#but somehow its all Scotlands fault?!?

[jayeltontoro]

Add that Starmer couldn't stomach the SNP calling for an end to the war crime of collective punishment.

Kid Starver, the lawyer, who endorsed the war crime live on LBC. Busy earning his title of sir Kid Starver at the moment.

Of course it gives the BBC and the English establishment, the colonial power, the ability to deflect from the powerful speeches supporting the motion and talk about Westminster drama and how it's all Scotland's fault. The shower of shite. The genocidal enabling, Israeli cash taking, spineless self serving shites.

I'm honestly so mad that people - including people I previously liked and respected - are accusing the SNP of using Gaza to "play politics" and exploit the divisions in the labour party, when they have had not just a consistent position on Israel/Palestine but also one that coheres with their positions on other global conflicts, AND their own leader literally has family currently in Gaza.

They submitted a motion, which they are well within their rights to do and actually it is their responsibility to do, as not just the second opposition but also the representatives of nearly all of Scotland. Labour fucking shat themselves because they can't handle a vote on this as they all disagree, and convinced the speaker to undermine process and effectively deny the SNP a vote on their own motion. The fact that they are openly saying the SNP did this because of their own issues is basically an admission they want other parties tip toeing around Israel/Palestine because it is the Labour Party's achilles heel.

Even more disturbing is the perpetuation of the notion that this was done for security because MPs are being "threatened" I mean what a joke, if there was an honest to god issue of potential violence towards MPs this would be a ridiculous way to handle it. Its scapegoating pro Palestine activists and muslims in general for a decision that was made for the good of the Labour Party's internal bullshit.

[100mistakesandcounting]

Unspoken Thoughts

CW: Gentile Piercings, obscene language, unhealthy relationship with sex and women, smut, mentions of drug use, slight internalized homophobia and misogyny.

Simon Riley X Reader

Simon Riley is a dog—well-trained, routine-oriented, and loyal to a fault. He was also a dog when it came to women—the type to have a one-night stand and delete your number within the hour.

It came to him as second nature. In his younger years, he never found himself tied down to one bird. Instead, he had a string of them from around town who were more than willing to let him stay in their beds while he grappled with his own issues between their legs.

He never truly considered their pleasure; he preferred women who were simply along for the ride and found joy in his relentless hips.

And if he got really bored, he’d find himself wandering into the bars that flew their rainbow pride a little too high. Approach a tiny bloke at the bar who was too queer to even see past his hereditary straightness. That'd let Simon bend him over in a cramped stall and drain his load without even knowing his name. Didn't matter if he got off or not, as long as Simon did.

One day, with too much liquid courage running through his bones, Johnny mentioned something about a new breed of women, size queens, he called them. On this dating app. He rambled on about a bird who begged to see his goods before even considering meeting him in person.

After downloading the app on his previously stock phone, Simon found his outlet. These women were less concerned with looks and more focused on their own needs. This was how he realized how much he enjoyed watching a woman struggle to fit his cock inside herself without his help.

They would harp on about how it was their biggest, saw their mouths watering at the sight of the gleaming metal bars at the base—a souvenir from one of his deployments when he finally ran out of space on his arms for ink.

All he had to do was watch as she struggled until she begged him. Then he would flip ‘em over and shove it in without remorse. Those girls made it enjoyable; they were always a good time. They didn't care that he never removed the mask; in fact, some of them enjoyed its presence, cunts dripping at the sight of it. They all had some weird fetish, and he was more than willing to indulge them if it meant maintaining an air of ambiguity.

This was what he liked. At least before.

A chance meeting at a club he was reluctantly taken to when the team decided to take leave together. They had all shared a hotel room, sleeping back to back as they drank, ate, and fucked their way through multiple cities in Europe.

This evening, they were in Scotland, just a couple of days before they were scheduled to travel to Soap’s family home.

It was a type of ‘alternative’ club, filled with civilians in their prime, adorned with excessive eyeliner and spikes. According to Johnny, this was where he spent a lot of his time before his enlistment. The eyebrow piercing and metal-coated ear finally made sense as more of a subculture thing than a defiance of military guidelines.

The music vibrated through his body, his beer sweating as Roach and he sat at the sticky bar. They had been approached by multiple women and men at this point, all trying to persuade them to dance.

They both didn't actually consider what they were doing to be dancing; it was more like aggressively moving their bodies against one another.

The presence of drugs made Simon turn his nose up at the crowd. If he had been younger, he would have been more willing to indulge; however, now, on the deafening edge of 40, he knew better. Knew it would leave him with an aching back, bloodshot eyes, and a cottonmouth.

Soap and Gaz immediately immersed themselves in the crowd, both shirtless, as they fully embraced the flashing lights and swirling smoke.

Soap somehow managed to get a couple of people who coated their hands in neon paint and touched random parts of his body. Eventually, there was nothing but a large splotch running down his chest to the front of his crotch.

He wasn't sure when exactly he’d stopped watching his friends weave through the crowd. He thinks it's when he turned around to order another beer and saw her.

She had been sitting next to him, looking a bit worse for wear—almost like a lost puppy. She mentioned that she had lost her friends after turning down some pills. Not only that, but from the looks of it, she had been nursing a drink for nearly as long as he had before he finally chugged it back.

“Y/N,” a pair of pouty red lips replied when he asked for her name. She wore nothing more than a miniskirt and a laced corset, which he imagined he could easily cut her out of. A dangerous thought. The ribbons were so delicate that he could probably tear through them with just his teeth. “What’s yours?”

“Simon…”

Before he even realized it, he had followed her outside, both leaning against the stone wall of the alleyway, sharing a smoke. He rolled his mask up over his nose while lighting it for them, pretending not to notice how her eyes immediately darted to the scar on his mouth.

He felt his chest and pants grow tight as her lips wrapped around the white stick, the smoke escaping her lips and nose like that of a seasoned smoker. In the darkness and neon lights, he had thought she looked too young, but under the streetlights, he could see more of her face.

Quick eyes, soft features, and those sexy fucking lips.

He finally noticed their height difference; he had at least a foot on her. He could easily pick her up and hold her under his arms like a sack of potatoes. In fact, his work duffel bag was harder to carry than she would be.

She couldn't have been older than her mid-twenties—still young. It was morally wrong, but something about her made his fucking head spin every time she handed him back his cigarette, leaving a stain of her lipstick before he put it in his mouth.

Her friends were no longer responding to her texts, likely too high to even realize she was missing. They would regret that later.

“So why the mask, Simon? Is it a rave thing or a personal thing?” She inquired, her dainty fingers already poised for the return of the cigarette.

A deep grunt escaped his chest as he formed his words, “Personal. Never like to take it off.” There was challenge in her eyes at that statement, as if she were considering what she could do to make him take it off. Honestly, if she wanted him to, he would comply, but he would definitely ask for something of hers in return.

Her next words almost made the cigarette drop from his mouth, “Even during sex?” Cheeky thing.

“Want to find out.” The look in her eyes should not have made him abandon his friends in that club. Should not have made him let her guide him back to her tiny flat, where he barely fit through the entryway. Should not have made him so hungry that he took solace in devouring those red lips until they were barely red anymore.

Ever the soldier, it didn't take more than a couple of glances to get all the answers he needed—one bedroom, definitely lived alone by the amount of laundry on the couch and small trinkets on her wall.

What really stood out to him was the amount of books on her walls. Studious. He liked smart girls. Or at least he did when he wasn't using them for sex.

He was lightly shoved down on her bed, finally eye to eye with her after having towered over her, taking in the way her corset accentuated her waistline and the swell of her full hips under that tight miniskirt.

Nothing could have prepared him for how she would look dropped to her knees, cheek pressed into the thigh of his jeans, or for the way she stared in disbelief at his size.

“Too much?” He poked fun at the way her cheeks grew hot. All he had to do was grab her chin and tilt her head back, his thumb gently tracing her bottom lip. “Just be a good girl and open wide.”

The shift in her eyes as her mouth dropped open for him was one he’d be playing in his head for the nights he’d fuck his hands in the barracks.

She would struggle, of course, tears prickling her eyes as she eased him into her throat, fighting everything in her body to gag. Whenever she did, she would start again, slurping her way back down while keeping her eyes locked on him as if to say, “See, I'm a good girl, I can do it.”

She licked on the underside of his cock, dragging it along his vein, and lapped each time she hit a bar.

Normally, he would have been glad to forgo eye contact. Much too intimate for him, but there was something about those kohl-lined eyes, how they commanded his attention even while they were hazy with lust.

As soon as he felt the dull heat in his belly grow into a flame, he sunk his hands into her hair and pulled her off of him. “You’ve had your fun.” Her disappointment was palpable, but as much as he wanted to coat her face in his cum, he needed to get her undressed first.

She would begin to unlace the corset, struggling with the ties until she peered at him with a silent plea. Cute.

Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife, watching her eyes go big when he opened it in front of her face.

“You can't use that,” she argued at him, huffing in annoyance as she heard him chuckle. “I really like this one.”

To preserve her attachment, he undid its laces, antagonizing slowly like he was unwrapping a gift. In reality, she was salvation, a fresh bowl of water for a parched dog. When the little number was off, he let it fall to the ground. That was when he noticed the mirror hanging from the bedroom door opposite her bed.

Their eyes met, and he took in how the light coming from outside her window reflected off her skin. He reached forward and tugged down her skirt to see the full picture, drinking it in.

He pulled her back into his lap, using his knees to force her legs apart. The only thing preventing him from seeing all of her was the tiny red underwear dampened with her arousal.

Simon decided at that moment that he didn't want to wait any longer and brought his knife back around. “Hold still,” he grumbled, feeling her body tense up at the feeling of the metal grazing her skin as he cut the panties off and let them fall down her leg to the ground.

He made a noise of content as he would finally see all of her—beautiful skin, supple tits with hardened nipples moving with each breath, and a weeping cunt.

All for him to take as he pleased.

“Look at you…” His voice purred against her ear. Hands moving to explore her soft skin, running along her thighs, up her stomach until he had two handfuls of her breasts. He rolled her nipples under his fingers as he kept their eye contact. “So pretty and soft…”

The way her breath hitched, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she let his fingers do all the work.

One of the hands had migrated down, the other sliding up the smooth skin until it hovered around her neck. His fingers delicately parted her open, allowing the pooled wetness to coat his fingers just enough to allow one of them to slip in.

He chuckled at the little gasp that left her as his finger pumped into her, quickly adding a second to feel her walls flutter around the intrusion. He still pulled and pinched at her pebbled nipples while his fingers curled up against her sensitive spot.

Her head fell back onto his shoulder, soft desperate moans falling from her lips that egged him on. He felt pride swelling in his chest at the thought that he could bring her pleasure with two fingers alone.

His nose was buried deep in the wildness of her hair, smelling the remains of her perfume and shampoo. “Safe word.” He muttered, his lips pressing down into her neck.

“Ah… Huh?” She would mumble as her eyes snapped up to meet his gaze back in the mirror.

“What’s your safe word?” He growled again, growing amused at the effect he had on her.

Eyes still hazy and unfocused, she would struggle to find the words until he began to pull away at her assumed hesitation. It was his fingers withdrawing from her tight warmth that made her snap out of it.

“W-Wait! Fuck!” She stammered, struggling to claw her way out of the haze of her own desire-fueled thoughts. “I don't have one.”

Simon made a noise of annoyance before lifting her up by her waist to straddle him instead. In this position, she was facing him head-on, but also his hard cock was pressed to her heat. “That's not good, Love.” He would croon. “Can't fuck ya’ if you don't have one.”

He could admit that he was slightly disappointed that she obviously wasn't used to this, probably didn't bring back a lot of guys. She seemed like a good girl.

Probably never took strange masked men back home to fuck her. That's fine. He was fine with being a first for her.

She looked at him with confusion, obvious annoyance at his words. “Fine. I’ll choose something easy.” He could almost see the words flying through her head as she thought. As encouragement, he rolled his hips up into hers. His length gliding right between her folds.

It was amusing to see just how fast he could make her brain short-circuit and her teeth gnaw at her abused lower lip.

“Apple!” She huffed out quickly. “Apple is good. Now, please, I need you.”

Simon grabbed her hips, fingers pressed into the plush skin to flip her onto the bed. He took his hand and pressed it between her legs, digits, and palm gliding against her folds before taking it away to use her wetness to stroke his cock. Her eyes watched the movement, breath getting caught at the shameless display.

“Fuckin’ ya raw. Alright?” His tone was less of asking permission. More that he was just telling her out of courtesy. She just nodded along, spreading her legs wider for him.

God, he wanted to ruin her; she was too trusting. He hadn't grabbed a condom, didn't plan on using one tonight. It was supposed to be a little trip to the club with the team.

Maybe it was stupid of him to think his dick wouldn't have had a mind of its own tonight, safer to assume he’d end up between a pair of pretty legs than not at all.

When he sank the head of his cock into her, he knew that he'd made a mistake almost immediately. She was tight, extremely tight, tighter than a goddamn vice. He could feel the slick welcoming him in deceivingly like a drug.

His eyes darted from the sight of her cunt spread open on his tip to her face; it was a silent question that she immediately understood, nodding once again. So he pushed forward.

Her gasp was like honey, moans like nectar that he swallowed when he pressed his lips to hers. He let her have a moment to adjust, but he could feel how her body shook and clenched around him.

Every second was pure torture. He wasn't sure why he was sitting here counting out backwards to contain his incomprehensible need to move.

Through fluttery eyes and pants, he saw a moment of clarity through her eyes before he felt her hips move gingerly, a test to see if the fullness was too much for her body to handle.

It's happened in the past, but usually it was before he’d taken real estate next to her damn cervix. He saw how she’d let him fuck her mouth; this wasn't a woman with no experience. Not a strait-laced innocence who’d never been fucked before.

No. He filled her up too easy. Sure, it was a tight fit, but her cunt had swallowed him whole. He was likely her biggest, but he had no doubt that this was a girl that liked to fuck. Liked her body worshiped and coaxed to the edge.

The confirmation he needed was when he watched her eyes roll after fucking herself on his cock, hesitantly finding what she needed. One of the balls of his piercings rubbing nicely against her spongy spot was enough to have her arching and reaching for him.

“Move, Simon.”

He was gone.

A/N: I'm experiemnting with something here and if yall like it i'll write more i guess? IDK.

[wormwoodartemisia]

[I needed a wee funny bit and this came to my mind. No real context.][Don't get irritated by the title. There’s only this one part so far]

TF 141 have retired after a mission almost gone too wrong. Together, they now run a farm for holiday guests in a rural part of Scotland. Everyone has found new responsibilities and even their families appreciate this new life.

TF141 (shortest appearance: Price); main focus is on Soap - which is Ghost's fault, somehow...; afab!Reader (who's good at cooking) with relatively short appearance; no other specific description; no use of y/n

Warning: no smut (but maybe something that would count as implied reference to smut?); mentioning of food; no animal was harmed

(About 5.5k words)

(All dividers by firefly-graphics)

(Excerpts from a journey to happiness)

Funny Farm Life

Episode 5:

"Watercress down"

Soap has already been collecting some herbs, edible flowers and watercress in his willow basket by the small stream that's running along close to the main farmhouse building for a while when he decides to take a wee break.

Placing his basket in the grass and getting out of his boots, he picks a nice place to sit by the lazy waters and allow his feet to take an invigorating dip. Leaning back on his elbows, he enjoys the calm chattering of the creek, breathes the fresh air, smiling, and can’t but feel happy about his decision to let his life take this direction. With closed eyes, he bathes in the shy rays of the introvert Scottish sun above him. He could fall asleep like that easily, but there are still some tasks at hand. So after some beautiful minutes, he collects his thoughts and prepares to get up again.

Suddenly he sees it. That small green bit on the foot he had dangling in the stream mere seconds ago. Just above his right toe. A tiny frog staring up at him with a look somewhere between annoyance and admiration.

Soap smiles down at it, carefully lowering his foot again towards the water, but this only has the frog climb up his leg with careful, reluctant steps, making its point. It doesn't want to get wet.

So the Scotsman slowly lifts his leg to place it into the lush grass, his eyes always on the small creature as not to hurt it. Just that the frog keeps resting on him... Soap starts turning his leg to the left, to the right, to no avail. All the animal does is retreating back towards his toes. He leans on his elbows again, lifting his foot high into the air, but the frog remains unphased. Sees no need to jump off and flee...

Then Soap bends his knee and draws it close to menacingly stare at the living green spot. The frog stares back. Can frogs grin? The man rolls onto his left side, stretching his muscular body to its full length, placing his right foot close to a rock. Maybe stone is more to its liking than cool water and high grass? No, it’s not...

"Whit dae yi'll want fae me?", he asks, but the frog only tries to provoke him with a croak, a small, high-pitched sound.

"A'richt, challenge accepted."

With some more rolling, he is on his left knee, hands propped onto the ground, right leg still in the air. Might be that he’s now looking like some male dog marking their territory, but this is not important at the moment. Nobody around anyway. So what?

He's stretching his body again to reach a low bush with his frogged foot, tenderly touching some soft leaves. However, the animal doesn't move. Making itself smaller, cowering on the human skin, its sole reaction. No, wait! It's moving! Yes! Soap can see it reach the tip of his toe - and disappear on the underside of his foot... With a mildly frustrated growl, the Scotsman turns back to sit down in the grass again, taking his foot in hand, carefully turning it towards his face to eye the intruder of his personal sphere.

"Ah will git ye."

Cautiously he reaches out his left hand, trying to invite the frog onto it when suddenly the animal hops away. Short-term relief only. It's on his left lower leg now... Second try. With both his hands formed like cups, Soap does his best to catch the animal in between - just to make it jump again, higher up his thigh, landing onto his knee.

"Dinnae jump up ony higher, ye wee de'il!", he threatens in a low whisper, grinning, although he's perfectly aware that this cheeky beast better not find its way under his kilt.

Slowly the Scotsman gets up, his kilt pressed tightly to his body, and bends his knee back and forth. This leaves the frog totally unimpressed. How come is it sae pernicketie tae git it aff me? The warmth of his skin, maybe... Then Soap feels the little creature move again - with tentative steps into the direction of his popliteal fossa. When he, in order to get a better look, bows down his upper body towards his knees, he suddenly freezes mid-motion.

On his right shin, there's a second frog, wearing a darker shade of muddy green!

"Need tae ca' yer siblings fur support?"

Keeping his kilt secured, he runs his hand through his mohawk thoughtfully.

Tis back tae hee-haw fur me...

Keeping his left leg outstretched so he wouldn't squeeze the one frog in the hollow of his knee, he sits down again, already playing with the thought to simply let the frogs stay where they are. While walking through nature, why shouldn't he walk with nature at the same time?

There's a third frog. Light-green. On his left toe. Maybe this one would behave differently. Perhaps the darker one as well...

Soap starts lifting his legs again, slowly waving them in the mild, friendly air. The frogs stroll to the back of his legs. The first frog jumps off him.

"That's it. 'ere we gang."

So does the third.

"Guid laddie. Or lassie. Or baith."

Then a fourth one lands on him. Or is it the first one, a second time?

Maybe he should try laying back once more, on his stomach perhaps? Perform some more energetic variations of movements? Should thae meddlesome critters settle onto his clothes, he could try to carefully dress down and shake them out tenderly...

Meanwhile, Ghost is staring through the open kitchen window, his freshly brewed tea in hand, watching Soap by the creek. He is more than just mildly fascinated by the fact that the kilt - despite the vast majority of elaborated exercises - has never ridden up any higher than the middle of the Scotsman's thigh. Maybe an ability every Scottish boy was born with...

He takes another sip and since Johnny doesn't seem to be willing to end his excessive stretching in slow motion any time soon, Ghost takes out his smartphone and starts filming this idyllic summoning of all yoga deities.

It's this moment that Kyle enters the kitchen as well, following Ghost's direction of view while preparing a mug of coffee for himself, joining the other man at the counter in front of the window. For some time both men are watching Soap in silence. But Kyle is curious.

"What's our Highland fling doing over there?"

Ghost lets out a non-committal noise and his answer doesn't even sound half a question. "Honouring the national animal?"

Kyle takes a thoughtful sip, then nods slowly. "Sounds 'bout right." Another moment of comfortable silence. Then: "For how long's he been doing this?" - "Past 20 minutes or so." - "Huh. What you think. How long will he keep going?"

Never only for a second does Ghost put down his phone but goes on filming. Johnny's movements are hypnotising. "Forever, perhaps... 's got a course at 0300, though." - "That Nature Walk something, right?" Ghost hums an unspecific grunt as answer.

"If need be", Kyle offers, "I could take over. I'll be at the meeting point. Either Soap shows up or not." - "Cheers, mate."

Soap's next exertion has both men simultanously tilt their head to the left for almost 90 degrees. Kyle's brows couldn't go up any higher. "How does he manage to-" - "No bloody clue."

When Soap enters the kitchen later with his basket fully loaded of green delicacies and his mohawk an attractive, ruffled mess, Ghost looks up from his laptop. The Scotsman is mumbling some incomprehensible Gaelic tirades before he finally notices Ghost at the table. "We really need tae pay attention tae those clingy frogs. They be like glued tae one's skin, ye ken?"

Ghost doesn't even blink. "Sure, Johnny."

But the other man has already grabbed a box of crackers plus cottage cheese and is on his way out again. Most likely to meet his Nature Walk group. At least Ghost hopes so. Then he goes back to work on his own project once more.

The dining table is fully set when Soap comes to join Ghost and Kyle, who had both taken the responsibility for preparing dinner tonight. The Scotsman looks slightly puzzled, blinks and lets himself fall onto the next chair, fully ignoring all the tasty food laid out before him. "Fer some people, th' guid land air seems tae be too much, ah s'ppose."

Ghost and Kyle look at each other.

Soap leans forward, placing his arm along the edge of the table. He seems about ready to let the two others in on some secret.

"The sisters from Birmingham, ye ken, Mallory and Valerie? Was on my way tae bring the rest of my greens, those ah didn’t need on our Nature Walk, intae the cold storage, but Mallory and Valerie came out of nowhere and wouldnae let me enter. Going like 'We had no clue, ye should hae said something. Sign us up!' Ah told them tae just show up tomorrow fer the next Walk, just like they actually did yesterday as well, but they were 'Nah, yer yoga lessons!' Meanwhile Adeline and her daughters had arrived as well, together with the twins from Stratford. Na idea where they a' suddenly came from... Wanted tae know if they had tae wear skirts or if this was up tae themselves tae decide. Nora started a discussion about mini or maxi skirts, the advantages and disadvantages of flowing or heavier materials -"

Ghost taps a few times onto the display of his smartphone before wordlessly showing the screen for Kyle to take a look -

at the homepage for their farm. At the headline plus a video showing Soap's waterside exercises. Kyle's eyes go wide and he has to press a hand over his mouth as not to laugh out loud.

