#daft angel squad

[prettybirdy979]

Fic: Aziraphale & Crowley - Playing Dead

Please feel free to send me any prompts. More of my fics here. This comes from a conversation on the Ace Omens server; some of the lines were theirs too, though I tweaked them to make them more mine.

This post is for context.

Aziraphale absolutely loathes running. Why, of all things, did humanity invent running? There are a thousand far cleverer things they have come up with, why didn’t they skip this one?

And why, of all things, did Heaven choose running as the one thing of humanity’s to embrace?

Ahead of him, a pack of newly arrived angels he’s technically babysitting are jogging along in perfect formation. All bright haired and blue eyed, they look like a family of teens in the most off putting of ways. Like someone took the personality out of the von Trappe children and missed the point of who their father was fighting. Eager and angelic and lacking even the little common sense Aziraphale had in Eden!

So while this duty isn’t technically ‘babysitting’ - it’s providing a comprehensive overview and introduction to Earth - Aziraphale is far too tired to try using Heaven speak. He’ll call it what it is.

Babysitting the newbies.

‘A demon!’ one of the angels cry and they all take it up, like those little seagulls in that heartwarming movie Crowley cried over. ‘Demon!’ 

They all speed up.

Groaning, Aziraphale does too - oh no. What if it’s Crowley?

Aziraphale, with another groan, speeds up some more. He’s surprised it only takes a moment to catch up to the little pack. They’ve all stopped and are standing in a circle around a body.

A familiar body. Oh no.

‘Who struck h- the demon?’ Aziraphale huffs out as he gets close. His heart is pounding and there’s something fiery in his chest he’s only just managing to keep out of his voice.

The angel pack all look at him with wide, unblinking eyes. ‘No one,’ the blondest one finally says.

Aziraphale searches for their name in his memory, comes up blank and decides it doesn’t matter. Blondest will do. ‘No one smote the demon?’

They all shake their heads. The darkest blonde - Dark Blonde - one moves towards Crowely, who is on his back with his mouth wide open and tongue out, He’s drappled across the concrete exactly like one of those silhouettes from those movies he likes. 

Before Aziraphale can stop the angel, they flip Crowley over.

Crowley rolls back over in an instant, mouth still open and tongue still out. Wait.

Aziraphale checks. That is very definitely a living, breathing, demon. What?

‘It’s dead,’ Dark Blonde says. 

‘Is it?’ Blondest asks. They step forward and flip Crowley over for themselves.

Another roll back.

‘Dead!’ declares the angel.

Another angel, red haired this time, steps forward to flip Crowley. This time Crowley hisses ‘I’m dead,’ as he’s flipped over, and the chorus of angels agree, that yes, the demon is dead. But another one steps forward to try too, ready to see if Crowley stops being dead this time.

Aziraphale bites his lip. If he didn’t, he would be face palming. Dear Lord, he knew the new angels were green but *this*...

Yes. Very good,’ Aziraphale says when the last angel, one of the few browned haired ones, flips the demon and they go for round two. ‘You destroyed the demon. You should be proud of yourselves.’

‘We didn’t even smite it!’ Blondest declares, eyes bright with success.

‘Amazing how dead the demon is,’ one of the brown haired ones says, poking at Crowley with a foot. ‘So dead!’

Aziraphale swallows a groan as that kicks off another flip, from a now very hissy demon. ‘Yes, yes, it is amazing how dead he is. Perhaps you should return to Heaven and-’ Another flip. ‘Oh for- He’s dead! You don't need to keep flipping him.’

All the angels turn to look at him with wide eyes. ‘You did a good job, go team. Why don't you go report your success? Tell Heaven about your smiting without smiting?’

A lot of beaming smiles from the pack of very daft angels. Then they all, as one, ascend to Heaven. Without even checking for watching humans.

Aziraphale gives into the urge to facepalm. 

‘Alright angel?’ Crowley slowly rises from the ground, knees creaking a little as he stands.

‘I cannot believe that worked,’ Aziraphale says with the groan he’s been holding in for what feels like eternity. ‘You weren't even a snake!

Crowley preens as he stretches, cracking his back. ‘I am the master of subterfuge!’ 

Aziraphale gives him the dry look he’s been hiding from those ridiculous creatures. 

‘...Or those angels are dumb,’ Crowley adds, a little sheepish.

Aziraphale sighs. ‘Unfortunately I know exactly which option is right here…’

‘Dinner? I think I owe you one for the scare.’

‘Yes please. Though I believe I owe you, for the trouble.’

Crowley grins and leads Aziraphale away. ‘We’ll figure it out.’

[therewillbedancing]

masterlist — rules — taglist form — request through my ask !

GREEK GOD . . ➯ THEODORE NOTT

pairing: theodore nott x f!reader | genre: enemies to flirting ??? not rlly lovers, lil angst haha | warnings: cursing | word count: 636 - short one

isha's notes: this has been in my asks for almost a month but i never got around to actually starting it AAAAA but it's here! badly written but it's here ok i tried my best </3

“alone?”

y/n turned towards the direction of the voice. her lips curved up to an amused smile upon the sight of the tall brunette walking closer towards her, “i am and i would very much appreciate it if it stays that way.”

theodore nott returned the smile. he stuffed his hands inside the pocket of his pinstripe pants, looking down at his shoes, “just as i expected. poor you.”

“at least i’m not so severely insecure i don’t have to walk in a squad everywhere with my friends,” y/n replied before taking a sip from her drink. she faced him with an expression of faux concern, “poor you.”

theodore chuckled, “you’re not letting me rest tonight, aren’t you?”

“if i recall correctly, it was you who decided to disgrace me with your presence.”

“a truce then, just for tonight,” the slytherin offered, his hand outstretched towards her. she looked at it for a moment, staring at the rings in his fingers glistening under the warm light of slughorn’s office.

“i don’t make deals with the devil,” y/n replied curtly, downing the last of her drink. theodore pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“you’re no angel, l/n.”

“but i’m better than you, nott.”

“cute, you’re a dreamer,” theodore mocked in a sickly sweet voice as he pinched her cheek making y/n wince. “you’ll score better than me in transfiguration if you actually try harder.”

y/n licked her lips, visibly annoyed, “i don’t shit on other people’s lives just because mine is miserable, unlike you.”

theodore pursed his lips together, taking a small step backwards, “you’re really aiming straight for the target tonight, hm?”

“when i take shots i like to make sure it leaves a mark,” y/n replied, eyes falling down towards theodore’s left forearm but quickly meeting his orbs again.

“go on. leave a mark on me then. as much as you want,” theodore challenged, stepping closer than before.

“i’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

“you know me well then,” theodore smiled, his face only inches away from hers. “you clean up pretty nicely, y/n.”

“and you look horrendous as ever, theodore,” y/n replied as she slightly moved closer towards the boy, noticing the specks of hazel in his brown eyes. “i know what you’re trying to do and trust me, it won’t work.”

“yeah?” theodore cocked his head to the side. “what am i trying to do?”

“you don’t really hate me,” she sufficed. “if you did, you would’ve done more than be infuriating.”

“a bold accusation,” theodore said flatly.

“merely the truth,” y/n stated matter of factly. “i’m not as daft or shallow as you think i am, theodore. maybe you would’ve noticed that if your head isn’t so far up your own arse.”

theodore mouth was ajar as he tried to think of something to say but to no avail. to y/n, he looked like a deer caught in headlights - and she loved it.

“for someone who has girls and boys falling on their knees at his wake, you sure have no idea how to get the girl,” y/n said softly, a smirk creeping on her face. “tip number one, try to be less of an arsehole.”

“nott, slughorn’s asking for you,” mclaggen suddenly called. theodore gave him a curt nod, eyeing the hufflepuff as he walked away.

“this was a delightful conversation,” theodore said, returning his attention to her, “but i’m afraid i have to go. care to tell me more of your tips next time?”

“of course,” y/n flashed him a sweet smile. theodore winked before turning towards where mclaggen went.

two can play at this game. she watched as the slytherin boy’s figure got lost in the crowd. “i’m gonna make you wish you were dead, theodore nott.”

[johannesviii]

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2016

I think everyone will agree that 2016 had “Impending Doom” written all over it, and as a result a lot of pop music became very depressed very quickly, and as such, I’m less enthusiastic about this list than some of the previous ones.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

For a year that was so cataclysmic worldwide, 2016 was pretty mundane for me, so let’s just skip to the albums that came out that year and which I consider relevant to my tastes. Obviously (and unfortunately) there was David Bowie with Black Star. We should have known we had jumped right into the Worst Timeline when the year started with the death of Bowie. Nine Inch Nails also released Not The Actual Events, which was pretty good, and as I said previously I consider Coldplay’s A Head Full of Dreams to be more of a 2016 than a 2015 album. And then there was the biggest surprise of all, the return of Enigma after eight years of silence, with the very good Fall Of A Rebel Angel (even if A Posteriori is still my favorite “modern” Enigma album). EDIT: I forgot Ghostlights by Avantasia. Took me YEARS to listen to it & realise how good it was.

But no. Surprisingly enough, my favorite album of the year wasn’t any of those. It was... oh god, that title. Here we go. It was I Like It When You Sleep for You Are So Beautiful yet So Unaware of It by The 1975 - which I like to call “The 1975′s second album” instead, because what the hell, guys. Anyway. It had been a while since I had found a new band I’d consider to be one of my favorite bands. I really liked Chocolate from their previous album but that was it. But this one? What a breath of fresh air. A Change of Heart, She’s American, Please Be Naked, The Ballad Of Me And My Brain, Somebody Else, The Sound, This Must Be My Dream? That’s only the songs I listened to on a loop and that’s already nearly half of the album. Great music, love the vocals, but I especially love the writing, full of strange and awkward details and lines that make everything feel so alive. The first time I listened to some of these songs, some lines actually got a chuckle out of me, like the American girl wanting the narrator to fix his teeth, or him hopping on a bus to ask the passengers if someone found his brain, or his girlfriend complaining about his shoes and his songs then immediately adding “I thought that you were straight, now I’m wondering”.

As someone who’s constantly puzzled by human relationships and tends to act super awkwardly, all of this is extremely relatable. So yeah. Album of the year, love this band - impatiently waiting for that fourth album!

As far as unelligible songs go, as you can guess I’m furious The Sound (The 1975) wasn’t a hit because I was and I’m still listening to it on a loop. And that’s about it. Wait there’s also Kids by One Republic. It was super good. Apart from that, there’s also one (1) elligible song that I’m gonna put on the 2017 list instead because I really struggled to find enough songs I liked for that list, and that particular one is elligible for 2016 thanks to the French year-end list and 2017 thanks to the US year-end list, so eh.

Time for some honorable mentions.

This Girl (Kungs vs Cookin’ on Three Burners) - Number one of the year here. Every time I heard it (and I heard it a lot) I enjoyed it until that wretched drop.

