#since she seemingly doesn’t think of herself as a fallen angel of sorts

[goated33]

Vaggie referring to herself as an exorcist when Carmilla catches her off guard is so. There’s no hesitance in referring to herself that way. She doesn’t trail off, doesn’t say “was an exorcist” or even just “angel”. She hates herself for her past but doesn’t try to deny or internally distance herself from it.

[azazelsconfessional]

((so i was gonna open up my askbox again but I got distracted doing this and watching streams i think idr what i did the past few hours, buuut there's something I need to cover first, especially since there are so many new people around! Hello! Especially since so many of you are playing OCs/MCs.

Don't worry, it's a tip to hopefully help you along! It may get a little long, especially as I try and provide examples. . .but hopefully it'll help.

I'm gonna talk a lot about OCs but this applies to canon characters too a bit. It certainly helps.

Tl;dr, you should have a character profile page.

(also remember that tumblr mobile doesn't really have direct access to Pages made with the Pages function on desktop, so you'll have to link them manually in your pinned or description or host them on another site(I used Google Docs in the apst) or in a regular post(this makes it very easy to lose as a forewarning) for maximum accessibility!)

(rules pages are also really really handy if you have alot of resteictions.)

So, in general, OCs have a bit of a lower reception rate in rp. Idk if that'll be the case here with MCs because they're, well, the main character. Housamo is also a series that lends itself well to OCs pretty well, especially non-human ones, but I figured I'd warn for that.

BUT. That doesn't mean you shouldn't play an OC! It just means there are things you need to keep in mind!

Think of all of the OCs you've seen--you all seem to be fun and wonderful people, and your characters are surely interesting. But. . .if you don't tell anybody about them, nobody will know what's going on or where to start, which makes asking questions a little hard, right? That's easier to work around with MC characters--we've played the game, we know the story, we know the characters, so we can figure out questions fairly easily based on that alone and go from there.

But with other OCs, especially those that don't represent charactera from mythology or fiction like many other characters in housamo do, there's like. Nowhere to start. We may see a face or some dialogue, but otherwise we don't have a frame of reference.

That's where a profile comes in!

Azazel-mun, I don't want to share all of the info about my character at once!

What if I don't know everything about my OC yet and want to figure it out along thw way?

The profile doesn't have to be super detailed! At most it shoule include things like the character's name and age and probably things like their location, profession, grade in school or place of work, etc., and anything you'd notice on the surface like their apperance. It's never a bad thing to include a description of their personality too, or a small section about their history/background. Little things that even you should probably know, too.

You can also section your profile off a bit into things like "surface info," "meta info," "things you could easily figure out about them," etc. That way, no one can spoil themself. Making lists like this can help you think these things through if you haven't already as well.

Let's use Azazel, a character that you probably know already, as an example here. I don't have a profile set

Name: Azazel

Species: Fallen Angel; Capra Therian - an anthropomorphic Goat (?)

Gender(pronouns): Male(he/him)

Age: difficult to calculate; several thousand years old?

Apperance age: hard to say, he's not human. Adult.

Origins: banished from his home world of Eden, has been in the human world for several thousand years

Profession: Priest of dubious denomination, most likely Catholic or Protestant; teacher at Daikanyama Academy; de facto head of the Missionaries Non-Profit charity Organization; supervisor of the Aoyama Missionaries

Role & Rule: Watcher; Revelation - allows him to see anything within the territory of the Aoyama Missionaries and anywhere the pages of his Artifact see

Apperance: Azazel is a 5'10"(180cm) tall, anthropomorphic goat of ambiguous breed, with fawn fur all over his body and lighter fur on his head and around his neck. He has brown, riged horns which curve out and back. Though his eyes are often closed, when opened they're red. He always carried around a leather bound bible with an eye on the cover, and is never seen without several chains on his person, although only the one(s) around his neck can be seen unless he's undressed.

He wears a black priest's cassock with a maroon sash and a capelet of the same color, with the same eye as on his bible on the shoulders of the cape, and brown dress shoes. The front of the robe is always open to expose his bare chest and the chains beneath.

Personality: Azazel is kind and doting, very fitting of both a teacher and priest, although his openly flirtatious, lustful, and secretive nature causes others to distrust him. He doesn't mind this at all. He has a strong adoration for humans, and values love in all of its forms more than anything. He's a bit of a passive person, often being unmotivated but working hard regardless, and seems to prefer to watch others and the world go by, although he won't decline most invitations to take part in it. He is always aware of anything that happens within the extensive territory of the Missionaries, and seems to know and see just about everything about anyone he meets, from their surface to their soul. . . .

If you know Azazel, or take note of some of the wording or question marks, you'll note I didn't explain everything(although I may have shared more than you want to.) This is just a bare bones exampe of how I do my profiles--but it can get even more bare!

I'll do two this time, a more vague version of Azazel's, and another that obscures information all together, using the same or a similar format to the above.

Name: Azazel

Species: anthropomorphic goat

Gender(pronouns): male (he/him)

Age: unquestionably an adult

Origins: Eden

Profession: Priest; teacher; head of a charity NPO; member of the Missionaries

Apperance: Horned goatman of slightly above average human height. Light brown fur, blond fur-hair, red eyes. Wears priest robes and a gold chain around his neck and chest. Carries around a bible with an eye on it?

Personality: Kind of eerie, but friendly and affectionate. A little flirtatious, especially towards humans. Seems to know everything about people for some reason?

Compare it to the one before--see how I've left even more things off or left things ambiguous while still sharing what's necessary or surface level? However, it's also not as engaging or as informative as the other one where I gave more information.

As someone who plays him, profiles like this aren't as helpful for me lol since he knows so much about everyone and everything, having a lot of details helps me play my character!

Now, as helpful as this is, this is also a character you probably know. So how about I do this with an OC? Normally I'm extremely detailed in my profiles and such, especially for OCs, sharing headcanons and ideas for relationships between characters. But, again, I'll try and show how you can show some info while leaving some up to people to ask about to later be filled in.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [this is where you would put where you get the art for any icons you use--if you draw it yourself, say so; if you use official art from a series, credit the name of the character and the series; if you use picrews, link the specific picrews. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN PERMITTED TO USE. DO NOT STEAL ART. IF YOU CAN'T FIND THE CREDIT, ASK SOMEONE TO HELP YOU, DO NOT JUST SAY THAT IT ISN'T YOURS. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO USE OR THAT ISN'T FROM A SERIES OF SOME SORT.]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: older than she looks?

Origins: Tokyo?

Profession: Professor; Witch

Apperance: A fidgety woman who looks older than she is. She looks anxious and confused as often as she looks curious and confident. Wavy light brown hair. Often carries around schoolbooks and is never alone, always with a Rattus Therian and often with a Nyarlathotep.

Personality: seemingly anxious, but curious and exploratative nonetheless. On the awkward side, but can still keep up with the Nyarls that accompany her. Gets into trouble when she gets ahead of herself in exploring and learning about the arcane, but her Rule allows her to disappear easily.

History: Has always been curious about magic and attempted to run through a Gate when they began to open up. Performed a summon and brought a certain transients to Tokyo and recieved her familiar and the magic to use her Rule as a result. Currently teaches at a college. She stumbled into a certain someone while attempting to explore time, and became a fan ever since.

That tells you a fair amount, doesn't it? Even for someone you don't know? It may even raise some questions that you could ask. At the same time, it doesn't tell you that much, and that can be as much of a hindrance for coming up with questions as saying too much can. It's really up to you what's too much and too little. Here's a more detailed version! Some things have been left vague or confusing in such a way that they could be filled in after being revealed through asks and play. That way, people are encouraged to/given ideas of what to ask--and you can still share things in the long run.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [N/A]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: somewhere in her 30's, maybe even a little older

Origins: Tokyo, with some sort of connection to at least one other world

Profession: Professor of [?] at [?] Academy; Witch

Role & Rule: [?] & [?]

Artifact, Summon, Familiar?: Always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and some sort of man-rat? She also carries around a book that's labeled as a Grimoire, but it's rare for someone to be both a summon-user and an Artifact-user. . . .

Apperance: A fidgety older woman wearing a labcoat and a witch's hat. She looks quite stressed and has trouble sitting still. Her ashy brown hair is thin and a little wavy, with some strands of gray. Although she often squints, she doesn't wear glasses. She carries around a lot of books relating to maths and sciences and one labeled 'Grimoire' decorated with arcane symbols from Gehenna and Old Ones. She's always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and a very short, bearded man who can best be described as a brown rat therian with a human-like face. Sometimes there's a normal rat on her person or in her pockets.

Personality: Kezia is a fidgety and anxious magic practitioner. She's very curious about other worlds and has been since the Gates appeared in this Tokyo since she was a child, however she has been pursuing magic before then. She often appears somewhat confused about or fascenated by even her usual surroundings, but, at other times moves through the world with confidence even in unfamiliar territory. She also likes rats and other rodents, and as such will often avoid felines and birds of prey. She has a tendency to disappear, seeming to walk through walls despite assuredly being alive.

She's a little bit awkward with people, but somehow keeps up with Nyarlathoteps nonetheless. She's a good teacher, once she figures out how to explain things in ways others can understand easily, but can be a bit difficult to follow and flighty up until then. Aware of this, she's rather patient, if a little down on herself at times. However, she most often simply has her mind elsewhere. Despite this and the company she keeps, she's relatively sane. . .most of the time.

She shares a name with a witch from the world of Old Ones who made a pact with Nyarlathotep, believing him to be the Devil. . .and the ratman always at her side uses the same name as that witch's familiar as well. It's. . .probably just a coincidence. . .who would rightfully make a pact with Nyarlathotep?

History: Kezia is an adult human from this Tokyo before the apperance of the Gates and construction of the Walls. She's explored various witchcraft pursuits since she was a child, with what was originally a mere imaginative curiosity and fascination. After the arrival of the Gates when she was still young, she snuck over the fences built around one and attempted to go inside the massive pillar of light, which she attributes to the reason she often seems to struggle with her vision. Several years later, she performed a successful summon and she recieved her familiar, Brown Jenkin, transformed into a somewhat therian form from one of her pet rats, and was given some powers from Nyarlathotep. She has no discernable control over any of the chaotic creatures, however they seem to spend time around her regardless.

At present she's a professor of a subject that interests her at a certain college. She's had other dangerous run-ins due to her excitement over the arcane and "darker" arts, but doesn't seem to show any signs of stopping. However, after an incident in an attempt to explore time itself, she encountered a certain guardian of time and feels reluctant for once to explore it further. . .although she's become quite a big fan of his.

. . .i ran out of steam amd kinda lost track of where i was going. idk if that helped at all really. But maybe it did! I hope it did. You don't need to use any of those things exactly by any means, but that's the kind of thing you usually see in profile pages. Basics like someone's name and birthday and age and apperance and a little about their personality, maybe some history. Oftentimes things like powers and weapons and the like. Interests, hobbies, ways they could be intereacted with, etc. Just stuff that'd help you know the character.

I write everything in paragraph form, but everyone is more than welcome to use a more script format. I love making profiles, myself--it really helps to think about the character and details about them. Normally I make really, really detailed profiles, but maybe I'll try and be more simple about it this time around. depends on how i'm feeling.

I know this seems weirdly hypocritical given I don't have one but when I first made this blog there were like four of us including myself. I didn't see the need for a rules or profile page because I didn't anticipate that there'd be so many of us or, like, people from other fandoms or who aren't familiar with certain characters. I'll rectify that soon hopefully. But I figured I'd pass along this idea/knowledge to others.

. . .I'm gonna go reopen my askbox now. Feel free to send asks again, ask about this, etc! You can send me an IM too if you want. I'll properly close up the guest event tomorrow. I'm real tired rn lol so idk how much i'll get done, but i usually do things super late at night my time, so i have some time to pull my shit together haha))

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

i am not a hero pt 2: all will be well

Part 1 | Fanfiction Masterlist | AO3

A/N: Sorry this took so long! Warnings: descriptions of racism, mentions of alcoholism

"Thank the angel you're all here," Cordelia exhaled as she arrived in the room about the Devil's Tavern. "Have you heard? Alastair was-" She stopped herself as she surveyed the room, registering the looks the Merry Thieves were giving her. "Oh, no. No, no, no." She turned to James. "Tell me you didn't have anything to do with this." 

"Daisy-" 

"Tell me!" 

"I can't lie to you." 

She stumbled backwards, her heart shattered. James reached for her, but she protested. "No! Don't touch me! You can’t lie to me? All you have done is lie, apparently. You didn't... You didn't even tell me... I thought we were doing this together... I was such a fool.”

"Cordelia, you know we had to keep it from you," Matthew explained. "You're rather... overprotective." 

She laughed. "Overprotective? I care for him, Matthew, because he's my brother. I know him as well as I know myself, though I understand if that's confusing for you, seeing as you've never had a brother worth caring for." 

"Cordelia," James said sternly, a warning. "We understand that you're upset-" 

"Upset? You have betrayed me! You could have told me the truth, and I would have helped you. I would have shown you alibi, I would proven to you with evidence that it was not him-" 

"If there is evidence, it will be presented before the courts, and all will be well." 

"You don't get it! You don't. You- I thought all this time that it was me. That I didn't understand the world or society or friendship or... marriage because I was raised isolated from the Clave by an inattentive, narcissistic drunkard." She enunciated each other her final words with all of the vitriol she'd been suppressing since her father arrived in London. "But I was wrong. It was you. You all... You live in a fantasy world, one that your parents created for you. And that's fine. that's good for you, I'm glad that the people in your life were capable and willing to do that for you. But the world does not work the same for all of us." 

"Really, Cordelia? You wish to speak of the world and how it works for -- and against -- each of us?" Matthew challenged. 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Whatever do you mean, Matthew?” 

“You, what? Don’t believe we know what it’s like to be prejudiced against? Would you have said the same while Alastair himself was ridiculing James for his parentage or me for my… presumed sexual proclivities?” 

Cordelia gawked. "That was over four years ago, Matthew! He said foolish things and he regrets them, yet you continue to live in the past. Not only do you hold mistakes you all made as children over his head, but you dare compare your experience to his? You can go anywhere, do anything, without anyone knowing what you do with your nights. Perhaps you wear that carnation, but you can take it off, Matthew. So, James’ eyes are golden. Tell me, James, when you were eight years old, were you kicked out of the general store because the townspeople believed you to be stealing for no reason other than your golden eyes?” 

James was silent. 

“So, please, tell me again how you understand what it’s like to walk in my brother’s shoes.” She turned back to Matthew. “You were given everything, Matthew. You have all the money you could ever dream of. Your parents love you unconditionally. You choose to live your life openly. Perhaps you should not need to choose, but you do, and it is a privilege to be able to make such a choice so freely, knowing that you will continue to be safe and cared for. Not everyone has such luxuries. My brother no longer even has a choice; you have taken it from him." 

Silence had fallen over the room. The boys had always understood that they were very lucky in life, just as they had understood, on some level, the ways that their parents had been unlucky. However, it was easy to live a lucky life and forget to consider how those around oneself may not afford the same privileges. James looked to her finally. "What... What do you mean by that? What choice?”

She turned to him with a blank expression, then sighed. "I suppose the whole Clave will know soon, anyways. As you know, with the memory magic being used, the Clave needs alibis. Alastair has only got one, and I can’t imagine it will end well for him." She turned to Matthew and sighed, "You and your brother have been given everything. I have no doubt in my mind that Charles will not be held at all responsible for the realities of their affair. He will continue with his life unscathed, to marry whomever he chooses, to obtain any position he chooses, to live whatever life he chooses, just as James would have even if he had not married me. Because that is how the world works. Alastair will be seen as the one who persuaded him into such proclivities.” She paused before muttering under her breath, “Not to mention that I haven't the slightest idea of what will happen when my father learns the truth.” She took a breath and continued, “So, to make a long story short, James, no, I do not believe all will be well.” 

“Cordelia,” he started, “you must believe that we had no intention of exposing anyone’s personal affairs. It was not personal at all; we are only trying to put an end to this mess.” 

“Well, congratulations, James. An innocent man has been arrested, your killer still walks free, and my family is in ruins. I believe you have accomplished quite a lot.” Her eyes scanned the room. Matthew looked to be in a state of shock, Christopher in confusion, but her eyes settled on Thomas, his head hung low, his face turned away. “I… I may not have expected this, but I can believe it well enough. But, you, Thomas? How could you?” 

He looked up at her, tears on his flushed cheeks. “Cordelia, I-” 

“Tell me, was any of it real? Did you ever truly intend to be my brother’s friend, or was it all just ploy for your little detective game?”

He shook his head. “Sort of, at first, but-” 

“I trusted you!” She yelled before restraining her anger. “He trusted you. After everything, after Charles and- I thought that finally, finally my brother had someone in his life who was kind and gentle and caring. Someone honest and trustworthy, but it was all a lie. You used him, too.” 

“Cordelia, I- I’m so sorry.” 

“You are not who I thought you were." Her words echoing ones that Thomas had once spoken. Unlike Thomas,’ however, her realization held no trace of anger or upset. No, her words were spoken only in true fear.

Seemingly finished with the boys’ stunned silence, she took a breath. “If you will excuse me, I must take my leave. James, my mother and I shall be staying at the Institute for the time being, so it would be in your best interest to avoid it as much as possible. There’s not much of a point in continuing this sham of a marriage, seeing as I haven’t got a reputation to save, so I will write to the Consul first thing tomorrow morning requesting a divorce. Then, you shall have what you always dreamed: you will be rid of my family and I forever.” 

“Wait-” James cried, his voice breaking. 

“You are dead to me, James Herondale.” 

Without waiting for a reply, she darted out of the room. 

The four boys were left, staring at one another. Thomas unsuccessfully attempted to stifle his tears while James looked to be on the verge of a complete breakdown, his torso trembling. 

“What, are you two bloody heartbroken now?” Matthew mused. 

Thomas slammed his fist on the table loud enough to alert the whole establishment. “Fuck, Matthew! Shut up!” 

“Thomas, you found the bloodied dagger and Ms. Highsmith’s necklace in his bedroom yourself. We saw him walking around downtown the nights of the Gladstone and Beauvale murders. Whatever Cordelia claims, I truly don’t think we’re wrong about this.” 

“And what if we are?” Thomas challenged. 

“It could have been planted,” Christopher offered. “And there could be many reasons that he was out those nights. After all, we were, too.” 

“Which reasons, Christopher? Have you ever seen him in a bar? He doesn’t even drink. He’s hardly more than a lowly shut-in.” 

“His father does,” James said quietly. 

Matthew glared. “What?” 

“His father drinks. I don’t… I don’t know a lot about it all, but it would follow that if Elias were out drinking again and did not come home, Alastair would be the one to go out looking for him.”

Matthew groaned. “Fine, if we are truly pursuing this, then what? We’ve got maybe half a day if we’re lucky before Alastair is to go before the Mortal Sword.” 

“Then we have half a day to find the true culprit,” Thomas announced, regaining his resolve. 

“If Alastair is our only lead at the moment, we must pursue it,” Kit offered. “Who could have planted it on him? What motive would they have to frame him? Who would have had access to his bedroom?” 

“Well, I can answer one of your questions,” Matthew said nonchalantly. “Who wouldn’t want to frame Alastair Carstairs for murder?” 

“Matthew, if you’re not going to be helpful, please be quiet,” Thomas said in his usual gentle but stern manner, though the complete opposite of the last time he’d asked his friend to be quiet. “Sona is nearly always home; it would be very difficult for someone to enter the house uninvited and not be seen. As Matthew put it, Alastair is a bit of a shut-in, but he’s clearly been going out more, especially at night, since his father has returned. Sona’s been having trouble sleeping as of late, though, so even getting access to his bedroom at night would be difficult. They’ve only one servant, Risa, so there’s truly not many folks moving about the house regularly.” 

“Since when are you on a first-name basis with Mrs. Carstairs?” Christopher commented in confusion, and Thomas blushed. 

“What do you recommend, then?” Matthew asked. 

“Kit is correct, it’s our only lead. We must return to Cornwall Gardens. If we’re lucky, they may have left something behind, or perhaps there’s some sort of record of visitors to the house.” 

James looked uneasy. “This seems wrong. Maybe we can still go after Cordelia-” 

“There’s no time, James,” Thomas admitted. “She’s too angry with us. I’m no happier about it than you are, but if there is any way that we could possibly fix this, we must do it.” 

He nodded. “Let’s go, then.” 

“Won’t there be people at the house?” Christopher asked. “The sun has not even set yet.” 

Thomas sighed. “Cordelia is taking Sona to the Institute, and I’d imagine Risa is accompanying them, at least for the initial journey until she is settled. Elias is just a risk we’ll have to take.” 

As they ventured out, however, they were not even out the doors of the tavern before Thomas stopped in his tracks. If looks could kill, Matthew would have murdered Thomas several times over by now. “Elias is here,” he whispered. 

“What?” James narrowed his eyes. 

“One of us should stay here and keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t return to Cornwall Gardens until it’s been cleared. Besides, I don’t want him interfering with Cordelia’s plans, either.” 

“Are you volunteering, then?” Matthew asked. 

Thomas thought for a moment. “I suppose so. I’ve done my searching already; it’s better to have some fresh eyes. You and James know the layout of the house well enough.” 

“Very well,” Christopher declared. “Thomas, I shall send you a magical letter when we are finished at the Carstairs residence.” 

Thomas narrowed his eyes with worry. “Please don’t. I’m rather weary of fire.” 

“Nonsense. The fire’s not important; it’s a magical letter.” 

“It’s a magical letter that you send by lighting it on fire! It should be called a fire letter!” 

“Fire letter,” Christopher hummed. “No, that’s not quite right. No, fire message! I shall send you a fire message, Thomas!” 

“Alright,” Thomas whined. “You all should go, we haven’t got much time.” 

“Thomas, are you sure you want to stay here?” James asked. 

“I’ll be fine. He’s a drunk; I’d be surprised if he even stood up before you lot were finished. I just want to make sure.” 

James gave him a short nod, and they took their leave. Thomas settled down at a corner table, pulling out a notebook from his pocket and pretending to be fixated on it while he kept his eye on Elias at the bar. 

Just his luck, and much to his surprise, Elias stood to leave not long after the rest of the Merry Thieves had departed. Thomas waited for a moment after he left, and then went out after him. He stepped out onto the street, looking for a sign of where Elias had gone, but he quickly saw only darkness as a cloth was wrapped around his eyes and nose and he was subdued, quickly losing consciousness. 

A/N: I also just wanted to clarify a couple of things, I believe that the Clave will come to certain conclusions and Charles will not refute them, not that he would create the lies himself. These conclusions make sense to me, not only because Charles is a white boy who is seen as an “insider” (which they would try to rationalize), but because orientalist beliefs have hypersexualized the Middle East for centuries, associating MENA with “deviant” male homosexuality. This is believed to be one of the (many) reasons queerness is rejected so thoroughly in the MENA today, and I think it’s important to consider how ideas like orientalism impacted lives in historical fiction, although the concept had not been coined or studied yet.

taglist (lmk to be added!): @littlx-songbxrd

[childrenofthenightt]

only the black rose (chapter 5)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: talks of parental abandonment, off-scene injury, drug use (legal!), fluff, and me waxing poetic about one of my favourite books. and more fluff.

words: 3.1k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: this one wrote itself. i expected to take longer with it cause of this. this is the start of the Chaos seen in the 1975 North American tour, so hold onto your hats and enjoy! congrats! you’ve unlocked layla’s tragic backstory! unbeta’d as always, and here’s the link to the playlist :)

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

----------

Soon enough, the band make their way home, basking in the golden glow of a couple of excellent shows. It’s only a matter of days until the start of the North American tour, and the excitement is palpable. The boys find themselves at the studio, running through some last-minute tour details, accompanied by a certain brunette firecracker, who sits reading comfortably in the lobby.

Layla, sitting on a luxurious couch just outside of the meeting room, is drowning in a hardcover book, consuming every word at a ravenous pace. The sound of pages flipping periodically is accompanied by the light din of voices detailing the upcoming tour. Lost in the story in front of her, she is surprised when she hears a person clearing their throat, seemingly right in front of her. Looking up, she spots the secretary of Swan Song Records, a woman with glasses and long brown hair ran through with gray, pinned up in a low bun. Light freckles dusted her cheeks. Judging by the crow’s feet at the corners of her hazel eyes, the secretary had to have been older than Layla, perhaps around 50, though her bright smile gave the impression of youth.  

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss… I just couldn’t help but notice the book you were reading. I don’t see many fans of the classics around here, especially ones so young.”

Recovering from the shock of being ripped out of the hypnotising story she was wrapped up in, Layla gestures to the seat next to her. With a bright smile, the secretary smoothes down her pencil skirt, and sits down.

“My mother was a literature buff, and it seems she’s passed that down to me! My name’s Layla. You’re Evelyn, right?”

“Y-Yes, I am! How do you…”

“Well, I had to put a name to the lovely secretary that gives me a smile whenever I see her. Makes my day, if I’m being honest.”

“You’re too sweet, darling,” Evelyn says, lips turning up warmly, eyes dancing with joy. “If I may, what are your thoughts on the book? It’s a personal favourite of mine, and it’s always nice to hear new opinions.”

“Well,” Layla starts, lighting up as she speaks. “Wilde’s language paints such a beautiful, vivid picture, and the characters are so interesting, even if they aren’t morally likeable, most of the time. They make mistakes… Many mistakes… but we sympathize with them.”

At this, Layla cups her hand around her mouth, whispering to Evelyn mischievously, as if what she was about to say was the world’s most important secret.

“It’s a favourite of mine too.”

The two women laugh, Evelyn’s hand falling across Layla’s arm, a comforting, grounding weight. Evelyn, with a warm smile gracing her face, crow’s feet as prominent as ever, sends a pang of longing into Layla’s heart. Not for love, but for her old life. Her friends worried out of their minds over her disappearance; her mother, left alone not once, but twice. Her father had left when she was a child, and it had been her and her mother ever since. Layla learned to put up walls, so that she’d never be hurt like that again. They all leave in the end. It’s better that way. Better not to get attached. Better not to get hurt.

“That’s a lovely interpretation, Layla. You know,” Evelyn says, interrupting Layla’s train of thought. “For someone so young, you have an old soul. Wise beyond your years, for sure.”

“You have no idea…”

“Well, I must get to work, darling,” Evelyn claps her hands together, and stands up, resting a hand on Layla’s arm once more. “I’d love to chat again, though. Such refreshing opinions from such a young woman. I’ll let you get back to your book.”

“I would love to! We’ll make plans soon, I promise. Have a wonderful day, Evelyn!” With that, Layla opens the novel, and is taken once again by the current of the story. Minutes pass, until Layla is interrupted once more, this time by a soft press of lips against the crown of her head.

“Everything alright, Layla?”

“Of course, Jim,” Layla says, reaching out to grasp Jimmy’s hand in return. “How did the meeting go?”

“Well, you were right outside the door, I’m surprised you didn’t eavesdrop,” He takes a seat beside her, and reaches down to tap at the book still nestled in Layla’s hand, her finger keeping the page. “You were too engrossed in this, I bet. What are you reading anyways?”

