#hell's kitchen au

[angelbroad]

Dead Plate AU stuff

Characters: Vincent Charbonnaeu, Rody Lamoree, Camille Bouchard (oc), Jessica Gallois (oc)

If you want to know more, ask away

[blue-rose-soul]

Wait, did Alastor put up the picture of the "Idiot Box" on the wall of banned customers or did Lucifer? Because the second sounds hilarious. "Congrats on the new business, kiddo! Here's the perfect decoration!"

Pfffft, okay at first it was all Alastor. But now it's that Alastor decided he was going to ban Vox before opening day and had the wall space reserved when Lucifer came waltzing in with the portrait and Alastor was like, "Oh, this is perfect," and hung it up.

[hashileio]

cursed coffee shop discussions with @lady-of-disdain

[click for better quality]

[witchstormm]

The hell’s kitchen AU no one asked for, but I’ve been thinking about for a while now

Some AU notes under the cut!!

AU Notes:

-Paulkins are the finalists (in my mind, Emma wins, BUT I keep it vague because I feel bad for picking between the two… tho knowing them, they probably hire the other immediately so it doesn’t matter too much)

-Black Jackets are a wild assortment of characters: Charlotte, Paul, Emma, Peanuts, and Duke Keane. Ted almost made it, but lost to Peanuts at the last moment.

-Ted and Emma almost light the entire place on fire during a service and yet somehow avoided elimination (they have this whole thing of where they’re gonna strangle each other pretty much the entire competition, but Emma hugs him when he gets eliminated and he’s her first choice for the final service)

-Yes, Gordon Ramsey is in Hatchetfield. Don’t question it.

[e-nonsense]

A LITTLE PREVIEW OF THE NEXT CHAPTER IN CASE YOU GUYS WERE THINKING I WASNT WORKING ON IT

“You’re nuts, absolutely fucking psycho,” Dick rambles, walking in an endless circle around the spacious space in your bedroom. He’d been like this for hours, you had been clumsy enough to come stumbling back in through the window without checking if anyone was in your room —you had assumed no one was, because you were usually left forgotten— and he was waiting in their for you, worried.

“Calm down,” you mutter, sighing softly as you drop back onto the plush bed behind you exhaustedly. Dick points a finger at you, not that you notice due to your obvious lack of sight.

“Don’t ’calm down’ me, young lady.”

You groan at his incessant nagging, “you’re being too loud, Dick.” You mumble, covering your ears when he gasps loudly in offence, the sound coming out three times as loud in your oversensitive ears. “I’m serious, man. You’re too fuckin’ loud,” you accent is thick, the typical accent any kid from Gotham would have.

Dick grumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes and you snort. “I heard that,” you say, your oldest brother raising a brow in curiosity. “You did?”

“I can hear everything.”

[rosegolqen]

Mors Vincit Omnia

billy russo x reader (au)

warning: none

words: 3321

ii. feigned behaviour and alias

20.160 minutes. 336 hours. 14 days. That was the last time Billy Russo laid his eyes on the woman who he only knew two facts about. Her name and that she at least knows how to speak two languages. What a fucking nightmare these last two weeks have been. He should be disappointed in himself. In not one of the databases he searched through has he found her. He even had to ask a few favours. How pathetic of him.

The more pathetic thing about him was not being able to concentrate on the woman — whose name he had already forgotten— who lay in his bed. He blamed it on the stress. He had a big client coming in that he had been sweet-talking in the last few days to sign a contract with Anvil. It was just the stress, nothing else. He was already dreading the stupid gala that he had to attend on the weekend. The positive thing though, this possible client invited him, which meant the deal was likely to be signed by next week. Which furthermore meant more money coming in and that meant he was less in debt with Rawlins.

Hands gripped his right bicep as the smell of too-sweet perfume hit his nose and a warm body draped itself over him. Anya? Alice or Amelia? He honestly couldn't remember what the woman's name beside him was. He randomly hit a number on his phone an hour ago and asked if she could come over to have fun. Anya or whatever her name was agreed and arrived in a revealing dark red dress that showed off her long legs and nice chest. Immediately Billy knew she would be a nice distraction for a few hours.

What he didn't take into account was that his mind would jump too quickly back to the mystery woman who moved like an assassin. He should concentrate on Anya beside him as she slowly caressed his sides with gentle hands. "What's on your mind, pretty boy?"

A sour taste settled in his mouth at her compliment but Billy pushed the dark thoughts away as they tried to grip his mind with slimy hands. Anya couldn't know how that compliment made his insides churn with anxiety. He stiffened his smile when he looked at her, scratching his beard as he pondered her question. The lie slipped from his tongue easily. "Work." Billy stretched his hands above his shoulders, laying them underneath his head. Anya clung to his body even more as his hands moved away. "It's been a rough couple of days."

Anya kissed his chest, slowly moving up to his neck and jawline. She moved the silk sheets away from her body, straddling his lower stomach. “I can help distract you.” She said in a husky voice, arousal deepening the timbers in her vocal cords.

Billy welcomed her distraction, savouring the moments when his mind didn’t stray to anything else other than Anya and her body. He lost himself in her movements as he flipped them over and seated himself deep inside her warmth. His brain shut out any thought of boring paperwork, wasted flatter on rich men and hazel eyes that seemed to accompany him even in his dreams.

—

Billy already hated this. The stuffy room with artificial light made his eyes burn a bit as he blinked the uncomfortable feeling away and his eyes adjusted to the light. The people around him mingled in groups in their lavish suits and dresses. Expensive watches adorned the men's wrists in the room and ladies wore their most luxurious necklaces and earrings. Billy should be used to this. To people floundering their wealth and money— hell, he even did it— but it was still strange sometimes. Now and then he's just the same young boy who jumped from foster home to foster home.

Pushing those grey deliberations away from his mind, Billy tried to mingle with the people who first called his name when he stepped into the room half an hour ago. He tried to focus on the conversation going on around him but he should find the potential client who invited him to this dull fundraiser with even more duller and uninteresting people. Though some of the nonprofits who were trying to raise money and build relationships with their donors tonight seemed rather compelling. Just the suck-up rich and unstimulating people seemed to tire Billy's mind.

He adjusted the cuffs of his impeccable suit, taking a subtle look at his watch. 20:48. At least another two hours until it was deemed proper and acceptable for him to go home. Billy craned his neck, eyes searching for a specific clientele that should already be here. He hoped tonight they could come to a reasonable agreement and sign the contract Billy's assistant sent him over yesterday.

The voice he was hoping to hear tonight called behind him, pulling him away from the suffocating crowd. Daniel Shepherd clapped him on the shoulder, his voice pulling in his head that turned in his direction. "Rosetta, please let me introduce you to William Russo."

Billy looked at the woman who was beside his potential client. Daniel had his hand on the small of her back as he continued to list names Billy hadn't heard of yet. While the women tonight wore revealing dresses with slits to their thighs and low-cut gowns in a variety of different colours, Rosetta wore a simple satin black evening dress with an open back. The fabric clung to all the right places on her body but not too much to indulge in what lay underneath the pricy textile.

Rosetta's gaze met his as she uttered the words in a voice that seemed too familiar for Billy. Have they met before? Maybe even shared an intimate night together but the accent in her voice made him scratch those thoughts away. "Pleasure."