Fast Car (Jonas Blue ft Dakota) - Not a good cover, but I love the original so much I’d be lying if I said I hated this completely.

Sucker for Pain (Lil Wayne & Imagine Dragons) - No, that slow, heavy, tortured beat that all recent Imagine Dragons songs have doesn’t work on topics like being a natural at something, being a believer, or describing thunder. It does work, however, with a chorus saying “I'm just a sucker for pain”.

Cheap Thrills (Sia ft Sean Paul) - Sean Paul, and a song about having fun without any money. Everything I want from an average hit song on the radio.

In the Night (The Weeknd) - This would be much higher if I didn’t find The Weeknd’s upper register slightly painful to listen to.

J’ai Cherché (Amir) - Hey look, the guy France sent to Eurovision that year. He’s still around, too. He’s pretty good, and that song is super cute.

Ride (21 Pilots) - Not the last time they will appear on this list.

Je Suis Chez Moi (Black M) - Pretty good song about racism, and the singer explicitly calls out a far right political figure who said some pretty terrible shit about him, and it’s a good answer.

Perfect (One Direction) - This is just Style by Taylor Swift all over again except slightly less good. But as I said before, copying good songs isn’t always a bad thing.

Human (Rag’n’bone Man) - Would definitely be on the list if listening to it didn’t feel like working.

Into You (Ariana Grande) - The last cut. The ending is wonderful and explosive, it’s just a shame that the entire song doesn’t sound like that.

And now... the list.

10 - Stressed Out (21 Pilots)

US: #5 / FR: #9

Defining song of the entire year, whether you liked it or not.

Fortunately, as you can see, I liked it a lot, even if I don’t have anything interesting to say about it.

9 - Don’t Be So Shy (Imany, Filatov & Karas remix)

US: Not on the list / FR: #2

I often joked that the melody sounded weirdly similar to Goldman’s “Envole-moi” by singing the lyrics of the verses over the Don’t Be So Shy verses, and it fits nearly perfectly. But apart from that, great song, great remix, very overplayed but never to the point of being annoying.

8 - I Took A Pill In Ibiza (Mike Posner)

US: #15 / FR: #29

There’s nothing I could say about this song that Todd hasn’t said before in what I consider to be one of his best reviews, if not the best, so here it is.

7 - Heathens (21 Pilots)

US: #21 / FR: #23

Super ominous and tense. It’s rare when a mostly grey song looks interesting, and this one definitely does. I also like the ending a lot. Don’t hang out with too many toxic people, guys, they will influence you over time.

I had no idea this was made for the Suicide Squad movie until very recently and frankly I wish it hadn’t because it’s way better on its own, especially the hand grenade line which works a lot better as a metaphor for self-destructive tendencies.

6 - Starboy (The Weeknd)

US: #58 / FR: #16

As I said before it took me ages to like The Weeknd. His voice is great but I found most of his songs fairly boring or disliked their lyrics. And then he teamed up with Daft Punk and to be honest, I didn’t even care if the lyrics of this one included weird lines about drugs on furniture, the beat was completely worth it and the singing was great. Not enough to put it on my mp3 playlist, but a delight every time it was on the radio.

5 - Faded (Alan Walker)

US: Not on the list / FR: #11

I adore this post-apocalyptic, contemplative music video. The music itself has this weariness and this quiet despair that felt super relevant, and even the drop is a bit slow instead of energetic. I usually don’t like this kind of song but this one found the perfect balance. If we really need to have more sad, exhausted hit songs, more like this, please.

4 - Closer (The Chainsmokers)

US: #10 / FR: Not on the list

I usually don’t like love songs if they are just that, random love songs without a good melody or good colors or good stories. If the melody isn’t particularly great and the colors boring, it needs to paint an interesting picture, and the more details the better, even if they are super awkward, like, as I said previously, in some of The 1975′s best songs mentioning bad shoes, or people’s jobs, or how a car smells like.

So yeah, what I’m trying to say is that my favorite thing about this song is the over-abundance of weird and kind of off-putting details that most people consider to be its main flaw. To each their own, I guess.

3 - Never Forget You (Zara Larsson & MNEK)

US: #46 / FR: Not on the list

See, this is one of the reasons why I decided to make these lists: to find great stuff I missed over the years. I discovered this song while making the 1.0 version of the lists on a google sheet in early December, and now this has a spot on my mp3 player. And it’s so weird because this song shouldn’t work. The drop is ridiculously lifeless compared to the soaring quality of the chorus and it actively works against the rest of the song. It takes a while to get used to it and I’m still not entirely sure it does work, at all.

But what can I say, framing is, once again, everything, and songs about imaginary friends are super rare, and that music video made me cry and catapulted this song from “that’s pretty good” right into the “holy shit that’s fantastic” category. And it made me rewatch Where The Wild Things Are, so yeah.

2 - Perfect Strangers (Jonas Blue)

US: Not on the list / FR: #70

This, on the other hand, stayed on my mp3 player for about two years, and the music fits the lyrics perfectly. It’s not a groundbreaking song, it’s not even that original, but in such an average year for pop music, “happy energetic song with beautiful colors and nice lyrics” meant the world to me. It’s kind of telling that it was enough to put it as high as #2, though.

1 - Hymn For the Weekend (Coldplay ft Beyoncé)

US: #73 / FR: Not on the list

And with this, Coldplay has officially topped as many of my lists as Linkin Park. If, back when The Scientist dropped, you had told me how much I would love this band in the future, I would have laughed pretty hard, but here we are.

But yeah, it’s one of my favorite songs on the album and it’s a super weird combo of heavy and aerial sounds, soft and super colorful notes, and I love the lyrics that completely mirror that feeling, feeling “drunk and high", “poured on a symphony when I’m low, low, low”. A great party song that’s also strangely melancholic. Exactly what I needed.

And then the Seeb remix happened and added a truely fantastic drop on top of an already great song, like turning the saturation up and adding little pulsing lights and transparency effects and shit. It’s sincerely hypnotic and visually so complex and fragile I’m afraid I won’t be able to draw it if I ever attempt to turn it into a synesthesia drawing. Just like A Sky Full of Stars, I was driving the first time I heard that remix on the radio, and I wasn’t expecting that drop at all, and I was gawking.

Godspeed, Coldplay, I’m so glad you’re still a positive force in my life, especially in these trying times.

Next up: Oh my god are you telling me that after 15 years I can finally put a song from that other band at the top of one of my lists

[foxofthedesert]

One Green Apple, a RedQueen story

Prologue (Ao3 Link)

The writing of a new, monumental page in history begins with one green apple that changes not only one world but two. What might be an absurd notion to the rational thinker will be proven as unequivocally true with a single bite of what appears to be an ordinary piece of fruit. In time, that seemingly innocuous act will be universally viewed as the impetus for momentous events spanning two disparate realms, events that will resonate into the future far beyond the capacity for any contemporary prognosticator to grasp.

To arrive at the pivotal fulcrum upon which this story rests, we must begin with a recounting of the fortuitous meeting between the axial figures of our narrative. One is a humble heroine, whose ferocious and loyal heart possesses a unique ability to see the good in others, which gets her into as much trouble with miscreants as it endears her to those she gently coaxes out of the darkness and back into the light. The other is an ignoble figure of ill repute, perhaps the most infamous villain of her generation whose dastardly feats have made an indelible imprint upon the collective memory of a nation. Inspired by a devotion that surpasses any arbitrary boundaries of tradition and which challenges the limits of human experience, these two remarkable women will prove erroneous the condescension of their numerous detractors. Together, they will labor together to build a kingdom which will serve as the linchpin of an alliance that spans from the fabled realm of Misthaven to the enchanted foreign fields of Oz.

The extraordinary tale of the Queens of Misthaven begins with a highly anticipated report from a reliable source in Queen Regina's intelligence network: Snow White has been spotted. Details indicate the outlaw princess has been sheltering in a village to the north in order to recuperate from minor injuries incurred during a recent run in with a roving knot of brigands.

Unfortunately by the time Regina's spy entered the village, the notorious outlaw was mobile again and preparing to escape her jurisdiction via the mountain range nearby. There a narrow, hazardous pass terminates less than half a mile short of the border. On the other side, freedom awaits Snow within the ordinarily unfriendly confines of the realm ruled by King George.

No doubt that snide bastard will make an exception for Snow just to spite me, Regina thinks, seething at the possibility of her hated enemy escaping into the welcoming arms of another, albeit less important, nemesis. With no time to waste to prevent this catastrophe, she hastily organizes a platoon of her finest soldiers in a field to the southeast of the Dark Palace.

The sky overhead is a brilliant blue, white puffy clouds in various whimsical shapes dancing through the atmosphere. There is a slight chill in the air that indicates the onset of autumn. Soon enough, winter will blanket the land with freezing temperatures and a fine, perpetual layer of white.

The news has come just in time. I hate chasing fugitives in the snow. She almost smiles at the thought. Snow in the snow has always held a strangely fond connotation for her outside of the amusing pun.

When Snow was a child, Regina would often venture outside with the young princess to watch her build snowmen and make snow angels or toss snowballs at the few friends she kept from the noble class that occupied the castle with the royal family. After Regina's wedding, Leopold essentially foisted his daughter upon her, which only reinforced the widespread view of their marriage – that it was little more than a convenient arrangement for his sporadic pleasure and general relief, both of which came at Regina's expense. Most of the time she hated her husband for his lack of parental responsibility. Bad enough that she had to let him touch her in places only Daniel ever had. Forcing her to become primary caretaker to a spoiled, daft, annoying princess was adding insult to injury. Occasionally, though, when Snow had no one to play with, Regina would join her stepdaughter in the frozen fun. Those rare outings were some of the few good memories she has of raising Snow. But because they also give her a minuscule reason to reconsider her vendetta, she does not often reminisce upon them. Best to forget there was ever a time she might have loved Snow lest she lose even an ounce of her conviction to kill the insipid brat.

"The traitor Snow White has been located," she tells her assembled troops from her regale perch atop Rocinante.

The company stands in formation before her, proud and grave with their weapons at the ready. These men are not only her most skilled but are also her most loyal. To the last, they are grim-faced and battle-tested soldiers of steely determination, none of whom retain any love for the deposed House of White. All of them lost friends or family to Leopold's secret excesses or had justice denied them by the blatant whitewashing of crimes committed by his many loyal sycophants. Snow, to them, is no rightful heir but a living reminder of their grief and rage. For that reason alone, she trusts all of them to pursue their quarry without mercy.

"She will be taking the pass between our realm and that of King George in order to escape justice," she goes on as the men listen intently. "While George has no love for the White family, he has even less for me. Thus, he will surely offer her sanctuary as a means to goad me. It goes without saying, then, that the outlaw must not under any circumstances be allowed to cross the border on the other side of the mountain. Your orders are to apprehend her alive, not necessarily unharmed, and then bring her to me."