Layla lifts the book to show the cover, which is a slightly worn navy blue, with golden accents in the form of small droplets. In metallic lettering, read ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’.

“Oscar Wilde, hey? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a lover of the classics.”

“I spent my teenage years with Austen and Dickens, after all.”

“I didn’t think you were that old.”

Layla rolls her eyes, a fond look upon her features. Smiling at the man in front of her, she puts a hand to his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m a real cradle-robber.”

“Just make sure my mum doesn’t hear about this relationship: she’ll have a fit.”

“I’ll be careful, angel,” Layla laughs, putting a pensive finger to her chin. “Hey, Jimmy? Do you have a good relationship with your parents?” Jimmy smiles wide at the question and nods, dark curls bobbing at the movement. He absentmindedly takes Layla’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb in soft circles across her wrist.

“My parents… They’ve always been very supportive of me in every way, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to find a way to thank them,” Jimmy squeezes her hand briefly, meeting her eyes. “You know, I bet they’d love you.”

“Do you really think so?” Layla’s cheeks grow warm, and her lips tilt upwards in a smile that is uncharacteristically shy.

“Of course I do, petal,” Jimmy says, pushing a fallen lock of hair behind Layla’s ear, his touch featherlight. “How about you? What are your parents like?”

“Well… My dad… He left us when I was young, so it’s been me and my mom ever since,” This is marked with a moment of silence, and Layla’s eyes meet her shoes, pointedly not looking at Jimmy. “My mom’s probably the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I truly can’t thank her enough for everything she’s done for me. She’s my best friend.”

The silence continues, until Layla feels a calloused finger at her jaw, lifting her chin. Finally flicking her eyes up to gaze at the guitarist, she’s shocked by the concern and sadness she sees in those emerald green eyes.

“Petal, I…”

“Jim, it’s fine. It—”

“It’s not fine, Layla. It’s not. I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that. Either of you.” Jimmy pulls her into a tight hug, long arms wrapping around her, making her feel safe. They stay like this for what feels like hours, breaking apart slowly.

“Jimmy, I… Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, how about you read me some of that book of yours?”

Layla laughs brightly, albeit a little watery, and smiles at Jimmy, eyes shining with gratitude. Shuffling, she positions herself in his lap, legs hanging off the end of the couch as his arm comes to rest across her back, holding her steady against his chest. She opens the book, dog-earing the corner of the page she was reading, before flipping back to the start.

“Petal, as much as I like this, I thought we were gonna take it slow? I don’t think public places are the best idea to… Well…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jimmy,” Layla says, smirk gracing her face as she speaks. “You just make a very comfortable chair.”

Jimmy’s laugh is music to her ears, and she presses a light kiss to his cheek. Focusing on the book in her hand, she begins to read:

“The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.”

----------

‘Was it all true? Had the portrait really changed? Or had it been simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where there had been a look of joy?’

The next day had arrived, and Layla sits at her kitchen table, enraptured once again by the writings of Oscar Wilde. The words on the page enchant her, and she has no desire to put the novel down anytime soon. She’d have to tell Evelyn all about it, the next time she sees her.

‘Surely a painted canvas could not alter? The thing was absurd. It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day. It would make him smile. And, yet, how vivid was his recollection—’

A shrill ringing pulls her out of the carefully crafted narrative of Dorian Gray. Layla huffs, annoyed at the intrusion, and moves to pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Layla! Hi, good to hear from you, hope you’re having a great day so far! Lovely weather we’re having, hey?” The slightly nasal voice of one Robert Plant, crackles through the phone, and Layla sighs at his exuberance.

“Robert, hey. What is it?”

“Uh… Please don’t freak out. It’s really not that bad, and everyone is… mostly… fine?”

“Rob—”

This is followed by a noise in the background, a sort of crackle, as if Robert had shifted the phone to his other hand. Layla can hear the way his breath picks up, the way panic seeps into his voice. “Just a heads up that we’ll be at your place in about… 10 minutes! See you then!”

“What is going on? I was reading, I’m really not in the mood for—”

Another crackle, and a sigh from Robert’s end of the line. Layla runs a hand through her hair, biting her lip in an attempt to quell the panic rising in her throat.

“Promise me you won’t freak out, little dove.”

Layla exhales sharply through her nose, unimpressed at the plea of the man on the other line. Coiling the telephone cord around her finger to calm her nerves, she responds.

“Fine, I’m not gonna freak out. Now, tell me what happened.”

“Well… Um… Jimmy, well, he kinda… got his… finger slammed in a train door?”

“...”

“Layla? Are you still there?”

“How?!”

“I told you not to freak out…”

“Robert!” Layla exclaims, concern painted clearly on her flushed face.

“Okay, okay, he told us he was holding the door open for someone on the way to Swan Song, and well… You know the rest.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Another sigh sounds from the other line, and Layla waits in anticipation for his response, growing anxious with each passing moment. Finally, she hears the man’s response, and deflates with relief, sinking into the chair beside her.

“He should be fine. Like I said before, we’re gonna come get you right away. He’ll be okay, Layla.”

“Okay…Robert?”

“Yes, little dove?

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Robert chuckles lightly, bringing a smile to Layla’s face, the undercurrent of anxiety still coursing through her. She thinks it will stay that way, until she sees Jimmy, makes sure he’s okay. “We’ll be there in 10 minutes. Sit tight, Layla.”

Layla sits at the kitchen table, biting her thumbnail, mind elsewhere, until she hears the telltale sound of a car pulling up, engine cutting out. Flying out the door, She spots Jonesy in the driver’s seat, Bonzo next to him, with Robert in the back. Opening the door, she sits next to the blond, and he gazes over at her, putting a hand to her shoulder. Sympathy flashes across his face as he takes in the shocked look Layla’s sporting.

“He’ll be okay, Layla. He will.”

“Robert, I… Jonesy, please, just drive?”

“Right.”

The engine rumbles to life, and they’re off, no doubt speeding to whatever hospital Jimmy’s holed up in. Layla lets her thoughts drift to Jimmy. She wonders how he’s doing, if he’s in any pain, if they’re treating him well. She’s distracted enough that she barely feels Robert’s hand, warm and comforting, on her knee. Layla is snapped out of her thoughts by a particularly sharp turn, and she looks up at Robert, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Rob… What if he’s… not okay? It was his finger. That means that he might not be able to play, if it’s bad enough,” She stammers, eyes frantic in their search of the blond’s face. “His guitar is his life, and—”

“Layla, calm down. It’ll be okay. It won’t do us any good to think like that.” Robert leans over, throwing his arm around her shoulder as best he could in the cramped car. To his surprise, she leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Layla unconsciously brings a hand up to bite her thumbnail, and catching the action, Robert places his hand on hers, pushing it back down to rest in her lap. They stay that way until the car rolls to a stop in the hospital parking lot. Layla lifts her head from Robert’s shoulder with breakneck speed, scrambling out of the car.

“Layla, wait!” Jonesy calls out, running after the woman, who dashes through the door. Robert and Bonzo catch up, just as Layla reaches the front desk, panting from exertion. The nurse on shift looks at her, eyes wide, shocked at the display.

“Excuse me, love,” Bonzo says, tucking Layla under his arm as he speaks to the nurse. “We’re looking for James Page? He was brought in for a fractured finger, I believe?”

“...Yes, right. What is your relationship with the patient?”

“We’re his bandmates, we can call our manager if you need proof. Please, we just need to see if he’s okay.”

The nurse eyes the group dubiously, and grabs the chart sitting next to her, looking through it. Glancing at the group again, she points behind them, to a room packed with seats, posters and pamphlets lining the walls.

“It seems that Mr. Page is still with the doctor getting X-rayed, so I’m going to need you to take a seat in the waiting area. Give that manager of yours a call, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“Thank you, love.” Bonzo says, as he herds the group over to the soft, patterned armchairs, plopping down with a sigh. Jonesy excuses himself to make a phone call to Peter, the others left waiting for news that won’t come fast enough.

Jimmy has to be okay. He has to.

----------

“For James Page?” The nurse’s voice rings out across the waiting area, and the group shoot up from their seats, stiff backs groaning in protest. “Follow me.”

The nurse leads them through a labyrinth of hallways, stopping finally at a room with a large 164 pasted on the closed door. Through the window looking into the room, Layla spots Jimmy asleep under the covers, his hands atop the sheets, resting on his stomach. He looks peaceful, she thinks, like he’s devoid of pain. If she couldn’t see the injured hand at all, she’d have thought he was perfectly fine.

The group finally walk into the room, the sharp smell of antiseptic burning their nostrils. Hearing the click of the door opening, Jimmy opens his eyes, pupils blown wide. His irises are almost black, and he sends them a dopey smile, a giggle bursting out.

“Hey, guys. Fancy seeing you all here.” Jimmy slurs, laughing harder now, as though he had told the most hilarious joke in the world. The boys join in, amused by the antics of their guitarist. Layla hangs back, staring at Jimmy, concern clear on her face. She had spotted the injured finger on the way in, which was already bruised a deep purple, the fingernail completely blackened.

“They give you the good stuff, Pagey?”

“You know it, Jonesy.” Jimmy shoots the bassist a sloppy wink, and the group erupts into soft laughter once more. Taking a dazed glance around the room, the raven-haired man pouts, completely endearing in his drugged state. “Hey… where’s Layla?”

Peter, who had been standing next to the bed, moves aside, and glassy green met warm brown. The guitarist smiles softly, relaxing back into the pillows. He sticks out his uninjured hand, and she walks closer to take it. Never lessening her grip, Layla threads the fingers of her free hand through Jimmy’s messy curls, and looks down at him fondly.

“How’re you doing, champ?”

“Good, now that you’re here. I would kiss you right now… if I wasn’t seeing two of you.”

“They must have him on the really good stuff…” Layla throws over her shoulder, looking back at the injured guitarist. He’s looking up at her with unabashed affection, and she can’t help but blush at the adoration in his gaze.

“Sorry to interrupt,” comes from the open doorway, as Jimmy’s doctor steps through. “I’m Dr. Vane, I treated James when he came in. If you’d kindly step out for a moment, I’d like to go over his prognosis.”

The boys file out of the room, and Layla goes to follow, stopped in her tracks by Jimmy tugging her back towards him with a whimper. She gives in, sinking back down in the chair at his bedside.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Jimmy. I was so scared when Robert called. I thought...”

“I’m glad you’re here, petal. Now, come into bed with me. I want to see you better.” Jimmy mutters, scooting over to make room for her to fit in the small hospital bed. Layla laughs, nodding, and crawls in beside him, careful not to hurt him. She turns on her side, her hand landing in his hair again. Jimmy looks up at her, pupils still dilated, and presses a quick peck on her lips, giggling anew.

“You’re so beautiful. Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful? ‘Cause you are.” He insists, slurred speech returning in full force, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Go to sleep, Jimmy. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He hums softy in response and a few seconds later, Jimmy’s breathing evens out. He’s dead to the world. Through the door left ajar, Layla can hear snippets of the conversation with the doctor.

“... Fractured the tip of his finger… At least a month.”

“Will he be able to play anytime soon?” That was Peter, voice soft with worry for the frail man in the hospital bed.

“He should rest… Not good to put too much strain on it… Keeping him here until the anaesthetic wears off.”

Tuning them out, Layla looks down at the man sleeping beside her. His hair is matted on one side of his head, and he snores louder than he’d ever admit, but he looks peaceful. He’s not in any pain, and that’s enough for Layla. She drifts off, as the sound of footsteps against the floor draw near. Her tired eyes open to slits, and she sees a shadow with dark, shoulder-length and a beard. It must be Bonzo, she thinks. The last thing Layla hears before succumbing to the exhaustion that plagues her, is the drummer’s soothing voice, hushed to a whisper.

“Let them sleep.”

----------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 9: Follow The Rules]

Hi y’all, I hope you are all doing well 💜

Chapter summary: Veronica has some questions, Roger has a plan, John has a short temper. 

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

At the wedding, Roger is wearing a cast on his right arm and a dazzling smile...and a white suit that he looks criminally good in.

John is in black, Brian in blue, Freddie in maroon-colored velvet and heavy eyeliner. Veronica’s dress is high-waisted and falls in huge, billowing, shapeless ruffles to hide her silhouette. Her family knows, of course—it’s written all over the tense, grim lines of their mouths and the blades their pale eyes hurl at John—but none of those strict Catholics are going to mention an out-of-wedlock pregnancy in God’s house, nor at the modest reception in the church basement that follows the ceremony.

Veronica’s mother and aunts and sisters are just like her, docile and milky-skinned and small-boned, and you’ve helped them deck the vast room with enough flowers, ribbons, candles, and balloons to make everyone forget this event was thrown together in five weeks and on a shoestring budget. There’s a simple buffet with pot roast and potatoes and vegetables, a live band (some of John’s old friends from high school), and a homemade Polish honey cake baked by Veronica’s grandmother situated regally on a china serving dish. Veronica and John cycle through the tables of guests, smiling and nodding and thanking them for coming, dutifully and yet also seemingly genuinely cheerful.

“The boning is bloody impaling me,” Chrissie murmurs as she tugs at the bodice of her gown. It’s satin and a muted pink, just like yours and Mary’s and Veronica’s sisters’. “If I happen die, wrap me in one of those nice tablecloths I paid for and throw me in a ditch somewhere, will you love?”

“You got it.” You stab a piece of potato with your fork. “This should inspire you to be especially compassionate towards your own bridesmaids! Maybe no horrid shiny green.”

Brian chuckles. “Good luck with that.”

“Are you comfortable?!” Chrissie asks Mary, exasperated, fanning herself with a wedding program.

“I am,” Mary admits cautiously. “But...well...at the moment, I think my dress is a bit...roomier.”

Chrissie moans, dropping her face into her hands. “I always gain when the students go home for summer. My routine is wrecked, all I want to do is read Glamour magazines and listen to records, it’s too damn hot to go walking...and I adore ice cream.”

“I like you just fine,” Brian reassures her.

Freddie snickers as he taps his cigarette against an ashtray. “Yes, we’re all well aware of your anatomical preferences, Bri.”

Chrissie rolls her eyes. “Please do not elaborate.” She’s not offended—she’s far too used to Freddie’s shenanigans to be offended—but she’ll be embarrassed if he makes a scene at a wedding.

“Darling, I don’t care what anyone tries to tell you, plenty of men love a little extra meat on the bones. Particularly the ass bones.”

“We’re in God’s house!” you scold him in a hiss. “You’re going to give Great Aunt Zofia over there an aneurysm if she hears you!”

Roger quips: “Great Aunt Zofia stole the last kielbasa right out of my disabled, ineffectual  grasp, so fuck her.”

You all burst into shocked, uncontrollable laughter. Great Aunt Zofia squints judgmentally at the commotion from several tables away, gnawing on her kielbasa; she’s been glaring at John and Veronica—the Tetzlaffs’ very own fallen angel—since she first ambled into the church. Roger rocks back in his chair, smoking with his unbroken left arm, smirking cockily and basking in the distraction from the real world that the wedding has gifted you all tonight. He catches you watching him—marveling at him, truthfully—and winks.

John appears and rests his hands on the back of your chair. “What’s so amusing? I swear, I leave you people alone for two hours and you’re having all sorts of fun without me, I won’t stand for it!”

“It was a lovely ceremony,” you tell him. “I’d forgotten how beautiful Catholic weddings are, all the music and ambiance.”

“And from what I saw, you knew most of the words.”

“We have a lot of Irish people in Boston. Saint Patrick’s Day is bigger than Christmas.”

John points at Roger’s cast. “It’s not paining you too much, is it?”

Roger holds his Dark ‘n Stormy aloft, and ice clinks in the misted glass. “Enough of these, and I can’t feel anything. Numb to the world’s many disappointments. I highly recommend it.”

“Noted,” John replies. Roger has pills for his arm, but they only take the edge off. You don’t know that because he’s told you; Roger never tells you that he’s hurting, that he’s frustrated, that he’s afraid. He wears grins and flippant humor like a second skin, shrouding his wounds—both physical and disembodied, old and new—in darkness. Still...you can see all those words he doesn’t say swimming in the depths of his eyes. “I think I’ll hunt down a Manhattan myself.”

“Dad made an impression!” you tell John enthusiastically. “I’ll have to let him know, he’ll be overjoyed.”

“He mixes a good one, that’s for sure. I doubt Cousin Bartosz will be able to compare.” He casts a glance at a perplexed-looking, flame-haired teenager manning a tiny wet bar.

“Booze won’t help you heal,” Freddie informs Roger, checking his reflection in Mary’s makeup compact and fluffing his lustrous hair. “Eat your vegetables. Get more sleep. When do you start physical therapy, again?” Then, to you: “Darling, when does Roger start his therapy?”

Roger sighs. “I’ve got it handled, Fred.”

“Dear, don’t have a fit, I just want to make sure you’ll be ready—”

“I’ve got it handled,” Roger repeats, his tone a warning.

Brian breaks the tension with a toast, his Vesper jangling against Roger’s Dark ‘n Stormy. “I’m thrilled, honestly. Now I’m not the only one who’s ruined a tour.”

Roger grimaces. “Thanks, Bri.”

“Yes, let’s all have a turn,” Freddie mutters, sipping champagne. “Deaky can electrocute himself while fiddling with his amp, and then I’ll...what? Have my foot chewed off by an alligator in New Orleans? Get gored by a wild boar outside Atlanta? It just can’t be a boring maiming, that’s my only request.”

“Alaska has grizzlies, huge ones,” Brian suggests.

“Darling, in what dimension would my luxurious self ever end up in fucking Alaska?”

You shake your head, frowning down into your wine glass. It’s June now, the dead center of a crestfallen year: the rest of the Sheer Heart Attack Tour is cancelled, the record company is furious, and the band is broker than ever. Queen is supposed to start recording their next album—their last album, the record company insists, unless it happens to be a runaway success—in July, but you don’t know if Roger’s arm will be healed in time. None of you know that. You wonder if this really is God’s house, or at least one of his homes, sanctified piles of bricks and glass scattered across the globe; maybe you could ask Him where Queen’s future lies.

Veronica swoops in and dusts an airy kiss onto Mary’s cheek, and then Chrissie’s, and then yours. “Thank you so much,” she gushes. Her high cheekbones are flushed, her watery eyes sparkling. She’s in heaven, sinner or not. Her massive white dress swishes with every step. “We couldn’t have done it without you. And you’re next, Chris! I can’t wait.”

Chrissie smiles. She and Brian are getting married just before Christmas. “Yes, well, time will tell if we’ll be serving Christmas ham or canned beans.”

“And then Mary...” Veronica’s gaze migrates across the table. Mary’s been wearing a ring on her wedding finger since Queen returned from Japan, a simple gold band that once belonged to Freddie’s mother. “What about you, Y/N? Any plans? Then we’d all be hitched!”

Red wine spurts from your lips and you fumble for a cloth napkin. Roger doesn’t believe in marriage, and neither do you; not after only four months together, anyway. And yet...is there some part of you that can’t help but think of papers and rings when you get lost in his eyes, of promises of forever, of some way to tie yourself to him like vessels to a heart? Sure; and that’s a little wonderful, that’s a little terrifying. “Uh, uh, oh, oh no, definitely no plans whatsoever.”

“What bollocks!” Rog sneers. “Really, what’s the point if you’re not religious? Who needs a bloody piece of paper to prove they love someone?! ‘I care for you so much I need the government to know we’re together and the hassle of divorce fees to make me stay,’ what the fuck. I mean, uh, no offense John, Bri, uh...this is all well and good for you, but...ah...”

“It’s just not your scene. That’s fine, Rog,” Freddie says with a tad too much empathy. Mary doesn’t seem to notice.

“But you’ll want children at some point, won’t you?” Veronica asks you, almost pained. She’s not trying to be cruel, you realize; she genuinely can’t fathom the pinnacle of a woman’s life as anything but being a wife and mother.

“Theoretically, sure. One day. Eventually.” You titter nervously. Roger’s good arm circles your shoulders, his cigarette lofting smoke. Oh, but wouldn’t he make beautiful children? You push that thought away. It’s too soon, it’s too much, it’s not in the cards for an impoverished maybe-drummer and his girlfriend; and a girlfriend—with all the intangibility and impermanence that title entails—is all I’ll ever be. “I think I need to travel the world a bit more first.”

John sighs and pats the back of Veronica’s hand. What is that weight in his voice...impatience? Annoyance? “Ronnie, please, don’t bother her.”

Veronica sulks, scraping the old scuffed linoleum floor with her pointy white heels. “I wasn’t trying to bother anyone...”

Mary comes to the rescue: “No, of course not. You didn’t, dear.” She likes Veronica more than Chrissie does. Isn’t she oppressively vapid? Chrissie has asked you more than once. Isn’t she so miserably naïve? Veronica is sweet, sure, but she has no fucking idea what she’s in for. “Babies are wonderful, but they do make things harder, don’t you think? Especially for the mother. You have to be ready to drop everything for them. All your other interests and aspirations.”

“I suppose,” Veronica mumbles. You can tell she’s thinking: What other aspirations?

“But you must be so excited!” You beam up at Veronica. It’s her wedding day, and John’s; it should be happy, it should be optimistic. And you’re learning to like Veronica—less than Mary, but more than Chris—because you know that’s the best thing for John.

She instinctively rests her hand on the swell of her belly; or, rather, where it must be somewhere beneath all those heaps of satin and tulle. Great Aunt Zofia’s glare intensifies. “I’m scared to death, to tell you the truth.”

“Why?!” Mary cries.

“I’m so afraid something will happen to him.” Veronica’s voice is soft, her blue eyes glassy. She’s certain the baby is a boy, claims she had some sort of dream about it. “There’s a lot of bad luck going around for us, isn’t there? And my mother lost four babies. Any time he stops moving, I worry constantly until my next appointment. I haven’t felt anything in days, and I just...I just...” She trails off, staring vacantly across the crowded church basement. She’s trying not to cry, you realize.

“I can try to check for you,” you offer. “If it would make you feel better.”

“Really?” Veronica sounds hopeful, but guardedly so.  

“This is embarrassing, but I carry my nurse kit almost everywhere I go now. That’s why I brought my huge blue purse even though it doesn’t match the dress. You know, you can’t be too careful...”

“Yes, who knows when someone will try something idiotic like jogging backwards down the stairs?” Freddie muses. Roger lobs a pierogi at him. Great Aunt Zofia wheezes out a disgusted huff and crosses her veiny, wrinkled arms over her sagging chest.

“I have a stethoscope,” you continue. “I can’t guarantee I’ll find a heartbeat, but I’ll give it a try if that would help.”

“Would you, Y/N?” Veronica clutches for John’s hand, and he lets her take it without any resistance; but he doesn’t seem to know how to comfort her. He has the same dazed look on his face that he has a lot these days, the same look that Bri and Freddie sometimes get: like they’re on autopilot, like they’re actively filtering through brainwaves to fish out any that wander astray. Roger lands a kiss on your bare shoulder and pitches you a playful smirk, his I’m so proud of my too-fucking-smart girlfriend smirk.  

You grab your purse from beneath the table. “Does God’s house have a cozy private spot somewhere?”

Veronica leads you, Mary, and Chrissie to a small unoccupied room that is used (how pertinently) as the church nursery. The pink wallpaper is dotted with waddling ducklings, cloud-shaped sheep leaping over fences, smiling suns and winged cartoonish angels. Veronica settles into a faded blue couch, and Mary and Chris help her shove aside the massive plumes of her wedding dress to reveal the plain shift she’s wearing underneath. She’s over five months along now, and her entirely unremarkable bump seems colossal on her delicate frame.

You pop the headset into your ears and press the chestpiece against Veronica’s unyielding belly, gliding it over the pearly shift as you try different positions.

“Anything?” Mary asks anxiously.

“It’s not bloody instant, Mary!” Chrissie snaps. “Be quiet so she can listen.”

“No need to be cranky—”

“You can’t find a heartbeat, can you?” Veronica says, her voice quivering. “Oh god...”

“Found it,” you announce. You hold the chestpiece in place as you yank the headset off and pass it to Veronica.

She gapes at you. “You’re just saying that so I’ll stop worrying, aren’t you?”

“Hear for yourself.”

Veronica takes the headset and listens, closing her eyes as the rapid-fire and rhythmic swishing of her child’s heartbeat floods through her ears. “Oh,” she breathes, beaming. “There he is.”

“That’s incredible!” Mary trills. “Can I hear too, Veronica? Whenever you’re finished...”

Mary listens, and Chrissie does too, and then you all help touch up Veronica’s hair and makeup before you head back to the reception. The cake is due to be cut in twelve minutes. As you smooth the short train on her dress, Veronica turns back to you.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asks timidly, hugging her belly. “You know...for this.”

“That’s something I’ve always liked about nursing. So many jobs require sorting out who’s right and wrong, casting judgment, assigning punishment. There’s no weighing of the moral scales in medicine. It doesn’t matter if a patient is trustworthy, deceitful, good, bad, worthy, undeserving, if they disappoint you, if they’re the ones who hurt themselves. You treat everyone, you heal everyone. And I would like to keep that part of myself for as long as I can.” You smile at Veronica. “But, for the record, no. I don’t think you’re a bad person at all.”

She sighs in relief, untethering an anchor she hadn’t even known she’d been dragging around by her throat. “Thank you,” she whispers, tears snaking down her powdered ivory cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on.”

“How do you feel about marble lion statues? You know, the ones at the end of long, winding driveways. Rich people’s driveways. Mansion driveways. Or do you prefer gargoyles?”

“Roger.”

He groans, grins, presses his right fist into your palm. You measure the force with your mind, with your muscle memory. He’s stronger than he was yesterday, the day before, last week. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Rog teases. “You’ve got a soft spot for damaged people. Helpless people. That’s why you warmed to Brian so quickly. He was lying there all gaunt and jaundiced and terrified, and you just couldn’t resist, you just had to make sure all his wildest dreams came true.”

“I have a soft spot for self-destructive musicians who end up in hospitals, evidently.” Your gaze cruises over the scar on Roger’s forearm where the surgeons popped his bones back into place, stabilized them, stitched the ragged gore closed. You hate looking at it; you hate reminders of how mortal Roger really is.

“I want lions,” Rog decides. “For the driveway of our eventual mansion. I like the Leo connection.”

“And the Queen crest connection.”

His grin widens, toothy and radiant. “See, I knew you were the love of my life.”

“Come on. Again.”

He winces this time. “Doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“Uh huh. I bet.” You’ve slathered his fresh blisters with numbing antiseptic ointment, iced his arm, administered pain medicine, allowed him the constant sips of alcohol necessary for him to work, to drum, to sleep. But he still hurts. You imagine he hurts all the fucking time.

It’s August now, and Queen is recording their fourth album at Rockfield Farm. You and Roger are sitting by the pool as Freddie splashes around in the clear chlorine-smelling water trying to get John’s attention. John, meanwhile, is lounging on an inflatable raft, wearing black sunglasses and most likely asleep. Brian circles the pool snapping photos with your Canon F-1.

“I have a plan,” Roger informs you as he starts his stretches without prompting. He knows the drill, even if he likes to be difficult about it.

“By all means, enlighten me.”