"All mine, Rosetta." He politely answered back, dark eyes that blended in with his pupils never left her face. Studying the details he couldn't remember where he knew from. "You are from-?"

"Yes, Britain." She agreed without Billy having to end his sentence. She probably had that asked too many times tonight. "I'm here instead of my friend who painted all this amazing art." She gestured with her hand around the room, a smile on her face. She had dimples, Billy realized. His eyes left her form as he surveyed the room. He didn't notice them before. Huh. "She fell sick but wanted someone to represent her here today. She called Daniel and asked him if I could come instead of her. Daniel being the gracious co-host he is, of course, said yes."

"You talk too highly of me." Daniel put his hand on his heart, the other still on her back. Billy's gaze discreetly followed the curve of Rosetta's jawline and the slope of her nose to her lips. Those were unrecognizable but her eyes, the dark brown of her eyebrows and pinned dark strands of hair brought up thoughts Billy didn't seem to shake. They must have slept together at some point otherwise Billy didn't have a clue where he would know her from. But the name Rosetta or her English accent didn't ring any bells and she didn't seem to react to him at all. Focus, Billy. Make time to talk to Daniel and convince him to sign.

"It's the truth!" Rosetta clutched her purse with hands that seemed too callous for a lady who attended tonight's gala.

Daniel smiled at her before his eyes left hers and he looked around the circle of people who stood with them at the round high bar table. "Well, if I knew Anita had such beautiful friends I would have invited her more often to these events."

Rosetta stiffened up a bit, the corners of her mouth twisting. It was gone in a second as her lips pulled up in a charming smile, but Billy saw it. Maybe he should stop staring at her but who cared? He certainly didn't but he also didn't want to come across like a creep so he averted his eyes to the other guests before moving back to her. While she wore heels and Daniel wasn't a tall man himself either she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes. "If I knew this many handsome men attend these kinds of galas, I would have asked her sooner to invite me."

Daniel laughed loudly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a light shade of pink covered his ears. As far as Billy knew Daniel wasn't married or even had a girlfriend. There was a rumour going around an upper-class dinner Billy attended a few months ago that Daniel and his assistant held a close relationship but nobody knew anything else on the matter. "You are too kind, my lady, and a charmer." Daniel voiced smoothly back.

Rosetta tilted her head, the strand of hair that reached her chin shifted with the movement of her cranium. "What can I say I enjoy your company."

"Do you?" Daniel's eyes didn't stray from her as the conversation around the small circle of people at the table continued. Rosetta didn't spare Billy a second glance when the chatter strayed back to him, asking him how life was treating him. No, she rather exchanged flirty remarks with Daniel Shepherd.

What a nightmare, Billy thought as he effortlessly smoothed his hair back, the glass of single malt whiskey cold in his hand and the smoothness of the drink burned his throat as he swallowed a sip. He surveyed the artwork around him, the blended colours of dark reds and cobalt blues. The paintings didn't stir any feelings in him or any further thought to know more about them. However, he was interested in who Rosetta's sick friend was. The name Anita didn't strike a chord in his consciousness so Billy let them drift away.

Rosetta's voice made him turn back to her as she looked at him, "What is it that you do for work exactly? If I may ask, of course."

His bewildered expression at her question made Billy think he looked like a fish caught off guard. "I-" What do you mean she didn't know what he did? What he owned? That he served in the Army for years and killed more people than he could count on his two hands? It made Billy think less of himself, which didn't seem logical. He wanted people to know and recognize him. He wanted to be notable for something yet he didn't wish for people to understand or fathom him.

Then it dawned upon him as she further explained, "I'm sorry, I should have rephrased myself. I'm not very familiar with everyone around here and what they exactly do. I'm trying to get to know as many people as I can. Make acquaintances, you know?"

Of fucking course she didn't know him or rather his social image that was open to the public. She or anyone else for that matter didn't know the horrible things Billy did outside of his public appearances. The lonely nights that he spent covered in the blood of the people Rawlins wanted Billy to eliminate. That he almost got his best friend and his family killed. "I own a security company."

"Like for clubs?"

Billy chuckled, shaking his head as surveyed the woman before him. His laughter died down, Rosetta's innocent eyes wide at his teasing smile when he answered. "No, we protect Senators,-" Billy shrugged, "-public people who are in any type of risk or endangerment."

Her mouth formed an oval shape, brows furrowing before they evened out again. "Oh, that makes more sense, doesn't it?" She looked at Daniel with a fascination in her eyes as Billy revealed his answer. He found it strange. A classy woman from England with calloused yet tender-looking hands seeking validation from a man like Daniel Shepherd. What was she here for and why? She was trying to come across as a modest and proper yet dense lady while Billy saw the sharp glint in her eyes when nobody else seemed to. And maybe that made him more nervous than before. Because he recognized it in himself when he was talking with dim-witted clients or trying to seem like the good guy when doing interviews with whatever newspaper.

"Billy here has been working very hard.” Daniel praised him, “His company is one of the most successful ones here in New York."

Billy did let those words get to his head. Daniel wasn’t lying. Anvil was the most affluent and profit-making that it have ever been. "Thank you, Daniel. I always like to hear those words."

Billy looked at Rosetta again to gauge her reaction to the well-doing of his company and the flatter he received from Shepherd but she wasn’t looking at him or Daniel. Rather she observed the crowd around her in the spacious room. Something appeared to catch her attention more than the looks of Billy Russo and that made him feel…? Absolutely nothing, the ex-military man thought.

She looked back at Daniel, craning her neck to whisper something in his ear and clutching her bag with pale knuckles. She turned around and gave Daniel one last charming smile. Billy only saw the full extent of her backless dress as she made her steps away from them, hips swaying just the right way to turn heads in her direction. "Restroom," Daniel answered Billy's questioning gaze as he averted his eyes and smiled at the man standing before him. Billy jumped right into business but the question still lingered in his mind.

Who was this woman?

—

Billy fucking Russo. Of course. Why didn’t Anastasiya think of that? Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was so excited for the information she needed to get tonight that she didn’t think a socially recognizable person like Billy Russo would also attend the same gala she happened to be present at. Yeah, she knew exactly who he was when she spied on Kolya two weeks ago at the warehouse. She didn’t think he was worth another thought these last 14 days yet tonight proved Anastasiya wrong.

Why? Why and why? Billy could mess up the whole plan she carefully laid out for tonight. He didn’t seem to know her which had slowed Anastasiya’s heartbeat when she spoke to him before. But the way his eyes lingered on her for more than an ethically acceptable time made her nervous and she hadn’t felt nervous in a long while.

With a deep breath and an additional strut in her steps, Anastasiya fixated on her target for the night. The glass containing a scarlet wine that she grabbed from a tray made her hand heavy as she focused on the man coming towards her. She was out of sight of Daniel and his suck-up friends so Anastasiya didn’t mind putting on a show as she intentionally slipped on nothing but thin air.

The ruby liquid collided with the white and black colours of the man’s suit before her as she steadied herself and the glass in her hand. "Oh, my! I am so sorry, sir! That is all my fault. I haven't been paying attention to where I was going."

The man whom Anastasiya studied for the last two weeks let out a loud curse, "No! Leave it!" He quickly grabbed a few napkins from a nearby table as he shook his head, muttering curse words under his breath. His harsh tone softened when he looked at her. Anastasiya made sure her eyes looked as innocent as possible, her shoulders hanging low, brows pulled together to enhance that timid aura she was supposed to give off. Her mouth hung open with an apologetic look on her face. The man sputtered on his words. "I shouldn't have been walking this fast. Excuse me for raising my voice."

