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shaalk · 4 years ago

Text

Forgive me

Type: Oneshot

Characters: Jongin X Reader

Genre: Slight angst, Fluff, Exes to lovers

Warnings: Swearing

Status: Completed

Summary: Going abroad to study was one of the best decisions I have ever made and I have no regrets about it. I do however, regret the way things ended between me and my ex.

Words: 1551

“Grandma!” I squeal as I run to tackle my grandmother in a bear hug.

I can’t help but smother her with kisses. I haven’t seen her in 4 years and I really miss her.

“I miss you so much!” I whine with a pout, not letting her escape from my death grip.

“Do you miss me or my cooking?” She asks with suspicion. I just offer her a sheepish smile which makes her chuckle wholeheartedly.

“So, where’s your boyfriend? I haven’t seen him in ages either!” My grandmother complains.

I stiffen and my megawatt smile is instantly wiped off.

I don’t know how to tell her that we broke up and that we did 4 years ago, just before I left Seoul to study in London. My grandmother loved my boyfriend and I know she still does, the news of our breakup will definitely upset her.

I am wracking my brain to think of an excuse to give my grandmother when suddenly, a warm hand envelopes mine. I look up and my eyes widen.

“Hi grandma!”

“Jongin! Come and give grandma a hug!” I watch as my grandmother pulls my ex-boyfriend into a snuggle. They pull away and my grandmother pinches his cheeks, like she always does.

“You’ve gotten so handsome in the time grandma didn’t see you,” my grandmother continues, still gushing over Jongin. He rubs his nape as a blush creeps up his cheeks, he was never good at accepting compliments.

I zone out for some time until I realise that my grandmother is looking at me expectantly, while Jongin is completely avoiding my eyes.

“Sorry what did you say grandma?” I question.

“When are you guys going to get married? Grandma isn’t getting any younger, I want to play with my great grand-children as soon as possible!” She probes teasingly with a suggestive wink.

“Grandma!” I cry, utterly embarrassed.

“Ok fine! Grandma is hungry. I’ll talk to you guys later, let me get some food first!” With that, she leaves the 2 of us in the living room and goes to join the rest of the guests in the backyard.

As soon as my grandmother is out of sight, I let go of Jongin’s hand immediately. I mumble a quick thank you, and slowly shuffle towards the dining room as well.

“Can we talk in private?” I freeze.

I really don’t want to be alone with Jongin. But since he helped me in front of my grandmother, I guess I owe him.

“Sure.”

We climb the stairs to my room where we can have a more private conversation, away from the prying eyes and ears of my relatives and friends.

As soon as I enter my room, I plop down on my bed, suddenly tired from greeting the numerous guests who are in attendance of my ‘welcome home’ party.

I take my time to check the messages on my phone while Jongin looks around my room a little.

Once I reply to the final message, I lock my phone and chuck it to the other side of my bed. I notice that Jongin is idling in front of my photo wall.

My eyes round in realisation. I haven’t taken off our couple pictures, and there were quite a few of them. I spring into action, jumping off the bed and rushing to pull our photos off the wall.

“Oops! I didn’t clean my room before I left for London and I haven’t had time to clean since I came back either, since i’ve been busy catching up with my friends,” I explain hurriedly as I shove our pictures into my desk drawer.

I then go back to sit on my bed as if nothing happened.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask, trying to seem nonchalant and like I am not affected by his presence at all.

From the corner of my eyes, I catch sight of Jongin making his way towards me. Soon, he is standing right in front of me and my eyes dart up to meet his like moths drawn to a flame.

For a while, we remain in the same position, just staring at each other. I am finally able to properly take in how Jongin looks.

He still looks the same as he did before I left for London. The only differences are that his jawline is sharper and he is a little tanner. He’s also looking a lot bulkier.

Looks like someone goes to the gym.

He is wearing a plain black top that shouldn’t make him look amazing but does, because it is highlighting his newly gained muscles that weren’t there in the past.

But i’m not one to complain.

I don’t know how long I have been appreciating Jongin’s body but when he clears his throat, I break out of my reverie. I feel my cheeks heating up since I have been caught staring at him for so long.

“I’m sorry.” Jongin interrupts the silence.

I am caught off guard with his apology. I don’t even know what he is apologising for. Not trusting myself to speak, I just raise my brows in question.

Jongin sighs sadly before coming to sit down beside me and taking my hands in his. Meanwhile, I am still confused.

“I’m sorry for what I did and said to you 4 years ago before you left for London.”

Oh.

“As your boyfriend, I should have supported your dream of wanting to study abroad. Instead, I was selfish, I just wanted you to stay by my side. When I told you that if you really went to London, I could easily replace you in a heartbeat, I totally didn’t mean it. That was such a hateful thing for me to say and I still fucking loathe myself to this day for saying such a thing to you.”

I suddenly feel something wet on my hands. Jongin is crying. My heart clenches. Soon enough, I feel my own tears forming. I was never good at holding my tears in, especially if I see someone else cry.

“You were perfect for me, and you still are. I could never replace you darling, and I never did. I’m sorry for breaking up with you, i’m sorry for not supporting your dreams and i’m sorry for saying all those mean things to you.”

Jongin lets go of my hands to cup my face between his warm palms. He gently wipes the tears off my cheeks with the pads of his fingers and then tilts my face upwards so that we’re making eye contact.

“Please forgive me sweetheart! I was an idiot and an asshole. I regret everything I did to you before you left for London.” Jongin continues rambling on and on about how sorry he is and asking if I can ever forgive him.

Honestly, thinking back, I was never mad at Jongin. Of course the words he said to me stung like a bitch, but I understood his feeling of not wanting to be apart from his girlfriend.The breakup was partly my fault too since I never mentioned to him that I had applied to universities overseas. I also dropped the bomb of my departure a few days before I actually had to leave Seoul.

Jongin is still continuously apologising and asking for forgiveness. Seeing no other way to stop him, I grab his face and pull him into a kiss, effectively shutting him up.

When I pull away, Jongin’s eyes are almost popping out of their sockets and his lips are parted in shock. He looks so cute and I am really trying my hardest to restrain from squealing loudly.

“That was the only way I could shut you up,” I start with a shrug. “And you're forgiven, even though I wasn't really mad at you. Now come on, let’s head back down before someone thinks we’re doing something funny up here,” I tell Jongin as I head towards the door.

My grip is on the doorknob when I feel a tug on my wrist. I am swivelled around to face Jongin sporting a deep frown, something always visible when he is nervous or hiding something from me.

“Can you be my girlfriend again?” Jongin asks in a small voice and with a slight pout. I can feel his palm sweating and I think I can even hear his heart beating wildly if I listen really closely.

Could Kim Jongin get any cuter????

Not receiving an immediate answer from me, he starts rambling again about how sorry he is for the past and that he will totally understand if I don’t want him as my boyfriend again, but that he will also be really sad if I don’t accept him.

“Come on, I think grandma wants to talk to you more. She really misses you.” I pull Jongin’s grip off my wrist and exit my room.

“Wait! Is that a yes or a no?” I hear Jongin’s panic shouting and heavy footsteps running after me as I descend the stairs to the backyard, where my family and friends are.

I bite my bottom to control the smile that is brewing even though I know the male can’t see it.

As if I will ever give up the chance to be Kim Jongin’s girlfriend again.

A/N: Let me know what you think! Please drop a comment :)

#exo #exosnet #exowritersnet #exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #exo fic #jongin #jongin fanfiction #jongin scenarios #jongin fic #kai #kai fanfiction #kai scenarios #kai fic

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psychopersonified · 5 years ago

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Tale of the second drawer...

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

--------

Q pokes at the plaster with his undamaged hand, tracing the outlines of what must be an impressive blister underneath. “Owww... With luck, I might end up with a wicked scar. Makes for an interesting conversation starter.”

Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumbs running back and forth lightly over the open palm.

Q can’t help but laugh at that,......

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

Agent 006

“Yes I know, our appointment was 2 hours ago. Sorry Q, M had me in his office for 2 more hours than expected,” Trevelyan apologises when he reports to Q.

Q looks up from the textbook he is consulting with and peers over his glasses at him. The text is a mass of hexagonal scribbles and lines that 006 recognises as chemistry symbols. There are handwritten notes in the margins and liberal application of highlighter all over the page.

“Ah 006, no worries. Your kit is waiting for you on the table,” Q gestures to the workbench behind 006 where a brushed aluminium case sits. Inside are what looks like a dozen silver pens.

“Deposit them around the areas of interest and it will detect any wireless enabled equipment within its radius. This will allow us to find the weakest link and likeliest backdoor where we can tunnel in with. As you can imagine, it only has a limited battery life, so you’ll need to be strategic about using them and coordinate with us for the timing—...”

Alec tries to listen carefully to the instructions, but his stomach objects to being ignored any longer and makes its displeasure known - loudly. The meeting with M ate (pun intended) into his lunch hour.

Q pauses going over the instructions. Trevelyan gives him a thin lipped smile hiding his embarrassment.

“...Hungry? There are some snacks in the second drawer.” Q motions to his desk with a tilt of his head.

“Ta!..” 006 all but skips to the desk. There is a selection of protein snacks and Alec rummages through the drawer to find a variety he likes. As he shuffles through the drawer, the other contents piques his interest. He peeks at Q who is still preoccupied with repacking his kit.

006 takes the opportunity to investigate:

a pair of solid gold cufflinks - judging by the weight

aviator sunglasses - non prescription, not Q’s

an Aston Martin car key fob with a separate key attached to it - the key does not correspond to the car, its for a door or a lock.

a neatly folded tie, heavy silk, designer label - not Q’s usual style

Curiouser and curiouser. Finally, an employee ID badge - he flips it over, a very familiar face is printed on the ID. James Bond.

Alec smiles -confirmation-. 006 sees it for what it is. But it is odd that the Quartermaster tolerates such territorial behaviour - unless a) the feeling is mutual or b) he’s not aware of it, which is more likely. He wouldn’t have let Alec rummage through his drawer otherwise. Oh James, you poor smitten sod.

“Anything to your liking 006?” Q catches him smiling.

Alec grabs a random protein snack, rips it open and takes a huge bite of the bar. “Oh…mmm….” he chews around his words, “—thank you.” He holds up the bar in thanks.

When Q turns back around, 006 thinks this is the perfect opportunity to screw with 007... but how? How do you piss off a possessive territorial lion? ...By planting blatant evidence of intrusion of course!

Alec checks himself, his tie-pin - gold and crusted with small diamonds. Much too gaudy for 007’s tastes. It’s the perfect juxtaposition. He unclips it and drops it into the drawer.

When he leaves Q-Branch, he’s feeling particularly wicked. Its ingrained in him, to look for and act on opportunities when it presents itself. The others would expect no less of him. He pulls out his phone to text 003 with his discovery.

Agent 003

Two weeks later, 003 returns from her mission seducing the son of a manufacturing tycoon in South East Asia, with links to human traffickers luring workers into modern slavery that span the region from Philippines to India.

She stops by Q’s desk to return her kit consisting mostly of trackers and hidden video cameras. They all served their purpose but one of them had an issue with the sound quality. She recalls the text 006 sent her weeks earlier so before leaving, she contrives feeling hungry.

“Q, you don’t happen to have something to munch on do you? I’m feeling… peckish.”

Q is pre-occupied, checking over the piece of equipment with a macroscope to understand what went wrong. “Oh, second drawer. Help yourself to whatever.”

Perfect. She goes to his desk to retrieve a snack. She only needs to remove the first packet and she has to stifle a laugh.

She spots 006’s panther shaped Cartier tie pin, next to it is 005’s Tiffany tanzanite and platinum drop earrings along with 002’s Bvlgari gold and onyx signet ring. Finally under all of it is 008’s Hermes silk pocket square.

Shoved further into the back of the drawer are the items that Alec told her about, those that belong to 007. The ID badge pushed right to the back facing down - you’d be hard pressed to notice it if you didn’t know it was there.

She had heard that 007 won’t back from Venezuela till Friday, so she’s just in time to add her calling card. She shifts around the snack packets to burry 007’s things and then drops in a stick of Chanel No5 lipstick in its signature flaming red tube - 007 will not be able to miss that.

----—

Quartermaster

Last 36 hours had been exhausting. Q had altogether probably 3 hours of sleep in that period. And he needs a shower. The cats are alright, he just checked the cameras - Q has an automated feeder set up for emergencies like this.

Q had spent the better part of the time hacking into system after system covering tracks, laying traps, planning infiltration and escape routes; all culminating in last night’s tense Ops trying to save 009 from premature death when his cover was blown by a double crossing informant. It was over now, with 009 safely extracted by their allies and on his way back to England with miraculously minor injuries all things considered.