"What of her rumored compatriot? That freakish girl that murdered half of Perrault. What do we do with her?" says Captain Renford, a grizzled survivor of many bloody conflicts.

Disregarding the exaggeration and contempt with which he spat out his inquiry, Regina gives him a dark smile. Ah, yes. The werewolf, she muses to herself. What, indeed, shall I do with that most fascinating morsel? She has long desired to catch a glimpse of Snow's mythical sidekick. According to hearsay among the peasantry, the girl is largely to be credited with Snow's continued survival. While all good rumors are rooted in at least a minimal amount of truth, this one has been verified more than once.

Many of her sorties against Snow have been thwarted by the great beast that has assumed a role as the exiled princess's protector. As might be obvious, this continual interference makes the werewolf a thorn in her side, as is anyone else brave or stupid enough to ally with the bane of her existence. For the crime of aiding and abetting alone she should order the girl's immediate execution. Yet for reasons beyond comprehension, she is inclined to spare so unique a quarry if only to satisfy a highly piqued curiosity.

During her reign, Regina has encountered a handful of the ancient magical species. None of them proved worthy of her time or continued interest, as they were either wholly given over to their animalistic compulsions and lacking even a modicum of self-control or intelligence or both. Thus they were of no use to her. But from what she has gathered via tales spread far and wide of Snow's friend, her peerless beauty, prowess in battle, unshakable loyalty, and impressive mastery over her condition make her not only special but of immense potential value. Few, if any, are as capable of appropriately appreciating the attributes Snow's wolf brings to the table quite like Regina can. There is also the not-so-insignificant consideration that such a weapon under her sway, either via persuasion or forceful subjugation, would be an advantage she would be a moron to dismiss.

And yet her somewhat irrational if not unreasonable compulsion to acquire Snow's werewolf can never come at the cost of her revenge. No matter what must be sacrificed, she is not about to allow this welcome stroke of good fortune to go to waste.

"Try to do the same," she answers the commander after a brief pause to consider her options. "Apprehend the wolf if possible but kill her if you must. Capturing Snow White is to be your primary concern. All other interests are irrelevant."

Renford bows his head submissively, ever the obedient soldier. "As you command, Your Majesty."

Regina's lips turn up at seeing her orders are well received. "Very well, then. Let us be off." She lifts her hands to the sky, summoning vast amounts of energy to teleport herself, her prized steed, and her troops to the base of the mountain pass.

Upon arrival, none of the men stumble – they are well accustomed by now to magical transportation. Perfectly composed, their eyes are swiftly upon her, awaiting further orders without a hint of trepidation.

Up here at elevation the pleasant weather at the Dark Palace seems a distant memory. Snow falls in spurts of large crystalline flakes and the temperature is low enough that it sticks to the rocky ground. The sky is overcast with huge billowing gray clouds, indicating the precipitation is unlikely to do anything but increase in volume and intensity. Likely within hours, the whole pass will be blanketed ankle deep with snow. Lovely. Much as she wishes for clear skies and warm weather, though, her enthusiasm for the pending victory is unaffected.

"You will be taking a company of men up the pass, Captain," she begins relaying her more detailed instructions. "I will linger behind so that I can deposit a squad at the far end to block our prey from slipping the net. Lieutenant Allen!" At her terse bark, said officer steps out and crisply salutes. "Your squad will be tasked with closing off this entrance. Let no one enter or exit on pain of death. Do you understand your orders?"

"Yes, your Majesty," the Lieutenant replies, and then salutes before departing to deploy his men at the mouth of the pass.

"Lieutenant Rodrigo," she calls, summoning the third officer attending this mission. He, as Lieutenant Allen had, steps out with a crisp salute.

Rodrigo is a personal favorite who hails from her home country, to the southwest of her family's ancestral domain. She appointed him to her personal guard upon seizing the crown. As he was born a peasant, it was not becoming to immediately place him into the officer corps, so she arranged for him to be under the command of an officer with similarly humble beginnings who had risen through the ranks via toil, dedication, and skill. Since then Rodrigo has flourished, serving faithfully and accruing various noteworthy commendations along the way. Complete confidence in the Lieutenant is not difficult for her to summon when he has yet to fail her.

Pride for her countryman swells in her breast. She allows it to show as she instructs him, "Gather your squad around me, please, Lieutenant."

"Form ranks around the Queen!" Rodrigo commands, swirling his ornate cavalry sabre in the air. After his men are encircling Rocinante, the Lieutenant joins them, coming to stand at her left.

Regina turns her eyes to the commanding officer before departing for the far end of the pass. "Captain Renford," she says, "you may begin your ascent. Should you encounter resistance, do not wait for me to begin the assault. I shall join you shortly."

"Yes, your Majesty," Renford bows, then glances back up at her. "Shall I leave two men behind to make the ascent with you upon your return?"

Regina shakes her head, a bit impatient, but appreciative of the thoughtful nature of his query. The captain is an excellent soldier with an unwavering dutifulness and an attention to detail that will be sorely missed should he perish on this mission. Not that such a potential negative consequence can deter her when obsession with capturing Snow supersedes every other consideration. In the end, he is a pawn on her chess board, nothing more and nothing less.

"That is not necessary, Captain," she says dismissively. "I will not linger far enough behind for trouble to find me, and although I will be low on reserve energy after situating Lieutenant Rodrigo's squad, I will not be completely depleted. I can defend myself if I must. Mind you, I am also accomplished with a sword, as you have learned personally."

When she first promoted Renford, he was full of himself – an arrogant, misogynistic prick that needed to be reigned in before those unfavorable attributes outweighed the favorable ones. She challenged him to a non-lethal duel, privately of course to avoid shaming him in front of his men, which he accepted. Her skill with a blade has never been a closely guarded secret. Many uppity men who dismissed her because of her gender have crossed swords with her and not lived to tell the tale. Renford, like most of her officer corps, thought himself above all of the enemies she had dispatched and thus required a harsh lesson. He touched her only once in their best of five contest. After that, he was far more humble and obedient.

When Renford bows his head in obeisance, Regina gives him an encouraging smile. As she had told him after their duel, bygones are bygones. He had conducted himself well to put her to the test as he did and unlike many who trod his path before did not let his defeat at the hands of a woman much smaller and ostensibly weaker than him break him. Instead, it motivated him to be better and opened his eyes to the value of women in combat roles. A month later, Renford started taking women who wished to be warriors into his company. Three of his first recruits are with him today, themselves grizzled veterans of many bloody engagements.

"I will be fine, Gerald," she says to him, knowing he only spoke up out of concern for her well being. "Do not allow my safety to be a distraction. Capturing Snow is one thing. Her companion, however, will present a vastly more difficult challenge that will require all of your concentration."

He nods in acquiescence then calls out for his men to fall in line. Looking to her one last time, Regina waves her hand in permission for him to orders the advance. He does so promptly. As she watches his company begin a confident march up the pass, a deep sense of satisfaction warms her bones. She has all but assured her impending triumph.

Brimming with assurance that encroaches upon hubris, she conjures up an image of the opposite end of the pass in her mind and then immediately summons her magic once again to transport Rodrigo's squad there. Located just on the side of the border belonging to her kingdom, the outlet spreads out from the base of the mountain like a yawning jaw. Rimmed with craggy tooth outcroppings, it empties into dense foliage that quickly gives way to unending forest, making it a perfect location in which to stage an ambush.

Before returning to follow Renford's company up the pass from the rear, Regina relays the same instructions to Rodrigo as she had to Allen: hold his position on pain of death. He accepts the charge with a crisp salute and then orders his men into position. With all of the pieces carefully arranged, she at last returns to where she'd departed Captain Renford.

Back at the entrance to the pass, she spurs Rocinante forward into a leisurely trot. Her magic is significantly drained from her efforts to place her troops but that is of little concern. With both ends of the pass blocked and a company of thirty men on the route itself, Snow and her furry friend are hemmed in and all but finished. She deems it highly unlikely that she will be forced to risk her health summoning large spells when she doubts any magic whatsoever will be required to accomplish her objective. How are two young women going to defeat so many soldiers trained to deadly precision along with the most infamous sorceress to ever live? Even if one of them is a fearsome werewolf, the thought is laughably absurd.

As she ascends the path, Regina lags a ways behind her soldiers while they slog up the treacherous path to intercept their quarry. Being alone gives her a chance to revel in her pending triumph. The thrill of finally having Snow at her mercy has her approaching a state of preemptive euphoria.

So sure is she of victory that she begins to envision the plethora of creative ways in which she can dispose of her archenemy. Firstly she contemplates beheading Snow, but swiftly decides that is simply too quick a method of execution. No, Snow must suffer endless agony before she is allowed the mercy of death. With that option eliminated, she considers gifting Snow some quality time in the rack, after which the brutalized prisoner would be drawn and quartered. But the thought of involving horses, so majestic an animal, in Snow's death seems distasteful – although considering the way Snow had entered her life, an equestrian related demise would be somewhat perversely appropriate. In the end, she settles on a grim series of tortures involving publicly flogging Snow over a period of weeks followed by nightly visits from the Head Inquisitor, a man Regina had hired for his special creativity with punishments. Only once Snow is hovering at death's door, begging to be put down like the animal she is, will the torment end, and then just so whatever quivering lump of flesh remains can be unceremoniously roasted at the stake.

By the time Regina catches up to Captain Renford's company, she is practically salivating from the delicious fantasies involving Snow's prodigious suffering. To her utter dismay, however, she does not arrive to the joyous sight of a subdued Snow White, nor is she welcomed by the corpse the dead compatriot who was unlucky enough to have accompanied the outlaw princess upon the lonely and perilous mountain pass. Instead she is met with the distressing reality of her troops being thoroughly trounced.

Seeing as the soldiers she deployed are the most skilled fighters in her entire realm, she is quite perplexed by the development. That shock promptly turns into awe upon noticing dead soldiers strewn in grotesque positions – many lacking significant portions of their anatomy – at the humongous paws of the most magnificent beast she has ever laid eyes upon.

Enraptured, she watches the massive wolf with midnight fur and huge glowing yellow eyes rend into pieces what remains of her men one by one. The fugitives have chosen to make their stand at a section of the pass wide enough for three broad shouldered men to navigate side-by-side. On one side, a sheer wall of rock the most talented climber could not scale, and on the other a drop so long a cat could not survive. The tactic virtually eliminates the numerical advantage of the attackers and makes it that much easier for an enormous werewolf to dispatch her enemies with extreme prejudice.

To get at the two, Renford's troops are forced to kick or hurtle their slain comrades over the narrow pass, sending corpses tumbling down the mountainside. Meanwhile Snow hovers behind the wolf by a step or two, safely guarded from harm by her four-legged protector as she cuts down her fair share of opponents one arrow at a time with deadly precision. While Snow's talent with the bow is impressive, it is glaringly evident that the lion's share of the damage has been done by the gorgeous wolf whose ebony fur now glistens with the blood of the soldiers she has slain.