'Kilted Me - Rural Countryside Yoga-Experience'

Both men are staring at the screen now, at Ghost's muted video (where the Scotsman's skin is glistening in the mild rays of light, the colour of his tanned skin the perfect contrast to all the shades of green framing him, highlighting him as the one attraction to stare at, Mother Nature's gift to those who want to see, his movements flowing with the motion of the lush grass beneath him) and at the significant amount of likes and comments below the video clip constantly going up.

Kyle whispers "Damn good quality, mate. Looks professional even. The way you cut it too." while Johnny keeps wondering, lost in his memories, gesticulating with one hand.

"- before Lucy asked no-one in particular, although it was me she looked dead in the eyes, if anyone minded her doing sports without bra. Tha was the moment Dana asked whether it would be ok tae keep at least a tank top on or whether tha would limit the full experience the countryside could offer. And Valerie wanted tae know whether ah would still feel comfortable at all with dressed ladies around in this intimate situation we would share -"

Kyle leans closer to Ghost: "When did he take off his shirt?" - "Not long after you'd left."

"- like overcoming dictations of society and liberating yer inner goddess or some such... So when Paula asked fer the specific schedule - because it was nowhere tae be found as all of them claimed - ah told them nothin has been scheduled yet, tha we were workin on the issue, though ah have na idea what's goin on - but tha was the only way tae get rid of them..."

He blinks twice before leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, looking, somehow utterly lost, at Ghost and Kyle alike, as if they might be willing to offer an answer he knew they couldn't give...

"Well," Kyle tries a start, at the same time with Ghost: "Johnny."

That's all they can manage.

On passing, John Price sticks his head into the kitchen. "Simon, the missus would like to have a word with you before dinner. Regarding marketing strategies and video placements, I think. I didn’t know you were into that. Better not keep her waiting."

The door to her office is open so Ghost enters without knocking. She doesn't look up from her papers but there's something about her that tells him she's aware of his presence. Her finally lifting her head is his invitation to sit down opposite her, her huge desk only creating a distance between two people who would not be close to each other.

"For how long has this been on?"

No introduction at all. No need between the two of them. He knows the question is rhetorical.

She goes on. "Not even two hours. But there's quite a resonance. Have you got any idea what you've done?"

Sure he has. Dramatically underestimated the way people are willing to go unhinged in the seemingly impersonal spheres of the internet - or when being directly confronted with Johnny's barely covered body...

"Miscalculated Johnny's appeal."

She's grinning now as her eyes land back on the huge screen of her computer. Then her eyebrows draw together and she brings her face closer to what can be seen there right now. "Absolutely... Incredible...how his hair is shining in the sunlight... I really need to ask him about his shampoo... "

Bloody hell. I should have known. Should have posted it in the group chat only...

"Have you read the comments, Simon?"

"Not all of them yet."

"No problem. I've just listed some of my favourites. Of course the gifs are frozen on paper, but you'll get it." She hands him a printed page.

HannaSmith86: "Your Kilted Me can come over and revitalise my Wilted Me!🚿🚿🚿"

-‐---------------‐----------------

cherryfalls: "Some utterly handsome piece of Scotland!🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🦄"

-‐---------------‐----------------

DannyBoy: "Be brave, my heart... 💗💓💝"

-‐---------------‐----------------

MaggieMac:

"This better not awaken anything in me! 😳🤯😏"

-‐---------------‐----------------

butt'a'cup69: "could need some good stretching too🥴"

-‐---------------‐----------------

ananymous: "how i would let this scottish unicorn #€%* me with his #€%* before #€%* him #€%*

-‐---------------‐----------------

Judyssister: "Would love to see his more rural parts💋"

-‐---------------‐----------------

MoanaLisa: "➡️shortygo: most important question: the english riding coat or raw? 🥵😻😽😈

-‐---------------‐----------------

WellKnownAnonymous: "oh praise the highlands but don't forget his lowlands"

-‐---------------‐----------------

anonymous: "mmmmmoist 🥵💦"

-‐---------------‐----------------

ham'n'eggs: "Never thought I was a nature guy, but..."

-‐---------------‐----------------

greenlady: "Cernunnos, where are your antlers?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

jingleprincess: "The way you move your body is just so...so...

(gif by retardell)"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Knittin'Kittin78: "... nothing more attractive than a man being one with nature..."

-‐---------------‐----------------

sophisticatedlullaby: "Oh, foraging for ages..."

-‐---------------‐----------------

LuMarsh05: "Where can i book the course? Here i come! 🤤😏"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Some comments are new to him. Will it be necessary to delete the more explicit ones? he wonders briefly on shoving the sheet of paper back to her.

"Harmless fun. As quick as people are about to write stuff, they'll forget about it too. Nothing that should have any negative impact on our business. Quite the opposite. We need to show Soap. Might boost his ego."

"Oh, I'm not worried about Soap's ego. And you're right about these commenters. However, those are the ones that will spread the news, link us and make your video known even long after their original post. Soap would have enough to do if each of these posts reached only two potential guests.

And then there are those comments that would imply some actual interest in coming to us."

She has already prepared a second page that lands in front of him.

PeggyShawŒ: "is this private lessons or would i have to share kilted me 😉"

-‐---------------‐----------------

wormwoodartemisia: "👍Where can I sign up?!"

-‐---------------‐----------------

ShortyGo: "Timetable? Availability? Pricelist?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

kellylarson7/2000: "OMG!!!! I've just booked my stay!!!!"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Yogafreak1999: "Is there a list to sign in for the course? I couldn't find one... 😔"

-‐---------------‐----------------

BerlinerYogarolle: "Does it have to be a kilt or would a skirt do?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

GreenWanderer: "Can we book the course as a group?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

underamoonlitsky: "Hey! This looks so peaceful and relaxing. Is prior knowledge necessary for participation at your yoga course?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

1KnowingMeKnowingYou1: "How interesting! What positive effects do the exercises have on the body?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

alexnichollspublicrelationsmanagement: "Hello, dear 141-Farmers! Sorry if I overlooked that info but I couldn't find anything: What exactly would be the schedule? One hour on several days, several hours on one day or even intense seminars for a weekend or even for one whole week? I'm very interested in a weekend course or a week for a group of about 25. Have a nice day"

-‐---------------‐----------------

RachelWalsh: "Same question as PeggyShawŒ! Also: is it mixed groups?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

DamianBlack: "Is the yoga experience included in all the bookings? There is no schedule/price list shown on your page!"

-‐---------------‐----------------

cookieslover: "He's real, isn't he? If I book a stay, he'll be there, right?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

MasonJar: "Do I have to book a stay or can the yoga seminar be attended separately?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Diana118: "The yoga experience would not be cancelled in case it rained, would it? I would definitely yoga with him in the rain! Whether group or one-to-one lessons doesn't matter. (I would prefer one-to-one!)"

He looks up at her. A statement: "You haven't told the old man."

"That's correct. Not before clarifying with you, of course. What would I fuss about to him? Especially with you supporting me the way you do."

"The way I do being what?" He knows what she has in mind, but he needs her to say it.

She leans back in her office chair, a smug smile on her lips as she purses them at the same time, lifting one eyebrow. "You know it, Simon."

"Use your words, love. That's always been the deal with me."

"Convince Soap to host your 'Kilted Me'-yoga course. You might not have had anything like this in mind, but there's a lot of money to make with."

For some time, they're staring at each other in silence. He could probably talk Johnny into this idea, but would Johnny really enjoy such lessons or merely do Simon a favour? He'd find out and take the responsibility in case Soap would dislike the idea. This joke was on him.

"What if MacTavish prefers to keep his sporty side to himself?"

"Choices have consequences, honey. The 'Kilted' is part of the title. If it's not Soap, then I'll put you in a kilt and have you show your sporty side."

"I'm almost tempted to let you try that, sweet'eart."

"Who said anything about trying?"

With a wicked grin he lets her believe that she might have won. "The people went crazy about Johnny's charme. Not me to compete with that."

"Don't underestimate the attraction that comes with a pair of strong, nice, long legs and a kilt, handsome."

"Nothing too appealing about some pale bloke who probably couldn't stop a kilt from riding up over his hips."

"Then you should be very careful, Simon. A traditional Scotsman doesn't wear anything beneath his squared piece of cloth - but neither does a ghost, eh?"

He slowly tilts his head so that the gesture almost looks like a bow that would not reach the rest of his body.

If it wasn't for the dark gleam in his burning eyes, she would dare to believe he gave in to her.

Then he's on his way out.

She calls after him. "Great camera work, by the way."

"Could just as well have been Garrick's video, you know?" - "Nah. Kyle's camera would have caught Soap differently - including more nature to the rural experience instead of adding more of Johnny's nature to the countryside."

She might have a point...

When Ghost returns to their dining table, you have already set the hot, steaming pie everybody loves so much in the middle of the table and taken a seat between Soap and Gaz. Though you are paying attention to what Soap is telling you, you can’t help but notice the quick look Simon and Kyle exchange. It feels as if they've just had a whole, unspoken conversation within one heartbeat.

"...wis pure surprised, fur a've ne'er seen any frogs aroond afore, especially nae four at th' identical time climbing me. Hae ye?"

You and Kyle shake your head in unison.

Then Kyle, seemingly holding back a laugh, turns to Ghost: "Soap has just informed us about a wild bunch of frogs making the area unsafe for those getting too close to the creek. Any experiences or thoughts of yours to share, Simon?"

"About croak and dagger agents? Well, seeing Johnny in their territory might have let them jump to the wrong conclusions... Maybe they thought he'd like to play some Hop-Scotch."

"Gey funny. Easy tae say fur ye! Ye dinnae ken whit ah hud tae dae tae git rid o' thaim! Ye hae na idea!"

"I'm in the picture, Johnny, believe me." While fetching his smartphone out of his pocket, he mumbles "Everybody is." before handing it to Soap, the screen showing again the latest add-on to their homepage.

From the very moment Soap catches sight of the title, he falls very silent.

With each passing second during which the Scotsman is watching into what his droll frog encounter has been transformed, you can see how all the strange pieces of his conversation with their guests fall into place. Each tiny progress of understanding is written on his face.

It's a clip of six minutes. Underlaid with not only the soft sound of a happily flowing creek, but also with a solemn, instrumental piece of a yearning bagpipe, accompanying its compatriot as if the two of them were made for each other.

For Simon, it's six minutes of growing, palpable noiselessness - which have started a dizzy ringing in his head after the first minute -because Soap refuses to say anything.

Then, as soon as he's through, he goes back to different moments, lifts the screen closer to his eyes, zooms in now and then, reading as well. Still keeping mum.

It's nerve-wrecking. Right now, Ghost would rather be... targeted by a sniper, maybe? Well, actually, that is exactly what's going to happen...

He cannot disappoint Johnny...

Finally. Finally looking up, Soap decides to address his former superior.

""Oh, to be countryside under this man and all around…"?! Christ. This is serious, Simon. Filming me wi'oot mah consent 'n' putting it oan th' homepage wi'oot asking allowed…"

Johnny is right. There’s a sudden pain in Simon's stomach that comes with the realisation of the impact his joke? prank? whatsoever actually has. How did this fuckin stupid idea of putting the clip on their page even come to his mind? It's true that Soap has already posted a variety of fitness videos but of course that doesn't mean he could decide over the Scotsman's head... There must be something about retirement and the permanent close private proximity with his former teammates that actually fucks up his brains... or maybe he could blame the Scotsman's shampoo? Anyway, he will have to find a way to make it up to his friend...

"Listen, Johnny, I'm sorry. I'll take the video off and make sure it'll disappear-"

Soap doesn't blink. His tone is distinctively serious. "That wilnae dae." Suddenly, his stern expression is taken over by a bright, wolfish grin. "This bloody video looks pure dead brilliant. So muckle better than a' the ones ah took o' myself! Ye can even see they frogs if ye take a really close keek! However, choices hae consequences, LT." Second time within 30min to get to hear this... "From noo on, ye will take on tae filming me whenever ah'm feelin th' need. Ahh, ye'r sae guid at this. Should hae kent earlier."

If he notices, then Soap doesn't comment on the sheer relief springing to life in the gaze Simon has fixed on Johnny.

"Plus: ah wasn't aware that doing gymnastics in a kilt would add sic pure tough dynamics tae every exercise... We'll hae tae explore this further."

Doesn't sound too much like a punishment for now...

"Additionally, just for the records: Ah think mah freish shampoo does mak' a difference."

You watched the video together with Soap and followed Soap an Simon's talk afterwards without getting involved, just like Kyle. Now you are checking the clip again as well as the comments on your own smartphone.

"He's right. You can actually see something on his leg here. Look!", you remark and show Kyle while Johnny and Simon go on discussing the way the video is designed. Kyle nodds. "True. Though I doubt that anyone else would notice without being told." Then his eyes land on the amount of comments - a drastical increase since Ghost last showed him. This post is definitely the most successful one on the homepage - by far.

"I've got the feeling that this might have some relevant consequences for our business," Kyle whispers to you. On his own smartphone, he's just checked the stats regarding the bookings - only to find that their number has been going up proportionally to the comments and likes on Soap's yoga clip.

You're impressed with the chart he's showing you. "We should really celebrate this. What do you think? A nice, cosy private dinner party? All of you've been working so much. You could need that," you point out.

"Lovely idea. Definitely have to get some dishes that match the occasion." - "Yes, it needs to be typically Soap... Something classically Scottish." Both of you start thinking.

"Not to forget the frogs," Kyle states and a wide, satisfied grin appears on his face. "I remember your fantastic Cock-a-leekie soup. Now what about some Frog-a-creekie? Maybe based on some smoked fish and a pistou made of watercress? Added on top, this would remind of a green frog." You love his idea and don't have any doubt that he'll support you with figuring out how to best combine all possible ingredients. You flash him a bright smile. The two of you share the same enthusiasm when it comes to forming ideas and trying them out. He's a main reason why it's so easy for you to feel home here. You feel that you are cherished. He simply makes you feel part of the family. As if it was the easiest thing to do...

How come these folks always manage to move you so much? It is overwhelming and you're not sure you'll ever get used to this. You swallow.

"Sounds great," you tell him. "I'll prepare a list later."

The distraction is welcome: Now Simon's voice catches your interest so that your attention shifts to him.

"-comments are surprisingly explicit. I guess some of them will stay in my mind."

You feel the need to share your personal best of. "Yes, it’s hard to believe what messages people leave on the homepage of a holistic, traditional farm that's open for guests and families. Let me quote AnneWarburton: 'I must never be allowed to frolic around this guy near the creek. He'd make me make the water wetter!' I mean, is this her actual name?"

Because you feel comfortable with each other, all of you can have a relaxed laugh in the cosy atmosphere.

Ghost's video has created an interesting topic of conversation with the reactions of the commenters.

Despite the smug grins Soap can’t help on reading some of the more forward comments, there's one post that stands out. Though this one could probably be understood as corny by some people. However, it reaches deeper into his soul, because it touches a place there that extends far beyond the reference to sheer physical attraction.

Nicneven 🌐💧🌬: "This personification, this pure embodiment of all forces of nature… Such sensuality… The fresh breathing green, the golden light shattering into diamonds on his skin, the creek praising their bond in countless tears of joy… This unity of nature and man. This is life."

It fuels his energies. He's already read it thrice - but he won't tell the others. Will name a different post. Lets the others tell their choices first.

Gaz is next. "The 'Wilted Me' clearly left an impression. But all I really have to know is 'mmmmoist'."

Soap looks at Ghost expectantly. Of course he gets the hint. "S'ppose," Simon points at the specific post, "'the English riding coat' is my favourite so far. Reduced to essential, basic needs. With historical awareness to a significant degree of situational irony. Unambigously pointing out their clear preference. It's almost poetic in its own bluntness."

Impressive.

Now all eyes are on him for a moment. Silence.

Then Johnny pats Ghost's shoulder compassionately. "Ah kin cop it too."

"English, MacTavish."

"Sorry, sir. Let me remind you: We're in bonnie scotland noo."

"Much better here than I assumed, I have to admit," Simon's voice has got a soft undertone you wouldn't hear too often.

All of you are so much more comfortable than you ever expected to be, given all the circumstances. You take in the three men who share so much more memories than you'll ever know - but who are also willing to make new ones, together with you as well. This is a gift you traesure. So do they.

"Would also love to hear what the frogs got to say to our nature boy...", Kyle wonders.

"Ach, ah can tell. Loves me dearly, every single one. But 'course they wilnae leave any comments. We're neighbours - they'd be recognisable far tae easily!"

"So many fans, right?", you tease playfully.

"Aye! Just th' missus might be a bawherr pure upset, eh, Simon? Bet she's got bonny muckle work at hands noo cheers tae you."

Ghost purses his lips. "Think she's a real fan of yours too, Johnny. 's got a printed list of her favourite comments. Two pages so far."

"Sure. She adores me! Tough lassie. Will mak' ye pay", Soap points at the video, "for yer moment o' weakness, ah bet."

Moment of clarity...

Simon grimaces in mock distress.

"Totally obsessed with that yoga-idea, she is, and will have the lessons held - one way or the other."

The Scotsman eyes him with interest. "Maybe ye'r just th' richt man fer that. Could dae ye some guid tae get connected wi' th' scots land, emotionally 'n' physically. Sweet, rich grass is th' softest mat fer yer skin."

"You like lolling in the grass, Johnny? Then why not make a course out of it yourself?"

"That micht suit ye. Ye juist wantae pull yer ain heid oot o' th' noose. At least hae th' decency tae ask me properly."

Simon exhales deeply, grabs a cherry tomato and drops to his knee, offering the amazed Scotsman the small red fruit as if his life depended on it: "Johnny, will you do me the honour of hosting the 'Kilted Me"-yoga lessons?"

Must be the tomato that seals the deal. His friend accepts. "Aye, ah will. Juist a bawherr wiggle wi' mah bahookie? Ah can dae that."

You laugh in amusement. "You think that's all yoga is about? There's more to it than just wiggling your bum!"

"Thir's aye mair tae it whin ah wiggle wi' mah bahookie, bonnie!" The way he raises his eyebrows can only be described as lascivious. The way he chews his cherry tomato too...

You sigh exaggeratedly, faux-scolding: "That's exactly what I fear... Soon this farm will have a reputation for 'adult sports' only..."

He waves it off with a grin. "Dogs that bark dinnae bite. None o' they frivolous commenters will actually caw up 'ere. 'n' if thay dae, we'll be able tae deal wi' it.

Ah bet they'd be less clingy than my handful o' frogs. Speaking if frogs. We should call the course by its name. Tha would be 'Frog Gymnastics', more correctly." Soap winks at you, grabs a big slice of your pie and turns to go to take the phone call he mentioned during breakfast.

Kyle shouts after him, grinning: "You can’t guarantee the frogs! Additionally, 'Frog Gymnastics' would definitely sell worse than 'Rural Countryside Yoga Experience'!"

Sitting back on his chair, Ghost shrugs. "I guess, as long as our bonnie lad hosts the course together with his kilt, the deal could probably even be 'Welcome to the wetland! Meet the Leech'."

[egcdeath]

hook, line, and sinker

summary: steve was never meant to be anything more to you than a check, a basic mission. but somewhere along the way, things had veered from that.

pairing: steve rogers x spy!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, bad decisions, betrayal, unhappy ending

author's note: it has been a minute since i've posted a fic! i hope you enjoy :)

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

Despite the different rooms you found yourself in, the harsh morning sun was always the first thing you saw in the morning. Its bright rays would peek through the room’s shades and land right onto your face, intruding on some of the more vulnerable moments of your life.

When you finally angled your face away from the beaming star, your tired eyes fell upon the man next to you. The man you should’ve never taken things this far with. A man on the run, who you were sent after.

You sighed softly as you became a bit more conscious, and a now slightly more awake Steve threw a large arm around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“Don’t get up yet,” he mumbled softly against your ear. You nodded and relaxed further into the slightly stiff motel mattress, mentally snapshotting and framing this moment in time. Yet another to add in the five month scrapbook of your time with Steve. Time that you recognized was quickly running out.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes once more, to listen to Steve’s soft breaths as he inhaled the scent of you. It made your heart hurt knowing that within the next week you would no longer get to be in those arms. Knowing that you would have to wake up alone in a new apartment in a new country and wait for a new mission while the news on the television droned on about the nomadic Captain America being flushed out of hiding. That Steve was no more to you than a mission. That it was your fault that you had fallen so hard and so fast.

So you treasured it while you had it. Hummed contently as Steve massaged your side before peppering little kisses against your neck. Tried to absorb the stubborn tear that threatened to fall down your face at any moment.

“We have to leave today,” he whispered against your ear, sending goosebumps up your arm. “Natasha wants to meet you.”

Your eyes shot open and your brows momentarily furrowed, something you quickly attempted to play off with a wide smile. There was no way that she wouldn’t recognize who you were— despite being declared ‘dead’ years ago, you were one of the more esteemed spies in your community. What that also meant is that you had even less time with Steve than you’d expected.

“When are we leaving? Am I gonna have to get used to another time zone?”

“Probably a few. Nat’s already with Sam, but we heard there’s something weird going on in Scotland with Wanda and Vision.”

“Should I really be getting involved with this then? It sounds like some pretty intense Avenger business if the parts of the team you still communicate with are getting together. I can just stay here ‘till you guys are ready to come back.”

Steve gave you an ‘are you serious?’ look before breaking into soft laughter, “are you serious?” You nodded wordlessly in response. “Oh, you’re serious. I promise that you’ll be fine.”

“Well, things better not get weird,” you giggled right along with him, reaching out and grabbing Steve’s face so that you could look into his eyes. You took another mental picture of him. You just hoped it wouldn’t have to be the last.

——

After you prepared yourself for the long car ride ahead of you, you slipped your second burner phone out of the hidden pocket of your suitcase, you were met with several missed messages by the man who sent you on the mission in the first place.

What is the wait?

I was referred to you for a reason

Have you even found him yet?

I’m not paying for you to sit around and go to brunch all day.

Do I need to send more money for a plane ticket or something??

No, I’ve got it. He’ll be in custody by tonight.

