magic beans we have, you'll have enough of a supply to come here any time if you want," Snow replied. Santo looked at his wife.

"That is something we have been discussing and now that we have met the Queen of Hiva, it is clear that she and her people are our direct relation," Irina said.

"We have decided to relocate to Mu. Queen Nubia says that our daughter is extremely gifted and is the rightful heir to Cibola. There is much she must learn though if she is to be Queen of Mu and Cibola someday," Santo said.

"So you're moving here?" Bobby asked with hope in his voice. Zia nodded.

"We are," she confirmed, bringing a smile to his face.

"We do have a few prisoners to relocate though," David said.

"I can help with that," Fandral said, as he went to help escort them to their new home behind bars.

~*~

"So...does this place have a hotel or something?" Natalie asked.

"It does, but that won't be necessary. Our castle has plenty of rooms. Xander stays with us and you and your mother are welcome too," Snow replied. Natalie scoffed.

"Why would you do that?" she asked.

"You're David's sister, which makes you family," Snow replied.

"So it's that simple?" Natalie asked.

"Actually yes...people have accused me of being too soft on adversaries and some of them have a point. But I know someone with a good heart when I see one," Snow replied, as they exchanged a glance.

"And I also know unfinished business between two people," she added, as they glanced at Thalia and Xander. Natalie rolled her eyes.

"Then tomorrow, I'm sure that the Ramos family would welcome your architectural expertise and allow you to explore to your heart's content," Snow replied. Natalie looked at her skeptically.

"Really?" she asked. Snow shrugged.

"Why not? I mean, they're going to need a liaison between Cibola and the Atlantis museum, which has been looking for a curator with your kind of experience," Snow replied. Natalie was floored.

"Did you just offer me a job?" she asked.

"Well…Milo and Kida have the final say, but considering your background, expertise, and relation to my husband, you'll be a shoe in, if you want it," Snow replied, leaving her stunned and speechless. Snow smiled and walked away, as David returned from seeing the prison van off.

"It's good to be home," he said, as she slipped his arms around his waist.

"I'll say…" she replied, as they shared a tender kiss.

"Granny's...and then maybe a moonlight walk on the beach?" he asked.

"That sounds wonderful," she agreed, as they shared another kiss.

"And then...home to bed to not sleep," he whispered to her in a husky tone. She bit her bottom lip in excitement.

"No…I don't think we'll be getting much sleep tonight at all, handsome," she agreed, as she hooked her hand on his elbow and leaned her head against his arm. He put his arm around her waist and headed to Granny's to celebrate with their family.

[legobiwan]

could you do 18 and 100 for the trope mash up thing? (And if you want two characters, Obi-wan and Hondo?- I got a little confused with your added instructions to the trope mashup)

Circus AU / Accidentally Saving the Day (Hondo & Obi-wan)

Anon, I had to WORK for this one and even did a little research into circus history since I am woefully undereducated about the topic. I think I’ve found an interesting way of weaving these all together and giving a little bonus at the end. Stick with me here, I need to do a bit of an introduction to get this whole idea going. 

For the purposes of this AU, please assume that the Clone War and all the events surrounding it happened directly after Naboo, meaning everyone is about 10 years younger than they are in canon. Also assume that Qui-gon was not killed on Naboo, although that has little bearing on this particular story.

THIS GOT OUT OF CONTROL. I was expecting to write a fun little 1,000 word thing, not a whole AU concept. But here we are, so….uh…

We’ll see what everyone thinks? Enjoy. And good luck  :D

—-

“How are they doing?” Szimon Tesdak asked, thin, long mustache bobbing up and down at the ends.

The other man patted the Pamaradian prancer’s neck, running his fingers through the thick mane of her hair. The prancer shivered, eyes darting back and forth, hooves tapping nervously on the durasteel floor. The man known as Whisp spoke softly in the creature’s ear, the words foreign to even Szimon’s cosmopolitan ears. A few moments later, the prancer settled, nuzzling her snout into Whisp’s shoulder. 

Whisp turned to face Szimon. “They’re restless,” he said. “Fourteen hours in a cruiser is a bit much for anyone to take.”

Szimon waved the veiled criticism away with a flick of his wrist. Yes, it had been a long journey, but the payoff would - hopefully - be worth it. And they needed the credits - or whatever these people were going to pay. 

“An hour more and we’ll be there,” Szimon said with false confidence.

Whisp stood, crossing his arms tight against his chest, the black-and-crimson fabric of his worn travel tunic wrinkling with the gesture. There was a hint of beard on the young man’s chin, something that, when it grew in, would likely age him a good ten years. The man peered at Szimon with grey-blue eyes like he was trying to ace one of those vision tests at a local spaceport agency. Always looking for hidden meaning, he is. 

And sometimes he finds it. 

At least with the creatures, that had been the case. Two years Whisp had been working for Szimon and never had the older circus master figured out the man’s trick. Szimon had spent his life in the circus, from his childhood on Thybaar right up the grand days of the bright Coruscant lights to his now-ramshackle operation held together by thread, petty theft, and the occasional cashing in on favors owed. 

Szimon had seen it all - and more,  but nothing like Whisp and his ability to communicate with the creatures, like he was reading their minds. “The Whisperer,” the other members had taken to calling him. The moniker had stuck, albeit in shortened form, Whisp’s real name - whatever it had been - long forgotten.

“Remind me again why we’re flying out to the Outer Rim for a show? Seems a bit of an expense when we could just as easily round up a few smaller venues for far less hassle,” Whisp said.

“Ah, Whisp, ever the cynic,” Szimon clapped a meaty hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t think of it as a hassle,” he waved a dramatic hand, as if unveiling something from a behind a curtain. “But as an expansion of our operations.”

Whisp cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly difficult seeing as our operations comprised of three planets the past month, two of which we never actually got to land on.”

Szimon snorted. Well, yes, business had been down because of the war. Szimon himself cared little for the politics of the Republic or the Separatists. A government was a government, with all its little games and corruptions, mazes of betrayal, and endless mountains of datawork. No, Szimon Tesdak would never be chained behind one of those desks. 

But many others were, shackled to unfulfilling jobs and lives, stuck in a desert of mediocrity and boredom. That was where Szimon came in. Unhappy citizens tended to breed unhappy revolts. But give them a nice circus, something to laugh at, a little magic that was absent from their day-to-day existence?

It didn’t really matter who was in power. The problems, the outcomes -they were always the same in the end. 

Still, the war had been disruptive to his business and over the past few months, the “Great Thybaarian Traveling Show” had been forced into semi-refugee status as planet after planet was devastated by the conflict between a mechanical and clone army. Circuses were part of avoiding war, not conducting it.

