#Black Magic Removal in Edinburgh

[rada-76]

Supplement one to Part 1. About "rings" and "a spring in a box"

This post is in Russian/Этот пост есть на русском, здесь.

Preface "Marvelous!" | Part 1

There's a lot more great stuff sewn into the scene where Aziraphale drops the items in the magic shop!

"Hats" 

When Aziraphale enters the shop, he politely removes his hat, but similar hats are hung behind him in the shot because it's a prominent detail of his trip to Edinburgh. 

"The Angel in the Bentley and the Four Rings"

In that Part 1 I convinced you: the authors know how to make perfect parallels. But what is more important, these parallels also coincide in terms of emotions.

Look, both in the scene of things falling and in the trip to Edinburgh, Aziraphale feels stupid and awkward deep down, and we sympathize with him, but also regret that he disappointed us so much. 

But when playing with the four rings, Aziraphale looks at Crowley with adoration, as if hinting at their conversation about Bentley Yellowness. By the way, these rings are gold. How beautiful! The angel is in a very good mood in both scenes.

"The Demon-Snake and the Curtain" 

Now this is an absolute gem! A compact example of a perfect parallel! We look at the background around Crowley at the moment when Azi plays with the rings. In the frame next to the demon, we can see a snake statue, which is framed by... A theater curtain! Bentley's number is actually NIATRUC. It's a curtain (a theater curtain), only from right to left. Moreover, the snake in the frame is located between the curtains, but still in the distance, that is, now we have Crowley not inside the Bentley. And what is this glass ball between the snake and the curtain? A coincidence, probably. And then it dawned on me! The ball is placed in front of the curtain so that both the snake and the audience are looking at the curtain as if through it. And the glass ball is a lens that turns objects over, changing top with bottom, and right with left! NIATRUC!

We will see this ball in "Part 2", but as a symbol of the Earth. Things here often carry a double load of meaning. 

The curtain is not black and not yellow, like the Bentley. But it is red, this is Crowley's color in the hint system. And the fringe is gold, like the rings. And the snake statue is red. 

What about emotions? Crowley himself looks pleased in this shot. I do not argue, he grumbled at Azi on the radio, but in general he likes talking to the angel. In the scene of the first season, he also reluctantly blows the stain off his shoulder, and he himself is glad that he was persuaded. 

I also thought that since Crowley calls Aziraphale in the car, they should have added some ringing object here. And there is one! The rings in Azi's hands are ringing! No, think about it, Aziraphale in this allegory hears Crowley's call not just anyhow, but through the Bentley.

"Trick Box with a Spring"

Crowley is very scared of the spring with tinsel that flew out of the box! And Az is scared along with him. And the seller laughs, repeating: "Very funny! You'll die laughing!" 

If you want, think that the spring that jumped out is Gabriel-Jim, whom Crowley was so scared of when he unexpectedly saw him in the bookstore. Or that the spring is a yellow duster. Then the seller acts as the audience of the series, who unanimously think that it was very funny when Crowley was scared of Jim. And for the collection of analogies: the spring and tinsel that flew out of the box up and beyond the edge of the frame were compared in the fandom with Azicrow's joint miracle that went beyond the bookstore. All three versions come down to Gabriel.

Yeah, Gabriel's arrival at the bookstore has put quite a bit of stress on our heroes. So, Gabriel is a symbol of false, vain fear, he's a joke, a dud. Here they hint at it, laugh, they say. And in the season finale, Gabriel's harmlessness was confirmed. So trust the emotions in the clues, they more truthfully communicate the true emotions of the characters and the meanings in symmetrical scenes.

"The bell button and just enough of a bastard"

After the scare, Crowley is shown laughing sincerely and good-naturedly for quite a while. We rarely see him so happy. Is he really that happy for Gabriel and Beelzebub? There are no hints of this couple in the frame. No flies, no yellow feathers. But there is a hint of another scene. 

Now we will talk about the apology dance, forgive me. Many people don’t like it because of the feeling of coercion and because the author reminds us that an angel is not always a sweetheart. But the formula of the apology dance has already come in handy once, as evidence, so don’t you dare brush it off. I can’t stand zombies, but it looks like I’ll have to dig around in the footage with them too. The detective’s work is not always pleasant, but it bears honest fruit. Many clues in the season are irritating, but they are capable of attracting the attention of the viewer-detective.

Before the scare, this trick box is persistently shoved into our eyes, pushed to the foreground. What does the box look like? Yes, it depicted the bookstore at the moment of the miracle. But now it is also a button-bell for visitors to the bookstore, which Crowley pressed in the scene of the apology dance. Just look at how the shots with "The Button and Crowley Before the Dance" and "The Box and the Trick Seller" are arranged: a figure on the left, a button on the right, a diagonal strip of the carpet and a diagonal strip of the counter, a vertical strip of the column and a vertical strip of the golden curtain. I am attaching the picture. 

The bump on top of the box is made in the shape of Aziraphale's pocket watch, and the brown color of the box is Aziraphale's color. These signs also hint to me that the box is connected with an angel who, deep down, is enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. Accept that this bastard made the Serpent dance, because the demon likes the bastardry in the angel.

The way Crowley smiles long and well, and doesn't let go of the box for all this long time, personally clearly tells me that the apology dance stroked not only my kinks and fetishes. If this were not so, the authors, who carefully build every little detail in every frame, would have prompted Crowley to throw the box on the counter after the spring flew out, and as quickly as possible.

But if you don't like my idea, then you can consider that Crowley enjoyed doing their miracle together with Aziraphale. As with Gabriel, the authors here provided us with a range of interpretations. The last frame of the trip, where Bentley turns black again, contains tartan mountains and a snake-shaped monster splashing nearby. That is, the conversation about Bentley's color was not a quarrel, Aziraphale and Crowley finished it, emotionally feeling close to each other.

"Arrogance and ears"

I'll add about the dance, although it's not about tricks. Although, it's hard to say! 

Aziraphale's phrase "I hear" right before the Serpent's dance and the subsequent arrogant "Very well" rhymes in my head with how the angel arrogantly corrected Furfur when he misinterpreted his name while reading the angel reference book. And the reference book contains the absurd phrase "has suspicious ears." Yeah. He hears with them. And the trick on Furfur is nearby. I have other arguments that Aziraphale's ears are important, but for now I'll have to put this pulp aside. The size of posts and your attention (precious for me) is not endless.

***

About the trick seller's table at the moment when everything was falling and ringing. There, next to the snake statuette hugging the bell with its tail, are two goblin figures. And in Edinburgh, next to the angel ringing the Snake, are two goblin figures. (There is a false movie blooper connected with these goblin figures, I will describe it in the post about the cups. There is also a brilliant parallel in emotions there.)

And there is one statue. True, there is a snake statue on the table, and in Edinburgh there is a statue of Gabriel, but the word "statue" is played with.

Homework for the inquisitive: why is the "three ropes" trick called "The Professor's Nightmare"? I don't know.

Ah, I know! Emotions help. Professor Hoffman praised Aziraphale for his tricks. And Crowley praised Aziraphale for the trick with the caraway seed, and how he praised him! And the trick with three similar ropes refers to Crowley's nightmare from the first season, when our demon mixed up the babies.

I am especially pleased that the inscription that Professor Hoffman made in the book could have been written to the angel by Crowley himself: "To the wonderful student." After all, the angel in the two previous flashbacks (with Job and with the gravediggers) showed himself to be his excellent student!

***

The thing is, "Queen" was playing at Nina's cafe, and there was a board with the inscription "Honolulu Roast". This is a reference to the story of the Queen of Honolulu. (From the post https://www.tumblr.com/indigovigilance/730554435104915456/honolulu-roast) Nefertiti is also a queen. And the words Nefer-ti-ti and Hono-lu-lu are similar. And just a beautiful thing: when Nefertiti is mentioned, I think of Honolulu by the consonance. It was lucky that two queens are connected by such similar words in structure! But is there any meaning in this connection, or just beauty, I'm not sure.

The next part will be here.

All my posts with analyses are here. Author @rada-76 Translator into English @kimberleyjean

[grey-and-green]

Magic Trick a la @ariaste

Since OP is overwhelmed with feedback and asks about the theory, I'm going to just continue theorising about it right here:

"Continuity Errors" that stink of....Meddling:

1: When Aziraphale returns from Edinburgh, they put the plants in the car...then next scene Crowley is driving back from somewhere, but we know it's the same day. Where did he go? Was it important? Was it deleted?

2: Equally where/what the f was Crowley after the battle? Post-battle in E6, when Michael is threatening Aziraphale with erasure, Crowley is just lounging in the background looking calm as anything. Excuse me? Dearest Angel is being threatened and Crowley just...does not care? Nonsense. I expect he was either not really there, or was doing something else, and this cardboard cutout version of him was placed back in the scene by Meddling.

3: Changes to the car. This might be more "the car has accepted them both as owners" or it could just be bad attention to detail by someone Meddling. The leather seats changed to black when the car turned yellow, and then the seat colour remained black for the rest of the season. But Aziraphale did NOT remove the bullet decals from the window when he was using the car. BUT they're gone in the credit scene. Like, conspicuously gone. For why?????

4: OP touched on the demon attack being Edited, so I'll just add to this that these are supposed to be 'bottom of the barrel' demons...and yet two of the three members of the Dark Council that FurFur went to in E4 are there (not Dagon, obv, but the other two apparently high-ranking demons are now also part of this attack?). THATS ODD?!?

5: 1650. We all spotted it. BUT in light of some Meddling, I would have to ask, is 1650 a Pledge? or a Clue? Is it just Neil being silly and just going to bring up 1650 later, or were we, the audience, 'shown' the 1650 scene, but then it was deleted from our memories? I DO NOT KNOW.

6: Lots of time lapses. It's been pointed out that the time of the bookshop battle could NOT have taken all night, and that the 1941 flashback SHOULD HAVE taken all night. But also: after Crowley (iconically) orders 6-shots-of-espresso, Maggie immediately walks in and Nina is already late for closing the cafe. Hmmmm. Also, Mr Brown carries the same newspaper all week. Again, very conspicuously. Is he real? Does time not pass for him? What's going on with the prop department here?

Exhibit B: (slightly different but in the realm of 'i see what you're doing)....overarching theme of resurrection. All three flashbacks heavily involve that idea. Job's children are "brought back" from the dead, Mr Dalrymple is literally a Resurrectionist and we try to bring Morag back, then literal zombies? And Mr Brown clearly dies, and Crowley brings him back almost as a second thought.

[paullicino]

The Coronation isn't Funny

Taken from my Patreon, last week.

The Coronation isn't funny.

I can’t deal with it. I can’t deal with the swords and the orb and the special custom screen they’ll anoint the important man behind. I don’t know why this is happening and why anybody likes it. I am at least half a world away, but still I can’t escape this institution because I will have to pledge allegiance to the new King of England as the final part of my Canadian naturalisation. No other person is mentioned in this pledge I will take, not Canada’s people as a whole, or its elected officials, not even the Prime Minister or their office. No, only the monarch.

I have to. It’s not even optional, like the proffered pledge being suggested by broadcasters and organisers back in my country of origin (who are giving the British public the chance to recite their allegiance to King Charles III, his heirs and successors). I can, at least, remove some amount of dignity from this and speak this pledge to the King of England in French. It is, after all, one of the official languages of Canada.

If that seems ridiculous to you, consider then that I first debated writing this entire thing as a farce, filling it with parody and invention. I could invent rituals and objects and people and titles, mix them in with some of their very real equivalents, and it might all be passably funny or passably believable. However, I learned a lesson several years ago: I invented some quotes (as well as some politicians) that referred to Donald Trump for a piece that attempted to satirise double standards and the vacillation that happens when those in office take a hypothetical position they are well aware they may have to change, only to then have people repeatedly and sincerely ask me if what I had written was real.

Pre-election, it had already become difficult to satirise or exaggerate Trump, a man who boasted about assaulting women and mocked a reporter with a disability, among so many other things. His behaviour was so monstrous and melodramatic that it was hard to find much that was funny by building upon that.

Similarly, it has also become too difficult to satirise the coming Coronation, which will involve lords with swords, pieces of what are alleged to be Christ’s cross, a magic stone, the King riding around in a genuine golden carriage and an archbishop who will simply present the orb. It turns out there are a few objects that are given and then taken back. Presented and then put down again. There is a special oil with a special formula. There will be salvoes and salutes fired by guns in London and Edinburgh and Belfast and Cardiff and at sea. There will be multiple flypasts. And did you know there is a special glove? But just one. Just one glove, which is put on for a little bit, before then being taken off again. That part sounds like something from a Michael Jackson performance. Someone will play something called the Weiner Fanfare and I swear to God I am not joking.

Some objects will be borne and some will be presented, each by a different person. Some will have both a separate person assigned to carry them and to present them. The sceptre with a dove (of course there’s more than one sceptre), for example, is carried by one person but presented by another. I don’t know why. I don’t know why members of the clergy will have to turn in each compass direction and hear the assembled audiences there shout back at them.

All this will happen tomorrow, eight hours away from me, and I’m very glad I will sleep through it. Maybe I will wake up to England, Great Britain, or the United Kingdom, or the Commonwealth finally getting past some of the extraordinary bullshit it’s been on for a while now, with so many people and services and institutions and organisations that will bend and bow in deference to one person. Seven months ago, the death of the previous monarch brought out a host of bizarre and undignified reactions that included a black and white Funko Pop image of the late Queen, a weird £349 limited edition royal bear and a sombre tweet from London’s Shrek Experience.

And then at least a quarter of a million people decided to spend up to twenty-four hours waiting in a line that reached sixteen kilometres in length in order to get a short glimpse of the Queen’s coffin. If (and this is a big if), on average, those people had spent just eight hours each queuing, that is already two million hours of people’s time, or two hundred and twenty eight years.

And I wonder if less of that time could’ve been spent in deference to a single monarch and more of it on things that would have benefited the wider society that the late monarch wasn’t really part of, but is instead elevated far above. Much as there will be millions of pounds spent on the coronation of this new monarch, who is already themselves spectacularly rich beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, that could perhaps be spent on resources or infrastructure or even just dinner for people in a country that now has over six thousand food banks and “independent food aid providers” serving two and a half million visitors from households who can’t afford to eat, part of the fifth of the nation that lives in poverty. That fifth includes about four million children.

I might be a party pooper if I suggest that at least two hundred and twenty eight years of useful time was lost lining up to pass by a dead person who never knew or thought about most of those visitors. Or that the estimated hundred million spent on the coronation could fund so many more useful things, especially after so much time and money and energy was also spent on lavish Golden, Diamond and then Platinum Jubilees events in succession, each busted out like clockwork to confer even more status. But police in England have been threatening or even arresting people for things as simple as statements of objection or holding up blank pieces of paper, so perhaps I shouldn’t do that. The monarchy is an institution and a tradition and an icon and living history and it brings people together.

In worship.

Tomorrow’s coronation is not funny because it is an act of worship and deference toward those with inherited money and status. It is a celebration of privilege. It further endorses a centuries old system of rulership that has been minimised or discontinued in so many other places. It will again place one family above the rest of a nation, simply because of birth and succession, and consume an enormous amount of time, energy, money and resources as it does so. And I don’t dislike it just because it is a display of pomp and ceremony that descends into the borderline comic, or because it is boring, or because it takes attention away from so many systemic inequalities or overlooks so much royal advantage and special treatment. I dislike it because it is a state sanctioned act of validation and sycophancy in a country that cannot move forward, and it serves only to help England disappear even further up its own arse like a scatological Ouroboros.

In Tom Clancy’s 1987 novel Patriot Games, a team of terrorists attempt to kidnap Charles and his then wife, Diana. At the climax of the story, Charles joins the fight against them and Clancy has the man who was famously flummoxed by the act of signing documents talk about flying fighter jets and dryly utter the line “I am adept with light weapons.” In reality, Charles crash-landed his plane seven years after this book was written, as part of a flight crew found negligent in their duties.

I ignored a lot of things around the Queen’s funeral and I have ignored a lot of things around this coronation. But I don’t want to be silent. I want to be angry about the unfairness in the world and I feel like I keep having to write about the scale of poverty and inequality, particularly in England, because it is being constantly erased, especially by bullshit like this. And I think what will happen tomorrow will be gross.

[esoxy]

The fabled blue UK passport is 3 years old today

So this is the perfect time to do a proper, page-by-page comparison of both the old and the new passports, to see how much better the new one is.

Let's start with the front cover

Although neither of them says anything about the EU anymore, the new one contains the words "BRITISH" and is also (a very dark shade of) blue. 0-1 so far to the blue one

Opening up the pages you can start to see some changes.

The first thing you'll notice that the second page is now in HARD plastic, hard as the Brexit that allowed this passport to become blue.

Since EU rules don't apply anymore so you could also remove all of those 22 extra pesky translations of our great country, only leaving English, Welsh, Gaelic, Irish, French and Spanish freeing up the space to include your face not just once, but two times!

We also got rid of the map of Cardiff in the background, and the references to seafaring. The latter was recently banned anyway.

2 points to the blue one so far

Not much change on the next page, apart from the use of hard plastic on the photo page, and the fact that I gained weight. Getting rid of the map of the UK was also a nice change as it was showing Scotland too prominently. They don't deserve this.

In any case this is a tie, so 1-3 points so far

Next one up some notes and some security notes on the old passport, while the translations of the previous page on the new one. There is a watermark of Shakespeare on the old old one, and a map of Edinburgh, both which were replaced with a watermark of the floral emblem. This at least contains reference to all four countries, so that's definitely a nice addition, but so far this is also a tie. 2-4 points so far

Next up on the old design we had to fill up two whole pages with translations. Completely superflous, we could have just used up the same space to allow for extra visas to be added to the passport. With the abolishment of the Freedom of Movement having two extra pages for visas is definitely a worthy addition, so 1 point extra for the blue passport. 2-5 so far.

(We also got rid of the map of London and Belfast. Who needs them)

Page 8 and 9 shows John Harrison and his invention of the marine chronometer that revolutioned sea travel. On the other hand sea travel is dangerous and we just recently banned it, so it's good that this has been removed in favour of a much more stylized clock-like image. Note that it's hand aligns nicely with the page number, showing 8 and 9 respectively. This is definitely a nice touch, much more self-referential than the image of John Harrison, so a win to the blue one. 2-6 so far.

On the old passport the next two pages show John Constable, someone who pursued a lesser career like painting instead of becoming a much more important member of society, like banker or a CEO. There is no need for this kind of vice in our society, so thank this has been removed.

On the new design you can see that the hand of the clock jumped to the 1 position, instead of pointing at 11 and 12 respectively! And it remained in the same position on both pages. This choice must have saved the artist designing the passport some work, so extra points for keeping the design cheap and affordable. 2-7 so far

Next two pages show references to the Royal Mail including the iconic post box, and the first adhesive stamp, the Penny Black. On the other hand spending two pages on this archaic institution is just a waste of paper, especially as they do nothing just strike all the time nowadays.

On the new design? Look, there are now TWO HANDS on the clock! What a lovely addition, it definitely took me by surprise, 2-8 so far.

Next up on the old one are trains, you know that things that are always late, if not cancelled. They are also expensive as hell compared to car ownership, so no need to promote them anymore.

Look a magical line of UNITED KINGDOM has appeared in the background. Hats off to yet another surprise change in design, 2-9!

Next two pages feature Sir Giles and his architectural designs. Unfortunately for him he designed too many well known things and therefore now the page simply looks too cramped for the average viewer.

Unlike the new design, which is still clear, spacious and easy to understand. 2-10

Next two pages feature the London Underground, which will definitely give PTSD to anyone who ever used it during peak hours. London was already featured in the passport with Greewinch and Battersea already anyway, while we haven't seen anything from Wales, Northern Ireland or Scotland yet.

No such issue from the new passport, clean and clear with no surprises, and representation from all corners of the UK inside the watermark. 2-11 of course

Architecture yet again, this time from a woman. Also England again, Triple boring.

Seall! The design on page 21 is the same as the one on page 12 albeit the colour difference. This duplication hopefully has yet again driven down the design costs! 2-12!

Antony Gormley. Yet another useless artist who could have become something great during his lifeteime, like I don't know, a Conservative MP, but has chosen not to.

On the other hand we have yet another page where we have design reuse - with page 20 and 22, but this time the colours match as well! Must have been some great savings, 2-13

Come on, didn't we have enough artists so far? And featuring one of the most hated artist of all time? And he is also an immigrant? Yuck!

Thank god we got rid of all of this perversion! 2-14

Arts, Architecture, Shakespeare and London, all on the same page. Everything we have seen so far. Space could have been used for something much more important.

Like this nice and plain design we can see on the new passport. 2-15

Edinburgh Castle? Bagpipes? Who allowed Scotland to be present in the design, we definitely need to fire them and never let them design passports anymore. Also the dragon on the corner looking at the girl like that? That is definitely sexual harassement, let's get rid of this carnality!

On the other hand we can see another clean and nice design, a perfect place to put your last remaining few visas before you need to get another one for £82.50 + shipping fees. 2-16

Finally no more arts or achitecture but something useful: Computers! Internet! The stuff bankers use to do important stuff! No idea why they had to put a women on this page though, but let's just disregard that.

Watch that elements from new design can be seen on the computer screen in the old one. This must have been some great foreknowledge. Let's make this one a tie! 3-17

Buildings? Again? And why so many? Ah, yeah we forgot to include Wales and Northern Ireland in the designs yet, so let's quickly sort them out, before the nationalists notice! Let's still make sure the London eye is centre and front, not to give them too much credit though.

The new one? Same old same old. You can see some art reuse on page 33 (vs page 30) as usual.

However since both designs feature all 4 countries, let's make this one a tie as well: 4-18

Final page! Yet again, only Scotland and Northern Ireland above, but the whole of the UK on the new one. Blue one is a clear winner here: 4-19

And finally the back page. Plain burgundy on the old one, a nice embossed floral design on the blue one. The winner is clear.

So this takes our total to 4-20! A clear and massive victory to the new passport, an exquisite masterpiece, perdectly designed and ideal to the new place of Global Britain in the world, far away from the woke dictatorship of the European Union, and the best Brexit dividend so far (apart from being able to buy cheep booze at airports again)

[ausetkmt]

BBC News: Can ‘enhanced rock weathering’ help combat climate change?

