#Miraculous MI6

[alexinchainsfest]

Well, that was fun! At least it was for me, I hope you guys enjoyed it too, biggest thanks to everyone who participated ♥

13 works were added to the collection over the month, so here is a recap!

Sweet Amnesia by Myulalie for @rirren [E, 4 374 words]

Ian disappears, and Alex gets into his head to hire “Ian’s old army buddy” to rescue his uncle. Yassen Gregorovich comes with a price.

Adjournment by iceblyecyanide for @strangesoulmates [T, 5 399 words]

“Did no one ever tell you that it’s impolite to enter someone’s room without invitation, Alex Rider?” Chess prodigy Alex Rider is attending the 1981 Moscow Invitational when a moment of curiosity leads him into trouble, and lands him an impromptu rematch with the World Champion, Soviet Grandmaster Yassen Gregorovich.

The Boy in the Ice by Myulalie for @lastlymatt [T, 3 932 words]

Project IceX takes Yassen to a lab in Siberia in order to relive a miraculously preserved humanoid, seemingly older than humanity itself.

I don't want to lose you again by turtle_snail for @shehungthemoon [T, 7 461 words]

Alex gets a phone call from the hospital saying that his uncle was in a bad accident. Except, Ian Rider died four years ago…

A Surprising Holiday by TheOtherBlue for @myulalie [E, 3 487 words]

Alex runs into Yassen while on holiday in Greece and sees a chance to flip the script of their encounters. Yassen isn't entirely convinced, but is willing to play along.

The Monster in the Cellar by Too_Many_Rooks for @icebluecyanide [Not Rated, 5 104 words]

'Perhaps he’d lied to himself as much as he’d lied to MI6. Every report they’d demanded had read the same; his nephew was normal, and safe, and happy, and they couldn’t have him. Ian was his parent in every way that mattered, not a prison warden for the thing that might lurk inside him. No one would take his kid away from him. But the snarling, blood-stained, monster, barely conscious with all his hate and his hunger that was chained up in their basement didn’t much resemble the sweet little boy who’d run to greet him at the door when he returned from long overseas missions, or the child who’d stare with wide-eyed joy and fascination as Ian showed him the world, nor even the stroppy tween who liked to complain about how boring and embarrassing his guardian was.' Ian is forced to enact a plan he'd been desperate to avoid when he returns home one day to find his nephew... changed.

Lot 14 by Rirren for @lastlymatt [E, 2 509 words]

Blind and deaf, Alex Rider is helpless as he is auctioned off.

Pinewood by turtle_snail [T, 5 166 words]

Alex and Freddy are captured by nightshade, the situation is starting to seem dire and maybe Alex can’t sass his way out of this one.

A different kind of sacrifice by limnal for @strangesoulmates [E, 4 346 words]

Alex, a young Celt, has been chosen to be handfasted with Yassen, a druid known for his love of blood magic and human sacrifice. There are expectations to fulfill this night.

A Winter Offering by LastlyMatt for @myulalie [E, 4 561 words]

In order for the village to make it through winter, Alex has been chosen as a sacrifice for the spirit of the woods.

Salt Water by Myulalie for @shehungthemoon [E, 4 618 words]

Five times Alex forces Yassen’s hand (and gets away with it).

Disciplinary Action by icebluecyanide for @lastlymatt [M, 4 475 words]

General Alexei Sarov makes good on his promise to have Alex whipped. "There will be no more outbursts," Sarov told him, his tone brooking no disobedience. "You will be quiet, and you will watch. And when Juan's punishment is over, you will take his place." Written for FebuWhump Day 24: "I'm doing this because I care about you" and the Alex in Chains prompt "Alex tied up in front of an audience".

The Mystery Suitor by turtle_snail for @myulalie [M, 8 311 words]

“I’ll think this is an amazing deal. It will bring prosperity to both our kingdoms. I think Prince Alex can agree.” He heard Ian say. Alex's curiosity doubled. He caught his name being included in some deal Ian was making on his behalf. “What was that about?” Alex demanded, not hiding the fact that he was eavesdropping seconds before. “You have a suitor.” Ian said, "I just got a marriage proposal.”

What a way to start the year! Thank you to all the participants, once again, and happy reading to anyone catching up now ♥

Feel free to keep browsing through the wishlists and gift something to someone even if the event is over, I'll be happy to reblog it here if you do!

[seiya-starsniper]

I wanna ask about From Eleanor, With Love ❤️

So From Eleanor, With Love is the sequel to my fic A View to a Dream! I've picked up and put this fic down a bunch of times, but I'd love to get it fully written out this year. Have a gut punch of a snippet:

Dream puts down the letter, his hands shaking, unable to read any further. This—this is a heavy secret he has been entrusted with.  Eleanor and Hob had met in the accounting department of MI6 almost ten years ago. Hob told Dream that they used to joke all the time about wishing they led more interesting lives as employees of an intelligence agency. Then Eleanor had been murdered. The official story was a case of mistaken identity. Hob had been told—as Dream had been told later—that Eleanor had been targeted because enemies of MI6 believed her to have some specialized weapons knowledge, knowledge that could bring down entire governments. With her death, Hob had been targeted after as a means to determine where she’d kept her files. In addition to miraculously surviving the attempt on his own life, Hob had also taken out his captors, and MI6 had offered Hob the role of a double-0, promising revenge for Eleanor’s unintended death. Which apparently, may not have been so unintended after all. “How can you stand it?” Dream asks Q, though he’s sure he already knows the answer. Whatever Eleanor had been working on, it was important enough to be killed over. And now the duty of that secret was to be passed onto Dream. “After everything that has happened to him after her death, how can you stand to keep this secret?” Q smiles sadly at him. “Read the rest of the letter, and you’ll find out.”