“Fred’s thing, the weird one. It has a name now.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Oh, it’s perfect!” You try to stay out of the band’s business decisions as much as possible; it’s not your expertise, and it’s not your place, and there are already a few too many creative chefs in that kitchen. Still, you love when they share their magic with you. “Eccentric, whimsical, exhilarating. Just like the song. Just like Queen.”

“I’m so glad you approve. We’re going to make sure it’s the first single off the album. And I know exactly what song’s going to be on the B-side. Freddie and Bri don’t know yet, but I do.”

“Sounds like they’re going to murder you when they find out.”

“I’ll convince them.” His grin is crafty, daring. “Picture it: you’ve just finished the incomparable experience that is Bohemian Rhapsody. You’re a newly converted Queen enthusiast. What could possibly come next? You flip the record over. And the virile, screeching, pure rock and roll passion of I’m In Love With My Car is there to greet you.”

“Oh my god, Roger.” You shake your head in mock mourning. “They actually are going to murder you.”

“Listen, love, BoRhap is going to be a hit. I can feel it.”

“Sure,” you agree lukewarmly. You want to be supportive, you really do. But disappointment stings more than resignation.

“It will be,” Roger maintains, unmovable. “And it’ll sell mountains and mountains of singles...and with my song on the B-side, I’ll get half the royalties. Which means we’ll get half the royalties.”

“Which is how we end up with the hypothetical mansion.”

“I’m being serious.” Roger picks up his mini barbell weights from the water-splattered concrete and begins his bicep curls, flinching each time he lifts his right fist.

“Rog—”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “I’m going to make this happen. I’m going to get rich so I can provide for my family. You know about that, you know it’s on my list. And my family includes you now.”

“I don’t need a mansion, Roger.” I just need you. You stare at his right arm worriedly. “Are you sure—?”

“I’m fine!” he shouts, and you recoil. Brian peers over from where he’s taking pictures of blooming purple foxgloves. Instantly, Roger regrets it. “I’m sorry,” he says, setting down the barbells and cradling your face with his rough, bandaged hands. “I have to be fine, you know? I don’t have a choice. If I can’t play, I can’t be in the band. If I leave, John will leave too, and that’ll be the end of everything. Or worse, John will break the pact and stay and they’ll find a new drummer and forget all about me. Sail off into some blissful new future. And where will I be? Moping as I drag myself back to dental school? Becoming a freaking lab biologist? Resigning myself to being some excruciatingly ordinary bloke, someone who climbed just far enough out of Cornwall to know everything he’s missing out on?”

You try to imagine who Roger would be without the band, but you can’t. You’ve never known a pre-Queen Roger. “No,” you say, amused. “You’ll never be just some ordinary bloke. You’re too brilliant, too determined. Even if you do have a dodgy arm.”

He kisses you, and you can feel his lips curling into a smile beneath yours. “So you’ll let me buy you a mansion.”

“If you get I’m In Love With My Car on the B-side, and BoRhap is a hit, and Freddie and Bri don’t smother you with a pillow in your sleep...yes, you can buy me a mansion. Buy us a mansion.”

He winks, his sapphire eyes glinting in the late-summer sunlight. “Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s done,” John tells the others as he passes out copies of his new song, the second he’s ever written. There are only four sheets of crisp white paper; as you watch from the studio couch, you wonder what the song is about, why he didn’t mention it to you.

“It’s done?!” Brian yelps. “What do you mean, it’s done?! Nothing’s ever done after the first pass! That’s how it works, that’s how it always works, someone suggests something and then we all dice it and slice it and flip it around and stitch it back together like the world’s most maniacal surgeons, and then, only then, maybe, it’s done.”

You glance up from where you’re sewing an eleventh patch onto Roger’s jeans. “Must we disparage the medical profession?”

“Sorry, love,” Roger tosses to you with a laugh. ��                        

“It’s done,” John repeats.

“Deaky, darling,” Freddie ventures gently. “We should endeavor to keep our minds open to collaboration—”

“Oh, should we, Fred?!” Bri exclaims. “How extraordinary, you never seem to encourage collaboration when it’s your song on the cutting floor!”

“Okay space boy, you listen here—”

“‘I’m happy at home’?!” Roger reads, revolted. “We’re not the bloody Bee Gees, Deaks!”

John explains measuredly and patiently, as if to a child: “That’s the way it goes. We record it as it is or not at all.”

“That’s not how we do things,” Brian mutters, deep frown lines chiseled through his face as he scans the lyrics.

“Then just fill the album with your and Fred’s songs like you always do, I’m sure that’ll keep me and Roger loyal.”

Brian glares at John. John stares back stoically, his eyes like steel. Brian looks to Roger for support; Roger lights a cigarette and pretends not to notice.

“Darling, please, you’re not being reasonable!” Freddie pleads.

“I need it.” John turns to Roger now. “I need it to stay the way it is.”

Rog just watches him for a while, exhales smoke, shrugs. “Okay,” he says at last.

“Okay?!” Brian howls. “What do you mean, okay?!”

“He said he needs it,” Roger replies simply.

Bri throws his hands into the air. “Bleeding christ! ‘He needs it.’ What rubbish! Do something, Fred!”

“Oh relax, darling.” Freddie sashays to the microphone and points to Brian’s Red Special. “Let’s try it out.”

“But—!”

Roger claps Brian on the back as he trots by him towards the drum kit. “Come on, Bri. Big smiles. Just picture the nice shiny pounds from all those album sales plinking into your bank account. You’ll have fifty Christmas hams at the wedding, one for every guest.”

You listen passively from the couch as they rehearse, trying not to let on that you’re paying attention, trying not to overstep. But you can’t help being struck by the lyrics, feeling the somberness of Freddie’s voice and John’s tentative notes on the electric piano slink into your bones; because it sounds so familiar, because it echoes so many things that John has told you.

When Queen takes a mid-afternoon break and John slips into the kitchen for a Coke, you follow him.

“Hey John?”

“Yeah.” He rests his hands on the dining room table. They’re sturdy and unmarred and completely unlike Roger’s; and you aren’t sure why you notice this, but you do.

“I completely understand if I’m being intrusive, and if I am please just tell me to shut up and I will.”

He chuckles. “You’re never intrusive. Go ahead.”

“I was just wondering...who is You’re My Best Friend about?”

Now his smile evaporates. “No one in particular,” he says briskly. “It’s just a song. Just something to put on the album. Maybe a single one day. A soulless royalties grab.”

That seems unlikely. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He takes a swig of Coke, peers down at the table, traces swirls of centuries-old oak with his fingertips.

“It’s just...you know...well...it kind of sounded like...maybe it was about me.”

He looks up. And for the first time, John levels some of his infamous, razored words at you: “Don’t be such a fucking narcissist.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, John doesn’t apologize. But he smiles at you over tea, offers to clean off the fingerprints of strawberry jelly that Roger left on the Canon, splashes you from the pool as you sunbathe beneath lapis August skies. And you agree, wordlessly and unconditionally, to forgive him. Because John is your best friend, whether or not you’re still his.

Nine weeks later, Bohemian Rhapsody is released as a single. (And, as promised, Roger ensures that I’m In Love With My Car is on the B-side.)

Twelve weeks later, Bohemian Rhapsody reaches the #1 spot on the UK Singles Chart, and remains there for over two months.

Fifteen weeks later, A Night At The Opera becomes the #1 album in the UK.

Fifteen weeks later, Queen’s future is suddenly crystal clear.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: King-Size Annual Amazing Spider-Man #16: “Who’s That Lady?”

October, 1982

In case you wondered why I would keep titling my posts Essential Avengers: Avengers its because sometimes the thing after the colon won’t be Avengers.

Maybe I should have titled this liveblog something else but I’m in too deep.

This sure is a fun, striking cover featuring an all-new, all-different, and all-terrific Captain Marvel.

Memorable.

You may not remember who Captain Marvel is. He has come up a couple times in Avengers but in modern times, ‘he’ is not going to connect intuitively with Captain Marvel, especially now that Marvel has won the long tug-of-war with DC.

Here’s some courtesy links to the time the Avengers crossed into the Thanos War storyline from the Captain Marvel book.

But the long story short is that Captain Marvel was invented to trademark squat the name Captain Marvel, was a Kree captain who went against his people to help Earth, became a super saiyan, fought Thanos a bunch, got cancer, and died. In fact, he died February 1982 so its fairly recent that Marvel killed him off but since they still want to trademark squat, they need another Captain Marvel.

Hence, this.

And I’m very excited about this hence.

So, I’ve read a couple of Spider-Man annuals included in trades or as singles over the years and its interesting how often they are used to promote a new character. Spider-Man is the ultimate hype man.

So the ultimate hype man is at a bus station as the captions tell us how amazing he is, when his spider-sense goes squiggle lines to a perfectly normal woman walking past.

And the issue title and Peter are both like “Who’s That Lady?”

Peter’s second thought is how hot she is because... eh, he doesn’t get married until 1987.

Peter Parker: “Wow! I’ve never seen anyone like her before... not in the port authority bus terminal! She’s... stunning! Yeah... so why am I getting a spider-sense tingle from her? I can’t believe that she’d present any sort of threat... but my spider-sense never reacted to out-and-out beauty before!”

And since he has fifteen spare minutes until his Good Pals Liz and Hary Osborn’s bus shows up, he decides to stalk her a little. Y’know. For the public safety??

Geez.

He also sees that she’s going into a Bad Neighborhood and throws in a little victim blame, why not.

Peter: “Whoops! She’s definitely an out-of-towner! Native New Yorkers know better than to stroll through this neighborhood -- especially dressed as well as she is! She’s practically asking to be mugged!”

But since (and this may come as a surprise to you) mild-mannered Peter Parker is in fact, the Amazing Spider-Man, he darts into an alley to change into his spider-jammies and play guardian angel.

Of course, the instant he goes to change clothes is the instant that a pair of individuals accost the mysterious woman.

The one who looks like Kisuke Urahara fallen on hard times grabs her purse and runs off. Mysterious Woman gives chase because hey, that’s her purse you creep!

But it was a weird ruse to lure her away to a more secluded area and guy two grabs the Mysterious Woman.

So she flips him over her back and hits the purse snatcher with him.

I’m liking where this is going.

Guy Two, aka Mojo but not that one, decides maybe a knife will make Mysterious Woman be more pliant.

So Mysterious Woman dodges the knife thrust and then kicks the shit out of Mojo.

I’m continue to liking where this is going.

Guy one (Scud) decides that not getting beaten up is the better part of valor and takes off.

Right into Spider-Man’s fist.

Ah, excellent. Every uppanced has come.

Spider-Man notices that Mysterious Woman is making his spider-sense buzz harder than ever and decides that instead of lurking, he should just come right out and ask her deal.

By which he means jump out from behind her and suddenly start talking because taking people by surprise is always a good idea.

Anyway, the Mysterious Woman assumes that Spider-Man was Scud and on instinct swivels around and does him a shove. A really hard shove into a pile of garbage that knocks him senseless.

“It happens in a split second! Even before Spider-Man’s feet can touch the ground... even as his special senses tell him that he’s made a serious mistake... a sudden burst of pure force sends him flying.”

Goes to show. Don’t sneak up on people? Yeah, probably.

Mysterious Woman is like oh shit I just knocked out Spider-Man god damn I gotta get my power under control.

Then she CHOOMs her pantsuit into oblivion and reveals that she was dressed in layers with a more super-something outfit underneath.

Which is impressive considering that her outfit has some kind of wings/cape that go from the back to the arms that would not have fit under the pantsuit jacket. And also the boots probably wouldn’t have fit under the heels.

All in all, this may be the greatest display of power so far.

She does have to put on the mask/cowl and gloves because there’s not much of a way for those to have fit underneath.... her skin?

The wing/cape also has a pocket which means its also practical.

Nice.

So Spider-Man comes to musing that maybe he shouldn’t leap right at someone his spider-sense is telling him is dangerous.

And then the Mysterious Woman takes off from the alley with a KLA-BOOM - seemingly turning into a bolt of lightning and lighting up the sky over the Empire State Building.

Spider-Man: “Who am I up against here? And do I really want to find out?”

That’s a pretty striking costume.

The white and black contrast nice and the nova burst icon looks rad.

Not a fan of masks that don’t cover up much of anything. At that point you may as well not wear one? And the cape doesn’t make much sense for her powers? But it also has a pocket for her keys so and cash which makes it practical so I guess it balances out.

But overall its striking and memorable.

So up on the Empire State Building, this Mysterious Woman introduced as Captain Marvel so I can drop the pretense and start calling her Captain Marvel and hey wait the cover said Captain Marvel too, I’ve lived a sham.

But Captain Marvel muses about how big New York is compared to New Orleans and leans right into the flashback zone, because its time for the all-new all-different all-terrific Captain Marvel’s entire origin.

Just jammed right into the middle of this annual.

Lt. Monica Rambeau worked as one of New Orleans’ harbor patrol.

And in this flashback zone, she was just passed up for promotion and is unhappy about it. According to her, she was better than any of the people chosen and thinks that she was passed up because she’s a woman.

The Harbormaster says that Actually Its Because You’re a Loose Cannon and Doesn’t Do Things By the Book and also how dare you accuse him of sexism, gtfo of his office.

Harbor patrol is basically like boat cops, right?

At least he didn’t ask for her gun and badge.

Monica stomps back to her office, which I guess she has despite being a lieutenant. Good on her!

Professor Andre LeClare, a war buddy of Monica’s grandfather, is waiting for her in her office to ask for help.

In the advanced physics field Professor LeClare is considered a bit of a crackpot and only one man ever listened to his theories. A Generalissimo Ernesto Ramirez, a South American dictator.

In hindsight, LeClare acknowledges that maybe he didn’t do due diligence before accepting a job from a dictator but he was the only one who offered to fund his research.

Professor LeClare had discovered a way from drawing energy from other universes and dimensions (which I vaguely remember as the plot of an Asimov novel) but whoops, the actual dictator wants to weaponize it.

LeClare flees the Vague South American Country after failing to dissuade Ramirez but the dictator is undaunted and gets LeClare’s former assistant Felipe Picaro to continue the work on an old oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.

Professor LeClare told the American government but nobody believed him. But if the weapon is completed it “will make the atomic bomb look like a wet match.”

Which: good lord.

Monica can understand why its hard to believe because she can barely believe it herself.

She’d also like to know what the professor even expect from her.

Professor LeClare: “Frankly, I’m not sure. I was hoping you could think of some way to convince the authorities. I had heard that you tend to approach things in a less orthodox manner than most.”

Monica, toasting with her Monica mug: “You’re not the only one who’s made that observation. Hmm... maybe I can think of something. After all, I have tomorrow off... and it is the least I could do for an old friend of the family.”

Seriously, that’s a cool mug, Monica.

The next morning, Monica takes LeClare out on a borrowed boat to go investigate the oil rig.

She’s going to investigate while the professor, and she is very clear on this, stays hidden on the boat.

Monica is a bit out of her depth here (nautical pun) because she doesn’t actually believe the professor, doesn’t have any jurisdiction out in the middle of the gulf, and even if she did doesn’t have any official backing from her boat cop boss. But she figures it won’t hurt to humor the old man.

Said old man also salutes her and calls her “mon capitaine” when she tells him to hide on the boat.

When she boats up to the oil rig, many armed guards politely tell her that this is private property and she needs to kindly gtfo.

But Monica has a secret weapon. You may have heard that she’s unorthodox and doesn’t do things by the book.

Her secret weapon is a winning smile but also a bikini.

Not only are all the guards ready to go ‘hey security isn’t as important as a woman in a bikini’ so is Dr. Picaro, the guy in charge on the rig.

Lets see Genis manage that.

So she manages to get a picnic with head honcho Picaro. Although he’s a creepy and stares a lot. But when she’s trying to sweet-talk him into spilling many of the beans, an intruder alarm goes off.

Guess who didn’t listen to the explicit instructions to stay on the boat, snuck onto the oil rig, tried to sabotage the project, and got caught?

Did you guess Professor LeClare? Because it was Professor LeClare.

Picaro is tickled to see his old boss here.

LeClare: “Picaro, you mustn’t use this device! You don’t understand the forces involved!”

Picaro: “I understand perfectly, LeClare! My energy disruptor, powered by the fruits of your theory, can totally obliterate any city within 200 miles!”

This shit is why Reed Richards is useless. You invent something useful like a device that steals energy from another universe and some asshole rolls in and goes ‘okay but can I make people explode with it?’

Wakanda invents the cure for cancer in a widely unpopular move, looks at the Marvel universe, and goes ‘someone is definitely going to try to turn this into a weapon, smh.’

Picaro is so drunk on his own hype that he decides he might as well do the first test here and now. And by here I mean Fort Benning, Georgia and by do the first test I mean wipe it off the map.

I feel like even if you had a new super-weapon effective enough to make the atomic bomb look like a wet match, this isn’t a very strategic way to use it.

But that’s why they call it mad with power, not reasonable with power.

Monica has bit by bit started to believe the professor and at this point it doesn’t matter whether she thinks any of this is possible as long as Picaro does.

So she elbow shoves him out of the way and punches the machine to death.

Because Monica Rambeau.

Of course it explodes.

That’s the natural reaction to being punched by Monica Rambeau.

Good thing this wasn’t an active oil rig!

Back in New Orleans, a streak of light strikes a wharf and turns into Monica Rambeau.

She staggers around the wharf in a daze, dizzy and finding it hard to think, but knowing she has to find help for the professor. Who may or may not have just been in an explosion.

She bangs on a... I don’t know. Some kind of storeroom or something. And bangs on the locked door, looking for help. She feels that she needs to get inside.

And the next thing she knows she’s somehow inside, without, to her best knowledge, interacting at all with the door.

Kinda mysterious. But she explicitly decides to worry about that later. She spots a radio and decides to broadcast a mayday on naval frequencies.

She doesn’t notice that the radio is unplugged and not really connected to anything.

And in fairness, reality doesn’t notice either.

Some energy suffuses the microphone and broadcasts her mayday message to a boat out in the Gulf of Mexico. The radio operator acknowledges the mayday and wonders what kind of power the sender was using because it came across too loud too clear.

Hmmm. What a mysterious happening.

Could Monica have, through being caught in a lab accident, gained amazing and spectacular powers?

Why, of course!

What genre do you think you’re reading?

With the message sent out, Monica spares some time to worry about what the heck that happened to her and realize that wow its cold in here in just a swimsuit!

Luckily, the random building is a storage warehouse with racks of costumes left over from Mardi Gras! What luck!

Of course, Mardi Gras. Most of it is less than she’s already wearing.

But she manages to combine parts of several outfits into one combined outfit. And even puts on a mask to spare herself the embarrassment of being spotted dressed like this!

I like that her costume is literally just something she threw together. Although I now have to wonder what the original outfits she scavenged from were like.

Actually, what I really like is that her original goal was to find something warm to wear. But she has superpowers now so has a superhero brain and superhero brain says ‘costume.’

So Monica puts on a superhero costume, even though she just wanted some pants.

Now dressed, she wanders out into the wharf and notices bolts of energy shooting up into the sky from the direction of the oil rig.

Worried about the professor, Monica manages to transport herself in a bolt of light to the oil rig.

These are some user friendly powers.

When Monica arrives she finds a bunch of already unconscious guards strewn about the landing pad.

She runs into the oil rig just in time to see Picaro shoot the professor.

Dang.

Picaro: “This is your fault, LeClare! You must have sabotaged my disruptor panel! It was perfect... you hear, perfect!!”

Well. He was trying to sabotage it. You might have a point.

Monica kicks Picaro to get him to drop the gun and then rushes over to Professor LeClare.

She wants to get him to safety but LeClare tells her that no place is safe now.

LeClare: “Felipe... wouldn’t listen! The power was too unstable. Energy is flooding in from another universe. Breaking down the wall between worlds. The hole in the air... is getting bigger! Within a day, it will be planet-sized! And then, both universes will smash into each other. We are doomed!”

Monica wonders whether this would have happened anyway or whether, y’know, punching the experimental physics machine had any negative effects.

Who can say!

Monica ponders how you plug a hole in nothing. Right before the space-time hole sucks her in and jams her in like a cork in a vacuum cleaner.

But its working, somehow, for some reason! The hole is sealing up around her! Science!

Hurts like the dickens though.

And its probably going to crush her as it closes. Which isn’t ideal.

It’d create a time paradox, for one thing. We’re in flashback country still.

Picaro decides that with a strange woman stuck in a space-time whatsit, now is the best time to shoot the professor AGAIN just in case he wasn’t bleeding to death hard enough.

Monica rushes to stop this. Turning into energy quick as lightning and intercepting the bullet.

She can do this.

And blasting free of the dimensional hole also sealed it shut.

AND she disintegrates Picaro’s gun, shocking him senseless in the process.

That’s what I call a win-win-win. Good job, Monica!

She decides to leave him and the others on the oil rig to international law when the navy arrives. She grabs the professor and takes him away to get patched up.

One of the soldiers, barely conscious mumbles something to himself as he watches them go.

Soldier with a mustache: “<Captain? H-he called her his captain! But she saved us... hah-ha-ha... saved... hah-ha... all of us!> Capitan est maravilla... est maravilla! Capitan est maravilla!”

Do you remember the first rule of superhero names? I’ll remind you in a bit.

Two days later, Professor LeClare visits Monica at the Harbor Patrol HQ.

He has run Science! tests that have proven conclusively that Monica’s body “was transubstantiated by the dimensional interface!”

And Monica is like ‘english pls’ so LeClare explains “what it means is you can change your body into any form of electromagnetic energy! You can actually become a sentient packet of radio waves, light, even electricity! You can go through solid objects as x-rays! You can travel at the speed of light! What’s more, you can release a small amount of energy as a blast of pure force, with no appreciable loss of body mass!”

Blasts of pure force from the pure force dimension!

So basically, Monica can become any kind of energy and go pew pew. I think she became Green Lantern energy once, that time the Avengers and Justice League crossed over.

LeClare also brought a gift.

He had a copy made of Monica’s scavenged together mardi gras outfit costume. Which is sort of a ‘thanks?’ gift because maybe she wanted to design a costume that wasn’t a hodgepodge. But LeClare’s version is also made of unstable molecules.

You can just buy those, apparently.

But, if you can just buy those, apparently, then you definitely want to because they’re pretty durable and put up with all kinds of nonsense. Although, Monica’s random outfit could turn to energy and back already.

Monica is like ‘thanks?’ because she doesn’t know if she ever wants to use these powers again.

LeClare: “We all have a destiny to fufill, mon capitaine.”

Monica: “Will you stop calling me that? You know darn well that I’m only a lieutenant!”

LeClare: “Oh? Not in the eyes of some!”

And he pulls out a newspaper, in case she hadn’t seen the newspaper.

The headline is “Who is Capt. Marvel?” because when the navy arrived at the oil rig, they found mustache soldier hysterically saying “the captain is a marvel!” (or possibly “captain is wonderful”?) and not bothering to have learned Spanish, the navy assumes that he was saying Captain Marvel.

Anyway, remember the first rule of superhero names?

The first thing someone randomly shouts about you becomes your codename so I hope you like it.

Monica lucked out. Captain Marvel is a pretty sweet name. So sweet that she’ll have it stolen in like three different ways by other people. Poor Monica.

LeClare: “Monica, you can do things no man has ever dreamed of doing! Two days ago, you told me you took this job ‘to serve and protect’. Much good can be done with your powers... Captain Marvel!”

So then we get Monica quitting the boat cops, tossing her gun and badge on the harbormaster’s desk and telling him where he can shove it.

Monica: “I don’t need your little ranks or your little minds any more! I’ve already made captain... on my own!”

Monica’s ex-boss, presumably: ‘What a cryptic thing to say.’

LeClare asks if she’s sure about quitting. I assumed he was suggesting she quit when he was encouraging her to become a superhero but I guess not.

Monica says that she’s been wanting to quit for years because as long as that ‘tyrant’ was in charge what with his wanting to do things by the book, Monica was limited in what she could accomplish.

Ha ha ha oh thats a bad take thats a bad take on reasons why to quit being a (boat) cop.

‘If only it weren’t for all these RULES and PROCEDURES -shakes fist-’

So Monica walks off with LeClare, to a bright new beautiful tomorrow as a superhero.

Anyway, that’s the end of the flashback zone so now we’re back on the Empire State Building zone where Monica has been reminiscing this whole time.

Apparently that enormous flashback all happened only a few short weeks ago. She’s had a long and entirely off-screen superhero career in those weeks, probably.

But she needs SCIENCE! help and Professor LeClare has scienced as hard as he can already.

Captain Marvel Monica is suffering from energy buildup and she’s afraid she’s going to become as big a threat to the world as Picaro’s machine. If she doesn't’ consciously hold it in check, it would overcome her.

I imagine she hasn’t been sleeping much.

But this is New York and SCIENCE! help is visible on the skyline.

Meanwhile, Spider-Man has finally made it up the Empire State Building.

So that’s really why the flashback was so long, to give Spider-Slowpoke time to catch up.

Spider-Man: “There she is, bold as brass! I’ll slap a little webbing on her, and see what’s shaking! Or should I? What if she’s a good guy, and I’m misreading my senses? I’d look like a fool!”

Truly, social shame is the best reason not to sneak attack someone.

Spider-Man: “Naw, if she’s a good guy, she’ll understand that I couldn’t take any chances! Besides, my chest still smarts!”

... Dammit, Peter.

But when he shoots a webline, she ZOOMS out of the way. Coincidentally. She never even noticed he was there. Monica just found where she needed to head and headed there in a flash.

Spider-Man tries to find where she went by checking the binoculars she was using but the seeing-stuff expired and Spider-Man doesn’t have a quarter. He doesn’t even have a pocket.

A tourist child comes up to the viewing platform and asks who Spider-Man is.

Spider-Man: “No need to panic, kid. I’m Spider-Man.”

Tourist child: “Who’s panickin’? Besides, there ain’t no Spider-Man... my dad says he’s just a hoax the media barons cooked up to sell papers!”

Spider-Man: “I don’t want to argue, but I am Spider-Man. And I need a quarter -- it’s important!”

Tourist child: “I may be from Council Bluffs, but I’m not stupid! If you want a quarter, prove that you’re Spider-Man!”

Is Spider-Man desperate enough to perform for a child like a trained monkey?

Yes. Obviously.

Thankfully, all it takes is climbing up the wall and standing.

He gets his quarter and it didn’t cost too much dignity.

Spider-Man feeds the binoculars a quarter and sees what building Monica was looking at and decides this means trouble!

And swings off.

Leaving tourist child to tell his parents about this.

Tourist child: “Mom! Dad! I just met Spider-Man! Wait’ll I tell the guys back home! No, really, dad -- honest!”

Tourist dad: “Dougie, look out that door! Do you see anything? No. Spider-Man is just a creation of the Eastern establishment!”

Tourist mom: “Harold, I told you we shouldn’t have let him go out there! The air this high is too thin for a growing boy!”

Tourist child Dougie: “Aw, mom!”

Oof, that poor child.

But where is Monica and, much more slowly, Spider-Man heading?

The Baxter Building!

Fantastic Four guest star role?

Mmm, one-quarter of that.