Szimon shook off the dark thoughts with a wide smile. “Come on now, Whisp. We’re going to make great friends on the Outer Rim. My benefactor has promised a large sum, maybe even a sponsorship if we play our cards right.”

“I thought they were pirates,” Whisp retorted, half-smile playing on his face.

Szimon made an airy gesture, chuckling. “Pirates, embezzlers, Hutts. As long as we get paid, I’ll work for the Sith themselves.”

Whisp tightened under Szimon’s arm, which was wrapped around the thin man’s shoulders. Some unreadable emotion passed over his face, a premonition of a storm. After a moment, he spoke, hesitant. 

“I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit!” Szimon exclaimed, shaking Whisp. “Come on, we have to make preparations for landing and I’m not letting Battlebuzz near those controls again.“

—–

“That was a very impressive show, my friend,” the pirate known as Hondo Ohnaka sidled up to Whisp, unceremoniously dropping into the seat next to him, tankard full of green ale. 

Whisp looked up from his own mug, half-consumed, eyeing the pirate warily. “Thank you,” he replied, adding, “I think,” after a moment’s hesitation. It never hurt to be too cautious around pirates. 

“All those acrobats, all the flips and whooshes.” Hondo made an extravagant gesture with his arm, nearly taking Whisp’s head off. “And the beautiful women dancing to such music, it shouldn’t be allowed!” he grinned, giving Whisp a knowing look. ”My men, they enjoy that - some of my women, too!” Hondo cackled, downing the entirety of his pint in one go, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“But you, my friend - with the creatures.” The pirate’s voice turned a shade serious and several parsecs more calculating. Whisp bit his lip, steeling himself to steer another drunken conversation away from this dangerous territory. “Yes, the creatures,” Hondo continued, nearly singing. “Now that was something I’ve never seen before. Most beast tamers use weapons.” The pirate made a few motions mimicking a whip. “They use fear and intimidation but you!” He pointed a finger that almost went up Whisp’s nose. “Ah, it was almost like you talked to them with your mind.”

Whisp gave a forced shrug, his pulse starting to race. He needed to stay calm. Needed to focus on the present, not his anxieties. He laughed to himself, bitter, wholly aware of the gross irony of that statement. “Just an ability I’ve had since my youth,” he said, voice flat. “Better me in the circus than those brutish weapons-wielding tamers you mentioned.” Whisp scowled. That much was the truth. Whisp couldn’t abide by their methods, couldn’t stand the way the pain and fear radiated from the abused creatures. He knew he couldn’t save them all, but if he could give a second chance to even a single Borcatu, if he could find a home for those who had been cast out -

Anger trilled at the back Whisp’s brain, a sensuous, lush melody more tempting than any of the ribald pirate ballads in the background.

Hondo beckoned at another Weequay, grabbing two pints from a serving tray, setting one in front of Whisp in an unspoken command. “Yes, your youth. Tell me about that. Your accent is polished, very posh, very Core World.” Very monied. If only, Whisp rued.

It had been too much effort to try and tame his accent, which stood out amongst Szimon’s motley crew of performers like a neon bell weed in the desert. 

Whisp took a long sip of his beverage, smacking his lips together. The new alcohol was a step higher in quality than the dredge he had been drinking before. He peered to Ohnaka on his right, wondering if he was about to be drugged, kidnapped, or worse. Oh well, he thought, drinking some more of the beverage. Might as well enjoy while I can.

“I was brought up in the Core,” Whisp recited, setting his glass down, not even needing to think about the words he had said them so many times. “My family, unfortunately, abandoned me, so I took to farming in the Mid-Rim as a means of sustaining myself. It was there I discovered I had an affinity for creatures and then did some work in healing clinics before the war broke out. The Republic Army took over all the planetary clinics so I was forced into finding…” Whisp bobbed his head, “more creative ways to apply my talents.”

“Interesting,” Hondo noted, his gaze greedy as he looked Whisp up and down. Whisp’s other hand moved to his waist. So much for enjoying. He fingered the blaster he had hidden under his red and silver vest, neatly tucked away in a shoulder holster. 

Hondo held out a hand. “I don’t mean to cause you alarm, my young friend,” he said with a laugh, sitting back in his chair, kicking both feet up on the table. “You can put your blaster away, I only want to talk business.”

Whisp’s hand tightened for a moment before he raised an open palm in a universal gesture of surrender, his brow furrowed.

“What type of business?”

“What type indeed?” Hondo hummed, rocking his feet back and forth in time to the bawdy, clangorous music. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Tergallian and Lopisa had gotten into a knife-throwing contest with some of the pirates. Whisp had a feeling the Weequay had bet on it and that the pirates were about to lose their shirts, pants, shoes, and who knew what else in the deal. Might have to make a quick getaway if there’s enough of a ruckus, Whisp thought, eyeing the locations of the exits and the best strategies to get there without being shot. 

Again, he winced. 

“Oh, you won’t make it out, I promise” Hondo commented, his expression still jovial. “All the exits are under full guard and I guarantee there’s no other way out unless it’s by my command.” He pressed a finger into the table, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Unless,” he began after a moment, “you are a Jedi.”

Whisp was off his stool in an instant, blaster in hand. Not wanting a direct confrontation, he pointed it towards the ground, the table hiding the weapon from the view of most of the other pirates and circus members. Off in the corner, Szimon’s eyes grew wide as he made a series of furious movements in Whisp’s driection.

“I’m fine,” Whisp signed back in the strange language of gestures known only to those in this particular circus, an easy way to communicate on stage while looking artistic and also a not bad method of either avoiding trouble or sometimes finding it - if their pockets and stomachs were empty enough.

Hondo clasped his hands behind his head, looking unconcerned. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said, lips quirking upwards as if he had just figured out some baffling puzzle. “Only warn you about my security system. But let us not talk of such things, as they disturb you and as my dear mother always said - “ Hondo raised a finger. “Son! You catch more apidactyls with honey. And if that doesn’t work, you can still catch them with a blaster.”

Not worth the fight. Not even sure I’d win this fight, Whisp sighed inwardly. Knowing when he was outmatched, or at least when to choose his battles, Whisp retook his seat with a muttered curse. 

“Fine, then. What do you want from me?”

Hondo smiled. “Ah, now we talk business,” he shrugged. “Nothing much, my friend. And nothing - mostly - to do with your little traveling show. But the circus isn’t going to pay you forever and a man of your many talents - ” Hondo leaned forward, putting both forearms on the table. “Could fetch a pretty hefty payday if he found himself aligned with the right people.”

Whisp’s eyebrows rose. “Are you offering me a job?”

Hondo raised both arms. “Maybe, if you are willing to - “

“Hondo!” A large, burly man came barreling into the room. At once, the music stopped with a zippered rip of a holodisc jarred from its needle, pirates and circus members alike turning to the wide-eyed, heaving pirate. 