Anastasiya hoped she pulled off the shy and pure exterior as she apologized. Her arms reached for more napkins as she patted the older man’s suit to help him. "No, please don't apologize. I ruined your suit."

"Nothing I can't buy 10 more times." My God. How uncreative, Anastasiya thought. People who were truly strong on the inside wouldn’t need to show off to people by saying phrases like that. People with extreme qualities like bragging about how great they were, and how many women they’ve seduced also liked to brag about their fancy cars. But those were the very same people who were such weak, tiny little people on the inside. Anastasiya never understood the concept. They were trying to cover up their weaknesses and insecurities with bravado and wealth. People should let their actions do the talking sometimes rather than using their unnecessary words.

Anastasiya didn’t let the comment affect her though. "Please let me do something for you." She mimicked a fake pondering look on her face. The man was already eating out of the palm of her hands. "Let me pay for the cleaning. I feel terrible."

"Nonsense."

She put the pink slightly wet napkins on the table. "Then let me make it up to you with a dinner?"

"I-"

"Please, I insist." The man’s name was Denis Andreyev. He hesitantly agreed to her offer but with a bit more convincing on Anastasiya’s side he took the bait. She grabbed a business card from her bag with a fake name on it and slipped it into the front pocket of his suit. "Call me. And I will arrange a dinner for us where I can hopefully-" Anastasiya chuckled with embarrassment as she tapped the front pocket on his chest with her left hand, "Make up for whatever trouble I have caused you."

"Alright.” The man joined in laughter with her, a flirtatious smile on his face that made Anastasiya happy she would be able to kill him as soon as she got what she came for. “Thank you,...?"

"Beatrice." She answered his question. Denis bowed at the waist, his hand grabbed hers as he slowly brought up her hand to his mouth and kissed it. In that moment Anastasiya successfully seized his identifying card from his suit jacket as Denis was focused on her fluttery eyes and soft lips.

She snatched her other hand quickly back from his suit before he could notice it. Ding, ding. One for Anastasiya. Zero for yet another Russian man before her. Now she just had to get into his office undetected.

Denis wished her a good night and promised to call her. How bad that the number on that business card didn’t exist just like the name she gave him. Anastasiya apologized again as she stepped away from him and made her way to the stairs to be able to reach the elevator.

When she reached the corner of the wall, disappearing behind the white slab of concrete and out of the gaze of the other guests, a strong arm reached around her waist and pinned her to the wall. Warm hands covered her mouth, and the voice of the man she didn’t want to hear again tonight reached her ears, “Where do you think you’re going with that, Anastasiya?”

Billy fucking Russo.

[daredevil-artwork]

Daredevil by Shelton Bryant

[angelbroad]

The Night I Fed You Your Mother's Heart

TW: Descriptions of violence, referenced abuse, cannibalism

The break room smelled of cigarettes and anxiety. It was here in this well kept, yet suffocating room that Camille had found herself in along with Vincent. She didn’t smoke, the vile clouds irritating her throat and lungs. She, instead, lit her friend’s cigarettes whenever he felt like he needed the sensation of nicotine.

 Yes, Vincent, he was a strange one indeed. Camille found herself drawn to him ever since their first class together in this culinary school. It was not a romantic interest, not at all, it was more like finding a kindred spirit. Broken homes, physical disabilities....hers more obvious than his.

 Vincent couldn’t taste, he made that known to her from day one. He was a very closed off person, rarely speaking and mostly focusing on his work. Their first interraction had been during a pastry assignement, where they made profiterole. He was the only student that was willing to approach her. In a way, Camille couldn’t blame her kitchen mates, her unnaturally tall height and elongated limbs would make anyone turn away. She hated how her bones and skin were stretched, like the limbs of the spiders that raised her inside the walls. It was disgusting, but not to Vincent. He treated her just as he would treat anyone else, and she could tell by the raise of his eyebrow that he was impressed by just how much she followed his instructions to the letter.

 She liked to consider them friends after this. Camille would approach him to talk, and took the fact that he wasn’t turning her down or walking away as an open invitation for a friendship.

 They talked about their childhoods, about Vincent’s mother and Camille’s father. Both figures they hated. They would hang out more and more, Camille visiting Vincent’s dorm at some point. She still lived in the long abandoned house, serving as a perfect disguise for her violent grocery shopping. Vincent’s furniture was much more comfortable than hers, and she accidentally slept on them more than once. The man always forgave her, though. He never minded how touchy Camille was, or her weird habits. He tried to teach her things like properly plate a dish, or how much time she should leave the macaroons in the oven.

 Vincent Charbonneau was amazing. He would give her so much, and for that, Camille felt that she should repay him....greatly.

 “What are you thinking about?”, Vincent asked, bringing Camille back to the present.

 She hummed, “Nothing. Macaroons.”

 Vincent made a noise between a scoff and a chuckle, “Right.”

 The man put out his cigarette on the nearest ashtray before turning to Camille.

 “Our finals are coming soon.”

 She nodded, “Yes, I know that.”

 “Are you...free tonight?”

 Camille tilted her head, much like a curious dog would, “Why?”

 Vincent inhaled, “Look...you know I can’t taste so, do you mind being my taste tester for some possible dishes I am planning?”

 Camille gave him a signature wide smile, complete with a salute, “Yes, chef!”

 This time, Vincent actually chuckled, arms crossed, “Save that for when I am your actual boss, Camille.”

 It was like eating a full course meal at an actual bistro, and like always, Vincent proved himself more than worthy of bearing the title of chef. It was ironic how someone with no sense of taste could make food this good.

 Their fun night however, would be spoiled by the very much unneeded visit from Vincent’s mother. Or at least, her attempt at a visit. Camille had went to open the door, blocking her from entering as soon as she opened it, and shutting the door completely once Vincent ordered her to.

 She was filled with absolute disgust as she heard how his mother had treated him, how she was the reason he had lost his taste in the first place, and that was more than enough to bar her entry as soon as she saw her face.

 “Just...don’t let her in the next time she comes over, got it?”, he asked.

 “Of course.”, she responded, her eyes staring at the wall and her pupils constantly changing size as the gears in her brain grinded together. She looked down at Vincent, who was sitting on a chair, and put one hand on the table. “Vince.”

 He looked up at her as she continued.

 “If you want me to...I can kill her for you.”

 The man gave her a confused look, seemingly not believing her. He sighed, leaning on the table.

 “Did I...say something wrong?”, she asked.

 “No.”, Vincent responded, “Just don’t say those things with anyone else.”

 “Yes si-Vince. Yes Vince.”

 Vincent himself felt odd about Camille Bouchard. She was probably the only person that understood his struggles, and she accepted him despite his unpleasant, in his mother’s words, attitude. She followed orders like she was a doberman, and she always agreed to everything he would ask of her. In a way, it was comforting to have control over someone so...dangerous.

 It was no secret to him, from day one he knew something was wrong upstairs, but he did not seem to be on that woman’s list. In the beginning, he was willing to be around her because of that fear. However, soon he found himself actively seeking her out, her cheery attitude and oddly touchy habits making her pleasant company. She would fall asleep over at his own house more than often, and she herself made a comfortable pillow to lie on. Not that he would ever tell her he used her as one out of embarrassement.