[walder-138]

MY BELL OC FROM COD COLD WAR PT 2

All day, I couldn’t stop thinking about this unhinged jackass, so I’d figure I’d post more info on her.

For context, I’d recommend checking my other post, as this covers everything after she was found and taken into CIA custody.

Annika refused to answer any questions, not even her name. Any question they asked, she’d either respond with ‘your mom’, ‘up my ass’, ‘kill yourself’, or something along those lines. Like I said in my first post: Bell’s a disrespectful POS. A very angry, very spiteful POS.

During the brainwashing, Bell was conditioned into believing she was an MI6 agent. Bell even developed a slight accent based off Park’s, and still has it even after the events of the game.

The comellowed her out a huge amount, and Bell didn’t express her anger as aggressively as she used to. That’s not to say it wasn’t there, she just couldn’t openly express it.

It did, however, tend to come out a lot on the battle field. Any opportunity Bell was given, she’d cause as much destruction as possible, albeit not all intentional.

She has bitten somebody’s ear off. I refuse to elaborate.

Bell, due to her constantly dilated pupil, is extremely sensitive to flash bangs. It feels like being stabbed in the eye every time one goes off. It also tends to creep people out. On a good note, it makes her sight in the dark exceptional. Bell rarely needs a flashlight because her right eye is already completely dilated.

If Bell didn’t lie to Adler, and miraculously survived the gunshots, she would be completely unhinged. She was used to following orders for both Perseus and Adler, that without that structure, she was confused. Bell didn’t spend a second of her life without authority over her, and the freedom overwhelmed her.

Nika’s fear, sadness, and confusion would manifest in, you guessed it, anger. If she were to mess up her hair, she’d rip a chunk of it out and spend an hour screaming and crying. If Nika broke a dish, she’d proceed to break all of them and the cabinet. She hated being alone, but she couldn’t be around other people. Both Perseus AND the CIA want her dead. Nika couldn’t take any chances.

Poor guy :(

I’m gonna end up putting up a part 3 probably in the next couple days.

[spiritofcamelot]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: Inspired by Miraculous Ladybug, Trans Male Character, Hope it doesn't come across as offensive Series: Part 10 of 007 Fest 2020 Word count: 337

When Q was fifteen, she was given a pair of earrings that changed her life. In a flash of light she became a masked superheroine.

She loved the way the tight spandex accentuated her curves and the mask helped her feel more confident in a way she never felt in normal life. She especially liked the translucent shoulder capes that were reminiscent of a ladybug’s wings.

And Q enjoyed doing small town heroics in her hometown of Swansea. But the heroics stopped when she went off to university.

And with university came new changes. Q left college with new pronouns and a plan. Now at twenty-seven, everyone knew him by Q and everyone saw him as a man. (A man who still had spots but that’s a different story.)

He’d completely forgotten about being Ladybug until one day the earrings appeared on his bathroom counter. He put them on but didn’t activate them. Not until he was leaving work and happening too look up in time to see a helicopter beginning to spiral out of control.

Quickly he ducked into a shadowed doorway and transformed in a flash of light. Then he leapt out, yo-yo flashing through the air to create a net between buildings and street lamps to protect the people below.

It was only when the helicopter was caught and he was waiting for a proper rescue team to remove the helicopter that he realised the full extent of his transformation. He looked like his fifteen-year-old self, absolutely feminine and six inches shorter.

With cameras clicking all around, he smothered the discomfort by telling himself it was the best disguise he could hope for. He used to worry his parents would recognise him behind the simple mask. There was absolutely no way anyone would think he was the quartermaster of MI6 now.

Which was good, because the story of a spotted heroine catching a helicopter with a yo-yo and saving lives was replayed on the news for the next week and Ladybug’s face was everywhere.

[goldpomegranates]

solid grip

007!Male!Reader x Bond Boy!Tom Hiddleston

Rated E for explicit sexual content, dubious consent, & voyeurism WORD COUNT: 2.2k also on AO3.

Playing wrangler to another double-0 would normally be child's play, but when a crime lord sets her eyes on Mr Hiddleston thanks to his natural charm and insistence of being a gentleman, the assignment gets dicey. He plays the role of seductor to perfection, and much to your dismay, all you can do is watch.

—x.

MI6 gives him a gun. It comes as no surprise really, following the events at Monte Carlo and the narrow escape that cost you two months’ worth of off-duty physical therapy in order to regain feeling in your right arm. No doubt he’s learned how to use it in that time, has eased into how his own limbs should move in close-quarters-combat. He’s sharp-eyed, quick witted, and one hell of a fast learner. A little bit much for just being a secretary shipped off to play Bond Girl to your 007, but you’ve never complained.