“We got trouble out there!”

Immediately, Hondo came to his feet, blaster in hand. “What kind of trouble?”

“I think it’s the Republic! Looks like them, at least. They’re tryin’ a fall back to our compound!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hondo growled, raising his weapon. “No one takes over Hondo Ohnaka’s compound without my permission!”

—-

Blaster fire rang out from all sides, a multicolored lattice of deadly energy. To Whisp’s surprise, Hondo was near the vanguard of the pirates, shooting at the incoming wave of bright, white uniforms with terrifying precision. The pirates were good, Whisp had to give them that, the transition from unruly drunkards to semi-disciplined guerrilla fighters more seamless than Whisp thought possible. 

“Any ideas?” Szimon asked next to him, the pair huddled behind a large boulder, just out of range of the real fighting. Whisp knew Szimon didn’t care one way or another about who won this particular battle - one of thousands Szimon had witnessed over the years. But their ship - their livelihood and home, not to mention only asset - lay just beyond the front line of what Whisp was pretty sure were the infamous clones. If their ship was damaged, or, even worse, destroyed - they were all done for. 

Whisp took in the scene, applying his natural affinity for tactics that had been first discovered early in his tenure with Szimon, an awkward encounter with the Ruuthian mafia, a highly successful performance, and a jar of…requisitioned heeble eggs belonging to Ruuthian mob boss. It had been his quick thinking that had gotten them out of that mess, a plan so crazy it couldn’t do anything but work. From that point on, Whisp had earned the nickname, “The General,” much to his dismay.

Carefully, Whisp extended his senses, not only his eyes and ears but his other senses, the ones he kept locked away from everyone else - everyone else except his creatures. The creatures didn’t care what his status or title was, if he had succeeded or not, if he occasionally broke some moral law that had been branded into his mind as a child. The creatures didn’t judge - they had never judged and found him wanting.

It wasn’t good. For all of Hondo’s firepower, they were still in the bottom of a cereal bowl in the sandy crevasse, the clone troopers above holding higher ground as they advanced on the compound. It didn’t escape Whisp’s notice that the troopers’ blaster bolts were consistently going wide, aimed to injure or impede, but not kill. Some strange long-buried instinct rose in Whisp’s chest as he watched the men, sensing their similarities, down to a genetic level. Was he was supposed to be on their side? Supposed to be fighting with them, supposed to -

An explosion rocked the compound, bringing down metal, stone, and all kinds of debris on the pirates. Hondo barked out more orders, a line of men running to set up what looked like a short-range missile while the rest of the pirates resumed their firefight. 

I’m supposed to be getting us out alive, Whisp fumed at himself. No more distractions. Szimon’s face was covered in dust and sand and for a moment Whisp almost laughed. The circus master looked the spitting image of the Great Lady Devonna in her full makeup. 

“Are you alright, Szimon?” Whisp asked, helping the other man to a seat. 

“I’ve seen worse,” he growled, swiping debris from tassled gold epaulettes perched on bright red shoulders like two Felucian retrine sparrows. “Just do something, Whisp, I’m not getting any younger here.”

Right. Whisp looked again at the fight, the positioning of the men, their ship. The pirates weren’t going to win an all-out firefight, not like this and Whisp had to assume there would be reinforcements coming sooner than later. It was now or…

Whisp frowned. They could wait for the clones to take over the compound and beg for lenience. But knowing the Republic, they’d probably confiscate the ship. And send them to prison. Besides, Whisp’s own presence might raise too many uncomfortable questions, ones he had no desire whatsoever to revisit.

So much for that idea, he rued, while surveying the scene. The clones were all faced towards the fighting, Hondo’s forces feisty enough to keep them fully engaged. There weren’t that many of them, not a full battalion, for certain, which meant it was likely Szimon’s ship was wholly unguarded and not even considered a threat, as it had no visible weaponry. If he could just…

Whisp closed his eyes, feeling for the familiar energies, the outlines of the creatures he cared for, from the smallest snitmouse to the largest morak. Yes, he thought, connecting his mind with the stampede creatures. They would never see it coming. 

A moment later the earth rumbled, the fighting slowing to a small drizzle of blaster fire as the line of clones turned to the oncoming dust storm that hid the three moraks, now prodded on by Whisp, feeding off of his repressed frustration and anger with the representatives of the institution that had driven him to this life in the first place. Of the people who were trying, again, to deprive him of a home, of a place where he belonged.

Unaware the opaque cloud hid anything living, no less animals whose shells repelled most blaster fire - a well-kept secret known not even in the fancy universities on Coruscant - the clones fired to no avail as the moraks descended, sending bodies flying in every direction with desperate shrieks, the remainder of the forces too startled to return fire efficiently. Three bloody minutes later, the remaining clones ran, retreating, leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades as the only evidence of the failed ambush. 

Cheers rose the pirates as they lifted their weapons in glee, somehow manifesting mugs of ale in their hands only a scant minute after they had been involved in a full-bore battle. Whisp slowly climbed from behind the rock, pulling Szimon up with him. The Thybaarian looked at Whisp as if it was the first time he had ever seen him. 

“Was that you?” he asked, eyes trying to pierce through years of layers, of hidden secrets that were the only true skin of the man known as Whisp.

Whisp laughed, uncomfortable. “What? No, I mean - “ 

Szimon shook his head, still dazed. “I always had my suspicions, you know. Not just the creatures, although I’ll grant you that’s one hell of a trick.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “I figured there was some reason you weren’t up with them in that fancy tower, figured it was none of my business, but now - “ Szimon’s eyes turned calculating. “This isn’t just some parlor trick, is it, it’s - “

Whisp backed away, palms splayed in front of him, as if trying to stop the words from entering his space. “No, I’m not. I - “ he looked around, wild, feeling just like one of his creatures, feral and trapped. He was going to lose his home again, once they found out, it was all going to be over. “I never - “ Something snapped, then crackled with inside of Whisp, like the breaking of an invisible, electric bone, sparking flying everywhere.

“I never was one, okay!” he yelled, stomping his foot. “Never was, never will be! That man - that child - died over ten years ago. This -” Whisp gestured angrily at himself. “Is what I am. Nothing. More.”

They had been certain leave Whisp with that message. Nothing more. Just nothing.

“A fascinating story, my young friend,” a low, baritone voice intoned from behind them. “I would be curious to hear more of it.”

Whisp spun around. The man was - there was no other word for it - regal, imperious, commanding the attention of every being in the valley, as he moved towards Whisp and Szimon, long brown cape billowing in the wind, deep violet outfit a perfect fit on his broad chest. Hondo’s troops paused mid-swig, ale running down their necks, and even Hondo himself craned his head forward to get a better look at the newcomer. 

Fifty blaster rifles rose at once.