 She started acting weird after his mother’s unwanted visit, finding her more distracted in the classes of the following days. After their finals, which they both passed with flying colors, Camille made a proposal on their way home.

 “Hey, Vince?”

 “Hm?”

 “It might come off as a little odd but, could you come by my house tonight?”

 Vincent raised an eyebrow, she never invited him over to her house, “Sure, but what is the occasion?”

 “Our freedom, of course!”, she said, “We successfully passed culinary school, and are now officially chefs.”

 “Mmmhmm.”, Vince slowly nodded, squinting his eyes up at her.

 “So, I decided to repay you for all those meals you made for me over the two years we’ve known each other.”

 “By doing what?”

 “Making you a meal!”

 “Oh?”

 “Yes, let me cook for you!”, she cheerily responded, earning a raise of the eyebrows and a small smile from Vince.

 “What will you be cooking?”, he asked.

 “I was thinking, braised heart.”

 “Sounds lovely.”

 When Vincent dropped by the house, it was already dark out, and he would be lying if he said the house did not look intimidating, because it did. But then, he questioned why Camille would choose to stay in this house that looked close to falling apart. He sighed, hesitantly walking up to the house through the garden of tall grass and knocking on the old door.

 The door creaked open, Vincent catching a glimpse of Camille’s brown eye through the darkness.

 “Vince! You uh, came in early..”

 “Yes, is there a problem?”

 “Oh no no I just....didn’t start yet.”

 Vincent rolled his eyes. This woman was terrible with time management.

 “Can I come in?”

 “Yes yes, sure!”

 Camille let him in, and he followed her through the contorting halls. The further they went the more Vincent realised how bloody Camille was. She was wearing the standard chef’s uniform, but most of the blood was on the rubber black gloves and apron she was wearing. Eventually, they came to a more civilised room that served as a kitchen and a small dining area. Vincent went to drag a chair for himself as Camille went past him and to the countertop. The room was decently lit, but had many dark corners. How did she live here?

 “Sorry about the mess.”, she said, “I don’t get many living visitors.”

 “That is a....weird remark to make.”

 She let out a short laugh before pulling out a large knife, digging into meat he couldn’t see, “Yeah.....yeah..”

 He raised his eyebrow, “You...are using pork for this, right? You do know this is the standard meat for braised heart.”

 The slicing of the meat stopped, Camille straightening her back as it was still turned to Vincent.

 “Vince.”

 “..Yes?”

 “You told me you couldn’t taste anything, right?”

 “Yes..where is this going?”

 Camille sighed, lifting up a bloody hand, “I have eating habits that would be considered....unnethical, by most people. But I found that depending on the relationship I had with them, the taste of the meat was different...more savoury.”

 Sweat started to form on Vincent’s forehead, swallowing down his building concern.

 “And I thought...maybe I could help you, too.”

 “...In what way?”

 Camille finally turned around holding the freshly ripped heart, which looked nothing like a pig’s. Which was confirmed as she stepped to the side, allowing Vincent to look at the freshly dead body of his mother, her chest split open like a bloody flower.

 All he could muster was a wide-eyed gaze as he looked at his deceased mother’s hazy eyes as Camille worked on the braised heart, neatly placing it in front of him. The cooking process made it impossible to see it was a person’s heart. The woman let go of the plate, a little blood staining the rim.

 “Please....try it...”

 Vincent looked up at her, her lanky body shaking in anticipation. Vincent looked down at the plate, she had followed his plating tips. He took a knife and fork, and cut a decent bite off the heart, slowly placing it into his mouth. He chewed, and he swallowed.

 “...It still tastes like nothing....”

 The two stood in silence for a few painful minutes before Camille slumped in a chair next to him, bringing her bloody hands on her face.

 “...Stupid..”

 “Do not say that.”

 “H-Huh..?”

 “This....might not have worked but...you did something like this, because you wanted to help me.”, he felt a lump on his throat, getting emotional, “...Thank you.”

 Camille’s eyes lit up, giving a wide, but sad smile, “I uh...I’m sorry I could not make her taste.”, she looked back at Mrs Charbonneau’s corpse, “I can throw this away, then.”

 “Throw it away?”

 “I hate the woman.”, Camille explained as she fired up the incinerator to burn the woman’s corpse, “I know better than to taste the bitter flesh of hers.”

 It clicked for Vincent. Le Boucher Des Gens.

 “Camille. You are in your twenties, right?”

 “Yes, why?”

 “The Butcher’s killings can be traced back twenty years.”

 “......Yes. Since I was seven.”

 Vincent did not talk about this topic anymore, but now, he was gifted a new philosophy. Perhaps, if her found the right person, like Camille suggested, he could finally taste again. For this reason, he decided to keep Camille close, even at his bistro. She took care of his problems, like she was a dog that answered to no one but him. A provider of the highest degree, and an individual that always had his back.

 Yes, he was truly lucky to have such a monster under his thumb.

[aqpippin]

Hi my love what if you post a little bit of the private chef au <3 for me <3

for you ??? anything <3 <3

I just really wanna do a fic featuring arguably my favourite trope — food as a metaphor for love/I want us both to eat well etc

this is without a doubt my least developed wip but basically —

gigi goode is a busy gal. jackie cox is a good cook. gigi usually ends her days sitting on the countertop with a glass of wine talking to jackie while she cooks. gigi tends to jackie’s wounds. jackie teaches gigi basic knife skills. jackie, in turn, tends to gigi’s wounds. it’s all very wholesome.

I haven’t worked on it a great deal more than that but one of my favourite tv shows is please like me where each episode is named after a food that is featured somewhere in the episode. so it’s like 👀 do I dare do a slow burn multi chap and name each chapter after a dish or do I just smack it out like the impatient goblin I am

[sjsmith56]

The Gilded Age, Part 6 - Confrontation

Summary: Amelia’s location is found and the Avengers make plans to rescue her while ending HYDRA and Boss Fisk’s activities once and for all.

Length: 6 K

Characters: Avengers, Harley, Django/Pietro, Amelia, Sergeant Barnes, John Walker.

Warnings: Threats of violence / sexual assault, sword fight, dishonourable behaviour, death of a character.

Author notes: Showdown time. Divider by vecteezy.com.

<<Part 5

Part 6. Confrontation

When Sergeant Barnes entered the 21st floor great room, the sounds of conversation were replaced by a hush. Approaching his colleagues, Barnes looked from face to face, expecting to see judgement being levelled at him. Instead, he found sympathy, which was almost more than he could bear, as he certainly blamed himself for the situation.

“You didn’t know,” said Samuel Wilson, his face bruised and one arm in a sling. “They were waiting and began following the hansom cab within a block of this locale. The driver tried to outrace them, but Walker leaped onto the moving cab and threw the man off. He barely avoided being run over. Then Walker pulled up as his associates arrived with another carriage. Mr. Winston put up resistance and was pistol whipped for his efforts, left bleeding on the road. I tried, Buck, I really did but they fired upon me and finally destroyed part of one wing, which sent me plummeting to the ground. Walker took Miss Winston into the carriage, throwing her with great force as he did. I was unable to follow.”

“I only wanted her to be safe,” he replied, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Instead, I delivered her to someone who will hurt her grievously. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that. My first instinct when Mrs. Stark told me was to seek vengeance.”