To Regina it feels like the slaughter takes hours. And there is nothing she can do about it. Her magic is unavailable except in emergency and there is no room for her to enter the fray. So she sits upon Rocinante and watches, half horrified and half captivated.

After the wolf has dispatched the last of her enemies, Captain Renford himself, she stands there motionless with baleful yellow eyes fixated unflinchingly upon Regina. The complete lack of fear in the creature is emphasized by a level of contempt that sends a lance of cold through her suddenly frigid body. She starts to summon her magic but stops before it arcs at her fingertips upon spotting something strange. Hidden within the depths of those wild eyes, underneath all of the rancor, she there is allure directed toward her that, while impossible to explain, nonetheless beckons her to momentarily disregard her sole purpose for being here. Snow is so tantalizingly close at hand, and yet Regina becomes too distracted to care. An instant surge of interest in Snow's beast that is both tantalizing and disgusting has for the moment overridden her primary objective.

Every subsequent attempt to suppress whatever mystical cords are being drawn between her and the wolf ends in failure as her instinct to slaughter every living thing before her wrestles with this disconcerting fascination. Regina languishes in indecision, paralyzed and hardly able to breathe. It is almost as if she has succumbed to the inescapable tendrils of some previously undiscovered exotic enchantment. The thought would surely seem ridiculous except for the pleasant warmth suffusing her chest, the prickling of an excitement-induced sweat beading at her temple, and the rapid beating of her heart within her breast.

For a long spell, nothing on the mountain moves aside from the spits of snow raining down from the sky. The air is astonishingly still. All of the soldiers Regina has sent up the mountain pass are dead, and without full use of her power, she recognizes her own vulnerability all too well. She loathes the feeling almost as much as she does the stark reality of the mission having so spectacularly failed.

During the years she suffered indignity after indignity trapped in a loveless marriage she didn't want, she had become close acquaintances with vulnerability. Fear was her constant mode of being back then. How could it not be when she was constantly forced to relinquish control over her life and her body to a man who held no regard for her outside of her usefulness to his infuriatingly ignorant daughter and to his pathetically tiny dick. Only magic had made her strong enough to take back possession of her own life by avenging herself upon her chauvinistic oppressor.

Unfortunately her magic is mostly useless now, having spent the bulk of it transporting her troops only for them to be slain down to the last man. With woefully inadequate reserves at her disposal, she is suddenly reduced to that helpless young woman who just lost the love of her life along with all hope of a happy future. Despair sets in at the periphery of her consciousness, pressing against the ever-present rage that has defined her for so long.

She levels a murderous glare at Snow. Were she faced with the exiled princess alone, there is no doubt in her mind that her superior swordsmanship would prevail in a contest to the death. But Snow is not alone. To her increasing alarm, a beast of epic grandeur is poised forebodingly between them, forbidding her from achieving her ultimate victory.

And then something truly bizarre happens. Deep within her chest, she feels a tug on her attention coming from the direction of the majestic wolf. When her eyes meet those glowing yellow furnaces of emotion once more, she watches intently as they shift from open hatred, to muted surprise, and then finally to a beguiled tint that indicates the wolf is as subconsciously invested in Regina as she is in her.

The most astounding part is that the development is not at all unpleasant. For whatever reason, she feels drawn to this beast, and can only wonder as to why. Never before has she experienced so strong an urge to interact with another being, especially one whom she has just encountered for the first time.

Unbidden, Rocinante takes a step forward, completely unafraid as if spurred by his mistress's magnetic reaction to the creature before him. To Regina's surprise, the wolf meets that step with a nonthreatening one of its own.

In typical fashion, Snow chooses that moment to open her accursed trap, breaking the magical connection. "Well, well. Not what you anticipated would happen, was it Regina?" The gloating is delivered with haughty disdain indicating excessive pleasure that her paltry party of two has annihilated a company thirty strong.

"Not quite," Regina retorts, eyes still locked upon the black wolf as it settles down on its haunches to hover protectively at Snow's side. "You had an advantage that I did not. Now that I have been so rudely enlightened, believe me when I say I won't make the same mistake twice."

Regina audibly gasps as the werewolf begins to transform. She stares on, unashamedly transfixed by the process of an entire skeleton rearranging and stretching out as bones are reshaped from the compact ones of an awesomely powerful wolf into the familiar lengths belonging to a human being. However, the human who has so recently appeared from the furry form of her counterpart is far from ordinary. On the contrary, she is a statuesque specimen of womanhood that steals away Regina's ability to form either coherent sentences or cogent thoughts.

Lush dark hair tumbles in curls down the planes of a shapely back and surprisingly delicate shoulders to frame a striking face which flushes brightly at being intently gawked at. The young woman before her is so unearthly beautiful that Regina surmises her to features to have been carved by the hands of the gods themselves. To her horror, she realizes her once passive interest is morphing at a dizzying rate into an acutely active one. This strange, mystical girl has so enraptured her that she can only dimly recognize the altogether alien sensation of being bewitched – an irony considering she is an expert practitioner of the dark arts.

"Oh, please do send some more fodder for my wolf to dispatch," Snow's alluringly mysterious protector then replies, her voice as sweet as warm honey to Regina's ears – her insides as well, it seems, judging by the way her chest suffuses with heat and her belly stirs pleasantly. Still partially under the effects of the transformation, the girl's eyes glow a latent, ethereal yellow. Her enticingly full lips turn up in a self-satisfied smirk. As if being pulled by the same invisible thread Regina had felt earlier, the werewolf moves closer and closer as she speaks, "She so enjoys playing with the toys you send her. This lot was the funnest yet, but still not quite up to snuff as you can see."

Unable to help herself, Regina barks out a full, throaty laugh. She is absolutely delighted by the emboldened gall of a peasant who has brazenly aligned herself with the Evil Queen's mortal enemy.

"Oh, my dear, if you think that's the best I've got, you're sorely mistaken," Regina shoots back.

While she possesses the power to obliterate the painfully young and naive woman before her, she lacks the energy to summon it without completely draining herself. And that is not to mention the fact that the girl had slaughtered a contingent of her best men with what was evidently little effort on her part. Impressed as she is by Snow's werewolf companion, she is yet unwilling to show any form of weakness. Thus the half-lie.

Eyeing the girl with barely restrained lust, she smiles wickedly. "That said, I am so very pleased you enjoyed my gifts. Perhaps in the near future I'll have to work up something extra special just for you."

Flashing Regina an almost playful grin, the dark haired beauty chuckles in amusement even as a blush colors her face, which then spreads southward through the swath of pale flesh covering her neck to the portion of her upper chest left exposed by otherwise modest garments. Her brilliant green eyes dilate, the clear hint of arousal in them thrilling Regina to no end. It also does not escape her notice that Snow is watching the exchange in open consternation, which only serves to fuel Regina's escalating excitement.

"I'll be eagerly awaiting whatever you come up with, Your Majesty," the werewolf replies, having drifted to stand only a handful of paces away – close enough that Regina is at last able to fully appreciate her unnatural beauty.

Frankly, it is outright disgusting how gorgeous the girl is. Regina does not often encounter women whose attractiveness can even marginally rival her own, but in the person of this otherworldly werewolf, she is sure she has finally met someone who surpasses her. If it were not for the fact that she is so curiously enamored, she would be positively green with envy.

Eyeing the subject of her fascination with unveiled eyes, Regina hums with anticipation. "Is that a challenge? My, my aren't you brave. Or stupid."

"Neither. I'm just a girl doing what she's gotta do." The mysterious young woman beams a smile that reveals perfect rows of large pearly white teeth.

Regina's heart begins to race with so tempting a prize almost within reach. She can barely refrain from using up her limited reserves of energy in order to snatch the girl up and transport them both to her castle, to hell with Snow and her revenge. Not wanting to give in to such a frivolous and dangerous impulse, she settles instead for drawing out more information.

"What's your name then, girl?"

"Red, Your Majesty," the werewolf boldly declares. "My name is Red." The name falling from those alluring lips feels almost tangible, like sweetly scented rose petals brushing against Regina's sensitive flesh. She shudders involuntarily, and though the reaction is subtle enough to be hidden from Snow, Red does not miss it. Taking another step forward, her smoldering green eyes dilate even more, causing them to appear almost wholly black. Regina cannot hold back a gasp of surprise at the blatant, almost aggressive nature of Red's pursuit of whatever inexplicable attraction is building between them.

It is at that point Snow once again decides to intervene. Stepping between Red and Regina, she halts Red's progress and at the same time partially blocks Regina's view of the too-pretty werewolf. As short as Snow is, Red's face remains visible despite Snow's interference, and because of that Regina is able to observe a strange mixture of emotions play across those too-pretty features aimed directly at her companion. First is appreciation of Snow's protective nature, after which comes affection for the defense of her virtue. It the last that most interests Regina, though, as it is an uneasy aggravation that settles into Red's expression. Apparently she is rather upset at their charged interplay being interrupted.

Regina latches onto that unexpected sentiment with both hands, realizing it means that the beguiling shapeshifter has been enjoying their repartee as much as she has. As it was with every other aspect of her life, though, Snow simply had to ruin it.

"That's quite enough," the insufferable nitwit then interjects. "I'll thank you to leave her out of this. This is between you and me, Regina, so let's keep it that way."

Regina scoffs at the implied and utterly unintimidating threat. Rolling her eyes, she snarls back, "Even if I were to ignore the rather impressive fact that she effortlessly destroyed so many of my men, you are my enemy, Snow. Therefore, those who commiserate with you are my enemies also, a fact of which I'm sure Red here is well aware. And we all know what I do to my enemies."

Regina is secretly delighted to see the girl shiver noticeably upon hearing her name spoken. Another flush works its way up her cheeks as well, coloring them the same lovely shade as her moniker. Enthralled as she is by the reaction, Regina is tempted to continue her exchange with Red in spite of Snow only to be thwarted by Snow nocking a bolt into her bow. The bandit aims it straight at Regina's heart.

"In that case let's just end this tired game of ours right now," Snow grits out and then looses the string of her bow, firing the bolt with deadly accuracy.

Out of pure instinct, Regina reacts with swift movements, catching the offending bolt with a careful application of magic. To her aggravation, she does not recover in time to prevent the two outlaws from slipping away down the pass, Snow all but dragging Red, who is peering back despondently at Regina over her shoulder, away by the hand. Left alone and with her magic at dangerously low levels, she quickly analyzes the situation.

On one hand, she can be reckless and follow after her quarry or on the other she can simply abandon pursuit of them altogether. She has just enough energy left to teleport back home to regroup, conceding that this particular opportunity has all but slipped away. She already knows that the handful of men guarding the exit of the pass will be unable to stand against Red and Snow's combined skill, even with her limited help.