The man stopped, surveying the ends of the weapons pointed at him with a disaffected gaze. The compound held its breath, sinews tightening around triggers as an unworldly clarity came over the canyon, as if each atom, each sound wave could be made manifest as a physical, tangible reality. And then the man smirked, wholly unconcerned with his vast disadvantage in the situation as the world returned to its customary blur. Whisp and the others exhaled, noisy phlegm crackling up their lungs, dust tingling in their throats.

The stranger took an unhurried step forward raising one hand. 

“You may lower your weapons,” he addressed the pirates, voice betraying nothing but absolute confidence. It occurred to Whisp then that the man had never been at any disadvantage at all. “I intend no harm,” he added in his deep, patrician voice.

Hondo took an equal, ambling step forward, hands clasped behind his back. He circled the newcomer, a hound sniffing for possible quarry, gazing him up and down, as if he were a incoming shipment of contraband. Then, after a moment, Hondo gave a nod, and the blasters summarily disappeared. 

“My, my we are popular today,” the pirate began amiably. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…” Hondo gestured at the other man in question.

“I am here for three reasons,” the stranger announced, ignoring Hondo’s unspoken inquiry. “The first was unwelcome, but unsurprising. My ships were caught unaware, en route from a trade post in the Outer Rim to Jybosti. I carry the identification cards and manifest if you desire proof of my claim. The Republic forced our hand, causing us to land here and engage in an unwanted ground battle which regrettably involved your forces.” The man turned to Hondo, giving an apologetic gesture. Hondo answered with cool regard, his skepticism echoing through the enclosure. Whisp had to agree. No one just happened to go by a place like Florrum without reason. Especially someone like this. 

Still, it wasn’t the stranger that had been one shooting at them. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or at least a part of it.

“Secondly,” the man continued, opening his arms, “I would like to thank you all for, how shall I say - “ He paused for dramatic effect, lifting his chin slightly. Whoever this man was, he knew how to hold a crowd, perhaps even better than Szimon. “Saving the day, however unexpected your heroics may have been.” 

“Yeah, heroes!” One of the pirates bellowed, raising both his blaster and ale mug, several others echoing his enthusiasm with chants of “Heroes!” which quickly devolved into far less elevated rhetoric.

“And thirdly?” Hondo asked, after the raucous had died down. 

“Thirdly,” the man drawled, turning his full attention on Whisp. “I would like to know further details regarding this young man’s story.”

Whisp’s eyes went wide as he took an involuntary step back. “There’s not much more to tell, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. The words were automatic, a defense mechanism so perfectly tuned, it was nearly instinct. But the strange pressure that had been growing at the back of Whisp’s brain spiked with the lie, leaving a dark, velvet shadow in its wake, something immensely powerful yet a balm to his frayed emotions. It was something…

Whisp gasped, eyes locking with the other man. 

It was something familiar. 

The stranger smiled, all edges as he clasped his hands behind his back, addressing Szimon. “This young man is in your employ?” he asked, brusque, nodding towards Whisp. 

Szimon straightened his jacket and his posture, already sensing a deal in the making as he slipped into tell-tale ringmaster persona. “Yes, sir, best creature tamer I’ve ever seen.”

“Interesting,” the man commented, drawing out the word. “And if he were to leave your employ, how would that affect your operations?”

“Well, I daresay it would be quite the inconvenience,” Szimon began, his confidence building as he fell into the familiar patter of a sales pitch. Whisp barely heard the words, disbelief rising like an angry, red ocean. Would Szimon really do this to him? Now? After everything? 

“…so you see, unless I would be suitably compensated for my losses…”

The grey-haired man leaned forward and whispered something in Szimon’s ear. Szimon’s eyes went moon-wide, his mouth dropping open, words tripping from his mouth. 

“I trust that would be satisfactory?” the man asked.

“I - ah - “ Szimon sent a half-apologetic glance over to Whisp, eyes gleaming with barely-contained avarice. “I think that would be more than fair.”

“Excellent,” the man articulated, ignoring Szimon’s half-gasped ‘thank yous,’ now directing his full attention back to Whisp, drawing himself up to full height. “And you, who are about to enter my employ. What is your name?”

So that was it. No offer, not even a perfunctory question, Whisp’s future once again dictated by the whims of others. Whisp clenched his teeth agains the injustice of his very existence. “Whisp,” he answered, barely keeping the venom from his voice, fists tightening into balls, nails digging into his palms. 

“Your real name,” the man growled. Behind him, Szimon gaped, now looking on with unabashed curiosity, a faint patina of guilt oozing from his sweat-beaded forehead.

Long-buried memories, banished ghosts relegated to an afterlife he had not yet experienced rose in Whisp. He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of emotions, of the sharp knives of betrayal, the deep pools of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. Had it been so long since he had uttered his own name?

Forcing a noisy breath between his teeth, he steeled himself, meeting the icy gaze of the other man, who considered him with keen, intense interest. 

“My name is Obi-wan Kenobi.”

For a brief second, the Force surged in a strange, dark elation as the stranger’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction. 

“And I am Yan Dooku of Serenno. Come, Obi-wan,” he said, putting an arm around Whisp’s shoulders, leading him away from the confused and quiet scene of pirates, of the doe-eyed stares of what had - for a brief, happy moment - been his family. 

From one family to the next, always a visitor. First the Jedi and Qui-gon Jinn, then Bandomeer. Then clinics, then circuses, and now this. 

With Dooku.

Something settled in Obi-wan’s gut, not unpleasant. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to open to the Force, wholly and without constraint. This felt right, more right than anything else had in Obi-wan’s life. 

“Come,” Dooku repeated, voice warming ever so slightly. “We have much to do.”

[tibbinswrites]

Suptober Day 23 - No Exit

Warning for Major Character Death in this one.

Dean pulled out his phone, grimacing as the movement sent a fresh wave of warm blood gushing from the wound in his stomach. He had to use both hands to hold it, which meant no one was keeping pressure on the wound, which sucked. He had to try several times to unlock the thing, his fingers were sticky and the touch wasn’t really registering. What the hell had been so wrong with buttons that phone companies decided to do away with them altogether? Maybe Bobby had had a point in his aversion to computers, or maybe Dean he had just gotten old enough to be falling behind. At least he had signal in here. He tapped on the name and it began to ring. Dean winced as he reapplied pressure to his stomach with one hand, not that it would do much,

“Hello Dean,” The voice was as warm and gritty as wet sand and Dean instantly relaxed, slumping back against the wall, though that wasn’t the voice he’d been expecting to hear.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He’s meeting with that paranoid office worker, he said he had some information on the thing’s location but made Sam promise to leave his phone behind.”

“Oh yeah, ’cause that’s not concerning.” He tried to push back the crushing disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to hear his baby brother’s voice one more time. He still had Cas.