6–7 minutes

Jim Mann calls the rocks that could help cool our planet his "magic dust"

In a quarry surrounded by the din of heavy machinery Jim Mann crouches down and picks up a handful of tiny black rocks.

"This is my magic dust," he says with a smile, gently rubbing them between his fingers.

He's holding pieces of basalt. It's a hard volcanic rock that is neither rare nor particularly remarkable.

But through a process known as 'enhanced rock weathering' it could help to cool our overheating planet.

UN scientists are now clear that reducing greenhouse gas emissions alone won't be enough to stop dangerous levels of warming. They say there will need to be some carbon dioxide removal - actively taking it out of the atmosphere.

Planting trees is the most natural way of doing this but has its limitations; the CO2 that's captured is released when the wood rots or burns and there are limits to how widely trees can be planted.

Direct Air Capture (DAC), meanwhile, mechanically sucks CO2 out of the atmosphere and stores it underground; it's permanent - but does it make sense to build such an energy intensive process when we're trying to wean ourselves off fossil fuels?

Enhanced rock weathering lies somewhere in between the natural and the man-made. It takes the naturally occurring but very gradual weathering process and turbo-charges it to remove the carbon faster.

Orrock quarry in Scotland does not look like the source of a green solution

I've come to a quarry just across the Firth of Forth from Edinburgh to see Jim, whose enhanced rock weathering company UNDO has just secured £12m of new investment and is looking to scale up operations.

Around us the black hillside is being steadily eaten away, scraped by enormous diggers to make concrete and asphalt for roads. The vibe is more post-nuclear apocalypse than saving the planet.

But the tiny pieces of basalt rock that are left over are prized by Jim's company. They have a useful property - when they weather in the rain they remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.

The basalt rock of the quarry, has a useful property - when it weathers in the rain it removes carbon dioxide from the atmosphere

For millennia volcanic rocks and cliffs have been removing carbon slowly while weathering in the rain. Enhanced rock weathering uses tiny pieces to increase the amount of contact between the rain and rock and hence the amount of weathering and carbon removal.

As a cliff, or piled up in the quarry, the basalt weathers very slowly. To maximise the carbon removal it needs to be spread across a greater area.

And that's where local farmers come in, helping the planet while getting free fertilizer in return. As well as locking away carbon, the basalt has been shown in trials to improve both crop yields and the quality of grazing.

Half an hour's drive from the quarry I watch it being scattered on a field.

It requires no specialist equipment. A trailer is loaded with 20 tonnes of basalt before a tractor drags it up and down, a rotating wheel at the back scattering the tiny rocks.

"It's free of charge which is quite important to a farmer," John Logan tells me with a chuckle as the basalt is put on his field. He'd seen UNDO's trials on a neighbouring farm.

"It looks like it's going to make the grass better, so that can only be good for the cattle because they're eating better grass."

UNDO says one 20 tonne trailer load of basalt absorbs about 5 tonnes of CO2.

Some experts worry that carbon removal techniques like this might distract people from the more urgent priority of cutting emissions and even be used as justification to continue living our carbon intensive lives.

"CO2 reduction has to come first," Jim tells me as we watch the tractor move up and down guided by GPS, "but we also need to be developing these technologies that can do removal at scale. And the nice thing about what we're doing with enhanced rock weathering is it's permanent."

The maths, it must be said, are daunting. UNDO's scientists calculate that four tonnes of basalt rocks are needed to capture one tonne of CO2.

With a typical Brit's CO2 emissions estimated at about 7 tonnes a year that means each of us needs about thirty tonnes, or one and half trailer loads of basalt to be scattered annually just to break even.

UNDO has plans to rapidly scale up over the next few years and has attracted some serious supporters. Microsoft has agreed to pay for 25,000 tonnes of basalt to be scattered on UK fields. As part of the deal Microsoft will also help audit the project and verify that it is working as intended.

"The essential chemistry of it makes sense," Dr Steve Smith, an expert in carbon removal from Oxford University, told me.

"Measuring how much CO2 would be taken out and where that ultimately goes, is one of the key challenges, and there's no standardized system at the moment."

Ultimately Dr Smith thinks the idea could end up just a standard part of the way land is farmed.

"It's something that can be folded into the way we use land at the moment and deliver a carbon removal benefit alongside other benefits in terms of the way we use land for food and crops," he says.

There are still many questions about just how scaleable it is. UNDO's projects uses by-product from the local quarry - but if this is massively expanded the energy and emissions it takes both to grind up the basalt and then transport and scatter it will need to be factored in.

"At this point in time, there's no downside, It's a win win for everybody involved." Jim Mann tells me.

This year UNDO is planning to spread 185,000 tonnes of basalt and hopes by 2025 to have removed a million tonnes of CO2. It's still a drop in the ocean compared to emissions. In 2022 its thought the world discharged about 37 billion tonnes of CO2 into the atmosphere.

Scientists say current levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere are the highest in at least two million years

[lifeofkaze]

October Writing Challenge 2021 - Day 1

The wonderful Eliot Gerard belongs to @kc-and-oc and Selene's better half Ethel Hexley belongs to my beloved bestie @the-al-chemist.

This is a mirror POV to @kc-and-oc first entry to this challenge, so the credit for the framework of the middle part goes to her 💛💙

Night had fallen over the Scottish Highlands, and with it the peaceful quiet the darkness brought with it. Everything was still´; the green and brown meadows decked with the pink bloom of bell heather; the wind rustling through the old trees; even the waves in the lake seemed to have retired for the night.

The halls of the Fraser Estate were dark and quiet, all of its occupants had long retired to bed; all except one. The silence of the night was broken by a frustrated cry coming from the only room still lit in the vast building.

“Where are those doaty herbs?” Selene Fraser muttered and rummaged through one of the countless open drawers she had only searched twice so far. “Buggers must be around ‘ere somewhere.”

She paused for a moment and grinned; her parents would be mortified to hear her talk like this. Her Highland accent wasn’t strong by any means, but whenever Selene returned to her grandparents’ distillery in between her travels, she found herself falling back into it.

Tomorrow she would set out for her next assignment; apparently, a group of Gringotts Curse-Breakers had unearthed a whole new set of tombs in Egypt, full to the brim with all sorts of magical objects that were of particular interest to Selene.

She wouldn’t call herself a Curse-Breaker by all means, but there were few witches or wizards who had as much knowledge about the darker sides of ancient magic than she did, and so she had been hired for her assistance.

Her last expedition to India had been a disaster, to put it mildly; the healers assigned to their team were the biggest twits Selene had ever come across. She absentmindedly rubbed the bright red scar running across her forearm, a souvenir from their pathetic attempts to heal her wound after she had been hit by a curse gone rogue. It still itched when she remembered it was there.

To not be at the complete mercy of a bunch of amateurs, Selene was determined to make sure she would be properly prepared for the desert. If only she could remember where she had last seen the dried bundle of healing herbs she had purchased on a market in China.

She removed a stack of maps from the drawer and gingerly pushed a perfectly round globe of smooth onyx to the side with the hilt of a hairbrush - it was a souvenir from Peru Selene wasn’t entirely sure she had uncursed it yet, so she figured it was better not to touch it. But still, no healing herbs anywhere to be seen.

With a sigh, she slammed the drawer shut and turned around. “They got to be somewhere,” she muttered, “yer didn’t happen to see them anywhere, did yer?”

The spectral ferret hovering above the drawer Selene had been perusing wiggled his nose and yawned, presenting his pearly white teeth to her.

“Yer not much of a help,” Selene told Alan sternly and turned to the fireplace. She relit the dying fire with a flick of her wand, basking the better half of her room in a golden glow; at least now there was sufficient light to search.

“Make yerself useful and go look in that chest over yonder,” she said and pointed to a huge oak chest in the far corner of the room. Selene usually stuffed everything that didn’t have a proper place in there, and she didn’t even know what it all contained at this point.

Alan chirruped obediently and floated over, doing a few barrel rolls on the way before diving headfirst into the chest. Selene chuckled; even though Alan had been a ghost for some years now, he was still the funny little chap she and Ethel had rescued from their Transfigurations class.

Smiling to herself, Selene turned her attention back to her drawer, when Alan suddenly squeaked triumphantly.

“No way that bugger found them so quickly,” Selene frowned and made her way over. She opened the heavy lid of the chest and moved the things Alan was pointing his nose at to the side until she found an old box with a slightly adjacent lid.

“These aren’t healing herbs, silly, these are…”

The laughter in her voice died when she realised what exactly it was that Alan had found. Ignoring Alan’s questioning squeak, Selene took the box from the oak chest and carried it over to the windowsill, stepping out of the golden glow of the fireplace into the pale silver light of the moon.

A sad expression crossed her face as she removed the small corsage from the box. The dried wildflowers crinkled softly as she turned them carefully between her fingers, thinking back on the night they had been given to her.

It had been in their last year at Hogwarts. It had been only a matter of days until their graduation and their inevitable final departure from the castle, which had been more of a home to Selene than her parents’ townhouse in Edinburgh had ever been.

To mark the occasion, the last ball of the year was taking place in the Great Hall. It had been decorated so lavishly Selene almost didn’t recognise it anymore, just as she hadn’t recognised herself when she had stepped in front of her mirror in her new dress. It was made of dark red silk and even though it featured one of the corsets Selene loathed like nothing else, it was surprisingly comfortable, and not constricting in the slightest. According to his letters, her Uncle Mortimer had spent ages trying to find the perfect dress for the last school dance of his favourite niece.

Where Selene had felt reasonably pretty before, she had felt downright beautiful when her companion for the night, her ex-boyfriend Eliot Gerard, had first seen her walking out of the Gryffindor Common Room. She didn’t want to admit that her heart had started beating faster when had to clear his throat before being able to compliment her and offer her his arm, but she had felt like she was floating on their way down to meet their friends.

She had even ignored Ethel’s sharp look at Eliot. Selene knew Ethel - who was so much more than only her best friend - was only worried. She was convinced bringing her former love to the dance after the way their relationship had ended was a bad idea - something Ethel had made very clear in a very wordy way. But when Eliot led her through the open portal into the glittering Great Hall, even her soul sister’s concerns were wiped from Selene’s mind.

Seeing as they were only going as friends, clearly showing they were mature enough to let the past be in the past, Eliot hadn’t brought Selene a corsage. She had thought she would have felt strange wearing a corsage from someone who wasn’t her date but her friend, but upon seeing a bracelet of flowers on the wrist of almost every other girl in the room, Selene felt her smile grow just that tiny bit sadder.

It didn’t help that most of her friends were too busy with their dates to provide any sort of distraction from how handsome Eliot was looking in his suit and felt hat; even Ethel was too busy bickering with her brother’s best friend to notice Selene’s restlessness.

When she couldn’t bear the light and noise of the music anymore she got up from her seat. “Eliot, it has never been so stuffy in here. I’m going to take a walk,” she said and took a deep breath. She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “Will you join me?”

They left the castle behind and took the winding path down to the Black Lake. A warm spring breeze was blowing and catching in Selene’s dark hair, which was tumbling down over her shoulders. She breathed in deeply, more freely now, relishing the scent of the spring night and wildflowers blooming around them; how she would miss this place.

She raised an eyebrow when Eliot suddenly stopped and walked off the path into the meadow beside them and started picking a handful of the flowers that hadn’t closed their petals for the night just yet.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s unfitting that the most beautiful girl at the dance didn’t have her own corsage,” Eliot smiled, “not that you would have needed one to shine, of course.”

He walked over to the huge tree at the shore which had been uprooted by the most recent storm. Selene knew it had been one of Eliot’s favourite places to study, and sure enough, he looked sad as he sat down on it. “Metaphor for us being uprooted soon, I suppose.”

He motioned for Selene to join him; Selene kicked off her heeled shoes with a laugh, gathered up her skirts, and clambered up onto the log. She walked barefoot over the warm wood and hopped down on Eliot’s other side.

Eliot was already busy weaving half of the flowers into a small wreath. His fingers were working deftly and Selene watched with fascination as he tied them together with a few long leaves.

She reached for the other half of the flowers Eliot had set aside and started arranging them to a little bouquet of her own. “It wouldn’t be fair if only the lady got some flowers, would it?”

Eliot looked up from his work and smirked. “I know. That’s why I got so many.”

Selene had to laugh. “Seems like Ethel taught you well.”

Eliot was serious as he slipped the corsage he had crafted over her wrist. “No, you did. You taught me a lot of things.”

He got up and offered Selene his hand. “Might I have one last dance before your next adventure?” he asked.

If Selene listened closely, she could hear the faint sound of music drifting down to them from the castle, but the murmur of the water lapping against the shore was much more beautiful to her. It spoke of freedom, the wide world, adventure, and a longing in her heart Selene wasn’t sure had anything to do with the future that was awaiting them.

She let Eliot pull herself up from the tree trunk and wiggled her bare toes in the cool grass under her feet. With a smile, she fixed the boutonniere she had made to his suit and let Eliot pull her into his arms.

Selene didn’t know how long they were dancing in the moonlight, swaying to a music only they could hear. As much as she burned to see what the future held for her, she didn’t want this moment with Eliot to end.

“This time in a few weeks I’ll be off to America,” Eliot whispered into her hair. “I will miss you. Where will your first adventure take you?”

Selene rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart. “I don’t know. Wherever the wind will blow me, I suppose.”

“Wherever the wind will blow me…” Selene repeated the words of her younger, more foolish self, as she stood watching another lake glimmering in the moonlight so many years later. She blinked slowly, as if waking up from a dream. The wind had blown her many places, and time had made her forget many things, but there were some things she never had been able to erase from her mind entirely.

Her last dance with Eliot was one of them; as was the pain that only came with the shattering devastation of the first time a heart got broken.

Selene turned away from the window abruptly and placed the dried wildflowers back into their box. She put them away into the lowest layer of the oaken chest and piled everything she could reach above it.

Shutting the lid with a resounding pang, Selene stepped from the silver moonlight of the past into the golden firelight of her future. She had no time to wallow in memories better left alone; she had some healing herbs to find.

Eliot Gerard was a ghost of her past, and had no business in her life anymore; not in her present, and most certainly not in her future.

[myulalie]

Thank you so much to @shadowhunterbingo for organizing this event, I had a lot of fun ♥

Masterpost

How (not) to get a latte dumped on your head COFFEE SHOP AU - MALEC - G - AO3 LINK Tags: AU Human, AU Coffee Shops & Cafés, Meet-cute, Food Trucks, First Kiss, Clumsiness, Autistic Alec Lightwood

Magnus stands in the rain a lot, and the barista doesn't get it whether Magnus gets impatient or tries to flirt, but he'll stop by the next morning anyway. Hopefully Alec will be alone this time, and Magnus should really buy a waterproof mascara instead of a latte.

Young and naive WARLOCK!IZZY - G - TUMBLR LINK Tags: Future!Fic, Family Feels, Isabelle Lightwood & Max Lightwood bonding, Implied Character Death

Isabelle Black is the High Warlock of Edinburgh. One of her descendants visits her magic shop. (alternative ao3 link)

Distant lovers SEX WORK - MALEC - M - AO3 LINK Tags: AU Human, Exhibitionism, Accidental Voyeurism, First Meetings, Meet-cute, Strangers to Lovers, Flirting

Magnus' building is due for window cleaning this month, and the man that swings by his apartment is stunning. Magnus can't help but putting on a show.

How to wield hearts SOULMATES AU - MALEC - G - AO3 LINK Tags: AU Soulmates, Past Magnus Bane/Camille Belcourt, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Self-Worth Issues, Song Lyrics, Song Fic, Introspection, Character Study

When you fall in love with someone else than your soulmate, you get sick with the hanahaki disease.

Magnus meets Camille Belcourt first and falls in love with her, but she’s not his soulmate. In order to survive, he gets the stems surgically removed from his chest, thus losing the ability to feel love and express it.

When Magnus meets his soulmate, he can’t love Alec the way he thinks is “right”.

Dawn crowns her in gold CURSES - HELINE - T - AO3 LINK Tags: AU Human, Legend of Zelda Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Quests, Swordfighting, Curse Breaking

On the day celebrating the truce between the fae and the people of Idris, the Seelie Queen curses Princess Helen. When Aline fails to protect the woman she loves, she finds herself locked in a cell with her childhood friend Alec, slowly dying from poison, and the warlock Magnus Bane. Magnus himself is trapped in the body of a fox, and joins forces with Aline to find the Mortal Instruments and rescue the people they love before they run out of time.

Night lingers at the darkest hour FREE SPACE - MALEC - T - AO3 LINK Tags: AU Human, AU Assassins & Hitmen, James Bond Fusion, Enemies to Lovers

Emotions are nothing but a distraction, Alec should have learned his lesson by now. Except this time, the distraction has a name: Magnus Bane, and Alec failed his mission. He’ll do everything to fix it, and it’s just his luck that Magnus Bane is exactly the ally he needs to succeed.

For as long as he lives TRUE LOVE'S KISS - REYHILL - T - TUMBLR LINK Tags: Angst, Power imbalance, Dystopian future, Angst, Minor character deaths

Lorenzo breathes life into him with each crescent of waning and waxing moons, a couple of weeks worth of survival. (alternative ao3 link)

The impulses of the fallen HALLOWEEN FIC - MALEC - M - AO3 LINK Tags: AU Horror, AU Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon Hunters, Impulse Control, References to Addiction, First Dates

Blatantly inhuman nephilim recognize demons as “food”. Magnus doesn’t understand how bizarre his relationship with Alec is until he stumbles upon the shadowhunter feasting.

What goes without saying RAGNOR SHIPS IT - BACKGROUND MALEC - G - TUMBLR LINK Tags: Ragnor Fell & Isabelle Lightwood Friendship, Support System, Family

Magnus and Alec belong together. It’s one thing Ragnor and Isabelle can agree on. (alternative ao3 link)

[sserpente]

Ablaze

A/N: I just couldn’t help myself. 🔥

Words: 3010 Warnings: excessive excitement over two seconds of new Loki footage

“Where is he?”

“In the interrogation room, chained up.”

“Good.” Taking a deep breath, you finished your coffee and stood, gathering your documents in the process. This could now be the most important moment in your career—there was no time for failure.

Two days ago, when the TVA received reports of an unknown entity wreaking havoc within the multiverse lineages of the universe, their complaints had fallen on deaf ears. There had not been an incident for years—not until the sudden turmoil of an unrecorded timeline disaffiliating from 2012.

You were still unsure of the origins but it was clear that someone had meddled with the alternate timelines the Avengers had had to create to destroy Thanos. But the stones had all been returned to their receptive points in time, Steve Rogers had made sure of that.

They must have made a mistake somehow—and that mistake was, as of right now, waiting for you in the interrogation room.

It was still unclear how many timelines and universes Loki had travelled to and thrown into turmoil—what knowledge he had acquired and which was not his to possess. He was a dangerous force that needed to be taken care of.

-

Loki arrogantly lifted his chin when the metal door swished open and allowed you to enter. He was sat at the table in the middle of the dimly lit and otherwise empty room, wrists bound together with a pair of handcuffs equalling the technological progress of realms like, in this main timeline destroyed, Asgard—in your world, time was a relative thing, after all. Whatever tricks he could concoct, even he would be powerless against the shiny metal wrapped around his wrists.

His hair was shorter than you remembered it, his usual, intimidating Asgardian attire like you had seen it in various footage of the alien invasion of New York City, replaced with the prison clothes he had been given, leaving his arms bare.

“And what now?” He mused when he spotted you. “Are you here to question me, my dear? To bewitch me? No amount of sweet-talking will get me to comply with your pathetic schemes—whatever they might be.”

You eyed him mutely as you walked towards him, giving him time for his first words directed at your person to sink in. When you sat down, putting your documents on the empty table calmly, you cleared your throat seemingly unaffected.

“No schemes. What we would like to know is how you could escape our main timeline and create an alternate universe messing with the matrix of time and space, Loki.” You began straight away, relinquishing formalities and unnecessary introductions. The God of Mischief looked down, the hint of a mischievous smirk playing on the corners of his thin lips. He hummed before he spoke.

“It appears to be in human nature to thrive for knowledge and elucidation.” His expression hardened, smooth voice growing sharp. His blue eyes locked with yours.  “Even if it is neither your affairs nor place to intervene.”

You had studied psychology in Edinburgh, back in the day. As far as Loki was concerned, you were an impenetrable, strong and fearless woman. Any weakness you revealed to him could be your downfall—and his triumph.

“Whatever the Avengers might or might not have done in order to restore the universe to its right order, they must have missed something, or someone.” You said matter-of-factly, forcing yourself to remain unfazed by the dangerous Trickster in front of you. “Given that at the time of their interference with both the mind and time stone back in 2012, it has come to our attention that another Infinity stone had been removed, opening up an alternate timeline the Avengers were—for some reason—unable to patch up and close.”

Loki raised his eyebrows innocently, responding nothing, however, his scrutinising blue eyes still held you captive in a highly concerning way… almost as if you were the one being questioned.

“The space stone. The Tesseract?” You probed, a hint of impatience in your voice. You had to keep your composure. Loki hummed once more.

“It must be truly devastating to know the Tesseract within your reach, unable to grasp it.” He remarked scornfully.

“We have no interest in the Tesseract.”

“No?”

“No. What we want is to undo the damage you have done—beginning with returning the Tesseract to its receptive timeline. As far as we are concerned, you should not even exist.”

The space stone was indeed a real problem. As long as your colleagues aimed to locate its whereabouts, Loki would keep the upper hand. You had a feeling they would be wasting both their energy and resources. He had it. You knew he had it. You just needed to prevent him from using it again.

“And yet here I am.” He mocked with a breathy voice, yet again lifting his chin; this time leaning back in his chair.

“And yet here you are,” you repeated. “You endanger the multiverse. Your existence threatens the very fragile fabric of our reality. We cannot let you wander about, regardless of your intentions… which is why we have to keep you prisoner until further notice.”

Loki’s face fell instantly, the sudden anger sparkling in his stunning blue eyes sending the startling sting of an adrenaline rush through your body. Stop. You were not Harleen Quinzel and he was not the Joker. Keep calm.

“I am done being imprisoned. I will not let a group of meagre mortals lock me away because they fear what I am capable of.”

“By the looks of it, you already have.” You retorted.

“You do not wish to incur my wrath.”

“I am willing to take that risk.”

He growled darkly, a menacing smile spreading on his lips as he paused. “I’m gonna burn this place to the ground.”

You scoffed. “If I took every prisoner’s threats at their word, I would not be sitting here right now.”

