he loos like an angel here ;;;;;

anonymous asked:

Hilary, I just finished chapter 22 of Incacerus and I did not ask to be gutted by Scarlet Hook feelings today. *throws bloody heart at your feet* GO TO YOUR ROOM AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE. And now I really want to read a Scarlet Hook smut fic where they're both stupidly happy and sappy and in love. Or better yet, a fic where Captain Scarlet Swan is a thing. Damn me, and damn you.

well, it’s not exactly fluffy, but this is Will and Killian’s back story in Incarcerus: how they met, some details on Will’s past, and perhaps a few other things as well. @lenfaz, @bisexual-killian-jones, this is for you.

Will Scarlet met Killian Jones more or less exactly where one would expect a drunk werewolf and a heartbroken vampire to cross paths: in a pub in Covent Garden, some place that used to be some historic something or other, but had burned down a long time ago and gone through various iterations, some more embarrassing than others (little Waitrose, just in case you couldn’t get your essential crème brûlées and ostrich eggs at your regular pit of yuppie despair) before finally being bought by new owners determined to turn the site back into the tavern it had been in ye olden days, whenever those were. (History was not Will’s forte.) After doing some research, they determined that the establishment which used to stand here had been called the Hook and Compass, and thus named their painstakingly rebuilt place of business accordingly. It was a bit pretentious, really: all the wood aged to look as if it had been here since the sixteenth century, low ceilings and dim corners, crooked beams, the lot, all in order to sucker in impressionable tourists eager to part with their money in an authentic English pub experience. It was therefore also not a place in which Will would have been caught dead even in the immortal sense of the word, but well, breakups had that effect on a bloke. It was better than sitting in his flat staring at Ana’s stuff and trying to remind himself to call the bin men in the morning. It briefly occurred to him that he should donate the lot to charity, just so some bit of good could come out of this entire sorry situation, but he had not found himself inclined to make abstract altruistic gestures. Or any at all, really. Fuck her, and fuck him, and especially fuck filthy rich investment bankers who drove Bentleys and successfully promised Ana a life of luxury beyond any she had ever known. He should have seen this coming, from the moment he scraped and saved to get them out of bloody Derby.

Therefore, Will stumbled into the Hook and Compass that night simply because he had ridden the Tube from Ealing, got off at Covent Garden because it was the busiest, and did his best to lose himself in the crowd. The other option – going mental and wolfing out – would be severely frowned upon by the head of the London Pack, a self-righteous hipster named Quinn who had not gotten his position by fighting the previous alpha bloodily to the death a la the olden days, but by amassing the most votes in an online contest, involving a lot of pictures of him staring soulfully into the camera like an Abercrombie underwear model. But even with such apparently flimsy credentials, Quinn had proven to be no joke in power. Wolves not getting with his program were issued two warnings before their third and final one ordering them to leave the city, and Will was already skating on massively thin ice what with various other unfortunate incidents (he didn’t mean to steal stuff, he never did, but when people just left it there, what was he supposed to do?) Getting a third strike would just be the crap cherry atop the shit sundae, and he refused to have it happen like this. Might as well drown his sorrows in overpriced craft beer and a whiskey or three. Wasn’t as if he had anyone else to spend money on anymore.

Will had been drinking steadily for a few hours when he became aware of someone watching him from the corner. Not just someone, but a Teeth, which was surprising in light of the fact that the rest of the clientele was definitely human, and not the kind of humans who knew about vampires or were offering themselves up to be fed on. Hence it was highly suspicious to see him here skulking in the shadows (was that something all of them just knew how to do, the skulking?) as if waiting for a sufficiently drunk target to wander past. Indeed Will tensed, having sudden visions of him heroically smashing a beer stein over this interloper’s head to prevent him from noshing on the table of pretty American co-eds nearby, thus proving to Ana what a fool she had been to ever leave him in the first place. Maybe they’d give him a medal.

“Hey,” he said in an undertone, when the bartender had moved off. “I’m watching you, mate.”

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