“Sam said you’d say that,” Cas said, the hint of a smile in his voice. “Don’t worry, we checked him out beforehand, went through his whole life story in paperwork, he is who he says and ‘he’s not the droid we’re looking for’.”

Dean laughed, okay, it was half a laugh, half an extended, pained cough. It was a horrible, hacking sound, not one that could be passed off as anything other than concerning. “Man, I’m so glad I made you watch Star Wars.”

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, voice instantly hardened, serious, “are you alright?”

“Uhh...” He considered lying, he did. He already missed the warmth of happy, calm Cas. Then he shifted and coughed again and knew that Cas would never forgive him if he lied now. “No, buddy.”

“Where are you?” Cas was all business now, and he could hear the light static of air passing through the speaker as the phone moved, keys jingled in the background, the sound of a door.

“Cas-” it was too late, he wanted to say, Cas wouldn’t get here in time. Dean was lying in a pool of what he judged to be about five pints of his own blood. He was woozy and feverish, steadily dripping out more, and to top it all off, he was in a solid stone room so even if Cas made it before Dean croaked, getting in would take more time than he had.

“Where!” Cas shouted.

“The… the theme park outside of town. The maze room. Thing was a freaking minotaur, you believe that? Not heard of them outside of Greece before.”

“Was,” Cas repeated the sound of a car engine rumbling through the phone, “You killed it?”

“I think you could say we killed each other at the same time,” Dean said, glancing over to where the misshapen lump of the minotaur lay. “I just… haven’t gotten around to dying yet.”

“Don’t talk like that. I’m on my way, you’re gonna be fine.”

“I’m bleeding out, Cas. If I go quiet don’t think I’m ignorin’ ya, alright?”

He could feel it, the sleepiness that came with blood loss, the way his head kept dipping. It wasn’t too bad yet, he’d had practise at this after all, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer. The minotaur had gored him, and then it had thrown him backwards just as Dean had managed to get the wire around the thing’s neck, unknowingly killing itself when it threw Dean away, the wire slicing through spine and muscle and tendons half a second before Dean hit the wall.

“Hold on,” Cas ordered, voice desperate. Dean would bet Baby that the gas pedal was on the floor. Even so, the theme park was a quarter of an hour away. “Hold on just a little longer. Please, Dean.”

“I’m glad you picked up,” Dean confessed. “I don’t… I don’t wanna be alone.”

“I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly. “You’re always here when it counts.”

There was a small sniff from the other end of the line, or at least that’s what Dean thought, but blood loss and pain could do all sorts of funky things. He pressed a little harder to the wound and hissed as it shot lightning through all his pain receptors.

“What the hell made you go after this thing alone?” Cas demanded, “You couldn’t have called me?”

“Save the lecture till after I’m dead, Cas.” He said, trying to sound jokey, but it rang hollow.

“Don’t-”

“Thing jumped me anyway. Knocked me out. I woke up in the middle of the maze. Only know that’s where it is ’cause we were in here, what, two days ago?”

When the three of them had first rolled into town the first thing Dean had seen was the theme park, and seeing as they would’ve had to wait until the next day to get started on the case anyway they decided to go. It had been a great day. Dean dragged Cas to the bumper cars and laughed his ass off as the guy drove around the track like a jittery grandmother.

But as it turned out, Cas loved roller-coasters.

In the maze they’d split up. Sam had followed a thread of interesting murals while Dean and Cas went searching for the centre; Sam text them while they were getting lost to let them know he’d already found the middle and the exit and that he was going to go get them candy apples while he waited. They found it eventually, a cool and dimly lit stone room with a bell suspended on wire in the middle to ring to prove you’d made it. Apparently there was also a huge stone slab that could be (and was currently being) used as a door, rolled into position and fixed in place by some mechanism that he couldn’t see and didn’t care to investigate. In fact, it was that very door that he was now bleeding out on. He had to hand it to the minotaur, this was the ideal spot for squirrelling away victims after hours, as long as those victims weren’t viciously well-trained and resourceful, of course, but that was no fault of the location.

“Dean?”

Dean shook himself, he’d been dangerously close to drifting off into his own head for a second there, “Yeah, sorry.”

“Keep talking to me,” Cas instructed, “I’m almost there.”

“Cas, you’re not gonna-” Dean began.

“Shut up!”

“Keep talking, shut up, I’m getting mixed signals here, buddy.” Dean said, his words ending in a wheeze, apparently he needed to stick to shorter sentences if he still wanted to breathe.

“Oh please, you invented mixed signals.” Cas retorted, clearly just grasping on to the thread of conversation to keep Dean talking, he couldn’t blame him, were the situations reversed he knew he’d do the same. He heard the crunch of gravel and figured that Cas had hit the theme park parking lot.

“And what’s that s’pposed to mean?” He heard his voice beginning to slur and he fought it as best he could. He was shocky, had been since about the third pint of blood ventured out into the wide world, shock he was an old hand at but now he was approaching pint six and his vision was dipping.

“We are not having this conversation now.” Cas said fiercely, and he was running, Dean wasn’t sure he’d even switched off the car engine but he could hear the rhythmic pound of footsteps, the slight hitch in Cas’ breathing, more at the force of his feet hitting ground rather than any bodily strain, damn angels. “You said the middle of the maze?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, feeling himself start to slip, the darkness was so inviting, it hurt where he was, sat on the cold stone, his own blood soaking into his socks. “S’okay, Cas.”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep, you hear me?!” Cas yelled into the phone, panicked now, his voice remarkably stable for someone sprinting full speed, Dean loved his voice, he loved how it could be soft and badass at the same time, he loved the way it formed itself around words and made them become emotion by association. “I’m almost there.”

“Mmm.”

“Dean!”

“You say my name weird.” Dean said, mostly to stop Cas from yelling at him.

“I do?”

“Yeah, like it means somethin’, not just a name, you know? But me.”

“You do mean something,” Cas insisted. “You mean a lot, you mean everything.”

“Dramatic bastard.”

Cas let out a sound then, half a sob, half relief, and then there was a bang on the solid block of stone behind him, vibrating it, making his skull ring like that damned bell.

“Ow,” he complained.

“Dean!” Cas called, his voice tinny through the phone and muffled through the door. “Can you hear me?”

Dean allowed the phone to slip from his fingers and into the pool of blood with a sick plop.

“Yeah, Cas. I hear ya.”

“How do I open the door?”

“Dunno, buddy. The thing had keys, maybe that.”

“Can you slide them under the door?”

“Can’t reach ’em.”

“Try!”

So Dean half-heartedly lifted a heavy arm before letting it drop, “Ain’t happening.”

“Not even to save yourself?” He sounded angry, good, angry was better than upset, he deserved angry.