He better be. Or else you won’t be around to see tomorrow.

You swallowed thickly. You wouldn’t be dealing with this in the first place if you weren’t so irresponsible. And if word got out that you were falling in love with your targets, your reputation would be in shambles. You should’ve known from the start that this could never end well.

Steve stepped back into the bedroom area, a goofy smile on his face at the sight of you sprawled out on your back on top of the dingy motel bed. “You ready?” he asked, sounding chipper. You assumed he was ecstatic that you were finally going to be able to meet his friends, which made your heart hurt even more.

For a moment you considered the possibility of not going through with it. Of going along with Steve, work, prestige, and that hefty bounty be damned. You would still be living life on the run, but you’d have Steve, and everyone else on his side on your side too. You’d have some semblance of a family, and maybe someday you’d have a real family and someone to grow old with.

You chastised yourself for getting soft before sitting up, “I’m ready.”

——

You weren’t ready.

You knew you had to move quickly, the sun was going down, and you’d made a promise that needed to be fulfilled, or god knew what would happen to you.

You reached for the volume dial on the radio portion of the car, and turned down the song that Steve was currently humming along to.

“We should probably get off on the next exit that has a gas station,” you prompted, “the tank’s getting pretty low.”

Steve’s eyes flicked down to the dashboard and he nodded in agreement, “you’re right. Good catch.”

Steve pulled the car off and drove you to the nearest gas station, humming pleasantly along to the music once again. Your stomach was twisting and untwisting knots with every foot you got closer to the station, knowing exactly what you would have to do once you arrived.

Somehow, this was the most nerve wracking moment of your career. Not infiltrating secret government operations, not pulling the trigger on a mark, not even seeing the message from Tony Stark asking for you to find a way to bring Steve in.

You hurried into the main building of the station, making up an excuse on the spot to go inside. You made your way into a bathroom stall, and slipped the phone you hid away earlier out of the extra pocket in your pants.

Your hands shook as you dialed the first two numbers. You took one last deep breath as your finger hovered over the final number. You had one last chance to change your mind, to go back out to the car like nothing had happened because nothing had happened. You would drive a little longer before staying in another shitty hotel, and think about how you made the right decision as you curled up next to Steve’s warm body.

But you couldn’t. You were given this mission, and you needed to complete it.

You pressed the last nine, immediately connecting with an emergency service operator. You gave them the tip that you had seen Steve Rogers pumping gas into a black Honda Civic, and provided them with your location. With every word, your voice trembled a little more. You were grateful for your proximity to a toilet, as the lump inside of your throat threatened to force the contents of your stomach up with every passing moment.

You hung up the phone and looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment. You could barely recognize yourself now, and you weren’t sure if that was from the flagrant betrayal of your partner, or the undermining of your own personal rules for the past five months of your life.

After reflecting on what you’d done for a few minutes, you made your way back to the car. You sat down in the passenger seat, lip trembling as you thought about Steve, and the fact that you’d laid a trap for someone you had such strong feelings for.

Steve sat down just a few minutes later, a smile on his face, and snacks from the gas station in his arms. As he passed you a water bottle, he couldn’t help but notice the tears slipping down your face.

“Hey, what‘s wrong? Are you alright?” he asked, dropping the rest of the items on his lap and leaning over the middle console to console you.

You began to full-on sob now, each tremble of your body filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Steve. I am so sorry,” you repeated.

“No, no, you’re okay. What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning as he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

“I- I had no other choice,” you wailed, “I’m sorry.”

His brows creased and he pulled away from you, betrayal evident in his features, “oh.”

You swallowed hard and shook your head.

“So this was the plan all along?” he questioned. Your lack of response seemed to answer the question for him. “Was any of this real?”

“All of it was, Steve,” you all but whimpered out.

He sighed deeply and leaned his head against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut. He seemed to be searching for the words, but couldn’t quite put together what he truly wanted to say. It was silent in the car for a moment, aside from your quiet sniffles.

“I loved you,” he finally said, hurt evident in his delivery. The admission shook you to your core. You almost couldn’t believe that the first time you were hearing it was after you had put him into such a terrible situation. After you turned in someone that you cared about for your own gain.

“I know,” you looked away from Steve in shame, the look of hurt on his face now permanently imprinted in your mind.

The sound of sirens began to fill the air. Not too long after, you noticed the unmissable blue and red of emergency vehicles approaching your own. It was time.

You unlocked your door and exited without another word. You refused to look back to the car, keeping your head down and your eyes squeezed shut, knowing that if you had to see Steve being taken away, you might never get over the permanent sick feeling you were currently in the midst of.

You walked right inside of the building, stopping in front of an aisle of chargers and finally looking back at the mess that you had made.

“What’s going on out there?” the clerk asked from behind the counter, peeking out the large glass windows.

“I don’t know,” you feigned ignorance and casually shrugged, ignoring the fact that the sight of about a dozen police and SWAT vehicles was tearing you up inside. What were they going to do to him?

You turned away from the scene once again, pretending to browse through the low quality electronics next to you. You heard some yelling, a bit of a struggle, then it was all over.

The coast was clear. Your mission was over.

You left the store without purchasing anything. You moved sluggishly as you got back inside of the now abandoned vehicle.

You started the car once again. This time without the radio playing overplayed pop songs, and without Steve happily humming along. You stared blankly ahead of you, feeling numb above anything else. Steve's words resonated in your mind, bouncing around in your head as you attempted to make sense of what you just did.

Guilt was beginning to creep up on you in a way that you’d never experienced before. You immediately felt haunted by the ghosts of your memories with Steve. Of every entry in your mental scrapbook, of the final image of the hurt on Steve’s face as he confessed his true feelings for you. Of all, you were left with one terrifying thought.

You loved him too.

[quarthly]

Twilight characters as random animals that I think are oddly fitting

(Also yes, I am roasting the animals as well)

Edward: He would be a Cheetah. Now I know, seems like a cop out just because of his speed but hear me out. Cheetahs are, at face value, pretty cool. They used to be my favorite animal as a child, but then I grew up.

Cheetahs, through no fault of their own, are severely inbred. Now thats mainly because of poaching, but the cheetas anxiety also comes into play. In captivity, cheetahs are usually given emotional support dogs. I will admit it is cute but it negatively affects the population. Excluding one in the wild, cheetas can be to anxious to breed and thats not good for conservation efforts.

Cheetahs can hit up to 80 miles per hour in a couple of seconds. They are designed for fast running and agility. Their claws are similar to that of a dogs for better traction and they have elongated spines for longer strides. They have a thin build, long legs and a long tail for balance.

This has downsides though. Many times after making a kill, it will get stolen for them by larger predators. Thats right, they get absolutely bodied by the other animals. I should probably make these shorter but I'm on a rant now, so I guess this will be semi educational.

Throughout the series, we see Edward over estimated his abilities and value, constantly getting bodied by others. He's essentially a perfect mormon, though thats on S'meyers. He constantly judges others, dehumanizing them to their baser flaws, without doing any self reflecting. Him viewing himself as a monster doesn't really count to me. While he definitely hates himself, the only thing he is truly demonizing is being a vampire.

Bella: Picking up from Edwards, Bella is a Chocolate Labrador. Yes, she is his therapy dog. I feel like this is really fitting for her. I know Golden retriever would make more sense, as thats the most common breed for service animals. However, I kind of focused on her appearance. Only at first though! I just know that Edward raved about her human qualities and that would pass over as animals as well. Her chocolate eyes and brown fur, very average and boring. Thats essentially Bella. Even Edward wasn't into her until he got a wiff. Labradors a very loyal dogs and while they have more personality than Bella, I just couldn't shake it. Their also very stupid. Ok that's kind of mean, they're not stupid but when it comes to love, then yeah they are stupid.

I used to have a lab, loved him to death, but god he was something else. Very much danger prone, from their own stupidity or their lack of survival instincts. I know that labs are almost aquatic. They love water, swimming, all that jazz. We can just say that bella has a few screws loose in her dna and is just "not like other labs."

Rosalie: Now she was hard. There are quite a few animals that I think would fit for her. I'll list the other ones, but that one I went with is the Swan. Like Edward, seems a little on the nose, but I have my reasoning.

I was going to pick a predator for her, as she is shown to be very vengeful and viscous. I would have pick some type of cat, most likely a purebred, from a rich family. It could still work, but the swan just speaks to me on this one.

Swan's are known for being beautiful, graceful, and are pictured as the symbol of love. They are also very vain. Edward constantly brings up Rosalies vanity. She was constantly valued for her beauty as a human, so of course that crossed over in the transformation. She was raised to be married into wealth, she was used as a bargaining chip to increase the family's standing.

Rose has a very strong character and makes her opinions known. She's assertive and aggressive at times. She's not afraid to get dirty.

Swans mate for life and like geese, are known for being great parents. I was also going to choose geese as an option for the maternal instincts. I was wary at first because swans can be really aggressive. Like actually, you think geece are bad? Yikes bestie...

I was conflicted because swans are known for drowning dogs and sometimes people. However, I can actually see Rose drowning Bella. It's not that unbelievable lmao.

Emmett: Now this one is just ironic. I only associate him with bears. Its inevitable, but picking a Grizzly or Black bear is too obvious. So I went a slightly different route...

So I was going to pick the Sun bear just because of looks alone. Like, I'm not exaggerating, it looks like someone wearing a bear costume. I don't think it fits him but I know for a fact that he would dress up as a sun bear and sneak into a zoo to see if anyone would notice. I'll put a pic of it here

Like look at this thing. I have no words...

Anyway, what I picked was a Sloth Bear. Now Sloth bears are mostly nocturnal, which either way works consider vamps don't sleep. Their diet is also odd but honestly so is the cullens. They're native to the Indian subcontinent, and are known for being aggressive towards humans. Its said that for the most part they're pretty calm, so I think its just fear of humans that make them act aggressively. Honestly, that's a good thing because they are listed as vulnerable on the IUCN Red list.

They have some similarities with sloths, which is where they get the name. They have long claws and unusual teeth. They are known to hang upside down from tree branches, and is described as having a messy appearance. Honestly, Emmitt has a messy personality. Sorry bestie but you're a lot of work.

Now heres the biggest reason for choosing this bear. Aside from Baloo from the jungle book being a sloth bear, they are known to run fades with Tigers. Honestly, how fucking badass is that!? Now I don't think there are recorded instances of a Sloth bear killing a Tiger, but when push comes to shove, they can hold their own and I find that incredibly impressive.

Carlisle: This one was somehow the easiest as well as the toughest. I know Owl seems like the obvious choice, and I can see it. However, I believe Carlisle values emotional intelligence as much or if not more than academic intelligence. He is so charismatic and values other's above himself. He might not be as Saint like as Edward thinks, but he does try and I think he genuinely cares about others. For that reason alone, I choose a Elephant.

Elephant's are very social animals and are extremely intelligent. I could rave about them for ages, I love them so much.

Now elephants live in a familial unit and are usually matriarchal. Bulls usually are on the outer edges of the herd or form little groups with other males. Honestly, they're not that bad aside from when their in musk.

In the group of males, the elder ones will teach the younger where to get the best food, water, how to use things as tools, and every other thing that will increase their odds of survival. This is really cute to me tbh, they do this because the females usually choose the older males because they've proved that they are intelligent and strong, that they have survived and will continue to for awhile. Teaching the younger males these things are to make the odds of them getting chosen to mate more likely. The whole unit just reminds me of a father that has to deal with rowdy teens.

Carlisle likes to take in strays, he might not have a herd but he will make one and teach them to thrive. That's how he envisions it anyway. He just has a found family and is trying his best.

Esme: Now this might seem like an insult, but I promise it's not! This is in no way misogynistic. I love cattle and ever since I took animal science in highschool, I have appreciated these grass puppies like they deserve. Call me Castro because I love cows.

Yup! I chose a Cow for her. Specifically a beef cow. That might sound weird but its because beef cows have higher maternal instinct than dairy cows. I'm thinking Scottish Highland based on vibes alone.

They are nicknamed the Gentle Giants of Scotland. Super maternal and sweet and ugh look how cute they are!

Esme came from a abusive marriage and had just lost her child, she was depressed and desperate. Her changing was, in a way, salvation. She just fits in. She adopts all these strays along with him and will protect them to the death. She might be gentle by nature, but don't fuck with her family. She lost her first one and she isn't going to lose this one.

Alice: She's an odd one. There are so many possibilities and maybe I'm biased, but I feel like she would be a Crow.

Ok listen, I'm definitely biased but it just feels right. Crows get a bad rap, they are so cool! They are so intelligent and have the ability to actually sit and think about the past, prest, and future. I forget what its called, but this was only seem in humans! Maybe other apes, I can't remember exactly, but either way its awesome. They do live in groups, or murders, and remember people and faces. They remember locations and are able to pass down information through generations. They essentially have their own language! They are able to use tools too!

Alice's story is really sad. When we first meets her, it revolves around the death of her mother and her institutionalized. She was essentially tortured and forgot everything from her past. All she had was the future and even that wasn't constant. Crows a often viewed as omens, they are associated with death. I personally believe that instead of being the cause, they just know something is going to happen. They are very inquisitive and can be creative.

If you befriend a murder of crows, sometimes, depends or the group, they will bring gifts. Its can range from food to shiny metals and colorful plastic. Hell, I think I've seen a post of one stealing things from people just to gift it to their human.

Alice's love language is gifts. Even if they are focused around fashion, she still goes out of her way to get something that will look good and at least be a little comfortable. By that I mean she tends to forget peoples comfort zones, but she means well.

Jasper: Honestly not to sure what to put for him. I know a predator would be more fitting, but for some reason I can see a donkey working. I know, seems like I'm clowning on the confederate. Fair, but I'm serious about the donkey thing. Honestly, it would be perfect if it wasn't a herbivore. Porcupine would also work.

Being a predator would make more sense. Given his backstory and his characterization, it wouldn't make sense for him to be a prey animal. Usually I wouldn't count this, but given his gore filled past and trouble with the diet, it seemed fitting.

I see him as a Big Cat. Honestly, vamps in general just give cat vibes. Jasper though especially have some cat like qualities, which originates from hunting and being a soldier.

I specifically see him as a Mountain Lion. Aside from him being blonde, he just has the predatory stealth to him. In midnight sun, we see him use his gift to make the nomads overlook him. He's honestly really powerful.

Mountain lions are known for being stealthy with an air of grace and power to them. They are stong animals. And I mean strong. They can jump 40-45 feet.

They're very elusive and quite. They stalk their prey and tend to attack from behind but don't think they won't hold their ground if need be.

Jasper was changed during the Civil War and forced to fight in the Newborn wars. He was a soldier as a human and as a vampire. He's able to feel and manipulate others emotions. He's covered in scars and is very intimidating.

He still struggles with the diet and honestly I hate how the others handle it. Like they have no room to talk. I don't want to defend the confederate but it just pisses me off. He has to deal with his hunger on top of everyone else's. Like damn, besties always on edge! Everyone doubts him which I don't think helps any.

Also, Mountain lions and Cheetahs can purr!

@aquanova99 I'll do a Volturi one too. That one will be fun lmao

[blackspoon99]

You Told Me So Pt. 8

Sherlock X Female! Reader

TW: Violence, injury, kidnapping, mentions of death

Sherlock was pacing frantically around the flat. He needed to think. He knew from the beginning the man from the cargo ship couldn’t have taken you. No. It had to have been someone else. John had already called Lestrade. He had confirmed that you left Scotland Yard on foot just after Sherlock.

The only thing he could think to do was call Mycroft. He dialed the number and waited for him to pick up.

“What is it Sherlock, I was in a meeting.”

“Mycroft, I need your help”

“Well, this is a first. The great Sherlock Holmes calling me for help. It must be serious”

“Enough Mycroft. Y/n is missing. I know you keep track of all of our whereabouts. Help me, please”

“Understood.” Mycroft’s tone changed when he recognized the desperation in his brother’s voice. “One moment.” There were a few seconds of silence then Mycroft was back.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. Somehow, we’ve lost all surveillance on y/n for the last few hours. I have no idea where she is. If you want, I could try—”

Sherlock hung up the phone and flung it at the wall in frustration. He had nothing to work with. No bread crumb trail to follow. It was like you had vanished off the face of the earth.

Suddenly Sherlock and John heard a chime from across the room. With that single sound, Sherlock had been able to tell exactly who had taken you. With that realization, he immediately felt sick to his stomach. It had come from the replica of Jennifer Wilson’s pink phone, which always sat on the mantelpiece. Sherlock lunged for it and quickly unlocked it. A text alert appeared followed by 5 chimes. 

“Five pips,” John said, under his breath. The text contained a video file.

John walked over to Sherlock. With a shaky hand, Sherlock pressed play. More than a Woman by the Bee Gees blasted through the speakers of the cell phone. None other than Jim Moriarty danced into the frame.

“Hello, Sherlock. Do you like this song? I think it’s pretty appropriate given the circumstances.”

Jim grabbed the camera and turned it towards you while singing along mockingly to the chorus.

More than a woman, more than a woman to me

“Say hello y/n” there was a moment of silence. “Oh, come on, don’t be rude, say hello to Sherlock.” You didn’t move or speak. You must have been unconscious. Your head was bowed to the ground, arms suspended above your head with your feet just barely grazing the concrete. Sherlock’s jaw locked and his eyes narrowed as he continued to watch the video. “I told you to stop messing with my things Sherlock. I warned you. Now one of your pets will have to pay for the consequences of your actions”

Moriarty faced the camera once again. “You know, you trained her so well. This one reaalllly loves you I can tell. I’ll bet she’d die for you and you know what?” He said, pretending to take a moment to think “She just might. I told you I would burn the heart out of you. And poor little y/n, she thinks you don’t care about her. I heard her say it.” Jim said sporting an overdramatic pout. “But we both know that’s not true”

“You’re so cruel Sherlock,” Moriarty taunted. “You adopt all of these pets off the street and turn them into targets. You let them care for you and follow you around. And then you just leave your pets vulnerable, abandon them, leave them behind where anyone could show up and hurt them. Is that how you repay her loyalty?” He turned the camera back to you.

“Although, I will say I see the appeal. I think this one’s my favorite.” He said grabbing your chin and pointing the camera in your face. Sherlock inhaled sharply when he saw your bashed-in face.

“Dear God,” said John, his voice breaking on the last word.

Moriarty continued. “I could just keep her for myself. Although you and I both know toys are soooooo much more fun to play with when you know they don’t belong to you. Don’t be too long Sherlock, we’re waiting for you.” The video cut out.

John balled his fists and finally exploded with anger. “JESUS CHRIST SHERLOCK” he snapped. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t let her walk herself home in the dead of night! I told you this was putting her in danger, but you didn’t listen. You’d better find her, Sherlock or so help me-”

“Would you SHUT UP JOHN! I can’t focus with you talking. He left a clue. There’s a text.”  

The text was a picture of Primavera by Botticelli. Sherlock immediately recognized it as your favorite painting.

“Shut up”

“I didn’t say anything”

The room felt like it was spinning. “I said SHUT UP. I need to think. I need to do it right now!” Sherlock shouted. He put his hands on his temples and tried to enter his mind palace.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the morgue at St. Barts. There was a body on the table, its identity was hidden with a sheet. Sherlock hesitantly approached the bench and lifted the sheet. Sherlock opened it to see you, beaten and broken, eyes glassed over and lifeless. He shouted out in horror and fell backward. When he sat back up, he saw images of you all around him.

“No. No!”

His mind was creating visualizations of all of the ways he could find you dead. He could feel his heart pounding. He felt dizzy and light-headed, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. You were likely going to die, and it was his fault. Sherlock closed his eyes and desperately tried to shake the images and refocus. He needed to concentrate.

He tried to calm down. Eventually, his breaths began to slow, and he opened his eyes. There you were, standing before him again, completely unharmed with a soft smile on your face.

“Come on Sherlock, this way.” You said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. 

Both of you were now in the London National Gallery. Sherlock remembered how you’d dragged him and John to the museum last year to see your favorite painting on display through a special event. You were now standing in front of the painting, still holding his hand. You looked up at him and gave him a smile while gently squeezing his hand. Sherlock studied the image in front of him as he tried to remember something, anything, about the painting that could help him. Finally, he recognized something.

“Zephyrus!” He shouted opening his eyes. He was once again in Baker Street. “Zephyrus, the biting wind of March, kidnapped the nymph, Chloris. He’s in the painting. I think I know where to find her.”

“Where?” John asked, grabbing their coats and sliding his handgun into the left pocket of his jacket.

“James’s Park tube station! Zephyrus is also called the West Wind. Moriarty would have focused on that aspect of the story. There’s a carving called the West Wind above the station.”

[hyperbali]

Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Alright. Finally had to sit down and write my way out of this quiet, internal temper tantrum, and a few people were interested in seeing what I had to say, so I present to you:

Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Disclaimer: MASSIVE spoilers for the entirety of WandaVision, and I am not nice about it.

I’ll start off by saying that, for all its foibles, WandaVision was genuinely a good example of a property within the MCU/Disney umbrella that stepped out of the usual ‘good guys fight bad guys action extravaganza’ in a way that pushed the envelope. The pseudo-horror aspect of the first few episodes is something I would really love to see engaged with on a more thoughtful basis in future projects.

I would say that it proved to be more than a vehicle to promote toys, but… well…

Yeah. Anyway.

I’ll assume that you watched WandaVision if you’re reading this, but quick recap: In the aftermath of ‘the Blip,’ Wanda is left broken and alone with no one in her corner. Her biggest mentor willingly abandoned his team to get his own ‘happy’ ending (do not get me started on Steve, that’s a document in and of itself), her other biggest mentor is probably off enjoying his family while ignoring the incredibly racist killing spree he’s been on for the past five years, and her lover is dead. When she goes to claim the body, she’s told nuh-uh, that’s government property, please leave.

So she goes to a plot of land in the middle of some nowhere town in New Jersey, which Vision apparently bought despite the fact they were living a pretty decently comfortable life in Scotland, where she looks at the deed that Vision drew a heart on and wrote ‘To Grow Old In’. Very sweet. Kind of weird, considering nothing of this caliber had ever been suggested for either of their characters and they’d been actively running from specifically the U.S. authorities? But sweet.