So yes, his hand eye coordination is shot. His fingers slip on his mug handle and liquid sloshes over the top, splashing over his shirt and onto his desk. Q uses his tie to quickly mop up the spilled tea before it spreads onto the paper schematic open on his desk.

He takes the mess to the pantry sink to cleanup. The wet spot on his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Its a good thing he’d removed his cardigan earlier. He can hide the stain on his shirt under it.

As he’s attempting to remove the stain and dry his shirt as much as possible he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out - its a text from Eve:

:: Where are you?? Meeting’s started ::

What meeting? Q tries to recall. He checks his calendar app. Shit! 2:00 pm Joint Executive Oversight meeting. He checks the time. 2:15pm!

He abandons the mug and tie next to the sink. No time to wash it now.

Q rushes back to his office to put on his cardigan. The cardigan doesn’t hide the topmost stain - a tie would do the trick. Also god forbid he walks into the meeting dressed so causally. They would think the young Quartermaster was starting a mutiny.

There must be a spare tie in his desk somewhere - Q thinks as he rummages through his drawers. He’s about to ask Nish to borrow his tie when his hand brushes fabric under the stash of snacks and protein bars. He fishes it out - a tie! Yes! He loops it around his neck and starts to tie it - the knot is uneven, but he has no time to worry about it now.

He grabs his laptop and rushes out the door - informing Nish about the meeting and the mess he left next to the pantry sink. He’ll clean it up later.

In the lift on the way up, as he adjusts the hastily knotted tie - he tries to remember when was it that he purchased an accessory this fancy.

——

After meeting. He tries to get back to being productive to make himself feel better. What an ordeal; he had to face-off with Timothy Hayden (IT-Branch HOD) in the meeting - no surprise there. Normally he’d be fine to hold his own. But today, suffering from sleep depravation and a wardrobe mishap meant that he was uncharacteristically flustered, which Hayden took advantage of.

His stained and slightly damp shirt front was passably hidden behind the cardigan and tie, but it still made him self-conscious. What was more, Tanner and Eve kept looking at him oddly. The navy replacement tie looked dark enough in warm light, but when it caught the harsher fluorescent light, it had a slight iridescence to it that clashed with his mustard cardigan - it clearly wasn’t his style nor his tie.

Q fires up the soldering iron. He plans to finish the circuit board for the prototype controller that will be used in a portable drone. Once he confirms it works, he’ll have the schematics sent to a manufacturer to have it miniaturised. He could at least get this bit done today.

Twenty minutes into the ‘zone’ and he has finished a round of soldering. He pauses to check his work against the overall drawing. It doesn’t look quite right.

What? He flips the drawing around. Argh! He grabs a fistful of his hair in frustration. It’s upside down!

He slams his hands down on the work table. The vibration causes the soldering iron resting on its holder to tip over. The weight of its power cord starts to pull it off the table.

Reflex makes him shoot out his hand to grab the iron. But instead of grabbing the handle he misjudges and grabs the tip instead. The 400’C tip burns his palm instantly.

“Ah!!” Q yelps and jolts back in pain. The pain makes him drop the iron - right into his lap.

He stands hastily to avoid the heated tip - and bangs the back of his head against the top baffle of the fume cabinet as well as upending the stool he was sitting on.

“Fuck!!” The escaped curse is something between a hiss and a yell.

His pained curses and bangs draws his minions to investigate. Nish pokes his head around the corner and asks “You alright sir?”

Nish takes in the toppled chair, the disheveled hair, and the way Q is holding on to his hand and makes the correct deduction. Who hasn’t burned themselves soldering?

“Go to medical boss. I’ll tidy this up for you.”

Q hangs his head in utter defeat and sighs heavily. “I’m done for the day I think. Thanks Nish.”

--—-

Agent 007

Bond is back at HQ. Ops had made it clear that he must hand them the USB stick with the time sensitive info he stole as soon as he gets back. They need to link together the web of supply chain involving the cocaine shipment from Venezuela-France-England before the people involved go back into hiding.

So here he is, direct delivery from Heathrow. He had handed the USB stick to R since Q wasn’t around. Then he had gone to the Quartermaster’s desk and the second drawer to retrieve a snack while he waits for Q to return. As jet-lagged as he is, he hasn’t seen the quartermaster for nearly a month and well... he wants more than just the voice to sustain him.

Something on top of the packet grabs his attention. A bright red tube of lipstick. What the...? He shifts the contents around, a gaudy diamond and gold panther tie pin?? And whose bloody pocket square is that???

He checks the lipstick label - Chanel No5… Bloody 003!

He takes stock of the other items again, they -all- look familiar. How do they even know about this drawer? Did Q just let anyone rummage though his desk? Worse, are those snacks not just for him?

And what about his things? A first he can’t find them, then he pulls the drawer all the way out, until the wheels catch on the stoppers. They’re buried under a pile of snacks and shoved all the way to the back. Everything is there, no wait - except the tie.

He slams the drawer shut with enough force to move the desk a few centimetres. Those bastards!

Bond storms out of Q-Branch. None of them better be in the building, especially Trevelyan. This whole thing reeks of his idea.

——

Quartermaster

Medical patched him up and sent him away with a box of hydrogel burn plasters. Dr Chen tells him that they stock it specially for Q-Branch. But that also means she is obligated to report the incident as a work place accident. Great, more paperwork and the irony of having the HOD become a statistic.

Q shuffles morosely back to Q-Branch - will this day end already. He figures he should have a nap before going home. At this rate he is likely to accidentally walk right into the path of a moving bus on the way home.

There is a set of old brown leather Chesterfield sofas, deliberately semi-hidden behind a rack of storage shelves on this floor of Q-Branch. A relic of the 1950s in perfect condition that they found in storage during one of their inventory audits. Q had it brought out to serve as a makeshift lounge, usually used by those working late nights or during pizza parties after CyberWar nights.

He removes his cardigan to use as a blanket and flops onto the sofa.

Hours later, he wakes up and the place is mostly dark except for the safety lighting. Most of his minions have gone home. It’s not uncommon to leave Q here alone when he’s pulling all nighters, but the last person would usually check in on him before they left. Not tonight.

Q indulges in a good stretch and sits up. His head feels better. It doesn’t feel like its swimming or floating anymore. But he is hungry.

He makes way to his desk to collect his things but stops short - startled by the sight of 007 lounging in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, a textbook on Advanced Biofuels open in his hands. He’s not wearing a suit, just a button down shirt and khakis which probably means he just got back from Caracas and hasn’t gone home yet.

“You’re back. What are you doing here?” Q asks softly. Genuine question, what is he doing sitting in a darkened Q-Branch.

“Came to drop off the usb drive. I’ve given it to R since the Quartermaster was temporarily out of commission.”

“Ah. Sorry about that — “ checks his watch and yawns. “That must have been hours ago. What are you still doing here then?”

Bond doesn’t answer. Instead he asks, “Is that my tie?” gestures to the loosened tie around his neck.

“Is it yours? I was wondering about it. I found it in my desk.” Q undos the tie and folds it back neatly before handing it over to Bond. As he does, he notices his own tie now hanging on the shade of his desk worklamp. He reaches for it.

“Leave it. It should dry by Monday.” Bond tells him.

Q opens his mouth to tell him that it needs a wash, but pauses when he catches sight of his Scrabble mug on the table under the light of the worklamp, the white porcelain gleaming pristine - he peeks inside, even the stubborn tea stains are gone. Q blinks in confusion.

Something about the way the two items are arranged prominently on his desk and the feigned nonchalance hiding a pleased look on Bond’s face that makes him wonder.

“Did you.. wash my tie and mug?” Q is having trouble putting together the image of 007 fresh from an infiltration job in Venezuela that involved drug trafficking and a traitorous national guard, then returning to England to do something so mundanely domestic in the pantry sink - by hand no less.

Bond doesn’t answer, then again Q doesn’t expect him to admit it even if he did. He just opens the second desk drawer purposefully and deposits the borrowed tie back in there.

“Are you hungry Q?” Bond asks instead. “Can I tempt you with supper?”

There it is. That odd way that Bond sometimes says ‘Q’ when they are alone. That slight change in tone - softer, less clipped and almost affectionate. He’s beginning to be able to tell Bond’s ‘Qs’ apart.

At the mention of food, Q’s stomach responds with an embarrassing gurgle. “Famished. Something hot with fast service please. I don’t know how much longer I can survive without solid food.”

Bond smiles, pivoting in the chair to put his feet down. He picks up and hands Q his messenger bag - laptop and charger already packed inside, keys and phone in their usual compartments.

Then he switches off the worklamp and picks up an unsealed brown envelope from the desk before ushering Q out of his own office. The package rustles-jingles with the sound of loose items sliding about inside.

“Advanced Biofuels.... How did you like the book?”

“The scribbles in the margins were enlightening,” Bond smiles wryly, “Was it even written in English?”

In the brighter lights of the lift lobby, Q can see his own refection in the lift doors - the washed out tea stains still visible on his shirt and his frightfully mussed hair from the nap. He thinks he should be embarrassed, but can’t bring himself to care. When he looks up, he sees Bond staring him through the reflection.

“Don’t ask—“

“I figured… the mug and tie in the pantry, and the splotch on your desk.”

“Bloody spies.” Q accuses fondly as they step into the lift. He tries to adjust his cardigan so that it hides most of the stains.

“How’s the hand?” Bond asks concerned, his warm fingers reaching out and curling around Q’s that were fussing with his cardigan. He pulls them away from their fussing and spreads them palm up so he can see for himself.

Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumb running back and forth lightly over the open palm.

Q can’t help but laugh at that, the flirting is so ingrained into their banter now that both of them recognise the ridiculousness of it. With the others, it is still a competition, a display of one up-manship - but with 007, it has shifted. Like they’ve called a truce, or simply didn’t care about the outcome anymore. Between them, the rules have changed. The fun was no longer in deciding a winner with a knockout blow, but in the simple joy of engaging in comfortable playfulness for as long as possible.

“I don’t know about the science of that; but I will give you the honour of hand feeding an invalid,” Q counters with a line of his own.

At the mention of hand feeding, Bond’s eyes go darker, pupils dilating. He doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t release Q’s hand until the lift dings on their floor which was (un)fortunately just a moment after.

On their way out to Bond’s car they stop at a security desk. Bond tips out the contents of the envelope onto her desk and leaves the empty envelope next to the items. The night guard’s eyes grow wide at the collection of expensive trinkets.

“Would you mind putting these in the Lost and Found please? Their owners are probably anxious to have them back. Thank you.” He walks back to a waiting Q with a smug smile.

—————-----------------

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

#00Q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #Quartermaster

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kazbrkker · 5 years ago

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Chapter 2: Valley of the Damned

Chapter summary: Alexis and Alex are finally reunited after three long months. Now, their new assignment is to locate the gas. To do so, they have to align themselves with a local militia. Alexis finds herself reuniting with more than one old friend (2544 words)

Warnings: Mention of needles. Weapons and violence.

24 OCTOBER 2019, 1515 “Alexis" CIA BASE, Urzikstan

Clutching his IV stand, Alex enveloped her into a long overdue embrace, exchanging warm words of reconciliation. She smirked, appreciating the humorous view of a 6"1 man dressed in a knee-length surgical gown. It was a feast for her sore eyes, after months of doomsday work, it was liberating to genuinely enjoy a laugh.

"You look like shit." Aside from his flesh injuries and his newly grown scruff, Alex felt leaner under her fingertips. The bags underneath their eyes were darker, heavier with the weight of the dark, frightful world that they had witnessed.

Three months had since passed. While Alexis was tasked with chasing the mess left in Valhalla's wake, Alex was stationed everywhere Command pleased. Texts of good health weren't the same as physically seeing each other. Most of the time, it was a one-way communication with Alex's inconsistent replies, understandable as he was restlessly deployed from one hostile environment to the next.

"And that's the first thing you say to me? How kind of you, Lexi."

"Please. Your nicknames are horrible."

They pulled away shortly after, the hug was enough to remedy for the lost three months. Although his arm remained on her shoulders, which normally would have earned him a harsh jab. Today, the injured man received immunity.

She turned back to face the CIA station chief, who watched their reunion with the faintest of a smile and morphed back into the cold, professional agent that Laswell knew best.

The duo sat down while Laswell started her debrief. There was limited intel on where or who stole the gas. Satellite images discovered only the abandoned trucks five miles outside Verdansk, with intercepted chatter suggesting that they switched vehicles.

In short, the CIA doesn't know jack about the stolen gas.

"Your primary mission is to locate the gas and secure it." Laswell ordered.

Alexis inquired, "How are we transporting the package?"

"Anonymous tip off, zero footprints. Russia cannot know that American operatives have a part in this."

"Third option, then." The young agent stated, scanning her brain for any holes she needed Laswell to fill. Third option was the SAD's motto, representing everything they stood for – when diplomacy fails and military wasn't an option.