“Cas, I don’t think I could move to save Sam right now,” he confessed.

There was a pause then, a brief one, and if he wasn’t mistaken a sob burbled up from the blood-soaked phone that didn’t make it through the door.

“Okay,” Cas said, that glorious voice remarkably gentle now, “Okay, then I’ll find another way in.”

Another pause, and then the whole room trembled, dust floated down from the ceiling and Dean grimaced at the pain even that slight movement caused. That tremble came again, and again, and a fourth time.

“Are you trying to punch your way through?” Dean asked, half-incredulous, half-impressed. He’d also probably be a little turned on if he had any blood to spare.

“Yes.”

“Well stop it, you’re giving me a headache.”

“Dean-”

“Dammit, Cas! Just talk to me.”

If Cas heard the note of fear in his voice, he was kind enough not to mention it, though it wasn’t the dying that frightened Dean, he’d been down that road more times than he could count, no, he just… he didn’t want to spend his last minutes in a stone box listening to Cas lose his freaking mind.

“I can save you.”

“No, you can’t.” Dean said quietly.

It was definitely a sob this time, one last, tiny thump, and the sound of Cas falling to the ground, either on his knees or on his ass Dean couldn’t be sure.

“It’s okay, Cas. You’ll be okay.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Cas said. “I’ve lost you before, I know that I won’t.”

“Yeah, well… You’ve still got Sam, and he’s gonna need you too.”

“Sam… what… what am I gonna tell him?”

“You’ll tell him that you stayed with me. You’ll tell him I told him to cut his damn hair.”

Cas laughed wetly. “He won’t.”

Dean smiled, despite himself, “Yeah, I know.”

There was a brief silence while Dean struggled to stay conscious just a little longer. He wished he could see Cas, touch him, watch his eyes turn soft and focused, looking at him like he was something beautiful and brilliant and loved.

“Never thought it would be like this,” he said after a minute, because he knew Cas was about to call his name again, shaky, and not expecting a reply.

“You never factored in ‘minotaur’?”

“Funny, right? I’ve got a long list of ways I thought I’d get taken out, but never once thought of a minotaur.”

“Sounds like bad planning on your part.” Cas replied, with forced calm.

“Right?”

Another few seconds passed, then, because Dean just couldn’t stand it anymore, “I love you.”

He heard the gasp, heard the gulp and the choke, hated himself for it, because Cas would have to live with this moment forever. Dean would be dead with the words no longer stoppering his lungs but Cas would have to carry them around with him for the rest of his life, or at least until he learned how to set them down and leave them behind. Dean didn’t like to think about either option.

“Sorry,” he continued, “I know, Winchesters don’t do deathbed confessions.”

“So, why-?”

“Because you deserve to hear it. Because I fuckin’ love you and I can be such an asshole sometimes and I’m not sure you know.”

“I know,” Cas said thickly. “I was waiting for you to say it, to be ready.”

“I’ve got the worst timing.”

“Yes, you do.”

Dean practically heard the teary smile, even as the room faded to blackness, he was still conscious, just, could still hear, but keeping his eyes open was just… too much.

“I love you too.” Cas said, “bad timing and all.”

“Good, or that would’ve been awkward.”

“Any other deathbed confessions while we’re here?”

“Just one, but if you tell Sam, I’m gonna haunt your ass.”

“What?” Cas’ voice was like a breath of clean air after a storm, air that he could barely get into his lungs now.

“I’m scared.” The words came out in a puff of air, barely audible now, “How dumb is that? I don’t want Heaven, Cas, I just wanna go home.”

“I know.” Cas said quietly. “You’re the one person who won’t be content with paradise.”

“Mem’ries ’rn’t the same.” He mumbled, his tongue thick and unwieldy in his mouth.

“But we had some good ones, didn’t we?” Cas murmured through the door. “Like the time I first made you laugh in that brothel? And when we...”

Cas’ voice faded out, a soothing rhythm of pleasant memories and feelings.

Maybe he hadn’t had minotaur on his list, but this wasn’t the worst way to go, all things considered.

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

[the-fae-folk]

Leaf: We know that the Folk carries two names, one given name and one true name, so like, do they go through life without ever revealing their true names? What happens if they were tricked or something happens that made them tell someone their true name, like a bargain of some sort?

Have you ever heard the story of Rumpelstilzchen? It is an old story, with many variants. But at its core, the story often contains similar elements. A miller inflicted by excessive hubris who tells a lie about his daughter’s abilities, a king or prince who is inflicted by avarice and desires gold above all else, a miller’s daughter who makes the only choice left to her by those she should have been able to trust, a trusted servant, and a Faerie with dark intent.The story begins in a familiar vein, with the Miller bragging to the pub that his daughter had been blessed by heaven and that when she sat down to spin flaxen straw into linen thread, out had come threads of purest gold. The Miller’s name was Henkel, and he was known for his tall tales, especially after a pint of ale.Anyone who knew anything about making flax into linen would laugh at the absurdity of this. You didn’t take dry flax and just feed it into a spinning wheel and come out with anything, let alone gold. You had to rot away the stalk to get at the fibers beneath, and all that after growing and harvesting them. The whole of the spinning process alone could take days. The miller knew nothing of such things, for he paid little attention to the doings of his own house. He was a fool, but he had one truth. He loved his daughter more than anything and worked himself to the bone at the mill to provide for her. It was only on the Saturday evenings that he could take a break and go to the pub to tell foolish stories. He could have gone on Sundays, but being a God fearing man he took his one daughter to the nearby church for Mass, and afterward they lit a single votive candle for the girl’s long departed mother. But stories are often respun without the teller’s knowing, and there was someone else who heard the tale who knew nothing about the making of linen.

The King, whose name was Ruthard, had long been mocked for his desire for gold. The citizens muttered under their breath at each increase in taxes, and unrest grew by the day. Yet despite the gold that was collected, there was still not enough to repair bridges and roads, to build new public buildings, or to aid the needy. You see, a great deal of the money had been squandered in a terrible war the King had never wanted to be part of. He’d been obligated to send soldiers to aid another country’s battles, all because of a contract his father had signed many years before. Now he found himself besieged by his own nobles, each like a predator, searching for power, draining at the royal treasury wherever they could legally get away with it. There is much damage you can do while remaining firmly within the law.

So when the King heard the story of a girl who could spin flaxen straw into pure gold, he leapt at the chance. The Miller’s Daughter was brought before him. The moment she heard the summons from the King, the girl knew that her father’s wild stories had already done great damage, and that she would have to convince the King that not only were her father’s stories were merely fiction, but that her father was a kindly fool who deserved mercy for his tall tales. But the King didn’t even listen to her, cutting her off before she’d begun. She was a woman, he reasoned, and women did nothing but tell foolish tales and talk empty talk. He had no need of pretty speeches, he wanted the gold he thought she could spin.