She has a breakdown and, in her grief, contains the entire town of Westview and all 3,892 of the people in it in her own personal paradise, where nothing bad ever happens beyond sitcom hijinks, no one dies, and every problem is tied up and neatly dealt with by the end of an ‘episode’. Except we learn that this is only paradise to Wanda, who apparently shares the aspect of having to relate everything to her favourite pop culture with Tony, because everyone else in Westview is more or less being psychologically tortured by the incredible amount of pain she’s in, forced to be puppeted actors to make her happy.

Bear in mind, Westview might have been bigger at some point - we have no idea how many people survived the Blip, or how many have been brought back to life within the past few weeks of the current setting. Either way, this is a town that has already dealt with a lot of trauma being dragged into yet another awful, much more specific kind of emotional damage, thanks to ‘the heroes’. Nice.

Agatha Harkness, a witch who’s been up to who-knows-what in the 340 years since she drained the coven that tried to kill her for getting a little too ambitious into jerky, feels the massive expenditure of magical power and decides to investigate. All the while, she carefully uses her own magic to try and peek into Wanda’s psyche, her motivations, all while keeping up appearances and not letting slip that anything is amiss.

I’ll point out that she’s no saint here, either - she specifically keeps one Westview resident at her mercy, and knows what’s happening to the rest of them, but doesn’t attempt to stop it. I’ll chalk that up to her pragmatism; their ‘sacrifice’ was fine to her as long as she could figure out how Wanda could have done something so unheard of in terms of power.

What we come to learn over the course of the show is that, given everything that happened, Wanda didn’t mean to take over an entire town and tool it into her own personal slice of heaven. She very quickly became aware of it; we know that she knows it’s her own personal bubble as soon as episode three, when she’s confronting Monica about how the latter could possibly know about Ultron. Wanda is made further aware of how much damage this is inflicting on others in episode five, when Vision himself tells her that these people are scared. But still, she has everything handled! It’s okay! The outside world is worse, trust her!

Her handling of the question, ‘where are all the children of Westview,’ is one that bears some thinking - and, y’know, kind of more than a little concern. They’re allowed to walk around as part of the ‘Halloween special,’ but as Vision walks further and further out towards the edges of town where Wanda doesn’t have as much full control, people are just frozen in place, or conducting the same few seconds of action over and over. And fully aware of being trapped.

How are they being sustained? Eating, sleeping? If someone isn’t part of her storyline, is she just locking them down into a coma? What made Wanda decide that keeping the children ‘out of the way’ was somehow kinder than involving them, especially given her later argument that she’s been trying to keep the entire town safe and happy?

The fact of the matter is, she only actually starts to feel remorse for any of this after she’s confronted with the fact that, after weeks of being at her mercy, the townspeople of Westview would rather be dead than endure another moment of having to play nice for her enjoyment. She finally opens the ‘bubble’ to let them out - which leads to the ‘epic’ finale of three different entities trying to take down Wanda and her happy family: the S.W.O.R.D. military led by Hayward, the White Vision, and Agatha.

Winding back to how we got here: after Agatha uses her own trapped resident, Ralph Bohner (who, given his casting and the props in place during the last episode, I’m willing to bet is actually the missing witness protection person Jimmy was looking for) in an attempt to lure out Wanda’s reasoning - and fails - she’s pretty much done pretending. She tricks Wanda into her basement, nullifies her powers, and makes her face her own past to get to the truth of the matter.

Not going to lie, favourite moment of the show. Kathryn Hahn killed Agatha’s slightly-amused-slightly-irritated observations about Wanda’s coping mechanisms, and the whole arrangement was extremely meta. I would have paid real money dollars to see her do the same thing to the likes of Tony, Strange, and Loki. Hell, even just having her meet the rest of the Avengers? Augh. If wishes were fishes.

When Agatha comes to the conclusion that Wanda is the vaunted, nigh-indestructible force of nature that she’s literally spent her entire life reading about is the ultimate source of chaos magic and will likely bring about the end of the world, she’s pretty understandably taken aback. To that matter, the fact that Wanda… has very little control over any of it, and is using what she does understand to play housemaker? After how long Agatha has spent learning control, hiding in plain sight, just to be child’s play compared to what Wanda has at her fingertips? I’d be pretty pissed off, too!

The way that WandaVision handled both of the major ‘fights’ - Vision versus White Vision ending in philosophy, and Wanda ending up beating Agatha at her own game of deception - is excellent. A little grating that they had to go with the beat down angle before they got there, but this is MCU; punches and thrown cars had to get shoved in somewhere. And, given that this series very much played with the idea of grey morality, I was sort of hopeful that Agatha would end up in a not-quite stalemate arrangement with Wanda. She’s not as powerful as the Scarlet Witch, but she has the know-how that Wanda sorely lacks; in recompense for her own deeds, she would be able to teach what she knows while also kind of scheming on her own time.

Y’know, like what they did with rehabilitating Loki?

Except that Wanda, who has just gone through the entire rigamarole of coming to terms with the fact that she trapped thousands of people into a nightmare scenario against their will, rendering them helpless to her mercy… traps Agatha into a nightmare scenario against her will, rendering her helpless to Wanda’s mercy.

That moment actually shook me. Oh, my god. We’re supposed to still look at Wanda as a good guy after this?

This isn’t even covering the incredibly awful confrontation with her and Vision where she tries to gaslight him into believing that everything is A-OK, or the fact that the person she gets most violent with (apart from Agatha) is Monica Rambeau, a black woman who spends most of the show bending over backwards trying to say that what Wanda is doing is understandable, justified, and just needs a gentle touch to be dealt with.

That could be its own document, too - how Monica, much as she’s incredible and definitely looks to be a really exciting addition to the MCU roster, more or less gets used as the Good One to absolve and enable Wanda’s actions. One of her last lines to Wanda, after seeing how the people of Westview (rightfully) look at Wanda like she’s monstrous, is “they’ll never know what you sacrificed.”

Sacrificed what? The fake husband and fake kids she made out of her own compulsion to pretend that everything is okay? None of that would have existed if she’d been given the proper resources to actually cope with how much loss she’s had to deal with. None of that would have existed if she hadn’t caused this problem in the first place.

In the end, Wanda flies off in her fancy new gear before the FBI shows up, avoiding any real consequences to her actions - which has pretty much been the running theme of her character ever since she was introduced to the MCU in Age of Ultron. The worst kind of direct consequence she’s ever gotten was being grounded to her room for a while, then kept in the Raft for, like, maybe a day - and both times, she was broken out post-haste.

Meanwhile, she worsened the issues in Sokovia (which, I will say upfront, was Tony’s fault to begin with), unleashed the Hulk on Johannesburg, got a pretty significant amount of civilians killed as bystanders in Lagos (hey, how come Wanda keeps turning a lot of black people into casualties?), and stood back in Wakanda to let their people try to fight off Thanos from getting to Vision until it was clear that there was no other option than for her to get involved.

Great Power Comes With No Responsibility At All, Actually.

Wanda, in the several years she has maintained her identity as an Avenger, has proven time and time again that she takes on innumerable risks without any full understanding of what they mean, allows others to take on the brunt of the fallout for her, and looks sad until she’s forgiven and moves on to the next problem. She has no business casually throwing around the kind of power that being the Scarlet Witch entails, not until she’s actually made any kind of headway into making reparations for what she’s done and tried, really tried, to get a handle on what she’s capable of.

Which she’s apparently doing in the last post-credits scene, astral reading the literal Book of the Damned on her lonesome in the mountains, but… without anyone to guide her, or give her any kind of boundary?

[I ran out of images I could post, but you know exactly what image I am referring to here]

Agatha Harkness was right. And that should terrify everybody that has to deal with Wanda in the future.

(P.S. Do we know if she actually even killed that dog? We never see her holding anything but a blanket, and characters go in and out of that show all the time. Granted, she wasn’t great with the cicada-turned-bird... hmm.)

Additional Notes:

“Well, you’re a Tony Stan, of course you think Wanda’s a villain”

I like Tony because he’s such an awful mess, and the narrative isn’t exactly kind about telling him what a piece of shit he can be! He reaped a lot of problems, created practically half the villains in the MCU, and ended up dying a martyred hero. Thanks to being the tent pole by which this franchise hoisted itself into a cultural powerhouse, he will always be their golden savior. If you want to read about how he’s the true villain of this entire affair, feel free to look up any number of takedown pieces about him that are out there. He’s a dick. I will never “uwu sad baby who did nothing wrong ever 🥺” him the way people do about Wanda.

“Why are you so pressed about this”

Because something as good in concept as WandaVision could and should have been about anyone other than the whitewashed, antisemitic take on Wanda Maximoff that MCU brought upon us. They put crucifixes on her wall in Civil War, for fuck’s sake!

“Weren’t you mad about them not including Aaron Taylor-Johnson”

At this point, I am almost kind of relieved the real Pietro wasn’t resurrected for this, because god knows they probably would have killed him all over again just to inflict that much more pain on his sister.

“Anything else you’d like to tell us, turbo nerd”

This was literally itching at me all weekend to write, so it’s more or less just to get it off my chest. If you powered your way through it, uh… thanks? Sorry if I yucked your yums, but I tried to be as clear with the disclaimer as I could. 🤷‍♂️

[triviareads]

Green-Eyed at Almack’s

For Kate and Anthony 2021 Week, Day 1 Prompt: Jealousy and all its cousins

Even a year after her wedding, the new Lady Bridgerton found that her gaze fell almost instinctively on her husband, no matter the time or place.

It was not her fault, Kate reasoned to herself after the umpteenth time she had been caught staring by her husband, his mother, her mother, her sister, or assorted Bridgerton relatives, and then teased mercilessly about it. Surely it was natural for a (not so) newlywed to look, especially when one was married to a man as handsome, kind, loving and warm as Anthony Bridgerton?

Kate sighed dreamily, her gaze drifting once more to her husband even as she danced a set with her brother-in-law, the Duke of Hastings. Despite the crowded rooms at Almack’s, Kate quickly found him, his tall, dark-haired figure easily distinguishable among the rest of his friends and-

Kate frowned.

A woman was speaking with Anthony now- a young, beautiful woman, Kate quickly registered, taking note of her fine features, auburn hair, and full figure that so exactly fit the fashions of the day. She looked closer to Edwina’s age than her own. Kate had no idea who she was, but saw how their heads were bent close to one another in a rather intimate manner- far more intimate than Kate was comfortable with.

She felt the stirrings of something green and familiar within her. 

"Who is she?" Kate muttered to the duke, gesturing towards the woman, now conversing gaily with Anthony who, in turn, was speaking with equal pleasure. 

Instead of offering any clarity, His Grace merely raised a brow towards his sister-in-law. "Have you been watching your husband again, Lady Bridgerton?"

"Merely a glance!" Kate protested, and then added pointedly. "Long enough to wonder who that woman is."

Simon was able to get a look while they executed their turns.

"I do not know her either," he told Kate.

They both watched as the woman said something that made Anthony tip his head back and roar with laughter. 

Her husband suffered few fools, and even fewer debutantes. Indeed he was practically a master in outrunning them and their match-making mamas. What was special about this girl?"

"She is rather pretty," Simon commented as if he had read her mind. He smirked at her for good measure.

"Come now, Your Grace," Kate said, trying to sound worldly and bored even as her insides were practically churning. "If you mean to rile me, it will not work."

"Won't it?" the duke asked mildly. "It usually works wonders with Anthony."

"Really?" Kate asked despite herself. 

"Oh yes. I point out that you are standing three paces from any gentleman, and he flies into a jealous frenzy and immediately comes to sweep you away."

"That's why he looked like a boiling kettle when I was conversing with Lord Melville the other night."

"A far more favorable comparison than mine, which was an overripe tomato- Kate?"

But Kate was no longer listening. She was gawking rather unfashionably as Anthony put his hand on the lady's lower back- her husband! Touching that woman-!

It took everything within her to not escape mid-set and shove past several other dancers to inquire exactly what this woman was doing with her husband.

Thankfully, the set quickly drew to a close, and Kate didn't even bother to thank the duke for the dance before marching towards her errant husband. 

"Anthony!” she said loudly once she was close enough. Perhaps it was not very good ton to exclaim her husband’s Christian name in as public a setting as Almack’s, but she had to get his attention somehow.

Anthony turned towards her, bemused. The lady, who he was still touching, did the same.

Kate merely looked pointedly at her, and then disgruntledly at him.

Anthony’s gaze flicked between her and the woman before understanding dawned on him. Kate allowed herself to smugly await an apology, and then hopefully some groveling for good measure.

To her immense irritation, none of those things happened. Instead, Anthony grinned at her, unrepentant.

“Kate,” he said to her, wholly unaffected by her seething, “may I introduce you to Miss Eliza Rokesby, my cousin?”

Oh.

His cousin.

Kate exhaled sharply. 

"From Scotland," she dimly heard herself state. “The doctor’s daughter.” Kate had been told that Anthony’s aunt’s family lived in Edinburgh, and that they could not come down for the wedding such short notice. An Elizabeth Rokesby had penned her a pretty note that had been sent along with beautiful silver candlesticks.  

Miss Rokesby dimpled and curtsied. “Yes,” she said. “It is so very nice to meet you at last, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Eliza here has come to London for her first season,” Anthony explained, so obviously enjoying the dumbfound expression Kate was struggling to wipe from her features.

“It’s been great fun, for the most part,” Eliza added, blithely oblivious. Her pretty features then fell into a frown. “Although the season is proving a bit trickier than I thought it would be.”

 Kate finally found the ability to speak. “Why so?”

“Some gentlemen have been rather… persistent,” Eliza attempted delicately.

Anthony offered a more blunt explanation: “Mr. Westcott is practically hounding her- the man won’t leave her alone.” Kate winced.

Eliza nodded fervently. “I was desperate, but luckily, I came across cousin Anthony, and he offered to- erm- play along.”

“And so you pretended to be interested in her,” Kate finished with a small groan.

“You see, my dear,” Anthony said, smirking, "I was merely doing my level best to protect a family member from a rogue."

To this, Kate could not help but reply waspishly, "Then you should have enlisted me in your cause far earlier." She threw her husband a dirty look. "I'm sure you can attest to my great success in that particular area."

[isnt-it-loverly]

falling for you// five hargreeves

Warnings: blood and burns

Summary: A mission goes sour and Five quite literally sweeps you off your feet.

Word count: 1300

Requested: jump, I’ll catch you

Author note: first time writing from the prompt list! I also started working on the next part of little birdie so expect that very soon! I also have a few more ideas and requests to do. Thank you so much for the support and love on my fics.

It all started out like any normal day. You and your partner, Five, were assigned a boringly average case. A businessman in 1940 whose death would somehow lead to the fall of the Third Reich. You were just a field worker, so you didn’t care how, you just knew he needed to die. So simple you don’t know why they needed two of you. However if there was one thing you and Five did well together, it was to execute orders. 

The pair of you were a well-oiled machine, you worked in tangent, and you complimented each other nicely. You were the “it couple” of the Commission- everyone wanted to be you. 

Although you were no couple, the relationship was strictly business. Sure, sometimes you shared a bed when your motel was downgraded, our you would help him through a nightmare, or he would always pay for your dinner. He was your confidant, your shoulder to sleep on, your best friend. It had taken a lot for you to reach this point. Both of you were exceedingly closed off and very VERY stubborn. Three years of forced partnership had blossomed into something beautiful. Of course, you two weren’t without fault. You still fought from time to time, every relationship had its hicks and bumps in the road. But you had grown to care for him deeply and you knew that beneath that cold, hard exterior that Five cared for you too. 

The landing was nothing but ordinary. You were in some rinky-dink alleyway in Paris, France. You straightened out your dress that The Handler forced you to wear, claiming that it would help you blend in. You linked your arm with Five’s, and he hummed in response. 

“Let’s get this asshole so I can get out of this stupid dress,” You grumbled in annoyance. 

“I think it’s a nice change of pace from the pantsuit, you look less like an assassin and more like a person,” Five replied with a genuine smile. 

That was certainly weird. Sure Five was nice to you, but with little things like putting extra sugar in his coffee so when you inevitably stole it, it would be the way you like it. Never just an outright compliment, and has he always smiled at you like that? You wrote off your thoughts and decided that maybe he was just in a good mood that morning.

You two headed towards your target's office. Since it was 1940, there was no security system so no need to be discrete. Although you had a flare for the dramatics, the plan was for you to snuff him out yourself and for Five to keep a watch outside in case things went sour. He watched as you walked in the building, a little nervous that you were going in alone but he knew that you were tough as nails. This was a simple case and he was glad to have a break. He stood next to the fire escape, watching the fourth story window like a hawk.  

You waltzed into Mr. Duponte’s office. Your dress was slightly unbuttoned and your lipstick was obnoxiously red. 

“Bonjour,” You spoke like a melody. You could tell that your appearance made him flustered. His cheeks glowed red and his eyes widened. 

“I seem to be lost,” you said, closing the door behind you, “I’m in need of some assistance.” 

“Yes madam, how may- how may I be of service?” He choked, having to clear his throat mid-sentence. 

You moved closer hips swaying as you did, God, this was going to be fun. You hand grazed his cheek, while maintaining eye contact with your other hand wrapped around his tie. You leaned in closer and as he closed his eyes you yanked his tie so his head slammed into his desk. 

“What the fuck?” He stammered.

You pulled out your revolver with a cheeky smile. 

“Don’t ask where I was hiding this, it will only make you blush harder,” You smiled. 

Before you could pull the trigger, he somehow managed to snatch the gun out of your hand, and all while landing a solid punch in the jaw. You rubbed it slightly, surprise and pain evident on your face. 

“Who are you working for? Russia? Scotland Yard?” He shouted, the gun now pointed in your face. 

Shit, you thought to yourself, maybe you shouldn’t have been so cocky. If you survived you would definitely have to hear about this from Five. You raised your hands up, knowing when you’re beat.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been pistol-whipped, but wow did it hurt. When you came too you noticed your wrist was bound to his desk. 

“Sorry sweetheart, but I can’t have you running your mouth to your superiors. Or having them find what’s in this office,” he said in a nervous tone. 

You watched in horror as he dosed the room I’m alcohol and dropped a single match. You screamed and yanked against the desk, trying desperately to get free before the flames reached you. 

Five was now definitely worried, you were taking too long. He knew you liked to mess around but it never took you this long to finish a job. He checked his watch hastily and tapped his foot. Looking up to the window he saw thick black smoke, he felt the breath being sucked right out of his lungs. You were the one constant in his life since the apocalypse and he couldn’t lose you.  

Suddenly he heard the window break, he looked to see a rather large book falling from the sky. You leaned out coughing and gasping for fresh air. The pair of you locked eyes and it felt like Five could breathe again. 

“The target got away, I’m not gonna make it out in time! See if you can catch him” You yelled hoarsely. 

“Not a chance, I’m not leaving while you’re still in there,” He yelled back. 

“Five, believe it or not, but I’m not indestructible, my adrenaline will run out. If the fire doesn’t kill me, falling from the fire escape definitely will. You have to go,” You pleaded. 

He had to think of something quick. Eyeing his surroundings, there was only one thing he could think of. 

“Jump!” 

“Are you crazy?! I just said the fall would kill me!” 

“Just jump damn it, I’ll catch you.” 

You climbed onto the ledge of the fire escape, the blood dripping from your nose and the burn on your hand was excruciating. This confirmed your theory that you would never make it down on your own. You looked at Five and he gave you a hopeful thumbs up. You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath- here goes nothing. Just as you jumped Five blinked to the second tier of the fire escape and caught you as you fell past, just like he promised. You both yelled as that was an incredibly stupid plan, but at least you were both alive and out of immediate danger. 

“See, I told you I’d catch you,” He whispered in your ear while pulling you close to his chest. 

“Thank you for not killing me,” You sighed in relief. 

“I’ll always be there to catch you when you fall (Y/n), that’s what partners do,” Five told you. 

Partners. Maybe Five was starting to see you as more than just a business partner, and maybe so were you.  You’re breathing hitched at the thought. You always had each other’s backs, what made this any different. Before you could get lost any further in his words you cleared your throat. 

“Come on, we have to find that guy before the commission has our heads instead,” You said with a small wince. 

“Agreed, but then you’ll let me patch you up,” He stated. 

“Of course, partner.” 

There was definitely something new between the pair. A feeling that hadn't quite been there before.  Maybe not today, but one day soon- perhaps it would blossom into something greater. 

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 5

Hello readers :) Just one chapter tonight but it's just shy of 4k words so hopefully it will do fine :)

so... bit of angst coming. Apologies there is a bit of fluff too but not what you hope. Please don't hate Elias. He is my secret weapon to bring our two idiots together. So just be nice to him.

Fun facts: 1. I adore Roald Dahl like our trio. 2. The scene at Luskentyre with the dark clouds and the savage rain. Been there done that. Luckily I saw it in the sun as well. 3. I hug standing stones. I am a serial hugger. Hugged the ones at Callanish and have a few photos of me hugging stones in Orkney as well.

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

A week had passed.

Rowan opened the bookshop on time as usual. Switched on the lights and the computer and went to the back and dragged to the counter the bulky box containing the orders that had arrived the previous night.

Once he cracked the box open he realised Aelin’s was at the top, staring at him. He sighed, took the book and sat on the stool behind his counter. For a whole week he hated himself for what he said to her. He had definitely gone too far and he had to find a way to apologise and make it up to her for his dreadful behaviour.

Gently he flipped the book in his hands and read a couple of random pages and smiled. He was positive she was going to love the last book in the series and a part of him was quite eager to discuss the book with her.

He had read the series a long time ago and loved it. Flipping through the pages he found some of the lines he loved and a tenuous smile appeared on his face at the thought that Aelin reminded him so much the female main character in the book. 

Both of them had fire in them.

He hadn’t seen her in a week and Maeve told him that she hadn’t been at the coffee shop either.

His aunt’s words still haunted him. She is just as lost as you are.

What could have happened to her? She always appeared to him as full of life and quite energetic, but he guessed that might be a mask she would wear for stranger, for people who were not close to her. He wanted to meet the real Aelin, problems at all. He thought pondered on his aunt’s words. What if she really was the key to get out of the funk he had been stuck for a while? What if he could help her as well? He admitted that he wanted to be his friend and he was going to prove it to her.

Deep down though he knew he had another reason, a bit more selfish. He found her attractive. More than that. The first day in the shop she had taken his breath away. And she loved books probably just as much as he did. Something that Lyria… no. He was not going there. 

He closed his eyes and tried to picture Aelin. Her funny attempts to use Gaelic gave him fuzzy feelings. 