When Monica arrives, the place looks like its been torn apart by some sort of Terrax because that’s what happened. Monica doesn’t know that it was specifically Terrax but she certainly guesses that some kind of battle-axe was to blame.

Only Ben Grimm is present and asks her who the heck she is.

Captain Marvel: “I... I’m Captain Marvel.”

The Thing: “Not unless ya came back from the dead by way of Denmark, ya ain’t! Marv died months ago. ‘Sides, he was a blond.”

Captain Marvel: “There was another Captain Marvel? I - I’m sorry... I didn’t know.”

The Thing: “Aw, don’t sweat it... Marv probably wouldn’t mind. I probably ain’t the only Thing in the world, either!”

I guess Captain Marvel wasn’t a very well-known superhero. Then again, maybe superheroes aren’t very well known outside of New York?

The tourists from Council Bluffs thought Spider-Man was a hoax and Monica was only aware of Spider-Man in a very vague ‘oh right I read about him’ sort of way.

Guess the Avengers and the Fantastic Four are the exceptions.

Anyway, Monica explains the situation to Ben that she might explode like a 1000 megaton bomb.

And unfortunately, Reed Richards Is Useless. Although in this case because he’s off on vacation with Sue at Martha’s Vineyard and there’s no way to reach him in time.

Ben comes up with another idea. Maybe the Avengers can help! Because he knows this is an Avengers liveblog and I need a certain amount of Avengers content or I wouldn’t be here.

Although really its because he has the vague sense that the Avengers seem to have a lot of science savvy.

When Ben punches up a call to the Avengers, Captain Marvel is like ‘kthx’ and zips along the transmission because time is very much a factor here!

Unfortunately frying the radio in the process because it wasn’t intended to take a whole energy person through it.

Spider-Man arrives just after Monica leaves (because see also: Spider-Slowpoke). He asks Ben if he saw her and Ben makes a statement that could, on its face, perhaps be misinterpreted.

The Thing: “See her? She just fried my radio! Dangdest thing I ever saw! She changed into a buncha radio waves and headed for Avengers mansion! I hope they can handle her before she explodes!”

Spider-Man: “Explodes? She explodes too?! She’s more of a menace than I thought!”

Hey. Hey, Peter. I don’t want to hear that from you. There’s a hilarious irony to you saying those words that I don’t think you grasp.

And he swings off to Avengers Mansion to go help deal with this cough menace, not hearing Ben trying to tell him he’s got the wrong idea.

The Mighty Marvel Misunderstanding fight tradition trumps sound waves.

Meanwhile, at Avengers Mansion, Iron Man is sitting down on a nice monitor duty, probably just enjoying the quiet when he receives a priority signal from the Fantastic Four.

SURPRISE ITS MONICA

I think what I like most is that Iron Man has apparently had to tell the FF to stop calling about Galactus.

The Avengers’ systems are also unable to handle the sudden energy discharge of an entire person, so Monica’s arrival messes up the mansion security systems and also Iron Man.

Whoops.

The security stunulators, that the Avengers totally have, suddenly start shooting at Jarvis. So you know they’re messed up because who would want to hurt that delightful man?

Captain Marvel is dismayed to find that bad things have happened because of her and Iron Man is like hey if that tone is sincere, maybe help me out? I’m stuck in my bricked armor, not naming any names, but a tiny spark across the chestplate will reset things.

Except, Captain Marvel can’t exactly dial back that much and that exactly so Iron Man is just stuck waiting for help.

Jarvis arrives to report on the security system and finds Captain Marvel standing over Iron Man. And Monica makes an admission which could, on its face, perhaps be misinterpreted.

Jarvis: “Master Iron Man! We’ve lost power all over the building and... what on Earth?!”

Captain Marvel: “My... my powers shut down his armor.”

Jarvis: “Shameless trollop! The other Avengers will not let this attack go unanswered!”

Geez, Jarvis! Rude!

That is a very impolite thing to say to someone!

Jarvis then runs off to try and find some other Avengers.

And he runs right into Spider-Man who has just arrived (and had to dodge past a crowd that assumes Spider-Man is somehow to blame for whatever is going on. Sucks when people assume the worst of you).

Jarvis doesn’t like to trust Spider-Man, knowing so little about him, but decides he doesn’t have any other choice.

Meanwhile, Captain Marvel is wandering through the hallways of Avengers Mansion. Since she couldn’t jump-start him, Iron Man suggested she lock herself in the adamantium containment chamber that the Avengers totally have in their lab.

Just in case she really does happen to explode.

Good ol’ Iron Man, thinking through the angles. Huh. I wonder if that chamber later gets repurposed into the Zero Chamber that brought Jack of Hearts so much misery before he too exploded.

Spider-Man sneak attacks Captain Marvel, finally getting to web her up. But with a mighty WOOMPF! she blasts free of the webbing.

Spider-Man: “You... you stretched my webbing! Even ripped it in places! But no one this side of the Juggernaut can do that!”

Captain Marvel: “Look, I’m sorry I blasted you earlier! If you want, we can settle accounts later... but not now! My time is running out!”

She does the Solar Flare, like a Goku, but Spider-Man uses the secret move of shutting his eyes. And then grabs her by the upper arms.

This might end the fight against some opponents but not the all-new all-different all-terrific Captain Marvel.

No, the fight ends two panels later. Monica turns her body into electricity so Spider-Man knocks her unconscious once she unzaps.

Hm. Considering she has enough power to blow up a city, she kind of has a glass jaw. Then again, she’s conspicuously trying not to explode. Doesn’t leave a lot of concentration for taking a hit.

Which was heckin’ rude of Pete.

And it happens that aside from being a dick move, this was also a very BAD thing to have done. I’ll let Iron Man sum it up.

Iron Man: “You young fool!”

Hah.

Hooo. Spider-Man is not coming off well in his own dang book, is he? Guess that’s part of being the hype man.

So, off-screen, the Wasp jump-started Iron Man’s armor with her Wasp sting. Because it’s bio-electricity, some of the times.

Iron Man: “The woman you K.O.ed came for help, not as an enemy! Now that she’s unconscious, she could explode any second -- unless we can leach off her excess power.”

Iron Man tells Spider-Man if he wants to make amends, to rip some cable out of the ceiling because of course the Avengers Mansion is riddled with high-induction cable.

Since the only thing they have immediately available that can handle the kind of power they need to siphon is Iron Man, he has Spider-Man wrap the unconscious Marvel in the cables and webs them to Iron Man’s iron nipples, or whatever those lugnuts are for.

In fact, since the webbing is non-conductive, he has Spider-Man cover him in it head to toe except for raised hands.

The Wasp: “Iron Man, are you sure your armor can withstand the stress?”

Iron Man: “No. If this doesn’t work... it’s been nice knowing you, Jan!”

And now Spider-Man, realizing that he triggered this by knocking out Monica and that Iron Man may possibly die from this, feels like a real asshole. A complete kneebiter.

Spider-Man: (Some hero I am! I try to stop what I think is a menace, and wind up causing something even worse. If they die...)

The Wasp: “Uh, Spider-Man? We really should get out of here -- just in case Iron Man can’t contain Captain Marvel’s power.”

Spider-Man: “Captain... Marvel? Did you say Captain Marvel?!?”

The Wasp: “No relation to the old one!”

Spider-Man: “Oh, that’s just dandy! I may have doomed a new Captain Marvel! Wasp, I feel like a total clod!”

And prepare to feel worse, Spider-Man! Because while you were feeling sorry for yourself, the energy has built up so much that there’s no time to actually get to a safe distance!

Spider-Man spins a web-barrier for himself and Wasp but echoes Iron Man’s “nice knowing you” when Wasp asks what happens if it doesn’t hold.

Lotta fatalism on this page.

Within the web cocoon, Iron Man shunts the energy from Captain Marvel into his own armor. And specifically into the repulsor ray generators.

Which is to say that he releases the excess energy by blasting two giant repulsor blasts through the mansion ceiling and into the sky.

I like this plan because its ridiculous.

I mean it works really well. Everybody is alive. The city didn’t explode. But it hinged on Iron Man blasting holes into his own house and into the sky. Today, it was he who was the sky light column as seen in movies.

The Thing finally arrives via cab, expecting that everything has gone to hell if Spider-Man got involved.

And to be fair, he’s not wrong, just arriving at the wrong moment to see the gone to hell. The Avengers have tidied up the hell by this point and are having a hangout sesh.

Everyone is hanging around to meet the new Captain Marvel. Its turned from a calamity to a “Sunday social” to quote Hawkeye.

I like that Captain Marvel and Captain America are shaking hands. And that he calls her captain.

I don’t remember who (probably Hawkeye? Or maybe Wonder Man? Some dick) in a later baseball game crossover between the east coast and West Coast Avengers where whoever refuses to call her Captain because only Captain America is captain in their mind. But Cap is just like ‘hello there fellow captain.’

I see that She-Hulk is back in her Iconic tm Duds of the white torn dress. Artists that weren’t working inside the actual Avengers book just had no idea what she was wearing. I think I can conclude that from a cover, a filler issue, and another book all depicting her in the Savage She-Hulk outfit.

Also, I don’t get the joke she’s making. Anyone have any idea?

Captain Marvel even covers for Spider-Man. When Ben asks her if she got her exploding problem sorted, she thanks the Avengers and Spider-Man.

Spider-Man: (That’s one I owe you, C.M.) “Why so surprised, Benjy? I’m always happy to help out another super-star!”

The Thing: “Well... I guess there’s a first time for everything!”

Time reminds Spider-Man that before this Avengers plot fell into his lap, that he had a Spider-Man plot going on.

Remember?

Harry and Liz arriving by bus?

So he rushes back to the bus stop and finds that nobody has paged Peter Parker while he’s been gone. He figures that Harry and Liz must have gotten tired of waiting and ditched.

But actually, their bus was delayed and they’ve only just now arrived. The timing worked out pretty well actually!

This is one time where, at the end of the day, things worked out for Peter Parker!

I mean. He had to be an asshole to drive the plot but that’s the Peter Parker experience to be honest. He does that sometimes. And today, his making things worse powers were used for good to hype up a new character.

But you can see from that next time box why I needed to cover this issue. Because Captain Marvel is going right from here to being in the Avengers book and this annual is the circumstances for how that happens.

You’re welcome.

I quite like Monica Rambeau. We don’t see a lot of her powers here aside from NYOOM and we don’t see her interact with the Avengers much aside from Iron Man briefly so that’s what I’m looking forward to. More of her become any energy powers and what her dynamic with the Avengers will be like.

I’m hype.

As an intro to her, I’m torn. Her origin was pretty cool. But the present day adventure didn’t let her be as cool because she was just trying not to explode. She did accidentally punk Spider-Man a few times and got the best of some muggers. Its fine.

It just feels like there’s a sudden, jarring shift between the triumphant new hero new powers new costume and even a supporting character and ‘actually i’m going to explode whoops.’

Follow @essential-avengers​. I’ve caught up on reposting by now. You could follow without ever having to interact with my Dark Crystal stuff or my many reblogs of cat stuff. But also maybe like and reblog.

[always5hineee]

Infallible- Chapter 11: Of Souls

Word count: 1107

Chapter warnings: Mild language

-----

       "Alright, try and stay as still as possible." Jisung directed as she lay on the bed, the rest of the boys surrounding her curiously. The angels had dragged it to practically the dead center of the room so that they could help if something were to go wrong. She felt like she was in surgery, minus the anesthesia. Jisung was moving her body just barely every now and then, adjusting an arm or tilting her jaw.

       "Are you ready?" He asked, looking down.

       "Hold on," Felix interrupted. "How exactly is this going to work?"

       "Like, the process?" He asked, receiving a nod. "Well, I'm going to use the same techniques I use for taking people's souls away from their bodies to try and latch onto hers. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to feel out Hyunjin's soul and just pull on that, but if not, I'll just have to grab the whole thing. Then, I'm going to yank on it until the pieces of his soul instinctively try to return to each other. If it works, we'll be able to use it sort of like a GPS."

       "What could go wrong?" Minho muttered, glaring at him.

       "I'll tell you." Jisung said curtly. "Her soul could fly out of her body and dissipate before I can put it back. Hyunjin's could do the same. If Hyunjin's manages to escape and reform, though, he'd be able to move spiritually again, meaning that he'd be free from a corporeal form had he been trapped." Looking around, he asked, "Is that what we're assuming? Because you do realize he may just not want to be found."

       "I know he's stuck." Bang Chan said grimly. "He wouldn't have left us otherwise." Jisung shrugged, looking down at Y/N, who was now more than nervous. Her soul could disappear, scatter, before Jisung could even do anything about it. She didn't even know Hyunjin, and this might kill him as well. It was more than she wanted to think about, so she changed the subject.

       "Will I be able to feel it?" She asked. He nodded.

       "Unfortunately, yes."

       "...Unfortunately?" He looked up at the other men briefly, as if debating whether to tell her.

       "Your soul is synonymous with your body, they have the same elements, basically. Since your soul doesn't have neurons or anything, you'll be feeling it all mentally, so your body is in no trouble, but..." He breathed in. "I can't tell which parts of your soul will trigger physical responses in which parts of your body. I may grab your arm, pull your hair, I can't tell. It may be fine, it... it may be uncomfortable at times."

       Breathing in deeply, she debated the repercussions of this. As long as Hyunjin's soul was stuck in her body, Seungmin would come after her. That didn't seem so bad at first... he didn't seem to be threatening, but then again, he was planning on removing the piece anyway. At that point, it was a matter of whether Jisung would be better at it or not. He appeared to be more experienced, that was without doubt, but the fallen angels also had more of a plan. Still, with all the angels staring at her, awaiting her response, she relented.

       "That's fine." She sighed, leaning back down. "Just try and make it fast." Nodding, he knelt on the bed, lifting himself up as she watched in slight curiosity and confusing. Then, catching her off guard, he swung his leg over to the other side of her, straddling her stomach in an awkward kneel. Noticing her discomfort, he promptly apologized.

       "Sorry, I have to be able to get to your soul." She looked over at Felix, hoping for reassurance, but he just looked annoyed if anything. Minho was standing next to him, also seemingly looking for his expression, or at least a glance. Changbin and Chan were on her other side, presumably, as she didn't see them next to Felix. Before she could catch his attention, Jisung grabbed her face lightly and turned it back.

       "I'm gonna need eye contact for the first few minutes." She swallowed involuntarily, nodding as he began staring into her eyes just as before. She was more than uncomfortable with the silence, but she couldn't exactly ask them to put on a banger while they tried to remove a soul from her body. Every time she briefly shut her eyes, she felt like she was interrupting his progress. Does this bitch blink? She found herself thinking, before mentally reprimanding herself. He was trying to help her, she shouldn't be rude.

       She cried out suddenly, back angled slightly as she fell something jerk inside of her chest. It was around where her lungs were, although she could tell it wasn't a breathing problem. It was hard to place, but it was incredibly strange, and she did not like it all. He had warned her, and it wasn't exactly... hurting, but it felt wrong.

       "What is that?" She accidentally said aloud, eyes starting to water against her own volition.

       "Souls aren't meant to be messed with besides their separation from the body. It's reacting defensively." Changbin cut in. "Fight or flight, you know?"

       "Stop it," Felix said, "You're hurting her."

       "She'll get used to it," Jisung said in response, gritting his teeth and beginning to sweat with concentration.

       "Felix said to stop." Minho shoved his shoulder, nearly causing him to fall off of her. Her body relaxed as she felt the hold release, breathing in deeply.

       "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Jisung yelled, shoving him back, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground. Minho scrambled back into a stable position, glaring as Chan tried to get between the two of them. Jisung continued shouting at him, "Do you want to find Hyunjin, or not? There's no option here! If it's too much for her to handle, she can tell me. Get the fuck out, you're going to ruin this."

       "No! I"m not going to sit outside while-"

       "Minho..." Felix muttered, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Try to calm down."

       "Maybe it's better if you go." Chan agreed, causing Felix to want to protest, but he remained silent.        

       "No! Han is causing problems too, why-"

       "We need Han for this, he's the only one who can manipulate souls. There aren't many options here." Minho looked between them, trying to find some form of reassurance.

       "Come on, Chan," Felix finally said. "He'll be fine."

       "One more word out of him and I'm throwing him back to heaven." Jisung muttered, turning back to Y/N. "Now let me actually do this."

Go to Chapter 12

[reblogthiscrapkay]

Persephone in “Jasper In Deadland”

Thanks to a random comment from a friend on a Tumblr post, I only just remembered that there’s another musical with Persephone that lies somewhere in between “Hadestown” and “Mythic”: “Jasper In Deadland.” I saw it back in 2014 and I thankfully have an audio recording of the show (there was an official recording made in 2016 and they’re quite similar but it doesn’t have the dialogue bits). It’s functionally a modern teen-audience retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth but the Underworld has been replaced with Deadland, a land that is a ultimately a mixture of different mythological underworlds.

When Jasper is in Deadland searching for his dead friend Agnes, he encounters a bunch of people and places from myths in the six-layered combo-Underworld:

There’s a boatman named Lester, not Charon. The river they’re on is the River Lethe from Greek mythology (the first layer) and serves the same function. There is a Mr. Lethe, as opposed to a goddess of the river as there was to the Greeks. 

Mr. Lethe is the story antagonist (of the evil capitalist factory owner variety; think an evil Hadestown!Hades and the closest thing to Satan) and Mr. Lethe’s goons who follow Jasper around are Loki and Hel of Norse mythology.

A three headed dog (who isn’t referred to as Cerberus in my 2014 recording but is referred to by name in the 2016 recording) guards the second layer.

Osiris, the king of the Underworld in Egyptian mythology, is a club DJ in the city layer, the third layer.

The club is called Helheim, the domain of Hel in Norse mythology and obviously where Hell comes from.

At one point Lester appears again and mentions that the only living souls in the Underworld are Orpheus, Lazarus, JC (I think it’s easy to guess who that is), and Jasper thus bringing in Christian mythology. The comparisons between Jasper and Orpheus are mentioned frequently throughout the show from this point.

Ammit of Egyptian mythology guards the fourth layer and weighs hearts along with “Blind Justice” (it’s been too long for me to remember what that means).

The fourth layer is some sort of gulf, but I’m not sure if that comes from any myth.

In the gulf, they meet Beatrix from The Divine Comedy who in this is part of the Elysium transit authority who drives a vehicle called Purgatorio.

They are brought to Mr. Lethe’s factory, which seems to be most like the Christian Hell or Tartarus, and there are Sisyphus, the Danaids, Brutus, and the fallen angel Luke, who’s the foreman.

They get to Elysium from there, and Jasper meets Eurydice in a fever dream.

In this musical Pluto and Persephone dwell in Elysium, the sixth layer and it’s implied that they rule that layer (I couldn't find an image of them from the show I saw but they were both wearing traditional Greek garb possibly in pink and burgundy or light green and black or something). It’s a little unclear what their relationship is to Mr. Lethe but it seems like everyone in the musical more or less runs their own specific domain without really stepping on anyone else’s space. It drives me nuts that they use those names since Pluto is the Roman name and Persephone is the Greek name (of unknown origin truthfully) so I’m just gonna call him Hades. At the beginning of their introduction Persephone is saying goodbye to Hades and he is begging her to stay longer and calling her snowflake. Lester comes in as her attorney to makes Hades sign their annual divorce contact. Persephone tells him that the year was “almost bearable” (and calls him Plutes, which sounds kind of gross to me but okay). It’s unclear whether she is messing with him or being honest but their relationship comes off as very unbalanced. Hades is very clearly in love with her and her feelings towards him are less clear. While I kind of like the idea of Persephone being so powerful because of how it recalls very old earth goddess/male consort ideas, it reads as kind of sad. There’s no mention of the origin of their relationship, which could have at least made it seem a bit more like maybe Hades was still repenting for kidnapping her or something but nope. She’s just kind of weirdly ambivalent to him while he worships her.

When Jasper and Agnes show up Hades is kind of annoyed to see him since he’s been causing such a ruckus but Persephone is amused by his presence. I support both aspects of this characterization. However, they are in agreement that Jasper needs to go back to the world of the living but that Agnes can’t. Jasper says he wants to trade his life for Agnes’ and Hades says he will allow it. An interesting change from the 2014 show to the album recording is that “Lifesong”, a song originally by Jasper about him giving up his life for Agnes, is now a Persephone song and then partially repeated by Jasper in the following song “The Trade/The Swim”. The ideas in the song about bringing life and the end of life vibe very well with her purpose so I understand the change and always support the idea of Persephone getting more screen time.

After Jasper’s declaration, Persephone steps in to say that maybe an exception can be made because she sees herself in them in how she too wants a “meaningful life.” This “meaningful life” line is actually not on the album so I wonder if they cut it because it feels completely random without the characterization to back up what she means by that. It could hint at the idea that maybe part of her ambivalence to being underground has to do with her not having as much work to do as she would on earth, but this is purely speculation.

Persephone offers to stay one more day with Hades if they are allowed to both go back and Hades is comically pumped. She makes a comment about how it’s hard for the first few millennia but you get used to it (seemingly she means she’s used to Hades or possibly his enthusiasm?). This may have also been cut from the show by 2016 because it’s not on the album but I don’t know. It is kind of startling that after millennia, this is still the dynamic between them. I can’t say I’m a fan.

Persephone gives them instructions to get out and later when they get above ground Jasper attributes the snow in spring to “an act of goddess.”

Overall, I like how powerful Persephone is in this interpretation but I can’t say I like sitcom!husband and sitcom!wife as a choice for her relationship with Hades.

[hellyeahlucifer]

TVGuide.com interview with Tom Ellis & Lauren German

When you look back at the first season of Lucifer, what evolutions and changes have surprised you the most? Tom Ellis: You start a show in Season 1, and you really have no idea where it's going to go. In the pilot script, Lucifer was a very irreverent character. He didn't seem to care about anything other than himself. It was just, f-- his dad and f-- everyone. He just doesn't care anymore. He's decided to do things his own way. When we shot the pilot, the relationship with Decker — it was apparent that it was something that was going to blossom. I don't think I'd really comprehended what a journey it would be, and how kind of less devilish Lucifer would become as he evolves and spends more time with humanity. Especially as he spends more time with the Detective, and what that brings out of him. Lauren German: You look back now, and Lucifer's been helping do such wonderful things with Chloe — helping get bad guys, and he helps her learn about herself. You would never think, even when you and I got the roles, that it would have turned into this very sentimental, caring friendship where there are feelings. Where this man, Lucifer, has just been more like an angel who has helped. Ellis: Ironically. German: Yeah, I know! I know. Not necessarily a fallen angel. Just a really great angel. Ellis: That's quite interesting — [the characters have] been like angels in each other's lives. We spent five years pulling the layers back, having a character that was very stoically one way, and then realizing — and seeing him realize — that there's much more to him than that. And that has been exposed by the Detective, basically. They are the most vulnerable when they're with each other. That's so interesting, because the Detective makes Lucifer vulnerable, physically, but they've made each other… Ellis: Emotionally vulnerable. German: Absolutely. Chloe Decker has undoubtedly influenced Lucifer to a great degree. But how do you think Chloe has changed as an individual, whether changed by Lucifer or just by circumstance? German: I feel like Chloe has become more tender and more OK, at this point, with being vulnerable emotionally, like Tom was just saying. I think that her and Dan probably had a great relationship, but there's nothing with anyone ever before [comparable to] what she feels with Lucifer. There's just such respect there. I think she's always in awe of how he helps people and how he helps her come out of her shell and feel things she hasn't really felt with anybody. There's a lot of love and respect there, and her vulnerability is more present than ever before — but that can often be the most intoxicating element in a relationship. Someone that keeps you on your toes can be thrilling. It can be a different level of love from the love she has for Trixie or for Dan. It's just this… you know… sad fireworks. [Both Ellis and German laugh] If you look at Chloe early on in the show's run, Chloe had quite a few defenses up. But then again, I'm not sure which character had more walls up. Ellis: Yeah, they both had walls up. But the weird thing with Lucifer was that he was very open with everybody about the fact he was the Devil, including with the Detective, but she wasn't having any of it. Actually that sort of played into their relationship because without that element, Lucifer is kind of nothing, he's stripped down to, "Well, what is it you see in me?" I think the interesting thing, for both of the characters' development, has been when the Detective found out he actually was the Devil at the end of Season 3. In a weird sort of way, that's like Lucifer's biggest fear — that she actually found out. He assumed at the beginning of Season 4 that she had disappeared and that's it. You know, no one wants to know the Devil. And the knowledge that she left put him in metaphorical hell. Ellis: Yeah, he was in a personal hell about that. That's why it was so disappointing when we got canceled [by Fox]. It was like, we just got to the [midpoint of the story], and I wondered what the second half of the story was going to be. [That revelation] laid down challenges for our characters. The fact that she knows he's the Devil and she suddenly has to forget all these things about science and logic — all the things that made her the person that she is — she's able to see through that, and still see the man beyond that. And that is quite an amazing and humbling experience for Lucifer. I started watching it thinking it was a charming, fun, witty show. But it's turned into this sweeping love story. Did you expect to go in this epic romance direction? German: I didn't. I never projected it feeling this genuine. The fact that Lucifer and Chloe have never been together or dated — when that happens in life with someone, we've all been there, where you may want to be with someone but for whatever reason, you can't. If you love the person and they're still in your life, it forces you to get to know them better and love them in a different way than maybe just a physical way. So I think, luckily, through our trials and tribulations, Chloe and Lucifer have been forced to get to know each other in a way that brings so much more depth to the friendship and the love and the respect. [The fact that we've gone down that path] for so long — it just feels like it means so much. As opposed to maybe in Season 2 or something, if we just started dating — then it becomes about that. This feels so tender and precious and beautiful because it's been kept at arm's length a bit. I love that. It's almost like, when it comes to their relationship, there's a hesitance to plunge fully in, because what if you break it? German: Yeah. Ellis: Yeah. That is a lot of how Lucifer feels. When we find ourselves in Season 5, he's in a place where he is acknowledging all these things — but for him, that is terrifying, because what if, like he has done many times in the past, what if he messes all that up? Like that one time he got exiled from Heaven. That's a bit scarring, right? Ellis: Exactly! Completely scarring. Weirdly, as someone who presents as supremely confident, he's actually his biggest doubter. Especially when it comes to something like this, because this is new territory. All these feelings that he's been exposed to and is feeling — he doesn't know what to do with them, because that's not his safe place. He's been seemingly happy to just do what he wants and say what he wants. But actually, when it comes down to it, he's as vulnerable as everybody else when it comes to sharing your emotions with someone. Going back to your question, when you start off with a pilot script, for me first thing that was appealing was the fun of the character and the relationship of these two and the fact that you've got someone whom he doesn't affect in the same way as everybody else. That was the conceit to start with. Knowing where that was going to go and knowing it's going to turn into this big epic love saga — I don't think either of us really comprehended that. Because the other thing about when you're approaching pilots, you're kind of led to believe [the shorthand description] — "This is a medical drama," "This is a procedural cop drama," and so forth. When people were trying to shoehorn this into one of those soundbites in the early days, it would have been easy for us to think, "Oh well, we'll just do a case of the week and that will be that." That's been the beauty of the show — yes, there is this procedural element to it, but it's consistently affected by how these two feel about each other. German: Thank goodness. Imagine... Ellis: Could you imagine? German: It's been deeper than that, thank god — thank you writers, a lot. Thank you, everyone! So when we left Chloe at the end of Season 4, she told Lucifer she loves him. And then he went home. What's that like for someone who had those walls up? German: I think it's pretty brutal. For someone like Chloe, who really does have so many walls up, finally, finally she gets to this point where she just can't almost take it anymore, and is so in love with him, and she tells him. And he leaves. And so… Ellis: …And it seems reciprocated — well, it is. But there's something in that last scene that didn't happen and that is kind of fuel for our [fifth] season. You know, [Lucifer] didn't actually reciprocate what was said. German: I think Chloe's heartbroken, but it's like, you can't turn off love. It's actually really fun to play the element of, "He said what he said" — or hasn't said — "and this is where I'm at and this is how I'm feeling." Chloe is maybe feeling a little rejection, a little heartbreak, but she's smart enough and knows him enough to go, "There's such good in there. I know it." Ellis: She has an incredible amount of faith in Lucifer, which is really quite warming. German: Yeah. It's consistent. But is there an element of danger in the whole situation? All these very restless demons we saw at the end of Season 4 probably want to run around and do demon-y things, I would imagine. German: But for Chloe, all he's ever done is protect or help me. I wouldn't necessarily want to see his anger, which I've seen a couple of times. But I think Chloe feels very safe with him. And as for Lucifer taking his throne back — it's been a while since he was down in Hell. I would imagine that's not going to be a simple task. Ellis: No, it's not that simple. At the beginning of Season 5, our characters are poles apart celestially, and geographically as well. And how we get them back together — that's not really a spoiler because you know that at some point they will get back together in the same room — it does kind of cement this faith that they have in each other. But it's like you say, nothing is simple when there are celestial threats around.