Thomas certainly has, but he forfeited the right to do so the moment he took that gun from Q. Packing power beyond most conventional handguns, the Beretta is tailored to his specific biometric data, its grip and barrel modified to sit comfortably in his hands. The way his long, slender fingers wrap around the polished surface, forearms straining against the recoil during target practice has been distracting, to say the least.

Unfortunately, the gun is only the start. At times, he is his own deadliest weapon, if even by no choice of his own.

You keep an eye on him from behind Q’s desk, the camera feed unrealistically crisp for a tiny lens perched in a nondescript corner of a cramped room. The audio feed is less grand, and the situation is dicey.

In the back room of a nightclub in London, another double-0 is playing the good girl card, her voluptuous chest and thighs barely reigned in by the sleek red evening dress she’s wearing. Tom hangs on her arm like a protective boyfriend, trying to sell the ruse to the crime lord currently dealing them an offer. Drugs, weapons, state secrets, the usual.

Said crime lord, also a lady of astonishing build and beguiling presence, eyes them both with interest beyond the professional kind. She’s playful, waving baggies below their noses as her hulking bodyguards wield assault rifles by all exits. It’s meant to be a reconnaissance mission, a quick in-and-out, but she’s taking too long to crack, and your people are getting antsy.

“Get me a name, double-0,” you say, applying just a hint of pressure. Neither reacts, but you know they’ve heard you.

You are not a handler, neither are you a supervisor, but this was meant to be your assignment had you not taken a bullet for the secretary. Q was, miraculously, on vacation, and as devoted to Queen and Country as MI6 is, the true voice of the people was the five hundred pound note. Especially the five hundred pound notes you swiftly slid into the home team’s pockets in order to grant yourself a say on the mission.

“—another type of payment,” the lady says, a feedback loop leaving your ear ringing.

Tom steps aside, awkwardly wringing his hands as the crime lord takes the double-0 by the hips and kisses her cheek. You make nothing of it, all agents have trained for this kind of scenario, but it dawns on you that Tom isn’t, in fact, an actual agent. He’s a glorified sidepiece, a decorative charm planted, in this case, to make his female counterpart come off as powerful.

You’re about to offer a warning but he interrupts the two women, hands to his chest with concern clear across his face. The mics are barely holding on and, had the Quartermaster been at HQ, he would’ve found a way around the problem. Instead, it’s just you on visual, a gaggle of runts on the ground, a double-0 in a bind, and a secretary who thinks he can retcon a potentially disastrous situation.

“Sinclair, don’t let him,” you tell the double-0. “Hiddleston, I’ll make sure this is the last field mission you ever see.” In hindsight, you figure that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

There’s a reshuffling of people, quick conversations, and snappy commands, and you watch in abject horror as the bodyguards mill out of the room with the double-0 in tow.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You are usually a tad more composed in these kinds of situations, but you have zero faith in Hiddleston getting the name you need when oftentimes doing so requires techniques you know the man won’t be able to stomach.

To inflict torture, one must first be subjected to it.

The bastard was too much of a gentleman to even consider the option, but his English sensibilities were definitely questionable when you witness him curl a finger beneath the crime lord’s chin, slowly tipping her face up to look at him. Her hands grip the front edges of his jacket, her blood red lipstick glossy under the room’s lighting. She smiles at him, eyes squinted with copious amounts of suspicion, but she seems appeased for the time being.

She sits on the couch in front of him, her legs crossed, and beckons him forward with a finger.

You count the hidden weapons in the room.

It shouldn’t bother you. You’ve seen it before, have sat through far more grotesque situations. You’ve trained for this. You all have. It’s your job to give it all for the assignment, no matter the cost.

In some cruel twist, the mic picks up everything. The rustling of fabric as acrylic nails play with his belt, the ripple of a zipper, the shocked gasp. You could take the headset off, but you don’t. You shouldn’t in case she breaks and gives up the name of her supplier.

“Very chivalrous of you,” she says, and you can see the movement of her elbow, can imagine her hand wrapped around him, “giving yourself up to protect your girl’s honor. Although was that truly the reason?”

Tom’s back is to the camera, his feet wide apart for balance. She leans forward and his head tilts back, eyes fluttering. You can’t see that last part, but you’ve had him in a similar situation, beheld the way he wore pleasure when teased.

“The world needs more men like you,” she continued, before the sound of a moan around a mouthful came through the headset. She pulled back, putting her hand back to work. “Whores, I mean. Good looking ones with proper manners and a deep-rooted desire to get thoroughly fucked.”

He makes an indignant sound and retaliates by taking a fistful of her long hair. She takes it in stride, leaning into the grip as she jerks him off.

“Do you have anyone back home? No offense, but you and that woman hardly have any chemistry. You couldn’t fool a blind woman if you wanted to.”

She goes in with her mouth again, this time staying there for a long moment.

You look away from the screen, disgusted by your interest. The hot, heavy pulsing between your legs something you will have to program out of your system in the near future.

You have played it fast and loose these past several months, courting Tom in some sort of acquaintanceship with benefits fantasy. Despite never truly sleeping with him, always stepping away when things got too heated, this nagging possessiveness grew exponentially pervasive.

It’s not part of the job. It could never be a part of your life while on the job. The only friends you could afford to name were your Quartermaster and M, and those were just your work buddies at the most. Lovers were few and far between, the occasional hit and run to let off steam, something that has become unnecessary when training and field work were just as effective.