He had spent a week mulling and thinking about her. He could not stop doing that. She had made him feel again. But the idea terrified him. He had committed completely to a woman once. He gave her all of him, his love, trust, respect and heart. And she destroyed everything. He sighed and put the book on the shelf behind him where he kept all the orders to be collected. He had to find a way to tell her her book was here. In his anger he forgot to take her phone number or address and now he was stuck. He only had to hope that she would remember and pop in in the shop. If he could see her one more time and apologise…

He was busy unpacking when the bell rang and a dark-haired man entered the shop.

“Good morning, can I help you?”

The man looked at him and smiled “Yes, definitely. I am looking for a book. Something on Callanish.” He explained looking around the shop with interest “It’s for a woman. It’s a present. She is new here and I would like to give her a welcome to the islands present. She just visited Callanish for the first time and she loved it.”

Rowan felt sick for a moment. Was that guy talking about Aelin? Because the description sounded very similar. Sadness hit him. So she was doing fine after all. She did not need him.

“I have a nice selection. Ranging form the usual tourist guide to something more fascinating and historical.” And he showed the guy the books. The stranger took one of the bigger ones. One of his favourites.

“That is a great one.” He added pointing at the one the guy was holding in his hands “It has info about the archeological excavations, theories about its use and it connects to the mythology as well. It’s quite complete. Your friend will love it.”

The man smiled again and kept the book.

“Can I just have a look around?”

Rowan nodded keeping an eye on the man. Could it be that he was talking about Aelin? He did his best to convince himself that it was just a coincidence. It had to be. But sadness struck anyway. He had planned to  get that book for Aelin. He was positive she would have adored it. And now chances were another man was going to give it to her.

The man came back with a second book. A colouring book of the Hebrides “I have a feeling Aelin will love them.”

Rowan stopped. His world froze. And his heart was beating furiously in his chest.

“She is a lucky woman.” Rowan forced himself to say. “Would you like me to wrap them since it’s a present.”

“That would be amazing if it’s not too much trouble.”

Rowan took a deep breath and steadied his hands.

“You have a great place here. And I love your Roald Dahl display.”

Those words stung. That was one of the first things Aelin had said to him.

“Big fan.” Was all that Rowan managed ignoring the roaring fury rising in him. At his stupidity. His bad temper. That could have been him if only he had been able to control himself and be nice for once in his life.

“When I was little I was obsessed with James and the Giant Peach.” The man continued while Rowan was working on wrapping the books. He had a feeling that Aelin was a big fan of Matilda.

“Here we go.” Rowan passed the present to the man.

The stranger paid and left the shop.

Rowan sat in silence for a while then stood, turned the sign of the shop to closed, switched off the lights, locked the door and went home.

All of a sudden he did not feel in the mood anymore to deal with people.

He grabbed his car and drove in silence until he reached his favourite spot on the islands. He went to the Butt of Lewis, sat on the edge of the cliff and admired the sea raging against the cliffs, mirroring perfectly his current mood.

Aelin had taken a day off from exploring. She had driven a lot the previous days and she needed a break from here car. She had gone back to Luskentyre, however this time she was not so lucky with the weather. An horrible storm had hit once there. And still, the place was stunning. The dark clouds heavy with rain seemed to enhance the blues and green of the water. A strange light had embraced the bay and the sand appeared even whiter. Then the rain hit and she thought she had never seen a rainstorm so brutal. She had stayed in the car and waited it out. Being Scotland, the weather was very changeable and ten minutes later the sun was out and the most amazing rainbow arched across the beach. Not a single one of her photo did any justice to the beauty in front of her.

She was now wandering around Stornoway and convinced herself to go to Rowan’s shop. It had been a week and her book should have arrived. The last one had ended in an epic cliffhanger and now she needed to know. It was a matter of life or death.

She turned the corner and a strange feeling overcame her when she noticed the lights off. At the entrance door a sign said Dùinte and underneath Closed in English. It was almost noon, how was it possible it was closed? Rowan was punctual to a fault. Was he sick? She wished she had his mobile number to get in touch with him. 

She was worried. 

But most of all she realised she missed him. Yes, they barely knew each other and they didn’t have the best of the beginnings, but still…

She sighed and walked away.

In that instant Elias texted her. She had caved in the end and texted him. They had started chatting. That morning he had told her that he was in town and they agreed to meet.

He was waiting for her at the parking near the ferry terminal. She tucked her sadness away and walked toward the terminal.

She had debated every day since she gave Elias her number if she had done the right thing. 

She clearly felt something for Rowan. What it was, she still wasn’t sure. And although he had been grumpy and they fought, something about him resonated within her. As if his soul somehow called out to hers. 

The rational part of her quickly rejected the idea as the twisted and unachievable idea of love that her books had given her over the years.

Human’s relationships were nothing but pain. 

For a moment she argued to herself that for some inexplicable reason his soul had somehow resonated with Rowan’s. That if they were in a book instead, someone would have pointed out that the pining was due to them being soulmates.

A minute later after that thought she snorted loudly.

They were everything but. They weren’t even friends. 

What about enemies to lovers? She snorted again and closed the distance to where Elias was waiting for her.

There were more chances of Rowan strangling her than them becoming friends.

All that mental gymnastics to convince herself that texting Elias was good. That she was not betraying Rowan.

But at the same time she felt a horrible person. She had no idea what she wanted from Elias. She was not ready yet to commit again. But still, she didn’t want to mislead him. He seemed such a nice guy. Hurting was the last thing she wanted to do to him.

Aelin finally arrived at the car park and saw him. He was as tall as Rowan. He was standing beside his car. Sunglasses on his head, dark shorts, a light blue polo shirt hugged his upper body nicely and she could not force her gaze away from him. He was stunning.

But he is not Rowan a voice said in her head and she told it to shut up.

“Hello.” He waved at her and she noticed his bright smile and his two dimples make their appearance. She had forgotten his smile.

“Hey.” She said joining him near his car “Nice car by the way. Being an engineer must pay really well.” She joked and hoped she hadn’t gone too far as her usual.

“Love a woman with a good taste in cars. It’s a Tesla. Cost me a kidney but this baby it’s worth it.”

“Of course you get a Tesla. You are an environmental engineer so an electric car makes sense. If you were a book character you’d be considered perfectly in character.”

Elias laughed loudly at the joke. Then he opened the door, and grabbed something from the car “For you. A welcome to the islands gift.”

Aelin took the present and froze when she noticed the sticker on top. The present came from Rowan’s bookshop. All of a sudden she forgot how to breath. At least she did manage to hide her shaky hands from Elias.

She opened the present and squealed in delight when she noticed the book about Callanish and underneath a colouring book. She put the second on the roof of the car and opened the first one. Inside the dust jacket she noticed a small note. That, definitely did not belong there. The calligraphy was neat Your book is here. I guess you want to know what happens after the cliffhanger. Then at the bottom of the note I am sorry. R.

How did he know that Elias was giving her the book? A wave of panic hit her.

Sneakily she hid the note from Elias and pretended to browse the book, but her mind kept going back to Rowan’s message. Her heart was hammering in her chest, so much that it almost hurt. The words I am sorry resonating in her head like an echo.

“Glad you loved the books. I forgot there was a nice bookshop in town. I got it from there. The one about Callanish came with a recommendation from the owner.” Aelin felt like crying. She was just picturing Rowan helping Elias pick the book for her. Why was she feeling like that for a man who had clearly told her that she meant nothing to him? Why was she caring so much?

Had Lysandra been there she would have told her to drop the grumpy guy and take the nice one. 

She stretched and gave Elias a little peck on the cheek “Thank you. They are perfect. Now I just need some pencils for the colouring book.”

“That, we can fix easily.” Elias went around the car and opened the other door for her “Hop in.”

Aelin looked at him puzzled “I thought we were staying in town.”

“No way, there is still so much for you to see.”

“I am in a Tesla.” She commented ecstatic and noticed Elias grinning. “I don’t have car. In London it’s a nightmare. Traffic is horrendous and parking near my house is just non existent. Luckily the tube takes me to work easily.”

“On the islands the only traffic jam you experience is cattle, sheep and the annoying tourists driving motorhomes where they shouldn’t and going at a slow pace because they have to take a photo of every single piece of grass.”

Aelin laughed “I got stuck in the middle of a flock of sheep the other day. I was along the Golden Road.”

“Well, that was your baptism of fire and you passed it.”

Half an hour later they were crossing a bridge. Elias explained to her that they were heading for Great Bernera. As soon as they cleared the bridge he pulled over and parked the car at the small picnic area. She got out and stood immobile for a moment to take in the beauty of the landscape.all around her. Then Elias grabbed her hand and he pulled toward the left. She looked up and she noticed some standing stones and she felt giddy.

“Come on.”

They climbed the short path and they reached the stones.

Aelin went to hug them and she made Elias laugh out loud “that is a very unusual reaction.” Then he took his  phone and took a photo “Now I can bribe you until eternity.”

Aelin dismissed him with a rude gesture and kept hugging the stone.

“You are hugging Callanish VIII.”

Aelin gasped in surprise.

“This place is quite peculiar. It is a semi circle and not a full circle and according to the archaeologists it was never a full circle. No one knows what it was for. However, according to the local folklore, due to its strange configuration and location, on a calm winter day when the sun is low a strange experience might occur. If you walk between the tall stone and the water a double shadow is cast on the stone. One shadow is produced by the sun and the other by the sun’s reflection on the water.” He explained, his gaze fixed on the horizon. 

“I tried plenty of times but no luck.”

He walked behind her and tugged her to his chest, leaning his chin on her shoulder. Elias then took her hand and pointed “There,” he said “over there you have Callanish. The main site.”

She leaned against his hard chest and took comfort in the nice feeling.

“That is so awesome.”

“I am pretty sure your book will have a part about these stones.” His breath was gentle against her ear and she shivered in pleasure at the feeling.

“Let’s go. We haven’t reached our final destination yet.” He moved away and for a brief second she missed the warmth of his body against hers.

They got back in the car and they drove for a bit longer. The road was narrow but Elias drove with the experience of a local and she felt pretty safe. 

They finally reached a parking area and she was ready to get out again.

“The islands are quite amazing for their historical sites.” He started, offering his hand to her.

She took it and he smiled tenderly. His thumb gently brushing the top of her hand.

“Are you ready for a visit to the iron age?”

They walked in silence for a short stretch along the wall of a cemetery and then she noticed the Iron Age house. Elias paid the pound to get into the house, but she was more interested in the stunning beach she had spotted at the end of the path. Once out of the house she took running toward the beach and Elias followed until he grabbed at her waist “You ungrateful witch. I am showing you an historical site and all you care is the beach.”

Aelin laughed and turned to him, their faces dangerously close “Sorry, but the beach looks soooooo amazing”

Elias let her go and playfully pushed her away “Go. Have fun.”

She smiled at him and walked toward the beach, removed her shoes and walked in the water. That had become her ritual.

Bosta beach was another gem. A hidden one, it looked like.

Elias joined her in the water and stood beside her, their arms touching “When I was young, my brother and I used to come here and kayak. See the islands in front of us?” He pointed and Aelin nodded “That is little Bernera. The only way to get there is by boat. On the the side there is a beach that is something out of this world. Untouched. Pristine. With waters of colours so bright that they might not be real.”

She turned to him and looked at Elias in the eyes. And they were bright, full of joy

“You have a childish streak.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“No, that came out wrong. What I meant is that you seem to tackle life with the same joy a kid does. The way you hugged the stone, or how you run just now or your face when you saw the books. It’s contagious.” With a hand he caressed her face.

She should pull away and break that contact, but she couldn’t because she realised she missed it. So in the end she leaned into his touch, basking in the feeling of his hand on her cheek.

“Tha thu bóidheach…” he whispered “You are beautiful.” He repeated in English.

Aelin broke the contact and went to sit down on the sand. She needed a moment to collect herself. To unravel the set of conflicted emotions battling inside her.

In front of her there was Elias. A wonderful man who seemed quite keen to be in her company. Who was intelligent and fascinating and sweet. A man capable of making her heart race madly. He was perfect. He was handsome. Unbelievably so. And then there was Rowan. Who was… maddening. They were nothing and no chance of their status changing anytime soon.

She sighed.

Elias sat beside her “did I do something wrong?” His blue eyes fixed on her “What I said and did… sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Aelin shook her head. He was considerate and with his face mere centimetres from hers she realised she just wanted to kiss him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she explained and wondered if it was the time to open up to someone else. But Maeve’s word replayed in her head. You can help each other. He is stuck too. She wanted to open up to Rowan. According to Maeve he was suffering for something too. She wanted him to open up to her. She knew it felt wrong. She could not open up to Elias. That was something that belonged to Rowan. Of that she was sure.

“I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Are you seriously telling me that in the whole of London there is not a single man who’d consider himself lucky to have you?”

“I can be a handful.”

“My brother has three kids under the age of ten. I can handle handful. Believe me.”

Aelin laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder “And why a guy like you is single?”

“The missus had a side thing with her boss. They eloped. She got pregnant and now she lives the grand life in Edinburgh with the money she got from the divorce and got stuck with the kid. He was rich. Filthy rich and she just wiped him clean.”

“And you were married to her?”

“Oh yeah. I was young and stupid. We lasted two years.”

“Probably you didn’t earn enough big bucks.”

Elias laughed genuinely “Aye, I was a poor nobody compared to her second husband.”

“Her loss,” Aelin added.

He tuned his head surprised by that remark. His face inched closer and hesitated for a second, then finally kissed her

Aelin resisted him for a moment, but then she melted in the kiss. His lips were soft. The kiss started gentle but then it got harder and she could feel need seeping from it.

His hands went to her back and slowly pushed her on the sand on her back. Aelin run her hands in his hair and pulled him closer.

She nibbled his lower lip and the sound he made awoke something at her core. His hands slid to her sides and he traced the length of her body. She closed her eyes and froze. A pair of green eyes appeared in her vision. Rowan’s face floated in front of her and she froze. She sat up quickly.

“Not on the beach near a tourist attraction.” She stood and patted the sand away from her clothes using it as an excuse to put some distance between them. 

Slowly she gathered the courage to look at him and she saw hurt in his blue eyes.

“You are right. Being arrested for sex in public is not in my today’s plan.” And the dimples came back.

“I am sorry I…” she fumbled.

He got closer and kissed tenderly on her lips “No need to apologise.” Then he patted her hair. “You are covered in sand.”

In silence they walked back to the car and even on the journey home she struggled to say more than a few words. She held her book on her legs and kept thinking at the message inside and how she will face Rowan the next day.

“I can drop you off at your place.”

“No, the car park is fine. It’s a nice evening. I don’t mind the stroll.”

“Ok, mo charaid.”

Aelin leaned forward and kissed him “Thank you for the books and for today. I had so much fun.”

“Me too,” he kissed her back.

Aelin broke the kiss and left the car. He got out and leaned on the roof “Text me.”

“I will do, mo charaid”

Elias laughed “you are so sexy when you try to speak Gaelic.”

Aelin blew him a kiss and walked away.

When she was almost home she leaned against the small wall separating the road from the marina and looked toward the town. To the spot where Rowan’s shop was.

And wondered what he was doing.

Wondered if he missed her as well.

[localswordlesbian]

look at you (strawberry blond)

Jon suddenly brings up the idea of returning to the Scottish Safehouse, years after the events that first happen there. That house holds a lot of memories, and perhaps this will be a sort of second chance...

(also known as my dumb ass keeps forgetting to post my fics to tumblr so i’m gonna spam them)

read it on ao3 or below the cut

“We should go back to Scotland.”

Martin turned his gaze from his book to look at Jon, whose head was resting in his lap. “What?”

Jon kept his eyes on his own book which he was holding out in front of him. “I was just thinking about it,” he mused. “It’s been a while since we were there, and I figured now that everything is over, perhaps we’ll have a nicer time this time around. We may even see more good cows,” he added with a wry smile.

Martin chuckled, running his fingers through Jon’s hair, twirling one of the light pink strands around one finger. “Should’ve known you only wanted to go for the cows,” he teased, and Jon laughed. “Seriously, though, what brought this on?”

Jon didn’t answer for a moment, as if contemplating the same question. “I suppose I was thinking… well, Daisy’s safehouse was the first time we were, ah, together? Together and not on the run, though that didn’t last long,” he added bitterly, and Martin’s heart ached. “I suppose I’d like to go back, perhaps give it another go, when we actually do have all the time in the world.”

Martin considered this. He had loved Scotland, and the quaint little cottage that Daisy had used as a safehouse, where he and Jon had lain low after Jon had helped Martin escape from the clutches of the Lonely. He remembered the little village nearby fondly, with the cobblestone paths and small shops – he especially remembered the little tea shop run by an old lady who had always given him a little extra tea on top of whatever he bought. Grimly, he wondered whether she was still alive.

“Martin?”

Martin looked at Jon, who had closed his book and was looking up at him, a strand of his hair still curled around Martin’s finger. “You know what?” he said. “Let’s do it.”

The sounds of the train rattling along the tracks kept Martin awake as he stared out the window – raindrops ran down the glass, and Martin found him unable to tear his eyes as he watched two stream downwards. He was reminded of being a child, watching two raindrops race down the window of the school bus as he was on his way to school on the rainy mornings that were essential to the London experience.

Some stray warmth was beginning to seep into his fingers where he was clutching them around a piping hot cup of tea, still steaming enough to fog up his glasses if he tried to take a sip. He tore his gaze from the window to stare, amazed at the sensation and how it seemed to hesitate, his hands not quite warm and certainly not hot, but almost as though a ghost of something comforting lingering just over his skin.

He knew the tea was hot enough to burn him if he wasn’t careful, yet only the barest hint of warmth seemed to reach him. Still, it was progress. His fingers had been like ice since he and Jon had left London, as if some part of him desperately wanted to keep some part of the Lonely close to him even as he sped as far away from it as he possibly could.

He turned his gaze back out the window, holding onto the feeling of warmth long after the tea had gone cold. He didn’t even bother to drink it.

“It’s weird, coming here by car.”

Jon turned to look back at Martin as they walked up the small hill to Daisy’s cottage. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he mused. “Though it doesn’t seem to have changed much.”

He was right – the cottage was the same as it had been the last time they’d seen it, its red bricks as sturdy as ever despite being abandoned for a couple of years. As they walked inside, Martin could see that the interior hadn’t changed either – same shabby furniture, long-unused fireplace, cramped kitchen, and wooden shelves cluttered with more cobwebs than books.

Jon went to place his bag in the bedroom, but Martin stood in the living room for a long moment, letting himself take it all in. The cottage may not have changed, but there was something much heavier than dust hanging in the air, and Martin felt the familiar feeling of a painful nostalgia settle over him. The memories were almost tangible, and they hurt.

It had been almost a week, and Martin wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing.

He knew they were in Daisy’s safehouse to lay low, to hide from the consequences of freeing Martin from the Lonely. He knew Elias – Jonah – was searching for them, likely knew exactly where they were, and London was no longer safe for them.

He also knew he and Jon were… something. He wasn’t entirely sure what to call them – were they boyfriends? Martin almost laughed at that. Somehow, the gravity of what they’d been through to get to this point made that question, that label, seem almost ridiculous. He’d nearly become a meal for the literal manifestation of loneliness, and now he had run away to Scotland with the man he’d been in love with for years and he was wondering whether they were boyfriends.

He was standing in the kitchen, preparing two mugs of tea, the same way he’d been doing for the past few years. It had become such a force of habit that sometimes, after work, he’d caught himself accidentally making double the tea he needed. The memory brought a slight smile to his face as he poured the boiling water into the mugs and watched the steam curl up and vanish into the air.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned in time to see Jon come out of the bedroom, his nose buried in a book. Martin felt a flutter in his chest, and he smiled as Jon looked up and met his eyes. “Tea?”

Jon nodded, and Martin handed him one of the mugs before turning to finish his up. He hardly registered when Jon moved to get past him, muttering “Excuse me,” as he maneuvered into the small space, until he felt Jon’s hand on his back.

Martin felt all of his muscles seize up as he flinched, hard. His hip hit the counter as a gasp escaped him at that contact, and although Jon moved his hand away immediately Martin could feel the phantom weight of it clinging, as though branded into him.

The memory of touch, of casual touch, was so foreign to him now and he could hardly remember the last time someone had touched him of their own volition – had it been Tim, slinging his arm over Martin’s shoulders on their way out of the Institute for their weekly Friday night drinks? Or perhaps Sasha, touching her hand to his as he handed her a mug of tea, gently squeezing his fingers in thanks? Maybe even Melanie, placing a hand on his shoulder when he’d learned the news of Jon’s fate after the Unknowing?

And then there was, of course, the Lonely, and even the months leading up to it. His work for Peter Lukas had involved distancing himself from everyone he’d known, making human connection a foreign concept in his own mind, forcing him to convince himself he liked it alone, that he didn’t crave the easy interaction most people could have with others, if only so that he could retain his sanity. That long without any sort of human contact – it was bound to damage a person.

Martin, it seemed, was no exception.

“Martin?” he heard Jon ask faintly, his ears ringing and his entire body shaking. “Martin, are you okay?”

He slowly turned his head to where Jon was standing, in front of him but not touching him, his hands in front of him as though he wanted to reach out but was afraid to. Jon’s eyes were sad, and Martin hated seeing Jon sad. “I’m fine.” His voice sounded far away, even to his own ears.

“No, you’re not,” Jon insisted. “I–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I should have asked.”

“It’s not your fault.” Feeling was coming back to Martin’s body, and he felt his shaking subside. He felt – off. He didn’t know how to describe this feeling of detachment that, although fading, left the feeling of Jon’s hand and an emptiness in his chest.

“Martin,” Jon’s voice was soft as he said his name, and when Martin looked at him he saw a man with worry and compassion and love in his eyes, and he knew he wanted to be cared for the way he’d been caring for others for so many years. He looked down at Jon’s hands, unsure of how to form words.

Turns out, he didn’t need to. Jon lifted his arms, and at Martin’s nod, wrapped him into a hug, and Martin let himself weep.

“What are you thinking about?”

Martin was shaken out of his thoughts by Jon, who returned from the bedroom wearing a jumper that looked oddly familiar. “Just about the last time we were here,” Martin confessed. “Also, isn’t that my jumper?”

It definitely was – it hung loosely off of Jon’s thin frame, the sleeves ending well past the tips of his fingers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon huffed. He walked over to where Martin was standing and slowly put his arms around Martin’s middle, giving him plenty of time to move away.