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with GRACE DALY, who is THIRTY-TWO years old. She is often called GONERIL by the MONTAGUES and works as their SOLDIER. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

She was UNEXPECTED, as prophets and disasters often are. A raven-haired beauty brought into the world a little too soon, she was remarkable only for her insistence, for the way she stubbornly clung to life with too-small hands. She was a girl not quite ready for the world, a bird born with paper-thin wings, but like all resilient things, she grew—into something beautiful, something TERRIBLE, an angel with a halo that burned in the unholiest of ways. Her parents nurtured her like they would a rose, handled her so delicately that they hardly felt the sting of her thorns, but even if they had, they’d have loved her all the more for it. Their darling, their miracle, their baby—she was perfect in their eyes, immaculate when looked at in the right light. But Grace Daly has always been better-suited to the dark, to the shadows, and it was there that she became unrecognizable, a girl grown ROTTENfrom her parents’ sweetness. They created a monster when they loved her into ruthlessness, when they put her on a pedestal even God himself couldn’t aspire to, and everyone would come to see theMISTAKE they’d made—everyone but them.

As for Grace, she made none. Every move she made was calculated, every strike meticulously aimed; she wore her lipstick like war paint and made her laugh her battle cry, terrifying and shadowed and raw. RUTHLESSNESS—it was carved into her bones like an ivory title, aching and yearning and immortal—the conquering of an empire all her own. She only became crueler as she aged, conditioned to believe for all the world that it revolved around her. The only thing her father never gave her was her infamy, red-hot and burning, and she earned that herself, by taking lives and spilling blood that was never her own. Grace Daly was a wicked slip of a girl long before she broke into the Capulet ranks, all light eyes gleaming dark envy and a smile hiding sharp teeth, but she became something more dangerous once she’d fought her way into the fold: BRUTAL. She was everything her sisters were not—silver-tongued and brass-knuckled, a hurricane in high heels, but she embraced the difference because it served her, for the black sheep gets REMEMBERED.

But being remembered was hardly enough—not when her not-so-darling little sister could achieve the same recognition without anyone ever learning her name, so she looked elsewhere, as spoiled children who’ve found themselves suddenly deprived tend to do, and whether by a stroke of luck or a nod from fate, she stumbled upon initiates of a specialized group of Montagues. They were a crew unlike anything she’d ever seen, an assortment of puzzle pieces without a proper place strung together to make something DANGEROUS. But strange though they were, and seemingly ill-matched, they were a well-oiled machine, fueled by fear and hunger and the ichor of ambition, and she saw potential in them—she saw the destruction. She wasn’t the first turncoat to join their ranks, she’d come to learn, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last, but the Daly woman was unique in that she was not taken in like a stray puppy scratching at Damiano’s door, a sinner begging for absolution from a man generous enough to give it. She was INVITED in, given a hand up—not in cruel kindness or pity, but in a sort of challenge—and sensing that Verona was on the cusp of a new age, she accepted, tossing her share of the current regime in with those who sought to tear it down. Treason looked good on her—she liked to think everything did—but a CROWN would lookbetter.

It’s become her crowning glory, this name she’s built of her own volition, this throne slick with blood. WICKEDNESS—it’s etched into the scarlet curve of her smile, every bit a warning as it is an invitation to a reckoning—yours. Desire is impatient—is terror when it’s kept waiting, and her ascension has been years in the making, a slow rise hastened by treason, by BETRAYAL, by knives in the backs of all she held dear. An empress in the making, she’ll build her kingdom on the ruins of the families she once served and do what all girls raised to believe they are princesses so love to do: she’ll rule. The world should know better than to write off a ravenous girl as a dreamer, a long-legged Icarus destined for the fall, for the sun’s not the villain in this story; she is, and queens aren’t born, they’re  MADE.

CATHERINE & REGINA DALY: Sisters. They’re beneath her, not merely in age, but in every way that matters. She’s never paid either of them much mind, too jealous of the attention they stole from her as a child to extend any sort of olive branch and too busy making a name for herself as an adult to tie herself to theirs, but she knows enough about them to be glad for the distance between them. Catherine, the baby, is about as contrary as the Daly girls come, with her blonde hair and heart of molten gold, and Regina, the bridge between the eldest and the youngest, is lacklustre at best. They’d infuriate her if she gave them the courtesy of consideration, but she’s never been so generous with her attention. She’d like to forget they ever shared a home.

BORIS KOVROV: Rival. She’s convinced that the only advantage he has over her is time. She’s heard the stories about them and has done research into it herself. He’s every inch the traitor she is, and—which is more—he was fallen when he crawled up to Damiano’s doorstep in search of acceptance, whereas she’d had the grace and dignity to knock. The door has been opened to them both, two turncoats from opposite sides of an age-old war, but old habits die hard, and it’s in her nature to want with reckless abandon what others have already claimed. He beat her to the punch; she’ll admit it, but he won’t ever have the chance again—not if she’s still breathing.

VIVIANNE SLOANE: Bad blood. It’s strangely fitting and wonderfully hypocritical for a woman who thrived only after she’d abandoned her own son to curl her lip at betrayal; if Grace were more inclined to be preoccupied with anyone’s dilemmas but her own, she might stop to appreciate the irony. But alas, she simply doesn’t have the time. Besides, watching the Sloane woman stew in her own rage is infinitely more fun. Her former underboss has cursed her name lower than a dog’s, but the Daly woman merely laughs, knowing damn well she’ll have the last one. Good captains always go down with their ships, but great ones know when to jump.

IVAN RAHAL: Partner-in-Crime. He was there when she pulled her first trigger and was there to bask in her euphoria of the whole thing. Since then, they have been a fixture in one another’s lives, tied together by spilled blood – which is far more preferable to her than shared blood. Far more damning for it, too. When the two of them get together she knows that all of Verona quakes in fear of these hellions that are likely to tear the wings of angels, to make God Himself blanch at their uninhibited apostasy. But there can only be so much honor among those who think of themselves as companions of the devil – and that is why she has his casket picked out for the day he dies – and an alibi ready to go, too.

Grace is portrayed by KATIE MCGRATH and was written by BREE. She is currently TAKEN by RACHEL.

[half-elfdisaster]

100 WARM UP D&D CHARACTER QUESTIONS: DAY 9

What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship?

Elora

Growing up Elora obviously knew the gods existed however wasn’t raised with much knowledge on them as neither her mum or hometown worshipped any. Since leaving she has enjoyed slowly encountering each religion and learning about their cultures.

Elora feels that the first vision she received from Artemis telling her to act as her champion was a calling she had been waiting for for a while. I also feel like this came at a perfect time for Elora’s development. She had started to seriously doubt herself and whether she believes herself capable of seeing her goals through to the end. Artemis has given her a higher purpose other than “stopping the world going to shit”, and with the little teachings she has discovered of the forgotten goddess, it has made Elora think more about the future of her family then trying to restore the past. As such she has attached herself onto an orphan girl called Erica who Urial and herself see themselves as the guardians of. With Artemis being the protector of young girls this is Elora trying to practice her new faith through seeing Erica not only survives the current world disaster but has a better childhood then Elora did.

Mimreda

Mimreda was raised to follow the one and only God of this world, Ubris. Her grandmother, Elina, was a very strict, avid follower of Ubris and made Mimreda and her cousins go to every service growing up. When she got old enough to start helping in the family business her religion took a back seat as she became too busy working with her father.

She carries around a symbol of Ubris with her despite the disconnect she now feels with the religion. In Azure, there is nothing separating the church and government, and since they are technically now fighting against the government she feels like a false follower of Ubris. She believes the rest of the group think she stole the symbol to help her with disguises but really it's a small token that helps her connect with her old life.

Jade

Jade is theophobic, which means she has a fear of the gods. Due to the nature of her birth, Jade believes herself to be some type of abomination or monster, a mistake that is not meant to exist in this world. Even with the gods seemingly abandoning this plane of existence she still fears that they will eventually notice her for what she is and decide to send someone to “delete” this mistake. This mentality came as a result of the education she was given at The Black House which mainly focused on angels and devils. The organisation forced the connotations of the creatures onto Jade and Orin.

Since escaping The Black House this fear has developed in a couple ways. On their travels, she’s found that she refuses to enter any holy ground or temple for fear that the devil blood in her system would cause her to be rejected. 

This fear is also very much where her distrust of Nyx as an Aasimar originally began as she doesn’t believe in any sort of coincidence where someone from the celestial plane ends up falling on top of her and Orin. (This distrust has been on a rollercoaster ride ever since as it turns out Nyx turns into an idiot whenever faced with something religious.)

Unfortunately, things that have happened in the last several sessions have also caused this fear to go into hyperdrive. Partly because of the crazed fallen angel they encountered but mainly because she found out about Orin’s blacked corrupted arm. She blames herself for it and believes she is now only going to taint anything that is good and holy around her, giving the gods even more reason to be angry. This is one of a few reasons why she has started to distance herself from Orin a little more by acting colder, not wanting to corrupt him anymore then she already has.

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 17

Title & Song:  No. 1 Party Anthem

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 4700+

Summary: Genevieve is a force to be reckoned with. An intelligent, independent and brutal businesswoman. She’s been intrigued by Alfie since she met him. But where will she draw the line between business and pleasure now that they are working so closely together? Growing more comfortable with each other, will Gen showing her true self work to her advantage or be her undoing?

A/N: Every chapter of this story will have a song to work as the title and as a soundtrack. Chapter song is No. 1 Party Anthem bu Arctic Monkeys. The songs give a good background to the stories and have some further insight into the characters. Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes and comments feed this artists beast to write more!

Part 1: Thieves & Kings.- Pt. 2 Conquest - Pt. 3 Nail In My Coffin - Pt. 4 - 60 Feet Tall Pt. 5 I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor Pt. 6 Stop The World Pt 7 Making A Fool Of You Pt 8 L'Amour et la violence Pt 9 Play With Fire Pt 10 Black Treacle Pt 11 These Stones Will Shout Pt 12 Fireside Pt 13 Trouble Pt 14 Tighten Up Pt 15 Sympathy For The Devil Pt 16 Don’t Speak Pt 18 She’s Thunderstorms

My Masterlist.

Tags! Let me know if you’d like to be added or dropped! Thanks!

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Alfie?" you call out, walking down the hall towards his study.

"In 'ere!" he calls out as you move through the doorway."I know that tone, what do you want, Genny?" he says, his eyes moved up to meet you as you stepped closer, his head still down.

You give a small pout in defeat, shrugging and sitting on the desk, facing him on his side just to his right. "Do you like the opera, Alfie?" you ask, your face towards him, your eyes on the window behind him.

"Is this a loaded question?" he asks bluntly, looking at you over his glasses.

"There's one this weekend I want to see and I don't have any friends here who like the opera and I don't want to go alone." you explain, your posture slumped.

"And?" he says,  holding his ear closer to you waiting for where he came into this plan.

"And if you like the opera I was hoping you would go with me." you state plainly.

"Is this how you ask men out on dates?" he teases you with a glance.

"If I were asking you out on a date, believe me, you'd know Solomons," you say patronizingly. "I said friends, didn't I?"

"Oh? We still friends?" he chides, his eyes looking to your crossed arms and legs, referring to your closed off body language.

"Don't be daft, we've BEEN friends." you smack the back of your hand against his arm. "It's Saturday night in London," you say with a sigh. "Romeo et Juliette. I can get us a box if you want to go." you state with upturned palms.

"Oh, you payin', eh? You are taking this girl out for a nice night innit ya?" he says with a chuckle.

"If you could stop giving me shit and give me an answer that would be much appreciated." you lightly scold, crossing your arms back and groaning. "Otherwise I'll have to take Claire and she's miserable company since she hates these sorts of things." you shake your head in defeat.

"Eh," he says scrunching up his face and humming. "I've not been to the opera in ages," he says, narrowing his eyes at you as if he's still considering his words. "Of course I'll go with ya," he says very obviously. "I'll get the tickets, you just get dressed up and we'll be good as gold, yeah?" he says, holding his glasses in his hand, moving them in your direction. His eyebrows are up and his face holds a warm glance laced with condescendence that expressed itself in his tone. "Can't have ya goin' 'n gettin' cross on me now, luv.?" he says patting your hand that rests on the desk.

"Like pulling teeth with you," you say, you lean down over him, your hands on his shoulders. "Thank you, you complete ninny." you say warmly as you kiss the top of his head. You make your way around the desk.

"Why don't you use this as an excuse to wear that long sapphire necklace you've been keepin' locked up, eh?" he suggests, as soon as he'd placed in back into the drawer he instantly regretted not having you try it on first.

"Would that be a bit much?" you ask, your voice aloof, turning to face him.

"Did I hear Genevieve Greene ask if something would be "a bit much'?" he says with a scoff. "And here I was, thinking I was gonna show you off at my club but clearly you aren't the woman I thought you were." he says with a shrug an exaggerated frown.

"When did you get a club, Alfie?" you say approaching the desk with quick steps, your hands now resting on top of it.

"Had it awhile, Gen, I've just kept my involvement quiet because I thought it best for keeping the place the same." he says in a lower voice.

You stand looking over his head, in thought for a moment. "Do I get to drink for free if I show up with the boss?" you say with a cheeky grin.

"You show up with me you can do whatever the fuck ya want, luv." he says with a rumbling chuckle as he looks up at you over his glasses. ----------------------------- The door to your bedroom is open and so is the door to your wing. You hear Alfie calling for you from the front lobby, barking rushed commands at you. You're not actually running behind but he seems to just enjoy giving you a hard time. He's looking out of the window by the door.

Claire brings out your fur shawl to Alfie before she heads out for the night herself. He throws it over his shoulder to hold it. "You are taking her to see Romeo and Juliet?" she says with a smirk, her hands on her waist.

"More like I was guilt tripped and I'm making the best of it." he says with a slow laugh.

"She doesn't leave one with much of a choice when it comes to what she wants, does she?" she says with the tone of teasing in her voice. "Don't let her drink too much before she watches the show." she suggests, moving towards the door and pulling on a hat.

"Why?" he asks, his head tilting back to show his concern.

"Gen connects with art in an emotional way," she says quietly. "She's more inclined to believe in romance when it's in the form of art as opposed to real life." she shakes her head, it leans against the edge of the opened door with a sigh. "So her emotional connection to romance performances, particularly tragic ones, will break her heart." she smiles warmly as she speaks, leaning away from the door. "So if she's drunk she might turn into a melancholy mess on you." she laughs.

"Thanks for the warnin'." he says, thankful Claire seemed to be warming up to him.

"Well as we both know she's a handful. I don't want her to make a fool of herself because I'll have to deal with the consequences," she admits with a grin. "She looks like some sort of fallen angel tonight, Mr. Solomons." she pauses, giving him a mischievous grin. "If you aren't careful, you'll be the one getting your heart broken tonight instead." the same grin still in place upon her face as she gives him a nod and she heads out the door.

He clears his throat, being left alone in the room. His brow furrows in thought at Claire's words. His eyes wander the room, he knew you'd look beautiful, you always did. Perhaps she was just trying to mess with his head, she seemed like the type. He was also surprised to hear of your view on romance, his lip juts out slightly at the passing thought. He knew you loved art but didn't know that in all your hopelessly romantic words you'd spilled about things you loved, that that's where the feelings stopped. He thought you seemed like the physical embodiment of romantic notions, soft and surprising, mysterious with an underlying threat of pain. He wonders who hurt you in such a way and if it was repairable. He corrects his posture and moves the lace curtain away from the window to look out at the setting sun.

"Genevieve, what am I supposed to tell the boys when they ask why I'm late? Sorry, the Lady was takin' her sweet time gettin' ready 'an I had to wait for her. They can't know I'm waitin' 'round on you, Gen, don't make me look bad darlin'." he's lamenting out the window, seemingly just to hear himself speak and you're standing in the lobby and he's not even noticed you've arrived.

You're pulling on the black opera length gloves onto your arms as he looks over to you.

"Fuckin' 'ell." he groans softly, his eyebrows shooting up slowly as his bottom lip hangs slack, exposing his bottom row of teeth. Claire was right to have warned him.

"You told me to dress up," you say in defense of his out of character silence. "So I did." you say, holding your arms out. You're wearing a black, floor-length gown. The top is made of layers of stretching fabric, gathered at the waist, the bottom blooms out just slightly over the swell of your hips in more black layers of chiffon and tulle panels, giving a peak of your legs if you dared to do such a thing. The diamond linked chain ran down the center of your chest, the sapphire pendant hitting just between your breasts. The dress was low cut to perfectly outline the necklace, the lowest point directly below the pendant, the sides cut close so you weren't entirely falling out of your dress. Aggie had deemed showing the inner lines of your breasts too much. Claire had surprisingly approved. On anyone else, the dress wouldn't have looked so suggestive, but because of the size of your chest, these cuts always came across as more scandalous. But you only had to consider your own opinion and you looked stunning and felt generous to the eyes of public tonight.

His head is shaking back and forth as he walks towards you. "I can't take you to the club lookin' like this now can I?" he says, his arm extending out towards you. "You show up lookin' like this and make every other woman feel inferior and they won't come back after taking a hit to their self-esteem like that, yeah?" he teases, standing with outstretched arms in adoration. You pat his cheek, covered in the beard you'd missed, thickened out again and plush under your gloved fingers. "O that I were a glove upon that hand." he coos at you, his hand moving to cover yours on his face.

"Ay me, Alfie." your upper lip shows your front teeth, your tongue peeking out just slightly after you rolled out the words in a deep tone. Your voice is scolding but completely overshadowed in an absolutely feminine display of amusement, including you touching your hair as you spoke. "You can stop using that mouth in such a way right now." you say in a sound that could almost be described as a giggle.

"Nah," he says in a gruff sound, shaking his head down at you. He could tell his words had caught you off guard. He drops his hand from yours to move across your hip to the small of your back as he leans in and kisses your cheek. In the close moments, the heat of him willing your eyes to close, you note how divine he smells. "You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart." he purrs in a way that gives you goosebumps as he pulls away.

"So nice of you to notice," you graciously accept his praise. You reach up to smooth out the collar on his jacket. "You look terribly handsome, don't you?" He gets a good look at you up close, your face surrounded by long hanging pieces of hair, the top half pulled away from your face. Your lashes are long and dark but your lids otherwise bare. A strong brow sets your face with an equally severe dark red lip. "I know to lose your wardrobe had to be difficult but I am loving these new suits," you say, dusting off the sleeve of his black jacket. Your hand trails down his arm to his hand where you inspect his rings. "Still have the one I got you, I see," you smirk. "Of course I do, you have exceptional taste, Gen." he speaks softly at you, voice praising you as you work his fingers with yours, his hand looking huge between yours. He's amused by your focused eyes and the ease with which you touched your bare skin to his.

"I love this one. Is it obsidian?" you ask, you twist a ring on his finger, a huge black stone set in gold.

"It is." he nods proudly at you, he had been so relieved to find that you weren't just blessed with good taste in jewels but also had a substantial knowledge of them.

"I love Obsidian," you whisper, letting his hand go, your fingers start to dig through your purse.

"Forged from the fires of hell much like yourself, eh?" he playfully suggests. You let out a hum of agreement, fluffing the fur around your shoulders. You look up and nod with a cheeky smile he's relieved to see holds no sadness at his suggestion. "Especially in this tonight, luv." his voice is low and suggestive and you love his gravel tone when he sees you like this. "If I may ask, what does a succubus do with a man's soul after she takes it?" he lets out a big laugh as you playfully shove his shoulder.

You take out a sweet and pop it into your mouth. "I use them to become increasingly powerful," you say slowly, your voice deep and rich. "So I can bewitch more and more powerful men each time, taking down each empire as I travel through time," you say with an animated shake of your head, your arms out and moving dramatically. You say it as if it were obvious, as you walk towards the door. "That old chestnut." You offer him a candy and he gives you a judgemental look but takes it and pops it into his mouth.

"You ever thought of writin' instead of paintin'?" he inquires, watching your lips pucker as you suck on the candy in thought as he pulls back the door, you feel the heat of his hand on your back as you take your time in your heels down the stone steps to the waiting car. His hand holding your elbow out of courtesy as your hold up your long dress.

"I have. But I much prefer to paint. Writing uses up too much of my brain and painting helps me relax. Well," you huff out a laugh as you walk. "When it's going well it does." you say with a smirk.

"So your hobbies purposes are to relax?" he asks, you give a casual nod.

"In our line of work I find it critical to have hobbies that can level me out. Without my outlets I can be pushed to behave much like a little girl in a tiara," you say with an amused hum of a laugh at your example. "I'm an adorable pout but don't get near me because I don't know what I want but I do know I love to scream and cry for ANY reason." you laugh at your self-deprecating humor.

"Little girl in a tiara." he shakes his head with a mischievous grin. "Would you hit me if I said that was a perfect description of your tantrums."

You give his arm a light smack. "Is takin' the piss out of me your hobby?" you ask loudly, your eyes rolling as you adjust your dress.

"You said it not me, dinnit ya sweetheart?" his appearance is entirely smug and it doesn't seem to fade for the duration of the car ride. ----------- From the moment he takes your hand to help you out of the car, you don't go without feeling the heat of it on you until you've slid into a booth. He moves you with the gentle suggestion of his hand against your back. It wouldn't have felt so important if your back hadn't been exposed from the cut of your dress. Everyone knows him. Everyone greets him with respect filled nods and he hands out his thanks for coming to them all. When asked who you are, he lets you answer. The only thing he speaks on behalf of you on is saying you were both old friends when asked how you knew each other. You share a glance and the sentiment behind the words as he waits for you to settle into your seat when a man comes up behind him. "You have a moment, Mr. Solomons?"

"No. I don't." he says, only giving the man a glance. You don't hide the smirk on your face from the pleasing feeling of being held in importance.

"It's important business, sir." the man says quietly but with a pleading tone.

"So's this, yeah?" he says, finally turning to him. He sighs after the shorter man just continues to insist. He groans and turns to lean into you, still seated on the edge of the seat of the curved booth. "I'm going to go tell these boys to fuck off, right luv?" he grumbles, his hand resting on your shoulder for a moment. "I'll be right back. Don't go nowhere now." he says with a wink, adjusting his jacket but the collar. He disappears into a hallway and you wait. ------------ He isn't gone long, enough time for you to be brought a drink and have a man who is of no interest to you sit on the other side of the booth. Alfie comes swaying out of the room, clearly miffed as his lip has disappeared under his mustache.

He can tell you're not enjoying yourself as he stomps towards you, his stance wide as he glares down at the man speaking to you. "Excuse you?" he says, that power you remember from the first night you met him hitting you like waves on the shore. You smile up at him first, then shift your eyes to the man who has just stopped speaking to you. "Ya wanna tell me why ya in my club, sittin' in my booth talkin' to my friends, mate?" he asks, shifting his weight on his feet.

"I'm sorry Mr. Solomons, I didn't know." he says, with no real respect behind the words, shooting you a dirty glance before slinking away.

"Right." he groans out, his eyes watching the man as he moves away. "He weren't bothering you was he?" he asks, a finger pointed in his direction, a single eyebrow raised.

"No." you say dismissing the idea with a swipe of your hand.

"Good," he says with a nod, moving towards you. "Scoot on in now." he says, shooing you farther into the booth and you do as requested.

"Don't want you having to deal with other men when ya out with me. Least I can do to let ya enjoy yerself. Ya deal with that enough wif work." he grumbles out.

"You're being sweet again Alfie, watch yourself." you say in a low warning tone, but delivered with a warm smile.

"Shall I ruin the illusion?" he gives an entirely naughty look before glancing around the room and leaning back in towards you. "Your tits tonight, woman, holy hell." your mouth opens in a fully playful scoff and your eyes narrow at him. "You sure you didn't need Claire here tonight to wrangle in that crackin' set?" you kick him under the table.

"Alright. Not so sweet now." you say with a dismissive look, rolling your eyes, still laughing.

"Because I'd be more than willing to help ya out wif that if ya-" you reach down to grab his hand, bending his fingers back towards his arm with a smile and he grunts and frowns at you. "Some fun you are." he says in that gritty tone, now being delivered with a pout.

You look down at his hand before it retreats. You see the roughed up knuckles that weren't there when you left home. You shoot him a knowing glance and he realizes what you've deciphered. "Guess it was urgent business." you infer with a quiet voice.

"It weren't nothin'." he says ending the line of discussion with a more somber look.

You don't even want to pry, you just enjoy the thought of his ability to go from punishing someone just a few rooms away and back to you with his usual charm so smoothly.

"What made you want to buy a club?" you inquire, sipping your drink after a few moments of silence.

"Well, it's money innit?" he says with a half smile.

"You didn't strike me as the type to want a club, but I've been wrong before." you say with a slight shrug.

"It's got its perks. Buying one that's already successful, 'ats how ya do it, yeah? Mix some high end, some low end. Get ya booze 'an music 'n everyone's drunk on the idea of possibility and danger and my product. Makes for willing pockets." he nods. "What about you? You'd be a good owner, floatin' about 'an gettin' all the attention." he gives you one of those more charming smiles he used to disarm you when he would push your buttons with his words.

"I thought about it but it's not for me." you dismiss with a crinkle of your nose. "I'd like to own an art gallery though." you say with little hesitation, he can tell you've thought about this before.

"Ah well that would suit you better wouldn't it?" he nods in agreement.