"We're on our own." Alex followed, eyes briefly flickering to Alexis.

Laswell shook her head, which surprised them. "Normally, yes. But with the rising situation, we need to locate the gas fast. You will need the Liberation Force on your side, a local militia of 7000 strong. Use Captain Price's name to make contact with the CO, that should get you in."

"Commander Karim," Alexis straightened up. Looks like Alex was not the only old friend she was reuniting with.

"You know Commander Karim?" Laswell asked for the second time for today, pleasantly surprised.

She merely hummed, thinking know might not be the right word. A soft smirk formed at the memory. Without elaborating further, it left the other two to their imaginations.

"Command is not sparing any expenses. Anything you need, radio in. They expect the Aces to bring it home as always." Laswell continued. "Go freshen up. We'll reconvene at 1800 for mission prep."

Over the years, she had mastered the art of reading in between the lines of Command's orders. We expect nothing but mission success, you cannot afford the price of your blowback. She agreed, failure was nonexistent in her books, for the hefty price would be paid by innocent lives. There was always too much riding on every assignment, pressurizing, to say the least.

"Yes ma'am," were the last words she said with a crude nod before exiting, practically bolting out the door.

Alexis mischievously checked her wristwatch as Alex sidestepped down the stairs, IV stand in toll. She laughed, draping his uninjured arm across her shoulders for support, "Jesus, you look like you could sprain a muscle climbing down those steps."

Alex derided, "That's hilarious."

He abruptly halted, earning a confused side glance. His hands brazenly clasped Alexis' face, the rough edges of his thumb contouring her features. A grinned continuously while examining her face, utilizing Urkzistan's pounding sunlight to highlight her sharp features.

His piercing blue eyes took her in. A little tanner, irritated veins hiding shyly in her eyes, cheekbones were more sunken than the last time he saw her.

"Alex... It's like you're begging me to tackle you right here–" She struggled over her words as he tilted her head, calloused fingers tightly squishing her cheekbones to counter her resistance. "You really want to fall flat on your ass, in a surgical gown in front of the Marines?"

He finally released her with a satisfied hum.

"Just jealous that Paris has been treating you so well." He messed with her neat bun, cooing at her irked expression. "Did you get 'em highlighted?"

Alexis peered with a sickly sweet, uncomfortably wide smile for her usual cold and expressionless face. Her fingers traced along where his IV needle was embedded and pressed hard. A pained groan fell from his lips, clutching onto her shoulder blades for silent mercy.

"That's hilarious," she echoed, taking quick nods at his sarcastic smile and nervous laughter. "I'll admit, my target sure knew how to pick his places. Quel beau coucher de soleil! (What a beautiful sunset!)"

She was being sarcastic. Showers were considered a luxury — being tasked on recon all the time, let alone to enjoy the damn sunset.

He scowled in response, hurriedly plucking out his IV drip afterwards. He watched as she observed the scenery in the Urzikstan base, or rather, the lack thereof. She sighed, "Alex, I–"

Alex interjected before she said something self-deprecating. "Our job-"

"Our job never ends. I know..." She recited with Alex, a genuine smile as she looked back at him. It was remarkable how Alex always intuitively knew how she was feeling, a honed skill that he now specialized in when it came to her. "Just wish I could have seen it through the end. To catch Val–"

She quickly apologized for the almost slip. Alex strained his eyebrows at the unexpected mistake, now understanding the true extent of how her Paris mission affected her – for she wasn't one to be that careless.

Unbeknownst to the public, there were a series of bombings in various parts of the world tied to Boucher's MO. The puzzling detail was that Boucher had solid alibis when it all happened. That was enough for the CIA to launch an investigation to find out Boucher had turned contractual.

That was Alexis' assignment, to find out Boucher's buyer.

He wanted to divulge more, but he couldn't. In order for the government to maintain plausible deniability, every SAD operation was clandestine, deniable. Nothing, even in the face of true friendships, people that you trust your life with, would ever change that. Even the closest peas in a pod – the two of them, knew little about each other's assignments.

And sometimes, it really pissed him off. It made it more difficult to keep each other safe.

Alex sighed, pulling her closer against him, injuries be damned.

What he could empathize with, was the pool of helplessness flooding their hearts when they get pulled away from assignments they believe in. Coupled with the fact they never get to choose, it was a cold splash of reality that they could only accept, never protest.

That sentence served as a reminder to anchor the pair, to never lose sight of their beliefs. At the end of the day, whatever you do, trust that you are still for the greater good.

Our job never ends.

The greater good is always calling. Even if it wasn't the one they wanted.

━━━━ 26 OCTOBER 2019, 1300 "Alexis" and "Alex", Codename Aces CIA Assets Liberation Force Base, Urzikstan

The unsightly, plain cement building stared Alexis back in the face. It appeared awfully residential, pieces of cloth hanging loosely from its hinges.

Stationed just behind the corner of the militia's perimeters, arms folded, she watched Alex slid a combat knife in his left boot. "That's overdoing it, don't you think?"

"Empty your right boot, Lexi, let's see it."

"Left boot." She corrected with a wagging finger. He shoved it back playfully. "The right boot is reserved for a handcuff key and some razors– Which I will use on you, if you keep it up with that nickname."

Alex ignored her demands and rolled his eyes, mumbling the same sentiment about overdoing it. Now standing up, he stared down as she held a proud grin, "Not when it breaks you out of custody from the mob."

At this mention, the playful mood disappeared. She pursed her lips and raised her hands apologetically at the sight of Alex's tensed body language, knowing the joke was in poor taste. He had always disliked it when she joked about that. It went silent after that.

It was in the mid-afternoon when the duo intentionally breached the militia's perimeter to make contact, hands raised defensively. It didn't take past five seconds before armed soldiers besieged them, yelling in Arabic at the pair.

Alex took charge, his voice unwavering as he used Captain Price's name as ordered. The two slowly disarmed as a form of sincerity to prove they weren't a threat. Their eyes met as they were slammed onto the rough gravel. With fire in his eyes, Alex stared at the man patting down Alexis' body, daring them to try anything. On the contrary, the female agent was calm and composed.

"I'll follow your lead." His head tilted in confusion at her request. Alexis should take lead, they were her contacts.

"It's been a hazy five years. Plus, you're so handsome. Come on, you'll drop 'em dead." She commented elusively, entering his good graces again when a tiny grin surfaced. "Also, if you introduce me with that God forbidden name, you know what's in my boots."

"Hey. Right boot, don't forget."

"Look who's a fast learner."

They were escorted into a dark room to Commander Karim.

"What is your message from Captain Price?" Commander Karim spoke first. She examined the two intruders, eyes lingering longer on the brunette woman.

"Commander Karim. Call me Alex, this is Alexis." Gradually, the Commander's cautious expression was tainted with a hint of surprise – she remembered. Farah nodded an acknowledgement towards Alexis, arms crossed defensively. The female agent's presence was surprising, so was Captain Price's name drop. But that wasn't sufficient to lower her guard.

"I'm listening."

They requested complete privacy for the classified intel. The commander reverted back to her mother tongue, ordering the soldiers to leave them.

"Forty-eight hours ago, terrorists stole a shipment of Russian gas."

"Only Al-Qatala would do this." Commander Karim stated confidently.

Alexis remained seated, her face expressionless per usual. On the other hand, Alex stood up, confidence radiating as he sauntered around the table. She smirked, confidence was the one thing nobody could pry away from Alex.

The man was naturally charming, easy on the eyes and gifted with a silver tongue to wiggle him out of sticky situations. This trait of his was why he thrived well in hostile environments, due to his natural ability to quickly form bonds with local militias, which Command milked every single drop of it.

She knew Alex had his doubts about the militia group and he wasn't afraid to sugarcoat it. Audaciousness was one of their common traits, they want to know exactly what they were dealing with.

So she lets him get audacious.

"The Russians make no distinction between Al-Qatala and your people." With that bold statement, Alexis leaned deeper into her seat.

"And I make no distinction between Al-Qatala and their army. They are both terrorists." Commander Karim narrowed her eyes, "We would never use these poisons."

Alex nodded, the delay between nods still suggested doubt. "Then help us track it, before they–"

"Before they what? Take it to Europe? Or America?" Farah chuckled bitterly, side-eyeing Alexis. Unspoken tension circled the air as the two women's gazes met. "We live like this every day."

Alex glanced at his partner suspiciously.

The door swung open and a younger man entered the room. "Commander, it's time to go–" He halted at the presence of new company. "Who is this?"

"Alex, this is my brother and lieutenant, Hadir. Alena, you already know him."

"Unfortunately." She replied without missing a beat, feeling Alex's perplexed gaze burning a deep hole in her side profile.

Despite knowing better, he was futilely searching for a tell that he wouldn't find. He asked himself, what is she not telling me?

Farah Karim shrugged, humored. The hostility in Hadir's eyes washed away instantly upon recognizing the brown-haired woman. "Alena! What are you doing with the CIA?"

"Alexis." She rectified. "I work with the CIA now," The brunette rosed from her seat, a small nod in her first act of mutual acknowledgement to the familiar faces.

Their eyebrows raised at the revelation. "A lot has changed," Farah stated as a matter of fact.

Alexis recognized the wary looks in their eyes. Her palms rippled in reassuring waves, "I still work with Captain Price. So does Alex."

"Then you still kill Russians, yes?"

"We have friends who can help us. But, your sister decides what's next." Alex replied, tactfully using the situation to deliver this sole sentence that demonstrated their respect for the militia's authority and established the CIA's usefulness. Alexis stared with admiration, looking at the skilful agent doing what he does best.

"Of course. My sister is in command...and their army is still here." Something about how Hadir said it did not sit well with Alexis.

"This occupation must end. That we can all agree on, yes?" The two agents nodded, carefully observing a map of the Urzikstan capital.

"General Barkov's men control the city. We have plans to change that."

"We have no missiles, but we have our ways," Hadir added eagerly.

"If you stay, we can help you, but if you stay... you fight."

Alexis shrugged, her answer was crystal clear. Her lips curved upwards, simply crossing her arms and left her other half in charge. She observed his thinking face, unknown to the world but subtle to her. A small shift of his lower jaw, his tell. After years of experience, they could read each other like a book.

"Then, let's fight." He answered in Arabic, pushing himself off the table just in time to catch a rifle that Hadir tossed to him.

She broke into a small grin, catching her weapon with her reflexes.

"Welcome to Urzikstan, Alex. Alena– Alexis, welcome back," Hadir said with an equally delighted expression.

"Follow me." Farah nodded, arming herself with an AK-47. Hadir, Alex and Alexis followed her lead to the militia's secret tunnels. It was pitch black until a red flare illuminated it.

"We have intel Russian troop commanders are in town today. We're going to ambush them."

Alexis eagerly squeezed her partner's shoulders. Adrenaline flowed through their veins and their stomachs twisted in a sign of anticipation. Anticipation for trouble, for blood, for faith.

This marked the start of the duo's assignment.

"Let's seize the day."

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. masterlist here. want to be tagged? let me know!

#call of duty x oc #call of duty x reader #alex modern warfare #john price #kyle garrick #kate laswell #farah karim #oc: alexis #hadir karim #ysr writes: kl #killer instinct #fanfiction #alex cod #modern warfare

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myhauntedsalem · 5 years ago

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The True Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the Terrible Crimes of Ed Gein

Although Leatherface may terrify in movie theatres, it was the bizarre creations of Gein’s gruesome imagination that first fixated a nation on the terrors that lie behind the most banal of small towns.

The notorious Ed Gein and his fictional counterpart Leatherface, from the horror classic Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Many see Ed Gein’s infamous crimes as waking a nation from its own innocence, even as social change was transforming 1950s America. In particular, the discovery of this farmer’s body snatching and murdering ways woke an entire nation to the darkness swirling beneath the façade of the American Dream. His practice of making keepsakes from dead bodies and from his own victims has inspired many horror films, novels, and other stories – including the landmark films Psycho and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The latter specifically embodied that same sense of dread – that something so awful could be hiding in plain sight.

To this day, Gein’s terrible legacy is a reminder that the smiling faces of friends and neighbors all too often hide an unfathomable darkness – one that may be an essential part of America itself.

Edward Theodore Gein was born on August 27, 1906, in the small farming community of Plainfield, Wisconsin. Between a slight growth over one eye and his effeminate personality, Ed was regularly bullied. He found little comfort at home, though, where his alcoholic father, George, endured verbal abuse from his mother, Augusta, for being unable to hold a job. They had moved to their 155-acre farm after selling a grocery shop in the city, but he’d had little luck in keeping work as a carpenter, tanner, or insurance salesman.