“That is an expected response,” stated Anthony Stark. “I would also seek similar justice. For now, temper your anger, hone it and focus it so that when we have a location where they are holding Amelia we can go in with an effective plan. Peter contacted the lawyer who is in contact with the vigilante. He promised to convince the man to use all of his associates to locate her. Until we get definitive word we plan. Sergeant Dugan from your old cavalry unit is on his way as they are prepared to join the effort.”

With Stark’s words, Sergeant Barnes accepted that the others held no ill will towards him, and he sat down at the table as they discussed possible strategies. Like him, they were anxious to have something, anything, to develop the correct tactics to use against an enemy with no honour.

Feeling the need, Barnes left to refresh himself, returning changed of clothes and attitude. He brought his rifle and pistols with him, laying them on the table closest to the books, disassembling them and cleaning them, in preparation for the upcoming battle. The task kept his hands occupied, as well as his mind, distracting him from dwelling on Amelia’s dilemma. The others, including the recently arrived Sergeant Dugan from their old unit, continued to study a map of New York to discern likely places for Amelia to be held. Almost to a person, they were certain it was on property controlled by Wilson Fisk, specifically the piers at the docks. The arrival of Mrs. Stark provided some respite, as she brought Mr. Winston with her, fresh from his medical treatment at the hospital. His head was bandaged, and he still looked a little worse for wear, but he was walking by himself.

“I swear Anthony, we should open our own hospital,” she commented as she bustled in. “That place was chaotic. There is no way Mr. Winston would get better there. I know that Hogan brought the scattered luggage of Mr. Winston and Amelia here, so I offered him a place with us to heal in peace and quiet.”

“Excellent, idea, my dear,” answered Stark, coming forward. “Mr. Winston, my apologies for this calamity. We are doing all we can to locate your daughter and are just waiting for an associate to bring us a location. I hope to have her back before nightfall.”

“Thank you, your assistance is most appreciated,” replied Winston. Spying Barnes by the bookshelf he approached the man. “Sergeant, I do not blame you for what occurred. Your reasoning was sound, and I agreed with it fully. Promise me that when you and your colleagues go into battle that you give no quarter to Walker or his associates.”

“I swear he will be defeated at my hands,” stated Barnes, standing up and offering his hand to the older man.

With that settled between them, Mr. Winston retreated to a suite of rooms, where he had the opportunity to bathe and change out of his torn clothing. His return coincided with a phone call from Mr. Hogan, on duty at the main door of the building, saying a young lad had something of value that he wished to sell.

“What is it, Hogan?” asked Stark, puzzled why a child would think they wanted to buy something from him.

“A hair comb, deliberately dropped by a young lady pretending to be a boy at the docks,” replied the man. “He says the Daredevil passed the word to bring any information pertaining to a lady, who didn’t belong at the docks, to your attention.”

“Bring him up,” ordered Stark, hanging up after. “I believe we have a purveyor of information coming up the elevator with Hogan.”

Moments later the young boy, who would only admit to the name Harley, stood in front of them, with his cap in hand. He looked from face to face then at the fine finishings in the room.

“You have a nice place,” he said to Stark, in a distinct accent marking him as from Hell’s Kitchen. “Are you rich?”

“I am. Is that a problem?”

“I might have to ask for more money,” he answered. “Can you afford a dollar?”

“I can. Let me see the comb.”

“Let me see the dollar.”

Stark laughed out loud and reached into his pocket, pulling out a billfold containing many denominations which made the boy’s eyes widen. He peeled a dollar bill off and held it towards the boy. Reaching into his pocket the boy took the comb out, offering it to Stark, taking the dollar in turn. Both Barnes and Mr. Winston confirmed that it was Amelia’s.

“Describe how you came by this,” said Stark.

“Give me another dollar.” The boy grinned, knowing the man would pay. He handed the dollar bill to the boy. “One of Pierce’s men, the friendly one, was takin’ the lady to the big warehouse on Pier 84. He had a sack on his shoulder. Don’t know what was in it. The lady was dressed like a boy, but I knew she were a lady, as her figure was too delicate, and she wore lady’s boots, of a fine leather. She looked back and saw me on the path between Pier 81 and 84. Just afore they got to 84, she tripped and pulled the comb out of her pocket, tossin’ it in the weeds. Django didn’t see it, then he helped her up and made sure she was okay.”

“Django? Are you sure of the name?” asked Wanda, suddenly very interested in the boy.

He looked to Stark, who pulled another dollar bill off the others.

“Yah, he’s not one of Pierce’s usual hoods. There’s talk that Pierce holds his wife hostage in a whor… house of ill repute in Washington. The others hit us and point their guns at us if we get too close. Django just tells us to go before Rumlow or Walker come after us. Sometimes, he gives us food. He has strange hair for a man his age; kind of grey and black.”

Wanda started, then grasped Vision’s hand, looking up at him. He smiled, knowing that the name and description held significance for her.

“Where are Walker, Rumlow and Pierce right now?” asked Barnes, holding his own dollar bill out to the boy with his metal hand.

He looked at it in wonder then up at Barnes’ face before taking it. It was probably the most money the boy had ever held in his life.

“In a warehouse on Pier 81. It’s crawlin’ with his men. They’re expectin’ you, I guess, all of you. You’re the Avengers, aren’t you?”

“Smart boy,” smiled Stark. “Tell me, do you have parents?”

He shook his head. “Died of the diphtheria. Me and my sister sneak into the basement of a flophouse with some others to sleep, and the Daredevil sends his friend to bring us food when he can. We manage.”

“School?”

The boy laughed. “What do I want school for? Don’t need to read to make a livin’.” He held up the four dollar bills. “This will last me a long time.”

Stark breathed out. “Well, young Harley, if you or your sister ever find yourself in any trouble, you give the officer my card.” Mrs. Stark handed one to the boy. “You’ve been very helpful, and I would like to think that we might become friends, if you’re amenable. My name is Anthony Stark. Remember that. I’ll be there for you, if you need me.”

The boy’s lips met in a grim smile, but he nodded his head, then looked at Hogan who jerked his head towards the elevator. When they were safely headed down to the lobby Stark looked at everyone.

“Well, I guess we have our location. We’ll need a small group to go to Pier 84, take out the guards there and rescue Miss Winston.” He looked at Wanda. “I assume you want to be on that delegation.”

“Django has to be my brother,” she said. “It is his middle name, and his hair started aging before he reached the age of twenty. He would only work for Pierce if he had no other choice. If he is married and Pierce took his wife, that means his heart is between a rock and a hard place.”

“Very well. The rest of us will focus our attention on Pier 81 where we’re expected. I think it is time to bring out a new arsenal. Everyone, come to my lab.”

Those assembled, even Sergeant Barnes who had been cleaning his preferred weapons, went down the one floor to Stark’s lab. He unlocked a double door to a room at one end and opened them wide. Inside were all sorts of fantastic looking firearms as well as several other familiar looking weapons.

“I’ve been working on some non-lethal firearms that dispense rubber bullets,” he said. “The results have been uneven, but I think we should use them if we wish to take Pierce, Rumlow and Walker prisoner to face trial.”

“What if we don’t?” asked Barnes, looking intently at Stark.