"Better for hiding money, one would assume," you say casually. "When I'm asked how I make so much money, I can say you can't price art, the viewer is called to pay what the art demands," you say with dramatic flair as if you're delivering the line to this imaginary inquisitor. "Set the price to what you need it to be in the books." you shrug and give a definitive sweep of your hand.

"You always been so good at talkin' your way out of situations?" he says with a teasing tone.

"Does it matter?" you ask, a smile to match his tone. "Have you always been so good at spinning those pretty words, Solomons?" you retort.

"Yes. I have." he says with that charming delivery that makes you want to believe anything he says. You hope he found your charm as disarming as you did his from time to time. ---------------------------------- You settle into your box overlooking the stage. The seats were great, it wasn't where you'd sat the last time you'd been here but you think you'd prefer it over it anyway. You're snuggled into the plush velvet, benched, curtained box. High half walls form a  barrier between you and the other audience members. You're mostly hidden as you both sink into the surprisingly cozy space. As you pop another sweet and take out your theater binoculars, you take in the grand three-tiered room. Everything washed in a warm tone from the lights reflections of the gold columns and filigree.

"Have you been here before?" he asks, his knees resting on his elbows, eyes moving over the crowd below.

"I've been here twice previously. My Freddie has come to visit me since I've moved and he's taken me out."

"And who is this Freddie and why is he yours?"  he prys, his delivery remaining casual.

"Freddie Weber is a designer and dear friend of mine from Germany."

"How you know him?"

"He's from Berlin and that's where we met when I lived there."

"Lived in Berlin, did ya now?"

"Yeah, before Paris. When I was still very green and pushing myself entirely too far in my pursuit of life's pleasures in my expression of rebelliousness." you hum in amusement at the thought of who you were then. So much could change in such few years. You were at the point in your life now where you were hoping the few years wouldn't bring as much change. You were now seeking out stability for the first time in your life and you still had mixed feelings about your mature approach to the future. "Freddie was around for this wild period and being the indulgent one himself, and that, in addition to fashion and being attracted to men in common we became fast friends." You knew the real answer he was looking for was whether you were sleeping with Freddie. And the question to anyone who knew the man would elicit a booming laugh.

"So even wilder than you are now?" he teases, side-eyeing you with a smug half-smile.

"Alfie, darling, I am a nun compared to who I used to be." you say with an overly charming, rolling, laugh, your hand on his knee out of habitual charm. You continue laughing at yourself, both your hands back in your own lap as the house lights lower.

He leans in closer to you, whispering. "I'll be askin' you about them wild days later. Ya not off the hook after sayin' all that." You smile but don't look away from the stage, patting his knee.

"Only if I get some of your wild stories." you hold out your free hand, the other holding the binoculars, to him to shake and he lets out a chuckle at you and shakes. "Now shush, you'll make me miss it." you whisper. He retracts his chin at your bossy tendencies as he lets a hint of a smirk stay on his face as he side-eyes you. As the curtain rises it illuminates your face with the swell of the violins. It holds no tension, set so delicately indifferently with your eyes shining and giving away your emotions. At some point, something on the stage pulls his eyes from you. His attention is drawn back to you acts later when you lower your binoculars. He wasn't sure if your lip was trembling or if you were reciting all the words as they were said, but your face was wet with tears regardless. He doesn't even try to stop the small smile that appears on his face watching you giving yourself over to these feelings. It didn't seem like something you did very often, showing your true emotions on your face in such a raw way. He felt as if he was seeing something he shouldn't, and that made it that much harder to look away. As the final scenes play out, on occasion you'd gulp and let out a tiny little, broken gasp as more tears fell.

(Statue of Lady Of Sorrows, Franciso Romero Zafra)

He offers you his handkerchief, not saying a word and you let out a tiny huff of a laugh. He knows it's meant for him from the fleeting smile the passes your lips as you take it from him, and with your other hand, take his and pull it towards you. He moves closer, taking his hand away and you let out a grunt, turning to face him to see where he'd went. His hand rests behind you on the seat, he offers you his other hand and you look at it quickly and take it as you dab your face with the other. Both your hands hold his, clasped in your lap, as you watch the stage intensely, your brows and eyes in constant minuscule movements. You let out a ragged sigh at the deaths, while he's watching the stage from behind your head, over your shoulder. He turns to see you one last time as your fingers squeeze into his hand. He knew your nails would leave small red half-crescent moons on his skin but he couldn't bring himself to care. Your lashes flutter, dark and wet over slightly flushed cheeks, gleaming with still wet trails of tears. The emotion from your heavy exhales as you look up for a moment, closing your eyes before returning them to the stage with a shaky inhale.

You catch him looking at you, turning to face him as he pulls his hand from the grip you still held on it. You expect him to make fun of you. That was the reaction you were accustomed to at this point. But instead, the house lights still low, the stage still covered, he reaches out and wipes away your tears. One side with his thumb, the other the back of his hand.

"I know. It's devastatin' innit, luv?" he says in such a sweet and gentle way it makes your eyelashes flutter in surprise. You nod and swallow. You could swoon at the words in your state, but a sigh escapes instead. You couldn't help but have a fleeting notion that he wasn't talking about the play.

You turn back and blot your face again as the lights come up. He loses the company of the weeping angel he'd grown so hypnotized by as you clear your throat and he watches that heartbreak fade away from your eyes.

Pt 18 She’s Thunderstorms

[beardyallen]

Picking Up Where I Left Off

Hello again! Oh boy....the title of this is going to be a bit misleading, because I want to share what happened last night before the details get hazy.

So, after my first class on Monday (Day 7), I planned to go for a pint at the only place I’ve found nearby that serves draft beer. I invited my officemate, AL, but he had apparently fallen asleep while lesson-planning. It was 9pm when class let out, so I don’t judge him too much. :P

Order a pint was a little tricky, but we got it sorted out, and the beer itself was quite tasty. The price range for pints there were from like 30-60 yuan, so like $5-$9. Pretty average prices in the States, and I have the say the beer holds up. Or at least the two that I’ve tried...

Anyway, the place itself is just a small space, seating no more than 20 people away from the bar if people ignore the need for personal space. The bar itself sets 7 to a side, but the place was pretty much empty. At least the first night, it was.

AL felt bad for missing out on Monday night, so we made plans for Wednesday night, and I invited ML and her friend M who is apparently just visiting for a short time. After class let out, we meandered over to the bar and chatted about our students, how peculiar their prior knowledge seems to be. Mine, for instance, have never been exposed to the idea of “different sizes of infinity,” but are completely comfortable with the idea of infinitesimal numbers, those with absolute value greater than 0 but smaller than any real positive number. I’m barely acquainted with these outside of their role in the foundations of calculus. Anyway, the topic of conversation ranged from our students, to these two ideas, all the way out to the shape and size of the universe, and how mathematicians deal with what we call the Continuum Hypothesis. So far, it was a pretty dope night.

Then we get to the bar, and it’s somewhat more crowded than before. No biggie. Some of the other patrons made a point to acknowledge us and smile widely, and I think generally indicate their approval of our arrival. It was nice, but a little unsettling. We ordered our drinks, and a rather drunk individual (who I will from now on refer to as The One, as this is WeChat handle) came over to chat with AL and me.

He expounded on how thrilled he was that we were here, through a somewhat thick accent, made more thick by the 7-10 pints he must have consumed. We were both polite, and nodded along while he told us briefly how he’d visited the US only once to see Los Angeles, and how he’d been to Europe more than fifty times, which later became “more than sixty!” ML and M had gone in search of food, only to come back with two small items from a bakery that was just closing. (The establishment itself is housed in a “24-Hour Living Space,” which uses a rather loose definition of “24-Hour.”) We made our way to our table, and The One decided to join us...

All told, I think he sat there yammering on about whatever he was trying to say for a good 25 minutes. Both AL and I had finished our beers, and the only reason I was still being patient with The One was that he had vaguely hinted at the idea of buying us drinks. You know me, I’m loathe to turn down free beer! But then he made a sweeping gesture in front of us and almost knocked over the fixture in the middle of the table, repeating something about his daughter while expressing how beautiful ML is, and it just got altogether cumbersome to pretend like his behavior was acceptable.

Polite attempts were made to communicate that we would like to be left alone, but The One always had “One small item!” that he wanted to say first, which usually just involved more statements about how he likes us all a lot and the confusing bit about his daughter and ML. This is about when he started patting us on our backs. If you know me, I’m not a fan of being touched by strangers. At all. During one of his attempts to pat AL, AL somehow managed to start hugging The One and basically pulled him away from the table.

This didn’t stick.

Now The One was confused.

After a couple more minutes, it became clear that he wasn’t going to take a hint, so AL took one for the team and asked The One for directions to the bathroom. The One decided to show him.

As AL tells it, The One led him to the bathroom, waited outside and then they headed back to the table. Prior to sitting down, AL conveyed to The One that we needed time alone and that we would talk to him later.

Peace, at last!

It’s strange how, in the moment, it was rather undesirable, but now the four of us have a very tight bond that I doubt would have manifested had it not been for The One. For that reason, I’m somewhat grateful.

For other reasons...I’m not.

We enjoyed ourselves through another pint before The One meandered back to the table. We pointedly ignored him, but he seemed impervious to indirect suggestions in his current state. We should have known. When he kept interjecting into the conversation to no avail, and he became a cumbersome distraction, we discussed in front of him the fact that I have beer in my fridge back at the Guest House and that we could just hang out in the third floor lounge.

This seemed like the best plan so far, so we went to pay. And of course The One joined us, assuring us that he’d pay, he’d pay, he’d pay! A guy can only take so much before free beer + The One becomes so very much not worth it. That time had passed awhile ago. As his pestering was making the transactions more difficult, I did the only thing I could think of.

I asked The One if he could show me where the bathrooms were.

...*sigh...

This was a mistake. It worked, in that he did, in fact, show me where the bathrooms were, but he did so with his arm around me. Now, The One is probably about 5′4″, and I stand a questionable 6′0″, which means the pressure he had on my right shoulder while is arm was draped over me could have either been due to his sense of camaraderie, his drunkenness, or gravity. Or all of them. Regardless, I was uncomfortable. Especially since he kept repeating, “Relax! Relax!”

We get to the bathroom, I head in...and he follows. At this point, he had already dropped his arm from my shoulder and patted me on the back...and then lower on my back....and then not on my back anymore. The fact that I was in a foreign country was the only thing keeping me check.

Fortunately nothing happened in the bathroom, because at least there, there were no cameras. The thought crossed my mind. I could probably get away with knocking him out if need be. Not that I’m any sort of fighter, but at least my BAC wasn’t floating dangerously close to 0.2.

Anyway, the trip back to the bar was uneventful, my friends had all paid, and we left as quickly as we could, laughing as we went. All told, the bar itself was great. But now I know what baggage it might come with...and I think it would be too much to hope that The One doesn’t remember the three white guys and “the most beautiful woman” who is somehow connected to his daughter? #ohwell #definitelygoingbackforanotherpint

OH! Aaaaaaand....They carry Founders!!!

The only one I think I could justify buying is KBS...but even that would run me $18/bottle. What does it say about me that I’m still seriously considering it?

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Alright. So now it’s time to actually go back to where I left off!

So it’s time for pictures...

Here we have a nearly failed attempt at a selfie while walking through the caves...followed by two people who clearly seem far more capable at taking such pictures.

Below, you can see the entrance to the cave. Fun fact, the lion statues are a female (left) and male (right). I learned that you can always tell which is the female as she always(?) stands where her baby, whereas the male stands on a ball. In the background, you can see the Phoenix Nest that we visited, too!

Above, you can see the whole group. The guy in the blue shirt was a damn riot! He kicked things off at the entrance of the cave, a small door about 5 feet into the mountain, with a spot-on impression of Igor, beckoning us on!

Below is a just a pic of the four of us, NR on the top left, S on the bottom left, and ML on the bottom right.

Alright, so the picture of the stairs hardly does it justice, but whoever took this picture was only about halfway up this particular set of stairs, which was only one of several equally long staircases. It just kept turning and continuing...seemingly forever.

And below we have me, walking in a tunnel that’s barely tall enough for me stand up straight, having my picture taken. I’m not sure which of those two things made me more uncomfortable. But RN seems to be enjoying herself!

As I described in the previous post, we finally made our way out of the cave, rested, then hiked up a rather small mountain. It’s more aptly described as a hill with a big ego...But the view was stellar!

Here we are entering the Phoenix Nest at the “top” of the mountain, and you can see the ceiling of it below.

One of the Daniels in our group was kind enough to get a video of us sitting up inside that nest, which I think might give you a sense of what the view was actually like.

Below, I’m sharing some pictures of the ancient village. You can see on the first one a placard of sorts describing the building. Most structures in the area had these sorts of signs, both in Chinese (Mandarin, I assume) and English. The translations were quite entertaining; I’m guess either they were missing a native English speaker to sign off on the...well...signs, or else they just had a wicked sense of humor!

You can see in the pictures below the tiers cut into the mountains. In fact, this pictures, if I’m not mistaken, was taken from a tier that use to farm small trees.

I’m not terribly certain I know what the guy in the above pictures was doing, but NR seemed to think he was doing something with honey. I didn’t want to pry too much...

These things were all over the ancient city. Apparently it was used to ground up rice and other grains. And when I say all over, I mean basically every house had one out front. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the subsistence farmers in the area still use them.

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Once we got back to Beijing, our group of four parted ways with the other groups to go visit the Olympic Greens! So cool! I mean, we have an Olympic Gymnasium on campus, which is already really cool (even though I haven’t gone inside yet), but it’s nothing compared to the Birdnest and its neighbors.

When we got there, S had to use the bathroom, so the other three of us waited outside the shopping mall there watching a bunch of high schoolers on....well, I don’t exactly know what to call them. But imagine two platforms about 4inx6in, each with two wheels oriented in a line. The kids were skating on those. And they were really good. Or at least seemed really good, seeing as nobody fell and they were doing flip tricks and shit. A fascinating way to spend the 10 minutes that we had to wait for S to do his business. He claims “there was a line!”

The mall itself was akin to a condensed Mall of America, there’s a Burger King right between the Olympic Torch monument and the Birdnest, and apparently we can go wonder around the Birdnest and even get up on the roof! We put a real big pin in that particular adventure, so I’m sure I’ll have pictures of the Greens sometime soon.

I don’t want to spend too much time talking about this as I would just be describing what I saw, and future pictures can do that much better, but I will say that there was a group of about 30 women in traditional dancing garbs from...I think Nepal? I’d have to ask NR again. They had a boombox and it seemed they were going to put on a show in the square!

Until security came...We had spent 5-10 minutes watching these women take pictures of themselves while their manager(?) griped that they could take pictures afterwards, only for security to claim that they were blocking the flow of foot-traffic.

The dancers moved on, and so did we, but NR kept our heads on a swivel to see if they would start up again. Eventually they did, but we were far enough away, and the humor of watching them for 10 minutes without seeing them dance struck me as a better story, so we only caught glimpses of their dance. Looked impressive enough. *shrug*

We eventually walked back into the shopping center to find some food and made ourselves comfortable in a Shanghai Hot Pot restaurant that specialized in fish-based cuisine. It was soooooo good, even though I haven’t figured out a delicate way of extracting the fishbones. Apparently its acceptable to plop a hunk of meat in your mouth, suck the meat of the bones, and spit the bones back out. (So many opportunities for inappropriate jokes in that sentence! Aren’t you glad I didn’t go for any of them?) God, I loved having that meat in my mouth! (Okay, so I went for one...)

All told, we had been out and about for 15 hours that day, and on our feet for more than 10 of them!

So I don’t feel bad at all for how I spent Day 6: feet up, sitting 5 feet from my TV playing Kingdom Hearts 3, sucking back beer after beer! It was quite glorious.

Day 7 rolled around, and work began. I don’t have too much to share on that score, but it turns out getting packages delivered here from the US is somewhat tricky. Especially when you don’t realize that the address provided in the Welcome Handbook didn’t even include a street address! My Kindle eventually got here in one piece, thanks to the exceptional generosity of one RS. It even came with a note and an image of Owen Wilson saying “Wow!” So that inside joke played on repeat in my head for a good hour after picking up the package.

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The workweek has been mostly accounted for above, excepting a trip to buy shoes, which was somewhat more involved than it had any reason to be...And apparently my feet are large enough for shoe dealers to not bother carrying my size. *shrug*

I have plans to visit the National Museum on Saturday with NR, and then the ICB faculty are taking a trip Northeast next weekend to visit a beautiful little town near the Great Wall. It’s only a day trip, but I’m going to look into the possibility of splitting a hotel room to see the Great Wall and the town lit up at night! Seems worthwhile, if you ask me. Especially since I don’t have rent payments for several months! Booyah!

Alright, it’s officially quitting time (whatever that means), so I’m heading back to my room for a pint or two and the company of my comic book collection.

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

[welllpthisishappening]

Tripping Over the Blue Line (27/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: I wrote most of this chapter during a playoff basketball game, in case anyone was wondering. The angst. It’s looming. But have some flirting in the meantime. And Graham Humbert. As always, you guys are tremendous and every click, comment, message, passing thought, is fantastic. This would not have existed without @laurnorder, @distant-rose and @beautiful-swan.  Also living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr. 

He could get used to this.

No, scratch that. He was used to this. He was used to the feel of her next to him and the way she tugged the blankets over her shoulders, tight enough that Killian was half certain she was going to choke herself with them, and the way her feet were never quite warm, closer to blocks of ice that frequently hit up against the front of his shins when she pulled them up.

It didn’t make much sense, but Killian was used to it and could get even more used to it and maybe wanted to stay used to it for the rest of his life.

Except for the hair in his face. That was kind of driving him crazy – blonde streaks that didn’t just fan out over the pillow, but found their way across his cheek and against his nose and he’d lost track of the number of times he’d woken up sniffling slightly when Emma’s hair tickled across his face.

He reached out slowly, blinking blearily when he remembered where they were – a hotel in Los Angeles and All-Star weekend and it was skills day and they had fan events before and after skills and the Vankald-Jones family was slated to fly into LAX that morning. They were probably landing at that moment.

Killian took a deep breath, trying to make sure he didn’t actually move the bed and Emma shifted against his front, burrowing into the cocoon of blankets she’d created for herself during the middle of the night.

He gritted his teeth – far too aware of every inch of her skin against his – and he hadn’t meant to talk as much as he had the night before, every vaguely sentimental and overwhelming thought that had crossed his mind in the last few months, spilling out of his mouth in the middle of a hotel room in Los Angeles.

God, that air conditioner was loud. How had they fallen asleep?

Probably because they were so wrapped up in each other and how easy it had been to fall into this and fall in love with her and that was even more sentiment.

He had to skate later. He had to bring Roland Locksley on the ice and probably pose for more photo ops and smile for more cameras and there’d probably be an absolutely ridiculous amount of interviews with an absolutely ridiculous amount of questions about his FA status, but Killian couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

Emma was still asleep, feet pressed up against his shins – like normal – and that was enough to make him certain he’d do it all again.

He’d agree to All-Star weekend and another jersey with a ‘C’ on the front of it and he’d even answer the questions, maybe even throw in that he was particularly interested in returning to New York. That would probably drive Regina insane.

He was definitely going to do it.

New York still hadn’t made a move, hadn’t offered anything and the Rangers front office appeared impervious to Regina’s glares at this point, seemingly learning a thing or two after handing out a max deal to Robin the year before.

And Regina kept promising it would be fine, but she couldn’t ever quite bring herself to look Killian in the eye and, well, that was enough to make falling asleep, even with Emma pressed against him, a bit harder than usual.

He needed to relax.

They still had weeks until the deadline, still had plenty of reason to think the Rangers would sign him to an extension and maybe it wouldn’t be a max, but he’d take a cut if it meant staying in New York. Right? Absolutely.

Who could say no to that?

Not the New York Rangers. He was a goddamn all-star. They were still in a Wild Card spot – better than even winning the Metro at this point, since the Atlantic was garbage and they could absolutely beat the Canadiens in the first round, Killian was sure of it.

So, he had offers from other teams. So, a few months ago, that was exactly what he wanted. He was allowed to change his mind.

He could get what he wanted.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered and he hadn’t meant to actually say the words out loud.

Emma moved again, hair shifting across the pillow when she sighed softly. “What did you say?” she asked, voice muffled when she tried to shift.

“Nothing, love,” Killian said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration when he realized he’d woken her up.

She grumbled and she’d gotten as good at reading him as El – maybe better, considering she wasn’t even looking at him – flipping onto her back and twisting her head to the side to level him with a very particular type of stare. “It’s early still,” Emma said, nodding towards the still dark windows outside. “Why are you awake?” “Force of habit.” “Yuh huh.” “It’s fine, Swan.” “Yeah, so you mentioned before.” “You asked what I said.” Emma shrugged, eyes still tinged with just a bit of tired when she blinked again. “That was just being polite.” “Ah, that so?” Killian asked, gaze tracing across her face and she absolutely knew something was wrong. He didn’t say anything.

Selfish. And just a bit terrified.

Emma twisted her lips and she’d brought the blanket with her when she’d moved, the edges of it wrapped up in her fingers when Killian’s eyes traced down her wrists. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You woke up ridiculously early.” “I told you, Swan, that’s just force of habit. Early ice times and film and I think they’re supposed to be landing soon.” “You don’t know when your brother and El are landing?” “I’ve got some other things going on.” Emma’s eyebrows shot up her forehead and she grinned knowingly at him. “Things that would make you wake up earlier than you have to on a weekend that’s supposed to be fun?”

Caught.

Killian felt his eyes widened a bit and he huffed slightly, trying to pull the blanket out of the vice-like grip Emma had on it. It didn’t work. If anything, she tightened her fingers around it, staring at him intently as he tried to figure out how to explain any of this.

He’d tried the night before – had muttered more than anything in her ear in the back seat of a town car and tried to remember every single fact he could about the city of Los Angeles, shoulders going almost painfully straight when he saw Emma’s eyes as soon as they’d stepped onto the sidewalk.

And he knew it was a possibility, the PR guy was probably going to show up at some point during the weekend, but he hadn’t thought it would be in the middle of on an event and she had enough to deal with already – Bobby Flay and a lack of Bobby Flay and even just being in Los Angeles to begin with.

So he’d tried to explain, to find the words that had been bouncing around his head since August, the way Emma Swan might have changed his entire worldview, and made New York the only thing he cared about simply by virtue of her being there, but then he’d opened his mouth and he couldn't quite do it.

He’d stumbled over the sentiment in a way he’d never stumbled over anything before, half sentences that didn’t quite make sense and proclamations that she was it in the middle of a bed that had far too few pillows on it.

Killian was just glad he came to LA.

He’d be more happy if he knew he had some sort of on-ice future after they left LA and this weekend that was, apparently, supposed to be fun, but that was different concern all together. He needed to stop worrying.

His picture was on the side of Madison Square Garden.  

“Hey,” Emma said softly, tapping her finger against his shoulder and she’d finally let go of the blanket. “You went all glossy there for a second.” Killian blinked once, gaze zeroing in on her arm and the concerned look on her face and Emma just widened her eyes, waiting for an answer. “Fine, Swan,” he repeated and she didn’t look particularly convinced.

He wouldn’t have been either.

And he was somewhere in between just telling her, words threatening to tumble out of his mouth again, and just kissing her until she couldn’t see straight and he couldn’t overthink, so, naturally, his phone rang.

Emma laughed softly, teeth tracing across her lower lip. “Look who just landed,” she muttered, ignoring Killian’s groan when he rolled on his side to grab the ridiculously loud phone.

“What?” he snapped into the phone and Emma made a reproachful noise in the back of her throat.

“Weren’t you already awake?” Elsa asked on the other end, hardly reacting to whatever temper tantrum he was throwing in the middle of a hotel room.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not early, El.” She didn’t say anything for half a second and he could see the smile inching across her face as easily as if she was standing in front of him – which wasn’t something he was particularly interested in when Emma was still laying next to him, a distinct lack of clothing on either one of them. “Oh,” Elsa laughed. “Did I wake Emma up?” Liam made a scandalized noise in the background and that made the twins start yelling and Killian could hear shouts about jerseysand Roland and ice and he was smiling in spite of himself almost immediately.

Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be the worst. Maybe it would be fun. Maybe he should tell his girlfriend he was terrified of free agency in a way he’d never been terrified of anything in his entire life.

It was too early for that.

“Did you guys land, El?” Killian asked, brushing over the question completely. She grumbled at that, far too familiar with his brush-off techniques. “Or are you just endangering an entire plane full of Los Angeles-bound passengers?” “Ok, first of all, I’m not even convinced that’s a thing and second of all, I wouldn’t do that even if it was a thing and third of all, yes, we did land and we’re getting our bags and going to check into the hotel.” “Was this just to let me know that? Because I appreciate it, but it is kind of early.” “You’ve mentioned that several times now, KJ. We just need to know where to go later.” “I told Liam where the thing was days ago.” “And in that time we’ve had several mini crises to deal with and four-year-olds to pack for who were only interested in bringing team-branded merchandise and Liam forgot. No, no, don’t click your tongue, I know you want to and I’m not interested. Just tell me where to go.” He did his best not to laugh – he really did – but he couldn’t quite turn it into a convincing cough or anything that sounded except the scoff it absolutely was and both Elsa and Emma groaned at the same time.

Emma tapped on his shoulder again, holding out her hand expectantly. “What?” Killian asked.

“Gimme the phone, you’re all grumpy.” “Grumpy?” “The phone.” Killian sighed, but he could hear Elsa’s agreement in the background and now Liam was the one trying to hide his laughter. He needed to shoot at something. He’d probably win several skills competitions fueled on frustration alone at this point.

Emma moved her fingers again, twisting her wrist and he only put the phone in her hand when the laces around her wrist shook slightly. “Hey, Elsa,” she said, hardly sounding as if she’d only just woken up a few minutes before because he’d been talking to himself.

“Yeah,” Emma continued, answering a question Killian couldn’t actually hear. “No, you can definitely bring them. I mean, it’s a chain, they’ll have burgers and stuff. It’s probably easier if you walk, actually.”

She nodded again when Elsa asked another question and Killian knew he was staring, eyes tracing over her face and the smile there and the way she kept darting her gaze towards him, that certainty that he wasn’t telling her something painfully obvious every time Emma looked his direction.

“Come at three,” Emma said, words mumbled a bit when she yawned. It was very early. “No, Elsa, I promise it’s fine. There’s a whole room in the back and I’ve got to be there early anyway. They’re encouraged to wear team-branded.”

Elsa said something else and then Liam’s voice was on the phone and Emma was still smiling, a fact that was probably going to spark a whole slew of brand-new sentimental thoughts as well.

“Alright,” Killian muttered, tugging the phone away from Emma’s ear. She glared at him when he did it, but he kissed the side of her cheek quickly and Liam was still talking, unaware that no one was really listening to him.

“Liam,” he interrupted and Emma was sitting up now, blankets pooled around her waist in a way that made him want to do anything except be on the phone with a clearly overwhelmed older brother. Liam, however, didn’t realize – still talking and asking questions and location of the hotel in relation to the restaurant the pre-skills fan event was at.

“It’s across the street right?” Liam asked. Killian wasn’t sure who he was talking to, sounding as if he wasn’t actually talking into the phone. He was absolutely asking Elsa and Killian could hear her soft grunt in reply, the sounds of the LAX baggage claim echoing in his ear as well.