August, meanwhile, enforced a strict interpretation of Lutheran teachings and regularly read biblical verses on death and retribution to her sons. She instilled a strong fear of sexuality and drinking in her two sons, along with a belief that all women were inherently evil. Furthermore, they were forbidden from having anyone over and were often punished for even forging friendships in the first place. So, it is far from surprising that, by all accounts, Ed grew up into a reclusive young man who often laughed at jokes only he seemed to hear.

Then, on April 1, 1940, George Gein died at 66 years of age when his heart gave out. The brothers began picking up odd jobs to support the farm, and their neighbors found the two to be reliable handymen, though Ed also took to babysitting on the side. Henry, meanwhile, began dating a divorced mother of two and considered moving in with her. He began speaking ill of their abusively co-dependent mother around Ed to try to pull him from her clutches, but that likely drew a wedge between the brothers, instead.

In the midst of these changes, Henry died in a seeming tragedy – or possible early sign of Ed’s homicidal tendencies. In 1945, the two brothers were managing a brush fire on their property outside Plainfield when it got out of control, and the fire department was called in. After the flames died down, Ed reported that his brother had gone missing, though he was soon found, dead from asphyxiation. The coroner did not note anything suspicious, though he later recalled that Henry had a head trauma that could have resulted from foul play.

Augusta, meanwhile, had grown to rely on Ed, as a stroke had left her relatively immobile for several years. She remained as fanatical as ever, though, with one local story telling how she witnessed a man kill a dog but focused on the fact that he invited an unmarried woman into his house. However, she too passed away in 1945, at the age of 67, and Ed was left without friends or family. He held onto their farm but boarded up the rooms that his mother had used, including the drawing room and entire upstairs.

In time, he became more and more of a recluse, with the kitchen and single room that he used becoming more and more run-down. Left to his own devices, Ed Gein only ever left the house to do occasional work for a municipal road crew or to help with crop-threshing. After selling his brother’s land, he began relying upon a farm subsidy in 1951. At the same time, his hobbies focused on devouring books about cannibals, the Nazis’ atrocities, and various aspects of human anatomy. Soon enough, he started digging up recently-buried women who resembled his mother – dissecting them and tanning skin to experiment in taxidermy. But things changed when he started hunting the living.

On November 16, 1957, Bernice Worden, the owner of Plainfield’s hardware store, disappeared – her truck having driven out of town around 9:30 AM. After the store remained closed all day, her son, Deputy Sheriff Frank Worden, entered around 5 PM to find the register open with blood on the floor and a lone receipt for antifreeze on the counter. Recalling that Ed Gein had said he’d stop by to buy antifreeze the night before, Worden pointed out the connection, and Gein was arrested that same evening.

Upon searching his family’s farm, the authorities found much more than they had bargained for. To start, they discovered Bernice’s decapitated body hanging upside down from her wrists in the shed. She’d been shot with a .22-caliber rifle and dressed out like an animal, with her head stuffed in a burlap sack and her heart sitting in front of the stove. In further examining Gein’s home, the police also found the remains of missing tavern owner Mary Hogan, age 54, who’d disappeared in December 1954. She was in pieces, as well – her face tanned as a mask in a paper bag and her skull hidden away in a box.

But that was not the end of the gore in the Gein family home. They found skulls mounted atop his bedposts, with others made into bowls. Skin had been used to create a wastebasket and chair coverings, and Gein had fashioned clothing from the dead, as well. Police found a shoulder-to-waist corset made from a woman’s tanned torso, along with multiple face masks and leggings crafted from human leg skin. Ed had stored 9 vulva in a shoebox, including 2 from teenagers, and he kept a box of noses, a belt of nipples, a face lampshade, and a window shade drawstring made from a pair of lips. All told, the remains had come from around 15 women’s bodies.

Gein told investigators that he’d regularly entered a hypnotic state and visited local graveyards on around 40 occasions between 1947 and 52. While he could normally stop himself from grave-robbing, Ed often returned home with parts of women whom he thought resembled his mother. On those occasions, he would tan their skin to make the gruesome paraphernalia discovered in his home. He confessed to robbing 9 graves and led authorities to some to demonstrate that he’d been strong enough to do the work on his own.

At one point, Gein admitted that he’d realized he wanted to become a woman after his mother had died. To satisfy his desire, he’d started to create a woman suit and had often donned the tanned skin. During the questioning, though, Sheriff Art Schley banged Gein’s head face-first into a brick wall – claiming later to be traumatized by the man’s crimes. Schley was horrified when this made the confession inadmissible in court, and he later died of heart failure just before Gein’s trial. With no confession and no warrant to have conducted the search in the first place, the accused pled not guilty and was declared unfit for trial.

Meanwhile, the people of Plainfield who had been Gein’s neighbors tried to process his actions. For some, the horror was overwhelming, including one teenager who had asked Gein about his masks only to be told that they were relics from the Philippines, sent by a cousin during World War II. At the same time, other murders suddenly seemed connected, including the disappearance of babysitter Evelyn Hartley in 1953. With Gein’s crimes highlighted on Life and Time covers, the town and the entire country were shaken to the core.

Ed Gein was eventually tried for the murder of Bernice Worden and sentenced to life in prison. However, in a second trial, he was found not guilty by reason of insanity and sent to Central State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in Waupun, Wisconsin. He was diagnosed as schizophrenic and never tried for the murder of Mary Hogan, as he would spend the rest of his life in a mental health facility either way. In 1968, Gein was sent to Mendota Mental Health Institute in Madison, where he died from lung cancer at age 77 in 1984.

Back in Plainfield, the Gein farm burned down after being auctioned off in 1958, and his car was sold to a carnival sideshow for people to gawk at. In the long run, Gein’s actions inspired a long list of fictional serial killers, too, from Psycho’s Norman Bates to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’s Leatherface, and, most recently, Bloody Face in American Horror Story: Asylum. Each plays on the nightmares beneath the American dream, but none captures the true horror of Ed Gein’s mind – or the objects that he crafted from human beings.

#The True Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the Terrible Crimes of Ed Gein #Serial Killers #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

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checkurselfb4umachuwreckurself · 6 years ago

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Wrote another fun fic involving the Fusion Dimension and how this arc is killing me

“Love Letters From Synchro” 2.4k

Shinji’s just calling to check in on Crow. Nothing worse than getting sent to voicemail, right?

Crow sat on the boat, Reira leaning on his leg, fast asleep. He was listening to the wind as it swept the ocean. He had heard the ocean traveling from the Commons to the City, but never this close up. The thrum, the bird squawks, the beeping- wait, that wasn’t the ocean; that was his disc. The beeping woke up Reira, who scootched away from the noise, closer to Tsukikage, who was starboard. Crow managed to pick it up by the second ring. “Hello?”

“Crow!” Of course it was Shinji calling. “I wasn’t sure if it would let me call you this far away. What time is it? Are we the same time zone? Don’t tell me it’s nighttime and I woke you up- sorry!”

A laugh. “Nah, I’m good, Shinji,” He nodded at Tsukikage and Reira, moving away to continue talking. “I’m pretty surprised they work too, actually- oh, and it’s 9am. You?”

Shinji nodded on the other side on the conversation. “9am here too. Good thing it’s consistent. It’d be a bitch to convert the time every time I wanted to call you.”

Crow giggled quietly. “Language, mister. Reira’s here.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll try to remember.”

Reiji made a neck cutting gesture, pointing at the upcoming ship- wait was that a pirate ship? “Gotta go, babe; I’m gonna fight some pirates.”

“Bring me back a doubloon,” Shinji laughed.

“I’ll see what I can do. Call me back later,” Crow cooed, hanging up his disc. He summoned out Raikiri- just in case.

Shingo lied against the grass. His duel disc was destroyed- thank a lot for that- and Crow’s disc sat on his chest. Held in front of his face was Crow’s card. He didn’t look scared like all the others that were carded. Right before it all happened, he tossed the disc to Shingo. As if it was more important to keep safe than himself. Shingo squeezed his eyes shut, sighing as he kept the card close. He couldn’t lose it. Protecting it was his responsibility. It was his fault this happened.

From his chest, Crow’s disc rang. In a panic, Shingo muted the disc. Silently calling was “Honey” with an obnoxious amount of bee and honeypot emojis. That was his boyfriend right? What was his name? It was similar, but nowhere as pretty as “Shingo” ...oh yeah, Shinji. That was it. A message popped up saying “Going To Voicemail”. Curious, Shingo unmuted it.

“Heya Crow!” Shinji’s voice chimed. Shingo had remembered Shinji’s voice from when they were underground, but he was nowhere as chipper back then. “Just tucked the kids in, they miss you very much.” Is this all? Shingo had half the nerve to pick up and say Crow wasn’t available at the time and he should try again later, but he was snapped out of his anger, hearing a sniffle. “We all do, ya know. Now I know how you feel when I don’t come home for days on end.” Shingo was silent. He knew what that was like. Some days his dad wouldn’t come back, leaving him alone for the night. He’d practically have to beg his friends to stay over those nights; he couldn’t stand it. Shinji laughed, choking a little. “Please call me back soon- oh and look! I didn’t swear for you. I’m getting better, I promise.” With that, Shinji ended the call. A small mailbox icon popped up, saving the message. Crow would get to listen to it later. Right?

Shingo barely got any sleep. He had slept on his side, head on Gongenzaka’s chest, with Gongenzaka’s arm covering his neck, entrapping him. He must have caught him shaking in his sleep and tried is best to restrain him. In Shingo’s arms was the disc; in his pocket, Crow’s card. He dared not jostle it; what if they still felt pain while in the cards?

He struggled to get out, only to be interrupted by Crow’s disc beeping again. Had he forgotten to mute it after the first message? The noise woke up Gongenzaka, who fortunately released Shingo. “Is that yours?” He asked, “shouldn’t you pick it up?”

Shingo shook his head, wiping the tears he must have leaked in his sleep. “I just… let it ring.”

They did, the disc presenting the same “Going To Voicemail” it displayed last night. “I was so sure you would have called, ya know,” Shinji hummed into the receiver. Gongenzaka went to press the “enter call” button, but Shingo snatched it away. “Anyways, hi Crow! It's your loving boyfriend just calling this morning to say good morning!” Shinji laughed, which made Shingo grit his teeth. “The kids have been very good and they’ve been doing all their chores. I've been taking your role best I can. Tony and Damon visited the other day, told me to say hi! The City’s restoration is going swimmingly! Be sure to tell me how the pirate thing went! Oh, I'm running out of time! See you soon!” As soon as it started, the call ended. The inbox icon read a red “2” now.

Shingo pulled himself up into a sitting position, the disc in his lap. Gongenzaka mirrored it, crossing his arms. “Sawatari, you should have picked up and told him what happened.”

“I can’t,” Shingo whispered, pulling the disc to his chest, small tears bubbling in his eyes. “I just can’t do that to him.”

He kept both close to him. Neither the disc, nor the card, was ever out of his sight. Shingo was starting to wish he had brought a backpack. He sat with the others who were thinking up strategies, but Shingo couldn’t concentrate. As if to spite him, the disc rang. Yuuya and the others turned to him, curious. “This better be short,” Shingo hissed. He didn’t really mean that. Crow was gonna get to hear how much Shinji missed him, so of course he wouldn’t want Shinji to cut corners. Crow deserved all of it.

The disc switched the voicemail. “You know, it’s rude to listen to someone else’s calls,” Yuuya chided with a quirked eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Shingo whispered, leaning in to hear the message.

“Sorry if you're sleeping and can't pick up,” Shinji said, quieter than usual. That was new. Shinji was apologizing. “But we just wanted to say night- right kids?”

Three voices that Shingo would normally say he “unfortunately remembered” if he was in his right mind piped up. “Night dad!” That must have been Amanda, Frank, and Tanner: the Hogan-Weber kids.

Shinji’s tongue clicked. “Oh come on you won't call me dad but-” Shingo couldn’t tell if it was one, but the sound he heard sounded like Shinji shaking his head. “Whatever. Please call back soon! The kids miss you! Almost as much as me, even,” he laughed again. Despite his misery he was still laughing? How much was a facade for Crow? Or for the kids, that matter?

Speaking of the kids- “Shinji!” They all shouted at Shinji. So much for ‘almost’, Shingo guessed. He gave an inaudible sigh. He wished his father or his friends would have called him even just once. He’d been gone, what, weeks? Not even a single text or email. Sure they didn’t really know he left since he kinda snuck out without saying anything, but didn’t they miss him?

Shinji didn’t respond to their pleas. “Gotta go! Can’t let them stay up too long, ya know.” He made a noise that Shingo guessed was an air kiss- not that it was for him, anyways. “Love you to the Fusion Dimension and back!” Again, the inbox icon added another red number.