But here was Mr Hiddleston getting under your skin, getting felt up by someone else under your supervision, apparently enjoying himself going by the way he enthusiastically removed his jacket.

And the sounds he made. Maybe he was adept at torture, just not the painful kind.

You look back at the monitor out of the corner of your eye and see that they’ve moved. For the love of everything holy, he’s sitting on the couch, trousers undone and cock in hand. She’s hovering over him, knees on either side of his thighs, dress bunched up in her hands.

You can’t bear looking anymore, but you do. You do. The way his hands hold onto her back, guide her in a graceless bounce that looks as sloppy as it sounds, the way he thrusts up to meet her has you gripping the edge of the desk.

The rub of fabric over the mic is grating, but it isn’t enough to obscure his thoughtless ramble and her vicious whisper. A whisper that puts you on high alert again, eyes and ears open. “Quite the show for your mates back at MI6, I reckon,” she says with a laugh, cradling his face in her hands. “Should I tell them?”

“Don’t,” Tom says, momentarily clear.

“Should I tell him?”

Your knee stops its jittering, your entire body going still. It has to be a coincidence, you tell yourself, digging through the scene in front of you. She’s cunning, everyone on the case knows this, and she will say anything to get under anyone’s skin. Just because she is able to read him doesn’t mean she knows him.

“So, it is a boy,�� she says, gasping, breathless. “Is he as charming as you? Oh! Is he a double-0?”

Through the haze, Tom’s eyes momentarily flicker to the camera. She doesn’t seem to catch him doing so, but you do. Your finger hovers over the metaphorical panic button, the one that will send everyone in the vicinity crashing into that fucking room and run damage control. The situation has now gone from precarious to dangerous, and you refuse to get another red mark on your ledger.

“Is he watching us right now? Can he hear us? Why don’t you go ahead and tell him how tight I am, how hard you are inside of me?” She leans back, her hands on his knees for leverage. And that’s good. Her hands are preoccupied, nowhere near a weapon. “Is it me? Or is it the thought of him watching that has you dripping?”

You cross your legs, expression schooled despite the absence of eyes around you. Maybe Medical was right and you should have taken a proper leave, at least until the remnants of painkillers and whatever other substances had left your body. You spare a thought to James and how he would have handled the situation, or any other double-0 for that matter. Hell, you even consider reaching out to Moneypenny for advice and your thoughts are drifting.

The headset crackles with the sound of a voice that isn’t Tom’s, but someone else on location. You catch a hint of your name, and a choppy question you take to mean whether or not they should move in. The answer makes itself impossible when on the other end all you can hear is the debauched cries of two people—one of which you wish was you and that is a problem. That is a big fucking problem. Playing around with the secretary is one thing but getting defensive about said secretary clearly enjoying a quick shag on the job is so far out of bounds you momentarily consider reassignment.

“Do not engage,” you say, and in return you get Tom’s sweet gasp.

The lady has wrapped herself around him, and while his hands rest at her back, pressed together, he’s staring at the camera. His gaze is steady despite the sultry part of his lips, his movements slow and measured. He leans back enough to lift her dress and show you where they meet, the slow glide of him moving in and out of her, the heavy weight of pleasure on his face.

You dig deep for that iron control that landed you the position. Back ramrod straight, you tell yourself the reason why you’re resting a hand over your thigh is for balance, a grounding touch, and not at all because you came close to pressing a palm against your groin. Shifting in your seat provides no relief, accidental pressure sending you to your feet.

Leaning over the desk, hands firmly splayed over the high-tech surface, you breathe evenly through your nose as you continue to listen. The woman’s frantic panting, Tom’s pleading as his voice goes higher than you’ve ever heard it before, and you want it. You want him.

The finishing blow leaves you lightheaded, his long and ragged moan stroking the deepest parts of you until it echoes inside of your stomach. The aching throb between your legs has not gone away and you will do nothing to remedy it, just suck it up and keep going, get your agents home safe.

“Disengage,” you say over the headset, ignoring the waver in your voice. “If she’s not giving it up after that, there’s no use in pursuing. We’ll find another way.”

The crime lord whispers into Tom’s ear, and you can see the moment it happens, the triumph in his eyes telling you that he got it, that she broke at the last second, but you know better. There’s no dick good enough to surrender an empire over. Whatever that woman has up her sleeve will come at a steep cost. But some bridges can be allowed to stand through the night.

“Get yourself cleaned up, Mr Secretary. Our men are on the move.”

[gotham]

What's your The Batman 2 wishlist?

1️⃣ Bruce to remain the same pathetic depressed bratty man child he was in the first film. i don't want some miraculous time jump wellness achievement, he should still be unable to make basic eye contact with people, he should still have the disposition of someone who has perpetual wet socks, he still shouldn't know how to even boil an egg on his own and is too scared to ask alfred at this point. like yes he's trying, he's not the total nocturnal reclusive gremlin he was in the first film and he's working on how to actually use the Bruce Wayne persona for good, but man, he's still fucking terrible at it (and yes he should still have the hair cut--and dress like--a teenager from 2006).