“God, Liam, your wife is five months pregnant, get your own goddamn luggage,” Killian muttered.

“Grumpy,” Emma whispered under her breath, gasping slightly when Killian’s arm snaked around her waist, tugging her back down against his side. “You know we have to get out of bed eventually, I do have two events to run.” “A fact I’m painfully aware of, love.” “Painfully?” Killian made a significant face, moving his shoulder up as if that proved something and Liam was still grumbling on the other end of the phone. “If we’re going to keep having this conversation,” Liam hissed, “we should probably at least try talking to each other during it.”

“That was your fault,” Killian shot back. “You’re the one who picked the most inopportune time to call.” “You couldn’t possibly be busy right now.” “Oh my God, I’m not having this conversation.” Emma laughed, head pushed against the curve of his shoulder and that was hardlyplaying fair. This phone call needed to end.

“Yeah, well, we needed to know where to go.” “And look at that, now you do.” “Why are you being an ass?” Liam asked, the sound of a very clearly frustrated Elsa almost perfectly audible over the hum of an international airport in the background. “He is, Elsa! It’s not even that early, he was definitely already up!” Killian rolled his eyes and Emma was hysterical, body shaking against his as she squeezed her arm around him. “You are not playing fair at all, Swan,” he mumbled.

“Will you pay attention for two seconds,” Liam snapped. The sounds had changed now – they were definitely outside now, which seemed like a step in the right direction.

“Aye aye, captain,” Killian said, another force of habit and Liam didn’t say anything for several hours, at least.

Or at it felt like several hours. Emma stopped laughing, pulling her head up to stare at him questioningly and Killian made a face.

It was fine.

It was all going to be fine. He wasn’t grumpy – he was just worried.

And taking it out on everybody else. He probably should have gone back to sleep.

“Three o’clock?” Liam asked, slamming a door shut behind him. “And we can walk from the hotel?” “Yes and yes,” Killian answered. “Although I don’t know why we’re still having this conversation if Swan already told El both of those things two seconds before.” “Did you miss the part where we had to stave off several pre-weekend crises?”

He had. He’d only been kind of half listening. Jerk. “Apparently,” Killian muttered.

“Three o’clock, little brother. We’ll be the ones in a ridiculous amount of team-branded.” And he didn’t even get the chance to say younger brother before Liam started laughing and hung up the phone.

That seemed kind of fitting.

Emma didn’t say anything – head back on his shoulder and fingers tracing along his side – and it all felt a bit like a balancing act, something about skates and thin pieces of metal or that stick-handling competition he’d have to take part in later that night.

“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian said, sighing slightly when he couldn’t come up with something else to promise.

“So I’ve heard,” Emma mumbled and he jerked up slightly when her lips hit along his collarbone. “You’re very slow on the uptake, you know.” “What do you mean?” “I mean you have no concept of date when it doesn’t dictate what’s happening on the ice.” Emma pulled her head up, staring at him meaningfully and he still didn’t understand what was going on. “And,” she continued, tapping one finger against his chest. “You’re not usually this...what was that word you used for me before? Prickly. You’re not usually this prickly in the morning.” “Maybe I’m just avoiding getting out of this bed.”

One side of her mouth quirked up and, well, it wasn’t entirely a lie. He didn’t want to get out of bed and he would have been content if Emma’s fingers stayed on his skin for the rest of time. He should probably tell her that too.

And he should probably make a list of all the things he needed to do.

“You’ve got photo ops,” Emma muttered, but she’d ducked her head and her lips were back on his skin and just behind his ear and tracing along his neck and he’d lost all train of thought that wasn’t explicitly focused on her.

“It’s still early, Swan,” he argued. His hand found her hips, gripping tightly around her until she was half laying on top of him.

“This internal alarm clock of yours is kind of weird, you know.” “Helpful.” “How you figure?” “Well,” Killian said slowly, turning on her and Emma was on her back and he’d probably think about that sound she made the entire time he was on the ice that night. “It does leave us with some previously unscheduled free time.”

“You think so, Cap?”

“Swan.” She smiled at him and the look shot straight to his core and several other places and he kissed her when the first knock came. “Jesus Christ,” Killian mumbled and even Emma groaned slightly, shaking her head as she tried to keep kissing him.

“No, no, just ignore it, maybe they’ll go away, maybe it’s housekeeping or something.” “There’s a do not disturb sign hanging on the door, it’s not housekeeping.” “Look who was efficient last night. I didn’t even notice you do that last night.” “Go ahead and tell me how impressed you are, love.” “That ego doesn’t need any more help from me. You’ve got eight interviews to do later today and two different fan events that’ll have people fawning all over you. I am, but an afterthought on any of that.” He knew she was joking, could see the flash in her eyes that was a signal of the sarcasm and the attempts at humor and none of it really mattered, because somewhere between the hallway and the gym and that moment in the middle of a king-sized bed in a Los Angeles hotel room, he’d taken it upon himself to make sure Emma Swan never felt like an afterthought of anything.

Tell her the truth. There’s not anything to tell. You’re staying in New York. It’ll be fine.

“Oh, serious face,” Emma muttered, fingers tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. The knock came again. “C’mon, you know I was joking.” “I do,” Killian said quickly, nodding for good measure.

Emma huffed and pushed against his shoulders – he didn’t move. That just made her huff again, rocking her head back and forth on the pillow. “What aren’t you telling me? For real. You’re doing that thing with your face.”

“That thing with my face?” “Yeah.” The knock came again, but it sounded a bit more nervous, as if the person on the other side suddenly realized they were interrupting a conversation and a lack of clothes and there was, suddenly, another set of footsteps in the hallway.

Roland. It had been Roland.

“Sorry, sorry,” Robin shouted towards the still-closed door. “We’re going back to our hallway now and Rol’s not going to try and break into other hotel rooms, right?” “Right,” Roland sighed. Emma hadn’t stopped staring at Killian.

“We’re leaving now,” Robin continued, doing a horrible job of actually doing that. “We’ll, uh, we’ll see you guys later. As you were. Or whatever.” Neither one of them moved – even after Robin’s steps had retreated and he must have actually carried Roland away from the door “I’m glad you’re here,” Emma whispered and her voice was so soft, Killian wasn’t entirely sure he heard it.

“What?”

She grimaced, squeezing one eye shut and he tried to rest his weight on his forearms so he didn’t actually crush her. “I didn’t say anything last night and I know I’ve got a habit of doing that, not saying things and then just blurting things out and, I, well, I’m glad you’re here. That’s all.” Killian shook his head slowly, disbelief sinking through him. “No, Swan,” he countered. “Not all. That’s...everything.” “Sap.” “Absolutely.” “You’re going to have to answer an absurd amount of contract questions, you know,” Emma said suddenly, as if the realization had only just dawned on her.

“That’s alright.” “Yeah?” “Sure. I knew that going in.” “Did you? What are you going to say?” Killian hummed in the back of his throat. “Probably wing it. That’s what I normally do. It drives Gina absolutely crazy.” “Which is probably half the reason you do it, right?” Emma asked, hand still in his hair. Her thumb kept moving up and down the line of his spine. Killian just shrugged – they were back on that blade or however the metaphor had been working. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?” she pressed, thumb tapping out an impatient rhythm now. “It’s not like they won’t resign you. You’re on the side of the Garden!” And for the first time since he’d opened his eyes that morning, Killian actually felt like he was breathing again, certain he could linger in the confidence in Emma’s voice for the entire weekend.

“We’ll see, love,” Killian said and Emma’s eyes dimmed slightly. “That’s why I pay Regina an exorbitant amount of money.” “They will,” Emma repeated. She twisted underneath him, pulling herself back to her side of the enormous bed and Killian bit back the urge to sigh at the movement. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

“Ok.” “That was also an invitation.” He moved quicker than he could remember ever moving, blankets and worries and free agent deals forgotten as soon as he saw the smile on Emma’s face.

“You’re lurking,” Liam muttered, sinking down next to him at the end of the bar. He had a drink in his hand and an infuriatingly self-satisfied look on his face and Killian didn’t even try and stop himself from groaning.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Killian argued. “What’s going on with you?” “Same answer.” Liam made a noise in the back of his throat – matching up almost perfectly with the look on his face – and Killian pulled his eyes away from his frustratingly well-informed older brother to stare across the restaurant at Emma, fully in her element with a smile on her face and his All-Star jersey on.

There were more fans here than there’d been in the square and, thankfully, no sudden appearance from Kings PR directors threatening to absolutely destroy the entire weekend. Mulan was taking pictures and there was a camera there, something about filming it for the website and Roland had done his best to steal most of the spotlight, directing the twins in some sort of overcomplicated cheer.

The fans kept clapping and ooohing and Killian was sitting in the corner of the bar, the same drink he’d ordered when he’d walked in an hour ago sitting almost untouched in front of him.

“Seriously,” Liam sighed, kicking at Killian’s outstretched leg. “You haven’t even asked what the crisis was. That’s not you at all.”

Shit. He hadn’t.

He’d been too preoccupied with the bed and the omissions that weren’t really lies, but might be as bad as lies and Killian’s head snapped up when the door to the restaurant swung open again, the small army of fans gasping when they realized who it was.

“Graham,” Emma yelled, the smile on her face growing as she practically sprinted towards him. He was wearing Vancouver gear, but he caught her when she all but leapt towards him, arms wrapping around her waist tightly.

Killian could feel Liam’s gaze on him, knew he was biting his lip and his eyes had narrowed slightly. Graham said something, his own smile taking up three quarters of his face, and Killian took a swig of his drink.

“Emma knows Graham Humbert?” Liam asked, kicking at Killian’s foot again.

“She started in Vancouver,” he answered. “Before she came to LA.” “Wait, wait, she worked here?” “Did you not know that?” “No, because you’re trying to keep this relationship a secret.” “I’m not,” Killian sighed and Liam made a disbelieving noise that sounded a bit like a guffaw.  “It’s just…” “What?” “I’m not going to mess this up.” Liam almost looked surprised at that, holding his arm up out of instinct as soon as Elsa moved towards him. She settled against his side, hands resting on her stomach and she didn’t look surprised. She looked...elated.

“Good,” Elsa said. “And you’re not, by the way.”

“Did you know Emma worked in LA?” Liam asked.

“Wait, what? Really?” She stared at Killian and he’d almost finished the drink at this point. “You won’t even be able to stay upright later,” Elsa pointed out, tapping her nail against the almost empty glass critically.

“I’ll be fine,” Killian promised. He kept using that word. He needed another word.

“Yuh huh,” Elsa mumbled.

“You know,” Liam said pointedly, glancing at Elsa before he continued. “I don’t think he’s told Emma the entire truth.” “You know, I think you might be right.” Killian rolled his eyes, not looking forward to the intervention or the lecture he was just a few moments away from. “An omission,” he said, arguing with himself as much as he was the two determined individuals standing in front of him with skeptical looks on their faces. “And neither one of you has any tact at all. You’re practically shouting all of this in the middle of a fan event.” “No one is shouting anything, KJ,” Elsa muttered, reaching her hand out to rest against the jersey he’d been forced into.

“But, like, why haven’t you told her?” Liam continued and even Elsa rolled her eyes at that.

“It’s not like she had some great experience working in LA,” Killian reasoned. “There’s a reason she came to New York this year and it timed up pretty well with Gold buying the Kings and her ex-boyfriend taking her job.” Liam let out a low whistle and Elsa’s grip on his wrist tightened a fraction of an inch. They both opened their mouths at the same time – probably some poor attempt at supportive and every reason Killian had already come up with for why he should just tell Emma  – but neither one of them got a chance.

“Hey,” Emma said brightly, Graham Humbert on her side and there was a trail of fans behind both of them, eyes trained on the Canucks winger. “You got a minute?” “Two, in fact, Swan,” Killian answered. He pulled his hand away from Elsa’s, refusing to acknowledge whatever she was doing with her face and held out his hand towards Humbert. “Killian,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you when I’m not trying to check you.” Humbert laughed and Emma’s eyes kept darting in between them, tongue flicking out over lower lip in a way that was almost completely distracting. “Ah, there’s a good reason for the checking,” Humbert said. “I heard you’re front-runner for the Hart.” “He is,” Emma said quickly, stepping into his space almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Killian felt his eyes widen, dimly aware of the look Liam shot Elsa’s direction. It was far too crowded in this restaurant.

Humbert smiled, lips quirking up and he hummed in the back of his throat. “You must be Liam Jones,” he continued, glancing at the other half of the Jones brothers perched in front of the bar. “I remember you guys winning that national title, I think we talked about that set-up in Vancouver for a month after. Hell of a pass.” “Thanks,” Liam said and Killian’s stomach clenched. He glanced cautiously at Elsa and her hand had fallen back on her stomach, fingers tapping out a quick rhythm that seemed to counter the almost calm look on her face.

Emma realized what was going on immediately, fingers lacing through Killian’s without a word and Graham didn’t even bat an eyelash at that. “How was your flight?’ she asked, directing her question at both Liam and Elsa.

“Better once the twins fell asleep,” Elsa admitted. “And once she stopped moving.” Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open and Killian was more worried about staying upright in that moment than he was whenever he eventually got on the ice. “Well, there went that surprise,” Liam muttered, but he was smiling. “We were going to tell you at some point this weekend. That was the crisis, by the way.” “Is everything ok?” Killian asked, tightening his hand around Emma’s out of instinct.

“It’s fine, KJ,” Elsa promised. “Just there was a lot of kicking and a, frankly, ridiculous amount of heartburn and we went to the doctor and got an ultrasound and, well, it’s a girl.”

“Surprise,” Liam added, barely even moving when Killian pulled Elsa into his arms. Or arm. He hadn’t actually let go of Emma’s hand.

And he almost felt bad for Graham Humbert, pulled into this weird, family moment in the corner of some chain restaurant a few blocks away from the Staples Center, but the winger didn’t seem too put off by it – smile widening even more when he saw the look on Emma’s face.

Her free hand was pressed against her mouth, smile obvious even behind her fingers and she kept blinking. Killian let go of Elsa, arm wrapping around Emma’s shoulders and his lips found the top of her hair almost immediately.

“Banana’s going to be mad she missed another moment,” Killian pointed out and Liam shrugged. “She and Kristoff went to some sort of mountain retreat. I shudder to think what Anna is actually doing this weekend.” “Oh, God, enough” “You brought it up!” “Will both of you quit it?” Elsa sighed, shaking her head in frustration. “Jeez. Children, both of you.” “We should be celebrating shouldn’t, we?” Emma asked. “Right? Like not champagne, obviously, but there’s got to be something you can drink here.” “Soda has bubbles.” “No caffeine, though,” Liam warned and Elsa rolled her eyes.

“Soda it is,” Emma agreed, nodding towards one of the bartenders a few feet away from them. The glasses were filled with Sprite, because Liam was nothing if consistently frustrating, and Emma took a deep breath when she held up her drink. “To Liam and Elsa and…”

Elsa was crying, tears falling down her face quicker than she could brush them away because she didn’t actually have a free hand and something in the back of Killian’s mind realized what was going to happen before it actually did. “Lizzie,” she mumbled, staring at her shoes and Killian didn’t move.

Liam was staring at him. Emma was staring at him. Graham Humbert was playing with the laces of his Canucks jersey.

“Lizzie,” Killian repeated slowly, like he was testing out the name on his tongue. Elsa glanced up, cheeks still tear-stained and nodded slowly. “I like it.” “Well, you didn’t really have much of a choice,” Liam added quickly, cutting himself off when Elsa elbowed him in the side.

“We just thought…” Elsa started.

“Yeah, I know,” Killian said. “She’ll probably be the first female hockey player in the league.” “They have a women’s league now, KJ.” “Well, then she can be captain of that one too. She’ll play in both leagues.” “You’ve already decided that?” “Absolutely.” Elsa laughed, but it sounded a bit like an exhale and she nodded. “To Lizzie,” Killian said and all five of them clinked glasses before they downed the soda.

They stayed for another hour – and toasted the soon-to-be-born Lizzie Vankald-Jones several times with a variety of different sodas – and it was better than the fine Killian kept promising himself it would be.

It was happy and hopeful and the ridiculous pomp of a skills competition that required him to skate as fast as he possibly could didn’t seem quite as ridiculous – until there was a microphone in his face and a camera light in his eyes and Killian had to squint to make out the reporters standing a few in front of him.

“What about free agency?” “Are you determined to stay in New York?” “We heard the Stars expressed some interest.” And then the one he hadn’t been expecting – a voice he didn’t know and a face he didn’t recognize and the question nearly made him laugh it was that ridiculous. “Killian, is there any truth to the rumor you’ll be heading out here permanently?” “What?” he gaped, running a hand through his hair before he could stop himself. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

Regina would kill him when she heard that soundbite. He hoped no one ever heard that soundbite. The reporter shrugged, brushing her hair off her shoulders and staring at him with a stare that made him twist his eyebrows in confusion.

The woman smiled just a bit wider and the lights got a bit brighter – or maybe he was just losing his mind. “Los Angeles,” she repeated, glancing around her as if she were introducing him to the city as a whole. “There’s been a report you’re heading here at the deadline. Care to comment.” “No.” “No to the comment or no to the rumor?” “No,” Killian repeated and the reporter stared at him a bit ruefully. “Now, if you guys will excuse me, I’ve got to go skate fast and help make sure some pretty adorable kid doesn’t fall over on the ice.” Roland didn’t fall over – he skated better than Killian and Robin combined and the two-man jersey was so well-made Killian was certain Regina would lord that fact over him for the rest of his life and then probably a few days after, just  to make sure he never forgot how much it cost.

He laughed when Humbert tried to guard against him, twisting around backwards to try and block his shot and if this was All-Star weekend, then, maybe, this wasn’t that bad.

“You’re not even trying, Hook,” Roland shouted, crashing into the boards and Killian was certain his spot on the Rangers first line was safe for now. “You can go so much faster than that.” “That so?” Humbert asked, stopping next to Roland and shooting a questioning glance over the six-year-old’s head.

“Seems a little early in the relationship to be falling into sarcasm, doesn’t it?” Killian questioned. He tugged Roland closer to his side, ignoring whatever noise the kid was making in the back of his throat. “And I can’t show all my cards in the first round, Rol.”

“Ah, but I almost feel as if I know you,” Humbert laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I saw Emma smile that much in one afternoon.”

Killian had expected the conversation – had been almost mentally prepared for it as soon as he saw the Canucks jersey walk into the bar that afternoon, but he hadn’t really anticipated it in between speed drills as he tried to catch his breath.

God, he was old.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the point,” Killian muttered. Humbert made some sort of noise that might have been agreement or might have been support, undeterred by Roland’s exclamations that they were about to start again.

Humbert nodded thoughtfully, glancing at Killian out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not going to Los Angeles are you?” “Whoever came up with that rumor lied.” “Emma won’t have time to see that spot, especially since it’s local, but if you’re even thinking about going to Los Angeles I might actually take a misconduct in this All-Star game.” Killian scoffed, digging the toe of his skate into the ice. “I’m not going to Los Angeles. You can ask Regina about it if you want.” “I have no idea who that is. I’m not actually on this team.” Point to him.

“Hook,” Roland cried, hitting against Killian’s leg and he didn’t understand why he had to wear full pads if he wasn’t actually going to hit anyone. Or get brutally cross-checked by Graham Humbert, all-star winger. “You’ve got to go. Skate fast.”

“Thanks for the tip, mate,” Killian mumbled and he couldn’t actually mess up Roland’s when there was a league-mandated helmet on his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Humbert was still staring at him, something that looked like amusement flashing in his eyes as he followed Killian towards the other side of the ice.

“I realize it’s not really my place you know,” Humbert muttered, tapping his stick thoughtfully on the ice.

“What isn’t?” Killian asked and he kind of dreaded the answer.

“You know she thinks she doesn’t have anyone in her corner. Emma, that is. She thinks she’s on some sort of metaphorical island of emotion or something. And she’d absolutely punch me in the face if she heard me say something like that.” Killian laughed, eyes darting up when the first skater started sprinting down towards the opposite blue line. Slow. Way too slow.

He was absolutely going to win.

There was a deeper meaning in there somewhere. Killian refused to acknowledge that, however, turning, instead, to stare right back at Humbert.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “She would. And Swan’s not nearly as alone as she seems to think she is. That’s a work in progress.” “You sound very determined.” “You’ll find I’m rather determined when it comes to things I want.” “And that’s what you want?” Humbert continued, gaze moving only slightly when another whistle sounded and another skater moved. “For Emma to know she’s not on some sort of emotional island?” “Have I not made that clear?” “You tell me.” “Yes,” Killian said pointedly. “And truth be told, I’m not so concerned about whatever you think you’ll be able to do to me on the ice.” “What are you concerned with?”

“Mary Margaret.” Humbert whistled – the sound barely audible over the scrape of skates and actual whistles and a surprising amount of fans in the Staples Center, most of them decked out in red and blue and some of them were shouting his name. Roland Locksley was absolutely shouting his name. A PA announcer called out his name and Humbert nodded slowly at him as Killian pushed forward towards the crease.

“Yeah,” Humbert said, sounding appropriately intimidated by the teacher on the other side of the country. “She wouldn’t just check you, she’d probably kill you and make it look like an accident. Those police connections make things like that easy.”

Killian grimaced – far too aware that Mary Margaret would do exactly that – before trying to turn that determination to prove something into speed as soon as the whistle sounded and Roland shouted his name again.

He won.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d skated that fast – including the breakaway goal earlier that season or when he’d been desperately trying to break out of the skid that absolutely wasn’t Emma’s fault. It all felt a bit instinctual, skates moving and legs moving and Killian was hardly out of breath by the time he found himself behind the opposite net on the other side of the ice.

He could still hear Roland yelling.

The rest of the night didn’t really matter, there were accuracy shots and the relay and some sort of obstacle course that Robin might have won if Killian was actually paying attention to anything – and he was absolutely shirking whatever duties he had as captain of the Metro, but Killian had only really half-listened to the rules when they’d been explained to him that afternoon.

There were more cameras �� Robin had been mic’ed up – and more photo ops, posing together in front of lockers and with players who, just a few minutes before, had promised to check Killian particularly hard if he dared mess up things with his girlfriend.

The Rangers contingent made its way into the locker room no less than ten minutes after they’d gotten off the ice – even morecameras and Ruby demanding something about post-game with the beat writers.

“It’s not a game, Rubes,” Robin pointed out, bending over to unlace his skates. Killian hadn’t even bothered sitting down, far too familiar with Ruby Lucas and her post- whatever media demands. They were both going to talk – whether they wanted to or not.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ruby argued, tugging a still-rambunctious Roland against her side. “We’ve got people here and they flew to Los Angeles and you guys are going to give quotes. Also, if you could actually pretend to pay attention, Cap, that’d be super awesome.” Killian snapped his head up, eyes wide with something he hoped looked like innocence. He knew it didn’t work, knew his attention had been completely consumed by the post-fan event he needed to get to if only to see his girlfriend and make sure she hadn’t seen some local Los Angeles news spot about his free agency status.

“I’m definitely paying attention,” Killian said, the lie falling out of his mouth with practiced ease and even Robin scoffed under his breath.

“One statement, one promise that you’re having a super fun time and you love Los Angeles a super amount and then you can get back to that restaurant and everything will be disgustingly romantic,” Ruby muttered. She arched one eyebrow and Roland huffed slightly when she moved him back towards the door.

Killian did everything Ruby told him to – demanded him to – and there were cheers when they walked back into the restaurant, a sea of blue and Let’s go Rangers chants greeting him as soon as he walked through the door.

And it would have been almost endearing, would have made him smile and nod and probably pose for several dozen pictures if Killian still weren’t entirely paying attention. Because he’d done what Ruby had said, stood in front of another slew of reporters and answered questions and swore up and down he was having a super fun time in Los Angeles when he saw someone move in the corner of the press room – a suit and a cane and a face he’d only ever been vaguely aware of in the last five and a half years.

Robert Gold didn’t look quite as intimidating in person as he did in the vaguely absurd picture Killian had created in his head – some sort of crocodile, amphibian monstrosity that might have actually had scales and a tail in one version.

He was old and he had a limp and gray hair that must have been buzzed it was so short. He was wearing a suit and a there was an actual chain going across the vest under his jacket because he was probably the type of person who had a pocket watch.

And he didn’t say anything, didn’t stand in the back corner of the press room for any longer than a few moments, but his eyes had landed on Killian and it almost felt like all the air got sucked out of the room.

It had kind of stolen some of the excitement from the force post-game presser that wasn’t actually a post-game presser and Emma had noticed almost immediately.

Killian nodded towards a group of fans that were shouting something at him, doing his best to smile honestly and he could see Emma weaving her way towards him, eyebrows pulled low and head tilted in the question she hadn’t actually asked yet.

Tell her.

“Hey,” she said, hand falling on the front of the team-branded sweatshirt he’d tugged on when Ruby had tossed it his direction after post. “You were other levels of fast tonight.” “You’ve been talking to Roland.” “Nah, I just have eyes. And David might have sent a string of ridiculous text messages detailing all the reasons you winning that particular skills competition were a sure sign that we were going to win the Cup this season.” And, just like that, he forgot about Gold. He forgot about free agency and a distinct lack of moves from the New York Rangers front office and anything that wasn’t the way his heart seemed to stutter in his chest when Emma Swan used the word we.

He kissed her before he could come up with any kind of response and she was smiling when he moved – like she was waiting for it.

“I have a theory,” Emma muttered, glancing up at him when the door swung open again and even more fans piled into the restaurant. She was absurdly good at her job.

“And that is?” “Why you skated so fast.” “Maybe I was just trying to impress you,” Killian suggested and it wasn’t a complete lie.

Emma laughed, smile widening a bit, but she shook her head.

“Can you be serious for, like, two seconds? I’m trying to ask you a question.” “I thought it was a theory.” “Jones.” Killian nodded solemnly and Emma rolled her eyes, finger looping through the front of his belt. “You freaked out when Liam and El told you what they were going to name the soon-to-be mini Jones-Vankald.” “That’s not true.”

“Yuh huh.” Killian sighed. “Alright, well, maybe a little bit. What’s your theory then, Swan?” “That was your mom’s name wasn’t it?” Emma asked, voice going soft and her finger tightened when his eyes widened out of instinct.

Tell her. Tell her everything. Tell her you’d take a pay cut to stay in New York. With her. Use the word ‘we’ several times in succession.

He didn’t say any of that. He just stared at her in awe and Emma’s smile was nervous at best and, well, he had gotten used to this.

He had gotten used to her.

“I love you,” Killian said, feeling a bit like he was shouting the words at her. He might have been. There were a lot of fans in this restaurant. Or bar? It was a bar.

Emma blinked once, lower lip stuck out a bit and the smile didn’t look quite as cautious anymore. “So I’m going to go ahead and assume that means I was right then? And also I love you too.” “Solid save there at the end, love,” Killian laughed, hand moving instinctively down when Roland collided with his thigh.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Roland?” Emma asked, reaching forward to tug on the laces of his customized jersey.