So he relegated her to a single tower filled with straw, and declared that she should spin all of it to gold by the time dawn rose the next morning, or lose her head. The straw was not even flax, just ordinary straw, he had not even listened to that detail of the story, for his only concern was the gold that would save his kingdom.

And the Miller’s daughter wept. She, of course, could not even spin flax into linen in that time, let alone ordinary straw into gold.Now, at that time there was an elf in the country, who had come from Faerie to find himself a human child to steal away. He only wanted the child as a plaything, a doll to dress up and play with. There was no harm intended on the child, and he would have been horrified at such a suggestion, considering himself a benevolent person. But he heard from the castle servants as they drew water from the well, of the girl who was sentenced to be executed on the morn if she could not fulfill the King’s impossible demands. The Kitchen girls, of course, thought the girl was doomed and wondered if there was a way to help her somehow. But in all their talk they could think of nothing that wouldn’t endanger them as well.The elf, on the other hand, was delighted. He clothed himself in a disguise. For though he was beautiful beyond mortal imagining, he wanted to appear old, ugly, and friendly. Like an aged grandfather. In this shape he went to the tower door and unlocked it with magic.Thinking that dawn had come early, the Miller’s daughter leapt to her feet in horror, only to find that the King had not come. It was only an old grandfather, possibly the cook or the gardener by his threadbare clothes. She greeted him and he smiled a big nearly toothless smile and asked why she was so sad. So she told him her story, of her father’s foolishness, and the King’s demands.After the tale had been spun, the old man thought for a long time. Then he looked at the Miller’s daughter and grinned in a secretive manner. “I met an old witch once,” he said. “Said she was a White witch from the land of Eire. She showed me many of her secrets of the helping of people. Curing boils and finding lost things. One thing she taught me is the spinning of straw into gold. I can help you if you like.” Astonished, and slightly in awe, the Miller’s daughter could do nothing but nod. But the grandfatherly man was not finished. “There is one thing, you know. There must be a trade. An equal exchange. It’s part of things.”Nothing he said was, of course, a lie. But while he had certainly met that old white witch and been shown much of her work, there was little he could have learned from her. But the Miller’s daughter had no way of knowing that. So she offered him her necklace. A pretty thing of silver that her father had saved up for months to buy for her birthday last year. It was precious, but her father would be happier to see her alive. And a price paid, the grandfatherly old man set himself down on the stool before the spinning wheel and began to string the straw round the wheel, somehow letting it join up into straw like threads as he did so, and let it twist the threads as he wound the string forward onto the spindle…where it gleamed in the light of the flickering lamp. It was purest gold.All night he spun, and all night the Miller’s daughter watched in wonder. She could never quite catch the moment the straw became thread or the thread became gold, but the wheel spun on and everything seemed like a dream. When she awoke the old man was gone, and there were hundreds of bobbins of gold thread piled round her.

When the King arrived he gazed in shock at the room full of gold. During the night he had reconsidered his demands of the girl. Surely her father must have exaggerated the tales, for no one could truly achieve such a feat. After all, the Miller was not wealthy by any means. He had decided to go to the room when dawn came and pardon her for her father’s tall tales when he inevitably found only straw and no gold. But seeing the piles and piles of gold thread he could hardly believe his eyes. His thoughts filled of the veterans come back from the war who had no money and had returned to rotting fields and filled positions at their old jobs, he thought of the run down churches in need of repair, of so many things that could use the money he could hardly think of them all.

So in delight he took her to another room and had that filled with straw. He did not repeat his threat of having her beheaded, but since he’d forgotten to rescind it from the night before, the poor Miller’s daughter had no idea if she would survive the coming dawn. Again the old man appeared and offered the trade in exchange for spinning straw into gold. She offered the only thing she had left in her possession that he might value, her mother’s old wedding ring that she had kept with her every day for six years. It broke her heart to part with it, but she knew that her mother would tell her to give it up in an instant if it would keep her from a terrible fate. So once again was straw spun into shimmering gold, and once again the King found her upon a pile of gold when dawn came. He moved her to a third room filled with straw. But this time, having remembered his determination to remove his order of beheading from the girl, who was so obviously frightened, he offered his own hand in marriage in exchange for one more night of spinning straw into gold.He did not threaten anything for failure, but still the Miller’s daughter feared his wrath if no gold was forthcoming, so when the old man appeared once more she threw herself at his feet and begged for his help. She had nothing to give, but she offered him all sorts of wonders she imagined a queen might have access to. But the disguised Faerie was only after one thing.

“If I spin gold for you now,” he said. “You will owe me something in the future that I will come and name. When the price is stated, you must pay it.” And having no choice, the Miller’s daughter agreed.So the story goes much as you might imagine. The King discovers the Miller’s daughter sitting in a pile of gold thread, and he honors his word, marrying her and making her queen. He did not love her, but though he mourned the chance to seek out love for himself, he had a duty to his country. This woman could spin straw into gold, and had done so in three nights. More than enough gold to bring his country back from the edge of ruin. His promise had not been made lightly, but after considering what he was duty bound to do as King.

A year passed, and the Queen was with child, which was her duty. For Kings and Queens must produce and heir for the sake of the kingdom. Her father had long since learned to take care of his stories. Not one drop of ale had touched his lips for a year and a day, and he lived in the castle as an advisor to his new royal son-in-law.Every day she was attended by her maid, a girl named Elise, who she grew very fond of. They talked of many things, of fathers and mothers, of marriage, of secrets, and stories. By the time the child was born they had long since become the closest of friends.

Then the day came when the old man appeared at the door of her chambers, and the Queen knew him and let him in, thanking him for his help in saving her life from the foolish deeds of others. She had no fear of him, for he had been kind to her, listened to her, and helped her. He was not frightening really, just old and ugly. Or so it appeared. One person in the room could see his true face. Elise, the maid, was a changeling child. Long ago she had learned the trick of seeing through the haze of glamour, and instead of the old man who the Queen had told her tales of, she saw an elf standing tall and beautiful, with a wicked smile on his lips.