With a start, Loki shot forward, his fists colliding with the table surface and sending an ear-piercing bang through the empty room, making you flinch and back off.

“You should do well not to underestimate me, you mewling quim.” He spat through gritted teeth. “I am a God. You are all fools if you think you can keep me in custody. Consider this my final warning. Release me or you will face the consequences.”

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” You replied, fighting hard to hide the growing shaking in your voice. “I’m not a friend, Loki. But I am no police either. You have not been arrested for any of your crimes here on Earth but solely for attempting to… and succeeding in altering the past and the future. We can’t let that happen again.”

His growl was downright animalistic this time, paired with a menacing harrumph—he refrained from having the last word when you stood, collecting your documents to leave the interrogation room for good. As soon as the door fell shut behind you, you breathed out, tension and fear melting away from you with a start. One of your colleagues was already waiting for you outside.

“How did it go?”

“Terrible, as expected.” You stated, straightening your skirt with trembling fingers. The officer hummed in response.

“I say we give him to the authorities. SHIELD has yet to—“

“SHIELD?” You interrupted. “And what will you tell him, officer? As far as we are concerned, Loki was, as of 2012, taken back to Asgard to face the consequences of his actions. He is not their responsibility anymore. This Loki—wherever he came from—is our issue to deal with.”

-

A full week had gone by since your first encounter with the God of Mischief and you were still no closer to bringing the Tesseract in your possession. Loki was quiet—conspicuously so. Reports from the officers standing guard day in and out spoke of nothing but immobility on his part, for most of the time, he would simply sit on his bed and stare into nothingness, other times he would walk around in his cell like a tiger ready to pounce on his prey… always as if he was planning something.

You had no doubt that he was—which meant that you would have to return to the interrogation room before it was too late, have him brought there one more time and manipulate him into telling you everything you wished to know.

You had studied him, read countless reports on him in a desperate attempt to riddle him out. Loki was a master of magic. SHIELD agents had watched him catch an arrow mid-air, they had witnessed bullets bouncing off of him like rubber balls. Mind control as well as telekinesis and even transformation counted to his powers, he cast frighteningly real illusions, possessed the ability of teleportation and invisibility—not even to mention his supernatural strength, speed, and healing capabilities.

SHIELD might have been, with the Avengers’ help, a match for him but if he ever found a way to free himself from these shackles, you would certainly be no match for him. What was it he had said? It must be truly devastating to know the Tesseract within your reach, unable to grasp it.

A spell must have been concealing the Tesseract from you. Just how would you convince him to cave in? How much time did you have left? Who, after all, could guarantee the guards weren’t just seeing illusions every day?

Perhaps you should try a new strategy and meet him with honesty—even ask for his help, if necessary. If you told Loki what was at stake if you did not protect the very fabric of this complex net of universes tying into one another and life as both he and you knew it could be torn apart, would he relent?

Loki could become a valuable asset in your organisation, use his abilities, for once, for heroism instead of mischief. But would he truly be up for this proposal after your initial conversation?

You had too many questions you did not know the answer to. This ought to change. Tomorrow. For now, you would shut the world out and relax in your own for walls—it was the only way to stay sane working for TVA.

Already wearing your pyjamas, consisting of nothing more than a pair of way too revealing knickers and a black tank top tonight, you made yourself comfortable on the carpeted floor of the bedroom in your flat, grabbing the huge pillow as well as a mug of hot chocolate already waiting for you.

You reached for the remote control to switch on your TV, lazily zapping through the various channels in search for a good film to watch before going to bed when suddenly, a news channel caught your attention.

A brunette reporter, standing in front of a green screen showing footage of a collection of grey concrete buildings on fire, hurried to rattle off the words written on the monitor behind the camera. These… these were the TVA headquarters.

“The fire department assumes the fire was caused by a leaking gas pipe or oil tank, they preclude the possibility of a wilful action towards occupants of the building complex. Until now, the firefighters recovered twenty-two dead bodies, with a final number of deaths not yet confirmed. More than thirty-four people are still missing.”

“No… oh my God, please, no…” Squeezing your eyes shut, you took a few deep and controlled breaths to fend off a panic attack. This wasn’t real. Your headquarters were not on fire. You were dreaming, having a nightmare messing with your mind.

While the greater public had no idea this building was the base of TVA, that this place had become your second home… all of the research, all of the unique technical equipment, all of the documents harbouring records of the complex composition of the multiverse, all of the prisoners you kept from tearing apart your understanding of time… gone, turned to ash.

“Beautiful, is it not? Everything is ablaze.” You screeched, flinching away from the dark figure appearing right next to your cowering form at the foot of your bed and knocking over your mug in the process.

The pale light of the TV threw eerie shadows on his flawless face, supporting his mischievous and downright threatening gaze. You stumbled back on your hands and knees when Loki took a step forward, briefly eyeing the dark stain spreading on the carpet.

“Hmm, what was that, cocoa? I rather enjoy this Midgardian beverage.”

“You… how did you…” You stuttered, unable to form a functioning sentence. Fear replaced the blood pumping through your veins, your heart pounding at light speed. He was here. How had he even found you?

“Free myself?” He finished nonchalantly. “I warned you not to underestimate me, pet. And what would happen if you caged me like a curiosity.” He added with a dangerous growl.

“W-what… what do you want from me?”

Would he kill you? Take revenge on you for making him a prisoner? To think that only minutes ago, you had considered offering him your alliance… You could not deny the effect he had on your body, your mind, your entire being. It had all started in the interrogation room, when he had seemed to look directly into your soul with those stunning blue eyes of his… his attractiveness and sex appeal only made this worse. You did not want to fear him and yet, you were terrified. Could you possibly explain to him you had meant to return to him tomorrow, proposing him an alternative to a dull cell?

“First and foremost, I will need a place to stay.” Your eyes widened when he produced the handcuffs he had been shackled with seemingly out of thin air and fingered them thoughtfully. Your heart skipped a beat when his scrutinising gaze met yours, a mischievous smirk growing on his lips. “And you, my pet, have, during our little talk, proven to be quite the reliable source of information. I shall use that to my advantage.”

Unable to combat his unnatural speed, you gasped when he stroke and grabbed your wrists firmly, cuffing them together fast and effortlessly. The cold metal on your naked skin made you shiver.

“This is to ensure you don’t rush into mischiefs.” He explained mockingly. “It would be unwise to consider me a role model in your current position.”

“Loki…” You started, willing your voice to sound strong and determined. “You don’t have to do this. Please…”

The God of Mischief chuckled darkly. “Do I not? Now, I have important matters to attend to, my dear, and I can’t have you foiling my plans.” You gasped once more when he cupped your chin, albeit surprisingly tenderly, and forcing you to look him in the eye again. “It appears you are my prisoner now. If I were you, I would not hope for your pathetic little friends to come to your rescue. They are, as of right now, occupied with not burning alive.”

He released you then, moving away from you slowly and reaching for one of the pillows on your bed to shake it out to his liking. Only now did you notice how tired and worn-out he looked, like escaping and wreaking havoc in TVA’s headquarters had demanded all of his strength.

He must have known you were not in the building. How long, you wondered, had he been watching you? While you studied him… had he been studying you, too? What would become of you now? Harley Quinn? Panic rose in your body, making your stomach churn. If Loki truly planned to implant himself in your flat, using it as a hideout, you were all but lost.

Your life as a TVA agent was but a secret one. You had no friends outside of this organisation and barely still kept in touch with your family, if anything to protect them from potential threats. No one would ever find you. Your life was in Loki’s hands.

“Please… please, just don’t hurt me.” You pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. Loki paused, his blue eyes locking with yours once more. He almost seemed… taken aback by your silent confession.

“I have no intention of hurting you.” He said. Oddly, they felt like the most honest words he had spoken to you yet.

He threw the covers back, quite obviously feeling at home already.

You had forgotten you were still cowering on the floor, your arms immobilised by the magic handcuffs. Eyeing the bed longingly, Loki smirked when he noticed your inner struggle, if anything to point out how much he enjoyed having you shudder for fear and reverence before him.

“You are more than welcome to share the bed with me, pet. I will not relinquish the presence of warm female body next to mine as I rest and recover.”

Mutely, you shook your head. But what other choice did you have? To sleep on the hard floor with nothing but a pillow? Trembling, you rose to your feet as gracefully as you could muster with your hands cuffed together, slowly approaching the other side of the bed.

It took you a moment to nestle down, feeling Loki’s eyes on you with every move you made. You did not dare look at him again, fearing your heart would not be able to take it.

With a wave of his hand, Loki switched off the TV, drowning the bedroom in utter darkness, then, you felt the mattress sinking in directly next to you. Breathing heavily, you turned your back to him, curling up like a fetus.

“Good night, (Y/N).” Your heart jumped when he spoke your name with his smooth voice—you could practically hear his scornful smirk behind you. “Sweet dreams.”

There was something about his presence… something alluring. You bit your lower lip, forcing your eyes shut. I have no intention of hurting you. You believed him. Perhaps this was what scared you the most.

-

A/N: I am strongly tempted to write a Part II. I will need some time though.

EDIT: Well, here’s Part II then. xD

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[dopescotlandwarrior]

The Dancer-Chapter Four

                              A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Four

Claire sat on a high-pile, soft rug with children circled around her. Jamie noticed they all leaned forward from their Indian-style positions, eyes wide and staring at Claire. They were all on their trusted ponies flying across the Arizona desert, running after the bad guys who robbed the train. Claire did her best to narrate the story with inflections of fear and desperation while the story became real to those around her.

Jamie made a trip to his office and was waiting for Claire when the wee ones ran to their mothers, laden with purchases from the store. The room emptied out in ten minutes and Jamie flopped down on an overstuffed chair. He handed a baggie full of orange slices to Claire.

He noticed that her hair was still down and today she wore a soft dress with a bright colored flower pattern. The skirt was almost to her ankles so sitting on the floor, being eye to eye with the kids was easy. He looked at her approvingly, happy she had embraced her new look.

Claire noticed Jamie hanging around during her Storytime and book club meetings and he always kept her after for conversation and shared food. She wasn’t sure she understood what he needed but if she could answer his questions and understand his conversation she just went with the flow.

“I’m leavin Claire. It’s time for a new manager to take over this store so I can get to Glasgow.”

“I’m sure you will be missed, Jamie.”

“I’ve been doin this for the past nine years. This is the last store I will build. Once it’s up and running I start a new job, new level, and maybe dinna move around so much. Even if I’m offered a corporate position it willna be here in Scotland. More likely Germany or London.”

Claire did not understand where the conversation was going so she just kept up for his sake. Jamie was always so confident about the book business, but she thought it sounded like a lonely existence and wondered if he felt the same. She had never known a man more beautiful than Jamie Fraser and thought it unlikely that he spent time alone if he didn’t want to. So why did he come to see her dance? Week after week leaving hundreds of pounds for her.

“Claire, I want ye to consider taking over for me, as manager of the store. Ye’ve owned a bookstore, this is just bigger. I trust ye lass and that is more important than any experience or degree. Please think about it and we can talk again in a few days.”

“How about tonight? There is so much I don’t know.” She watched him intently.

“Sorry lass. I have plans tonight and canna break em.”

Claire sped across town and found a grumpy Madu in her studio, pacing like an irritated bull. He could look quite intimidating Claire thought. He was over six foot with a muscular frame and a mop of black curls fell against his cheeks and forehead. A beautiful man, she thought, watching him in the seconds before he noticed her.

She could feel his interest in her, barely contained, ready to sweep her off her feet. They would make a good match she assumed. His family would embrace the orphan in her and Madu would show her the heights of passion she had only dreamed of. The union made perfect sense, but she had not fallen in love with him the way she always dreamed it would be.

Claire had only one reference for passion and love, the face of Jamie Fraser when she danced for him. She noticed the change in his look, his posture, his gaze that touched her in a place she had not known before. What started out as punishment for someone she hated had become a quest that she was ashamed of, but she continued, desperate to know what smoldered behind his eyes.

Claire jerked out of her reverie when Madu called to her. Her head flew up and she rattled off excuses for being late, running to dress for her dance. Madu gave her a knowing look and waited for the student to stand before him.

Claire considered Jamie’s offer to manage the bookstore. Her popularity for exhibition dancing and private parties had grown, as did her fees for such things. While the good people of Edinburgh were going to bed each night, she was draped in veils doing what she loved. She would help the new manager as much as she could but decided to decline Jamie’s offer.

As Jamie’s final days in Edinburgh grew near, he spent more time at the restaurant watching her dance. Claire tried to imagine his absence in her life, in the audience, and at the bookstore, as he went on with his life without her. The promise and desire behind his eyes would remain unknown to her and the blame was hers alone. If she had told him from the beginning that she was the dancer things would have gone differently. But she was hell-bent on revenge at that time and then it was too late. She tried to think of a dozen ways to tell him the truth but nothing would hide her betrayal, so she accepted her fate.

Jamie accepted Claire’s decision not to manage the bookstore like a gentleman and told her he was a phone call away if she needed anything. He promised to visit often as the new store was just a town away.

When he brought the new manager around for everyone to meet, Claire decided she was looking into the eyes of a human Bambi. John Grey was handsome on Jamie’s level but in a softer, more refined way. His smile was something to behold and she almost lost herself in it until she looked at Jamie and felt his power burn her on the inside.

Jamie was shaking hands and laughing with the staff, but he caught Claire in a moment of weakness and the look on her face made the hair on his neck stand up. She pulled away from the group and disappeared. He looked for her later wanting to spend some time with her before he left but she was nowhere to be found.

Claire drove home to get ready for her dance tonight. It felt like she was full of adrenalin with that awful feeling of impending doom. She knew this was about Jamie and his last night in Edinburgh. What ever did she want from the poor man who never received as much as a nod from her?

“Geillis! I have a problem. There is a man I have danced for numerous times. The way he looks at me makes my knees weak and I can barely keep it together. He is leaving town tomorrow and I may not see him again.”

“Okay Claire, you have my attention and I’m waiting for the problem. He’s married, he’s gay, he’s homeless, what?”

“No. None of those things. He’s perfect, and single, and moving to another town after tonight. I want to know him, that way, before I lose the opportunity.”

“That way?” Geillis was quiet for a minute. “Do ye mean ye want to fuck him, Claire?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then do it.”

Geillis caught on quickly that Claire needed help so she pledged to be there right after work, and they would make a plan.

Claire spent a quiet afternoon thinking about what she was doing and realized she could not stop herself if she wanted to. She spent an hour in a hot tub removing all her body hair, even her most intimate places. She was painstaking about her makeup, eyelashes, and bright red lipstick. The oil she smoothed over her skin was from Cairo, a gift from Madu. It heightened her senses when she dabbed it between her legs until she almost fell completely apart.

Pulling her most prized costume from her closet she zipped it into a garment bag for her second show, when she would touch Jamie and he would touch her.

Geillis whistled at the costume Claire chose and said she was getting hot just looking at it.

“Claire, relax. If ye want to fuck this guy and ye look like that, and he’s interested, then just let it happen.”

Geillis was winding the string of chains around Claire’s hips and looked at her friend.

“Ye know sex doesna bring love, right Claire?”

Claire nodded her head and raised her arms for the chain bra top Geillis was pulling onto her chest. It was time for her second dance and the invitation for Jamie to come to her dressing room. Claire felt the throbbing between her legs and could not wait for whatever was on the other side of that desire in his eyes.

When the spotlight hit the rows of chains, Claire sparkled like a thousand diamonds. Her body undulated up out of the fog layer Omar cranked out. Her performance was raw, and sexual, the best of her career because she would never have a greater prize than Jamie Fraser to dance for.

Jamie sat transfixed, unable to move as he watched the undulating hips and popping breasts promise forbidden love, the kind he would trade his soul for. As she spun in his direction the chains flew out at waist level looking punishing for any man who ventured to close to her. He watched her spin away from him and in a magical moment, he saw a card left on the table.

I await you, is all it said, and Jamie shook his head wondering if he imagined it was an invitation. He walked to the stage door and knocked softly. Diners were still eating but didn’t seem to notice him waiting for the door to open.

A warm hand pulled him into the dressing room which glowed with dozens of candles that smelled amazing and exotic. He bent to Claire and kissed her softly, noticing her chest rise and fall with her deep breathing. Whether from arousal or nerves he would take his time and see her relaxed and needy before he feasted on her body.

“What is your name lass?”

In that instant, Claire’s plan popped like a bubble. Holy crap, she thought, I have to talk to him? Why the hell didn’t I think this through? Her panic was rising, gripping her throat to choke her for being so selfish and concupiscent. In her panic, she could not think of a way to control the situation. She was bested and she knew it, so she just stopped moving and hung her head. She had heard enough Arabic to string some words together and show Jamie the door.

He looked confused but he left, and she locked the door behind him. Claire was too exhausted to cry or do anything else. She laid on the sofa waiting to hear Jamie’s truck drive away, praying he would not come back with more talking. She closed her eyes and imagined his touch, above her, beside her, behind her. Her body craved him and the sublime physical joining that would free her from the mundane world she lived in. Why had she convinced herself this was even possible? Because at the moment it felt like her life depended on it.

Claire heard Omar knock softly on the dressing room door, probably waiting to walk her out. When the door swung open Jamie lifted her up and kissed her quiet as he pulled the breath out of her lungs and every thought from her mind.

“No talking lass, just let me kiss you and touch you a bit then I go, without a word. There’s a reason you invited me here and a reason I came, that’s enough for me.” His kiss seared her lips with his heat and his hands ran over her body like he was touching the holy grail.

Claire twisted the buttons open and pushed his shirt off. She gazed at his muscled chest and arms feeling herself blush when he chuckled at her reaction. The kissing continued until Claire’s mind and body belonged to James Fraser. When she pulled her bra top off he held her away to look at her, then he embraced her, skin on skin, tilting her head up to kiss him again.

Claire knew the chains and veils would not easily come off without instruction and she did not want him to stop kissing so she pulled them off and stepped out of the tiny pants.

Jamie feasted on her perfect skin and lithe form watching the candlelight bounce off the flat planes of her body. He was speed stripping to catch up with her nakedness, wanting to feel her inside and out for as long as she let him.

Claire laid on the sofa, arms raised to him, mouth open, chest heaving. Jamie burned the sight of her into his brain to keep forever. His large warm hands caressed every inch of her from neck to feet as he laid soft kisses in their path. She felt his hot breath on her nipples before he filled his mouth and sucked to make her remember. When she was powerless to move, he pushed her arms over her head and wrapped several chains around her wrists before he stole the remaining part of her brain. His kiss started softly as his knuckles ran down her body, over her nipples, brushing against her core.

Each minute was more exciting and pleasurable than the last as Jamie swept her into an erotic fog that shot firecrackers to her brain. When Jamie’s knuckles started their return trip, he nudged her legs apart and dragged a finger up her fold. Claire bucked in his arms and she struggled to loosen the chains on her wrists. His long arm pulled the chains tight just before she felt his beard on the soft skin of her inner thigh. Pulling her legs apart he placed what felt like dozens of soft kisses between her legs, and inner thighs. Every few minutes the tip of his tongue would touch her bud nearly rocking her off the couch.

Claire didn’t think she could take much more without self-combusting. She felt Jamie shift his position and his hot, wet tongue slid into her, torturously slow as she gasped and arched her back seeking friction.

He would not be hurried with the beautiful dancer and intended to make this last, for both their sake. Claire was immobilized, without hands to distract him, so he set a slow pace and was thrilled the way her body reacted to him. He pressed his tongue deeper into her and his gigantic erection grazed the side of the sofa, hot and angry for being ignored.

Two long fingers replaced his tongue and he felt the walls of her pussy clamp down as he moved them in and out. She moaned and rocked his fingers feeling like she would explode. Jamie felt joy and satisfaction watching her fall apart. He lowered his head and flicked her bud viciously knowing the instant she left the earth. No longer on the plane of mortal man, she kissed angels and fell through layers of sparkling, raw sensation.

She felt the chains loosen around her wrist as Jamie kissed her deeply, preventing her full return to sanity. He wanted more, and she wanted to give it. He carefully negotiated the small sofa, pulling her knees up, creating a space to lay his long body as his tip pressed lightly against her opening. The intensity of his kissing made Claire’s hips rise to find him. Jamie smiled at her heroic effort to squirm under him until her wet pussy was pressing his tip into her.

He held her hips still and slowly pushed into her, watching her expression, feeling her energy shift to acquiescence. She surrendered to his strength, his need, his promise. As Jamie pushed into her he laid claim to her mind, soul, and body. His hard thrusting was banging into her clit making her lose her mind. Jamie kissed her deeply and felt her body grab him as her back arched tightly against his chest.

Jamie watched Claire’s orgasm second by second. She was wild, uninhibited, and completely under his spell. He released the iron grip on himself, slamming into her at least a dozen times, fearing he would lose his mind from the stinging in his balls.

The banging cymbals leading up to his release suddenly stopped as he was rocked to the core with pulsing pleasure. He floated back to her and nuzzled her neck. They were slippery with sweat and Jamie gathered her under him to keep her warm while she dozed. When she would startle awake her arms clutched him around his neck like she didn’t want to be without him, making his heart ache for her.

Jamie laid very still, watching Claire succumb to her exhaustion and kissing her quiet when she startled. He did not want this to end and letting her sleep added precious moments with her. He pulled her into a massive cuddle that overwhelmed her sluggish senses and she slept deeply for several hours while Jamie watched.

He was not used to the intensity of their lovemaking that now filled his head. Remembering her body quaking under him, mouth and eyes open, chest heaving while he pushed his full length into her. He could feel his erection growing until it throbbed for her again. She startled and grabbed him wrapping her arms around him to hold him to her.

Jamie pulled her to his chest and wiggled under her as his large hands held her gorgeous butt against him. She kissed him like her life depended on it and when he broke the kiss, she chased his mouth until he was putty in her hands. When she felt his tip against her, she pushed back until he slipped into her with a gasp.

Control temporarily lost, he wrapped his hands around her shoulders pulling down and pushing his cock deeper inside her. Jamie almost came when he looked into the eyes of a woman who would shred this couch to get to him. She needed to come, like a powder cake ready to explode and only he could make it happen.