Shingo choked on his words, watching the disc switch to neutral. Yuuya placed a hand on Shingo’s shoulder. “And back…” he repeated in a whisper. As much as he didn’t want to, he let himself cry in front of the others.

Everyone was grouped up. Shingo was still a mess- physically and mentally. Seeing Crow turn into the card flashed in his head every time he closed his eyes. Was this what it was like to feel “un-fabulous”?

Reiji was lecturing about something. Cooperation or whatever. Where did that get them? Tsukikage and Crow were gone, and he was sure neither he nor Reira were there completely. Not to mention what happened to the girls-

As inconvenient as all the others were, Crow’s disc went off. Reiji sighed. “Sawatari, why are you still holding onto that.” It wasn’t a question.

Shingo scoffed. “It has everything that matters to Crow on it. His numbers, his win streak.” He paused a second. “His… selfies with his kids?” Reiji’s face didn’t change. “He’s gonna need it when he comes back.”

“If,” was Reiji’s only response.

“When,” Shingo hissed, letting the voicemail play.

“Hey Crow!” Shinji said, clearly tired. “I know it's earlier than usual, but I wanted to say hi before I went to work.” He gave out a small yawn. “It's kinda hard sleeping without you here-”

Reiji snatched the duel disc and pressed “enter call” before Shingo could even react. How much had the lack of sleep affected him? “Mr. Weber?” Reiji asked, pushing Shingo’s grabby hands away.

Shinji’s eyes immediately narrowed and his voice got dark. “What the he- who is this? Yuuya? Serena? Are you there?” He asked, desperately trying to match a face to the voice.

“This is Akaba Reiji,” Reiji answered- wow, a straight answer from them? That was rare. “I am the leader of the Lancers. The group that your husband-”

“Boyfriend,” Shinji corrected.

“Boyfriend, joined. Willingly, I may add.” Reiji’s voice was flat and didn’t waver. Reiji’s voice was where emotions went to die.

“What?” Shinji asked. He had remembered someone mentioning the Lancers during the Friendship Cup, but he surely wasn’t listening too well.

“I’m terribly sorry to say, but your ‘boyfriend’ was lost in a duel against the enemy.” Despite the ‘sorry’, Reiji didn’t seem too bothered about the loss.

Shinji was frantic. “What!?” he asked again.

Reiji continued, back to avoiding questions. “I best recommend you do not call this number anymore, as he will not be able to pick up.” They had essentially told Shinji to fuck off with not a shred of remorse. Shingo couldn’t believe this, but he couldn’t move either.

Shinji’s voice was wet and angry. “WHAT HAPPENED!?” He shouted, desperate for even the smallest of an answer.

There wasn’t one. “Goodbye,” Reiji stated as plain as if they had explained that water was indeed wet.

“DO NOT HANG UP YOU BAS-”

Reiji did.

They tossed the disc back to Shingo, suggesting he get rid of it to avoid anymore distractions.

“PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE! WHAT HAPPENED TO CROW!? WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER ME!? IS EVERYONE’S LIFE JUST SOME STUPID GAME THAT YOU THINK YOU CAN IGNORE IF YOU AREN’T WINNING!? ANSWER ME AKABA.”

“What the hell does “lost” even mean? Is he missing? Did he get captured? Is… did you let him die.”

“Reiji, I took a drive, I’m calm now. Pick up the phone please. What happened to Crow. You need to tell me. Please call me back, Crow already has my number on speed dial.”

“You’re lucky I can’t travel across dimensions and beat your ass, Reiji.”

Shingo sat against a ledge, hugging his knees. The duel disc that sat next to him hadn’t gone off in a while, just the last few popping into the inbox. Reiji and the others left him behind, not wanting Shingo to draw attention by listening to the messages. He didn’t want to stay in the Fusion Dimension. No one needed him here. As skilled as he was, Shingo hadn’t won a single duel without help.

“Akaba, I need to give Crow’s card to Shinji. It’s the only way he’ll understand what happened.”

“Be my guest, but if you do, don’t come back. A true Lancer wouldn’t leave their mission for anything, or anyone.”

He broke from the hold, slapping his cheeks. He couldn’t give up. He was the son of the to-be-mayor of Miami City. Plus there was no way he would let Reiji call him a ‘fake lancer’.

But first…

Shinji was correct: Shinji’s number was on Crow’s speed dial. Shingo pressed it, rocking his knees back and forth. What should he say when he picks up? What would he say if he didn’t pick up?

“Heeya,” a voice stammers out. It’s similar to Shinji’s… but more… intoxicated. “Is that you?”

The ‘you’ is not elaborated on, but Shingo assumes he meant Crow. “Are you drunk?” Shingo thinks out loud, suddenly sick to his stomach.

“Maybe,” Shinji slurs. That definitely means he is. Shingo takes a quiet deep breath. The only thing scarier than his dad saying he’s not coming home was his dad coming home drunk. Shingo would never touch that stuff, not even the fancy wines he sees at parties he gets dragged to. If it had even the slimmest chance of making him act like Furio? Nope. Never. “When are you coming home?” Shinji asked.

Shingo pauses. He forgot to explain who he was. Oops. “I’m... not your boyfriend. I’m Sawatari Shingo.”

“Never heard of you.”

Shingo pouted. “I’m a friend- well, acquaintance of Crow.”

Shinji hummed. “I’m glad Crow has so many close friends. Crow is the best.”

He certainly wasn’t like his father when he was drunk, but Shingo didn’t exactly want to stay on the line too long; Shinji still had the potential to turn on a dime. “Look, I’m calling to say that… well… Crow… Crow was carded.”

There was a long hollow pause. “What…” Shinji swallowed. “What does that even mean.”

“I… don’t know,” Shingo admitted. No one had really explained carding, had they? If they had, he surely wasn’t paying attention.

“He’s dead. Isn’t he,” Shinji stated. There was no question. Just solemn acceptance.

The cold wind was nowhere near as biting as the comment. Shingo took the card out of his pocket, rubbing his thumb against the edge. “I’m… sorry.” A tear splashed onto Crow’s printed face, Shingo promptly rubbing it off. “I would do anything to bring him back.”

Shinji’s voice was wet, but it didn’t sound like he was crying. “I hope he knows I’m sorry. For everything.”

Shingo looked up, seeing some Obelisk Force patrolling around. “If I don’t make it out alive, I’ll tell him for you.” Not waiting for a response, Shingo hung up. He turned off the disc, any new messages wouldn’t be automatically played.

And for the first time in days, Shingo’s thoughts were empty.

#this was VERY NECESSARY I promise #guardianshipping #this is fairly not canon complacent btw #for example? characters have feelings #not mixing up shinji and shingo's names is hell btw don't try this at home

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aion-rsa · 3 years ago

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Cobra Kai Season 4: Can Daniel and Johnny Make Amends?

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Aristotle said, “A common danger unites even the bitterest enemies.” In the upcoming season 4 of Cobra Kai, Daniel LaRusso (Ralph Macchio) and Johnny Lawrence (William Zabka) may finally bury the hatchet, or the axe kick, in their battle to save the valley from Cobra Kai’s villainous Sensei Kreese (Martin Kove). During Netflix’s global fan event, TUDUM, the latest sneak peek at Cobra Kai revealed a few clues about where season 4 might go. The next season of the breakout reboot hit premieres on December 31 so fans can nurse their New Year’s Eve hangovers with a Karate Kid binge.

“Many of us used to be enemies, but rivalries don’t last forever,” claims Daniel-san at the start of the new teaser. We knew at the end of season 3 that the Miyagi-Do Dojo was going to unite with the Eagle Fang Dojo in hopes that their combined forces will be enough to defeat Cobra Kai. Daniel delivered his questionably legal crane kick to Johnny’s face at the 1984 All Valley Karate Tournament in the original film The Karate Kid. Cobra Kai has been masterfully tucking its Easter eggs in plain sight throughout the series and for season 4 has set this as the arena for the next clash between the Valley’s rival Dojos.

Throughout season 3, Daniel and Johnny tested a truce, first in episode 2 when they fight side-by-side in search of Robby (Tanner Buchanan) and again towards the end when they have dinner together with Ali (Elizabeth Shue) at the Encino Oaks Country Club. From those interactions, Daniel and Johnny established that they can be frenemies, setting up the ultimate ‘buddy film’ chemistry for the upcoming season. Already in the teaser, the inevitable conflict between Miyagi-Do and Eagle Fang tactics are playing out on comic proportions.

The new teaser also reiterates the return of Terry Silver (Thomas Ian Griffith), the original owner of the Cobra Kai Dojo and sponsor of the 1985 All Valley Tournament. This was foreshadowed in season 3 with a well-played red herring in the Kreese Vietnam flashback arc with Ponytail (Seth Kemp). Just like Steven Seagal, Silver is known for his ponytail, but in ‘Nam flashback, young Silver (Nick Marini) had yet to adopt the hairstyle affectation. Now we know it is in honor of his fallen comrade. Last May, in the wake of season 3, Netflix released the teaser “Terry Silver Returns”, which also focused on that signature ponytail.

Silver levels up Cobra Kai even more. He taught Daniel in Karate Kid Part III as a ruse, setting him up to fall at the All Valley Karate Tournament against ‘Karate’s Bad Boy’ Mike Barnes (Sean Kanan). Unlike most of the original Karate Kid cinematic cast, Griffith and Kanan were genuine martial arts masters prior to joining the franchise. The real question here is whether Barnes reappears in season 4.

The other tantalizing clue in the new teaser is Kreese annoying Amanda (Courtney Henggeler). She has been the voice of reason throughout Cobra Kai, a strangely sober counterpoint to her husband Daniel despite all the wine she drinks. However, Kreese has managed to get under her skin in season 3. As a master manipulator, he has learned how to push Amanda’s buttons, triggering her mama bear instincts when it comes to protecting Sam (Mary Mouser) and making her do something rash and regrettable.

Whatever may come in season 4, we know it’s not the end. Cobra Kai season 5 is starting production in Atlanta this fall.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Cobra Kai season 4 comes to Netflix on December 31, 2021.

The post Cobra Kai Season 4: Can Daniel and Johnny Make Amends? appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3m3VkJl

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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literatiruinedme · 7 years ago

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Okay so I'm the worst with tag games - like ik I live on this website but I'm usually too add to sit through like three questions and get distracted and wander off - but this tag I'll do. I forget who tagged me but here's my top ten ((plus a few more)) of the fictional women who shaped me.

1. Piper Halliwell, Charmed. Okay so I have two siblings; a younger one who's 17, as well as an older sister who's no longer in the picture and shes about 30 something. I absolutely get Piper being thrust from middle child who just wants everyone to get along to being the oldest and having to take care of my younger sister despite my current shit job at it, which is another show but I digress so she was always a character I identified with so heavily. She's an icon and if you've never seen her in action I highly recommend it. She has such an amazing character arch.

2. Queen Clarice, The Princess Diaries. I've never been super ladylike. I walk like I'm ready fight someone, I'm aggressive and short tempered, but oh man if I didn't learn where my fork went ((my mother was big on manners but I never really wanted to care until I saw The Princess Diaries as a kid)) and how to curtsy from Grand Grandma C. My sister and I wore out the DVD of the second movie, and no I'm not kidding.

3. Kim Possible, Kim Possible. I wanted to be Kim Possible when I was a kid. She was like my hero. She was strong and smart and brave and she was such a cool human. 7 year old me wanted to be as cool as she was when I got to high school. Spoiler alert, I wasn't lol

4. Buffy Summers, Buffy The Vampire Slayer. So here's the thing: I don't remember anything more vividly that I do watching Buffy for the first time on the couch after I came home from school with a stomach ache in 7th grade. Buffy was and still is an icon for me. She was so witty and cool and clever and smart and she helped to shape how I view shitty situations and accepting that the world doesn't care about me, but you always have a choice so you better make a good one. Buffy was the coolest human being I'd ever witnessed on the small screen and I still strive to be as bad ass and strong ((physically as well as emotionally)) as her.

5. Temperance Brennan, BONES. Brennan was my first exposure to anthropology. Brennan was a genius and while she may not have understood social ques, she was just amazing. She always fought back, she wouldn't run away from anything, and she was pretty much fearless. She was an incredibly incredibly smart woman and she loved science so much. I wanted to be her. She's still an icon and forever one of my idols.

6. Abby Sciuto, NCIS. Abby was honestly one of the first places I saw women in science. Yes, NCIS is a fictional show and yes, I don't really watch it anymore, but Abby was awesome. She was a woman in science with tattoos and dark makeup and she was so smart it made your head spin. She was incredible and absolutely an unintentional foundation to who I am today.

7. Mary Shannon, In Plain Sight. This woman was powerful. She was badass, smart, funny, she managed to hold her fucking trainwreck of a family from going over the deep end, and she was a US Marshall. What. The. Fuck. She was insane. I still can't bring myself to watch the last episode. You can't close the book on Mary.