2️⃣ For Bruce's relationship with Alfred to be explored a little more (tell us more about how Alfred taught him to fight and all his MI6 training), and for it to be steadier than it was in the previous film but its still fucking weird. Now Bruce has acknowledged he cares about Alfred and he would be sad if he died (which is like probably the most vulnerable thing he's ever said to anyone which is very sad) they should get along better and do all their little unhinged bat projects together but Bruce is still very bad at relationship and his entitlement is insane so he should still be that brat boy who is very rude to his dad-employee-teacher-housewife.

3️⃣ I want it to have one main clear villain, hopefully one we've not seen before who can reveal/highlight something about Batman/Bruce or his family legacy. I don't want it to suffer with a too many villains problem, I actually don't care about seeing riddler or joker again because both would need their own plots to really shine as they're big picture kinda villains and would be wasted on the side-lines. i just don't want the film to get cluttered and bloated bc they think characters have to be there. I'd prefer these films to be stand alone adventures instead of one continuous story.

4️⃣ Speaking of Bruce's family history, I'd love to know more about the Arkhams and Martha, I feel like its such a tease to have Bruce learn that his mother struggled w/ mental illness and to not explore that. It must terrify him that he's like her and she was institutionalised (she probably witnessed her own parents death or found their bodies too like COME ON) or maybe it's a comfort to know they share something and there's more of a reason for him to be like he is. in any case, its time for bruce's mummy issues to be explored, daddy issues are so done 🥱

5️⃣ For it to still be small scale. One of the best things about The Batman was it was just a case batman was solving, it was just a mystery about regular people in Gotham and nothing more catastrophic than a sick car chase happened and the city got flooded at the end. And you were so much more invested in that than some laser pointing in the sky and the world ending. Keep to those stakes, keep it a human story--a detective story--above all else.

[amberwild420]

one step back, two steps forward (pt. 41)

After so long i have returned. Sorry for ghosting out for almost two months. My exams and sh*t ton of assignment had kept me away. so now i have returned with the update. the updates will be on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday because i’m doing my internship rest of the week.

masterlist

too much

Clicking of the keyboard filled the silence as Bruce made his way down the bat-cave. Alfred was in the main chair looking through the whole case of miraculous.

 Alfred?

 The said butler didn’t say anything. Completely absorbed in the case.

Alfred?

 Bruce called a little louder making him twitch but he didn’t replied. Just as he was about to call again, Alfred stood up abruptly and started pacing around.

 By now the other bat children had made their way down as well. Seeing their grandfather figure pacing around, they were confused. They hadn’t seen him distress before never mind to this extend.

 Just as they thought they couldn’t get any more surprised, Alfred put his face in his hands and let out a sound that was very much like a sniffle.

 Alarmed everyone tried to console him and inquire about what has made him so sad.

 Alfred! What happened? Tell me who needs to die?!

 I’ll sic goliath on them!

 ……    

 Cassandra just hugged Alfred and said nothing. But Alfred said nothing but schooled his emotions.

 Why don’t we all take a seat?                Alfred said before smiling a little.                                       Let me tell you something about my time during MI6. Something you need for this case to be solved.

 The sudden hush was little eerie, especially with the bats screeching in the background. Bruce showed a little emotion in his eyes before settling down.

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

Miraculous ladybug!

 Millions of ladybugs flew around, fixing the damage done by the akuma. Many people cheered for the miraculous team. Just as they were about to leave, a figure ran up to them and called out to them.

 Ladybug, wait! Answers a few questions!

 The miraculous team looked at each other, clearly thinking the same thing. Ladybug turned and gave a stern look to Alya. Which one of them didn’t know about her intentions? To think that this girl was this thick-skinned that she couldn’t take a hint when the other party didn’t want to talk about it, instead she use more force to get things she wants to hear.

 Miss Cesaire, we don’t have enough time to give you any type of answer.

 But it was like she was not listening to anything.

 Ladybug, what do you think where chat noir is? Is he doing some special mission? Is he on a secret job? How long would it take you guys to get together? Or is it that you are already together?

 She kept firing questions without pause. Ladybug frowned, letting everyone see her face twisting. Many people already shook their head at Alya’s constant trouble. Before she could say anything, Luna grabbed her shoulder and pushed her away lightly, clearly indicating that she should leave and let her handle it.

 Since ladybug was too nice to put it bluntly, usually it was Honeybee and Luna who drove away Cesaire’s attempt to ask irrelevant questions and point out coldly about how it was mostly her fault that the team has to exhaust themselves just to pull her out of the trouble.

  Right now ladybug was at the very last minute of her transformation. If she stayed behind she will be forced to de-transform in front of everyone. Ladybug nodded in gratitude and left.

 Alya tried to follow but Luna got in her way, cutting off every attempt of the girl to get answers. Alya gritted her teeth and glared at the wolf hero.

 Why are you stopping me from asking a few questions?!

 You mean the irrelevant questions.

 I always ask what other wants to know!

 I think you said it wrong. You just want to ask what you want to hear and see as your rating blow up. It has nothing to do with the others.

 You’re just a temporary hero. I don’t even know why ladybug keeps you around. You are so rude to everyone.

 Her eyes flashed before she took a threatening step forward, making her to step back hurriedly. People, who were still around, moved to the side. Many took out their phones to record the interaction. Luna didn’t aim for the reporter; instead she put her hand on the innocent fire hydrant. The creak and groans of the metal was heard before they saw what happened.