Jamie grabbed her shoulders and lifted her upper body, so she straddled him. He groaned when her body opened to him, letting him sink into her warm wetness. Claire glared at him, panting, hands splayed on his chest. The feeling was so intense she couldn’t help but move her hips until she felt Jamie’s strong hands on top of her shoulders, holding her down. He sat up so they were face to face and pressed her shoulders down again feeling his dick go deeper into her body. He watched her eyes, only inches from his own. She didn’t know what was happening and no longer cared. She trusted Jamie to see her safely through the explosions she knew were coming.

We are almost there love, he thought, as he pushed her shoulders down and pressed his erection even deeper. Claire was wide-eyed and wanton when he impaled her, and he knew she had not been touched like this before.

Claire knew something was about to happen, good or bad she was powerless to stop it. He touched her cheek and smiled, then he touched her throbbing core and watched Claire’s world spin out of control. She threw her head back and rocked him with her hips until she slowly came back to earth. Her eyes opened and she smiled her gratitude, breathing deeply. He touched it again and she flew even higher in a long continuous moan as her hips rocked his cock again.

Jamie could not hold out any longer and flipped them pushing her legs over his shoulders for a dozen thrusts and stopped. Claire watched him get to his knees and push her legs open. He stared at her core for a long minute before he pulled her pelvis up and entered her again, watching the erotic show as his cock slid into her, over and over again until he shuttered and exploded deep inside her.

Jamie collapsed next to her panting for his life and refusing to let her go. He felt her hands on his cheeks as she kissed his face a dozen times, and then he felt nothing.

Some hours later Jamie woke up and smiled at the curled angel he held. He was leaving for his next job in Glasgow and wondered if he would ever see her again. He felt his heart swell at her trust and mutual interest. When he pushed the hair out of her face she smiled and pulled a lungful of air and opened her eyes.

Claire woke up to panic as the room was filling with light from the sunrise. Jamie could see the panic on her face and jumped up to dress quickly. He promised no words, so he kissed her softly and left.

She laid still with her heart ramming until she heard Jamie’s truck roar onto the road. Ten minutes later she was brave enough to get up and pull her sweatsuit on before disposing of the evidence of their magical night. She wondered if she would ever again feel a man touch her like Jamie did.

Claire looked at her watch and counted the hours until Geillis would come to get this wig off her head. Geillis added dots of the glue around the entire wig, so she didn’t worry about it slipping. Now she couldn’t get even a finger under it. She dropped her keys on the kitchen table heading for the shower. Raising her leg over the tub she saw warm liquid from Jamie run down her inner thigh. She watched it until her tears rolled down her cheeks and she pressed her face into a towel and sobbed.

Jamie pulled into Lallybroch and noticed Ian’s car in the driveway again. He looked up at Jenny’s window forming a possible reason before shaking his head and laughing. “It’ll never happen,” he said out loud. Ian was like a family member. Since they were lads Lallybroch was his second home and he often met up with friends and left his car overnight.

An hour later, Jamie tossed his suitcase, and briefcase in the back of his truck, the garment bag with his suits was hung inside the cab. With Glasgow just an hour away it hardly felt like he was going anywhere. How odd, he thought, that his last project would be in Scotland and so close to his home.

Once his big black truck was pointed at Glasgow, he sat back and let his mind drift back to the trauma he felt leaving home the first year. He hugged Jenny for a full minute and looked at her crying eyes trying to be brave. His Da shook his hand beaming with pride and fighting his own tears. Jamie walked away to board a very large plane that would fly him to Ann Arbor Michigan where he would build his first store.

The odds were stacked in his favor thanks to eight gentlemen that knew what factors influenced success and correctly matched the project to the manager. Putting Jamie on the other side of the world, where English was spoken, the winters were long and cold, in a college town with a superior football team, and thousands of coeds was no accident.

The next year was Italy, after that France, then back to America, England, Australia, Italy again, Germany, Edinburgh, and now Glasgow. He always came home to Lallybroch to rest. Sometimes it was three months, many years it was less.

Jamie’s natural charisma pulled people to him like moths to flame so he never felt lonely, or afraid. He saw his life as a never-ending string of new experiences, new challenges, and new people to meet, which became his Achilles heel.

Jamie remembered her still, the girl he cared for in Ann Arbor, the girl he left behind and then missed for the entire next year. It was a lesson to his heart to stay away from those most interesting, the most lovable, the most anything. He would find a lass or two in each town and move on quickly when they wanted more from him. It was a hard thing to do because he craved intimacy and feeling connected to someone. As his Scotland friends paired up and became a husband, Jamie realized he was going against the natural order, denying himself a heart to love. It got harder each year, but he never faltered from his plan. He would not leave a string of broken hearts in his wake.

The dancer crept into his thoughts and in his mind he reached for her, lovingly, protectively. Well, looks like yer comin to Glasgow with me. I thought maybe last night would cure me but here ye are. I’m no sorry. Ye are a rare gift to the world and I dinna want to let ye go. Not yet.

Geillis was losing patience, “hold still or I’ll spill this acetone in yer eye!”

She wasn’t feeling charitable this morning after being roused from her newest squeeze by a begging Claire. She dabbed the Q-tip into the glue as she pulled the hair from Claire’s skin.

“I hope the sex was worth all this.” She paused for a minute. “This is when ye tell me all about it lass.”

Claire stared out her kitchen window with a blank face seeming not to hear her friend's inquiry. She felt him touch her skin with warm hands that made magic happen the whole night. She tasted salty sweat from kissing his face when he was still far away spinning in pleasure.

“Claire!”

“What!”

“I’m talkin to ye lass. I’m gonna pull it off, ye ready?”

The wig pulled away and Claire instantly felt ten degrees cooler to her relief.

“Meet me at the wig store after work. Ye canna wear that one until yer skin heals. We can find somethin else to use. I have to break land-speed records to make it to work on time. Sorry to leave ye with the mess.”

Claire crawled into her bed where she would dream of copper-colored curls that tickled her nose, and thighs, and back.

For the next month, she spent a lot of time at the bookstore helping the new manager get settled. When she heard little voices yell her name she brightened considerably and watched tiny bodies run to the glass room with grateful mothers behind them.

The second month came and went but the bookstore still felt cold and sterile to her. John was becoming a dear friend who craved her company because he was alone in a strange city. Compared to Jamie, it was child’s play to avoid John’s constant questions about her other job. Claire was rarely bothered with anxiety anymore, so life went on with no great highs and no great lows.

When Claire was reading to her pint-sized fans she reached across the circle and pretended to grab someone's nose as little people erupted in laughter. Claire giggled back to her sitting position and froze when she heard his voice. Her heart was ramming and her ears almost hurt as they were seeking another sound wave, his wave, his cadence, and burr.

The story was over and the kids piled out to their waving mothers. Claire’s legs were hugged tight and tiny sets of eyes looked up to her smiling and waving. She waved back as the last few mothers led their children toward the exit. And there he was.

Claire felt the air evacuate from the room as she watched his genuine smile and outstretched arms. She leaned into him, smelling something lovely and familiar, wanting so badly to touch his curls and face. She felt his vibrating laugh when she hugged him and then quickly righted herself back to the friend zone tucking away her wants and desires for someone forbidden.

She smiled when John or Jamie made a joke but otherwise busied herself with cleaning up her room and flicking the lights off. She walked quickly to the exit and felt strong hands grab her arm pulling her to a halt. She knew that touch, those big hands, and felt herself shake inside.

“How is the new project going, Jamie?”

“It’s been a bitch, still is, but I’m done-in from all that anxiety and deadline insomnia.” He smiled at her, so relaxed and looking genuinely happy to see her. “I’m goin back tomorrow once I conclude some business here in Edinburgh, part of which is you.”

Claire looked up at him trying to look coy and relaxed. “What pray tell would that be?”

“Next weekend is Easter, Claire. I want ye to come to Lallybroch and spend the day with Jenny and me. Will ye come?”

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. And John? Will he be joining us too?”

“Who?”

Claire tilted her head to the upstairs office where John would be sweating bullets waiting for Jamie to announce the real reason he was here and hoping to have his job when he was through.

“Ah, yes of course lass, John too.”

Claire offered her hand and saw the change in Jamie’s face. “Until next weekend then.”

Jaime climbed the steps to the manager’s office feeling off balance at Claire’s stiff goodbye. His mind was in constant flux between two women since he left. The dancer reigned supreme in his thoughts and dreams, but he missed Claire in his life.

He felt his body calling to her, the dancer, and he knew it would take wild horses to keep him away from her tonight.

[hookedonapirate]

A Helping Hand

Summary: My girlfriend just dumped me and I’ve gotten piss drunk and somehow managed to get into your apartment instead of my own. I’m trying to masturbate my feelings away and boy were you surprised. Based on a Tumblr prompt that spiraled out of control.

A/N: Here it is, the last chapter before the epilogue! I'm so sad to finish this story and still completely baffled by the reception this story has had, but I am so grateful. Thank you all so much!

A huge thank you goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones​ for not only beta reading so quickly, but for putting up with all my typos. She is truly the best! Thank you for @onceuponaprincessworld​ because without her I probably would not have finished this fic. I also want to thank the Anon who had sent me this prompt in the first place; without her, this fic would not exist. And thank you for the lovely pm you sent me a while back to let me know who you are so I could thank you properly! This was supposed to be a one-shot and turned into so much more than either of us had ever imagined. I would also like to thank @daeneryskairipa​ for the gorgeous gif set she made for this story as my 2017 CS Secret Santa. If you haven’t seen it, check out the link below! 

AHH Graphic 

Rated: Mature for sex and salty language.

Also available: AO3 I FF.N

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11 Ch 12 Ch 13 Ch 14 Ch 15 Ch 16 Ch 17 Ch 18 Ch 19

Chapter 20: Happy Beginnings

After breakfast, the group split up for the day. Emma and Mary Margaret had planned for the ladies to spend the day along the Royal Mile, the heart of Edinburgh, for Elsa’s bachelor party. The bridesmaids gave her a sash that said Mrs. Captain Jones on the front, and she giggled when she saw it, and put it on before they left. They began at an extinct volcano and continued down a slope that was formed by the retreat of an ice age millions of years ago and was now the main street of the adjoining burghs of Edinburgh and Canongate. They visited a few of the significant landmarks, including the Edinburgh Castle, a world-famous attraction, and the Scottish Parliament for a tour of the building and its art collection, and to see parliament in debate. They had lunch in one of the restaurants down the Royal Mile and visited a few museums and shops, all while enjoying beautiful views across the city to the Firth of Forth, the estuary of several Scottish rivers.

 Meanwhile, the men, including Leo, spent the afternoon competing in mini highland games. The group reconvened at the Lighthouse Hotel for the rehearsal dinner and afterward, Liam and Elsa said their goodbyes for the night with parting kisses, both of them giddy with excitement for the big day tomorrow. The ladies threw Elsa a small party in the hotel suite where the bridesmaids were wearing matching royal blue robes with their title for the wedding in pink letters on the back, and they drank wine and showered the bride with gifts and played some silly games.

 The wedding day finally dawned, bringing a pandemonium of excitement through the hotel, and also a few minor hiccups along the way. But it was nothing a cool-headed bride, an over-exuberant wedding planner and eager to please groom could not handle, even if he were a bit of groomzilla. The soon to be married couple complemented each other, and usually, Elsa was the one talking Liam down or putting him in his place. He was the worry wart and she was the levelheaded of the two, the one who always had a way of calming him down to a normal, human level. However, even Elsa had a breaking point.

 Emma ran frantically through the hall in her high heels and royal blue maid of honor dress, holding up the fabric so it didn't drag along the floor as she headed for the groom's suite, bursting through the door with one hand covering her eyes. She scrambled into the room shouting, “Where’s Mary Margaret?” while trying to catch her breath.

 Liam and his groomsmen were startled, grumbling in complaint from the female intrusion. “Bloody hell, Emma, don’t you know how to knock?” Liam asked curtly.

 Emma scoffed. “You're one to talk. You wouldn’t know how to knock if there was a sign on the door that had instructions on how to knock.” When she thought it was safe to do so, she peeked through a narrow slit between her fingers to see that everyone was decent - Liam was buttoning up his shirt and David tying the bow of Leo’s tux—and removed her hand.

 “Aunt Em Em!” Leo shouted and ran over to Emma jumping into her arms as she scooped him up. “Hey, kiddo.” She gave her nephew a small smile and a peck on the cheek, but she knew she still looked anxious; she was afraid her friend would have a nervous breakdown before the wedding.

 Killian was buttoning up his vest as he approached her, and of course, he looked adorable and handsome as always, with his black tux and blue vest that matched his mesmerizing eyes, his hair a bit untidy from running his hand through it over and over. And of course he was not opposed to her presence in the dressing room, but his smile fell when he saw the frantic look on her face. “What’s wrong, love?”

 “There’s a wedding dress emergency,” Emma replied, setting Leo down. He was growing like a weed and getting heavy; soon he’d be too big for Emma to carry. “The zipper broke, so Elsa can’t zip up her dress at all, and she’s freaking out, afraid she’s going to have to walk down the aisle with her butt hanging out.” As she looked around the room, she could see the little smirk on Liam’s face; he was not opposed to the idea. “We need Mary Margaret, she will know what to do.”

 “I’m not sure where she is, did you check our room?” David asked her.

 "Yes, but she's not there." Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “Great, the wedding dress is defective, the bride’s a wreck and the wedding planner’s missing, what else could possibly go wrong? Not even her own sister can calm her down.” Emma placed her fingertips to her temple, rubbing them slowly to ease the headache blooming over her.

 “Hey,” Killian murmured in a soothing tone as he came behind her and kissed the tip of her ear, massaging her shoulder with his one good hand, switching from one side to the other. Emma melted into his touch, able to calm down a bit. “Relax, we’ll find Mary Margaret, I’m sure she has a sewing kit.”

 Emma shot David a questioning glance.

 “Knowing my wife, she’s fully prepared for situations like this.” He extended his hand to his son. “Come on, Leo, let’s find your mother.” Leo took his hand and they headed for the door.

 “Thank you,” Emma said appreciatively.

 “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.” He flashed her a reassuring smile, somehow easing her nerves a bit, and left the room.

 Emma's back slumped into Killian's chest as he wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the warmth he offered. Killian always knew how to calm her down, and right now the whole atmosphere of the wedding needed calmness.

 “Come on, Killian, you can help me calm the bride down.” She took his hand and headed for the door.

 “Oi, what about me?” Liam asked with a frown. “I am the groom.”

 “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Emma told him and pulled Killian out of the room.

 “But, love, if her own sister can’t calm her then what makes you think I can?” Killian asked in confusion.

 Emma paused and turned around, cupping one of his cheeks in the hand which was not entwined with his. “Because, baby, you may only have one hand, but it works wonders.”

 Killian didn’t bother to argue any further as he flashed a smug grin and allowed Emma to lead him to the bridal suite.

 When they rushed through the door, Elsa was still in panic mode as she sat in her chair while Anna’s arm was around her sister’s shoulder as she planted a kiss to her temple, trying to calm her as Ruby applied Elsa’s makeup. Although, neither Ruby's nor Anna’s attempts were working very well. Elsa could not sit still and was squirming in her seat as Ruby sighed in frustration trying to hold her chin where she needed it in order to not fuck up her makeup.

 Elsa moved her head away, her makeup only partly done as she looked at Killian and Emma. “Did you find Mary Margaret?”

 “No, David went to look for her, but in the meantime, I brought the Best Man to help you relax.”

 Elsa arched a brow, not in the mood to smile. “As much as I like you, Killian, I don't like you that much.”

 Killian chuckled. “She didn’t mean it like that.” He went around and started massaging her shoulders.

 Elsa’s tense body seemed to melt at Killian’s touch. His hand was magic like that. “Oooh, that is very relaxing,” she murmured and closed her eyes. Elsa was able to relax enough to allow Ruby to continue with applying her makeup. She added some final touches before handing the bride a hand mirror so she could study her reflection.

 Elsa frowned, panic washing over her features. She had blood red lips and her face looked even paler than her normal complexion. “What did you do?"

 Ruby frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? I made you look like a Queen, just like you wanted."

 Elsa's eyes widened at her. "I said Ice Queen, not the White Queen!"

 Ruby’s face flashed with apology. “Oh, sorry, I just thought the dark lips was what you wanted.”

 “No, I wanted cool tones for my eyes and lips, like pale pinks and blues, not warm colors!” Elsa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

 “Alright, alright, I’ll redo it, it will be fine.” Ruby cleaned off Elsa’s makeup and retrieved some lighter colors from her cosmetic case.

 Elsa kept looking into the mirror to make sure Ruby was doing her makeup to her satisfaction, critiquing every step and blurting out comments like, “Too much blush," “Not enough eyeshadow," and "Why are you using that color? It's too dark."

 Ruby sighed and rolled her eyes. "Keep telling me how to do my job and I’ll make you look like a drag queen,” she warned with a sweet smile.

 “Did someone ask for a sewing kit?” Mary Margaret's voice pulled their attention as the cheerful Nolan woman entered the room with a bright smile.

 Elsa’s eyes widened when she saw the kit in her hands. “You have one?”

 “Well of course. What kind of Wedding Planner would I be if I didn’t have a sewing kit handy?”

 Elsa sighed in relief. “Thank you, you're a lifesaver.”

 Killian stepped away, letting Mary Margaret stand behind the bride as she stood up, allowing Mary Margaret to assess the damage as she pursed her lips together. She tinkered with the zipper a little before concluding, “Well the bad news is there’s nothing I can do about the zipper…”

 “And the good news?” Elsa asked impatiently in a panicked tone.

 “The good news is I can sew the dress together but it won’t be very easy to get out of. You’ll have to cut the thread to get the dress off.”

 Elsa sighed. “Fine, do what you need to do to so my ass isn’t hanging out of my dress when I walk down the aisle,” Elsa bit out in frustration.

 Emma took her friend's hand to soothe her. “Don’t worry, MM knows what she’s doing, just relax," she said in a calming tone as her hand soothed Elsa’s.

 Ruby snickered and everyone glanced at her, wondering what was so funny. "I’m sure getting out of the dress will be no problem for Elsa, Liam could just rip the dress off himself. He has strong hands."

 That remark earned a scowl from Elsa. "Talk about my groom's hands again and you won't have any,” she shot back.

 Ruby frowned. “At least spare one of my hands, I can still work with that.” She shot Killian a mischievous smirk. “Lord knows Killian has learned to work with what he’s got.”

 “Alright, enough of the offhanded comments,” Mary Margaret interjected, and the other women snickered.

 Killian groaned. “That's enough hand jokes, aye?” Then his frown turned into a smirk as he pulled Emma into his arms and kissed her cheek. “Besides, I don’t have to try very hard, do I, sweetheart?”

 Emma shook her head and blushed as a small laugh tumbled from her lips. “No, you don’t.”

 Ruby returned to her task of working on a grumpy Elsa’s makeup. “Just relax, Elsa, I don’t feel like losing my hands today. Besides, if I had no hands then who would do your makeup? Believe me, with your attitude, you're going to have a hard time finding anyone else.”

 Elsa closed her eyes in regret. ”I’m sorry, I’m just very tense, and normally Liam knows how to calm me down.”

 “Why don’t I get him for you, lass?” Killian offered.

 Elsa's eyes flipped open in surprise. “Yes, please,” she sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

 “No!” the other women all shouted at once.

 “It’s bad luck-”

 “Then cover his eyes with a blindfold, I don’t care, just bring him to me!” Elsa shouted, and no one bothered to argue with her. Very seldom, Elsa raised her voice. So when she did, everyone knew not to mess with her.

 “I’ll get him,” Emma offered and left the room in a flash to fetch the groom. She dashed into the men’s dressing room as Liam flashed her a questioning look. “Were you able to find Mary Margaret?”

 “Yeah, she’s going to sew Elsa into the dress.”

 Liam sighed in relief, and without any preamble, Emma undid his tie and started wrapping it around his head. He stepped back, putting his hands up in a defensive pose. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing lass?”

 “Elsa asked for you,” Emma replied without any further explanation.

 Still, he allowed her to tie the fabric around his eyes. “I always knew you were kinky.”

 Emma rolled her eyes. “You have no idea,” she mumbled.

 “What?” he asked, dragging the blindfold from his eyes.

 She laughed. “The blindfold is supposed to affect your vision, not your hearing. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

 “Well, can I at least see on the way to the bridal suite?”

 Emma sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the room. “Fine, but before we reach the door, it goes back on.”

 “Such a demanding thing, aren’t you?”

 Emma scoffed at that. “Again, the pot calling the kettle black,” she teased and rushed him to the Bridal Suite.

 Emma opened the door and peeked her head through. “The groom’s here, can you turn Elsa around, please?” She pulled the blindfold over Liam’s eyes and pulled him into the room when Elsa was facing away from them. Ruby pulled the train of Elsa’s dress to the side so Mary Margaret could have room to work on the back opening of the gown without worrying about stepping on the gorgeous skirts of Elsa’s dress.

 “Liam?” Elsa called to her groom.

 “I’m here, darling,” he said in a soothing tone as Emma led him to her.

 “Can someone hold the dress together?” Mary Margaret asked.

 “I’ll do it,” Liam replied quickly and Emma guided his hands to the material, and he held the opening of her dress closed while Mary Margaret sewed. With his finger and thumb securing the fabric together, he raised his other hand to Elsa’s lace covered shoulder and offered soft endearments to her. Elsa instantly relaxed and placed her hand on top of his.

 “Everything’s going to be alright, love,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. We are going to be married by the end of the day, and none of this is going to matter.”

 The women swooned as he continued to ease Elsa’s worries with his soft, encouraging words, and in no time Mary Margaret was finished with the dress.

 “There, all done.”

 Elsa visibly sighed in relief, as though a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

 Mary Margaret moved out of the way with her supplies, and Liam wrapped his arms around his bride, planting a kiss to her shoulder blade.

 “I love you, Elsa.”

 “I love you, too.”

 It was a beautiful sight to behold as he held his bride in his arms, melting all of her fears and worries away.

 “Oh hell, let them see each other before the wedding,” Mary Margaret said. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” Emma agreed, and the bride and groom did not appear to be opposed, so Emma removed the blindfold.

 His eyes widened, a big smile taking over his lips as Elsa turned around, also flashing him a grin. She took his breath away as his eyes scanned her beautiful form. The dress was not the traditional white and instead was a pale blue, but she looked no less gorgeous in it.

 The others left to give them some privacy, and Mary Margaret went off to check on the current status of things, making sure everything was in order for the wedding.