Martin didn’t move away, simply embraced Jon back. “You know,” he began. “For once, I’m really actually starting to see the progress I’ve made.” Jon hummed into his shoulder, and Martin continued. “Before, I couldn’t see it as clearly. It was hard to recognize where I started from, what with being in a completely new place in my life and how long it took to get there. But here, where it literally all began – god, I can still remember the first time you touched me, when you put your hand on my shoulder when I made you tea.”

“You nearly leapt out of your skin,” Jon said, his voice quiet.

“Yeah. It was terrifying, experiencing, I don’t know, actual human contact after months – maybe years, even, completely isolated. And now… now here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” They were silent for a moment. “I’m proud of you, and I’m happy with the progress we’ve made.”

“Me too, Jon. Me too.”

The nearby town was really more of a village, Martin thought. After spending his entire life between the busy streets of London, this felt like something straight out of a cartoon, and although he knew it was typical of big city tourists, he couldn’t help but find it charming.

He’d gone into town alone today, already having explored the area with Jon a few days prior and wanting to visit a couple of the shops on his own.

The clouds hung a moisture in the sky that made the air around him feel thick, and Martin couldn’t help but shiver at how familiar it felt, and not because it was always raining in London. He decided to focus instead on what he could see – the weeds poking out from between the cobblestones under his feet, and people; lots of people, making their way into bakeries and grocery stores as well as little shops and stopping at stalls along the side of the street. Seeing all this life, this vibrant environment made as it was by the people made Martin smile a bit, and he finally drew a deep breath and kept walking.

Finally, he saw the shop he was looking for, an unassuming spot near the market with flower baskets hanging from the edge of the roof. Smiling, Martin made his way inside and was greeted with the familiar scent of mixed tea leaves and old wood.

An elderly woman sat in a chair by one of the walls displaying several different types of tea, and she looked up at the sound of the bell above the door being rung. She smiled at him and stood. “How can I help you?”

Martin walked over to her, examining the stock on the shelves. “I was just hoping to buy some tea,” he explained. “Is there anything you’d recommend?”

The old woman pondered this, seeming to look him up and down in a way that made Martin feel a little jumpy, like he was a specimen being studied under a microscope. The woman hobbled over to the shelf and lifted her cane to knock a bag of tea off the shelf.

“Oh!” Martin exclaimed. “Let me get that.” He reached up and grabbed the bag she was poking, a bag of Black Cherry tea. “Thank you.”

The old woman held her hand out for the bag, and Martin passed it to her. He watched as she rustled around under the counter, cursing under her breath as she pulled out a jar of what seemed to contain the same type of tea as was in the bag. She opened the bag and began scooping more in before closing it once it was filled to the brim. Then, she told him the price.

He paid for it and took the bag, bewildered as to why she’d added more. “Thank you,” he said, almost hesitantly.

The old woman smiled at him. “For that man of yours,” she explained. “You two came in here a few days ago.”

Martin was surprised that she’d remembered, and the words “man of yours” caused a blush to creep up his cheeks. “Ah, yeah, um… yeah,” he said lamely, and the woman smiled. “Thank you,” he repeated.

“Enjoy,” was all she said before returning to her chair, and Martin walked out of the shop.

“Oh my god!” Martin exclaimed, a laugh escaping him. “They’re still here!”

Jon chuckled as Martin took off running up the hill, the wind from the sea stinging his face as he approached the fence, behind which stood several fluffy highland cows.

The pair had walked through town that morning, remembering their time spent there years ago. Martin had asked that they stop by the tea shop, and was unsurprised to find out that the old lady had since passed away, leaving the shop to her son. Despite knowing it was likely, Martin was saddened by the news. All in all, the town had remained as it had always been, quaint and buzzing with life.

Jon made his way up the hill, where Martin was already reaching out to pet one of the cows, a dark brown creature with fur covering its eyes. It let out a deep moo as Martin wrapped his arms around its neck, burying his face in its fur.

“I really don’t think that’s sanitary,” Jon commented.

“Shut up, Jon.”

Jon chuckled before walking over, reaching out to pet the cow as well. The creature seemed delighted to be receiving all of this sudden attention, standing still while two random humans petted and hugged it. “This really does bring me back to the good parts of last time.”

Martin nodded in agreement. “It wasn’t all bad,” he mused. “Even when it was mostly bad.”

Jon laughed dryly. “Yes. I only wish it could have lasted longer.”

“Jon.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault.” Jon was deliberately keeping his eyes trained on the cow, his fingers buried in its fur. “I know that. I just – I do still wonder, sometimes. I feel that perhaps I didn’t take enough advantage of the time we did have. Even at the Institute… I feel like such a fool, sometimes. It was all right in front of me, and I didn’t see it. And when I did see it, you were… gone.”

Martin watched him, sadness filling his heart and making his chest feel heavy. “I know. It’s a bit funny, actually. Thinking about it now. We could have had an incredible office romance, but instead we got trapped in our hell of a workplace by not one but two evil eldritch bosses. What a drag.”

Jon snorted. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Martin placed his hand over Jon’s, right on top of the cow’s head. The cow, for its part, didn’t seem to care that a deeply personal moment was going on – it still loved the attention. Martin could hardly blame it. “We have time now,” he said simply. “I know it’s… it’s easy to look back and see all the pieces you missed on the way to where you are now. But now we don’t need to worry about any of that, so let’s enjoy it, yeah? Not often you get a second chance.”

Jon smiled up at him. “You’re right.”

The day the world ended, Martin had been looking for the cows.

He could still remember the moment it all changed, as though someone had flipped a switch and launched Martin into a realm of nightmares – in a way, that was exactly what had happened. Martin’s first thought once he came to his senses was Jon. Racing back to the house, his heart pounding at the thought that Jon might be dead, that he might be gone, that Martin might return and find him–

Years after the world ended, Martin stood in that tiny kitchen, preparing two mugs of Black Cherry tea while Jon washed the dishes from their dinner, humming a song Martin recognized but couldn’t remember the name of. When Jon needed to get past Martin, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and Martin would turn and smile at him. They’d share a quick kiss as they went about their chores, and once they were done they would sip their tea, put a record to play on Daisy’s beat up old record player, and enjoy each other’s company.

Martin could still feel the phantom hand on his back. He wondered if he’d ever feel like a person again .

Martin stood as an upbeat song played, holding his hand out to Jon, who accepted the invitation with a laugh that filled the room with lightness and joy and love. They danced until they were too tired to dance, collapsing onto the couch in fits of laughter, holding each other and not letting go.

He knew his days here were numbered. He knew they didn’t have forever.

He knew they’d have to return soon, go back to London and back to work and back to the life they’d spent so long building for themselves. But they could enjoy themselves here in Scotland just a little longer.

He wished he could ask Jon how he was feeling. He wished he could remember how to interact, how to have a relationship with someone he cared about. He wished he could reach out, tell Jon how he felt. Ask him if he felt the same way. He knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know if he ever would.

That night, they were laying in their bed, about to go to sleep. Jon’s head was nestled on Martin’s chest, rising and falling with each of Martin’s breaths. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Jon speak. “Martin?”

“Hm?”

Jon paused for a moment. “Thank you.”

Martin craned his neck to look at his boyfriend. “What for?”

Jon shrugged, causing his shoulder to poke Martin’s. “I don’t know. All of it.”

Martin smiled. “You’re welcome, then. And thank you; you know, for all of it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

They drifted off, safe in each other’s arms, knowing with full certainty that whatever the night brought, whatever horrors might resurface in the realm of dreams, that morning would come and they would be able to savour it for many more mornings to come.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 28: Jon Prime

“It’s not your fault, Jon,” Martin said for probably the twelfth time in as many hours.

“I know.” Jon sighed as he abandoned his scan of the shelves and crossed back over to where his fiancé sat, patiently waiting for him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “About Helen or about Past You?”

“You know me so well.” Jon settled himself on the ground and folded his arms on Martin’s knee, resting his head on them. Martin’s hand immediately came up to stroke his hair. “I honestly never expected us to be able to save Helen, in the end, but I-I had hoped the Distortion would leave the others alone.”

Sasha had been the one to come down into the tunnels and alert the two of them that Helen Richardson had made her appearance and disappearance. Jon and Martin had risked coming above ground with her to make sure the other three were all right. Past Jon had been twitchy and nervous, which made Jon nervous, and both Tim and Past Martin had been hovering in a way that made his heart ache as much as it made him smile to see. He was also strangely comforted by the sight of Past Jon draped in a sweater that was obviously Past Martin’s. But ever since then, Jon had been wondering if there was more he could have done to prevent it from happening, or at least divert it.

Martin shook his head slowly. “That was never really an option. He’s still…we didn’t go back far enough to save Michael Shelley, so he’s going to be angry. He’s still going to want revenge against the Archivist, and unfortunately that was always going to be Past You.”

“You know, it seems a bit silly to keep calling them Past Us,” Jon mused idly. It wasn’t exactly hard for him to think clearly with Martin’s fingers gently combing his scalp, but it certainly sapped any desire he might have had to think about anything else. “Technically, we’re in their time. They are the present and we are the future.”

“I mean…technically we’re all in the present now. The future we came from doesn’t exist anymore, right?”

“I refuse to have that discussion again,” Jon said, with a bit of humor. They’d had a lighthearted debate about time travel one night in Scotland, which had reached no conclusion other than Martin’s heartfelt declaration that the only way to create a timeline where he didn’t love Jon was to remove him from it entirely, and even then he didn’t like the universe’s chances. It seemed a lot more weighty now. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think—I think the only way forward is the old-fashioned way. One day at a time.”

Martin smiled down at him. “I’m okay with that, actually.”

“Mm, yes, I didn’t imagine you’d be in that much of a hurry to go back to the Apocalypse.”

“Not what I mean, Jon. I mean…you know, as horrible as these years were? All things considered, I’m looking forward to living them again. With you this time, instead of just…alongside you. Hand in hand, walking into a future so bright even I can almost see it.”

Jon couldn’t help the smile that curled almost to his ears as he leaned back into Martin’s hand. “You should write a poem around that.”

“I’m saving it for our wedding vows.”

“Now how am I supposed to follow that up?”

Martin laughed. For a moment, Jon could almost imagine things were, well, normal, that they were just an ordinary couple discussing their wedding plans and that they could look forward to a future where the biggest thing they would have to worry about was their teenager being out past curfew. He wasn’t stupid. Stopping Jonah, stopping the Apocalypse, wouldn’t remove the entities from existence. They would always be out there. And while the rituals would collapse on their own…mostly…Jon knew they would likely spend the rest of their lives working to ensure that nobody else ever figured out a ritual that would work. The fears would be a part of their lives for as long as they lived them, which meant there would always be something worse than normal human cares to worry them. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have those cares, too.

He was about to say something to that effect when Martin’s hand stilled, a few strands of hair tangled around his fingers. Jon was about to ask what was wrong when he, too, heard it—a small sound, caught in a perfect moment of silence. The faintest scuff of shoe against stone. Someone was coming down the stairs.

“Jon?” Martin kept his voice to a whisper. He didn’t sound afraid, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t reason to be.

Jon hesitated. He could reach out with the Eye’s powers, and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t get caught, but…no. He got to his feet and tugged at Martin’s hand. Martin, thank God, complied without question, standing up and staying close to Jon as he led him, quickly and quietly, through the Archives. He lifted the trapdoor and nudged Martin down the steps, then followed and closed it as silently as he could.

Martin was waiting for him at the foot of the steps and hugged Jon close when Jon slid an arm around his waist. “Who was it?”

“No clue. I didn’t want to risk it, just in case…” Jon stiffened and glanced up the stairs as awareness slid over him—a drop of water forcing its way past the door he’d once spoken of to Melanie, what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Come on.”

Jon all but dragged Martin away from the foot of the stairs, to the first room along the hall where they had set up camp. Thankfully, they hadn’t broken their habit of packing everything away any time they were going to be out for more than a few minutes, ready for a quick getaway if needed, so it was the work of a second to grab the bags and stow them against the wall in a place so that, should someone push the door open, they would remain hidden in the gap left between the door and the corner. Martin stood where Jon had left him. “What’s going on?”

“Whoever it is, they’ll be down here in a second,” Jon whispered. He took Martin’s hand. “I don’t know who it is, but I don’t trust them. I doubt it’s someone who would wish us well.”

Martin hummed in understanding. “So what are we going to do?”

“There’s only one thing I can think of.” Jon clicked off his torch and poked his head out into the corridor. “We’re going to have to stay a step ahead of them. Somehow.”

It was the somehow that bothered him. Sound traveled oddly in the tunnels; sometimes things echoed, other times they didn’t. If whoever was coming down was making an effort to move silently, they may not be able to track their movements. And Jon couldn’t risk a light, couldn’t risk being spotted. It could have been a police officer—Basira or Daisy—even though the tunnels had long ago been cleared as a crime scene; on the other hand, if they’d cleaned up the CCTV footage, they might be down looking for additional clues. It could be the Not-Them, if it had taken over someone’s body and was down looking for Leitner, and really, it was too much to hope that the Not-Them would stay confined in the table forever; even if it wasn’t being studied, it would take someone, and Jon couldn’t imagine who. It could, possibly, be someone like Rosie—someone simply burning with curiosity who wanted to see what the tunnels were like. It could even potentially be a workman who discovered the trapdoor by accident and was making sure there was no work to be done underneath the floor.

Speculation wasn’t going to be helpful. Jon shook his head minutely and tugged Martin’s hand, leading him out into the tunnels proper.

Jon could see the faintest hint of light from the steps, meaning whoever it was had a torch; it was getting closer, but they had time. He turned away from the stairs and started down the hallway. They hadn’t gone far before the darkness swallowed them entirely. Jon cursed under his breath, wondering if he could use his abilities from the Eye and Know the right way to go.

“Four more steps and then a right turn,” Martin breathed in his ear, and Jon remembered that Martin had been counting steps as he went. He probably had a mental map of these tunnels that put Jon’s to shame.

“You’d best lead,” he muttered back.

Martin tightened his grip on Jon’s hand, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply moved forward to take point.

Jon kept glancing over his shoulder, trusting Martin to lead him safely. He wasn’t sure how much of a lead they had, nor was he sure where the person following them would head. Obviously whoever it was wasn’t looking for them specifically, unless the Eye was out to get them—which was possible—but still, Jon didn’t feel hunted. Which meant it likely wasn’t Daisy. He bit back the urge to groan.

“Shh,” Martin suddenly hissed urgently, stopping. Jon stopped, too, and listened. This time he heard it—solid, purposeful steps. Whoever was following them wasn’t particularly worrying about staying hidden, and they weren’t moving slowly, either. Which…was probably not a good thing.

“Shit,” Jon hissed. He looked over his shoulder and could just see the edges of a pool of light. “They’re coming.”

“In here.” Martin’s hand tugged Jon forward, then half-shoved him through what Jon felt was a narrow space. A moment later Martin’s arms were tight around Jon, pulling him close to his wide, soft chest.

“Where are we?” Jon whispered.

“One of the rooms without a door.” There was a faint rustling noise, and Jon guessed Martin was pressing his back against the wall. “It sounds like…they’re not looking in the rooms. We should be safe here for a moment.”

“And then we can get behind them,” Jon completed.

Martin hushed Jon again; before Jon could think about why, he noticed the faintest hint of light sparkling off the tunnel floor. Whoever was out there, they were close.

Jon pressed closer to Martin, burying his face in Martin’s shoulder. One of Martin’s hands came up to cup the back of his head as his other arm curled tighter around Jon’s waist, and Jon felt Martin’s cheek press against the top of his head. He clung tightly to his fiancé and held his breath. If someone was down there with a purpose, it wasn’t likely they would be coming into this specific room, but there was always the chance. Hopefully, if someone did catch them, he’d be able to pretend to be his younger self, and whoever it was wouldn’t notice that his hair was too long, that Martin’s had too much grey in it, that the wrong one of them was scarred…

The footsteps got louder, then—thankfully—started to fade again. Jon eased up his grip on Martin’s sweater and cautiously let out his breath in a silent rush of air. He looked up in Martin’s direction and reached up to touch his cheek lightly. In the darkness, he felt Martin nod and understood what it meant. He stepped carefully out of the circle of Martin’s arms and peered out through the doorway.

The circle of light was moving away from them in a steady, purposeful manner. To Jon’s surprise, he could see from there that it wasn’t a torch, but rather, an old-fashioned lantern, its flickering flame making the shadows dance on the wall. Suspicious. Disturbing. Odd.

Jon tugged on Martin’s hand, and together they tiptoed into the hallway. Martin let Jon lead without comment; likely he’d realized Jon could see the light. Unlike the other person, they were trying to be quiet, but Jon could still move fairly quickly and silently. It helped that they were both wearing tennis shoes, whereas the person ahead of them was wearing dress shoes. Expensive ones, too, Jon guessed. They tapped against the stone of the tunnels, not loudly but enough to be noticeable if they strained.

There was a junction up ahead, one Jon vaguely remembered his past self exploring, meaning it was likely marked. Sure enough, whoever was ahead of them stopped at a corner and raised the lantern to study the arrow on the wall. Its light caught the person full in the face, and Jon flattened against the wall, pressing the hand not holding Martin’s tightly against his mouth to stifle his gasp of shock.

It was the face of Elias Bouchard.

Jon’s mind raced. This made no sense. Jonah couldn’t see into the tunnels; they were a huge blind spot to him. He had to be even more tightly bound to the Eye than Jon was, which meant that coming down here put him at a disadvantage, too. As far as Jon knew, Jonah had only been down into the tunnels a couple of times during his tenure as the Archivist—to stage Gertrude’s body, and later to be present when Martin made his choice not to throw his lot in with Peter Lukas. To come down here, to go anywhere near the Panopticon…

That was it, Jon suddenly realized. He was looking to see how close Past Jon’s explorations had taken him. How close he’d come to the center of everything, to finding Jonah Magnus’ original body. Because if Past Jon stumbled upon it too soon, it would ruin everything. If the Not-Sasha had found it, it would have been bad as well…and what if Leitner had found it? Not that Jonah knew he was down here, but still.

Jonah was setting off again. Jon shook his head and tugged Martin closer. “It’s Jonah,” he whispered, as softly as he could. “Come on.”

Martin followed without a sound. If he hadn’t been holding Jon’s hand tightly, Jon might not have known he was there. They crept after Jonah as he strode purposefully through the tunnels, as though he knew where he was going. Of course he knew where he was going. It was his body, after all. Like Jon using his rib as an anchor, although he doubted now that had actually been as powerful a lure as he thought; it was the tapes, the tapes and Martin, that drew him out in the end. But Jonah…that was different. He was probably bound to his body, or drawn to it. Or he’d just memorized the route over the last two centuries.

Briefly, Jon considered the possibility that Jurgen Leitner’s manipulations had thrown Jonah’s path off, but he set that aside and kept following.

Jon lost track of the turns they took and hoped Martin was paying attention, or that they were following the arrows Past Jon made that first time he came down, when he went looking for them. He hadn’t explored further, although Jon was pretty sure that was going to change sooner rather than later, but for now he seemed content to trust them when they said that what was in the tunnels posed no threat to him. It wasn’t technically a lie.

Jonah came to a halt, raising the lantern again, and Jon pressed Martin flat against the wall as he watched. It was the ring of worms first Tim and later Jon had seen in their timeline, just as Jon remembered it—huge, eating its way into the stone, the space between it soft to the touch. Tentatively, lips pressed in a thin line, Jonah reached out and pressed his fingertips to the stone. He did so several times, his brows knitting together, and then he lifted the lantern and looked around, scanning the other walls.

It hit Jon all of a sudden that he was looking for more of Past Jon’s arrows. He was looking to see if Past Jon had made it this far, to see if he had found this place, maybe gotten suspicious enough to prod. If he would be back. This place was important to Jonah and it had to be because it was the way to the Panopticon. Was that what was inside the ring of dessicated worms? The doorway Jonah thought he had sealed up centuries before? Or…did it stay sealed? Was that where Jonah’s little ritual, whatever it actually entailed, to switch eyes with his chosen victims took place? (For the first time since he’d learned about that particular fact, a small part of Jon’s brain wondered what happened to the old bodies when Jonah moved on, if it took place prior to the host’s death or after, but he pushed that aside.)

After a few moments, Jonah’s shoulders slumped in evident relief, and he nodded, lowering the lantern. He was satisfied. His body was safe. His plan was still intact.

For a moment, Jon realized that he was staring down a golden opportunity. Jonah was in the tunnels. He was cut off from some—not all, but some—of his power. And he’d never had the same powers Jon had anyway. He was also distracted by his worries about discovery. He was here, right in front of Jon, with no witnesses other than Martin, who certainly wouldn’t object. It would be the work of a moment to enact their plan now, to step forward and unleash the power of the Ceaseless Watcher on this man who had brought agony on so many, who had really, in the end, done so little to actually serve the Eye. He could turn Jonah’s words back on himself, take him out now, save the world—save their friends.

He stared at Jonah, feeling himself tremble. The memory of the last time he had seen Jonah Magnus came to him—those carefully curated words designed to cut him down to nothing in a way that Peter Lukas would have envied, the cold fury that flashed briefly in those grey eyes before they went back to their usual calm, placid, watchful state when Martin defied him yet again, that smug, condescending lilt to his voice as he delivered his parting words before walking away from Martin’s bleeding body. It filled his entire being. He wanted to step forward then and there and end it all, to get revenge for Martin, for Tim, for Sasha, for Melanie and Basira and Daisy, for the world.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t feel the static building, couldn’t sense the words waiting on his tongue. He knew what he wanted to say, but even the first time, he’d known the Ceaseless Watcher would give him the right way to say it in the moment, and that wasn’t happening here. It wasn’t time. It must not be time. He’d have to be patient. It was the last thing he wanted to be, but he would have to be.

It was only when Jonah started to turn that Jon realized they now had to figure out how to get out of the tunnels ahead of Jonah, or at least avoid being seen by him.

“Martin,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice as soft as he possibly could. “Can you get us out of here?”

“This way,” Martin answered immediately. He pulled Jon’s hand and started down the tunnels.

They had to hurry, but they also had to stay silent. Jon knew that, but he also knew that Martin would have no idea if they were close to being spotted, so he kept glancing over his shoulder as they moved, checking to see how far back that glow of light was. He could still see it, that was the problem, any time they got on a straight enough bit, there it was, that circle of light presaging the approach of a man who still held the power to destroy everything Jon held dear. Jon had rarely felt more helpless, more useless, than he did in that moment, knowing he was letting a chance to try and take down Jonah Magnus two years early slip through his fingers because he was afraid of failing. Again.