The rational choice would be to return home and wait for another opportunity to present itself, but she is simply not feeling rational at the moment, and for more than one reason. That she wants Snow to be apprehended is a given, but beyond that she is also loathe to let Red slip so easily from her grasp. The look on Red's face as Snow dragged away has imprinted upon her brain – that ragged desperation to have just one more minute of interaction, to be allowed to get just one step closer. Something about Red has disrupted Regina's carefully constructed goals so that she finds herself feeling that same desperation. Desire to secure the werewolf by whatever means necessary before returning to the Dark Palace usurps any further rationalization.

Unsure as to precisely why she feels so compelled, Regina dismounts and then commands Rocinante to return to the entrance of the pass where a squadron of her troops are waiting. Risking herself is one thing, but her only true friend in the world should not have to pay for her current bout of foolishness. As always Rocinante obeys, and once he is loping steadily down the pass, she sets her shoulders, withdraws her sword from its scabbard, and sets out after the two fugitives.

Whilst traversing the narrow path it the snow begins to fall in earnest. Without her magic to provide artificial heat, the bitter chill starts to soak down through the layers of her clothes, past her skin, and on into her bones. For at least five minutes, she stumbles onward, staying close to the rough cliff face on her right to keep her bearings and her balance.

So thick is the snowfall and so discombobulated is she in the cold that she does not see or hear an enormous boulder working free somewhere above her head. Upon releasing from its outcropping, it hurtles toward her, poised to crush her fragile human frame like an ant, and would have done just that had it not been for a blur of red plowing unexpectedly into her body. The impact launches her away from the incoming slab of solid stone, sending her sprawling onto her side, dislodging her sword, which slides over the lip of the pass and clanks down the unforgiving slope.

Regina does not have to wonder at what has happened, her brain having instantly made the connection. Snow's werewolf has chosen to double back, and in so doing, saved her life.

After standing up and brushing the dirt off her damp clothes, Regina glares daggers at her now-cloaked savior. She summons a fireball that flickers in and out of existence – she is now drawing on magical fumes, as it were.

"Sorry," Red says in lieu of explanation, holding her hands up to show she means no harm. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. For some reason I just felt like I needed to come back. When I heard the boulder coming down and saw it was about to crush you, I didn't have time to shout a warning."

"What perplexes me is why you would help me at all," Regina says, and then risks extinguishing the fireball. Her cynical nature refuses to fully relax. Crossing her arms, she narrows her eyes and studies her unlikely savior, searching for any indication the girl might be playing games after all and was merely toying with her prey before deciding to pounce for the slaughter. It is an insensible thought borne out of years of paranoia. If Red wanted her dead, she would have watched that oversized rock turn her into a flesh pancake.

The werewolf shrugs sheepishly, ducking her head and batting her lashes as if chagrined. "I can't really explain it," she offers demurely. "Something kept tugging at my chest, a feeling like I've never had before. It was pleading with me to turn back, and I couldn't deny it. I don't fight my instincts as they have served me well over the years. After I saw Snow safely over the border, I decided to listen to them." She gestures lamely, biting her lip in an apologetic manner before saying, "I had to kill some more of your warriors. Sorry. I left some of them alive, though, including the commander. He's unconscious but alive."

"That surprises me," Regina replies with no small amount of confusion, though she is relieved to hear Rodrigo lives. Still, she wonders how someone who has risked life and limb for Snow White could ignore so fortuitous an opportunity to observe the demise of Snow's greatest enemy. Red's act of mercy makes no sense to a woman unfamiliar with that particularly odious word. "Not that you killed more of my men," she clarifies, "or spared some for that matter, but that you risked your own life to save mine. I would have thought you'd be gladly rid of me seeing as I want your friend dead."

At that, Red quirks her head to the side, a secretive smile playing at the edges of full lips that simply beg to be kissed. "But do you really?" Regina frowns, both at the question and herself, unable to fathom where the thought of kissing Red came from. "Think about it," Red then goes on to make her point, "you could have blasted Snow off the face of the earth earlier, but you didn't. I know how powerful you are. I can smell it on you. No one stopped you from killing her but yourself."

However much Regina desires to object to Red's assessment, there is a kernel of truth there that she is unable to deny, no matter how much she wants to. The ability to find Snow via magic mirror has been part of her repertoire for years, and as Red had so aptly declared, she possesses the power to snuff her enemy out of existence with little effort. Why hadn't she then? Regina finds it difficult to put her finger on any one reason, and that unnerves her more than she cares to admit.

She has always plotted for Snow to suffer before killing her, so that is certainly a motive behind her convoluted tactics. And yet that does not explain why she continually allowed Snow to slip through her fingers. She is many things – vindictive, reckless, and perhaps blind in some areas – but she is not stupid. Not only was she raised by a woman who touted the importance of knowledge and intellect, she had also been trained in the magical arts by a man who amused himself for centuries outwitting people in his nefarious deals. By Cora's unyielding hand she was forced to understand that her mind was every bit as vital as her beauty in determining how successful she could be in a world ruled by men. Rumple, on the other hand, made sure she understood the leverage that power afforded over those whose logic had been trumped by impulse or necessity.

Once Snow was banished from her privileged life, the naive and unprepared princess was fit for being easily outmaneuvered, a lamb practically served up for the slaughter. And yet Regina had failed to capitalize on that inexperience and general lack of survival skills in her prey. Hubris, she now realizes, had convinced her Snow would fail to adapt and would therefore be easily caught. Even when that did not happen, she had continued to squander every chance she had to apprehend the girl she'd sworn to kill on Daniel's grave, a sacred oath if ever there was one.

There is something to what Red has said, but seeing as she is freezing and aggravated at her setback today, Regina is not in the mood to further analyze her own motivations for revenge.

"Careful now," she warns with a sharp sneer, feeling put on the spot and lashing out accordingly. "You're treading on thin ice."

Rather than recoil, Red steps closer with an unreadable expression on her face. "Am I?" Glancing down, she deliberately stomps her boot against unforgiving stone and then gives Regina a wide, gorgeous smile that reaches all the way into twinkling eyes. "Seems like solid ground to me."

"That can be amended," Regina counters, giving a smile of her own that is more edgy, though it lacks any real bite.

Red's entire countenance shimmers with playful delight. "Again, you could have killed me earlier, but you didn't."

"Ah, but if it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind, how much more so for a Queen?" Regina returns, feeling a bit of her discomfort fade. Some intangible aura Red exudes is able to disarm her and make her feel at ease when she should be irate at the cheek being displaying. Instead, she is seized by a thrill that races up her spine as Red takes another deliberate step forward.

"Are you going to?" Red then asks, lips still turned up. "Change your mind, that is."

"I may," Regina replies, settling into their repartee as smoothly as she had earlier. "Step closer and find out if you dare."

Instead of testing her, Red stills, smile remaining firmly in place, though her eyes are now crinkling merrily at the corners. She extends her hand toward Regina and then says, "I know I mentioned my name earlier, but I should probably properly introduce myself. Most folks call me Red Riding Hood for obvious reasons," she shrugs her shoulders and gestures at her eponymous cloak, "but my friends know me as Red Lucas."

Not caring about propriety on so secluded a mountain so far away from the suffocating rituals and rules of court, Regina takes the proffered appendage, leather-bound hand clasping another leather-bound hand.

"How quaint and unoriginal, Red," she replies, surliness evaporating at the feel of Red's impressive grip. She is surprised by the softness of her own voice, by how unladen from scathing sarcasm or anger or needless meanness it is, and especially by how very much she had enjoyed the way the girl's name rolled off her tongue. "I am Queen Regina, of course," she then states, straightening as regally as she can considering the circumstances. "Enigmatic though your reasoning may be, your instincts have served me well this evening. I owe you my life. Thank you."

Red's smile widens almost impossibly at her heroics being recognized, stretching into something toothy and as brilliant as the sun on a clear summer afternoon. From the first time Regina laid eyes on the werewolf, she'd thought her impossibly beautiful; but when Red smiles from her heart as she is at that moment, the celestial bodies of night and day that paint the heavens in awesome grandeur are diminished by comparison.

"You're very welcome, Your Majesty," Red returns, hand still firmly grasping Regina's. The muscles in her forearms ripple beneath ivory skin, and the sight fills Regina with a second onset of warmth that temporarily banishes the cold. After releasing her hand, Red gestures toward the path behind her. "You were following us alone, on foot, and clearly exhausted. I could have taken you without breaking a sweat. Not the smartest play from a woman I've come to respect for her intelligence if not for her tenacity."

Although Regina bristles, it is not in offense. In such close proximity to Red, able now to see the flecks of gold in those mesmerizing green eyes and note the flush coloring the girl's pale cheeks and neck both from the cold and from something else entirely, she feels uncharacteristically charitable. She waves a hand dismissively.

"Yes, well, I saw an opportunity and took it," she says, corners of her lips quirking up, eyes dancing. "Not my best decision, I'll admit, but it's the closest to Snow I've been in months. The thought of letting her get away may have influenced my reckless behavior." The admission, while only partially true, is admittedly difficult to make. All the same Red's arched brow and satisfied smirk – indicating her own engagement in the exchange – make it easier to swallow. "And besides," she then offers a secondary justification that is as irrelevant as the first, "I couldn't very well let the loss of my men go unanswered, now, could I? They represented a significant investment of time and resources to the kingdom. I felt obliged to pursue from a purely economical standpoint."

"Pretending for a moment I buy that," Red counters, eyes dancing in amusement again, "what I really want to know is what are you going to do now? I mean, here I am, the monster that decimated your soldiers. I am at your mercy, wholly human, and I know you have enough fuel left in your tank to do whatever you wish with me."

Regina studies Red carefully, struck by inspiration. Having already been wondering what kind of exquisite frame might be hidden beneath the rough fabrics of Red's peasant garb, she sweeps appraising eyes up and down the body that is currently covered by far too many layers of clothing. Judging by the toned forearms she's already been afforded a glimpse of, her imagination starts to run amok.

With wholly inappropriate intensity, she aches to discover just how defined the girl's muscles are, imagining that she might closely resemble the flawless goddesses whose statues inhabit the ancient temples found in the countries to the south. Almost desperately Regina longs to roam lazy fingers down what is sure to be a taut tummy, and then skim the palms of her hands up silky smooth yet powerfully carved thighs that propel what are certain to be impossibly long legs judging by Red's height.

If only you knew the sort of things I wish to do to you. Regina's skin itches with want, and even though Snow is tantalizingly within her reach, she is far too enamored to even care. In this paradoxical girl, simple of appearance yet deceptively complex, she has a new obsession to occupy her. Determined at present to indulge it, all thoughts of Snow recede to the fringes of her mind.