The older man returned the look at the younger man. “In the heat of battle, anything can happen. I wouldn’t judge any man in your position. Just consider it. I also have some firearms that dispense a weighted net. It can entangle anyone within seconds, similar to Peter’s webs. The more they struggle, the more entangled they become.”

“I’ll use that,” said Wanda. “It’s better than feeling their pain if I hit them with a bullet. Is it hard to load?”

“No, each net is already packed into a small cartridge. Once you fire one, you eject the empty case and set another in. Vision may have to cover for you as you reload since it takes a moment where you might be vulnerable.” Stark pointed to some arrows with different tips. “Clint, those are explosive, increases the damage if you use them to flush the enemy out of hiding. They’re all finely balanced and should feel the same as your regular arrows.” He opened a cupboard on the wall, displaying a number of swords and knives. “Natasha, James, these may interest you. I’ve noticed both of you experimenting with knives and various swords. These are lighter but very strong and have penetrated through wood up to two inches thick.” He gestured at all of it. “Go ahead, get a feel for them.”

Samuel Wilson looked at the assortment of weapons, feeling isolated by his arm injury. It was the arm he usually held his beloved falcon, Red Wing on, so bringing her wouldn’t be an option on this mission. Then he saw a pistol with a larger than normal cylinder and reached out for it, twirling it in his hand. It felt like an extension of his arm, and he turned to Stark.

“Just an ordinary pistol?” he asked. “Why is it on your wall of new weapons?”

“It sets off fireworks, packaged into a bullet,” explained the older man. “Can cause confusion to the enemy and flush him out into the open. Accuracy isn’t important, just its effects. The cylinder can be pre-loaded and once it is emptied you can pop it out to insert a fully loaded one. Take it.”

There was a belt with a holster made to hold the loaded cylinders, so Sam took that as well. Everyone tested out the feel of Stark’s new weapons then returned to the 21st floor where the decision was made to attack after dark. This time they would travel by carriage, then disembark nearby and approach the rest of the way on foot, using stealth, deciding the airship was too noticeable, especially on what would be a clear night. Sam would go with Wanda and Vision to the warehouse on Pier 84, shortly after the attack on Pier 81 started, hoping that would draw some of Fisk and Pierce’s men there.

When the appointed time came and they set out under the cover of darkness for the docks, they were all reminded that the inhabitants around the docks could choose to side with HYDRA and Fisk. As the attack on Pier 81 began, many of Fisk’s and Pierce’s men at Pier 84 advanced to the other location as expected, planning to flank the Avengers. Instead, they found themselves at the mercy of the vigilante known as Daredevil, as well as several of his associates, some children, some grown, who attacked those men in the dark, confounding them enough to delay their advance and in some instances sending them into the dark waters of the Hudson. Samuel Wilson, who had seen the dark shapes advancing on the armed force, debated going to their aid with his gun that dispensed fireworks, but the boy who had spoken in front of them at the Society, Harley, appeared with his younger sister, Hannah, surprising him.

“Save it for inside the warehouse, Falcon,” he whispered. “It will be needed there. Don’t worry, we know what to do with those villains. They’ll be sorry they ever stepped foot in Hell’s Kitchen. Come, we’ll take Pier 84.” He turned to his sister. “Get the others, Hannah.”

She ran off in the dark as if it held no sway over her and Harley led Sam back towards the warehouse on Pier 84. Vision and Wanda were already there, waiting outside the door, as the tall man looked up at the windows above, seeking an entrance. When Harley and Wilson appeared, he regarded the boy with admiration.

“Do you have a secret way in?”

“Yah, there’s a stair on the other side but stay on the left side of it as the right has been rigged to squeak if anyone goes up it. We’re just waitin’ for my sister to come with help.”

When Hannah appeared with several small children, Vision was worried about putting them into danger and voiced his concern, but Harley waved them away.

“They’re used to us beggin’ for food. They wave their guns at us, but Django always talks ‘em into leavin’ us alone. That’ll give you time to get up the stairs and Falcon can shoot his fancy gun.”

“How do you know what the gun will do?” asked Wilson.

Harley smiled; his teeth visible in the dark. “You’re injured so you can’t fight with your fists or use your bird. Mr. Stark is a genius who invents many things. I’m guessin’ by the size of the cartridges that it must do somethin’ big.”

“Clever boy,” said Vision. “Let’s go.”

Harley told his sister to count to 30 while he led the others to the other side of the building and the stairs. They went up the left side, not once making a sound. Carefully, he opened the door and led them inside, onto a landing that extended across the entire length of the building. They looked down to see the main door open and Hannah, with the other children, appeared begging for food. As predicted, Django intervened to protect the children. With the men distracted Wilson and Wanda took their positions while Vision silently made his way down to the main floor and found a place for him to hide. With a signal to Wilson, the latter fired the fireworks gun to the right of the gathered men, scattering them immediately, while Django hurried the children back outside, before taking cover himself. Wanda aimed her net gun at one of the men, catching him, impressed how his efforts to disengage just entangled him further. Django looked up then and saw her, locking eyes with Wanda.

She saw him mouth the words “sister,” then he came up the stairs towards them. Aiming the gun at him, she spoke, her voice emotional.

“It is you, isn’t it Pietro? How could you align yourself with the people who took me?”

“I didn’t know,” he answered. “You must stop before you get hurt. They’ll kill you.”

“This is my life now. To stop those who perform evil acts.”

Sam fired another round of fireworks, scattering the others and she shot at another without taking her eyes off her brother, successfully ensnaring him in the grip of the net.

“But they have my wife,” he protested. “They’ll hurt her.”

“She has already been rescued. Harley told us about her, and the authorities were informed. The house was raided an hour ago.”

Several men ran into the open to fire upon them, drawing fire from Vision. That seemed to convince Pietro and he began firing on the other men. Within minutes it was over, and Pierce’s men were either dead or restrained. After embracing his sister, Pietro stepped up to one of the doors on the landing, knocking on it.

“Miss Winston? It is safe to come out.”

The lock was turned and Amelia immediately beheld Wanda, advancing on her gratefully. She saw Samuel Wilson then and spied Vision on the main floor, guarding the restrained prisoners.

“Where are the others?” she queried, hoping for word of Sergeant Barnes.

“They’re attacking the other warehouse on Pier 81,” said Wanda. “We’re to take you back to the Society building.”

“Fisk and Pierce have sent even more reinforcements there,” interrupted Pietro. “If we lock these men in the cage, they’ll be secure until the police arrive. The others will need our help.”

“Then we help,” said Amelia. “I am uninjured as your brother guarded my well being. I know how to fire a gun and we can take these extra weapons to them.”

Pietro’s face brightened. “Come with me. There is a crate here, addressed to the Avengers. Fisk saw it as it was being unloaded off the ship and ordered his men to bring it here.”

He led the two women down the stairs towards where the assortment of stolen crates was located. One of the open ones displayed an assortment of hammers, clubs, masks, and other assorted curiosities, including a shield of red and blue with a star in the middle. Vision joined them, glancing briefly at the contents while he kept his eyes on the prisoners. Pietro picked up a sheet of paper with writing that was addressed to Anthony Stark and began reading.

Anthony,

After my journey seeking out these artifacts on your behalf, I have decided to stay in Kathmandu for some meditation and study with the local shaman. When next I see you, perhaps I can be of better service to your society of heroic individuals.