His distraction made him careless. He took a turn too tightly and slammed his shoulder into the corner, and he couldn’t stop the soft grunt of pain. He jammed the heel of his free hand into his mouth, but it was too late. Jonah had heard, if the way he raised the lantern abruptly to the level of his eyes, which were narrowed with sudden intent scrutiny, was any indication.

Shit.

“Come on!” Martin hissed at him, tugging his hand. They picked up the pace, still trying to keep quiet, but Jon wondered if it would matter. Jonah Magnus wasn’t the sort of man to jump at shadows—or was he? No, he wouldn’t suspect he heard something and then decide he was wrong. He knew someone else was down here. They just had to make sure he couldn’t find them, that was the trouble. Or else…well, Jon would have to hope he was wrong about it not being time.

There was a loud creaking noise, and Jon almost jumped out of his skin, but then Martin tugged on him harder and pulled him around a corner. There was a dull thumping sound, too, which Jon tentatively identified as Martin’s back hitting the wall, and then he was wrapped tightly in Martin’s arms again, safe and secure against his chest. He fisted his hands in Martin’s sweater and pressed his face into his shoulder. Martin’s heart thudded frantically, directly under his ear, and Jon could feel his own heartbeat just as rapidly pounding in his own chest. They clung to each other and waited.

Jon heard the creaking noise again and held his breath, pressing closer to Martin, expecting any moment to either be struck with the door—depending on where Martin had positioned them—or discovered. But the noise sounded a bit distant, and when Jon risked a glance up, he could see only the slightest hint of light. They were in another room without a door; Jonah was in the tunnel, and evidently walking past. The light drew closer, paused outside the room, and suddenly got brighter. Jon held his breath and tried to somehow get closer to Martin, praying as he did so that he wasn’t hurting him. Evidently, though, they had managed to position themselves in the one place Jonah couldn’t easily see from the doorway, and their shadows didn’t give them away. He made a small noise that somehow managed to indicate suspicion and relief and disappointment all at once, and then the light lessened and the footsteps faded away.

Jon waited until it was utterly silent once more before he exhaled in a single, shaking breath and sagged against Martin. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” Martin assured him, and Jon believed him. “Are you okay?”

“Shoulder’s a bit sore,” Jon began, then stopped. He knew that wasn’t what Martin meant. “No.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“N-not here. Let’s…let’s see if we can get back to—closer to the steps.”

“Okay, sure.” Martin brushed his lips against Jon’s cheek.

Now that Jonah was past them, they didn’t have to be as furtive as they’d been before, but they were still cautious. Jon didn’t dare turn on the torch until they were back in the room they’d been staying in—mercifully undisturbed—with the door closed behind them. The instant he did, however, he stepped back into Martin’s arms. Martin leaned against the door and slid down it until they were seated on the floor, curled around each other and Jon more than half in Martin’s lap. They sat for a long moment like that, catching their breath.

“Want to talk about it?” Martin finally asked.

Jon didn’t, not really, but if they didn’t talk about it now, he knew they never would. He sighed heavily and slid off Martin’s lap, then tucked himself up next to him and rested his head on Martin’s shoulder. Martin stroked his shoulder gently as he waited for Jon to speak.

“Jonah,” he said. “He was—he was looking through the tunnels. I-I didn’t know he ever came down here in our time, but…I think he was looking to see how far Past Me got in his explorations. There’s a—a ring of worms—you remember, Tim mentioned it, and I did in my tape, too?”

“I remember.” Martin’s voice was neutral and calm.

“I think—I think that’s the way to the Panopticon. I think Jane Prentiss was trying to get down there, to—to see what the Eye had at its center. Obviously we’ll never know for sure. I got there when I was doing my explorations, but I don’t think Past Me has. And Tim and Sasha didn’t mention seeing it…I don’t know.” Jon swallowed. “But I-I could see his face, I could…all I could think about was everything he did to us. Not telling us about Sasha, letting Tim suffer just to make my suffering worse. Torturing Melanie, trapping Basira, blackmailing Daisy. Framing me for murder, trying to isolate me, making everything I went through as painful as he could. Using me to end the world. God, everything he did to you. His face when he—” He broke off and pressed his cheek against Martin’s shoulder, grounding himself, reminding himself that Martin was there and alive. He’d survived. They both had. Jonah Magnus hadn’t succeeded in taking everything Jon loved away from him, despite his best efforts. “I wanted to kill him.”

Martin’s arm tightened around Jon’s shoulders, and Jon felt the gentle pressure of his kiss on the top of his head. “But you didn’t.”

“No.” Jon exhaled heavily. There was no censure in Martin’s voice, no annoyance, but he still felt a small surge of guilt. “I—I couldn’t, Martin. I wasn’t—the words weren’t there.”

Martin was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Well, we are in the tunnels—you’re distanced from the Eye. And if Leitner was anywhere nearby, you might’ve been caught in his…weird little bubble or spell or whatever it was, like with that camera.”

“I know, but—”

“And,” Martin continued, as if Jon hadn’t spoken, “you’re hungry. Don’t try to deny it, I know you. You hadn’t had time to find any statements before Jonah came down, and you probably expended more energy than you should have down there, even if you weren’t using the Eye’s powers to do it. We both knew you were probably going to need to be at full capacity to take him out. I’m not surprised you couldn’t do it right now.”

Jon huffed. “And you’re just…okay with that?”

“Honestly? No. If I’d had a more mundane weapon, I can’t promise I wouldn’t have tried to pull a Melanie on him,” Martin replied. Jon laughed, a bit unwillingly, at the turn of phrase. “You’re not the only one who wants to kill him for everything he’s done, you know. I wanted that even before…you know, the end of the world. All the reasons you said and then some. Like you told the others that first night…I’m not fond of anything that tries to take the people I love away from me, and you’re at the top of that list. But as much as I want him dead, I don’t blame you for not trying if you weren’t sure you could do it.”

“Really?” Jon looked up at Martin. “Because I do. Blame myself, I mean. I should have—”

Martin cut him off with a gentle, tender kiss that bled the tension from Jon’s body and relaxed whatever he had left that passed for a soul. When Martin pulled back, he rested his forehead against Jon’s. “Jon. Our whole plan depends on catching him off-guard. If he knows we’re coming, we’re doomed. And if we don’t take him out the first time, we’ll never get another chance. Eventually we’re going to have to say ‘we won’t get any more ready than this’, but right now’s not that time.”

Jon couldn’t help the wry chuckle that slipped out of his throat. “When did you develop patience?”

“I didn’t. Believe me. I want this over with as much as you do. Maybe more.” Martin’s free hand came up to rub absently at his chest. Jon reached out to cover it, trapping it against the spot directly over the bullet scars. Martin’s heart beat so strongly Jon could feel it even through Martin’s hand. “But the thing about being blind…if you rush, you’re going to fall, unless you know the space really, really well. You’ve got to take your time and be sure you know the way.”

“Or have help.”

“Or have help,” Martin agreed. “I have you. You have me. We’ll figure this out together, Jon. I won’t pretend I’m okay with Jonah still being out there, still…able to mess with their lives, but I am okay with waiting until we’re sure it’ll stick, and not kill anyone else in the process.”

Jon wondered, as he often did, how he’d been so lucky as to have this man in his life, let alone love him this much. “We can do it. I know we can do it. I-it just…wasn’t the right time. I just didn’t want you to think…”

Martin frowned. “Think what? That you’d changed your mind? That you didn’t think he—God, Jon, I know you better than that.”

“I worry,” Jon confessed softly, dropping his head heavily back onto Martin’s shoulder. “Not about what you think of me, I know you better than that, but…I worry that I’ll lose myself so much to the Eye, to the fears, that I’ll…think he’s right. Let him live. Try to come up with another way o-or something like that. My God, he almost killed you right in front of me and—” He broke off and curled tightly into Martin; Martin pulled him into a tight embrace. “I-if I ever got to the point where I could ignore that…”

Martin was silent for a long time. At last, he said in a soft, incredibly serious voice, “Jon. If you ever got to the point where you genuinely believed him, where you’d honestly gone over to his side? I would kill you myself.”

Jon let those words flow through him, let himself seriously examine each one. They were spoken seriously and sincerely. Martin wasn’t joking, wasn’t making a darkly humorous quip or a hyperbolic suggestion. A small pool of fear Jon hadn’t even realized was locked away inside him flooded out in a single, drawn-out sigh.

“Promise?”

[scarlettwitcher]

Baby Girl Chapter One

Summary: Y/n tried to avoid her past with a certain Statesmen but when they’re partnered back up for a mission that could cost millions their lives, Y/n must make the right choice. (This is the Kingsman: The Golden Circle movie basically in writing with reader insert. I recommend watching the movie, it’s amazing! It’s on Amazon Prime Video.)

Characters: Agent Whiskey, Agent Gin(Y/n), Tequila, Ginger Ale, Eggsy, Merlin, Champ, Harry, mentions of Poppy, Charlie, and Clara in coming chapters..

Word Count: 2.327

Warnings: Canon typical violence, angst, cursing, fluff here and there, uh guns?

Author’s Note: We’re finally here! I have been working so hard on this series and I have finally finished it! I’m so excited to be sharing this. Shoutout to my lovely @giftofdreams​ for being an amazing beta and friend. Also send my girl @queenxxxsupreme​ some love. After this series, I’ll be working hard on my requests and on my existing August Walker Series. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget it babes. Thanks for all the love I receive daily! If you’d like to be a tag, please send in an ask! As always, thanks for reading, feedback is always welcome/needed. Also, please reblog! I know this fandom is kinda small but I’d love for people to find this fic. I just worked so hard on it and I want it to get the love it deserves. Love to you all!

The loud sound of rain burned into Eggsy’s ears as he stared at the broken-down building in front of him. He didn’t know whether he should scream, cry, or curse anyone who was listening. He looked up to see a black figure walking towards him, holding a black bag. He immediately reacted, pulling out his gun, aiming it straight at his head. As the figure stepped closer, Merlin's face became visible to him but he never lowered his gun. Slowly the both of them started to walk towards each other as Eggsy gripped his gun harder, feeling it's weight get heavier with every step. “Someone decides to wipe out every Kingsman property, every agent, and somehow, conveniently, you weren't at home.”

Neither of them stopped walking towards each other, walking between all of the rubble of Eggsy’s blown up home. “I could say the same thing about you.

Finally, Eggsy stopped when he was a few feet away from Merlin, his voice cracking from emotion. “What, you think I'd kill Roxy? And my mate, Brandon, and my fucking dog?”

“No. You think I would?” Eggsy kept his gun trained on Merlin as he swallowed thickly. Merlin held up the black bag towards him, opening it up and pulling a robotic arm, holding it up. “This thing hacked us. Clearly, this arm can be remotely controlled. I'm only alive because my address wasn't on the database with the agents. Whoever Charlie's working with doesn't think that mere staff are missile-worthy.”

Eggsy scoffed angrily as he lowered his gun, his voice raising an octave. “This ain't funny. Roxy is dead! Everyone's dead! Gone! Do you even care?”

“Pull yourself together. Remember your training. There's no time for emotion in this scenario.” Eggsy nodded quietly in understanding. “Now, as all surviving agents are present, we follow the doomsday protocol. When that's done, and only then… you may shed a tear in private.”

Eggsy sighed deeply as he nodded. The loud sound of thunder echoed between the two men filling in the absence of conversation. The deaths of all the Kingsman weighed heavy on their hearts. “Okay. What's the doomsday protocol?”

“We go shopping.” Both of the men decided to take the night off and try to sleep. It was a restless sleep for both. First thing in the morning, they both headed for Berry Bros & Rudd; Wine merchants. They walked in dressed to the nines. Merlin approached one of the workers. “We're from Kingsman. We'd like to buy some wine and use tasting room number three, please.” The man in the shop nodded quickly, before taking both of them towards the room. The man left, leaving Eggsy and Merlin alone. “Not one of my predecessors has ever been in this situation before. Thank God.” Merlin walked towards a distinctive place in the wall, recognizing a familiar shape. He pulled out a pendant, exactly like one Harry had given Eggsy when he was younger. “A-ha. Remember this?” He showed it to Eggsy who smiled softly, remembering its significance. 

“Yeah, how could I forget?” Eggsy watched as Merlin turned towards the wall, slipping the pendant into the shape, fitting perfectly into the molding. Loud sounds of locks being opened and gears turning filled the room. The wall slid open, revealing a black safe. 

Merlin pointed towards the safe as he spoke to Eggsy. “Whatever's in that safe is the answer to all our problems.” Merlin got to quickly opening the safe. Pulling the door open, his brows furrowed in confusion as he leaned closer to see what he was looking at. “Huh.” He pulled out a bottle of whiskey with clear big letters that read “Statesman” on the front. He showed it to Eggsy who looked confused.

“Is that it?”

“I suppose that must be upper-class humor.” Merlin looked down at the bottle, analyzing it for a few seconds before looking back up to Eggsy. “I don't get it.”

“Me neither. What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

“I think we should drink a toast to our fallen comrades.” Merlin served both of them cups of the Whiskey. Eggsy grabbed one and held it up towards Merlin as he grabbed his own cup, doing the same. They clinked their cups together. 

“To Roxy.”

“Roxy.” Merlin oohed in admiration of the taste. Eggsy nodded his approval as well as they served another round, doing what they had previously done again. “To Arthur.”

“Arthur.” They both drank their whiskey before Eggsy stopped in thought. “Mmm. Should we do one for JB?”

“I think we should.” Eggsy pulled out a chair, sitting across from Merlin as they poured more whiskey. They took a drink for every fallen Kingsman. Leaving the bottle almost empty, Merlin started to cry, wiping at his eyes in pain with his handkerchief. “I should have seen it coming. Charlie, the taxi. It's all my fault.” Both men had forgone their jackets and glasses as they spoke.

“No, that's bullshit, Merlin. It ain't all your fault. You're the best, bruv. Honestly, without you, I'd have lost it a long time ago.”

There was a moment of silence between the two as Eggsy placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin stayed quiet before reaching for the almost empty bottle. "I think we should drink to Scotland."

Eggsy quickly took the bottle away from Merlin. "I think we've probably had enough, to be honest." He analyzed the bottle as Merlin cleaned his glasses. 

"You're probably right." Eggsy stared at the bottle. Looking closer he saw a small print at the bottom of the back of the sticker, 'Distilled in Kentucky'. The K looked very familiar to him before it clicked. 

"Merlin."

"Aye?"

"I think we're going to Kentucky."

"Fried Chicken? I love fried chicken."

"No, proper Kentucky. Look." Eggsy placed the bottle on the table as Merlin slipped his glasses on. 

"You know what else I love? Country and western music." Before Eggsy could say anything, Merlin started to sing. Eggsy was annoyed but listened quietly anyways. "Country roads, Take me home, To the place I belong.." The boys moved quickly, getting what few things they had left before flying over to the distillery. They noticed a tour happening as they arrived and they followed behind as the woman spoke. She didn't let them into a large warehouse, explaining something about how the temperature is perfect for the barrels and both men stopped. Eggsy scanned the door with his watch, nodding towards it. 

"Biometric security scanner just to protect a few old barrels of whiskey? Pull the other one, love." 

Merlin fiddled with his tablet as Eggsy watched him. "Got it." The door slid open behind Eggsy. They looked around before skidding in. Eggsy kept his hand up with his watch, surveying the area. They looked around amazed at all of the giant barrels. 

"Are you getting anything?"

"Not yet."

"Fucking hell."

"It's a shame it's not scotch." Merlin's tablet started to beep loudly. "Hang on." He looked at the image, showing underneath them was the base. "According to this, there's a huge underground structure right beneath us." Merlin walked quickly to the end to place his tablet down, grabbing an axe placed lazily on the side. "And if my calculations are correct…" He moved towards the main barrel in the middle, holding the axe tightly. "This is the way in." Without a second thought, Merlin hit the wall with all his strength, denting and making a hole on the barrel. Whiskey gushed out of it and both men panicked. 

"Fucking hell, Merlin. Shit." Merlin moved quickly, covering the hole with his hand. 

“You know, my mama, she always told me us southerners get our good manners from the British.” A man slowly walked towards them, holding a shotgun loosely in his hand as it rested on his shoulder. Eggsy tried to act casual, crossing his arms and leaning on the barrel as Merlin kept his hand on the hole he created. “I was thinkin', ain't that a pity. Y'all kept nothing for yourselves. Y'all ain't never heard of knocking before you enter?” The man turned his head slightly, smirking before spitting to his left. 

“Well, actually we had an invitation. Didn't we?” Eggsy looked over at Merlin as he nodded quickly.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, did you now?” The man watched them unamused.

“Yeah. It came in the shape of a bottle. We're from the Kingsman tailor shop in London. Maybe you've heard of us?”

“Oh, the Kingsman.”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. That's where y'all got them fine suits and them fancy spectacles y'all got on?” The man pointed towards them with the end of the shotgun, acting like he knew what they were saying was enough.

“Exactly.” Merlin nodded his head enthusiastically, almost as if he hoped they made the right decision. 

“That's right.”

“Y'all look damn sharp. Let me see if I got it right, here. You want me to believe that it's normal for a tailor to hack through an advanced biometric security system with nothing but a little bitty old watch on?” Eggsy clenched his jaw nervously as Merlin frowned. They were starting to realize their name meant nothing. Merlin looked over at Eggsy with concern as Eggsy rolled his eyes, staring the man down.  “I can promise you,” The man grabbed his shotgun, loading it as he twirled it effortlessly in his hand, aiming it at both of them. “That dog don't hunt.” With the shotgun, he motioned for both of them to get down. “So why don't you go on and get down on your knees and tell me who you really work for.” 

Eggsy raised his eyebrows, mocking the man before looking over at Merlin tight-lipped, as Merlin nodded, silently saying, ‘okay, you asked me to’. He removed his hand as the barrel started to leak again, dropping whiskey all over the floor. The man quickly sucked up some saliva, spitting it across the way on the hole, covering it perfectly.  Eggsy looked at Merlin with disgust before turning back towards the man with the same expression. “That's 1963 Statesman Reserve. You just made it personal.”

The man walked towards both of them, as they ran towards him at the same time as well. Eggsy raised his fist, ready to punch but the man ducked and hit him in the back with the shotgun. Merlin lunged for him next. The man hit him in the abdomen, looping his arm around Merlin’s and used his body weight to throw him against the barrel, knocking him out cold. Eggsy took out his gun but the man used the shotgun to trap his arm between his body and the shotgun before swinging it around and smacking it out of his hand with his shotgun. The momentum of the hit threw Eggsy on his knees as he swung the shotgun into his ribs, swinging it the other way around. Eggsy blocked the hit but still groaned in pain as the hit threw him against the barrel. The man pinned Eggsy’s arm with his shotgun before moving quickly to flip through Eggsy’s watch until he found the stun option. He pulled Eggsy off of the barrel and angled it so he shot himself with the dart. Eggsy stared at him in surprise as the man smirked. Eggsy moved to touch his neck where the dart was as he went limp on his legs. “Who the fuck are you?” Eggsy stepped back once before falling onto his back, blacking out quickly like Merlin. 

“You’re right. You are getting better Tequila, almost as good as me.” The man, Tequila, looked up to the left where you slowly stepped out of the shadows. You licked your lips as you walked over to the limp bodies on the floor. You bent down beside Eggsy and reached out, touching his watch admiring the technology. “I guess you didn’t need me after all.” 

Tequila smiled and shook his head as he nudged Merlin with his foot. “Now darlin’, don’t say that. You know I love having you around.”

“Well, duh. I’m a fucking catch.” Tequila laughed out at your comment before moving to grab Merlin, throwing him over his shoulder as he motioned towards Eggsy with a nod of his head. 

“Can you handle him?” You frowned and shook your head. You were smaller than Eggsy and even though you were strong, you weren’t that strong. 

“I can drag him.” You grabbed his arms and slowly pulled him towards the real elevator, dragging him inside as you huffed. He was heavy. Tequila laughed as he watched you and you glared at him. 

“Did you hear?”

“What?”

“Whiskey might be coming down this weekend. Something about a meeting.” You visibly tensed as you clenched your jaw. You took a deep breath as Tequila watched you concerned.

“I didn’t know. How long?” You didn’t even realize you whispered this until Tequila reached over pulling you into his arms. The big lug basically swallowed you in his big arms but you didn’t care. You wrapped an arm around his waist before letting out a shaky breath. 

“Just for the weekend. Has he tried to talk to you?” You shook your head as the elevator stopped, indicating you were on the floor you needed. “Good. How about we go to that restaurant I told you about?”

“Sounds nice Tequila. We’ll take Ginger. She’s really been wanting to go there.”

“It’s a date.” You giggled at his remark. You grabbed Eggsy once more, slowly dragging him towards the interrogation room you had. Once Tequila secured Merlin into his chair, Tequila moved quickly, securing Eggsy beside him. You sat in the far side of the room as Tequila took his place in front of the both of them, leaning on the table. He licked his lips, trying not to show how much he would enjoy this as he leaned over, slapping the both of them out of their unconsciousness. This was going to be fun.

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[scotianostra]

On October 15th 1586 the trial began of Mary Queen of Scots at Fotheringhay Castle.

Settle down, this is a wee bit longer than my normal posts,  some state it started on 14th, but it concluded on the 15th, so here we are.

You might remember my post a month ago when Mary arrived at her last "prison", the place where she would ultimately spend her last days and meet her end.

If the history books are to be believed. Mary Stuart first sighted the ancient castle towers from a path called since the "days of the Domesday Book", Perryho Lane, on hearing the name Perryho,  she is said to have made a melancholy little play on the name exclaiming aloud, ‘Perio! I perish.’ and indeed she did.

Mary was always a threat to the English Queen Elizabeth’s rule. Seen by Catholics as the true catholic ruler of England, there was many a plot to bump off Elizabeth and put Mary on the throne.

For almost 20 years Mary was dragged around England and locked up in its various castles. Having said that she was allowed certain freedoms including rides in the countryside and hunting trips, Fotheringhay was different.

Despite the size of the castle  Mary found herself incarcerated in comparatively mean apartments: this brought back all her phobia of a secret killing, the sort of barbarous death that stained the history of English medieval castles. The most notorious being one Edward II son of Longshanks, "Hammer of the Scots" who some say was murdered at Berkeley Castle, Gloucestershire by being held down and having a red-hot poker inserted inside his anus, and his screams could be heard miles away. although most historians do question whether it is true or not, the fact is he was murdered.