Suddenly besieged by an irresistible urge to claim the werewolf as her own, Regina decides she wants this girl on her side. Just the same, she is also aware her normal tactics will be insufficient. Offers of riches and power will hold no interest for a woman who is clearly willing to cast her life away for a criminal with zero prospects of accruing any substantial wealth. The possibility of hurtling colorful threats seems equally futile, as Red seems to have little to no fear of her whatsoever. There is also the rather unfortunate fact that magically enslaving a werewolf is a fool's errand many a magician has attempted, only to for the enchantment to break at the most inopportune moment and their victim turn upon them with savage instincts provoked to a frenzied high. All of this means she is left with only one recourse: to rely solely upon her womanly charms.

Difficult as it may be, she will have to rein in her mile-wide impulsive streak and calm the roiling molten seas of her volcanic temper. Like a feral animal first encountering human civilization, Red will require a measured patience and a gentle touch, neither of which Regina is known to possess aside from her dealings with innocent children and her precious horses. To her, no one has proven worth the effort til now.

However it is possible, Red has seen through the formerly impenetrable facade that conceals the woman carefully entombed beneath the shell of the Evil Queen. What's more, Red has witnessed the Queen in all her terrible splendor and neither balked nor batted a lovely eyelash upon catching a manic interest that sends most fleeing in fear or cowering in pitiful submission. If anything, the Queen seems to excite Red more than the werewolf would probably ever admit to her insufferably pure friend.

Red, it appears, is far more interesting and unusual than Regina had first believed. Few are capable of taking the good with the bad without favoring one over the other depending upon moral inclination. It doesn't seem to matter to Red that Regina presents her evil side to the world while keeping what scant goodness lingers securely buried. It's been made perfectly clear during this brief interaction that Snow remaining alive is, to Red, proof that the woman she used to be is still present inside her. And that appears to be more than enough reason for Red to have committed such a startling act of proactive trust, not only by saving her life but by entrusting her with her own.

Honestly, it's a little intimidating – and terrifying – to be the recipient of such trust when the last person who'd done so destroyed her entire life. But no matter the association, Red is not Snow. That much Regina knows without a doubt. Snow could never look at Regina the way Red is right now, not with her in full Evil Queen regalia and coldblooded murder still inhabiting her charred heart. With Snow, it was always pity, guilt, or disgust whereas Red's steady gaze is marked by an attraction underscored by a deep, almost fathomless level of understanding. Only someone who is herself a monster can appreciate another monster without the stigma of morality sullying an intense, rapidly forming, and rare connection such as theirs.

So if she is required to entice Red with more of the witty banter and molten glances they have been sharing, sweetened by glimpses of a goodness she'd perhaps mistakenly thought forever in her past, she was willing to do so. Miraculously, Red believes her to be worth a lavish attention she had not recognized until now that she craves. It is the least she could do to return the favor. And with any luck, Red will soon enough succumb to the undeniable chemistry between them, the prospect of which sends a shiver coursing through Regina's limbs.

As far as she is concerned, this is an all or nothing proposition. Scant as her experience interacting with Red is, she has already concluded that a simple companionship will not suffice for either of them. Empty sex is something she already has at a ready supply, and judging by how loyal to a fault Red is, that option is not available for her at all. There is, she realizes, a real possibility of something meaningful forming between them.

A day earlier, she would have laughed until she was hoarse at the idea that she would ever willingly risk her heart again over a love affair. And yet she cannot bridle her suddenly runaway desires. She wants Red, wants all of her, wants the magnificent creature writhing beneath her fervent ministrations, bared to her not only in body but in mind, heart, and soul as well. Regina wants Red to be her woman and her wolf, not Snow's, and admitting that to herself is as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

"What happens next depends solely upon you," she offers enigmatically, her decision made. A subtle leer is present in her perusal of Red that causes the girl to yet again blush prettily.

Red worries artfully shaped lips for a moment before responding. "How so?"

Feeling audacious, Regina steps toward Red and is pleased to see that she does not flinch back even slightly. Rather, she remains bravely in place, head held high and eyes burning with anticipation.

As Regina maneuvers herself into Red's personal space, she hums out in approval at the response. She has grown tired of lovers who cow to her every whim, who lack the spine to stand up to her and take what they want when she is in the rare mood to give a little. She is hungry for someone whose strength of character is as immutable and whose will as intractable as her own, someone who can feed her mind and spirit as well as her body by challenging her without posing a threat to her sovereignty because they are trustworthy. In Red she believes she has glimpsed a potential partner who would do all of those things for her, a partner who is capable of standing by her side rather than folding up under the tremendous pressures of her life only to then be inevitably crushed beneath her heel.

"Since you saved my life," she answers, making sure to allow for invitation in her tone, "I am inclined to ignore your status as co-conspirator to and your abetting of an infamous outlaw in order to offer you a modest reward. It is one I personally believe you would be a fool to decline." Upon noticing that Red's interest is highly piqued, Regina grins. "In return for your agreement to dine with me on any night of your choosing within a fortnight, I will suspend my pursuit of Snow...for the time being."

Red's eyebrows shoot up at that. It appears she is as shocked to receive such an offer as Regina is that she made it. And yet to her endless astonishment she meant every word.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am," Regina retorts with a scoff. "I wouldn't be standing here in the freezing snow trading banter with you otherwise."

For a moment, Red grows visibly suspicious, which is to be expected. Coming from the Evil Queen, the offer must sound far too good to be true, perhaps even seeming like a trap meant to lure Snow into surrendering by capturing her best friend.

"Why would you do that?" Red then queries, her large eyes slightly narrowing. "And for how long would this ceasefire last?"

Regina tuts, though somehow manages to remain calm whereas she would normally be irritated beyond measure to have her motives questioned. Red, it appears, has some kind of mollifying effect on her, and she isn't quite sure she likes it.

"Why? Because I am the Queen. I do what I want," is her abrupt answer to the first question, as if that should be enough. She is not yet ready to show her full hand, but in order to answer Red's query more fully, she adds: "As for the latter...again, that depends entirely upon you and your ability to entertain me, my dear. My hope is that should we both be satisfied with this arrangement, we can...negotiate an extension. I cannot currently fathom why, but I appear to be open to persuasion where you are concerned. If I were you, I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were."

Understanding dawns in Red's becoming eyes. "You mean to seduce me, don't you?" The blunt assessment catches Regina off guard and she reels back a step, unused to such boldness. "I've heard of your dalliances," Red then explains upon witnessing Regina's reaction, "and I know that you like to take lovers on a whim. I also know how you toss them out like yesterday's trash after you've finished with them. While I have to admit interest in the offer, I won't allow you to use me in such a degrading way. Besides the fact that I love Snow and will never betray her, I do actually have standards. I may be a peasant by birth, Your Majesty, but I'm nobody's whore. Not even yours."

Again Regina is taken aback, this time in that Red has so readily declared an interest in pursuing a sexual relationship so long as it is not a means to entrap Snow. She hadn't expected the girl to be forthcoming, but finds herself pleasantly surprised.

"I could have your tongue for speaking to me with such impudence," she retorts, sneering just a tad to put Red in her place. She is the Evil Queen, after all, and must keep up appearances. Sadly, her posturing doesn't seem to have any effect on Red, who merely arches a flawless eyebrow. "But I will give you a pass just this once because neither of those scenarios reflect my intentions. However," she amends, "to address your understandable concerns, I will concede that I have taken my fair share of lovers and disposed of them, as you so crudely put it, like so much trash.

"I am a harsh woman, and selfish to a fault. I make no apologies for who I am. I use people for my own ends on a regular basis, and I don't see that changing any time soon. But in the interest of transparency, I will confess that I have never been so taken before as I am with you. I certainly would never have risked my own life upon a treacherously narrow mountain pass in the driving snow and biting cold just to get a second glimpse of any of my past lovers. So while your apprehension is sensible, commendable even, in this case it is not warranted. My offer is genuine."

The admission frightens Regina almost as much as it stuns Red. She hadn't meant to be so forward; it just sort of came out of her mouth all of its own volition. She would feel mortified and disgusted at herself had Red not reacted in such a receptive way.

Standing there in the snow, her bright red hood decorated by a light pile of snow flakes, Red gapes in awe as if she has just heard the most wonderful and terrifying thing. "You really feel that way?" Regina nods, swallowing heavily. "Why me?"

"I don't rightly know," Regina confesses, and notes that her heart beats faster when Red nibbles again at her lower lip. "Against all reason you seem to have bewitched me." Feeling instinctively that it is a make or break moment, she decides to play her cards, to lay it all out on the line and bare herself in a way she hadn't since Daniel passed. It is the most frightened she has been in years, but strangely also the most alive. "I cannot deny the accuracy of your assessment that I wish to bed you. I am intensely attracted to you, and I am sure that is obvious to you considering...what you are." She holds Red's gaze, making sure the werewolf understands, truly understands what she is trying to say. "All the same, to minimize this as a simple desire for carnal fulfillment would be grossly misrepresenting how I feel. There is some invisible force drawing me to you, and although I would normally be inclined to fight it, I do not wish to. Not now. I am suddenly and inexplicably tired of fighting."

Tilting her head slightly, she gazes at Red, willing the girl to understand how perplexed she is about all of this while also projecting a reassurance that will pierce through any lingering doubts Red may have. "Against all better sense, I want to know you," she says, intent in inflection, "and for you in turn to know me. In order for that to happen, we must spend time with each other. Therefore I am willing to make a concession to secure that time, even if it is one that pains me beyond description."

Red makes no reply, just stares on in amazement at Regina's speech, and it makes the normally self-assured Queen unusually nervous. She is both unused to being so exposed and unaccustomed to her advances not being immediately accepted.

Flushing slightly, she squares her shoulders and gives Red a glare that lacks any real conviction. "If breaking bread with me is not an amenable solution, perhaps I have misjudged..."

"N-no!" Red then protests with wide eyes, interrupting Regina. "It's not that. I just..." She takes a giant breath and lets it out slowly. Shaking her head, she laughs ruefully. "When I was a kid, my Granny scrounged up enough spare coin to take me to the fair that was passing through the kingdom. I can remember how impressed I was with the jousting competition, and how much I wanted to taste all the wonderful food there we couldn't afford. But then, I saw a line of armored soldiers passing our way, and in the midst of them, the most glorious vision of splendor to ever grace the earth. It was you. I was just twelve years old, but I will never forget what it was like to fall in love for the first time, and I did...the moment I saw you."

Again Regina reels, remembering the particular fair Red is referring to but having no recollection of catching sight of an adolescent werewolf girl. She suddenly wishes she had, if only to know what Red looked like at so tender an age.

Wistful and glassy eyed, Red tilts her head and smiles as she continues with her reminiscing. "After we got back home, I spent my nights fantasizing about coming of age and doing something about my impossible crush. I knew the king was old, that he was likely to have passed by that time, and I was set on my path. I decided that I was going to become a famous knight so that I could enter the jousting tournament and win your hand. It was a foolish fantasy in retrospect, but those childhood dreams got me through some really bad times in the years that followed."