When the Queen asked what price the old man would ask of her now that she was free and safe from the threat of beheading, the old man swept into a bow. “I would ask for your first born child to keep for my own.”There was a long horrified silence. Through the Queen’s mind leapt a thousand thoughts of her precious baby, and the King’s despair at the loss of his newly born daughter, who despite all he loved as much as he had grown to love his wife. “Please reconsider,” she said to the old man. He tilted his head to the side, looking at her strangely. Though he had always felt kind and friendly, she now felt like a predator was in the room, waiting for the moment to strike at its prey. She felt fear.“Why?” asked the man.And she told him why. How a young girl had been caught up in the consequences of other people’s decisions. A father who told tall tales at a pub as he drank away sorrows for his long dead wife. A king with a failing kingdom who was willing to believe a fairy tale. A girl desperate to save her own life who was left no other choices to make, even had she wanted to. When at last she fell silent…the old man sighed.“You are right. There are many reasons why you are not to blame, even for your own choices. I will offer you one more deal. Knowing that your child will never come to harm even if you fail, that you are making your own choice without fear for your own life. I will grant you three days to guess at my name. Three days. If you cannot guess it in that time, you must give up your firstborn child to me once and for all.”The Queen agreed. At once she set the entire palace to work, seeking every name that could be found. The records were perused by old scholars, tax collectors gave her the names of those they collected from. Even the King helped by going up and down the lists, making sure that no name was listed more than once. For he’d long heard the story of the old man and his dear wife’s promise in the face of certain death. Though he’d been disappointed that it wasn’t truly she who had spun the gold, he did not love her less for it now.When the old man came he sat before the Queen as she went through list after list, giving every name she could think of, going on for hours as the old man calmly shook his head to every single one. When he left…the whole castle set out again to collect more names. Names from other countries, princes, kings, and peasants. Even names usually reserved for girls and women were added to the list. They could take no chances. But on the second day, as the Queen read off each name, the Old man still did not react to any of them.At last the Queen appealed to her dearest friend, Elise. Asking if she would go out and search for something, anything, that would help them. So Elise went, out into the trees near the Rhine river. There she crossed into Faerie. There she called in favors and sought out secrets till at last she came to a handsome elf sitting by a campfire and singing a merry little song to himself in the quiet of the night.“Every deed has consequence,And every deed has its price,I’ve been so kind and I’ve been so nice.Down to the palace when daylight dawns,In a manner kind and a face so fake,and then the Queen’s first child I’ll take!No one alive in hill or dell could ever guess,none on the downs have heard my fame,For Rumpelstilzchen is my name!”And at that, Elise gasped, for she had heard the secret name of the Faerie, and all he was and had done was revealed to her. The Elf man immediately quieted upon saying his name aloud and looked to see if any had heard, but he did not see the maid slipping away in silence, for being a Changling she too was Fae.The dawn came, and with it the elf in the guise of an old man. The Queen sat before him and read her lists aloud, her voice beginning to fail after three days. Though Elise had told her the secret name of the woods, she could not afford to leave out any found name before giving it. Just in case this was not the same creature. But to each name the man shook his head no and grew more and more amused. At last the Queen looked at the final name upon her list and read it aloud. “Rumpelstilzchen!”

And with that name said aloud the wicked elf’s glamour was rent in two and he stood in fury, beautiful and wonderful as the dawn, his hair glistening in the rosy sunlight like spun gold, his eyes like deep pools of water, and his body graceful like no dancer could ever even dream of. He could not touch her, he knew he could not. Because he had made a bargain and he must keep it, because with his name she held power over him and was safe from his magic, because he himself had revealed it by accident in the woods the night before. He turned round the room and looked at all within, his gaze falling upon the maid. In an instant he saw her for what she was, a Changling child. In a rage he stamped his foot against the floor and caused the whole kingdom to shake in its foundations. “THE TRAITOR TOLD YOU THAT! THE TRAITOR TOLD YOU THAT!” he screamed.But the Queen was not moved. She had seen tantrums all her life by children from the village. For all this being’s awesome powers and beauty, for all his cunning and his tricks, for all that he was and could do…he was revealed to her eyes. So she waited. Waited until at last he calmed down and stood before her in fury. Then she smiled.“You have lost and I have won. My child is my own to keep. However, I now know your name. I cannot make you do anything I wish, but I have enough power over you to know you and to be safe from you. I will offer you one more deal.”Gritting his sharp teeth in anger, but not being able to help his own curiosity, Rumpelstilzchen nodded for her to continue.“I will offer you my own name so that we may stand forever as equals, neither able to do harm to the other. In exchange you will vow on all the uncountable courts of Faerie, on the nine crowns of Faerie, on Faerie itself…that you will never again prey upon the innocent, that you will never act to bring harm to my kingdom for as long as it stands, and that you will never harm and actively protect all of my line from now until the end of time.”And elf fell to his knees. This promise would haunt him forever. It would never be broken or all of Faerie would instantly turn upon him and he would suffer a fate worse than any other. A fate worse than death. But the Queen was not finished.From a hidden place in her gown she drew a dagger of cold iron, simple in its design, but effective in its purpose. “If you refuse to agree, I will mark you with a wound so terrible that even when covered in Glamour it will let itself be known somehow in some way.”So the elf, having no choice as long ago the Miller’s daughter had no choice, agreed to the deal. Vowing upon the uncountable courts of Faerie, upon the nine crowns of Faerie, upon Faerie itself, that he would abide by her terms. And before he left, presumably to cause mischief in some other far away place, she told him her name. Edyln.

[memories-n-dreams-blog]

A Pint Owed || Obsidian & Belle

Annabelle held her drink. which had only been one tonight, thank you very much. Surrounded by the crowd, she was hoping to get a bit of inspiration. She was working on a book about a party girl who’s life had spiraled out of control, and although she had the party girl down pat, she didn’t know what it was like when things spiraled out of control. She’d never had that problem before, and if other people thought different then that was their opinion. She had no regrets when it came to her life, except not being able to protect Lex from getting her magic stolen. Belle had a yellow legal pad next to her as she sipped her vodka cranberry slowly. Her brown eyes searched the crowd around her, taking in each person.

When she heard the commotion, she got up from her seat and just in time, she saw the man who’d bumped into the girl throw his middle finger in the air, whisper some kind of obscenity and keep on walking. “Hey!” Belle yelled into the air. “He’s lucky I’m not drunk enough to set his ass on fire. Literally. Could you imagine him dance?” She asked with a shake of her head.

“C’mon. I’ll take care of your beer. It’s on me. And then maybe we can plot a way to get back to that asshole.”

Obsidian was annoyed. She’d paid good money and for an American draft, it hadn’t been terrible. Less like watered down piss and more like the real deal. So when it hit the ground, the glass shattering in the process, Sid was annoyed. Really annoyed. “I didn’t get a good look at him,” she said. Her Scottish accent was thicker when she was pissed so it came out strong. “I couldn’t begin to plot his end, I don’t know where he went.” If she had seen him or had a picture she could make him pay, but as that was off the table all Obsidian could do was shrug. 

She glanced over at the woman that had offered to set the guy on fire and smiled. She liked this gal already and she hadn’t even learned her name. “A new beer sounds good, so long as it's not that piss water you American’s think is beer.” She’d been in the states for 15 years now, but it didn’t matter. There was still a strong divide on a few things. “How about something stronger? Got any of that around here?”

@annabelle-ashworth