When Mary's servants reported that many of the state rooms had been left empty, Mary drew the correct conclusion that she was about to be tried, and the rooms were awaiting the arrival of dignitaries from London. Just after two weeks later on, October 1st she was informed by her keeper, Sir Amias Paulet that her misdeeds were now to be punished by the interrogation of certain lords, and advised her in her own interests to beg pardon and confess her faults.

Mary's reply was that Paulet  was behaving like a grownup with a small child, asking her to own up to what she had done. Then she went on more seriously: ‘As a sinner, I am truly conscious of having often offended my Creator, and I beg Him to forgive me, but as Queen and Sovereign, I am aware of no fault or offence for which I have to render account to anyone here below. …’ And she concluded loftily: ‘As therefore I could not offend, I do not wish for pardon; I do not seek, nor would I accept it from anyone living.’ For those who know anything about the Stewart monarchs this relates again to the Divine Right to rule, and they would only answer to God.

The charges against Mary were to do with a conspiracy to kill Elizabeth and replace her with Mary, her fellow conspirators included among others, John Ballard, a Jesuit priest, Weshman Thomas Morgan, a close confident of Mary's, and Anthony Babington, a Catholic noble who is said was the ring leader, the plot has gone down in history bearing his name The Babington Plot.

Whilst locked away, Mary advised the plotters, both in terms of strategy and how to ensure she’d win the English throne. And naturally as the ‘rightful’ ruler of England Mary would be the one to sign off on the plot starting. he plot took shape during the summer in 1586.

Babington informed Mary that he represented a group who planned to kill Elizabeth and install Mary as the new Queen of England. Babington asked for her support of their plan. Mary responded, asking for more details.

Unfortunately for Mary, the plot had been infiltrated and Elizabeth I’s own spy master, Sir Francis Walsingham had been using the letters to entrap Mary and get her to call for Elizabeth’s murder. 

Mary agreed with the plans, but did not authorized the assassination. That did not matter however, because Walsingham's spies intercepted the letter. The letter was deciphered and copied but this time a postscript was added. According to the new letter, Mary authorized the assassination. Walsingham had his proof, and so with this false evidence Mary was indicted.

Before the trial even started Ballard, the Catholic priest, was arrested and tortured. It is said that by the time he arrived at his execution site, John Ballards limbs were barely in their sockets, as a result of the torture he’d undergone, of course during his torture he gave up the names of others involved, the main man being Babington, in September the men were executed one after the other and forced to watch as they, in turn were hung drawn and quartered, the same age old punishment for treason. 

After the gruesome bloodbath attention turned to Mary.

Now I'm not saying Elizabeth was faultless in all this but she wasn't keen on trying her Mary, not just because they were cousins, it would set a precedent trying and ultimately executing someone still seen as most of Europe as the rightful Queen of Scotland. Her hand was being forced by her advisors like Walsingham, indeed they had their eye on disposing of the troublesome Mary for some time forcing through an act of Parliament the year before called The Act of Association: this provided means whereby a commission of twenty-four peers and privy councillors might be appointed to investigate any conspiracy or attempt to hurt Elizabeth ‘by any person or with the privity of any person that shall or may pretend to the title to the Crown of this realm’. 

The punishments for anyone found guilty under this act were to be two-fold: firstly they were to be deprived of their title to the English crown forever, and secondly they could be lawfully put to death under the provisions of the Act. It had been quite clear at the time that this Act had been especially framed in order get rid of our Queen, it was tailor made for her. 

The records of Mary's trial were compiled by the notes of those present, who included two persons designated as writers. It would have been nearly impossible to write by hand every word uttered in the courtroom. Some say Mary spoke very broken English due to her time spent in France., I myself find this hard to believe, yes she had been educated in France, but the Four Mary's would have made sure the young Queen could speak the Scot's tongue, at very least.

Mary's defence was set out mainly that, she wasn’t an English subject and therefore couldn’t be held as an English traitor. She’d been denied legal counsel or the right to view evidence being bought against her. Oh and the age old she was a Queen. Anointed by God. It would literally be a sin to kill her.

Therefore, how accurately were the writers able to record her statements? Whose spoken words were left undocumented? Which statements in particular? Did the two journalists favour Mary or Elizabeth, and if so, did they allow this to influence their notes of the trial? A completely accurate record of the trial is unattainable due to the faultiness of its records, some historians just filled in the blanks to suit themselves, depending on their own leanings.

When the trial concluded, Parliament gave speeches and had open discussion about Mary's sentencing. They also held audiences with Elizabeth. During the audiences held between Parliament and Elizabeth, Elizabeth gave two speeches. In her first speech, she declared that if it were not for "the safe and welfare of my whole people, I would (I protest unfeignedly) most willingly pardon her."   Elizabeth asserted that Mary was bound to the English laws but reaffirmed that the late act "was no ways prejudice to her." Rather, Elizabeth explained that the law was in place to warn her, but since Mary still acted against the Queen and the law "was in force," there was no reason not to "proceed against her according to the same.' But, if the laws almost explicitly name Mary, then why did Elizabeth feel the need to restate that they were not prejudiced against her? Now I know I deflected some of the blame away from Elizabeth earlier but It seems that this was just another way for Elizabeth to maintain her image of innocence. 

Furthermore, Elizabeth explained that because of "this last Act of Parliament" she must "order for her [Mary's] death" The Councillors' plan to somehow remove Mary as a threat had worked. Elizabeth felt her hands were tied in the matter due to the Acts of Parliament, which the Councillors had drafted with specific language aimed toward Mary. 

Eventually, Mary's sentence was issued and proclaimed in the English countryside and towns. Immediately following the proclamation, Walsingham drafted the warrant for Mary's execution. The speed at which these documents were drafted  show that Elizabeth's Councillors were adamant about having Mary executed.

In late December of 1586, Elizabeth had the papers for the execution drawn up. On February 1st, 1587, she signed Mary's death warrant. 

I wont go into the execution as I normally post all the details on the anniversary of her death, February 8th 1587, I will however add a few more lines regarding King James VI and letters between Elizabeth and him.

Around the same time Elizabeth signed the warrant, she sent a letter to James, who had earlier requested that his mother be sent into the neutral custody of a foreign prince. 

In her response, Elizabeth asked if James thought her "so mad to trust my own life in another's hand and send it out of my own?

She also refers to the "absurdity of such an offer. In this letter, Elizabeth placed the focus on James's offer rather than on the circumstances surrounding Mary at the present time, basically awaiting her fate. She did not say she was unwilling to give Mary to a neutral prince because she was either considering signing the execution warrant or had already done so. 

Elizabeth withheld from James any more of a response than was necessary. It seemed that she intentional1y focused this letter's content on James's request to divert attention from her intention to sign Mary's death warrant. 

After Mary's execution, Elizabeth wrote another letter to James. Elizabeth referred to Mary's execution as a "miserable accident which (far contrary to my meaning) hath befallen"  

Elizabeth claimed innocence in calling for Mary's execution, but what she wrote next left a sense of doubt as to her innocence in the matter. She told James that she had "now sent this kinsman of mine ... to instruct you truly of that which is too irksome for my pen to tell you.'d While one may infer that Elizabeth sent a kinsman to explain the actual happenings of Mary's execution you  have to wonder if that was truly the case. Could Elizabeth have sent this "kinsman" to explain what she would not want left documented on paper? Elizabeth would have known to not leave a self-incriminating paper trail regarding her true role in Mary's execution. Thus, she sent a "kinsman" to explain the actual circumstances relating to Mary's execution. 

The truth behind what this kinsman actually told to James will forever stay a mystery because these words were just spoken in a private audience and not documented in a letter, just like Elizabeth wanted. The final question remains: was it the work of the Councillors that called for the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, or did Elizabeth I play  more active role than she wished to admit? 

I myself believe the Councillors did not need to have their arms twisted to call for Mary's execution. They perceived Mary as a threat and made it their top priority to remove her Queen Elizabeth's full part in the murky affair will always be up for debate. 

As ever I have used a lot of different sources when compiling this, if you want more on the trial check the article below out, remember though every source is different so not all that is written here will relate entirely to my post, it is however a more in depth analysis of the trial. 

https://erenow.net/biographies/maryqueenofscotsantoniafraser/27.php Pics are a depiction of the trial and part of the Babington letters held by the English National Archives, more on that here https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/spies/ciphers/mary/ma2.htm

[basenji18]

His Queen, Chapter Four

A prequel to southernpeach13’s Princess saga.

********************************************************************

"Phone for you, sir."

"For me?"

"They did ask for McCullen the third, sir."

James takes the offered handset. It's not often a call comes to this number for him and not his father.

"Did they say who was calling?"

"A young lady, sir. She said you'd know who it was."

His hopes leap and he tries not to let it show on his face. He angles away from the line of engineers working on their computers in the lab

"Hello?"

"James?"

After two months, the sound of her voice melts him. He steps further away from the engineers, cups the phone to him.

"Ana. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you."

She doesn't sound well. Even over the phone her voice sounds strained.

"Thank you for the flowers. I kept the vase."

He'd sent an arrangement to the funeral. Under the family name, not the company's.

"Of course, love. Glad you liked them. I'm sorry for the occasion."

"It's not your fault."

That's debatable. James casts about for something to say. He wants to keep her on the phone, but he doesn't know what to talk about. He wants her here, in front of him, in his arms again.

There's silence on the line. Have they lost the signal?

"Ana?"

"I'm here."

She sounds very small and unsure.

"Ana, listen...are you alright? If there's anything you need..."

Another long pause. He's about to call her name again, when she speaks.

"May I come see you?"

"What? Here in Scotland?"

"Yes."

His heart does a flip and clicks its heels.

"Yes!"

A few heads turn his way. James clears his throat and softens his voice.

"Ahem. Of course, my dear. I'd love to see you again. Sometime during the winter holiday, maybe?"

"I was thinking maybe sooner."

"Aye?"

"I'm in the country now."

What country? This country?

"You're in Scotland?"

"Yes. So could I...That is to say...How soon do you suppose I might see you?"

He's so elated his brain doesn't register how tense she still sounds. A big, foolish grin stretches across his face as he says,

"As soon as you like. Name the time and I'll be there."

"Can you come get me right now?"

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

He's a little less elated after twenty minutes on the road. It's pelting down rain, and the roads out here aren't all paved, much less lit. He's frowning into the night, watching out for potholes and stray sheep, and wondering what possessed the girl.

Still, he looks forward to asking her in person. The two months since they've seen each other have passed with her in his mind every day. There's a bag in his room, sealed air tight, with two of his shirts in it. One is stained with the marks of her fingertips, her brother's red blood aged to brown. The other is stained only with James's own sweat, but thick with pheromones. Neither shirt has been washed since the jungle, and neither ever will be. They smell of her.

James turns a final bend and the headlights wash over a tiny, pale figure whose umbrella has long ago ceased to be any help. Anastasia huddles near a small wood bench, under an awning which is no use against the rain blowing sideways. The headlights catch her glasses and light up their lenses. She looks like a small, shivery animal caught in their beams.

James pulls to a stop. Ana looks at the car, but doesn't approach. He rolls down the window.

“Did ye call a cab?”

She runs over and leans in the window, kisses him through the open window. Her lips are wet and cold form the rain. Her teeth chatter so hard she can't get his name out.

"D-d-j-Hz-Djzhames!"

"Get inside, love. What're you doing out here in this mess?"

She struggles with the umbrella, trying to wrestle it closed, until he reaches through and takes it from her, ushering her around to the passenger's seat. He slides it shut and pulls it in, rolling up the window as she falls into the seat and shuts the door. The rain patters down on the hood, but they are now shut away from it.

James just looks at her. For the second time, she meets him with clear fluid dripping from the end of her nose.

But this is no polite little tear. She's streaming with water. Rivers run down her face and her hair, plastered to her, is like a black waterfall. Her glasses are a field of droplets. If he'd known she was going to go swimming, he'd have brought a towel.

"Why aren't you in some nice, dry hotel somewhere?"

"I came as far as the bus would take me, then I asked directions and hitchhiked. This was as far as I got, but I found a phone."

"Hitchhiked? Ana - "

"I needed to see you."

Well, he can't be mad at her for that. She leans forward, kisses him, getting water all over the both of them. Her smell is warm under the cold wet. Warm and soft, and somehow milkier than he remembered. He adores her smell, but there's something rotten in it. A sour, overripe scent, like bad wine. The smell of an omega who's not just in distress, but suffering from some chronic strain.

James squeezes water from her long hair. She leans over the gearshift and hugs him. He wraps his arms around her shivering form and holds her.

"Ana, what's this about?"

Her words are muffled against his chest like two months before, but he hears them clearly:

"I'm pregnant."

[ineffably-good]

Prompt: Road Trip

Summary: A look at three memorable road trips over the course of an ineffable friendship. 

This is part of the Good Omens 30th Celebration Prompts - see all of the ones I’ve completed on AO3. 

---

 Outside Thebes, 1500 BC

“Imagine running into you here!” a familiar voice said on the docks of the Red Sea port of Elim, in the kingdom of Egypt.

Crawly blinked and turned around, trying hard to not show how much he wanted to kneel down and kiss the ground, now that he was back on dry land. “Angel!” he said. “Did you just arrive as well?”

“I did, yes,” the angel said, peering at him closely. “You look a little green around the gills, Crowley. Are you all right?”

“Oh,” the demon demurred, trying to be cool. “You know. Boats and me. I’m fine!” He waved a hand and swallowed hard, fighting a wave of nausea.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, not fooled in the least. “You’re headed for Thebes, I expect? Come travel with my group, I’ve got a camel just for you.”

“A camel!” Crawly said. “I’d prefer to walk, thank you.”

“You’re not walking from here to Thebes. It’s the desert. You’ll die.”

“Well then I’ll fly!” Crawly said. “I can wait until nightfall.”

Aziraphale made a face filled with compassion underlain by the tiniest bit of mockery.  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Crawly!” he purred. “I didn’t realize you were afraid of camels! How foolish of me to offer. They are rather terrifying beasts, I can see how a demon would be put off by one. I’ll just see if I can arrange for you to be taken over on an ass, would that be better?”

Crawly rolled his eyes, his bluff having been successfully called. Now that the angel was calling him a coward, there was no way he was going to do anything other than ride a freaking camel from here to Thebes. How wonderful, to have a reputation to uphold.  

This led directly to Crawly finding himself bumping and rolling along in a group of about twenty on the world’s surliest camel, several hours later, holding desperately to the saddle horn in front of him and trying to find a rhythm which did not exist in the animal’s god-forsaken gait. The camel was draped in blankets and tassels and other accessories which served to make it look cute and harmless, but its appearance didn’t match its demeanor. Every chance it got, it turned around and bared its teeth at Crawly.

Aziraphale pulled up next to him for long stretches of the journey, offering him encouragement and advice. “Try scratching behind her ears!” he shouted helpfully. “Isn’t the scenery gorgeous?”

Gorgeous, the demon thought sulkily. He tried Aziraphale’s suggestion and the camel turned around and tried to bite him, causing him to wobble and almost lose his seat.

The camel (whose name was Sheba, of all things) came to a dead stop and looked him straight in the eye, assessing something. Crawly frowned and concentrated, pulling up every ounce of demonic threat he possessed and allowing his eyes to darken to a gleaming red for a moment, trying to convey the sense of immediate damnation if the bloody ungulate didn’t pull itself into line and immediately. The tar pits of hell were perfectly sized to fit a few dozen camels, after all.

The camel was completely unimpressed. Hell didn’t frighten Family Camilidae – they had met demons before, and there wasn’t a demon among the bunch who didn’t find camels to be meaner, trickier, and less trustworthy than their fellow inhabitants of the lower circles. Most demons would rather be roasted on a spit than end up in a one on one fight with a dromedary, no matter what they were armed with.

Crawly kept up the glower and bravado for as long as he could, and was somewhat relieved when the camel broke the stare-off first. Had he won? He sat up straighter in his seat, pleased with his courage – he had won! He was fairly sure he had won.

The camel had other ideas, breaking free of the path and heading directly for the cliffside overlooking the Red Sea.

“’ziraphale!” Crawly shouted, losing all pretense of being in control of this situation as he held on for dear life. “She’s trying to murder me!”

The camel lopped along at a surprising rate of speed until he got directly to the edge, then skidded to a halt, performing a complicated bucking maneuver that sent Crawly flying over her neck and down over the edge of the ravine.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale murmured, calling the caravan to a stop. “Stupid Sheba! This can’t be good!”

He dismounted and ran to the edge, to look for his friend.

Crawly was alive, about 20 feet down on a small rocky ledge that had broken his long fall to the river. He waved a hand weakly at Aziraphale but seemed unable to get up from where he was lying, a cloud of dust around him obscuring the extent of his injuries.

Somehow his words drifted up to reach the angel’s ears.

“Bloody…. Camels…” he moaned. “Can’t anyone invent something better than this?”

Aziraphale put a slight miracle on the entire party, distracting them from what he was doing as he flew down to rescue his companion and “help” him back up to the party. Time to put Crawly safely on a litter and with a substantial pain block for the rest of the journey. Once they reached Thebes, he would nurse the demon back to health.

 --

 Scotland, 1730

Usually, Crowley and Aziraphale traded duties whenever they could when their assignments involved long stretches of travel, but sometimes they had no choice but to carry out their duties themselves, even if they were headed to the same area. And so they found themselves both called to Scotland, on their way to Edinburgh to attempt to influence a series of rich nobles to their own aims.

Nothing said they couldn’t travel together, though. They took a rough carriage as far as Northumberland, then were handed a set of fine horses by one of George II’s lords to take them the rest of the way.

“Can’t we just – you know, snap our fingers and show up in a nice, cozy inn in Edinburgh?” Crowley groused.

Aziraphale looked somewhat sympathetic. He wasn’t a huge fan of horses either, although he had to admit that having some extra padding in his hips and thighs probably made the ride a lot more comfortable for him that it was for a bony specimen like Crowley. And he did enjoy the fresh air and the scenery.

“I don’t think we should,” he said. “It would definitely draw the attention of Above if I miracled myself directly to the castle three days early. And then they might notice that I had a demon with me for the whole trip, which could lead to questions, and that could be –”

“Oh, all right, all right,” Crowley snapped, knowing he was right. He did, though, magic himself up a little extra blanket on top of the saddle of the large thoroughbred he was riding. She was a mare, high spirited and a lovely dark brown. Although better than a camel, she obviously objected to having a snake demon on her back, which she showed by rolling her eyes and wickering madly whenever he came to mount her, and then either plodding along at a maddeningly slow speed or racing at breakneck pace ahead. She outright refused to do anything Crowley asked, but would, infuriatingly, obey like a sweet little lamb whenever Aziraphale intervened.

The angel’s horse, a large chestnut stallion in fine form and fettle, gave him no trouble whatsoever. And don’t think that Crowley didn’t notice how smug Aziraphale appeared about this sometimes. He did. He filed each and every instance of smug away in his mental files, to be revenged upon later.

After the horse threw Crowley for the third time in three days, Aziraphale had to admit defeat. They were simply going to have to find another form of transportation before Crowley ended up discorporated on the side of the road.

“Shaddup, angel,” the demon said irritably as he picked himself up out of the ditch and brushed off a combination of sodden vegetation and rot. “It’s not my fault, she just hates me.”

The gorgeous mare stomped her front hooves and made a noise of agreement. She did hate him. She really did.

“I can see that,” Aziraphale said. “Shame, really, you and horses. They’re such a convenient way to get around.”

“For you, maybe.”

The angel moved to take the reins of both horses and began leading them down the road. “Can you walk, my dear?” he asked.

Crowley grunted his assent and began limping down the road, putting Aziraphale’s broad form between him and the animals. If he was lucky, they could make it to the next town without one of the horses kicking him in the head.

“Great,” he sighed. “Walking. Even slower and more tortuous.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said pleasantly. “I rather enjoy walking. And it’s only an hour or two until the next village. Then we will try to get you onto an ox cart or something.”

Crowley was not to be mollified. He leaned back and spread his arms. “Could someone please invent something to make these fucking horses obsolete?” he shouted at the sky. “I’d consider it a personal favor!”

--

London, 2020

Crowley pulled up in front of the bookshop and, feeling insouciant, laid on the horn instead of going up to the front door to knock. He hopped out of the car and leaned against the bonnet, grinning broadly as Aziraphale appeared at the front door, frowning and looking affronted.

“Is this what we’ve come to now?” the angel asked acerbically. “The romance is over? No more coming in to greet me, you just blurt the horn until I come outside?”

Crowley grinned and produced a bag of pastries from behind his back.

“Oh, well then,” Aziraphale said with a wriggle. “You’re forgiven!”

“Let’s go for a drive, angel,” the demon said enticingly.

Aziraphale pretended indifference. “I’m not so sure about that, my dear,” he said. “You’re such a frightening driver, after all. Why would I want to do that?”

“There are three excellent reasons for you to go on a drive with me, angel,” Crowley said, his mood too perky for the angel’s game playing to make a dent. “Number one, it’s a beautiful day! Number two, I know an excellent place in the country where we can get crepes, about two hours north of here. Right where that really interesting inn used to be in the 18th century – do you remember? Rosie and Violet and their roadside inn?”

Aziraphale cast back and encountered the memory of good stew, cool ale, and excellent company. “I do!” he said. “That was such a lovely place.”

“Well now there’s a restaurant there, same plot of land. Shame you’ve never been there,” the demon said coyly. “Should really do something about that.”

“And reason three?” the angel said, smiling.

Crowley walked over and swung open the passenger door. “Reason three? It’s a CAR. An automated vehicle with horsepower but no horses!” He gestured at the leather interior. “Sitting comfortably, a tin of biscuits in your lap, while we zoom through the countryside with nothing to bite you or buck you or try to kill you with its bad temper?”

“Crowley, my dear, you know I’ve seen your car approximately a thousand times before,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Shaddup, I’m having a moment here!” Crowley said. “Can’t we just stop and appreciate now and then that we are not on the back of animal when we have to get from point A to point B?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I see you woke up in quite a mood today.”

Crowley grinned at him. “Get in the car, angel. Places to go, people to see.”

Aziraphale stopped feigning resistance and allowed himself to be ushered into the car, his door to be carefully shut behind him, and his seat belt to be adjusted for maximum comfort. The demon was in rare high spirits, and he wasn’t truly going to resist participating in them for anything in the world.