  The hydrant was misshaped brutally, making people feel a chill in their spine. Luna looked at the blogger and glared.

 This is my true strength. Every time there is an akuma, I’m in charge to take it out in a fist fight. But what do I have to do? I have to hold back and save you every time, because you have no self-perception about throwing yourself in the face of danger just for a few views. Tell me do you have any right to call me rude?

 Alya stuttered, trying to say something. But Luna once again cut her off.

 Tell me Miss Cesaire, we have to put our life on the line just to make sure that none of the people get hurt. Everyone knows that in the face of danger, they have to get away from the danger unless they want to have trauma of dying over and over again but that’s not the case with you! You just have to run towards the danger, trying to get killed or getting us killed because you’re so selfish! Do tell me after all we go through, all the trauma we bear by witnessing mass massacre, fighting with the akuma, getting black and blue do you still want to ask questions about romance!? Are you this thick-skinned?!

 n-no, I-I…….

 You what?! Do you still want to accuse me of being rude and a bully?! After tolerating you for this long, do you still want to test my patience which is already thinning?!

 Many whispers and murmured were passed through the crowd. True if you are constantly fighting an emotional hostage and some tabloid reporter wants to force themselves in every single time just for a few rating, they would be just as irritated as her, if not more.

 Many glances changed to sympathy. The heroes were putting themselves as the shield just to protect them. They even started a campaign on how to stay away from trouble. Did that kid actually wants to kill the heroes or something?

  Luna huffed before turning around to leave, the misshaped hydrant left behind as a reminder. This was due anyway. Since ladybug was the beacon of hope, the rest would have to be the bringer of the harsh reality, especially her along with Honeybee. Both were blunt and straightforward and didn’t waste energy on sugarcoating the words.

 And if there are people that would shed negative light on her, well, too bad she didn’t care. Luna swing her whip before swinging in the general direction of her home.

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[astudyinfic]

Spooktober 2021 

Day 5 - Witch

Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies)

Also on AO3

~ ~ ~

He'd heard it for years, to the point that he no longer had to bite back his preferred response. "Q, I don't know how you do it. You're a tech wizard." He knew what they were saying; that he was good at what he did, to the point that it was almost unbelievable. That what he did had to be some sort of magic in the minds of the people who didn't know. 

He never corrected them, just accepted what he knew to be a compliment with either a small smile or an expressive roll of the eyes. That was what they expected of him. They didn't want to know the truth. 

He wasn't a tech wizard. He was a witch. 

It wasn't just technology that he could influence but he had the most control when it came to gears and wires and electricity. Others might have an affinity for fire or water. He was just a different brand, if you would.

Magic didn’t factor into life for most of the people at MI6. As far as Q knew, no one even knew about it, which was just fine with him. He wouldn’t have made a very good spy if he couldn’t keep secrets and work in the shadows. 

He should have realized, however, that a good spy could also find out other people’s secrets. A good spy like James Bond.

They’d only been dating a few weeks, and Q had only just begun to consider how to tell Bond the truth about his life. Magic wasn’t something you could spring on a person, after all. 

Q set up his flat for their date, lighting candles and ordering dinner for Bond to pick up on his way over when a notification on his computer caught his attention. He opened the laptop and got to work, manipulating the energy around it rather than actually touching the keys. He pretended to do things the mundane way while at work, but he didn’t see any reason to hide in his own home. 

Magic gathered and flowed around him, the purple glow such a constant in his life that he didn’t even notice it. It was as normal to him as breathing, as sleeping. 

“Q?” The voice from the doorway had him stop and Q turned, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights as he looked at Bond standing there with the takeaway in hand. “What was that?” He’d forgotten he’d programmed the door to see Bond as a welcome guest and to let him in whenever he arrived.

The light of his magic flashed once then retreated back inside him, hiding from someone Q knew wouldn’t understand. “Um…?” His normally quick mind failed him and Q was left floundering, looking for the right word that would explain the unexplainable.

“Because it looked like magic. Only different magic than I’ve ever seen.” Bond kicked the door closed and came to stand between him. “Technology magic? It would make sense.”

“How would that make sense?!” Never in his life had Q ever met someone as confusing as James Bond. It made him attractive and interesting but also made Q annoyed more often than not. 

Bond smiled that terrifying smile that he had when he knew he had someone right where he wanted them and stalked forward pinning Q between the table and his own body. “I’ve never seen that color before, so it would have to be magic I haven’t experienced. And knowing what you do for a living, it is the most logical answer. Sometimes I think you truly believe I’m nothing more than a hired gun.” The words would have carried more of a sting if Bond wasn’t smiling as he said them.

“No, I think you have a death wish. If you weren’t smart, you wouldn’t have survived this long.” Bond continued smirking at him, waiting for something. A moment later, Q understood what Bond was implying. "Are you saying that you...?"

Bond held up his hand and a warm golden magic flowed around it. It was a rare color, one Q had only seen a couple times in his whole life, despite having grown up in the magical community of London. "You didn't think that all those miraculous survivals were actual miracles, did you?" 

Healing magic. A lot of things made more sense with that realization. "I should realize that you will never stop surprising me, shouldn't I?"