 Killian pulled Emma in his arms once they were left alone. “Finally, we have a quiet moment,” he said with a smirk. Emma blushed and smiled as he kissed her lips, reveling in her taste. “Have I told you how exquisite you look in that dress?”

 She ran her hands down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket with devilry in her eyes. “No, but maybe you could show me later?” she offered with a lascivious grin.

 Killian arched a brow, intrigued by her proposal. “I can’t wait, love.” He pulled her to him and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, peppering soft kisses to her neck. Emma laughed, his trimmed beard tickling her skin.

 Ten minutes later, the women were back in the room when the minister knocked on the door to announce the ceremony was about to begin. The bridesmaids and maid of honor gathered around the bride, hugging her and wiping the tears from their eyes.

 Soon, Anna and Elsa’s Aunt Ingrid entered the room. She gathered her nieces into a hug before cupping the bride’s cheeks in her hands, a look of pride in her eyes. “So beautiful, just like your mother,” she commented, her eyes welling up with tears. “Are you ready to be walked down the aisle?”

 Elsa had a smile on her face and nodded without hesitation, finally ready to walk down the aisle; there was nothing that could bring her down now. And since Elsa’s parents passed away long ago, Ingrid had always been more like a parent than an aunt, so they only saw it fitting for Ingrid to walk Elsa down the aisle.

 ~*~

 “Are you ready, brother?” Killian asked an anxious Liam, patting him on the shoulder.

 Liam inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising as he adjusted his tie. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He turned and looked at his brother. “How do I look?”

 Killian rested his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “Relax, you look fine, Liam.”

 Liam frowned. “Just fine?”

 “You look like you’re ready to get on with this shindig,” Killian clarified with a laugh. “And also handsome,” he smirked and added, “but not as devilishly handsome as me.”

 Liam rolled his eyes. “How did I know you were going to say that?” He took another deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “I can’t wait for this day to be over with. Does that make me a bad groom?”

 Killian shook his head, another chuckle leaving his lips. “No, it just means you can’t wait for your’s and Elsa’s lives to begin.”

 Liam grinned from ear to ear at the idea, his blue eyes lighting up. “Exactly.” He drew Killian into a bear hug. “Thank you, brother, for being here with me every step of the way… even if I have been a royal pain in the arse.”

 Another laugh tore through Killian’s throat as the two men patted each other on the back. “I’d take my royal pain in the arse brother over no brother at all,” he murmured sincerely. “I love you, Liam”

 “I love you too, brother.”

 They broke apart, and soon it was time for them to enter the ceremony from the side and join the minister at the altar as Liam waited for his bride in heightened anticipation.

 The ceremony was an enchanting affair for an enchanting couple, beginning with the bridal party walking down the aisle in pairs. The chairs were square, each one adorned with a silver cover and royal blue ribbon which wrapped around and tied in the back with silver and light blue roses. There was an archway made of silver leaves and a mixture of light blue and royal blue flowers. Bouquets of royal blue and light blue accented with crystals, stephanotis and blue Picasso Calla Lilies were set out on the ends of each aisle in long, tall vases made from real crystal, and there was a pianist in the corner playing live music.

 Emma entered the room, carrying her bouquet as she walked down the aisle alone, following behind Anna and Kristoff with a brilliant smile that showed off those pearly white teeth as she made eye contact with Killian.

 Gods, she looked gorgeous, he thought to himself, and even more so when he winked at her, making her cheeks flush with an adorable shade of pink.

 She never tore her eyes away from him though, only smirked when she reached the other side of the altar. Leo wandered down the aisle with a ring bearer pillow holding the rings and then the flower girl, who was a second cousin of Elsa and Anna’s threw one blue petal at a time, and everyone laughed as she dumped the rest of the petals at the end of the aisle. The bridal party stood in their positions, the bridesmaids holding their bouquets. The bridal chorus cued and all the guests stood and turned to watch as Elsa entered with her Aunt Ingrid. Killian glanced at Liam, and the look on his face was priceless. Even though Liam had seen her prewedding, he was still blown away and waited for his bride with bated breath. When Liam had seen her before the wedding, Elsa was a nervous wreck, but now… now she had a giddy, carefree smile on her face as she locked eyes with her groom. The spark between them was undeniable, and Killian’s heart warmed knowing his brother had picked the most perfect woman to spend the rest of his life with. She was stunning, and looked like an exquisite ice queen.

 Elsa kissed Ingrid's cheek and joined her groom at the altar still donning a bright smile as they exchanged the vows they had written for each other, telling everyone how they had met and how they had fallen in love, not leaving a dry eye in the place by the time they said their I do’s .

 Through a watery gaze, Killian looked over at Emma, who was wiping tears from her eyes, and he could hear the sniffles of the guests throughout the room. When the rings were exchanged and the minister announced them, husband and wife, Liam kissed his bride as everyone cheered, and off the happy couple went down the aisle.

 The day was bright and clear when the bridal party made it outside for photos, and even though it was a little chilly, it was nothing to deter them from having the photos taken out on the edge of the cliff with the beautiful mountains as their backdrop as well as at the top of the lighthouse.

 The reception was held in the banquet hall with an open bar, raided by the guests before they sat at their assigned tables. The bridal party sat at the Head Table and Killian took the microphone and stood to give his speech.

 "For those of you who don’t know me, I am the more devilishly handsome and wittier Jones brother,” he quipped, and immediately received a playful eye roll from Liam. “What can I say about Liam?" he asked and then held up a finger as though an idea struck him suddenly. "Ah, yes…" He reached inside his suit jacket and retrieved a folded piece of paper, which was blank, but he pretended to read from it. “Liam Jones is a great man, he is selfless, he's kind... he’s honorable." Killian paused and looked at Liam pointing at the piece of paper. "Liam, you spelled handsome wrong," he spoke loudly, “you forgot the d,” and everyone laughed, including Liam who shook his head. Killian returned his attention to the guests. "And apparently he can't spell correctly, even when writing about himself."

 "Haha, very funny," Liam teased with a bashful grin.

 Killian cleared his throat as he tucked the paper away and looked at his brother, lifting his hand to his shoulder. "No, but seriously, Mum would have been so proud of you if she were alive today,” he said sincerely and looked toward the audience again. “Ever since we were kids, Liam has always been there for me… when we lost our mum, when our dad walked out on us, when we were in the navy together, when I lost my hand, and even when we weren't on such great terms." He looked at Emma and smiled. "There was a time, believe it or not when I did not have great taste in women, unlike my brother here." Killian gestured to Emma, "I’m clearly not speaking of my lovely girlfriend, Emma."

 Emma smiled and blushed, and Liam nodded, not willing to argue with him there.

 "He warned me about this other lass, who shall remain nameless. Tried to tell me she wasn't good enough for me, and I should've listened… but alas, I was a stubborn arse, just like my brother here, and so I got my heart stomped on by said woman. To make matters worse, I was an alcoholic at the time, so I tried to drink my sorrows away, and then one day I decided to get out of bed and pick my pride up off the floor to call Liam. After I told him what had happened, he could’ve said he’d told me so or he could've just hung up on me, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me to pack my bloody things, get my arse on a plane and fly as far away from that devil of a woman as I possibly could. And I said to him, where am I gonna go? You're all I've got, brother. And that's when I knew those were the magic words to Liam's heart, because after he so lovingly told me to go to hell," Killian paused, allowing the guests to laugh before continuing, “he said, you're staying with me, whether you like it or not. So that's exactly what I did. I got on a plane and literally stumbled through my brother's door. I dropped my luggage off before stumbling over to a bar and then, later on, I stumbled into my neighbor’s apartment and one of the occupants came home,” he added with a smirk, “boy was she surprised." He winked at Emma while the audience laughed.

 “I ended up making said occupant my girlfriend, but that's a story for a different time. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, when I was at my worst," Killian held up his prosthetic hand, "and yes, it was worse than getting my hand blown off in the Navy…" he joked, prompting another spur of laughs from the crowd, "Liam offered me his home, got me a job and helped me get on my feet again. He has always taken care of me, despite how angry we were with each other or how much more handsome I’ve always been than him" he said, emphasizing the d, "and how much I beat him at arm wrestling, even with one hand."

 Liam rolled his eyes but was smiling at the same time.

 "And Elsa, well… I don't think it needs to be said, but I'll say it anyway… Elsa, I am so glad Liam found someone to put the royal pain in the butt in his place. I could not have chosen a better sister-in-law if I had picked her myself." Killian went over to Elsa and they exchanged chaste kisses on the cheek.

 "Thank you, Killian," she smiled.

 "Liam… Elsa…” Liam took the microphone, holding it up for Killian so he could raise his glass. “To a lifetime of love and happiness.”

 "Thank you, brother," Liam said appreciatively, patting his brother on the back.

 Everyone drank to the toast, and Liam passed the microphone to Emma as she stood up.

 “Hi, I am Emma, the Maid of Honor and also one of Elsa’s best friends. So, the story of how I met Elsa is pretty ordinary,” Emma began. “Elsa was looking for a place to live, I was looking for a roommate and the rest is history. But little did I know at the time, our friendship would be so much more than ordinary. I can’t tell you how many days we have known each other, but I can tell you, there was never a day when Elsa wasn't there for me. She is like the sister I never had and while we were roommates, we borrowed each other’s things without asking, we got after each other for borrowing each other’s things, I would break into her boyfriend’s apartment to borrow things from him—you know the typical sisterly stuff," she quipped before adding, "but then I didn't have to break in because I started dating his brother." She looked at Elsa and Liam who were both laughing and offered a sweet smile. "But before that, I had the advantage of witnessing these two fall in love. I remember how Elsa would come home with a great big smile on her face after running into our British neighbor who had moved in across the hall, and I remember how he came to me one day to ask for advice about how to ask Elsa out. If it were any other guy, I probably would've told Elsa to run away and never come back," Emma laughed, "but I knew Liam was different and I'm so glad I trusted my instincts. It was such a privilege to be there for them every step of the way while they slowly fell in love with one another.” Emma’s eyes welled up with tears as Liam took Elsa’s hand, and she could tell they were also on the verge of tears.

 “And now they're both moving out and getting a place of their own. But I'm not worried because there is no distance that could keep us apart." She looked over at Elsa who was smiling back at her. "You will always be like a sister to me," Emma said sincerely and turned her attention to the audience. "And if there is one thing I have learned about my good friend, Elsa… it's to never keep a secret from her because you’ll regret it. Elsa will never judge you, she is warm and kind and forgiving… and no, she did not tell me to say these things,” she joked with a small smile. “She is really perfect for Liam because for those of you who don’t know him very well, I will be the first to say it—he is an OCD control freak.” Emma paused as everyone burst into laughter. “Elsa is the only one on God’s green earth who can sweeten his bitter ways. That's why he takes his coffee black and why we never hear him complain about Elsa hogging the blankets, even though we know she does… it's because she's sweeter than any creamer and she's warmer than any blanket he would need. He's the whiskey to our glass and she's the Coke with the cherry garnish. He's the peanut butter to our bread and she's the strawberry jam. Alone they can be a bit overbearing—well Liam can be at least," she corrected with a smirk, and Liam scowled playfully, "but together they are the perfect combination. In fact, being friends with these two is like going skydiving… only instead of jumping off the plane when you’re ready, Liam throws you the parachute and pushes you off when you refuse to jump.” Everyone cracked up, and Emma continued when the laughter died down. “And Elsa is the parachute that softens the landing.”

 The audience cheered and clapped as Elsa looked up at Emma with tears in her eyes.

 “I love you both, and it is with great honor that I raise my glass to you...” Emma lifted her glass to Elsa and then to Liam, “to you...” before raising her glass higher to both of them, “to your happy beginning… and to happily ever after.” They clinked their glasses and drank, and Emma handed off the microphone to the announcer as Elsa stood to hug her.

 “Thank you, Emma, that was very sweet.”

 “It was only the truth,” Emma assured her.

 Liam took his turn and drew Emma into a hug, kissing her cheek as Killian looked over at her with pride in his eyes. “Great speech, Emma.”

 “Aye, you nailed it, love,” Killian added

 Emma smirked and kissed her boyfriend's cheek. “I know.”

 After they all had their turn at the buffet, it was time for the cake, which looked way too good to eat. It had three tiers and royal blue frosting, decorated with silver sugar pearls to make it look like it was frosted with snow. Liam and Elsa cut the cake before shoving it in each other’s faces. They had their first dance as husband and wife before everyone else joined in. The group took turns dancing with each other in pairs, and Leo got to dance with Aunt Em Em, and finally, Emma got a chance to dance with her boyfriend. He spun her around and dipped her, spurring on a gale of giggles. The reception was a blast, and soon, it was time for Elsa to toss the bouquet, which Emma caught. Killian made sure to snag the garter belt after Liam flung it in the air, and he promptly slid it up Emma’s leg.

 They sent the bride and groom off in a decorated limousine. And from there, the newly married couple would head to the airport and leave for their honeymoon in Bali. Emma and Killian went back to their hotel in Glasgow that night, and were so exhausted they went straight to bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms. While the rest of the group had to get back to the States, Emma and Killian spent a few more days in Scotland before they headed home. Luckily they had a different flight attendant who didn't hit on Emma’s boyfriend.

 ~*~

 The next couple of months flew by, probably because they were very eventful, with Elsa and Liam moving into their new home, Killian and Emma moving his things into her place, both couples buying new furniture and of course the holidays they all spent together. Because Elsa and Liam were still in the process of unpacking at the time, the group spent Christmas at the Nolan’s, and then Liam and Elsa hopped on a plane to visit Anna and Kristoff for New Years, while Emma and Killian spent the days leading up to it painting their bedroom, which had been Emma’s when she had lived with Elsa, but they both decided pink wasn’t the best color, just like the pink, fluffy pillows and pink furniture needed to go as well.

 They both wanted to make their new home theirs. And since they moved Emma’s bed into Elsa’s old room, and since Killian’s bed frame was so old they literally broke the bed, they were waiting to get a new frame once they were done painting their room (although they started playing around when Killian told her she missed a spot on the wall and they ended up getting more paint on themselves than they did on the wall that day and cleaned off together in the shower). They spent New Year’s Eve in Times Square watching the ball drop since Killian had never experienced anything like it before. As fun as it was, the weather was bitter cold and they spent a lot of time waiting for the ball to drop since they had to arrive very early to retain their spot, they agreed to spend the next New Year's Eve at home.

 Superbowl Sunday was at Liam and Elsa’s house, and the couple was more than happy to host their first party after they had made the desired changes and redecorated the home to their liking. Liam, of course, wasted no time to make sure the house was picture perfect. Although it was nowhere near finished, for he planned on fixing up the basement and garage and planned on building a backyard deck in the spring.

 The next day, Emma had to drag herself out of bed; she felt like crap even though she and Killian had no alcohol. She had explained to the gang she was refraining from alcohol to support Killian’s sobriety, but what she didn't tell them was the other reason she hadn’t drank…

 Emma sat on the toilet seat, waiting in anticipation as she stared at the white stick in her hand, not able to peel her eyes away, as though the pregnancy test would catch on fire if she looked away. She couldn’t believe she forgot her birth control pills while she was in Scotland. She never forgot to take them and didn’t even realize she hadn’t until after she and Killian had arrived home. She didn't think she could get pregnant from going a few days without them until she ended up vomiting yesterday morning. And it couldn't have been the food she ate the night prior when she was babysitting Leo considering he didn't get sick, although he was recovering from the flu.

 When only one line remained, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She and Killian had talked about having kids someday, but she knew they weren’t ready yet. They’d only been dating for eight months, she loved their life and didn’t want anything to change just yet. But a tiny part of her—okay maybe an even larger part of her—ached in disappointed at the fact that she was not pregnant. It turned out she'd gotten the flu from Leo.

 ~*~

 One week later

 “Okay, I can’t take it anymore, what’s the surprise?” Emma asked as Killian took her hand and led her through their apartment. “And why am I wearing my bathrobe for such a surprise?” Only moments ago, she was wearing a black dress and heels for her birthday dinner that she had carefully chosen when Killian told her he was taking her out to a nice dinner and dancing. Now she was in her bra and panties and a bathrobe per Killian’s request. She was also wearing a blindfold as he took her to his desired destination.

 “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, love.”

 Emma sighed, but allowed him to lead the way, and soon she felt the cold, tiled floor under her feet, which meant they were in the kitchen, because why would they be in the….

 Killian lifted the blindfold, and to her utter confusion, they were in their bathroom, and it was currently lit by scented candles which covered the bathroom countertop.

 Emma raised a brow as she looked at Killian, who was also in nothing but his bathrobe. “Why is this such a surprise?”

 Killian smirked at her with those smoldering blue eyes that told her he was up to no good, and he pulled at the belt of his robe, untying it. He let the cotton fabric fall to the floor and got into the tub naked. It wasn't even filled with water.

 “What are you doing?” Emma was even more perplexed

 Killian reclined back, leaning his head against the tiled wall as he waved his hand around him. “Doesn’t this look familiar to you?”

 Emma planted her hands on her hips and pursed her lips, thinking about his question for a moment. Killian was lying in the tub naked, which of course was how she had found him nine months ago. “This is how we met... sort of.” She crossed her arms and smirked. “Only you were jerking off if I do recall.”

 Killian nodded, blush coloring his cheeks as he gave a small smile. “I was, but that was a different time in my life. Milah had just broken up with me, and my brother and I were not on speaking terms. But you, my love, you found me in this exact spot.” His features grew serious as he continued. “I was a shattered mess... and you accepted me even when I was at my worst.”

 Emma smiled, her eyes pricking with tears. She climbed into the tub and straddled him in the cramped space. Killian sat up and wrapped his arms around her back as she cupped his cheeks in her hands.

 “You were adorable,” she laughed.

 “I was a hot mess,” he tried to correct her, his eyes clouding with regret and embarrassment as he lowered his eyes.

 “An adorable hot mess,” she added with a small smirk and lifted his face so she could gaze into those bright blue eyes she had swooned over even during their first encounter. “I can’t say I would have pictured us getting together at the time, you did throw up in my hair,” she reminded him.

 Killian blushed deeper, and his expression was still full of regret, but at least she got a small smile out of him. “Sorry, love, it wasn’t exactly my finest hour, was it?”

 Emma shook her head. “Nope.”

 Killian’s smile widened a bit. “And yet, you're still here with me.”

 She smiled brightly. “That's true, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 “Me neither.” Killian bit his bottom, and he looked nervous about something, although she didn’t know why. “In fact, I always want you here with me, love, no matter what.”

 Emma arched a brow. “Here in the bathtub?”

 Killian chuckled and shook his head. “No, in my life.” He glanced above Emma, and she lifted her head to see what he was looking at. “Could you hand me that, love?”

 Her eyebrow only seemed to rise higher toward her hairline. “You mean the loofah?”

 “Aye.”

 “Okaaay,” she answered skittishly, studying him cautiously. “But if you plan on taking a bath, you kind of need water and soap to do that.” Emma grabbed the loop of the loofah and removed it from the hook it was hanging on. Glancing at it, she noticed something silver and shiny sitting at the bottom of the loop. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the large diamond.

 “No, I plan on asking you to marry me.”

 Emma was too stunned to speak as she gaped at the ring with wide eyes.

 Killian took the loofah from her hands and removed the engagement ring, holding it up for her. “Will you marry me, Emma?”

 She gazed at him in shock, seeing the glint in his eyes as he awaited her answer.

 “Love?” His face fell slightly in concern, and she knew what her answer was, she just didn't have the strength to say it at first.

 Finally, a smile blossomed over her lips and she blurted her answer out in a choked sob. “Yes.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes, I will marry you,” she laughed, a tear streaming down her cheek.

 Killian sighed in relief, a big smile spreading across his lips. His eyes were buzzing with excitement as he drew her in for a kiss, his hand sliding through her hair as he breathed her in. “Love, you scared me for a moment,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

 “Sorry, I was just surprised.” She stuck out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. “I love you, Killian, of course, my answer is yes.” She giggled and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

 “I love you, too, Emma.”

 Pure bliss took over them as she crushed his lips with hers and they kissed with everything they felt for each other. She would never grow tired of kissing this man’s lips, she never grew tired of how he smelled or how he tasted, how he bit her bottom lip and groaned in her mouth when she slipped her tongue against his. The kiss ignited a fiery spark between them and quickly intensified, similar to how a flame reacted to gasoline. Emma removed her robe, tossing it to the floor, along with her bra and panties, and they made love in the tub, both of them finding blissful release in each others’ arms before collapsing. Killian laid on his back, resting his head on the edge of the tub and Emma laid her head on his chest, their limbs entangled as they struggled to catch their breaths.

 It took a few minutes of calming her heart rate before she was able to speak again. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, running her fingers through his chest hair and taking his naval charms in her hand to admire them as she often enjoyed doing.

 “Of course, love.”

 She looked up at him, gazing warmly into his eyes. “You still don't remember anything from that night, do you?”

 Killian took a long breath as he thought about her question. “I remember being at the bar, but that’s it.”

 Emma nodded and bit her bottom lip. “It’s really strange because I was only gone for not even ten minutes. I left my apartment and headed downstairs. It’s amazing we didn’t see each other before I found you in the tub.”

 “You were only gone for ten minutes?”

 “Yeah, I was in a tank top and a pair of grey shorts, you know the shorts I always wear when I don’t plan on going out in public.”

 Killian grinned salaciously and ran his tongue over his lips as he skimmed his fingers up her arm. "Are you kidding? How could I forget those shorts? I'm just surprised I don't at least remember you wearing them that night."

 Emma nodded. "There are many little mysteries from that night I wonder about."

 "Like what, love?

 “Like why you decided to jerk off in the tub," Emma laughed.

 Killian shrugged. "Not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say I took the elevator up to our floor and got a peek of you in those shorts as you took the stairs down to the laundry room without noticing me, and I decided to take matters into my own hand once I got home. This bathroom is where my bedroom was in Liam's apartment so I probably mistook the tub for my bed. Once I realized it was indeed not my bed, I was probably too trashed to care,” he mused with a solemn expression and a weak smile. “So, I thought of you in those lovely shorts to avoid thinking about my bleedin' heart."

 Emma nodded and smirked at the idea. "That sounds like a reasonable explanation. If only it were true."

 "I guess we'll never know."

 Emma shrugged. "Guess not."

 They were silent after that, and eventually, they moved to the bedroom and he scooped her in his arms under the covers with only the light of the moon aiding their vision.