Best regards,

Dr. Stephen Strange

Illis bene utuntur

“What does that last line mean?” asked Pietro. “What language is that?”

“Latin,” answered Vision. “It means use them well. We should take them with us.”

“Well, that’s the problem,” said Pietro. “As soon as the crate was opened, we could only take a few items then it seemed the others were glued to each other. They won’t move.”

Wanda glided her hand over the contents, then smiled.

“They’re enchanted,” she stated. “The top layer was removable but these, still in the crate, are meant for someone specific. Someone with great power did this to ensure that only the person who was meant to use them could remove them from the crate.”

“Then we take the crate there,” stated Wilson. “Is it too heavy to lift onto a carriage?”

Pietro gestured to a pulley system above. Quickly, he and Vision herded the prisoners into a cage area, locking it with several locks and placing the keys well out of reach. Then Pietro harnessed two horses to a wagon and brought them in the door, lining them up before the crate. Fastening straps around it, he and Vision hoisted the crate up as Samuel Wilson walked the horses forward to position the wagon under it. Lowering the wooden box on the cart, they disengaged the straps. The children, who watched as they did this, picked up several of the guns and rifles left discarded by the imprisoned men and piled them on the wagon.

“Children, those are not toys,” cautioned Vision.

“They would shoot us if they could,” replied Harley. “You’ll need them. If we’re with you the others in the shanty town won’t bother you. Many are tired of bein’ bossed around by Fisk and treated like rats.” He looked at his little sister, Hannah, as if making a decision. “Would Anthony Stark really help us if we help him?”

“He would rather you be safe,” replied Vision, kneeling down to their level. “Help us get to Pier 81, then take cover. Afterwards, I will tell him of your assistance. He will, most assuredly, help you and anyone else who needs it. If he doesn’t, then I will. I am Vision, the Illusionist, and my word is my bond.”

The word went through the children of who he was, and it was agreed that they would accompany the wagon through the streets to Pier 81. Remembering her journey through the back pathways during the late afternoon, Amelia was surprised that she wasn’t more afraid on the return journey, remembering the hopelessness on the faces of those she saw. But as they travelled towards the other pier, it seemed that word spread of the Avengers taking out Boss Fisk and his men, once and for all, along with his allies in HYDRA. They brought their own weapons, brooms, clubs, sticks, frying pans, whatever was at hand. Vision, Samuel Wilson and Pietro looked nervously at the procession behind them as they led the horse drawn wagon towards the site of the battle, the sounds of which became louder as they approached. Stopping just before they reached the street that would expose them Vision stood on top of the wagon and spoke to them.

“You may see an assortment of heroic individuals, the Avengers, in the midst of a battle. They fight with purpose and intent but will never knowingly put you into danger. You know Fisk’s men better than anyone. If any escape from the warehouse do what you must with them.”

With the armed women, and Samuel Wilson, with his fireworks gun, seated in the back of the wagon with the crate, and both Vision and Pietro at the front, they approached the large warehouse on Pier 81. They could hear the sound of firearms inside but were unable to discern where the Avengers were located. Two of the shanty town men approached the large doorway into one end of the warehouse and opened it slightly, glancing inside before reporting to Vision.

“Fisk’s men are just inside. If we open these doors quickly you can race the wagon in and make them scatter. Your people seem to be on the other end of the warehouse.”

“Sam, can you fire your fireworks gun as we enter to make them think there are more of us?”

“It would be my pleasure,” replied the grounded Falcon. “Ladies, keep your heads down. Pietro, don’t stop until we get to our side.”

The grey-haired man nodded, then looked his sister in the eye. “If I don’t make it, tell Sarah I love her.”

“You’ll make it, brother,” she answered. “I believe in you.”

He looked at Vision then and leaned close. “Thank you for rescuing her. I lost hope only when HYDRA took my wife.”

The normally quiet man looked at Pietro. “She always knew you would find each other again. You ready?”

The younger man nodded and took the reins firmly in his hands. Vision nodded at the two men. As soon as the doors were open, he and Pietro both yelled at the horses to go, and he began firing his pistols in rapid succession while Sam did the same, spreading an array of fireworks that pinned down Pierce and Fisk’s men. Amelia also fired her rifle, not once stopping. They raced to the other end of the warehouse where the Avengers seemed to be pinned down. As Pietro turned the wagon broadside, he jumped off, quickly releasing the horses, then helped the women off. They joined the others behind the extra barricade the wagon provided.

“Well, you were supposed to take the ladies back to the Society building,” stated Anthony Stark, no longer in his iron suit. “But seeing as how they were able to target my firearms apparatus and render it useless, I can’t deny your appearance is welcome. You brought more weapons, I see. What’s in the crate?” Vision brought the letter from Dr. Strange out, handing it to Stark, who read it quickly. “I wondered what happened to that.”

“There is an enchantment on the contents,” said Wanda. “I believe only those people who can benefit from the weapons inside can take them out. There was a shield, several types of hammers and clubs, a staff, bow and arrows, even a long gun, and some odd-looking objects that made no sense to me.”

Amelia looked at the assembled people, not seeing Sergeant Barnes.

“He is in the rafters, using his sniper skills to keep Pierce and Fisk from leaving,” said Loki, pointing behind him. “Thus far, he has kept them pinned down.”

“Dr. Banner? Is his other being no longer involved?” She looked for him, seeing the man sitting morosely on a crate. “Doctor, are you alright?”

“This is the second time my inner hulking beast has removed himself from the fight. Perhaps he is tired of it all.” He looked at Pietro. “Wanda’s brother?”

“Yes, he kept me safe from the others.”

They were forced to take cover as a round of gunfire from the other end pinned them down. Then a voice boomed from the other side of the building.

“Amelia, you should not have come,” said Walker, ominously. “You have just angered me even more than I thought possible. I will have you if I have to kill every single one of the Avengers.”

“She is not yours,” rang a voice from the rafters, Sergeant Barnes. “Amelia Winston is her own person, capable of deciding her own life. I, for one, am pleased to see her here. It proves her own personal bravery in the face of certain danger. It is an admirable trait.”

At the far side, they could see John Walker stride forward, his arrogance on display as he stood there with a stern look on his face.

“Then I have a proposition for you, Sergeant Barnes,” said Walker. “Fight me, one on one. Our only weapons a sword, our fists and our desire for the same woman. Whoever defeats the other takes the victory in this battle for their side.” He looked back at the others behind him. “Don’t worry. He has no chance against me. Only officers were trained in sword work.”

Barnes dropped from the rafters, landing heavily on his feet. Removing his hat and gun belt he stood amongst the others. He was wearing a sword, one of those displayed in Stark’s lab.

“It was always going to be this way,” he said to Rogers and Stark. “From the moment he accused me of that heinous crime, to his kidnapping of Amelia; it was leading to this moment.”

“Buck, he’s insane. You know he won’t play by the rules.”

A grim smile graced the Sergeant’s face. “I know it, but he doesn’t know that I have been exploring the intricacies of sword play. He has no honour and neither do the others. I fully expect them to continue fighting no matter who wins. While I fight him, open that crate and unlock the weapons that were procured for us.” He looked at Amelia, who now stood close to him. “Were you injured by him?”

She nodded, showing him the bruises on her neck. “Not seriously, but he was cruel and spoke of how he planned to treat me when we were married. You should have told me of your concerns.”