8. Emma Swan, Once Upon A Time. I know I've backed off on posting ouat, but Emma Swan helped me through high school. I used one of her lines in the first season about being strong and fighting back against people who want to tell you who you are for my senior quote and I have never regretted it. Emma Swan is, was, and forever will be a bad ass and I love her.

9. Willow Rosenberg, Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Ya know what's okay? Being gay and having anxiety and being a witch. Willow was an incredible character and a great person to grow watching her story because damn if I didn't identify with her. I wasn't as nerdy and I'm definitely not as smart, but Willow made me want to be more and made me want to be comfortable in my own skin and I'm happy I had her influence on me as a kid.

10. Jyn Erso, Rogue One. While Jyn Erso was only a character I'd run into in 2016, she is definitely someone who I'll always thank for helping me to figure out that it's okay to be loud when you're trying to get something done, a temper is hard to control but honestly fuck it if you can't, and most importantly: fuck the government. Get shit done and fuck anyone who stands in your way.

Honourable mentions: Leia Oragana, Audrey Jensen, Angela Montenegro, Cordelia Chase, Katniss Everdeen, Sasha Silver, Donna Pinciotti, Jackie Berkhart, Rory Gilmore, Lorelai Gilmore, Mulan, Veronica Sawyer, DJ Tanner, Stephanie Tanner, Machelle Tanner, Becky Donaldson-Katsopolis, and so many more.

Anyone who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged.

#i was tagged #rachael shut the hell up

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globalworship · 7 years ago

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Beholding Christ and Christianity in African American Art (book)

Beholding Christ and Christianity in African American Art Edited by James Romaine and Phoebe Wolfskill Penn State University Press, 2017 204 pages 8" × 10" 33 color/22 b&w illustrations

Many of the most celebrated African American artists have created works that visually manifest Christian motifs and themes, yet this component of the history of African American art is often subsumed by attention to racial identity. This volume constructs a vivid new history of African American art by exploring biblical and Christian subjects and themes in the work of such noted artists as Romare Bearden, Edmonia Lewis, Archibald Motley, Henry O. Tanner, and James VanDerZee.

Focusing on the work of artists who came to maturity between the Civil War and the Civil Rights Era, the contributors show how engaging with religious themes has served to express an array of racial, political, and socio-economic concerns for African American artists. Through a close analysis of aesthetic techniques and choices, each author considers race but does not assume it as a predominant factor. Instead, the contributors assess artworks’ formal, iconographic, and thematic participation in the history of Christianity and the visual arts. In doing so, this collection refuses to lay a single claim on black religiosity, culture, or art, but rather explores its diversity and celebrates the complexity of African American visual expression.

https://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-07774-1.html

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Contents

List of Illustrations

Introduction: Hidden in Plain Sight—Christ and Christianity in African American Art James Romaine and Phoebe Wolfskill

1. Propaganda Fide: Mary Edmonia Lewis and the Catholic Church Kirsten Pai Buick

2. Reading Tanner/Recognizing Jesus James Romaine

3. The Blare of God’s Trombones: Modernizing Biblical Narratives in the Work of Aaron Douglas Caroline Goeser

4. The Sight of Black Folks: Malvin Gray Johnson’s Spiritual Paintings in Interwar America Jacqueline Francis

5. Christianity and Class in the Work of Archibald J. Motley Jr. Phoebe Wolfskill

6. The Aesthetics of Transcendence: William H. Johnson’s Jesus and the Three MarysAmy K. Hamlin

7. Sculpting the Spirit and the Flesh: The Religious Works of James Richmond Barthé James Smalls

8. Allan Rohan Crite’s (Re)Visioning of the Spirituals Julie Levin Caro

9. Sister Gertrude Morgan and the Materials of Visionary Art Elaine Y. Yau

10. “A Tried Stone”: Community, Conversion, and Christ in the Sculpture of William Edmondson Edward M. Puchner

11. Biblical and Spiritual Motifs in the Art of Horace Pippin Richard J. Powell

12. Assimilation and Aspiration: The Urbanity of Faith in James VanDerZee’s Representations of Religion Carla Williams

13. Deep Waters: Rebirth, Transcendence, and Abstraction in Romare Bearden’s Passion of Christ Kymberly N. Pinder

14. Creating History, Establishing a Canon: Jacob Lawrence’s The First Book of Moses, Called Genesis Kristin Schwain

Selected Bibliography

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The list price for this large hardback book is $80; the cheapest I find it now is $70.

+++

Thanks to Victoria Emily Jones who highlighted this book in her blog post at https://artandtheology.org/2017/12/31/roundup-book-list-piano-guys-mongolian-jingle-bells-call-for-papers-sacred-landscapes-art-installation-in-cave/

and in her annotated booklist:

“Art and theology” books published in 2017 http://www.artway.eu/content.php?id=2479&lang=en&action=show

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staceyzegers-blog · 7 years ago

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The Island On the Lake...

Ometepe is an island made up of 2 volcanos on Lake Nicaragua. Going there is like going back in time. After spending our final day in Granada biking around town, visiting the local vendors at the market, and going on a 20 platform zip lining adventure (It’s pretty beginner, I hear Costa Rica is better) we took a shuttle ($12 each) to the ferry in Rivas. After a quick hour commute over some bumpy waters (definitely needed that Gravol) we arrived in Moyogalpa. Moyogalpa is the main town on Ometepe, it is made up mainly by restaurants, hostels and motor bike rental shops. It’s a quaint spot where you get the feeling everyone knows everyone. The people there seem kind and honest. We took a walk off the beaten path to our hostel Casa Mauro, which is owned and run by a local family who turned their home into the hostel. Mauro (the owner) is one of those guys you know you would hang out with if you met him back home. He’s generous, answered every question we had and made personal suggestions for what he thought we would enjoy. He told us to treat his home like our own. In the morning, we enjoyed a breakfast of delicious pancakes and fruit, with some local coffee. We met a fellow Canadian at the hostel, Tanner, and each rented motorcycles to head up to waterfall, Cascada de San Roman. The ride is about an hour and a half away, down cement, brick and dusty, stone and gravel roads. The view on the drive is breath taking, and vibe of the island is unmatched. You pass tourists on motorcycles, locals waiting for busses, school kids in matching uniforms. You see horses, chickens, pigs grazing at the side of the road. A farmer guiding his cattle back home after enjoying an open field, all the while in the distance a volcano raising up into the sky, clouds covering the highest point. It felt like I was in a movie.

We made it to the entrance of San Roman and paid the $3 to ride our motorcycles halfway up. From there is about a 40 minute walk to the waterfall. San Roman waterfall cascades 180 meters down into a small pool sized pond, before making its way down the mountain. The view was beautiful and hike was worth it. After spending a little while enjoying the moment we began our descent. Brianna (a friend of Tanners we picked up along the way) lost her footing and almost fell down the path and into the culvert. Thanks to a couple tree branches and quick thinking on my boyfriends part, he was able to grab her and help her back up to the path. Hearts pounding she escaped with only some bruises and a large cut along her calve. #blessed;)

We hiked and motorbiked down the rest of the mountain, and decided to go for lunch.

One of the best things about this island is the uniqueness of it. It seems like every shop has created its own environment to welcome locals and tourists. We saw a sign for Chocolate Factory and are intregged about the local cocoa on the island. We went down a long narrow driveway and are greeted by huts on the sea. It’s a hostel and yoga retreat, with a small chocolate factory. Handmade wooden tables have bowls of coca in shells encouraging guests to do karma while they sit. We order their famous desert (because desert is so much better for lunch then burritos) and shell the cocoa while we wait. I’m immediately filled with the sense of community, and instantly wish I had known about this place before arriving. The desert is beyond expectation and after finishing we ride back to the road to find another spot along the sea to stop for lunch. A few minutes later we find a spot that seems to be hidden in plain sight. We stop for lunch of local fish, and gallopinto, I order a vegetarian burrito and it’s delicious. And hold out for a while to wait for the rain to pass by.

We make a last stop at a natural spring, for a quick dip before calling it a day. The water is cool and refreshing, and I want to drink it in. As the sun begins to set we b-line it for the best place on the island to watch the sun go down, drink a couple cervesas, and beam at the fullness of the day.

#ometepe #sanroman #waterfall #nicaragua #travel #short story

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automotive-industry-individuals · 5 years ago

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youtube

This is amusing so he claimed that i got my daughter Annabelle taken away.

What transpired is on open court documents and you just have to request a copy. And NHRA President did And showed him the case was closed without default nor prejudice against me however 3 red marks on my ex husband for his lies.

I think Tanner Gray owes me an apology or an explanation because the only times my daughter was taken away from me was once in labor and 2x by kidnapping.

Which is all,recorded in police journals. Some FBI and of course CIA and the Air Force and Coast Guard and the Marines and Navy Seals all have records of the attempted abductions hours after she was born in the hospital and then when she was 3 and 4 years old.

So does he owe me an explanation because he knows about those events and he was involved or should he just had shut up and apologized?

And she is Alex's kid. Its on DNA record since she was born.

And i was in hiding with my ex that ended up proving to be evil and non human.

Because she had been murdered several times before and so we had to hide and protect her identity because reincarnation failed over 50 times and this was the only way to keep her Alive -- to hide her in plain sight of aliens that wanted to keep us both alive.

For their take over solutions.

But i had to stay married 15 years. We only lived together for 7. And i couldn't handle nor,stand him.

So we divorced later...

But point why is it anyone's business?

Anyway i was just cruising YouTube and this popped up...

It isn't anyone's business.

But to say I got my kid taken away for being a worthless mom is bull shit.

Because of the dangerous people i was aware of, i quit publishing my daughter on the internet.

So no one knows what she looks like to cut down the liability of me putting her in danger to be kidnapped.

If people know what she looks like it's because they're in her life or stalking us.

It was that simple.

Live in my world for 12.5 seconds and you'll see simplicity

If Tanner Gray had kids and not a tube may be he would know something Human and Real.

Alex calls me mom to a lot of kids i taught and pulled out of bunkers. They're not literally my kids but technicality in some ways they are.

I've loved them as a mom should. Every single one. Billions.

He spoke specifically of Annabelle. And she's never been taken away from me by any legal means.

Except a few times where temporary custody was granted because I was hospitalized for heart attacks on 2 seperate occasions

A divorce solved those problems.

My ex wasn't allowed to take her on his own So i said give the custody to HIS mom.

Luckily both times were in summer and she was off from working at Head Start -- a day care for low income parents.

So she worked in a day care and pre school which is why i signed custody on her. Because she has no other kids in her home just her and her husband.

So it was best in My eyes for my child.

And it lasted up to 4 weeks after I was released from the hospital and they were all in my home. Her husband too. They were never more than 40 miles from me except when i gave permission for my mother in law to take her to her house. 2x each heart attack. To go to church and get some stuff from her house.. The most they were gone was 4 days.

And CIA followed. She's CIA.

So.

Tanner Gray was actually removed from the NHRA roster. For his behavior and shit talking me.

It went down to a vote and he was voted out for being irresponsible with his mouthy gossip.

We all know Tanner...

So what is it you owe? An explanation or apology?

I mean it doesn't matter cause you're not staying on the planet... So i would not even bother about

But you can take this as a lesson and learn or find out what they do to shit talkers on your planet. Especially when they come from Earth.

There's a whole mighty list of rules because home planets are not pleased.

I made sure of that.

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psychopersonified · 5 years ago

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Car Troubles and Not Quite Dates

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

This one revolves around a series of car troubles that inadvertently leads them to spend more time together.

Tags: Not dating, dates. Clueless Q but not quite. Intimacy in plain sight. Fluff so sweet I’ve developed a toothache writing this. Humour.

-------

“So…. I’d offer you a lift, but something tells me you would be more comfortable taking the car service.” Q gestures to his dinky red Daihatsu apologetically.

-------

Incident #1

It is absolutely pissing with rain and his DB5 is making that squealing noise again. Bond is not sure if it’s just moisture in the brakes or something more serious.

If it were the brakes, he was hoping it would dry up by the time he had to leave. But now, four hours later, he can’t even engage the reverse gear to back out of the parking bay.

There is an awful grinding noise when he tries to throw the gear into reverse - startling people and drawing odd stares from the other employees leaving for the day in the SIS underground carpark.

Among the exodus happens to be Tanner, briefcase in hand. He comes around to the driver’s side and Bond opens the door partway. Tanner is a bit of a gearhead himself and might be of some help.

“Hmm… sounds frightful. The old girl acting up?” Tanner observes.

“Yes…,” Bond agrees dully.

“Did you engage the clutch fully?” Bond tries again, trying for first gear this time with the same result. The painful screech and grinding making both the men wince.

“Try revving to 2000rpm, then engaging slowly.”