 Her mind was frazzled with thoughts, and she decided to tell him about how she had thought she was pregnant a week ago, and how she didn’t tell him then because she didn’t want to get his hopes up before she knew for sure. Killian was shocked, but told her he’d love any baby they have. Emma agreed.

 “I have to say I was a little disappointed when I found out the test was negative,” she confessed.

 “Don’t worry, love, we’ll have babies when the time is right,” he assured with a small smile as he stroked her cheek.

 A thought occurred to her suddenly and she laughed as her face heated up with blush. "Just think, when we do have children someday we'll have to tell them the story of how we met, you know when they're old enough."

 "I suppose you're right," he chuckled.

 She looked at him to see him also blushing. "You wouldn't be too embarrassed to tell them?"

 "Perhaps a little, but, as long as I get to tell it with you, I’d be a very happy man.”

 Emma looked up at her sentimental fiance—wow, she'd have to get used to calling him that—with pride. She was so grateful she had met him, even if they did meet under less than ordinary circumstances. Now, nine months later, they lay in each other's arms, engaged to be married. Another unbidden thought occurred to Emma and she snorted out loud, clapping her hand over her mouth.

 Killian peered down at her with a raised brow. “Love? Care to share what's so funny?”

 Emma shook her head, her face beet red. “Sorry, I was thinking… we’ll have to tell our friends how you proposed bare ass naked. Liam will make fun of you, for sure.”

 Killian blushed profusely and scratched behind his ear. “Aye, I guess when I came up with such a brilliant idea, I clearly didn’t think it over thoroughly."

 Emma shook her head and laughed as she cupped his cheeks in her hands. “No, you didn’t. That’s okay, I love you anyway,” she teased with a wink.

 "I love you too, Emma, and I'd take endless joking and teasing from my brother than a lifetime without you," he professed sincerely, carressing her cheek. Emma's heart fluttered at his words, and she smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "As I've told you many times before… I never wanted just part of you, I want the whole thing. So if that means we have to tell our children how we met and our friends how I proposed, so be it.”

 Her smile broadened as she remembered fondly the first time he had told her that, when he had refused to take advantage of her for one night of passion. It still melted her heart, to this day. Emma nuzzled his nose softly with hers, whispering to him gently, “You'll always have the whole thing with me... I promise." She sealed her promise with a kiss.

@acaptainswaneternity @basful-Killian @deathbycaptainswan @dragon-princess @onceuponaprincessworld @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke@wordsmith-storyweaver​ @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @andnothinghurts @slimacwrites @onceuponaswanscastle @piratesbooty63fan @idristardis @ladyciaramiggles @truefangirl97 @t-tamm-​ @wellhellotragic​ @takhisismb​ @winterbaby89​ @julesep3026​ @jennjenn615​ @swanjonescaptain​ @cynmoon​ @mayquita​ @kday426​ @jennjenn615​ @shady-swan-jones​ @teamhook​ @andiirivera​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @hooked2kill @truefangirl97​ @its-about-bloody-time-cs​ @fleurreads​ @roterteufel11​ @hey-it-is-jess​ @hookslovelyswan​ @coliferoncer @m98h @hungrywhovianpotterheadfrom221b​ @all3ofthatcrap​ @kgchambe @olliemarch​ @dmitriy30 @fhel09-blog @missclois86 @greys-shepherdland @animatedshorts​ @pinkbonesforeverblog​ @buckybarnex​ @captainswan-shipper88​ @iminwinnipegthatsincanada @killylovesemma​ @myideaaofperfect @julieta-tas​ @roterteufel11​ @rere105 @bethacaciakay​ @unmotivated-trashcan @aeinhorn12​ @wanderlust1990​ @121101chara​ @swanderful1​ @thesavior-and-thepirate​ @densi-captainswan @myprincess-myemma-mypirate​ @lostprincessofatlantica​ @troiansbeautynz @trishnelle84​ @micharah​ @captainvintage-and-cupcakes

[thesecretfandom]

Wanderlust: Castle on the Hill -- Bughead (Chapter 9)

Word Count: 6,322

Rated: E

A/N: Approaching the final few chapters, I really hope you enjoy this chapter because I know I enjoyed writing it! In another post I want to talk more about my time in Alnwick and post more pictures. I really felt a strong connection to this chapter. It’s also the longest chapter of the series! Enjoy! (Read on AO3)

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter Coming Soon)

Church bells chimed through Edinburgh when they stepped off the bus that Sunday morning. All six of the weary travelers shuffled along quietly toward yet another hostel. What's really only been a few weeks feels like a year after all of the planes and trains they've been on.

Veronica's phone was shouting out directions as they zigzagged through the hilly streets of the Scottish city. Finally they passed a row of blue residences, with a sign for the Cowgate Hostel hanging above the lobby. Again, Veronica handled checking in, offering up her passport as her ID.

"Okay, so you're in apartment ninety-two, just two doors down on your left when you go outside." The front deskperson pointed in that general direction. Flat number three is on the first floor and you are in room two. This code will get you into the apartment, the round key into your flat, and the square key will go directly to your room. How many keys?"

"Three will be fine." Veronica tucked her passport back into her purse.

"That will be thirty pounds deposit that will be returned upon the checkout when you turn in your keys."

"Shit, does anyone have cash?" Veronica looked helplessly back at Betty.

Betty rolled her eyes, but pulled the money from her purse and passed it along.

"I am going to sleep for hours. Might as well just write today off completely…" Jughead mumbled so only Betty could hear him. Veronica led them to the small room lined with six bunks. A few of them were occupied by various individuals. "You didn't have anything planned, right?"

"Just general wandering that can be squeezed in over the next day and a half after today. But I'm warning you, my Harry Potter tour starts here."

"Here, in this dingy hostel?"

"Here, as in, in Edinburgh. You know J.K. Rowling wrote the books here."

"Save the podcast lecture you're about to give me for tomorrow. I'm too tired to fully absorb the knowledge right now."

"Did you just imply that I lecture you?" Betty scowled as Jughead claimed the top bunk for his suitcase. He gestured for Betty's bags as well and set them up alongside his.

"Forgive me if my lack of sleep last night has made me grumpy."

Jughead sat heavily on the lower bunk and discarded his shoes almost immediately. He had tucked himself under the covers before Betty could even reach up to remove her ponytail.

"Are you gonna come cuddle me, or am I gonna have to beg?"

"Hold your horses, drama queen…" Betty tossed her shoes next to Jughead's and sat down. She pulled the curtain that hung across the bunk before letting Jughead pull her to his side.  She allowed her head to rest over his heart. His fingers found her hair, tugging slightly so her chin tipped up toward him.

"I love you." Jughead whispered against her lips.

"I love you, too."

"Goodnight." His lips moved to her hair when Betty cuddled against his shoulder.

"It's still morning."

"Semantics…" He yawned. He didn't elaborate and in only a few moments his breathing slowed and his grip relaxed. Betty found herself drifting off as well, falling into the rhythm of his breaths.

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"So what's the significance of this café?" Cheryl asked. "I do love the color though."

The sign read "The Elephant Café" and was painted bright red.  On a Monday morning, there was a line of tourists and locals in front of the glass pastry cases, ordering up coffees for the start of the work week or a day of sightseeing.

"This is where J.K. Rowling wrote much of Harry Potter." Betty replied.

"Today isn't going to be some Harry Potter fangirl tour, is it?" Cheryl fixed Betty with a withering look.

"No, in fact this is the only Harry Potter related place that I know of in Edinburgh."

"Oh, thank God."

Betty bought their morning coffees with two crisp twenty pound notes. From the table they were given at the back of the café, they could see Edinburgh Castle perched precariously on top of a cliff.  Large and imposing, Jughead already had his camera out before they were even seated.

Betty laid out her phone with the notes screen open for her friends to see. Listed in bullet points, she showed them their tentative itinerary for the day. Elephant House, check. Next up, a walk up Princes Street to Edinburgh castle.

"And then we've got tickets for the theater tonight at seven and you'll be happy to know that we'll have time to go to the club across the street from the hostel when we get back."

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Reggie exclaimed. "I mean I'm down for the play or whatever, but a club just a few steps from where I'm sleeping will be such a life saver."

"And we're lucky there are no canals for you to jump into this time, buddy." Jughead supplied, patting him on the back. "And damn I wish I'd been there to see that."

"Hey man, you were too busy getting frisky with Betty." Reggie punched his shoulder. "I can respect that."

"For your information, we only kissed that night. You and that dirty canal water passed more bases that night."

Reggie shrugged, but threw a wink in Betty's direction. Her cheeks flared up of their own accord, wondering what Reggie saw when he saw the two of them together. Then, Jughead put his hand on her knee and she realized that she didn't care what he thought.

"Somehow this conversation is both sappy and dirty."  Veronica set her empty mug on the table top and dabbed the whipped cream  from her lip. "Let's continue this conversation on the way to the castle. I want Jughead's magical camera on me when we get there."

"I think Betty's got that position taken." Archie nudged her, taking her hand as they made their way out of the café toward Princes Street.

"I don't mind sharing the camera if Jughead doesn't." Betty replied.

"Just answer me one thing, if the camera is magical does that make me a wizard?" Jughead teased.

Veronica glanced over her should at him as they passed a street performer. "I feel like if I say no you're going to revoke your agreement to be my personal photographer so I'm going to say yes. Grand Wizard Jughead Jones!"

"That's what I like to hear." Jughead grinned.

It was a sunny day, hardly a cloud in sight. Those that did cross the sky were like cotton balls, carefully placed there by a higher power. If there was one thing other than Betty that Jughead's camera was drawn to, it was a good set of fluffy clouds. In the foreground the Scottish flag and the Union Jack fluttered in the wind. Further on, a church steeple took the place of the flags, then finally… the castle itself at the top of the hill.

When they'd passed the ticket gate, Betty ran ahead. She was practically prancing when she reached the waist height wall separating them from a deadly drop. She threw her head back over her shoulder, her ponytail flying out. Jughead didn't see anything else. He saw nothing but the grin on her face. Click.

Overcome with a sudden urge, he reached out for her waist and pulled her into his chest. His lips found hers in a warm, wet, passionate kiss. He felt completely overwhelmed with the intense love he felt for this woman who, only a month ago, he hadn't even met yet.

"What was that for?" Betty asked, breathless, when he finally pulled away.

"I just love you…" He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "…like a lot. Yeah, I love you a lot."

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Hours later, after exploring the cobblestone courtyards of the Edinburgh Castle and the Crown Jewels of Scotland locked up in a tower, they left the extravagant Festival Theatre. Betty was still humming along to "Chitty chitty bang bang" as they walked back to their hostel. Even on a Monday, the music from the club was still loud enough for them to hear in their room. They stayed only long enough to change out of their theater clothes and into more club appropriate garb.

Cheryl hiked up a red mini skirt before pulling off the black dress she'd been wearing that day. This left her with only a bandeau covering her chest.  Veronica's outfit had more fabric but was no less revealing. A lace crop over dark, purple bralette. Archie and Reggie, from their respective spots on their beds, watched the girls with interest.

Betty, however, pulled her hair out of its ponytail and ditched her light cardigan, knowing the heat and sweat that waited inside the club.

" Okay, Betty my darling…" Veronica slung her purse over her shoulder and snatched Betty's hand. "Tonight, we are getting you wasted."

"Oh, I don’t think…"

"And therein lies the problem." Cheryl took her other hand and all but yanked her out the door. "You think too much. Jughead, we're relying on you to get her to loosen up."

Jughead took over Cheryl and Veronica's spot, holding her waist as he walked close behind her. "We'll get something loosened up."

They could hardly hear their own voices when they entered the club. Jughead ordered something pink and bubbly for her, and a glass of dark liquor for himself. There was a large, cushioned booth in the corner where the girls dropped their purses. Cheryl and Veronica already on the dance floor. Betty dropped into the seat with her drink, taking a long sip.

The booze went down hot, the burn making her cough. "What is this?"

Jughead sat down next to her. "Vodka cran… double shot."

"Double?"

"You said order whatever." Jughead smirked. "And I may have been hoping you'd, how did Reggie put it… get a little frisky tonight."

Slowly, she let her hand move from his knee to his thigh. Lips moved to his so she could be sure that he would hear every word she said.

"You don't have to get me drunk to get me frisky." She slid her hand up further. "You just have to kiss me like you did this morning."

That was all the invitation he needed. Jughead pressed Betty back into the seat, his hands coming up to her neck. He loved the skin there, soft and smooth… he could feel her heartbeat quicken when he deepened the kiss.

Reluctantly, Jughead pulled back.

"Why?" Betty breathed.

"I just want to finish my drink… so we can dance and not worry about leaving them behind."

"And here I thought you didn't dance." Betty teased. She took a long swig of her drink, almost emptying the glass.

"With you, I'll dance."

Betty and Jughead both finished their drinks in record time and Jughead pulled her by the waist onto the dance floor.  Their bodies moved in sync to the music, pressed so close together that Betty could feel every part of her boyfriend pressed against her back.

Betty spun swiftly in his arms, wrapping hers around his torso. Her lips found his neck, sucking a mark on his salty skin. Hands exploring his toned back and fingers tangling with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Jughead's hand was at her lower back, the other reached to grab her hand. Suddenly, he was pulling her off the dance floor and toward the exit.  The night air was cool against her skin, but nothing else mattered except for Jughead pulling her into a dark corner at the front of the club.  

"I wish we had our own room." He growled, his hands dipping under the waistband of her skirt.

"Who says we need a room?" She wanted so badly to rip his shirt off right there, but was still vaguely aware of the few patrons still milling around the front of the building.

"What, you want to go back to the club bathroom?"

Betty hooked her fingers through his belt loops and started pulling him toward the crosswalk and the hostel.

"I have a better idea." Betty stopped just long enough outside their building to catch Jughead's lips once again. She whispered next right against his lips. "I bet there's no one using the showers right now."

"Good idea," Jughead grinned. "I am feeling a little dirty."

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The next morning they sped across the countryside on the ten o'clock train. With the fields of sheep and crops, and not a mountain in sight, Jughead could almost pretend he was back in the small town where he grew up. The few stone towers built on the rolling hills were the only sign that they were, in fact, still roaming through a country where medieval castles still existed.

Betty stared out the window the for the entire hour that they were on the train. Jughead spent that hour looking at Betty. Occasionally through the lens of his camera, but mostly through the shaded lenses of his sunglasses.

Alnmouth station was small, in the middle of nowhere, but one of the workers pointed them to a nearby bus stop.

"Are we sure we're in the right place?" Archie asked as they stood under the cover of the plexiglass bus shelter.

"Yes, Archiekins." Veronica showed him the map on her phone for the third time. "The bus should be here within ten minutes or so."

"Okay, I get that, but I thought we were going to some huge British castle, but there isn't a city for miles. This place feels more like a village." He gestured to the few houses around them.

"Alnwick is just a few miles away." Betty supplied. "And the castle is the largest remaining castle in Northern England. It just so happens that it's a pretty rural area up here, but the castle really is a huge tourist attraction."

"Has anyone ever told you that you should be a teacher?" Reggie said. "I mean, that was actually kind of interesting for a minute."

"It was two sentences, Reg. Don't strain yourself." Jughead sighed. "Here's the bus."

Another short jaunt across the English countryside brought them right into the heart of Alnwick. The bus stop was set right in the shopping district, in front of a grocery store that was similarly sized to one he might see back home.

The Black Swan Inn was just down the block and quiet at this time of day. Downstairs was a traditional British pub with old woodwork and charming architecture where a few patrons sat eating lunch. The woman behind the bar was able to quickly check them in to their rooms. They were lucky in making their reservation that all of the three rooms provided by The Black Swan were vacant and available for them.

Jughead was quick to fall onto the bed in the small, but quaint room.

"Our own room, thank God." He groaned, sinking into the pillows.

"Don't get too comfy, Jug, I want to see the castle."

"But we have our own room…" Jughead said slowly. He said up long enough to grab her waist and pull her down on top of him. "Surely, we have some time to waste."

"Tempting…" She whispered, fingers grazing up his side. "But it can wait until tonight."

"You drive a hard bargain, Cooper… but I accept your deal on one condition."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"I'm gonna need the greatest kiss you can muster to tide me over."

"Now that, I can do."

They met their friends downstairs ten minutes later. The castle was situated just behind the pub, but they had to walk around the outer wall of the castle before the castle really came into view. Betty insisted they continue past the castle to the pasture covered the massive expanse of land on the other side of the castle.

The view literally knocked Betty off her feet, either that or it was the patch of mud that she slid on before falling on her ass.

"Shit, are you okay?" Jughead was trying to be serious, but couldn't help laughing at the splotch of mud on the back of her jeans.

"Fine…" She held her hand out for Jughead to lift her off the ground. "Just remind me to change when we get back."

"No need, I'll handle it." Jughead grinned and winked before he started to attempt to wipe the mud off the back of her pants.

"Very funny, Jug, but that's not helping." She pulled his hands off her ass and leaned in close. "You can have some quality time with my body later, but for now your hands are banned from boobs and butt, got it?"

"I like it when you're bossy." His body really had flushed with the implication, but he raised his hands in surrender when she scowled at him. "I mean, yes ma'am."

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They decided to hit up the Alnwick garden next, opting to give the castle its own day. It was a massive expanse of trees, flowers, fountains and shrubbery. A huge water feature greeted them when they walked through the gate, and a full color map to show them each of the different gardens within the stone walls.  

They started at the right side of the garden, where the labyrinth led them through a tunnel of shrubs led them around to a cluster of modern, artistic fountains. Families with small children crowded around this area, with the kids in their bathing suits waiting for the fountain to spray. When the geyser finally shot a shower of cold water into the air, the kids squealed from the cold and excitement that Betty remembers feeling running through the sprinkler as a kid.

They continued on, through a long tunneled arch of ivy.

"I feel like I'm in a real fairytale, Jug." She spun in a circle ahead of him, willing him to pick her up and spin her himself.

"As well you should." He caught up and took her hand in his.

"Especially with that silly hat of yours…" She said, tugging on the fabric of his beanie.

"Excuse me, it is not silly. It's called fashion… you might've heard of it."

"Whatever you say, darling." Betty patted his cheek adoringly. "All I know is that it hides your perfect hair from me, but it does make you look like my prince charming."

"Aha, so you like it then." They emerged on into the rose garden, where other fairytale icons were immortalized in statue form.

"If I didn't like it, I would have tried before now to get you to take it off." Betty rolled her eyes and left the conversation at that when she saw the rose from Beauty and the Beast on a stone pedestal.  Then  Cinderella's shoe and the Frog Prince… it really was more of a fairytale garden than a rose garden.

A forest of cherry blossom trees covered another corner of the garden, rows and rows of bench swings lined up and perfect for photographing. Betty heard Jughead's camera click  three times before she'd even sat down in the swing.

"Perfection."

The sun was beginning to set when they left the garden and began the walk back to their room. They planned to grab dinner downstairs and the head back to their room for an early night, but one pint of cider turned into three and Reggie throwing back beer like it was water. They all found the conversation with the locals to be more rewarding than a night of watching the BBC would be.

Veronica and Cheryl were talking to some of the locals bellied up to the bar, leaving Archie scowling jealously over his beer every time Veronica laughed at something the guy said.

"Poor sap." Jughead said, nodding in Archie's direction. "He's like a puppy… if he's not getting attention, he thinks he's done something wrong."

"He'll get over it." Betty drank down the last bit of her cider, feeling a bit sluggish if not craving Jughead's touch on her body. "You ready to head up?"

Jughead glanced to his drink, then at the look in Betty's eyes. He chugged down the last of his drink and pulled Betty from her seat and toward the stairs to their room.

As soon as the door shut behind them Jughead pressed her against it, his fingers going first under her shirt and unhooking her bra, then to the button of her jeans. All the while, his lips were against hers, tongues dancing blissfully together.

Betty did the same, pulling his jeans down before pushing him back onto the bed. She yanked off his beanie, finally being allowed to fully run her fingers through his hair. Jughead was  attempting to pull Betty's shirt over her head, but stopped suddenly when Betty's lips moved down… down… to the elastic of his boxers. She pulled the fabric between her teeth, letting it slap back down against his skin. Then her tongue was trailing up his stomach as she pushed his T-shirt toward his head.

And suddenly all of her warmth was gone, Betty stood up and turned her back to Jughead.

He whimpered, annoyed.

"You just get the rest of your clothes off, and I'll give you a little show." She kept her back to him as she pulled her blouse off and then the straps of her already unlatched bra. Jughead said nothing, even when she pulled down her jeans and turned back to face him.

Jughead was laying flat on his back, his shirt off but his jeans still stuck around his ankles where he hadn't yet managed to get his boots off his feet. Light snores snuck out between his lips.

"Jug?" Betty crawled over the bed until she was laying next to him. She rolled her eyes and sighed when she realized he wasn't faking it. She pecked him lightly on the lips. "Tomorrow then."

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Jughead woke up with a half naked woman in his bed. That was a bit generous, he thought, when she was completely naked aside from the panties she wore. Jughead was in a similar position, his pants mysteriously missing when he distinctly remembered having them on when he fell asleep.

Betty stirred when Jughead stretched his free arm over his head, the other arm stuck snugly between Betty's shoulders and the bed. She nuzzled further into the crook of his shoulder, her legs sneaking through his. Jughead hissed when her cold toes hit his thigh.

"Sorry…" She grumbled, but Jughead could feel the curl of her smirk against his skin.

"Liar."

"Love you." She finally lifted her head and let her chin rest on his shoulder as she looked up into his eyes.

Jughead shook his head at her, a strand of hair falling over his eye as he did so. "Love you more."

"Impossible." Betty pressed an eager kiss to his lips before disentangling herself and walking to the en suite bathroom. She dropped her panties on the floor before she got there, but didn't turn to give Jughead the view. "You missed a fun time last night."

The night before came flooding back to him. Three beers, Betty was horny, warm lips and cold fingers… and the intoxication finally pulling him into sleep.

"Shit." He pulled Betty's pillow over his eyes to hide his shame. "I'm sorry… I blame the beer."

"No need to apologize to me… you were the one practically begging for it all day yesterday."

"I was not begging…" He argued. Jughead followed her into the bathroom to fix the nest of hair on his head.

"Keep telling yourself that, but you have to wait until tonight to try again."

"I'm literally never drinking again."

"That's a bold statement…" Betty finally stepped into the shower. "We'll see how you feel about that at the pub quiz tonight. Liquor makes the brain move quicker."