"Dreams often are foolish, especially those of our youth," Regina offers. She has personal experience, after all. Still somewhat out of sorts from the confession, her heart is palpitates ferociously against her breast. "But as you can see, sometimes they are harbingers of things to come. You may not be a famous knight, and might not have won my hand, but you have captured my interest all the same. The question is: is that enough incentive for you to accept my offer?"

At that, Red's entire visage turns playful, and she gives Regina teasing smile. "I guess you'll find out in two weeks." And with that, she transforms back into the form of a gorgeous black wolf, and after a playful yip, throws her head back and howls in earnest. Regina laughs, happy to hear the boisterous trumpeting and delighting in the way it lifts her spirits, makes her feel optimistic about life outside of the mission that has consumed her for so long.

As she watches Red sprint away, her anticipation for the following weeks grows exponentially. What she could not possibly have predicted, however, is that whenever she hears the sound of Red howling into the night over the subsequent years, she will remember this moment with vivid clarity. She will marvel at how on an isolated, desolate, frigid mountain pass, she felt hope stir within her breast for the first time in nearly a decade. It is a hope that – although made to endure many tribulations and forced to face many trials – will never, ever fade.

[warpswimming]

Honestly not Night Lords - Reivers in the Vanguard

Today I'll be looking at Reivers in the Space Marine codex.

Reivers are the Terror Troops of the Adeptus Astartes, their skull faced helms with the SMOKESCREEN and SHOCK GRENADES keywords places them narrativly into a scare tactic role. So lets take a look.

What do they have?

Reivers can have more varied wargear than a lot of the other Primaris Marines. Your basic loadout is a Special issue Bolt Pistol, and Combat knife, which you can swap out for a Bolt Carbine. On top of that, you can take either a Grapnel Launcher or Grav Chutes.

Rules wise, Reivers have the Angels of Death, Chapter Tactics and Combat Squads rules, though note the lack of Concealed Positions ubiquitous to the majority of the Vanguard.

Their Terror Troops Aura subtracts 2 from the LD of enemies within 3 inch.

Grapnel launchers allow the unit to Outflank and ignore any vertical distances when it moves outside of the charge and fight phases.

Grav chutes give you the Death From Above ability enabling them to arrive anywhere on the table over 9 inch from an enemy.

The pistol is a -2ap bolt pistol, which is nice, and the bolt carbine is assault which gives some reliable firepower.

So what use are they?

As daft as it might sound, ignore the weapon profiles. Reivers dont hit hard and they arnt any tougher than a standard marine. They are built for advancing where other Troops might chose to stand and shoot.

Reivers are a harassment unit, their LD debuff is ok, but really excels when combined with the stratagem Terror Troops, or Shock and Awe. Disrupting the reliability of units and shutting down the Objective secured abilities and Actions of the enemy.

As far as what equipment would you take? Whilst it depends on Chapter, I'd move twoard their pistols as they have an AP and you're wanting to be close with them anyways.

What Chapters do they work well in?

A combat focused unit will work well in a combat focused Chapter. Blood Angels will certainly get some use out of them but I think they would work better in White Scars because you need to get them in there. Unless you're forking out for the unit upgrades you could find you'll need a TRANSPORT to get them into position and Advance and Charge could be handy.

Imperial Fists could get some limited mileage from them but only due to the weapons being bolters.

Space Wolves are an option for Reivers, but they have their Hounds of Morkai, and they have a lot more going for them.

So would you take them?

Well, no. Sad to say that they just dont seem to pack enough utility in. To really get mileage from them you'll be wanting to support them with a TRANSPORT or a Librarian.

Like I said, they don't do the damage, and yes they have use as harassment but they are an Elite choice, and there are just so many other things in that selection that only people dedicated to them will use them over say, Bladeguard.

Reivers dont fit a role very well. The pistol is nice but isnt supported by a combat prowess or weapon that sets them apart. The bolt carbine lacks anything to set it apart from a standard boltguns other than the assault profile and with regular marines now being 2 wounds each, Tactical Squads actually hold more options before we even talk about the Drop Pod.

Lets have a breakdown.

Tactical Squad in Drop Pod actually meets the Reivers with grav chute in terms of firepower and deployment areas. Straight away though, Drop Pod comes turn one, and the Tactical Squad can take special weapons.

How does that translate with points?

5 man Tactical Squad with Drop Pod = 160 points

5 man Reiver squad with grav chutes = 100 points

Both units will arrive 9inch away from the enemy, though the Drop Pod arrives turn one, possibly securing you that objective early or screening it off.

The Tactical Squad, has the Objective Secured rule and the option to take a special weapon.

The Drop Pod actually adds firepower through its storm bolter and can hold an objective on its own.

Plus, options in your force org slots. Elites are a highly contested area.

So sorry Reivers, unless i'm going full Vanguard, you just wont make that cut very often.

So cracking on with these now, Eliminators are up next, but you still wont see them coming.

[scotlandwnt-blog]

Jo Love’s opinion on her SWNT teammates (Part 1)

Lee Alexander:

She's a bit of a faffer. She's so intelligent but takes forever to do anything. She's always last out of the changing room, she'll be painting her nails or something despite the fact she's got gloves on all the time and is getting her fingers bashed up. We're quite close and I get to see the best and worst of her but she's always quite placid.

Jenna Fife:

She's very quiet. She keeps in the background and she's still young but she's grown so much since she first came into the squad.

Shannon Lynn:

She's a bit of an angel. So caring. I don't think she believes in herself enough and she's always looking out for everyone else rather than focusing on herself. She's been in this squad for a long time and been patient but never even said one bad word despite being effectively second choice for so long. Patience of a saint.

Chloe Arthur:

Her and Jen [Beattie] are vegans, so we like to rip them a bit for that. She's funny. Her, Caroline [Weir] and Claire [Emslie] have got their own wee group and are constantly giggling at everything.

Jen Beattie:

It would be a shame if all I could say is that she is a vegan, so I'll say she's a gentle giant. She goes about her business and goes home and you don't really see or hear much from her apart from that.

Rachel Corsie:

Oh my, her American accent... We like to watch videos as a squad of her doing interviews over there and trying to make out what she's saying. It's unreal sometimes, but she's a great leader and has taken on so much more responsibility than she had to.

Dozy Nicola. So clumsy, but just dozy. She comes out with things and you're like, 'what?!' She is in a wee world of her own sometimes. At City, if she's away with the fairies, you can tell if it's one of the days the second you see her; just the way she's acting. She'll deny it but we can all see it.

Sophie Howard:

I was standing with head coach Shelley Kerr at training the other day and Sophie clattered someone and Shelley said, 'you know she's German' - she would tackle her granny. She split her head once and it was wide open, she needed like 20 stitches, but she's hard as nails. Off the pitch, though, she's so quiet and lovely. On it, she'd tackle you by the neck.

Fancies herself as a bit of a joker. Actually really quite intelligent and tells jokes that are probably a bit advanced for some of us. She's just daft.

Joelle Murray:

You get into trouble if you're her room-mate and don't stick to the rules. She's in with Hayley [Lauder] but she's one of my best friends. We go on holiday together with Hayley usually. We don't go back to work at the end of July so we're hoping to go away somewhere. She goes under the radar but is keeping an eye on everything that happens. Definitely in charge.

[mayramoss-blog1]

Manchester United manager Jose Mourinho's biggest excuse is now irrelevant - Samuel Luckhurst

Sympathy for the red devil is subsiding. Jose Mourinho mused that change could be imminent in the Manchester United team and you have to wonder whether that includes a recall for his third-most expensive signing.

That would be Fred. Only Angel di Maria, Romelu Lukaku and Paul Pogba have cost United more than Fred. The Fred who was ostensibly the heir apparent to Michael Carrick. The Fred who has been an unused substitute in United’s last two matches in which they have scored one and taken one point.

The Fred who was ostensibly identified as the midfield lock-picker to herald a more forward-thinking style. It was trite and hackneyed of Mourinho to turn to Marouane Fellaini, a player most appreciated when he is under-used rather than over, before the hour against Crystal Palace.

"What's the solution?" Mourinho asked rhetorically at his post-match press conference. "You cannot change players' natures dramatically.

Read More

"The solution is that probably I have to make certain choices based on heart and then probably I will play myself. Because I will think heart is not enough and I am missing here some quality."

Fred has played 56 minutes in the last four weeks but is relevant to United’s recent plight. The 25-year-old interested Manchester City, who passed in favour of Jorginho. Only he chose Chelsea at a time where Fernandinho seemed to have exhausted his pliability on the back of a chastening World Cup.

Fernandinho wilted in Russia and some questioned why a relic of the 2014 semi-final evisceration by Germany was preferred over Fred, who remained on the bench for the entire tournament. Back at City, Fernandinho is still the same cunning and conniving shield in Pep Guardiola's midfield.

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Guardiola has also been devoid of Kevin de Bruyne for most of the campaign yet Bernardo Silva has performed to undroppable heights and must be retained when De Bruyne returns. Guardiola risked alienating Silva with those January overtures for Riyad Mahrez. Instead he has accommodated both lush left-footers and made City superior.

At Tottenham, Mauricio Pochettino did not make a solitary signing and presided over a weekend battering of Chelsea. Spurs are hamstrung by a miserly chairman, destined for Europa League relegation and still suffer from bouts of Typical Tottenhamitis. But they are competing in the league and are five points adrift of City.

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City were prepared to invest over £100million in the summer and it would have been churlish of Guardiola to grumble over Jorginho, having won the league by such a distance City resembled a mirage. Rancour within the Spurs squad has been overshadowed by the stadium farce and Pochettino's delicate handling of his players should interest United as Mourinho struggles to harness a harmonious atmosphere.

Take Toby Alderweireld as an example. Everybody knew he wanted to join United and he has still not committed to Spurs. Yet since the summer window clanked shut, there has not been a murmur of discontent and he has started 12 of Tottenham's 13 league fixtures.

Fred has been under-used

Yes, Mourinho required reinforcements in defence and attack and United have suffered from a lack of football expertise at board level. It was not Ed Woodward who set the miserable mood back in July, though.

"Our pre-season is very bad," were Mourinho’s first football words at the UCLA's JD Morgan Center on July 18. Mourinho’s tone and the board's complacency - call it Arsenal apathy - made the league season feel like a write-off before it had even commenced. United should not be below Tottenham and Chelsea, never mind Arsenal and Everton. Mourinho is underachieving.

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Pochettino was also saddled with Moussa Sissoko and entrusted him to muzzle Eden Hazard at Wembley. Jurgen Klopp has coaxed some use out of the daft Daniel Sturridge. At United, Matteo Darmian came in from the cold on Saturday for his first appearance in over three months. His next could well be in February.

Marcos Rojo, a player United have tried and failed to jettison in three out of four summers, has not played at all this term and most supporters will hope that run is prolonged. But Mourinho has exotic options to call upon that he inherited and bought.