Bond does as instructed, depressing the clutch all the way, revving the engine slightly and then engaging the reverse gear. The gear engages, but with an unbearable screeching protest. He tries to release the clutch gently, but all that does is cause the car lurch back a few inches before cutting out.

“I guess she’s just not in the mood today. Poor old thing.”

:Beep! Beep!:

A cheery if somewhat cartoonish honk sounds in greeting from behind them. A tiny red 1981 Daihatsu Charade rolls up behind the DB5. The paint faded and bubbling in some spots and on other areas missing altogether.

The driver-side window slowly and jerkily winds down before stopping halfway. The driver peeks out over it and a familiar voice calls out to the two men. “Everything alright?”

“Ah Q! Probably the best person to take look at this. What’s your assessment?” Tanner waves him over.

Fifteen minutes later and the diagnosis is dire, Bond will have to leave the DB5 in the building. Q-Branch will take a look at the transmission and gearbox in the morning.

Tanner excuses himself shortly after that, leaving Bond in Q’s capable hands.

“So…. I’d offer you a lift, but something tells me you would be more comfortable taking the car service.” Q gestures to his dinky red Daihatsu apologetically.

“I’m not as much of snob as people make me out to be.” Bond collects his coat and locks the DB5.

“Oh, you mean that tantrum about flying economy two weeks ago was entirely a figment of my imagination?” Q reminds Bond as the agent walks past him.

“Well… when one is conducting business, one should keep up appearances should we not? Lest we give our ‘clients’ the wrong impression?” He circles round the back of the Daihatsu to get to the passenger side.

The agent hooks a finger around the door handle and pulls, internally relieved that it didn’t come right off, “Privately however, I’m not averse to rubbing shoulders with the working class once in a while.”

Q chortles, “Suit yourself.” - giving him fair warning and gets into the driver’s seat.

—

So… Bond might have spoken too soon. The rain hasn’t let up and the humidity is making the inside of the car fog up. The heating is… intermittent at best, so Q has to to wipe down the windscreen and windows with a towel (Bond had wondered what the little piece of cloth on the dash was for) when it gets too difficult to see out of. To top it off, the wiper blades need replacing - the noise they make is grating while doing jack all to remove water from the glass, merely smearing it around.

He supposes he should be thankful that the seatbelts work. Bond’s hope that the unassuming little car was hiding some high-tech Q-type modification was dashed quickly. It really was just a four decade old mass produced Japanese car with a rusty undercarriage that is letting moisture seep in.

Dinner made up for it though. They stopped at an American style pub in Chelsea for some sinfully greasy burgers and southern grill & fry. The red brick walls and cozy booths made for a lovely intimate atmosphere despite the kitschy americana decor.

With the conversation free flowing and comfortable, they stay longer than either expected.

———————————

Incident #2

There is an ominous dark puddle under the DB5. -Lovely. What now?-. Bond wonders. The thing about driving a classic is that while it might add to one’s debonair charm; no one understands how temperamental they can be. A handcrafted British icon might in theory, sound like the final word in quality - but in reality it is far more unreliable than a modern mass produced machine.

Bond remembers hitting a speed hump a little more vigorously than he should have on the way in. Perhaps that has shaken something loose.

He removes his jacket, tossing it onto the driver seat and crouches beside the car, careful not to get oil on his clothes. Turning on his phone’s flashlight, he sweeps the beam underneath the car to assess the situation. He can’t see exactly where the leak is coming from, but it is patently obvious how large the puddle of oil is. Not a good sign.

“Bond? Car trouble?” Moneypenny says by way of greeting.

Bond straightens from his position on his hands and knees then turns around. Eve is standing with several other women from the various departments in MI6. They are all watching him with interest.

He smiles charmingly at them, “Unfortunately. Careful where you step ladies, the floor is slick.”

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Edna from Procurement enquires.

“Not yet. Couldn’t get a good look.”

“I can hold your flashlight for you….” Samantha from Accounts volunteers. “...if that helps.” Eve turns slowly to fix her with a disapproving look.

“Thank you, but it won’t be necessary. I’ll have it dealt with in the morning. “

“Do you need a lift home? We’re not in a hurry this evening,” Ginny from Research offers. Eve targets her glare at her next.

Bond is a little surprised at the offer, “How… considerate; but I wouldn’t want to keep you from your plans for the evening.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all. We’re just heading out for dinner and drinks.” Edna chimes in, “Perhaps you’d like to join us?” The three ladies level him with hopeful looks.

Eve throws her hands up n the air in exasperation. Next to her, Jenny Khoo better known as R from Q-Branch ends the call she was making and pockets her phone.

“Come on ladies, let’s go before before they give away our reservation. No need to worry about 007. He’ll be taken care of. Someone from Q-Branch is on the way.” Jenny reassures her colleagues and winks at Bond.

“Shoo-now, move along, nothing to see,” Eve prods the others along when they didn’t seem inclined to go.

“Enjoy your evening ladies,” Bond waves to them as they leave.

:Meep! Meep!:

An honest to goodness golfcart rolls up next to his parking bay. Security uses one of these for patrols around the grounds of the building, but this is one belongs to Q-Branch. Bond has seen the minions use it to ferry equipment and packages around the compound.

The driver today is none other than the Chief Overlord himself. He takes one look at the size of the dark puddle and shakes his head.

“Judging by the speed of the leak, it could be a ripped pipe or a cracked oil pan. Either way, we’ll need to drain the system before repairs. I’ll get someone to have a look in the morning.”

Bond watches as Q unloads a large shallow metal pan from the golfcart and nudges it under the DB5 to catch the remaining leak. Then spreads a bucket of sand around the edges to stop it from spreading further. He even has a ‘Caution: Slippery floor’ sign that he places behind the DB5 to warn everyone.

Satisfied that this would have to do for now, he turns to Bond, “Need a lift?”

“Of course.” Bond smiles.

—

He’s back in the little red atrocity. At least it is not raining tonight. However, without the rain and the distracting noise of the wipers scraping against the windscreen, Bond now can concentrate on the other annoying aspects of the car.

Like how the seat cushions are threadbare and the foam compressed to near nothing, he can feel the springs digging into his backside. And how the turn signals make the most irritatingly sharp and neurotic ‘click-clack’. The passenger side window winder handle is missing so the metal nub is exposed and digging into the side of his thigh. At least the prospect of dinner with Q makes up for it.

They end up at an alfresco Vietnamese noodle bar. The little establishment is wedged between two buildings and partially hidden behind a flower shop.

They each get a large bowl of Pho - the bracing noodles in beef broth, perfect on a chilly evening. Intimacy is augmented by the crowded seating and small furniture which meant that they had to sit opposite each other, with their knees knocking. They quickly manage to find a comfortable compromise, slotting their knees between each other’s thighs - which suited Bond well enough. Any brushing and squeezing, was purely accidental.

With dinner over far too quickly, they decide to head over to a nearby pub for a pint.

———

Edna elbows Sam when she sees the couple that just walked in. Their table in the dining section at the back of the pub is angled perfectly to offer them a good view of the patrons coming and going. Sam’s fork nearly flies out of her hand from the assault.

“Eddie! What the hell—” Sam hisses in annoyance.

“Look! At the bar…” Edna hisses back.

“What are you girls on about?—” Eve turns around in curiosity, her back was to the bar. She spots the blonde first. The neatly cropped almost military style hair she recognises even from the back. The second man, the whip thin brunette with the shock of messy hair is partially obscured by the larger blonde crowding against him.

“Who’s he with?”

“Isn’t that Collin Mitchel from Q-Branch? Jenny, don’t you work with him?”

“Huh, I didn’t know they hung out.”

“Should we invite them over?”

“NO.” Both Eve and Jenny answer in unison. The other three look at them like they have gone mad.

“Well, it’s only polite.” Ginny decides with a stubborn air. She uncrosses her legs and starts to stand. In an instant, Eve has her wrist in a death grip - pulling her back down. She searches R’s face for an excuse. She’s got too much riding on those two getting together for a bunch of horny harpies to ruin it - even if they might be her friends.

Jenny cooks one up on the spot, “Ginny wait! Um… I report to Collin. I already have to see him on a daily basis, I don’t fancy having to see him after hours too.” Jenny pleads for understanding.

“Is he that awful?” Edna jumps to conclusions.

“No! No. It’s just... we’ll end up talking about work and that’s not what tonight is about is it?” Jenny is quick to nip that misunderstanding in the bud.

Ginny does not look particularly convinced. Neither do the other two but they let it slide... tonight.

Back at the bar, the two collect their pints and retreat to a corner to continue their conversation. Again thank goodness for crowded establishments. They find a couple of high bar stools and Bond seats himself with his back to the wall, legs apart. He pulls the other chair close to separate them from the other patrons in the bar. Q settles in after, making no move to adjust the chair’s distance which effectively puts him between Bond’s thighs.

Their body language is unmistakable. It speaks of comfort levels beyond that of colleagues and even some friends. Small touches, arms and shoulders brushing, practically whispering into each other’s ears. Bond’s chest is pressed against Q’s shoulder at one point when he leans in close to whisper something and then conveniently doesn’t lean away again.

In the dinning area, the five women watch unblinking. Eve and Jenny share a hopeful conspiratorial look. Then Sam verbalises what they are all thinking, “Huh… wonder what they’re talking about?”

—

Amid the din of the bar, the incredulity in Q’s voice can still be heard, “You want… a wing suit. Have you gone mental?” The green eyes behind the glasses are shining with mirth.

Bond makes a face and shrugs - pressed close as they are, the movement produces a pleasant comforting friction against the shoulders and arms, “Might come in useful.”

Q smiles companionably, faint dimples showing, “How about we leave the HALO missions to the SAS?”

—————————————————

Incident #3

The key turns but the DB5’s engine does not roar into life as expected. Instead it chokes and sputters before wheezing like an asthmatic, then cuts off completely.

Bond twists the ignition key back to ‘off’ and rests his forehead on the steering. He loves the old thing but it is starting to really test his patience. Classic cars like these do not take well to being left undriven for long stretches at a time.

He tries the ignition again - the engine whines and sputters noisily in protest, refusing to turn over. There is a small crowd gathering. -Why doesn’t this happen when no one is around?-

He pops the bonnet and reaches in to check the connection on the batteries.

“I could give you a jump?… I mean for the battery.” Bond turns around to face the the woman calling out to him. -Samantha. Accounts.- he recalls her name.

She’s dressed a little nicer than usually required for a government employee. Likely going out considering its Friday evening - the shoes give it away.

“Thank you. But I wouldn’t want to impose.” He tries to decline politely.

“Oh no! It would be no trouble at all.” Samantha begins to root through her little purse for her keys.

“Sam! We’re leaving.” Moneypenny’s voice rings out from somewhere behind her.

“But—“ Sam beings to protest. Eve appears next to her.

“Oh, evening Bond. Car troubles again?” Eve ever the observant one. “Need any help, or is this something only Q-Branch can deal with?” She smiles egnimaticaly.

Bond takes the escape route he’s been given, “I think it’s best to let the boffins take a look at it.” He unlocks his phone to make a call, more to bring home the point than anything.

:Brring! Brring!:

A trilling bell alerts them to the new presence. It is attached not to a bicycle but to a Segway - another one of those vehicles that security uses to patrol inside the building and around the grounds. Which of course means that Q-Branch has a couple as well - used to zip around the labs and onsite storage facility.

Q glides to a silent stop next to the DB5. He looks adorably ridiculous in the dorkiest way possible - high-vis vest and a neon orange bicycle helmet over his usual shirt and cardigan ensemble.

Bond only just manages to catch Eve’s whispered lament, “Oh sweetheart, why?”

“Hello Eve, Samantha. Evening Bond, trouble with the car again?” He asks pleasantly whist manoeuvring the Segway out of the way.

“Well! Seems like you’re in good hands 007. We best get going. Night Q!” Eve takes her leave - pulling a reluctant Sam along by the elbow.

“Oh! Good night ladies.” Q calls out to them, surprised at the abrupt departure.

Bond recalls R mentioning that the Quartermaster’s afternoon was booked for a meeting with a component manufacturer, “Q, please tell me you didn’t go into the meeting with the external vendors looking like that?”

Q checks himself and shrugs, “Well, I took off the helmet during the meeting… Why?”

-Oh Lord-. “Oh, nothing.” He plays it off lightly. “Mind taking a look at this?” He circles back to the problem at hand.

A few minutes of tinkering later and the DB5 is still obstinately dead.

“Well, the old thing due for an overhaul I think. It’s almost six decades old and seen some fairly serious action. Are you sure you want to keep it? I could just have it decommissioned. And we could issue you with a Prius as your daily driver.” Q knows that would get a rise out of the agent.