"I'm pretty sure that is one hundred person incorrect."

"Points for rhyming though?"

"I'd give it a solid eight of ten." The wet smack of a washcloth hit Jughead in the back of the head. He turned to see Betty  scowling, peeking from behind the shower curtain.

"It was at least eight and a half."

"I'll let you have that." He left the bathroom to wait at the small desk near the window. His laptop had been neglected for much of the trip, but now he had at least thirty minutes uninterrupted to continue his account of the trip so far.

He opened up the document aptly titled "Europe." He hadn't yet come up with some clever title, preferring to wait until the end. The last he'd written was during their time in Greece, so he had a few cities to catch up on. He pointed his cursor at the end of the last sentence he wrote, thinking back fondly to  only a few weeks ago.

/Golden blonde hair falls over her face, obscuring those features he's come to love. This sleeping beauty doesn't know it yet, but she will soon. He loves her, after only two weeks he found that he could not imagine life without her.  He would tell her soon, in Italy. Betty Cooper, the woman he loves./

He thought of all the time and moments that had passed between them. Exchanging 'I love yous', making love for the first time, and the second and the third… he had a lot to catch up on, but maybe he'd keep some of those personal moments in a private folder.

"Haven't seen you do any writing in a while, what's it about?" Betty emerged from the bathroom with her hair thrown up in a ponytail and lips glossed pink.

"I'll let you read it when it's finished, but until then it remains a secret."

"You sure know how to keep a girl in suspense." She grabbed her purse from where it hung on the corner of the footboard. "Ready to see another castle?"

"Always."

They enjoyed another sunny day, the sun bouncing off the stone walls that surrounded the town. Jughead could see every single crack in the mortar, every detail of the stonework standing out in sharp lines. The grass lawn of the outer bailey within the castle grounds was as bright as that of a golf course.

He couldn't quite put into words the simplistic beauty of the castle in front of him. It wasn't as grand as Neuschwanstein, nor as intricate in detail as Prague Castle, but the simple beauty was enough. A court jester was finishing his set on the lawn to the right of the cobblestone path. Flaming batons flew through the air, coming to a final stop in his hands.

"We missed the show…" Betty pouted.

Jughead nudged her shoulder, pointing to a sign set up in front of the performer. Next show: 3:00.

"So only two hours to explore? I think we can make that work."

"Guys! Broomstick flying lessons!" Archie bounded up out of nowhere and grabbed Jughead around the shoulders.

"Oh yeah!" Betty followed along excitedly. "I forgot to mention they filmed some of Harry Potter here… the broomstick flying lessons in particular."

"Damn, this place has pizzazz." Jughead grinned, snatching his camera to get a picture of the twig brooms brought out by the actors playing the instructors. "Can't wait to see the rest of it… like the actual inside of the castle."

"We have plenty of time."

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

After prancing in the grass like a bunch of kids, with brooms held between their knees, they moved on to the sophistication waiting inside.  The state rooms were ornately furnished, gold accents on the walls, furniture, and doors. Cheryl walked around like she owned the place, only stopping herself from picking up a candelabra when Betty pulled her back.

"Cheryl, this isn't Thornhill… an actual Duke lives here with his family." Betty led her to the library, where most of the room was thankfully roped off. "No touching."

"I can't help that it reminds me of home."

Betty rolled her eyes, but trusted that Cheryl would keep her hands to herself and moved back to Jughead's side.

"What do you say we hit up the fish and chip shop?" She asked, already knowing what his answer would be. "By the time we're done eating we can see the jester and then the rest of the castle grounds."

He smirked, pulling her into his side with a kiss to her temple. "You are almost painfully organized, you know that?"

Betty shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

"I think I already am. Come on, I'm starving."

Betty ordered fish bites, while Jughead got a full serving of fish and chips, reluctantly allowing Betty to sneak a few chips off of his plate. They continued, hands intertwined, for the rest of the day… up until they were back at the pub for quiz night.

The pub was packed with locals and tourists alike from what Betty could tell. Groups of four and five were given quiz papers and a pencil, blank lines listed numbers one to thirty for the answers to be written. More than half the pub was already on the way to being drunk, so Betty thought they stood a decent chance.

"Well, we all know I have the lowest IQ in the group," Reggie said, returning to their table with two beers. "So I'll sit out on this one."

"Great job taking one for the team, Reg." Archie clapped him on the shoulder and took the second beer from him.

"Hey, those were both for me." He made a move to snatch it back from him.

"Chill, I got the next round."

Betty tucked her head against Jughead's shoulder with a happy sigh. Her two best friends, two new friends, her boyfriend… she couldn't be happier with where their adventure had taken them. It was nearing the end, though. There was only a week and a half left in their trip and they hadn't discussed what happened when they went home.

"Hey," Jughead whispered, close enough that only she could hear. "You want to head back to the room? We've already answered twenty of thirty questions… I think they can handle the rest. Plus, the award for winning is just another round of drinks."

Betty nodded. "Let's go."

Jughead moved purposefully through the crowd and up the stairs to their room. As soon as he'd stepped through the door he threw his beanie on the desk. Betty pulled out her ponytail, sighing gratefully when Jughead slipped his fingers through her hair.

His lips moved languidly over her own, taking his time. Every movement was slow but meaningful. Hands moved to her hips, teasing under her blouse and moving up. Their lips only parted for a moment when Jughead pulled her shirt off. He pushed her down on the bed, smoothly pushing down her short skirt.

"Juggie…" She breathed. Her head pressed back against the pillow when Jughead started to work on her neck, leaving bites all over. "I want to see more of you. Get your fucking shirt off."

Betty was already halfway there when Jughead decided to spare one hand to finish pulling his shirt off. His lips moved from her neck to her chest to her stomach to…

"Oh…" Her breath hitched when his fingers hooked under her panties. His lips moved as he pulled the fabric down, until his tongue met her wet center. Betty kicked off her panties and let her legs move over Jughead's shoulders, keeping him close.

She fisted her fingers in his hair and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. She could see the devilish smirk in his eyes. Betty was already flushed and writhing under his touch, and he hadn't even entered her yet. Jughead slipped two fingers in to where his tongue had just been, watching with a playful smirk when his girl's stomach clenched.

She wanted to hold on, wanted to see him come when she did, but he was doing too much. His thumb moved to rub her clit while his fingers pumped in and out. His lips moved to any bit of skin he could reach, licking the sheen of sweat forming on her skin.

As her climax drew closer she could hardly even feel the hickey Jughead was leaving inside her thigh. Waves of pleasure rolled over her as she came on Jughead's fingers. Her whole body reacted, eyes pinched closed and back arched. Jughead pulled his fingers back and climbed up to lay next to her as Betty came down from her high.

"Jug, that was…" She grinned, letting him decipher the rest.  She moved her hands to his jeans, which she hadn't even realized where still on until just now. She shifted down in the bed. "Can I return the favor?"

Jughead stopped her from crawling over his legs, instead pressing her back against the bed again. "Not tonight. Betts, I wanna make you come again."

"What are you waiting for?"

He moved faster now, discarding his jeans and pulling the duvet over their bodies. He captured her lips once more as he moved inside of her. She felt so over stimulated, having only just come down from her first orgasm, but soon she felt even better than the first time around. Jughead was moving in just the right way, his hips snapping against hers.

Betty would worship every part of him if she could, but for now she settle for his collarbone. She nipped at the skin around his neck, leaving marks that would match her own. She tried to distract herself from her own body by focusing on his. She was close to her second climax when Jughead hadn't come once.

"Oh fuck… Betty." He groaned particularly loudly when she bit down hard on his shoulder.

"Don't stop, Jug. Fuck, please don't stop." He was moving almost too slow, trying to hold on to the moment as long as possible. "Fuck me, Juggie… faster."

He did as he was told, his only goal to make Betty feel as good as possible. As he thrust faster, his orgasm crept up on him. Betty's fingernails scratched against his bare back. The sound of their skin slapping together finally making him come undone.

"Shit, oh my God…"

"Don't stop… just a little longer." Betty pulled his lips to her chest, allowing the stimulation to make her finally come.

Jughead rolled beside her, Betty's body fitting perfectly against his when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She curled up against his side, one leg coming up to rest over his own.

They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other's heartbeats slow to their normal pace. Betty was the first to speak.

"We haven't talked about the future…" She said, her middle finger moving in circles on his chest.

"What about it?"

"This trip is almost over, so what does that mean when we have to go home? What happens?"

Jughead stared down into her eyes. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?"

She simply nodded.

"Well, what happens is… we decide where we want to live. I've got a studio apartment waiting in a shitty neighborhood in New York. I have this feeling you probably live somewhere too?"

"I live with my parents." She slapped a hand over her face, embarrassed. Jughead pulled it away.

"So it's settled. We move in to my apartment."

"Then what?"

Jughead pressed a kiss to her hand, holding it tight in his. "Well, we'll get a dog eventually, get some great jobs so we can move to a better place, get married, have a few wild little children."

"You've thought about this?" Betty sat up straight, pulling back a little so she could see him perfectly. Jughead groaned at the loss of contact.

"Of course I've thought about it, Betty. I love you. How could I not think about it?"

She shrugged. "You really want to marry me?"

"I'd marry you right now if I could."

Betty laughed, not because of how crazy that sounded, but because she agreed. She threw a leg over Jughead to straddle his waist. "I'd marry you right now too."

She leaned in, capturing his lips. When she pulled back, Jughead was staring into her eyes, his eyebrows tense in thought.

"Why don't we?"

"Why don't we what?" Betty's fingers were in his hair again.

"Why don't we get married now? Well, not right now, but this week. We can have a little ceremony with our friends on Saturday and make it official when we get back to New York."

"Are you proposing to me?"

"It feels like we proposed to each other… but yeah. Will you marry me?"

Her smile threatened to split open her cheeks. "Yes, Jughead. Yes, I'll marry you."

Their lips crashed together once more, passion flowing through their veins. Betty lifted her hips, lowering herself onto Jughead's cock.

"Can't get enough of me, can you?" Jughead teased, massaging her ass.

"Don’t pretend you don't want it too. Your dick is hard."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Jughead let his hands rest on her hips as Betty fucked herself on his cock.

"Oh my God, I just thought of something." Betty stopped, eyes widened at Jughead. "My mom is going to disown me."

"You were thinking about your mom while riding me? Christ…"

"No! Oh my God, no. I was thinking about getting married and that led to thinking about how I'm going to tell my mom and how she is going to be so mad."

"Can we stop talking about your mom? Or wait until later?"

"Jug, pissing of my mom just makes this all even better." She started rocking against him again. "I'm being a very bad girl, don't you think?"

"With the likes of me?" He reached around again to grab her ass. "I'd say you are downright naughty."

[iconuk01]

Infinity War thoughts

Here be spoilers

Okay, I went in unspoilered and I have to say I was very, very impressed, at the sheer scale of it, the bravura of the multiple plotlines separating and intersecting so much, the wakandan fight scene, Edinburgh being a fight backdrop, the overall character interplay and a few huge surprises (The guardian of the Soul Gem? Did ANYONE see that coming? I think not, and the role played by Peter Dinklage is completely unexpected but manages to be innovative and creative at the same time)... Oh, and I find myself getting all protective (in an entirely avuncular kind of a way) about Peter Parker, he’s delightful and adorable.

Thanos was excellent, definitely the most nuanced bad guy the Marvel movies have given us as an antagonist, which seems appropriate for a character of his standing.

The Children of Thanos however, should have been... more, only one of them gets much in the way of lines beyond battle banter, and only one of them was named onscreen as I recall, and even HE was only named by Thanos when enquiring if he was dead. They were just forgettable generic allies. (And was it me, or did the horde of aliens Thanos had look a little.. symbiote-y?)

I’ve never quite been the fan of Star Lord that I wanted to be, and I found him the weak link here, especially as he IS the case of Thanos managing to achieve what he wanted to do as he prevented Tony, Peter and the others from removing the gauntlet.

But the ending, I see a lot of people hit hard by it, and I can respect that, but I can’t share it. It’s what I might refer to as a “Russell T Davies cliffhanger”, it’s raised the stakes to such an outrageous level that clearly can’t be maintained (removing the two most recent headlining stars in Spider-Man and Black Panther? Yeah, that’s gonna stick), that it requires a magic reset button to sort it out, and since it took a magic button to create the problem, it’s abundantly obvious already how it’s going to be undone. It’s seems to be more or less a case of at what point in time will they rest things back to?

Still, nice post credits sequence (I think I was one of three people in the audience to recognise the symbol) and I’ll be there to see how it’s all resolved so... job done Marvel Studios!

[khorazir]

A cartographic plot

The first part of this was written for Spark. I went a bit over the wordcount while talking about the importance of places in my fanfics, and decided to post the entire thing here on tumblr. The bit published in Spark is above, the rest below the cut.

I started writing BBC Sherlock fanfiction in the back of my parents’ car after a week spent cycling in the French Alps. For years, my father had talked about tackling the Col du Galibier, a pass of Tour de France fame, by bicycle. In the summer of 2012, we finally did it. Ah, but Sherlock and cycling? Where’s the connection? When I began writing the story, scribbling on whatever scrap of paper was available in the car, at first the only connection was that I loved both Sherlock and cycling, and that my recent experiences in the mountains, spending hours in the saddle arduously ascending winding roads, had made a deep impression on me. I was desperate for an outlet for my pent up inspiration.

Eventually, what started out as a cracky premise for a Post-Reichenbach Sherlock story became Over Hill and Under Hill, a fanfic of 75k words and the first finished instalment of my Over/Under series. In the story, the extreme, beautiful landscape of Savoyen serves as a backdrop for the Baker Street boys to deal with the fallout of the Fall (written before Series 3 aired, my version of Sherlock’s reunion with John is different from canon) and their feelings for each other while basically doing what I had just done: climbing Alpine passes on their bicycles. At some point, a case creeps into the story, too, which Sherlock solves from abroad.

Apart from telling my version of the reunion, I wanted to write a story about grandiose nature, the hardship of ascending two thousand metres of altitude on a bicycle, the elation of standing on top of the pass glancing over the mountains, and the rush of adrenaline during the steep descents. I yearned to include some of the strange people we’d met on the way and who return as minor characters in the story, such as the chap cycling all the way in tight black swimming trunks and nothing else. How fortunate for the storyteller that the long ascents give John and Sherlock time to think and to talk, while the descents make their adrenaline junkies’ hearts soar. They have to share a room and a double bed at the hotel, of course, which leads to ... things. The plot itself is structured by the landscape, almost following the roads they cycle on bend for bend and landmark for landmark. Weather conditions such as hot, relentless sun and a sudden thunderstorm add a touch of drama. Stops along the way provide incentives for reflections, conversations and realisations, and for the boys getting to know each other again after their separation.

I was surprised by how well it worked to transfer these very urban characters so closely associated with London into this new setting and unfamiliar activity, keeping their essence (hopefully) while letting the landscape and its particular blend of beauty and danger work its magic, moulding the two men into the couple they hadn’t realised they’d been all along.

Looking back, the way Over Hill and Under Hill came about shouldn’t have surprised me. Of the books and stories I grew up with, and which have left a lasting impression on me, most have a very specific setting and precise sense of place. Be it the stories by Astrid Lindgren, mostly set in the Swedish region of Småland during the time of her childhood in the early 20th century, or Vasapark and the small islands around Stockholm of her adult life, or Otfried Preußler’s masterful descriptions of the Lausitz region in Eastern Germany where his captivating novel Krabat is set. Or be it JRR Tolkien, the master of making the fictional yet reality-grounded landscape of Middle-earth absolutely integral to the plot and structure of his writings. Even if many believe Middle-earth to be found in New Zealand, based on Peter Jackson’s film adaptations, the true inspiration for the Shire are Tolkien’s beloved West Midlands. The hemlock glade where Beren sees Lúthien dance for the first time in The Silmarillion is based on a similar glade near Great Haywood Tolkien watched his wife dance. And the gruesome Dead Marshes on the borders of Mordor Tolkien experienced himself on the war-torn battlefields of the Somme. I think it’s safe to claim that the landscapes that he encountered as a child and young man seeped into his writings, in many cases becoming not just interesting tableaux to add colour to the stories, but important tools to provide characterisation, suspense, and poignant reminders of the preciousness of the natural world.

For me, the spatial setting of a story and its detailed description have always been an important requirement for my enjoyment of a tale. The “willing suspension of disbelief”, to quote Tolkien, works best for me when the setting of a story is as detailed and well observed as possible, grounded in physical laws and restrictions as well as the distinctive laws of the story. Weather, vegetation, distances, languages and the effects they have on the characters have to be realistic – both when existing and imagined places are described –, otherwise I’m quickly pulled out of the narrative and lose interest (by the way, this is one of my major gripes with “The Final Problem”: the way it sets at naught many of the basic “laws” established in previous episodes of Sherlock). Hints at local customs and peculiarities add colour, depth and believability to a setting, providing the characters with material to rub against and to engage with, to test their limits and limitations.

For me as an author (and illustrator), researching locations for fanfics or art is part of the enjoyment of writing, especially when it can be linked with visits to said locations (my excuse for frequent trips to the UK – I’m based in Germany). I’m a stickler for detail born out of a profound interest in the natural world, in botany, eco-systems, geology and geography, but also in the way historic events shape and influence landscape and its inhabitants. All these aspects I need to see reflected in fiction, and rendered faithfully, or else I can’t take a setting seriously, not the characters and their motivations. Most of the fanfics I’ve enjoyed so far have a very strong sense of place, be it London, Edinburgh, New York, Continental Europe, the Near East or the English countryside. In my own stories, I try to emulate this, preferring to write about places I’ve come to know through repeated visits and extensive literary and online research, as well as correspondence with locals.

Researching my WW2/codebreaker AU Enigma constitutes a special challenge in this respect, because it not only requires me to gather information about existing locations like Bletchley Park, Kent or London, but also wartime Britain in general, removed not just by space but by more than seventy intervening years. Although the internet is a brilliant tool for research, while trying to find out more about the history of the Enigma locations, visits have brought the places to life for me, particularly Bletchley Park. The venue has been transformed into a commendable museum that seeks to recreate the atmosphere of it’s hay-day as a secret codebreaker base through reconstructed huts and historical installations, as well as information about important figures such as Alan Turing, and live demonstrations of his inventions. Interestingly, at the museum, I even found factual confirmation of what I had considered an invention for my story. When it came to locating Sherlock’s and John’s billet in Bletchley in 1941, Google Maps was of limited help: most of Bletchley was built after the war – it’s now part of Milton Keynes –, and from the map, it was almost impossible to tell which parts of it would have existed during the war and which were built afterwards. Old maps or arial photographs were scarce. So I used a bit of deductive reasoning and common sense, basically looking at the main roads leading in and out of town and assuming that they would have been built first. On a whim, I chose one of those thoroughfares, Buckingham Road, and placed the billet there. And lo and behold, during a subsequent visit to the Bletchley Park Museum, I found a photograph depicting billets of the park’s staff situated on the very road.

Lucky coincidences aside, nothing beats a visit to a location one wants to write about. However sometimes, due to constraints of time or money, visits aren’t possible and research from afar has to suffice. I worked like that when I started writing The Summer Boy. I’d been toying with the idea of a story partially set in Sherlock’s childhood for a long while. 1980s nostalgia played a part since I was a child during that decade as well, as did the desire to get to know the character better and to speculate what made him the man we encounter in the show, after glimpses of his past shown in Series 3.

However, a fitting setting for my story to unfold long eluded me. I was striving for an atmosphere similar to that of one of my all-time favourite films, “Stand By Me”, a bitter-sweet yet authentic depiction of childhood with a strong sense of spatial setting. I wanted the location to be a rural one, preferably close to London, with a distinctive landscape and somewhat fragile eco-system, the partial destruction of which would feature in the story to symbolise a place Sherlock could not really return to, but that offered him the chance of “growing up“ and finding an alternative retreat through his developing relationship with John.

Given the canonical links Sherlock Holmes has with Sussex, I began looking for potential locations along the Sussex coast and in the South Downs. I didn’t just want to invent a village or landmark, but wanted the story that was going to contain mythical and supernatural elements (based on how it’s interpreted, at least), to be set in a real place. The landscape and particular vegetation of the chalky downlands were going to play an important part in the story. And remember: stickler for detail. The plants, animals and historical sites Sherlock encounters had to be correct. So I researched the South Downs and their particular chalk-based vegetation, read up on South Down sheep, about Bronze and Iron Age settlements and their remains, and about the myths and legends of the area. I found striking similarities to Terry Pratchett’s masterful depiction of the Chalk in his Tiffany Aching series (The Wee Free Men and its four sequels), which is doubtlessly based on the chalky Wiltshire Downs he lived on. The link to Pratchett, his blend of real, meticulously observed, and fantastical elements based on myths and local culture (which are again inspired by the landscapes they originated in) seemed a good foil for my own story, which grew to contain lots of references to his works. I even partly modelled some of the characters on figures from his series of books.

Still, the dilemma remained to find a concrete place, preferably one featuring an ancient site or landmark such as a hill-fort or a barrow that would function as a focal place for young Sherlock to discover and to spend time at with the mysterious friend he encounters there, and who seems to be a personification of the South Downs, and of summer. By chance (and Google Image Search), I stumbled across a place called Chanctonbury Ring, a henge of trees planted in the 18th century on an Iron Age hill-fort. The South Downs Way leads past it, it commands a good view all around. Sheep graze there in summer, and on the grassy and partly wooded slopes surrounding it many rare plants grow. It’s in walking distance of a quaint village (Washington), which I could use as a base for Sherlock to be accommodated at with relatives. And what ultimately made Chanctonbury Ring the perfect location for my story was the fact that during the Great Storm of 1987, the trees of the henge were almost completely destroyed. I had wanted to set the story in that very year, because I imagine BBC Sherlock’s age to be around Benedict’s and my own (we are only seven months apart), which would make Sherlock around nine in the story, pre-pubescent. Perfect. His fake gravestone from TRF even says 1977, so that fit. And we all know what’s said about coincidences and lazy universes ...

So, perfect spatial and temporal setting found, I still faced the sad fact that I hadn’t actually visited Chanctonbury Ring, nor could see any chance of getting there soon. Nevertheless, the story demanded to be written. Consulting Google Maps as well as photographs helped to get an idea of the place. I looked at similar places in my home country across the Channel. Thus equipped, I started writing (the muse wouldn’t suffer any delay and kept pestering me until I relented), in the hope to actually be able to visit Chanctonbury Ring before I had come too far, enabling me to revise potential mistakes.