He looked down. “I know that now. Where your safety was concerned, I admit that I grasped at the most obvious solution. Promise me that we will talk later.”

She nodded, then stroked his cheek. Stepping out from behind the cover of the wagon, Sergeant Barnes stood facing the man who been his tormentor for so long. Even though they were at different ends of the building, the glare they gave each other was as intense as if they were nose to nose. Slowly, they advanced towards each other, Barnes cautiously, Walker with a disdain for his opponent. When they were within a blade’s reach of each other Walker extended his blade towards his opponent, who had his left foot ahead of him as he prepared for the inevitable attack.

“We touch blades to begin, Barnes,” he stated. “Don’t you know proper protocol?”

“It’s not protocol, Walker. You must think I am stupid.”

The U.S. Agent shrugged then suddenly swung his sword at Barnes’ side, a move that was quickly blocked with his own sword, the blades clanging as they hit together. Walker went on the offensive again, taking several swings at Barnes, each one of them easily blocked as they circled each other.

“You’ve been learning swordplay,” spoke the black-suited man. “Doesn’t matter, as I’m still better than you.”

Barnes said nothing. Instead, he watched Walker closely, trying to gauge his intentions from his eyes, head and foot movements. When Walker parried forward, beating Barnes back, he successfully defended, grasping the man’s sword hand in his metal one, and raising it overhead, then pushing him away with enough force to send him backwards almost 10 feet. A chuckle came out of Walker’s throat.

“I think when I win this battle that I will claim my prize immediately,” he said. “Right here, in front of everyone, I’ll take what’s mine. I did meet her first, after all, three years ago. Fine filly of a woman, just needed the right man to break her, teach her to obey commands, teach her to submit. Perhaps I’ll let you live long enough to witness it. What do you think, Barnes?”

This time, the Sergeant went on the attack, noticing the others were successfully removing weapons from the crate. Swinging his sword with purpose, he forced the man to retreat to a point where he had to jump on a stairwell to get away. Barnes ran after him as Walker leaped up onto another landing, scattering men aside as they attempted to stay out of the reach of the sharp blades. They swung their weapons at each other several times, and Walker connected with Barnes’ metal arm, cutting through the fabric of his uniform when he did. When the U.S. Agent leaped from one landing to another, Barnes followed him and grappled with him, next to a railing that broke, both of them falling heavily to the dirty floor. Amelia winced at the thud of their bodies hitting the surface, as both men sluggishly moved in their slightly dazed state. Then Barnes got up and thrust his sword at Walker’s neck, his fierce countenance emphasizing his intention to pierce the skin.

“Yield,” he demanded.

“Or what?” asked Walker insolently. “You’ve got me. End it.”

“I am not you,” roared Barnes. “I am not a coward, not a killer, not someone who revels in cruelty. I give you a chance as a gentleman to yield with honour. Take it.”

With a smirk, Walker spoke. “I yield.”

Still holding his blade at the man’s throat, Barnes reached for Walker’s blade and stepped on it, then snapped it in two. Withdrawing his blade from where he had it, he began to walk towards the Avengers. Despite the cries of the others alerting him to Walker taking the broken blade in hand, he was only able to turn partly back to him, in time to receive a thrust into his side. With it still sticking out, he thrust his sword into Walker’s chest, impaling him straight through the heart, before pulling the broken sword out of himself and falling to his knees, then onto his side.

As Barnes had feared, that sent Fisk and Pierce’s men into a frenzy, and they emptied their rifles, until Steve Rogers lifted the shield that he took from the crate and held it up to shield himself as he approached Barnes to drag him to safety. The shield repelled all the bullets that were fired at him. Thor, holding a large hammer crashed it into the post that held the upper level, causing it to collapse as Loki, holding a staff, wielded it at those who got up to fight with their hands. The others advanced, with Sam using the fireworks gun to keep Fisk and Pierce down, while Wanda entangled men in the web gun, joined by Peter using his own webs to immobilize others. Within minutes, they had almost everyone out of the fight. Banner and Amelia rushed to Barnes’ side, as she tore her jacket off and bundled it up to staunch the bleeding from his wound. It was at that moment that Pietro saw Rumlow stand up and aim his rifle at Wanda, seemingly recognizing her as one who escaped their clutches.

“No!” he yelled, running to pull her down.

Although he was fast enough to get there, he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the bullet meant for her and took it in the chest, close to his heart. Clint fired an explosive arrow at Rumlow, knocking him over the railing, to land heavily on the floor, his neck bent in an odd direction.

“Take Pierce and Fisk into custody!” yelled Anthony Stark.

Sergeant Dugan complied, sending his men up to the landing to place them under arrest. As several people outside looked in and saw Fisk in handcuffs, word spread and soon there was cheering outside for the Avengers and their allies. Inside, Banner left Barnes in Amelia’s care while he went to Pietro. Quickly he examined him.

“Can the airship be here in minutes?” he asked. “I need to operate as soon as possible.”

“My flying pads are still operating,” said Stark. “I will bring it myself.”

Quickly, he donned his suit with the help of the others, then stepped outside and lifted off into the night. Amelia and Rogers stayed with Barnes while the others did what they could for Pietro. Ten minutes later the sound of the airship approached and landed outside. Banner, Pietro, Wanda, Amelia, and Barnes were helped into the airship while the others prepared to return by wagon. It was going to be a long night.

Part 7>>

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[minced-mangoes]

Gonna make him go say hi to his dad.

[proheromidoriyashouto]

The People VS Gwen Stacy au where Miguel and Jess just picked up the Vulture and left, not stopping Captain Stacy from raising the gun toward Gwen a second time and shooting her on reflex.

Gwen bleeding out on a stretcher to an ambulance, face exposed to the world as a million cameras flash.

Gwen twisted up in the agony of her father choosing to be a cop before being someone who loves her with a bullet in her liver but a hole in her heart.

Gwen Stacy's face posted all over the news before she's even on the operating table at the nearest hospital.

Gwen Stacy arrested for the murder of Peter Parker, handcuffed to the railing of her hospital bed.

Gwen Stacy arriving at the court house in a wheelchair because she is fresh out of surgery and can't walk, meeting her lawyer, Matt Murdock for the first time.

Gwen Stacy villified by J. Jonah Jameson and the police union to the point other heroes, like Daredevil, have to come out of the shadows to protect her from a public lynching.

Gwen Stacy, abandoned by everyone she should've been able to trust.

Spiderwoman alone against the court of public opinion.

[purplesimmer455]

A few feet away from Megan, Iseul plays around with the future cube her niece had gifted her. "Okay," She says playfully, shaking the little cube. "Will I ever win the lottery?" She waits for the liquid to settle and the words, "I don't forsee that in your future." Come up, and Iseul snorts. "Okay, you're very sassy." She says, and Megan laughs from the jewlery making table, where she's trying to fix her raw* quality necklace. Iseul asks it a few more questions, and one even makes her cry. 😳 But thankfully she shrugs it off, and then heads inside to re-read One Last Stop**.

[gatioxd]

thinking abt b4 I knew what dead plate was I thought it was just some young glorified Gordon Ramsey cannibal au and a gay self insert????

[vitalphenomena]

@corsey kitchen nightmares au?

[e-nonsense]

guess who has finally written chapter two of Duchess of Hell’s Kitchen. Gonna go over it, fix mistakes and you guys finally get to read the next part