Bond turns to him, expression one of stunned disbelief. Decommission?… Prius? He’s not sure which idea offends him more.

“Who are you? And what have you done with the Quartermaster?” he gives Q his best interrogating-a-terrorist scowl.

“I’m just being practical!” Q defends himself. Then grinning, “Joking about the Prius… maybe.”

“How about, you get someone to take a look at it on Monday?” Bond counters.

“Alright. Fine... Lift?”

“Yes please. Dinner first?”

“Sure, why not. Drinks after?”

“Would be my pleasure.”

—-

They treat themselves to a Korean BBQ a short walk from their building. Premium cuts of meat perfectly cooked on a grill at their table, ginseng chicken soup, crispy seafood pancake topped off with refreshing Korean beer.

After dinner, they take a turn along the Riverside Walk across from the SIS building. However, that also meant that there stood a higher chance of them running into colleagues who might be thinking the same especially since it is a Friday evening.

Which of course they they do. Eve is holding court with a few of the more outgoing ladies and gentlemen of MI6 at one of the fancy alfresco bars that line the Riverside Walk. Her little gathering turning into an impromptu party when more colleagues join in, taking the opportunity to enjoy the break in the weather.

Trevelyan is among them, making his way around the group. His noisy socialising usually involve plenty of shoulder claps, hearty back pats and chummy faux punches with the men; and with the women, outrageous flirting if they let him. The unapologetic extrovert is everyone’s favourite Double-0.

Bond and Q drop in to say hello and show face, then sequesters themselves on the edge to enjoy the collegial atmosphere and jazzy lounge music without being in the thick of it.

When Alec finally makes his way them, he wedges himself between the two, throws a friendly arm around Q’s shoulders (or Collin Mitchel as he known by; his civilian cover) and drops his voice into a stage whisper, carefully loud enough so that no one misses out on their conversation, “So Mitchel, I heard the committee approved the budget for the new ‘fleet’…”

Alec is referring to the Black Budget that included rumours of an allocation to upgrade the performance vehicles used by the Double-0 division - simply put, the agents were all hoping for new very expensive toys.

“…Who’s your favourite and how do -I- get to the top of that list?” Trevelyan jabs himself in the chest with a thumb as he says this.

Now this catches the attention of everyone within earshot. For those in the know, cash money might be riding on this answer.

“Alec, who’s my favourite and the who’s on the list for an upgrade are separate things. You should know by now we prioritise based on ‘project’ requirements.” Q admonishes him.

“Bah! Surely favouritism can get me somewhere.” Then more seductively,”You know… I’m not averse to performing favours when the occasion calls for it. I’m very well trained…” Alec puts on his best come-hither face.

Bond just rolls his eyes at Alec’s theatrics and Q just laughs outright at the blatant attempt, nearly snorting on his drink. “Yes Alec. In case you’ve forgotten, ALL of you are. I don’t see how that separates your value proposition from the others.”

Mark from IT (one of Q’s closest colleagues outside Q-Branch) supplies the appropriate sound effect - a loud descending whistle followed by a violent explosion. The table erupts into laughter.

Undeterred, Alec pushes on, “Ah, so it’s not entirely out of the question, I just need to find my differentiating factor.”

Q tips his head close, matching Alec’s stage whisper from earlier. “Oh Alec, don’t be so hard on yourself,” he says to the agent sympathetically. “You differentiate yourself from the others on a regular basis. Compared to them, you’re a right plonker and an annoying bellend. Unfortunately neither qualities get you very high on either list.”

“Alec, quit now. There’s not enough hydro-gel plasters in medical to help you with that burn.” Bond joins in the friendly ribbing in between his own laughter.

Raucous laughter. Even Alec has to laugh at his own roasting, hands in the air in surrender.

—

It is late when they leave. Q rolls the car to a stop at the red light somewhere just outside Vauxhall. The night had been fun. Bond had been excellent company, and bizarrely he hadn’t gone off to catch a ride with Alec in his more image appropriate BMW. Q knew Bond hated his little Daihatsu with a passion but for some reason still accepted rides from him.

The light turns green and the Fiesta in the left lane next to theirs roll forward; Q’s old Charade is just a second slower off the line.

He’s about to enter the junction when Bond sees it, a movement in his peripheral vision. A white Camry coming down the three o’clock street faster than it should. At that speed and distance, it is unlikely that whoever it is will be able to stop in time.

In a split second Bond’s reflexes kick in - he grabs the handbrake and pulls it hard. Q’s little car comes to an immediate jolting stop - throwing both of them into their seat belts and squeezing a surprised gasp from Q.

The Camry barrels through the intersection at considerable speed, missing them by a hair’s breadth. But the Fiesta next to them isn’t so lucky, the Camry clips it violently on the front right wheel arch, spinning the smaller Fiesta partially around and pushing it several feet up the onto the pavement. There is an explosion of plastic and metal debris all over the road. The Camry already on the other side of the intersection slows to a stop on the shoulder of the road.

“Oh shit!... That was a close one,” Q is certain he had not touched the brakes yet the car came to a complete stop just in time. He checks for the cause and catches sight of Bond’s hand still wrapped around the handbrake.

Bond looks over at him, “You alright?” His right hand is already reaching for the seatbelt release. They should check if the other drivers are alright.

Q nods, heart hammering in his chest, “Let me move out of the way.”

He carefully manoeuvres his car around the debris field to the side of the road, behind the Camry. Just before Q comes to a full stop, the driver of the Camry seems to have had a change of mind. Instead of attending to the situation, it suddenly speeds off, tyres squealing.

“Ah the wanker… PZ65BYV.”

“Bugger it… PZ65BYV.”

They both say at the same time as Camry disappears. They turn to each other, eyes locked for a moment - acknowledging the mutual training that helps them remember details like these when needed.

In the end, they stay with the unhurt but shaken 18 year old driver of the Fiesta and her friend until police and one of their parents arrive. They were on their way home from work at a local restaurant when the incident occurred.

Q gives his statement as Collin Mitchel and gives them the number plates of the Camry; but keeps Bond out of the police report. He doesn’t have any cover identification at the moment and they don’t want his real name appearing in police databases even as a witness.

—

“Thank you… for pulling the handbrakes earlier. A few feet more and it would be a different story. I owe you for that,” Q puts the car into park in front of Bond’s building.

“Just reflex. No need to get all gushy.” The agent downplays his action.

“Well thanks to your reflex, it was a near miss. So I’m very glad you were in the car. ”

“Speaking of near misses, are there any safety equipment in this car? Seatbelts aside?” Bond can’t imagine the thin sheet metal doors would hold up to any kind of collision.

Q looks sheepish, “Haven’t found the time. Besides, fitting missile launchers into a supercar is far more exciting.”

Using humour to deflect the question only increases Bond’s unease. He can read between the lines. In Q’s list of priorities, his own safety is below that of his agents. Granted he is hardly ever in the line of fire, they make sure of it - but tonight has demonstrated that they can’t take his safety for granted even off duty. Bond’s instinct, the same one that pulled the handbreak serves up a word: Unacceptable.

On a whim he asks, “Would you like to come up?” Then when he glimpses Q’s cautious expression, he adds with a smile, “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

Of course Q’s curious. But he’d never thought it appropriate to ask before. “Is there anywhere I can park?”

—

The apartment is fastidiously clean but depressingly bare. Q tells him so. He had expected the complete opposite. Perhaps cluttered with objects from his extensive travels - a refuge from the impersonal hotel rooms that the agent is subjected to so often. Somewhere Agent 007 becomes just James Bond.

“Tea? Coffee?” Bond asks once the tour is done, not waiting for an answer before putting the kettle on. He’s scrambling for a good enough reason that would stall Q’s departure. There is nothing he can come up with that is the least bit sexual, because he has never faced this context before i.e. taking it slow.

He removes his jacket and holster, then turns on the telly to give himself time to think. It is tuned to to BBC One; the usual litany of depressing world news scrolls by - sex scandals, mindless violence, systemic financial fraud, looming global recession, security threats and sabre rattling between world powers. Just one night, he’d like to escape it all.

“Tea please.” Q answers coming out of the bathroom.

-Yes!- Bond thinks, he’s at least committed to stay for as long as the tea lasts. Bond retreats to the kitchen dutifully, handing the remote to Q as he passes.

When he returns, it is with a large mug of tea for Q and a coffee for himself. The telly is now showing the Netflix landing page. Q scrolling though the catalogue at a dizzying speed.

He rarely watches it himself, not for want of trying, but just the sheer variety gives him decision fatigue. He usually ends up spending more time deciding what to watch than actually watching.

“You don’t mind do you? Just that the news was depressing.” Q gestures to the screen with the remote.

“No. Go ahead. Netflix and chilling is fine with me.” He had heard the phrase before and he assumes it is a reference to how media content is consumed on demand these days.

Q pauses his high-speed scrolling to look over at Bond who is now settled casually on the armchair - not a trace of irony on his face.

For once, Q has to smile at Bond’s innocence, “I don’t think it means what you think it means...” he gently leads Bond to correct his own assumptions.

“What? … Netflix and Chill?” Bond looks perplexed for a second, “Wait… it’s not a euphemism is it?”

“It absolutely is.”

Bond shrugs away his embarrassment, “Learn something new everyday. Right then, what are we watching?”

They end up watching the first three episodes of ‘A Very Secret Service’. A comedic and irreverent take on the French Secret Service set in the 1960s which pokes fun at the spy film genre - the bureaucracy, the tactics, the gadgets and the politics. All of which they can relate to. It is therapeutic in a way, to be able to find humour in their work - a brief escape to decompress.

Q is asleep, curled on the sofa by the time the credits roll on the third episode. Bond pauses the show. He looks for a blanket to cover the boffin with.

“Wha-time issit?” the question comes out endearingly sleepy and slurred.

“One thirty.” Bond answers softly as he tucks the blanket around him.

“Oh goodness… apologies. Must have been more tired than expected.” Q yawns and makes a half hearted attempt to sit up. “I probably should get going.”

“Stay. You shouldn’t be driving in this state.” Then before Q can make up a protest, ”Do you want to change into something more comfortable?”

Q really did feel exhausted. Besides there is no harm staying the night for the sake of safety, right? It should be commendable even. “Mmm… okay.”

—

The sight of Q padding around his kitchen in the morning clad in oversized sweats and sporting the most unruly hair nearly sent him back-pedalling into his room. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all, considering his self-control. -SLOW! We agreed to take it slow.- he argues with his libido.

He takes Q out for breakfast as soon as the shops open - which meant out of Bond’s clothes and into a public area. This way he is forced to keep his hands to himself, more or less and his pants on.

—————

Three weeks later…

“Bond… I can’t accept this!” Q protests. The agent had lured him to the parking garage under the pretence of squeaky breaks on his DB5 - but instead of the Aston Martin, a completely different and much newer car was parked in its space.

The late model red Hyundai i30 in front of him is wearing a small tacky stick-on bow made from metallic plastic ribbon on the driver side-mirror.

“Not to worry, it’s second hand. I managed to get a good deal.” Bond waves the concern away - as if that made it better. Like a car was a perfectly normal gift among friends.

“Bond this is ridiculously extravagant. I’m a government employee—“

“—So am I. Consider it a birthday present.”

“I already have a car, Bond.”

“Yes… but this one…” Bond opens the driver-side door. “This one, all the electronic bits work. And more importantly, it comes installed with all the fancy active and passive safety features.”

He uses a finger to point out each feature on the car as if Q didn’t know more about automotive engineering than he did, “All round airbags… anti-lock brakes… stability control… crumple zones… side impact bar… passenger safety cage—”

“—Bond!” Q cuts the agent’s sales pitch short. “I can’t accept gifts that may appear to compromise my personal judgement or integrity,” he quotes the government rulebook.

“Yes I know…” his patience running out, time for a different tack. Bond walks back towards to the bloody-minded quartermaster, crowding him into the crook of the open driver side door, cutting off escape routes, and regards him seriously.

“Look, don’t think I don’t appreciate how sentimental that little Daihatsu is to you. I know, you’ve had it since university and you think that quirky little thing is an extension of your personality, but frankly Q… it would help me sleep better at night if I knew you weren’t driving around in that death trap.”

Q is rendered speechless. Both by Bond’s uncharacteristically sweet but misguided gesture and the unexpected admission.

“You don’t have to get rid of of the Charade - just, don’t drive it around… Please?”

It’s the ‘please’ that gets him - turns him gooey inside. Bond could have said ‘I love you’ and the effect would have been the same.

He sags against the doorframe, holding a hand out for the keys. “I don’t see your DB5 around, so I’m assuming you’ll need a lift home?”

Bond has a massive grin on his face, “How kind of you to offer. Dinner first?”

“Naturally. Drinks after?”

“Needless to say.”

——The End ——----------------------------------

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