Eventually, when the story was already half written, and during the wrong season of the year (the story is set in the summer, I went in December), I visited Chanctonbury Ring. I was pleased to find that my descriptions of the landscape were surprisingly accurate based on what research I’d done, although the visit did add a feeling for the place that hopefully enabled me to make the latter chapters more poignant.

Arguably the most important location for writing Sherlock fanfic is London, a place I’ve become very familiar with in recent years due to frequent visits with long walks and a full timetable of museums, exhibitions, galleries and cultural events, lots of reading about the history of the city, a strong interest in current events, and constant curiosity that lets me explore places off the beaten tracks.

London was one of my favourite places even before I my obsession with BBC Sherlock happened. Actually, I’m convinced the way London is portrayed in the series is one of the main reasons Sherlock struck such a chord with me. Apart from the humour, the obvious chemistry of the protagonists, the cleverness of the dialogues and the overall aesthetics, it was the way modern London was depicted and made an integral character that fascinated me so much about the show. Despite large parts of Sherlock being filmed in Cardiff and elsewhere, they nevertheless feel like parts of the British capital just off the main tourist tracks. Sherlock’s London is both familiar and strange, ugly and beautiful, dark and bright, historic and modern. The character’s particular way of focussing on seemingly unimportant details is reflected in the cinematography. The choice of unusual settings and locations such as Speedy’s Café, Battersea Power Station, the streets of Soho, Leinster Garden, a disused Tube station and the banks of the Thames add atmosphere and colour, making London a living, breathing character in the show – as it was in the original Conan Doyle stories. Occasionally, a touch of Victoriana, ever present even in modern London, creeps into the series, linking it back to the stories it’s based on. Sherlock has definitely rekindled my love of London, or rather, has fanned the already existing embers into hot flames. In the sequels to Over Hill and Under Hill, and several of my other Sherlock fanfics, I’ve tried to honour this tradition by including curious locations in, and little-known minutiae about London to make it come to life as an integral part of the narration, and also to create credibility for the setting.

I have plans to dive even deeper into London past and present. For about a year and half I’ve been working on a Sherlock/London graphic novel in which the location becomes centre point. The story is simple: to alleviate boredom, on his birthday, Sherlock is sent on a “treasure hunt” through London, moving from riddle to riddle and clue to clue set, from one little known location to the next, discovering facts and anecdotes about what he visits in the process. The idea for the book was born out of my many walks through London, along the South Bank, through the City on Sunday mornings when it’s like a ghost town, deserted, along the Regent’s Canal to Camden and on to Hampstead Heath, through the East End and the West End, Chinatown, Soho, Bloomsbury, through Chelsea and Kensington, and further out to the Docklands and Greenwich. I’ve discovered real gems through these walks, some of which Sherlock is going to visit as well – as many as I can realistically squeeze into twenty-four hours without completely exhausting the poor man.

The project is going to occupy me for a good while yet. Also planned are two sequels to The Summer Boy. One is based on a painting I did for the Holmestice Exchange and which depicts John and Sherlock in a disused Tube station. There was some clamouring for a story based on the image, so I’m going to oblige. Since the Tube is such an integral part of London and I’ve long been fascinated with its history, I look forward to researching it.

The second sequel is going to be set in the Lake District. Some of the research for this new story has already been done, and another visit to the area has been booked for the autumn. I haven’t really thought of a plot for the story yet, some vague ideas aside, but I’m very sure that the landscape of Cumbria will provide it once I’m there. A cartographic plot, as usual.

[memoirsofagenie]

Treading in Hasekura’s Footsteps: AICR’s “Black-Tie” Annual Circolo della Caccia Dinner

by: Genie

 “The world listens more to witnesses than it does the masters, yet if it listens more to the masters, it is because they are, above all, witnesses.”

-- Pope Paul V

      Among the recurrent, “Black-Tie” happenings at the prestigious Circolo della Caccia, are the yearly “Serata del Cinghiale” (Boar Soirée) at the end of February, the Christmas  Dinner, and the introduction of  new members, with a speech given by the youngest member at the end of the evening.  However, for almost a decade now, the American International Club of Rome (AICR) members have been able to also partake in this charming rituality of olden flair thanks to the kind dinner invitation of M.E., both an AICR Board Member and a Circolo della Caccia member, naturally!

     During this magical January evening – and the upcoming 2013 edition will be very special, for it falls on AICR’s 60th Anniversary– guests are greeted by the heraldic eagles and  dragons as they walk through the imposing colonnade and past the romantic nymphaeum of Palazzo Borghese, only to step into one of Rome’s oldest –if not, the oldest- elevators and climb to the “piano nobile,” where this intertwined, utterly spellbinding Chinese box catapults them even further back in time. Amidst the black-and-white regal portrait sequence of the illustrious guests that have entered the Circolo at some point in their lives, the spectacular frescoes and the intricate backdrop of gold-leaf covered stuccoes of the dining hall, the elegance of the maitre d’ and of the waiters in traditional livery are merely the last details that hark back to princely times, heightening the pervading nocturnal, dreamy state and momentarily removing people from reality.

     Matter-of-factly, it is known that Rome is a city where history is embedded within history. The Circolo della Caccia is no exception to this rule, thus making it almost impossible for the public curiosities not to be titillated. History also helps to predict the future, albeit in this specific case, knowing the history can surely, if anything, make the dinner experience more enjoyable altogether. For this reason, it was imperative to embark on a virtual time-machine to discover some interesting, behind-the-scenes details of one of the Eternal City’s (many) best-kept secrets.

     The Circolo della Caccia (literally, “Hunting Club”), is undoubtedly one of the oldest, most exclusive clubs of Rome. Founded in 1869 on an initiative of Prince Francesco Borghese, its original denomination used to be Circolo di San Carlo, due to its first, modest location. Upon inauguration, it was located in front of the San Carlo church, at the crossroads between Via del Corso and Via delle Carrozze. It then moved to Palazzo Verospi, on the other side of Via del Corso, and changed its name to Circolo della Caccia, in view of the large presence of members of the Roman Society for fox hunting, a “sport” introduced by Lord George Stanhope, Count of Chesterfield and practiced by the aristocracy in the Roman countryside, concurrent to the birth of the Circolo itself. On this note, a magnificent canvas originally donated to King Umberto II, probably the most representative one currently displayed at the Circolo, serves as testimony of this now forbidden pastime, which is nonetheless still simulated in the outskirts of town.

     Going back to the chronological overview of the Circolo, before reaching its current site, it relocated two more times: first, to the now-demolished Palazzo Bonaccorsi, lastly to Palazzo Marignoli. Finally, on August 31, 1922, it moved to its definitive location, which coincided with the former rooms of Paolina Borghese (Napoleon’s sister) at the eponymous palace in the old ‘rione’ (neighborhood) Campo Marzio: Palazzo Borghese, otherwise known as the “Cembalo” (Harpsichord), due to its exterior shape reminiscent of the Baroque instrument.  

     Having unveiled this greatness, a question lurks beneath the collective minds: How does one join the Circolo della Caccia? The main pre-requisite for membership is to belong to nobility. An important founding member was writer Gabriele D’Annunzio, who had also been admitted on the basis of his Gold Medal to Military Valor. An aspiring member should also be referred by three other members and has to undergo the traditional practice of the white balls vs. the black balls. The former indicate a positive vote, whereas the latter indicate a negative vote. Each negative vote annuls five positive votes. Hence, it comes as no surprise to learn that its honorary members include personalities ranging from King Juan Carlos of Spain, Prince Charles of Wales and his father, the Duke of Edinburgh, all the way to King Albert II of Belgium.  By the same token, it is equally normal to note that the Club has issued quite a few exemplary rejections, Paul Getty being a case in point. To this day membership is almost entirely male. The library, the game room and the reading room are off-limits to women, who are nevertheless admitted– escorted– to the guest quarters.

      Given these premises, and realizing the privilege it is to cross the threshold of the Circolo for even just a few hours, this article is only brought to completion by asking some questions to Mr. E., without whom the idea of writing it might not have materialized in the first place:

Mr. E. when did you first join the Circolo della Caccia? I joined the Circolo della Caccia during my freshman year at Harvard. The year was 1978. My grandfather was the former President of the Circolo as well as my godfather. 

Would you care to share an anecdote (some anecdotes) you are most fond of concerning the Circolo della Caccia? I have many fond moments at the Circolo. The fondest one however was to hear my son give his acceptance speech as a new Circolo della Caccia member two years ago! 

What prompted you -rather, gave you the idea- of organizing a Circolo della Caccia dinner for AICR members? Quite a few years ago, I thought it would be a fun idea to celebrate the holidays by having a black-tie dinner and having as guest our own Honorary President and/or VPs. If I recall initially, we had just one Ambassador. After a while two came.

Do you have a favorite ‘edition’? If yes, could you describe why it is your favorite? Last year, for the first time in AICR history (and probably in Rome's history!), AICR was able to have ALL the US Ambassadors in Italy (many readers may not know this, but we have three). It was absolutely a smashing success! This type of event is what makes AICR so unique. It is not often that this can be pulled off. In today's society, when everyone is always in a rush and often does not have the time or patience to "get dressed up," I think the beautiful clothes worn by our guests (ladies are often in very elegant long dresses!) wonderfully blends in the rich historical surroundings of the Circolo. A lot of thanks go to our Manager who always "manages" to organize a perfect seating and ensure that the dinner goes smoothly. Also, thanks go to our President who always "wows" us with the wonderful bouquets that are on the table and that are given to our Very Important Guests of Honor. §§§ 

     In closing, another important episode haunts the Circolo’s saga. In the fall of 1615, the Japanese-Christian Ambassador Hasekura Tsunenaga entered Rome after an extenuating sea-odyssey that had begun two years earlier, by orders of Shogun Date Masamune. Masamune was the King of the Japanese city of Sendai, and Hasekura’s mission was to ask for Pope Paul V’s (Camillo Borghese) spiritual support, which would have helped the Shogun gain absolute power. The expedition made pit-stops in Acapulco and Madrid, crossing both the Pacific and the Atlantic Ocean, before reaching Rome with its surviving crew (less than half of what it was at the beginning of the journey).  Hasekura finally met with Pope Paul V “Borghese” at the Quirinale, and his emaciated expression –as a result of the hardships endured at sea-  has been immortalized on yet another beautiful painting at the Circolo della Caccia, where he is depicted wearing his distinctive regalia. Hasekura finished his multiple diplomatic encounters by the end of December, and headed back to Japan on January 7, 1616.

     Over four centuries after Hasekura’s Roman visit, AICR members get to walk “backwards” in his footsteps, for January, contrary to the Nipponic Ambassador’s agenda, is the ideal month to be in Rome, marking the time to “witness” Pope Paul V’s “Borghese”  legacy, lavishly bequeathed through the Circolo della Caccia. Hence, of all of AICR’s special events, the Circolo della Caccia Dinner is one appointment –THE appointment– that should definitely not be missed.

 Rome, 13 December 2012

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[allofbeercom]

From sharks to chimps to moon bears: tales of a supervet

Romain Pizzi, the vet who pioneered keyhole surgery for animals, has operated on sharks, chimps even a moon bear

In 2012, the conservation charity Free the Bears approached Romain Pizzi, one of the most innovative wildlife surgeons in Europe, with an unusual patient. A specialist in laparoscopic (keyhole) surgery – until recently rare in veterinary medicine – Pizzi has operated on giraffes and tarantulas, penguins and baboons, giant tortoises and at least one shark, and maintains a reputation for taking on cases others won’t. If you’re in possession of a tiger with gallstones, or a suspiciously sickly beaver, you call Pizzi. As Matt Hunt, CEO of Free the Bears says, “We have other vets who are incredibly talented. But Romain is one of a kind.”

The patient in question was a three-year-old female Asiatic black bear, also known as a moon bear, called Champa. Moon bears, poached for their bile and bodyparts, are classified as vulnerable by the International Union for Conservation of Nature. Rescued as a cub and brought to a Free the Bears sanctuary in Laos, Champa had a deformed skull and impaired vision. While other bears would socialise, she would mope around her enclosure, head down, seemingly in agony. Pizzi suspected she had hydrocephalus, a rare condition in which excess cerebrospinal fluid builds up in the skull, causing brain damage.

Catching a red-eye: Romain Pizzi is based in Edinburgh where he treats rockhopper penguins, but flies around the world for operations. Photograph: Tim Flach

“Anywhere else in the world, the recommendation would have been to euthanise her,” Hunt says. But in Laos, which has a Buddhist tradition and strict conservation laws shaped in part as a response to the bear-bile trade, euthanasia is forbidden. So Hunt asked Pizzi for an alternative solution. “We started talking about the possibility of surgery,” Hunt says.

Veterinary surgeons operate under unique constraints. There’s scale: it’s hard to fit an elephant in an MRI machine. There’s temperament: you don’t want a tiger to wake up on the operating table. And there are financial pressures. A cutting-edge surgery on a domestic pet can cost tens of thousands of pounds. By contrast, wildlife charities can be forced to function on small budgets. And surgeries are often performed in the field, at sanctuaries and wildlife reserves with few of the average zoo luxuries, such as sterile theatres and reliable electricity.

In Champa’s case, even confirming the diagnosis proved impossible. “There’s no money in Laos,” Pizzi says. “There’s no MRI scanner in the whole country. They don’t even do the operation on humans.” The nearest human hospital refused to admit an animal for an x-ray. What’s more, no vet had ever attempted to perform brain surgery on a bear before. Pizzi went on undeterred. Without an MRI, visualising Champa’s brain in advance was challenging. So he contacted the National Museum of Scotland, which keeps an archive of mammal skeletons for scientific study, and borrowed the skull of a young female moon bear, which he x-rayed to help create a digital replica – a kind of map. “You find a different way,” he says.

Bearing up: Champa the moon bear’s brain surgery. Photograph: Matt Hunt/Free The Bears

Before long, Pizzi turned to Jonathan Cracknell, a veterinary anaesthetist and regular collaborator, to assist – “I’m his gas man,” Cracknell says. Pizzi and Donna Brown, head veterinary nurse at Edinburgh Zoo, set about sourcing supplies for a six-hour operation. Then, in February 2013, having prepared as much as possible, they packed up their equipment and boarded a plane to Laos.

Pizzi has always had an affinity for small and fragile things. Growing up in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, he wanted to be a paediatrician. Later, when he was a teenage student at Pretoria Boys High School (alumni include Elon Musk), he came across a dove that had fallen from its nest. “I nursed it back to health and then released it,” he says. “It would visit for weeks afterwards.”

He studied veterinary science at the University of Pretoria and, after graduating, came to the UK in 1999 to undertake a masters at London Zoo. He was stunned by how far veterinary surgery techniques lagged behind human medicine, and quickly developed an interest in laparoscopy, in which surgical tools are passed into the body through a small tube. “I think there were two of us who started doing it in the UK around the same time,” says Pizzi. Today, he lectures veterinary students on the technique. “He has an incredible thirst for knowledge and an eye for detail, and is always looking to apply or pioneer new techniques in our field,” says Nic Masters, head of veterinary services at London Zoo.

In June last year I visited Pizzi at work at the National Wildlife Rescue Centre in Fishcross, about an hour’s drive northwest of Edinburgh. Pizzi splits his time between running the veterinary service here, working at Edinburgh Zoo and travelling for surgeries. Since he joined in 2010, the centre has grown into one of the largest wildlife rehabilitation hubs in the UK. Every day, members of the public telephone to report injured wildlife. Drivers are dispatched to collect the animals and, late in the afternoon, their vans roll up to the centre and unload their casualties. The Rescue Centre treated 9,300 animals in 2016. This year, Pizzi expects that number to pass 10,000.

Through the keyhole: Pizzi performs laparoscopic surgery on a female jaguar. Photograph: Romain Pizzi

A series of low brick buildings and enclosures, the centre is divided into four sections: small mammals; large mammals; seals and waterfowl; and birds. The corridors are thick with rasping shrieks and caws. The air is acrid. Whiteboards list the species currently requiring Pizzi’s attention. Today, “birds” alone lists woodpeckers, crossbills, jackdaws, crows, robins, thrushes, blue tits and great tits, goldfinches, bullfinches, ospreys, lapwings, oystercatchers, kestrels, a pheasant and several varieties of owl.

Pizzi’s case load has helped him develop new approaches. When he started working at the centre, he would stay late at night, practising on cadavers, familiarising himself with anatomies, developing new techniques. Now his desk is littered with GoPro cameras – used for teaching – and a Philips electric razor to remove fur. Nearby is a portable x-ray and an ultrasound. He’s seen every affliction: bacteria, broken bones, even a rare case of balloon syndrome, in which a damaged glottis caused a hedgehog to inflate to the size of a beach ball.

When I visit, Pizzi has plenty to do. A hedgehog has an infection, so Pizzi prescribes Betamox, an antibiotic, and an antifungal for ringworm. A rabbit with a suspected spinal fracture needs an x-ray. And there’s an exploratory laparoscopy to perform on a beaver called Justin. (“It took me a week to figure out why,” Pizzi says. “Justin. Justin Beaver.”) His patient roster is broad: from chimpanzees to tarantulas, but it saddens him that the endangered species – lions, rhinos, bears – get all the attention when there are animals threatened here in the UK. “I never want to just be doing these big operations the media likes,” he says. “I probably make more of a difference here.”

In depth knowledge: Pizzi examines an angel shark. Photograph: Romain Pizzi

Champa’s surgery started poorly. Keyhole surgery requires the use of an insufflator, which uses carbon dioxide to inflate the body cavity wide enough to accommodate surgical implements. The problem: when Pizzi and Cracknell arrived at the rescue centre in Laos, they couldn’t find a carbon dioxide cylinder compatible with the machine.

The centre itself is in a national park near the city of Luang Prabang, with few amenities. The answer finally came from an unlikely source. “There was one bar that does draft beer. Once a week they had a keg come up from Luang Prabang,” Pizzi says. “They said, OK, we’ll have no draft beer for the next five days.” They donated their CO2, which Pizzi connected with some gas piping and hose clamps.

Anaesthesia proved tricky. “She went down on the sedative and stopped breathing,” says Hunt. The room was cramped and humid, made warmer by the presence of a BBC documentary crew who had come to film the procedure. Sweat dripped on to the floor tiles. As Pizzi prepared to drill into the skull – using a Dremel woodworking tool – everyone held their breath. It was indeed hydrocephalus. Pizzi was able to fit a ventriculoperitoneal shunt, a tube that sits in the brain cavity and funnels excess fluid down into the abdomen, where it is absorbed by the body. However, when Pizzi started to fit the tube, a minor disaster struck: the sanctuary’s electricity supply – already stretched by the film crew’s lights – blew. “The electrics arced and fused,” says Cracknell. The insufflator was fried.

Animal magic: chimpanzee Ruma and her baby. Photograph: Tim Flach

But Pizzi was prepared. “There’s so many things that can go wrong,” he says. “I try to build in a redundancy for all the main equipment.” He produced his favourite piece of frugal innovation: an inflatable mattress pump. “You run that into the abdomen in short bursts and it will puff up with air,” says Pizzi. “Not ideal, but it’s OK.”

“He comes up with amazing things,” says Cracknell. “There are some surgeries where, halfway through, you might think, ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.’ With Romain, I’ve never had one go wrong.” The surgery took six hours. The next day, he and Hunt went to Champa’s den, where she was starting to wake up. “For many years she’d been in pain, she’d been blind, she never looked up,” says Hunt. “And we called her, and she looked up and fixed us with her eyes. It was quite amazing.”

Whenever Pizzi treats endangered species, there’s always a great awareness of what its death means. Pizzi has operated on the Socorro dove, a beautiful brown bird native to the Revillagigedo Islands off the west coast of Mexico, now extinct in the wild. And he keeps a photo of himself with the last-known Partula Faba, or Captain Cook’s bean snail, named because it was first discovered on Cook’s expedition in 1769. It died at Edinburgh Zoo in 2016, its species with it.

Loving touch: Romain Pizzi preparing for surgery. Photograph: Tim Flach/Wired © The Condé Nast Publications Ltd

Later this year, Pizzi will fly back to Laos to operate on Champa again. It’s been four years, but her health has deteriorated. Shunts can become blocked, pressure builds in the brain. Pizzi will operate, check the shunts and replace them if needed. But maybe that’s not the answer. Maybe it would be better if Champa died. She remains brain-damaged. That’s the question veterinarians have to deal with. How much suffering is enough? And who are we keeping the animal alive for? If we wanted to save our wildlife we’d be preserving their habitats, not burning down forests, polluting their environments, hunting them into extinction.

“Conservation – it’s such a meaningless word,” Pizzi says later, over dinner. “Keeping animals and breeding them in captivity, in some people’s minds that’s conservation, because you’re not taking them from the wild. I don’t think that’s genuine. When people come into the zoo, they’re not going to save the orangutans. They just want a good day out.”

“In veterinary medicine, people say ‘unnecessary suffering’,” Pizzi continues. “Which means that there is some suffering we’re OK with.” We hate to see zoo animals suffer, but care little about the cattle slaughtered for agriculture. (Pizzi is vegetarian.) We fret about mass extinction, but not enough to change our habits. Therein lies the tragedy of Pizzi’s work: he can develop new ways to save wildlife, but even if he saves 10,000 animals this year, it’s just a drop in the rapidly acidifying ocean.

Fangs a lot: removing a diseased gall bladder from a moon bear. Photograph: Romain Pizzi

He thinks about that a lot. But, then, he also thinks about the case of a white-tailed sea eagle he once treated. It had a broken wing and one leg. “It’s easier to kill the bird, and maybe it’s the right thing,” Pizzi says. The bone was protruding through the skin. But the bird had spirit; even then, it tried to fly. “Do I go in and chop a bunch of the dead bone out? How much is too much intervention?” He ended up setting the bones and released it after three months with a tracking implant. Its flight always looked a bit off; to this day he wonders if he should have done more. But the eagle lived, and it flew – until it died, four years later, of natural causes.

This is an edited version of a piece that originally ran in Wired magazine. Oliver Franklin-Wallis/Wired © The Condé Nast Publications Ltd

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/from-sharks-to-chimps-to-moon-bears-tales-of-a-supervet/