"It might make things easier." 

Bond kissed him and distantly Q heard the door slam shut, his magic flaring out to activate the mechanism that operated it. Life with Bond was never dull, and Q couldn't wait to see how the man surprised him next.

[tooxldtorememxer]

Are you proud alex? | moden

As it would seem, Claire is not the only one able to travel through time. After the battle of Culloden he miraculously survived, just like Jamie, and soon found himself somewhere he didn’t know after he disappeared. To blend in he took on a new persona, a new person he named Frank after an uncle he’d mentioned to Claire at their first meeting in the now past.

Who would have known that with the choises he made in his new life, he would one day come into contact with Quentin Beauchamp and his young niece Claire Beauchamp. This was just an opportunity too good to waste (because fuck you Claire and fuck you Jamie) and he started to woo and charm her and in 1938 they married. Their honeymoon in the Scottish highlands served as a reminder and an attempt of retracing his own footsteps a bit.

In 1939 they were separated by the war which, to him, didn’t mean anything and he was back in old familiar territory, even when working as a spy for MI6 which was kind of boring compared to how things used to be.

When Claire disappeared during their second honeymoon to Scotland he played his part of a grieving desperate husband very well. Of course, he knew where she was, where she had gone and what she was about to do in 1743. He’d already lived it, after all, but apart from that he continued on living his life and playing his part for sympathy.

She came back pregnant and though he thought his obsession with Jamie had passed a long time ago he couldn’t help but wonder what the man would think if he ever knew that Black Jack Randall was the one who raised his daughter as his own. He’d explained to Claire that he was sterile, that’s why they didn’t have children of their own. She believed it to be medical but he knew it came from being stabbed in the groin by the child’s real father, and now he finally had a child to call his own. (Are you proud Alex?)

If Claire ever knew that Frank was just a part played by Jack, especially when she returned, he would never know since he actually dies in 1966 due to drunk driving. The life he had created was slowly falling apart and he was getting bored and ready to start over, but instead, everything ended. There were hints dropped, like his obsession with his family line, especially after 1948, about who he was.

[omnivorousshipper]