He just shook his head. “It’s All-Star weekend, Emma,” he explained slowly, as if that were the only explanation there could have been for being up at eleven o’clock at night.

“Oh, obviously.” “And,” Roland continued, “dad said that I could stay with him and Hook tonight.” Emma narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly, but her smile didn’t waver when she crouched in front of Roland. “That so? And what are you guys going to do?” “We’re going to watch film and probably make fun of the Pens and practice stick-handling,” Roland answered quickly, voice picking up with each facet of the schedule.

“And sleep,” Killian added, ignoring Roland’s soft gasp at even the suggestion.

“You’re no fun at all,” Emma accused.

“It is the night before a game, Swan. There are rules we’re supposed to be sticking to.”

“Seems a bit like an excuse.” Killian shrugged. “Maybe I’m not particularly interested in this plan.” “No?” “The one where I’m not with you? No.” Roland made some sort of six-year-old noise and Emma bit her lip lightly. “Smooth,” she muttered. Roland didn’t seem very impressed.

“Well there was some sort of compliment about skating quickly and being dominant on the ice and absolutely the most impressive player out here.” “I seem to have missed that part. I only remember telling you you skated fast.” “There was an undercurrent of compliment there.”’

Emma shook her head, laughing under her breath and Roland had disappeared at some point – Killian felt guilty for all of half a second before remembering Emma was still standing in front of him and had, just recently, used the word we.

And knew why he’d freaked out about soon-to-be Lizzie Vankald-Jones.

“You were right you know,” Killian added, taking a step forward until his left hand landed on her hip.

“That happens more often than not,” Emma said. “About what?” “It is my mom’s name. Or was. I’m not sure what tense we’re supposed to use.”

Her shoulders sagged just a bit and it felt like she was exhaling, smile taking on a tinge of sadness when she looked up at him. “Yeah, I kind of figured. Are you ok?” “With them using that name?” Emma nodded. “It’s not my kid, so it’s not really my call, but, yeah, I think I am. It seems right. And she’s totally going to dominate both hockey leagues. My mom probably would have appreciated that.”

She kissed him that time and at some point they should probably stop using kissing as some sort of emotional response, but in the middle of that bar with several dozen uniform-wearing fans, Killian didn’t care about anything except the vague idea of a we with Emma.

“I love you,” Emma said again. “A lot.” “I love you too, Swan.”

And he’d do whatever he had to in order to stay in New York.

[abadoodlesss]

Sometimes The Job’s Worth It - Chapter Four!

Read the previous chapters here

Next Chapter

Summary: Castiel comes at the request of Dean to try and rid Jane of her unpleasant memories, much to Sam’s dismay. Family fighting and some poorly chosen words lead to lots of complicated, possibly dangerous, situations.

Jane stared at the man before her. He was an intimidating figure, almost matching the height of the oldest Winchester. He held eye contact with Jane, seemingly staring into her soul with his piercing blue eyes.

“An angel?” Jane repeated, in a bit of disbelief. Castiel looked like a regular man to her, nothing like what she expected angels to be. Where were the flowing white robes? The long hair? The beautiful wings? Then again, she pictured demons to have red skin and horns protruding from their heads. That depiction couldn’t have been further from the truth, so who was she to be deciding what an angel should look like?

“Yes, I am Castiel, an ang-”

“We got that part already, buddy.” Dean said, patting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he walked over to Jane. “Jane, this is a friend of ours.” Dean continued. “He can...uh, help you.”

“With what?”

“We’ve noticed you’ve been acting a little strange.” Sam said, trying to put things lightly, coming to his brother’s side.

Jane mentally kicked herself. Of course they noticed! You’ve been acting like a psycho since you’ve met them! She thought to herself.

“What do you mean?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

“Kid, we know something's up.” Dean said flatly.

“Whatever’s going on, we want to help you.” Sam offered, aggravated with Dean’s lack of sensitivity.

“I appreciate that you’re concerned but really, nothing’s going on.” Jane lied, opening her Snickers as she climbed on the bed to watch whatever was playing on the small television.

Dean sighed. He knew what Jane must be upset about it, it was obvious. She had lost everything she had less than a week ago and all she had gained were the Winchesters. It wasn’t an easy situation to be in, unfamiliar and awkward not even mentioning dangerous. She was also obviously hurting, she lost her parents. Dean knew exactly what it felt like. He wished he had someone to comfort him in those times, but now here was Jane, turning away the help he wished he had gotten.

“If you’re sure.” Sam said, interrupting Dean’s inner monologue before the frustrating thoughts could start pouring out.

“I am.” Jane said, turning to the three men, having forgotten Castiel was even there.

“Jane,” Dean started, taking a seat on the bed by her feet while avoiding Sam’s hand that tried grabbing him away. “We just want to help. Talking things out can-”

“I’m fine.” She said curtly, not bothering to look his way.

“Kid-”

“Dean, I don’t need your help.” She snapped, glaring at him for a moment before returning her attention to the TV.

Dean puffed out his chest, ready to start a real argument but Sam grabbed onto his upper arm, dragging him off the bed.

“So my assistance is no longer necessary?”

Sam opened his mouth to confirm but Dean had other ideas.

“You know, Sammy and I haven’t been to a bar in a while. You wouldn’t mind watching Jane if we head out for a bit, right?”

Castiel looked at Dean slightly confused. He knew enough about Dean Winchester to understand he was plotting, but to what the actual plan was, Cas was oblivious.

Dean grabbed his car keys, whispering to Cas as he passed “Figure out what’s going on with her.” They gave each other a nod before Dean called, “Let’s go Sam.” storming out to the Impala.

“So you’re an angel?” Jane asked, sitting with her legs crossed, staring at Castiel who hasn’t moved since he arrived.

“Yes. I am an angel of the lord.”

After a silent moment, Jane blurted out a burning question. “If you’re an angel….where are your wings?”

She was timid to ask, but her curiosity was much stronger than her fear.

Though Jane’s family had never been particularly religious, she was (almost) positive angels didn’t run around the mortal world in trench coats, so why was Castiel like this? She had heard of fallen angels however, cast out of Heaven for pissing off the big man upstairs. Did they lose their wings when they came crashing down from on high? She shuffled further back on the bed when that idea surfaced.

“They aren’t visible to your human eyes.”

“Now that just sounds like an excuse.” Jane joked, but Castiel didn’t seem to get it. “So how do you know the Winchesters?”

“I was the angel that raised Dean from perdition.”

“What’s perdition?”

“The eternal state of punishment you know as Hell.”  

Jane looked at Castiel wide-eyed. A few thousand questions railed into her mind.

Hell is real? Dean went to Hell? Why? How? When? Again: Hell is real?!

Castiel was able to read Jane’s mind without really using his powers, her confusion was evident on her face. “Dean died many years ago and went to Hell. I brought him back as he was desperately needed.”

“Dean died?”

“Many times. Sam has as well.”

Jane had more questions but they were clouded by this new revelation that Hell was real. She was always hopeful that you went somewhere after you died but the thought that there was a Hell gave her chills. She had heard that a single sin could get you into Hell, which is why you had to go to confession and pray for forgiveness often, neither of which had her parents ever done since she was born. They must have accumulated a fair amount of sins in their lifetime that hadn’t been forgiven. Jane cringed at the idea, going to hug her knees as a chill ran up her spine.

Castiel watched the girl intently. It felt wrong to read the young girl’s mind, especially when he found her thinking of something so personal and heartbreaking, but he had to. Dean asked him to help this girl and if she wasn’t going to say what was wrong verbally, he had to result to an alternate plan.

“You’re thinking about your parents.” Castiel stated bluntly.

Jane’s eyes darted over to his figure without turning her head away as she held her knees to her chest tightly.

“It’s normal to miss them.” He offered when she refused to speak. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission.” She said coldly, instantly regretting it. “I’m sorry it’s just- it’s more than that. You don’t get it.” Jane said, waving him off before things got too sentimental.

“I don't. But you could explain it.” Castiel tried but to little avail. “You’re hurting. It’s natural to want to talk about it.”

Jane hated that he was making these assumptions so easily. She hated the way he said them as though he were reading facts out of a book. She hated that he was right about each one. Still, she remained silent, continuing to bottle up the thoughts threatening to pour out.

Castiel resulted to tapping into her thoughts to try to gain any helpful information but was only met with a swarm of repeated thoughts filling the girl’s mind. He stared at her incredulously, shocked at what he was hearing. “You feel at fault.”

“Aren’t I?” She spoke in a soft voice, unable to look at the angel. “I hid and-” Her voice cracked as she rested her head on her kneecaps, squeezing her eyes shut to trap in her tears.

“You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I could have tried. I just hid in the bathroom and prayed for someone else to fix everything.”

“I know.” He said. “Your prayers were heard, but there wasn’t anything anyone could have done.” Castiel offered. Jane’s head perked up at what he had said.

“You heard me praying?” She asked, narrowing her eyes as she stared up at the angel.

“Yes, angels are able to hear all prayers and-”

“All the angels heard me and did nothing?” Jane continued, her voice holding a tone of disgust as she got up and made her way over to Castiel. “You heard me crying and pleading for help and you ignored me? Why? How could you just leave me there like that?”

“You have to understand-” Castiel started, backing away from the girl as she closed in.

“What? That there was nothing an all-powerful being like you could have done to help?”

“There are some matters in which angels cannot interfere.”

“Why? Was it some sort of fate that my entire family had to die?”

“It’s not our place. If direct orders aren’t given-”

As tears welled in her eyes, Jane swung out her hand, slapping the angel across his face. Not bothering to stick around for his reaction, she ran out of the motel room.

Dean downed another shot, slamming the glass down onto the table.

“You want to take it easy there?” Sam asked from across the table, nursing his first bottle of Bud Light.

“I don’t get it Sam. There is something wrong and we just want to help. Why wouldn’t she want that?”

“People have different ways of coping.” Sam said but Dean didn’t accept that answer.

“She shouldn’t have to go through it alone.” Dean grumbled.  

“I agree, but you have to think about it from her perspective.” Sam started, knowing he was asking a lot of his brother to think logically, especially when he was angry. “She lost her family and doesn’t know us very well. Besides, I still don’t think getting Cas involved is a great idea. We can comfort and support Jane but erasing her memories? That’s not how you deal with-”

Dean didn’t care to hear the rest, he was already making his way to the bar to get himself another shot.

He knew Sam was right. He always is. But hearing the truth about the situation is only more frustrating. Dean couldn’t help everyone. It was always hard to accept that not everyone can be 100% fixed but it didn’t make him feel any less shitty.

Dean downed three more shots, letting out a groan as the last one slid down his throat.

“Rough night?” A voice called.

Dean turned to meet a tall Asian woman. She was dressed in a tight red dress and matching heels with her hair in light waves. She was beautiful, charming Dean with her warm eyes.

“That obvious?” Dean asked with a chuckle as the woman sat beside him.

“Well I don’t know how much I can help, but I can at the very least get your next drink.” She said with a seductive smile.

“No objections here.” He said as the woman order the two of them drinks. “I’m Dean.”

“Christine.” She said with a sweet smile.

The two kept chatting, drinking and getting to know each other. She was flirty, Dean dare admit as flirty as he was.

She was in the midst of tying a cherry stem with her tongue when Dean’s phone started ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket and seeing the caller ID.

It was Jane.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Christine joked.

Dean pressed decline and threw his phone down. “No, no she’s- she’s my little sister.”

“What are you guys fighting about?”

“Are you a mind reader or just very good at guessing?” Dean asked with a laugh.

“You hit decline pretty quickly, seemed odd.” She defended. “Whenever I’m avoiding someone, especially that quickly, it’s normally because we’re fighting.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t exactly know I’m- well I’m not really mad at her it’s just-”

“Complicated?” Christine finished for him.

“Exactly.” He said with a smile, keeping eye contact with Christine as they each took a sip of their drinks.

His phone started ringing again.

Jane.

Declined.

“So where were we?” He asked, leaning closer to Christine. A sultry smile tugged at her red painted lips.

His phone started ringing again. He had half the mind to just hit decline a third time but guilt tugged at his gut.

“I should probably answer, just to make sure she’s alright.” Dean said, going for his phone.

Christine grabbed his hand. “She’s sixteen years old, she’s fine to stay home alone.”

Dean ripped his hand away from Christine’s. He never told her Jane’s age or that she was even home alone. Dean quickly accepted the call but Christine slapped the phone out of his hands, letting it fall to the floor. She covered the phone with her foot, driving the heel of her stilettos into the phone’s screen, cracking more than just the glass.

Dean looked up at Christine to see her pitch black eyes.

“Dean!” Sam yelled. He had his phone in hand, talking to someone.

Dean turned to grab onto Christine but she had disappeared. There was no time to care, something was wrong with Jane. He scooped up his broken phone before running with Sam to the Impala.

Jane rubbed her bare arms as she let out a shiver, watching the cloud of her own breath drift up into the starlit sky. Another shiver had her wishing for a jacket, but in her anger induced exit, she forgot to grab one.

She had run out of the hotel room after slapping Castiel. Where she was going, she didn’t know, nor did she care. She needed to clear her head and walking was always the way she had done it.

Her anger was quelled rather quickly, her adrenaline being replaced with nerves. The road she was on was dark, devoid of any cars, of any houses, just open fields that turned into woods further back. She was totally alone, vulnerable, jumping at each slight sound.

Her phone battery was running low as it was wasted on using her flashlight to navigate the maze of streets.

Before her phone could abandon her, found Dean’s name in her contact list. It rang four times before going to voicemail. She was almost glad for didn’t know what she was going to say.

Hey, I got upset, slapped your angel friend and now I’m alone and cold on some dark road in the middle of nowhere. Can you come get me?

It would only annoy Dean and that’s the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to call someone. Sighing, she pressed his name again, and again it went to voicemail. One more time.

Three rings and her phone died, displaying a blinking empty battery.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Her best bet was to turn around and hope she could find her way back, so that’s what she did.

A single street light was lit and in the amber glow stood a man, staring at her.

Maybe wandering around is my best bet. She thought, turning back around to continue walking aimlessly away from the motel when she crashed into someone.

“Hiya Janie.” Called the tall Asian woman in a very skimpy red dress she bumped into. The woman blinked her kind eyes to reveal the black eyes of a demon.

Jane took off sprinting in the direction of the creepy man under the streetlight only to find he wasn’t there, rather right beside her already clutching her arm.

“Let go of me!” Jane cried, trying to rip her arm away to no avail.

“We’re going to need to take you with us. There’s a very special someone who would like to meet you.” The woman said with a wicked smile.

Jane was relentlessly struggling against the demon when a familiar low rumble of a car stilled the group, blinding them with its headlights as the Impala turned onto the road.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked as they sped down the road in the Impala. Sam was on the phone currently, not answering any of Dean’s questions. “Sam?” Dean called. Ignored again, Dean groaned and grabbed the phone away from Sam.

“What’s wrong are you okay?” Dean asked into the phone.

“I am fine, it was only a small slap.” The gravelly voice of Castiel answered.

“Cas? Where’s Jane?”

“She ran out of the hotel room after slapping me across the face.”

“Where is- Why did she slap you?”

“I may have chosen a few incorrect words when trying to provide comfort.”

“Do you know where she is?” Sam called.

“Yes, but I’m afraid she won’t listen to me.”

“You’ll have to go anyways. I think there’s demons after her.”

“She’s on Shaker Road, approximately 2.6 miles away from the motel.”

“Alright, we’ll meet you there Cas.” Dean said, hanging up the phone and tossing to his brother as he slammed on the gas pedal.

We’re coming kiddo.

[rem-is-best-almond]

[Review] Dance with Devils Shiki Natsumezaka/ Kirael’s route

Shiki is a fallen angel and serves as the treasurer of the student council.  Any sort of pain turns him on and he's able to turn your seemingly ordinary actions into something morbid in his head LMAO 😂😂 I started this route having quite low expectations for Shiki since I'm personally not a big fan of these Do-S Do-M characters but he turned out to be quite a guilty pleasure and I really loved his development in his human route. Unfortunately,  his devil route is something you'd expect from an episode of Criminal Minds and was all sorts of nope :)))

[Spoilers under the cut , this is a summary of his whole route, including some CGs] 

Left Door routes:      Rem   Lindo   Roen

Right Door Routes:  Mage   Urie     

<< Previous (Urie)    Next (Rem)>>   Final Thoughts >I

After learning about the grimoire,  Shiki self invites himself into Ritsuka's home despite her protests in order to keep an eye on her. Since Lindo's MIA due to being injured during the common route , Ritsuka eventually gives in and lets him stay until Lindo comes home from the exorcist society. During the duration of his stay, Shiki causes quite a few inconveniences for Ritsuka including getting her lectured by her teacher for staying with her ‘boyfriend’(Shiki) when she’s underaged and pulling her into the bathroom when he’s taking a bath. Despite being upset with him about these, she decides that it’s safer to let him stay there when he protected her from an attempted assault by the vampires. 

Shiki then takes Ritsuka to an art gallery and there they saw a painting of a lonely fallen angel. Shiki tells her the story behind that painting and is surprised that Ritsuka empathizes with the fallen angel in the painting.  On the way home, they encountered a bunch of vampires who are after the Grimoire. Shiki escapes with Ritsuka by flight, revealing that he was actually a fallen angel. He tells her that he got banished from heaven for saving his friend and fell. But since he had angel’s blood in him, the devils in the demon realm also isolated him and thus he felt lonely. He says that he got attracted to Ritsuka because of how similar they are, both being different from the people around them. Ritsuka wonders if Shiki won’t be lonely again if he manages to go back to heaven and encourages him to try to go back since he still has his wings.

One night, Shiki ends up having a nightmare so Ritsuka brings him back to her room and promises him that she won’t leave him alone. Eventually, Azuna finds out that Ritsuka has been living with Shiki all these time and is hurt that Ritsuka never told her anything about this. Things end badly between them as Ritsuka leaves with Shiki. After hearing the news of Lindo’s return, Shiki gets upset and leaves for a bit. As the school festival rolls around,Ritsuka and Azuna still haven’t made up with each other and this upsets them both. Lindo comes to see his little sister, having recovered from his injuries and is confused at how distant they are towards each other. Azuna explains to him about the situation and he encourages her to go make up with Ritsuka.

Meanwhile, Ritsuka who ran away from the both of them bumps into Shiki and they go around the festival together. At the school dance, Urie and Mage try to make a jump on Ritsuka but end up getting butthurt when Shiki chimes in saying that Ritsuka is his for the night because he asked first. He takes her out to the Garden and they dance until a loud crash interrupts them. Turns out it was the vampires and Shiki was the one that let them in. As he flies her into the sky, Shiki says that he’s doing all this to betray Rem because he wants Ritsuka all to himself and wants her to be in despair cause it turns him on. He tells her the true reason he was casted out of heaven was because he killed his friend and the humans that they were supposed to protect.

As Ritsuka witnesses Azuna dying because she shielded Lindo, she falls into a depressed state. In her broken state, Shiki often comes to her house to ‘play’ with her, savouring the look of despair on her face. Ritsuka eventually stops being depressed and after listening to Azuna’s voicemails requesting a make up between them during the school dance, decides to confront Shiki. She finds him at the school garden and tells him to stop trying to break her cause she won’t give in to him no matter what. 

Shiki refuses to believe this and decides to go kill Lindo and Azuna, who turned out to be in critical condition at the Exorcist Society. Ritsuka doesn’t want to be a pushover so she clings onto him to stop him as he flies into the sky. On top of the Tokyo tower , they are confronted by an angry Jek who starts attacking Shiki but he just moans in pain instead of fighting back. Ritsuka tries to shield him but Shiki ends up protecting her instead, saying that no one can hurt Ritsuka because she was the only person that made time for him. Because of this, Shiki’s wings got heavily ripped apart by Jek. Ritsuka uses her holy ring and manages to defeat Jek as he falls down from the Tokyo tower.

Devil route:

Not long after this incident, Ritsuka receives news about Azuna’s death along with Azuna’s dagger from a nurse at the exorcist Society. She’s heartbroken and Mage who was with her there comforted her. Shiki sees all this and gets turned on at how heartbroken she is and wants to see more. Ritsuka resents Shiki for causing Azuna’s death but can’t bring herself to lash out on him because of their promise so she avoids him instead. Rem comes to inspect on the incident with Jek and ends up comforting Ritsuka when she tells him about her regrets towards Azuna. 

 Shiki gets jealous seeing this so he kills Rem in front of her.This traumatises her and now the poor girl is terrified of Shiki, what’s worse is that he blames it all on her. Shiki wants to see her terrified even more so he kills Mage and Urie in front of her house just when she was about to ask for their help. Ritsuka decides to isolate herself and Shiki in her grandfather’s old house to prevent him from killing anyone else. She drowns herself with caffeine to stay awake so that Shiki won’t run off elsewhere to kill people. Unfortunately, she eventually falls asleep out of fatigue and Shiki gets bored. So he decides to bring a ‘gift’ for Ritsuka. He ends up bringing a dead Lindo to her, much to her horror.

Devil end 2 (Bad end):

Ritsuka wants nothing but to run away from Shiki. Roen takes this opportunity to get her on his side and keeps her in a barrier he set up. Eventually, Shiki finds out and kills Roen. He takes Ritsuka out of the barrier and shows her that he had brought Maria back from the Vampire’s HQ, half dead. He then kills Maria infront of her, sending Ritsuka into an eternal trance as she fell into despair. In the epilogue, Shiki ends up killing every one of Ritsuka’s classmates and anyone that Ritsuka had interacted with before, hoping to see her despair filled face but since Ritsuka is now a living corpse, she doesn’t respond and just stares blankly in front of her.

Devil end 1 (Good end):

Ritsuka decides to stop Shiki once and for all. She follows him to the Vampire’s castle where her mother still remained unconscious. Just as Shiki was about to kill Maria, Ritsuka takes Azuna’s dagger and stabs him in the heart. In his final words, Shiki tells Ritsuka that he had intended for all this to happen ,so that the both of them could feel pain together. He says he loves her and dies. In the epilogue, Ritsuka brings Maria back home, claiming that she herself was a broken person after all that happened.  

Human route:

Back at the school’s infirmary, they find out that Shiki might not be able to fly again and Ritsuka blames it on herself. She leaves the room to calm down for awhile and Shiki wonders why it doesn’t feel good seeing her cry anymore. He wanders into the streets to think things through and Ritsuka comes back to find him missing so she goes on a search for him. She encounters Roen and he decides to forcefully kidnap her because he wants the grimoire for his Maksisu sama. Shiki comes running to her rescue and Roen eventually reveals that the method to take out the grimoire is to kill Ritsuka. Shiki is unable to defeat Roen because of his injuries so Ritsuka lets her power loose and manages to fend him off. When she wakes up, Shiki’s wounds have healed and he also brought her back to the third library. Rem comes in to talk to Shiki and he ends up lying that he doesn’t know how to get the Grimoire out of Ritsuka. Shiki goes back to Ritsuka and eventually they confess to each other and shared a few kisses. After taking her home, Shiki starts taking care of Ritsuka like the good boyfriend that he should be ^^

Strange phenomenons start happening and turns out it’s the doing of the Angels’ in heaven. They are buttmad that the grimoire's vessel got involved with a former angel, Kirael, Shiki's angel name, and threaten to destroy the world to rid of its malevolence if they don't hand over Ritsuka. Rem questions their sudden interference after staying silent for so long and the angels say that some of Kirael’s blood has been mixed with Ritsuka's and this is causing the grimoire to react abnormally. Turns out, Ritsuka had drank some of Shiki’s blood during their kiss at the library. Ritsuka’s heart starts beating violently causing her to be in pain. Rem and Co eventually find out from Roen about the method to obtain the grimoire and Shiki escapes from them with Ritsuka.

Human end 1 (Good end) :

Shiki flies up to the heavens and confronts the two Archangels. He makes a deal with them that he will protect both the world from destruction and the grimoire from destroying it in exchange for not handing Ritsuka over to them. The arch angels agree to his offer but rudely lets them fall back to the ground 😑😑 some kind of archangels you guys are.  Thankfully, Shiki manages to stop them both from being crushed like watermelons. Ritsuka’s heart starts beating violently causing her to attack anyone at close range. Roen sees shit going down and nopes the fuck outta there because he doesn't want to get BBQ-ed. Shiki insists on saving Ritsuka and ignores how his body gets zapped to get close to her. The other guys and Ritsuka are like “DON’T DO IT” but Shiki ignores them because he’s used to pain. The Grimoire finally vanishes and Ritsuka wakes up to find Shiki injured severely. They kiss before he dies as the angels finally stop their zapping party and praise Shiki for managing to fulfill the deal. Ritsuka's not pleased with their stuck up attitude and calls out on their bullshit.  So the angels granted Shiki a new life and it starts raining white feathers ノ(・ω・)ノ

Shiki is brought back to life as an angel but has to leave to do his angel duties. Before he leaves, he promises Ritsuka that he would always be watching over her from above and flies back to the heavens with a pair of white wings.

In the epilogue, Ritsuka goes back to her ordinary life again. Somehow, they managed to rescue Maria from the Vampire's lair so she's well and alive too. One day, She comes back home to find none other than Shiki waiting for her.  He tells her that he's now a human cause he got bored in heaven and scribbled all over the archangel’s face 😂😂😂 They decided that he's not suitable to be an angel but he's not that terrible to be a devil so they turned him into a human instead lolololol.  With this, they both shared a kiss and lived happily ever after.  

Human end 2 (bad end):

As the both of them are running from Devils and Angels, the wacko exorcists go about slaughtering girls who they suspect is the grimoire much to Ritsuka’s guilt.  They end up hiding in a warehouse along with a mother and her injured child but unfortunately for them, the exorcists were able to find them and end up killing both the mother and the child. This triggers Ritsuka’s powers and she kills the two exorcists. Lindo and Azuna managed to find her but due to her mistaking them for the same exorcists, before Shiki could stop her, she ends up killing them too. Because of this, Ritsuka barely has any of her sanity left and expresses her growing thirst for destruction. In the epilogue, Shiki flies into the sky with Ritsuka in his arms as they watched the world get destroyed into nothing. Ritsuka has given up on any will to live and they both await judgement as the lighting finally zaps them both to their death.  

Concluding Thoughts:

I came in here expecting to have a very intense hatred for Shiki because of his devil route but surprising enough, I was almost tearing up at his human route. Not to mention, compared to Urie’s route, Shiki’s route didn’t really made me feel like flinging my vita out of the window at all. I’m not saying that Shiki never did anything wrong but his actions mostly resembled that of a selfish child’s so it was hard for me to be mad at him. Truthfully, the only time he crossed the line if you don’t count the devil route is during the Vampire’s attack in chapter 9. Most of the time, he wasn’t harming Ritsuka and I wasn’t mad at him for being possessive of her because I can reason with why he’s acting that way. Overall, although he’s not my best boy ,I felt like his Human route was the best one out of everyone. His Devil route was such a horror fest it’s best forgotten tbh I did enjoy the thriller aspect of it tho The only way you could somewhat enjoy it is if you like psychological horror and Yanderes but one thing’s for sure, this route would give you nightmares.

Left Door routes:      Rem   Lindo   Roen

Right Door Routes:  Mage    Urie    

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