Diogo Dalot is fit but failed to make the Palace squad. Ditto Andreas Pereira and Ander Herrera. Selecting Phil Jones over Eric Bailly was senseless. And then there’s Fred.

He is losing sympathy.

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[letsleatherjacketmakerus-blog]

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[prettybirdy979]

Oh please let us know what the daft angel squad is like when drunk and also what the drunk angel squad is like when inflicted on Gabriel

Sure! Sequel to this, context in this tag. Please feel free to send me any prompts. More of my fics here

Crowley has regrets. Many many regrets - hard not to, after six thousand years. There are many things he'd change if he could, decisions he would redo if given the chance.

The decision to get a bunch of angels - who would consider themselves lucky if they have a single brain cell to share - roaringly drunk is not one of them.

It probably helps that he's almost as drunk as they are.

Aziraphale is currently trying to teach them the Gavotte, while being far too drunk to dance. Half the squad are tripping over themselves trying to follow while Aziraphale manages to dart around them - he might be too drunk to dance but it'll be a cold day in Hell before the angel does something so crass as trip.

The rest of the squad have scared all the humans bar the bartender out of the pub. The bartender seems unphased by the angels, even the three that are on the roof, like drunk spiders without webs. She just keeps pouring drinks as long as Crowley's card clears.

Crowley's card is always going to clear. He's having far too much fun watching this.

'Balls!' one of the non-dancing, non-roof angels cries, falling over themselves and two other angels on the way to the pool table. Another angel joins them and they start pushing the pool balls around but without any actual ability.

'Duck!' Crowley cries and drops as one of the balls bounces off the table and at the heads of the others in the bar.

The bartender and Aziraphale drop instantly, followed by a couple of the angel squad. But the ball misses all the standing angels, instead hitting one of the ones on the roof. They fall down with a squawk, before trying to see if the ball in their chest fits in their mouth.

A different angel flutters up to take the place of the roof angel.

It's at this point that the pub door bangs open and Gabriel storms in. 'What is goi-'

He cuts himself off as another angel falls off the roof with a squawk, though without the help of a ball this time.

'Angels!' Crowley cries. 'Gabriel is here! Just like we practiced!'

Instantly the angel squad is standing - or at least doing something that looks like it might daydream of being standing - and shuffling in Gabriel's direction. His eyes widen but he does not step back, though Crowley does note how he leans back a bit.

Crowley sobers up a little, ready to enjoy the show. Aziraphale wanders over to his side, grimacing from his own sobering up miracle.

'Gabriel!' the angels chorus. 'We have learnt the tradition of pub songs.'

Crowley can see Gabriel's eyes widen in horror as a squad of drunk angels try to sing in tune and in time.

They do not manage it.

Two of them aren't even singing the same song as the others, and half the squad keep swapping to try and match, changing songs mid-line. It is musical chaos, of the type only the truly smashed can achieve.

And it is glorious.

'You put the wards on, right?' Crowley asks softly as Gabriel takes a step back. He instantly steps forward, glancing down at his feet with a betrayed look.

'Oh yes,' Aziraphale whispers back. 'Only those with alcohol in their bodies can leave here. How many has the bartender had?'

'Just the one. She was happy enough to admit to needing it after Blondie there decided to show off the wings.'

Aziraphale hums, a delighted noise and offers his hand to Crowley. 'Shall we leave them to it then?'

'After you my angel.'

[prettybirdy979]

Azi returns from something to find half of the Daft Angel Squad blocking the way into the bookshop b/c it's apparently dangerous. (It's safe; they just fell for Gabriel's story.) The other half are holding a funeral for a long-forgotten now-mouldy half-eaten doughnut. To make things worse, Gabriel turns up in the middle of this. (Gabriel told them that doughnuts were halos in an attempt at a cautionary tale re: gross matter. The metaphor sailed over the walnut squad's heads.)

This sounded like chaos before I even started writing it. For the unaware, please see this post and this one. Please feel free to send me any prompts. More of my fics here

It was a nice lunch.

That's what Aziraphale holds to, as he stands on the corner facing his shop and just stares at the chaos unfolding in front of him. At his side is Crowley, who is just barely holding in laughter.

There are no humans on the street. Thank goodness.

In front of the bookshop is a guard of angels; the troop of ah, misguided souls... wait. Aziraphale can call them what they are now.

There's a line of daft angels around his book shop, looking for all the world like an honour guard. But a bad one, with sloppy marching steps and half their numbers missing.

This other half being too busy crowding around something on the ground. One of them is standing before the crowd, reading from a bible while the others have their heads bowed like... like...

Like they are at a funeral.

Aziraphale takes a step forward so he can see what is on the ground. And then takes a step back so he can swallow laughter.

'Is that-?' Crowley asks.

'It is,' Aziraphale confirms.

The angels are standing around the mouldy, half eaten doughnut someone dropped outside Aziraphale's shop and holding a funeral. With the full requim for the dead.

Then there is a squawking noise as the guard for his shop looks up. 'Stay away! Stay away!' they cry in unison, 'Danger, danger! Warning, warning!'

'Will Robinson,' Crowley whispers under his breath. Aziraphale gives him a strange look and he shakes his head. Right then.

The angels all come as one, the first one stopping before Aziraphale while the others line up behind them. 'Gabriel has warned us of the dangers and we are here to protect.'

'Protect,' chorus the rest of the angels.

Aziraphale does not resist the urge to roll his eyes. They do not notice, instead encircling him and Crowley.

'What,' Gabriel says from behind him and Aziraphale clenches, 'are you doing?'

Before Crowley can do more than hiss or Aziraphale can say anything, the daft angels speak up. 'We're protecting Aziraphale from the danger! In this shop! Like you told us to.'

Aziraphale has the distinct impression that if Gabriel knew about the human concept of a face palm that he would be doing it. But as that would have required him to read Aziraphale's memos, he is sure Gabriel has no idea.

A pity.

Crowley crackles in glee. 'And the funeral, my fellow angels?' he asks.

'For a fallen comrade,' daft angel in front says. 'Archangel Gabriel told us of how the doughnuts are other angels' halos and for this one to be so broken and mouldy, they must be beyond our reach.'

Every one of the squad bows their head in mourning.

'You know,' Crowley says with something like glee in his voice as Gabriel splutters behind them, 'there's a human ritual to be performed, when mourning a friend.'

'Oh? Oh? Oh?' comes the chorus of daft.

'Crowley...' Aziraphale says, seeing where this is going and unsure if he should stop it or encourage it.

'They call it,' Crowley continues, ignoring the warning, 'a pub crawl.'

You know what? Aziraphale does need a drink to deal with these walnuts. 'Yes. A pub crawl,' he adds as the angels all exchange looks and Gabriel starts to panic behind them, clearly not willing to challenge the immortal angel and demon.

'We perform what humans call a 'toast' to their memory in as many pubs as we can find.' Aziraphale raises a hand. 'Come on, we'll leave Gabriel to guard the shop. He's so much better at it than us.'

And the angel squad all form up and follow Crowley and Aziraphale to the nearest pub, while Gabriel rages behind them.

[prettybirdy979]

Tumblr Ficlet for the return of the DAFT ANGEL Squad Please? (Context in server)?

Sequel to this and inspired by this. Please feel free to send me any prompts. More of my fics here.

The first warning they get of the approaching disaster is the sound of many people plodding along in formation, the echoing steps of a dozen bodies in unison.

But considering Crowley is wrapped up in watching his angel eat one of the doughnuts from his - well, their but Crowley's still working on his first while Aziraphale's on his third - box, he's not paying much attention. Loads of humans jog as a group round parks, little packs of them. Yes, they're not normally so in time but again. Aziraphale has sugar on his face and Crowley is timing how long it takes him to notice.

He pulls out another doughnut from the box as he watches. He is not paying attention as the pack reaches them.

'Demon!' a voice calls, and Crowley looks up, into the faces of a dozen or so angels. Aziraphale's little pack of angels, the ones who fell for his clever fake out.

it was the angel in front who called out, but a moment later their fellows join in. 'Demon! Demon! Demon!' they cry, like the world's worst seagulls. And they speed up, sprinting towards Aziraphale and Crowley's bench like a rugby team after a ball.

Crowely feels Aziraphale tense at his side. They have a second before someone is going to think to smite, realise they are well in range for it.

So Crowley does the only thing in his head right now, the only thought screaming at him. He has something circular in his hands. These are not bright souls.

He puts the doughnut on his head.

It's like watching a car crash. The angel in front just stops, instantly, while the others plow into their back under their own momentum. The angel in front keeps their footing, but only just, leaving a pile up of angels all staring at Crowley.

'Ohhhh!' says the angel in front.

Oops!' echoes their companions.

Crowley glances to his side to see Aziraphale, mouth open and blinking rapidly. It feels much like the look on his face, because what the Hel- Heav- SOMEONE, that worked?

That should not have worked.

The pack of angels approach at a slower pace, more like a fast walk than a jog. As the first angel reaches Crowley and Aziraphale, they stop.

'Hi! Sorry about that, we thought you were a demon.'

'I... noticed?' Crowley offers, touching his doughnut halo.

The pack all nod, like ridiculous human pigeons. 'We're usually very good at spotting demons,' one in the middle of the pack offers. 'We trained under the angel Aziraphale.'

Aziraphale blinks again. 'Did you now?'

'Yeah!' one at the back cries. 'He taught us how to smite a demon without even having to smite it.'

Crowley bites his lip as Aziraphale glances towards the sky, moving his lips in a way that suggests if they weren't moving like that, he'd be laughing aloud.

'That is very impressive,' Aziraphale says in a tone as patronising as a bored adult being shown the same rock for the third time by a small child.

The tone flies over the heads of the angel pack. 'We know!' the one in front cries. 'We're very good at our job.'

'Are you now?' Crowley asks, adjusting his halo. 'Well, we shouldn't keep you from your work. Off you go.'

The pack beams at them and bounce off, back to jogging in time.

'I'm not sure if they are a credit to Heaven or Hell,' Crowley drawls as he pulls the doughnut down and takes a bite of it. It's only been on his hair, should be fine. 'Certainly not a credit to you.'

Aziraphale groans and finishes a doughnut in one bite. 'I can't believe they fell for that.'

'Heaven doesn't make them like they used to,' Crowley drawls, and offers Aziraphale a doughnut. 'Better angels know you eat the demon's doughnuts not watch them play with it.'

Aziraphale glares at him and takes the whole box.

'Oi! Share!'

'You only want them now because I have them,' Aziraphale says primly and eats another doughnut. 'Come on, I think there's enough alcohol at the bookshop to erase the memory of their stupidity.'

Crowley grins and gets up. 'Not sure that's true, but let's give it a go.' He offers his hand to Aziraphale, who takes it with a smile.

He still has sugar on his face. Hmm, maybe Crowley can help him get it off at the bookshop; as a favour you know.

Might be a better memory for today than the pack of daft angels, that's for sure.