Coming Together: F9 Fic- Part 1

Summary: When someone uninvited comes to the family dinner, how will the Toretto crew react, especially when they learn one of theirs has gone traitor?

~~~

           “Wait, there’s still an empty seat.” Dom spoke allowed, stopping Little Brian from starting grace. Smiling he looked up to see Mia’s shining face as they all could hear an engine roaring down the street and stop in the driveway. Sharing a wink with Mia, Dom excused himself from the table to go greet the late guest.

           Even though they kept in touch all the time, with plenty of playdates between cousins, Dom couldn’t help but be filled with joy when he saw Brian helping his son and daughter out of his car. They were both jumping up and down, both talking a mile a minute about the way Brian had just driven through the streets of LA.

           “About time you showed up!” Dom called out.

           Brian laughed as he shut the car door behind May. “We had a bit of an issue with what we all wanted to wear.”

           “Uncle Dom!” Two voices shouted out and two small bodies came running into his legs, wrapping their arms around his waist.

           “There’s my favorite nibblings!” Dom chuckled and didn’t hesitate to pick both Jack and May up. The two kids giggled and hugged him tight as they told him all about their trip. “One at a time! I can’t listen to both of you if you talk over each other.”

           Sharing a smirk with Brian, Dom lead father and children to the backyard where they were all met by a chorus of greetings. As he put his niece and nephew down, Dom looked around at his family.

           He couldn’t remember a time when his backyard had been so filled with people and laughter. It had been too long.

           “Come on, sit down!” Letty called out. “Little Brian is ready to say grace!”

           Listening to his wife, Dom took his seat and let Little Brian sit on his lap as he slowly gave thanks for everything in his life. So lost in his son’s words, Dom didn’t notice the figure staring at them from the street, eyes nearly glowing as they took in the scene.

---

           Eight months.

           For eight months, Brixton had been on the run from everything and everyone.

           The last coherent thought he could remember since he had woken up was the devastated look in Deckard Shaw’s eyes as Brixton watched a small countdown that shut his body down. After that, the only thing he could remember for certain was darkness and the freezing cold of the ocean as it pushed and pulled his body as it pleased. He had no idea how long he had drifted on the waves, nor does he know when he had been fished out of the water. The only thing he could remember was the kind, elderly face of the woman who nursed him back to health.

           Her English had been limited, but Brixton hadn’t been bothered at all. They communicated through gestures and broken phrases, but they both enjoyed leaving the other in their own silence.

           The old woman’s nephews had fished him out of the sea and brought him to her, trusting her much more than any sort of authority with his lack of identification. Brixton had been thankful they were so paranoid or else he would have ended back up in the hands of those that had kept him in a rage infused fog for the last eight years.

           When Brixton had learned of what year it was, he had been shocked.

           How had eight years passed already? It had felt like only a few weeks since Eteon had restored his body and told him what Deckard had done to him. Ever since, he had been following every order given to him all in the promise of finally achieving his revenge. The only thing he could even remember from that time was the pure hatred and rage that flowed through his veins. There wasn’t a moment where Brixton was filled to the brim with the need to kill and destroy anything that was in his way.

           He had felt the power in his body had been so heady, he hadn’t needed to think of anything else. With only a few simple commands, Brixton had been one of the most powerful men alive.

           Until he wasn’t.

           Now, he could only remember snippets of all the things he had done. The memories would come to him in flashes, some so intense and detailed, he felt his stomach revolting. He could clearly see the life escaping out of those he had killed, and the sick pleasure that had coursing through him. He could practically feel the blood on his hands and swore he could still see it deep in his skin.

Other memories were so vague, he felt fear shoot up his spine. What else could he not remember? Were there even worse things he had done? What kind of monster had he become?

           These questions never stopped plaguing him, no matter the time of day or what he was doing, the thoughts would creep in and demand to be heard. Brixton had far too many questions and not enough answers.

           And he had a feeling he knew exactly where to get those answers.

           Deckard Shaw.

           The only issue was how to contact the man.

           Brixton had been found at the bottom of California, miraculously still alive after floating thousands of miles from Samoa. He had no idea how he was alive, but he wasn’t about to question his second chance to make things right. So, after a few months with the old woman, Brixton had promised to repay her and her family for their kindness, and had promptly left.

           He had no idea where to start, but he already knew how to look for Deckard. After being his partner at MI6, then romantic partner, Brixton knew all of Deckard’s tricks and just how to find him.

           And that’s what worried him the worst.

           Tracking Deckard’s movements had been difficult, but Brixton knew the signs of where the other man had been. A story of a mysterious death here, a missing sports car there, and then a short period of nothing as Deckard no doubt went home to relax before his next job. It had almost been relaxing to watch Deckard’s activity daily, half a world away.

           Until he had disappeared three weeks ago.

           Understandably, Brixton had assumed the man had just gone underground for some reason, maybe to spend time with his family, but soon enough, Brixton knew that wasn’t the case. Especially when he could find the other Shaws’ presences all over but no sign of Deckard. Nobody could disappear that efficiently in this day and age.

           There had to be an outside party involved.

           And Brixton knew exactly who could have made Deckard disappear that thoroughly.

           Eteon.

           But what had made fear truly run through his body was when he spotted a familiar face near Deckard’s newest American allies.

           Han Seoul-Oh.

           The second cyborg Eteon had ever created.

[tempusfugit007]

❛ bullet wounds don’t just miraculously heal overnight. ❜

"Not with that attitude." He grunts, roughly tugging a bottle of scotch out of the cupboard with his functioning arm. The other one is bound to his chest with a makeshift sling of his own devising.

He missed his debrief last night having taken the red-eye flight home and has been hiding down in the MI6 provided barracks.

@dontstoptrying

[thepeacetea]

Schwarze Geist and Stille Schonheit

.Hi guy, sorry the title sucks. This is an au idea that I had for a while, but don’t know what to do with. The pair is one I haven’t seen before, so I played with the ages a lot, but then again, it is an au. Anyway, here it is, and I apologize for any typos, it’s late here.

Takes place in World War 2 in occupied France. Alfred, a spy at the time, is sent there to meet with an agent of the French resistance. The only clue about their informant is their name, ‘le chanceux’ (the lucky one). He was to meet them in a small, back street café near the center of Paris. No one knew what they looked like, but Alfred never pictured the almost legendary ‘le chanceux’ to be a young woman. A small, mixed, young woman whose startling blue eyes appeared so soft and innocent. He most certainly did not expect her to bluntly comment on his choice of clothing. But one was for certain, this girl knew how to think on her toes. The more he worked with her, the more fascinating she became. She lived up to her name. Luck seemed to follow her everywhere, rubbing off on those who she was partnered with.

It was when they were snooping around a Nazi official’s room that they found a sealed envelope that had fallen behind a couch. Upon opening it, they found a set of earrings and a ring, along with a letter stating that these items would ensure the Nazi’s victory. Taking the items back to chanceux’s home, they made the mistake of touching the jewelry. A bright flash of light later, and they had two tiny and confused floating creatures. After a lot of confusion and explanation, they learned about the miraculous and what powers they held. Alfred and chanceux knew they couldn’t let the enemy have them, but there was no way for them to send the jewelry to Britain, and both ‘kwamis’ were adamant about not being known.

While they were arguing with the kwamis, the house was raided. Someone, a mole, had tipped the Nazis off to resistance works living in the building. In a panicked attempt to escape, they followed the kwamis instructions, slipping on the jewelry, and called on their transformations just as the soldiers broke down the door.

Instead of two rebels, the soldiers found two oddly dresses individuals. A man, dressed in a black that melted into the shadows, a hood obscuring half of his face, with cat-like eyes that seemed to glow. The other, a woman, was wearing a slightly, form-fitting set of deep burgundy pants and shirt. Her eyes were so blue that they were unforgettable. They were there for only a moment before they both jumped out the window, disappearing into the night.

That marked the day Germany started losing control of France. When they started losing the war. Equipment, weapons, information were being utterly destroyed. Advancing allied troops or resistance personal were suddenly having more luck infiltrating and gaining ground. Sensitive information, known only to high ranking officials were somehow leaked to the allies. The German government knew what was causing it. The very weapons that they were going to use to win the war were now being used against them. The black cat and ladybug had been stolen and now they were suffering.

The German soldiers gave the individuals the names der schwarze geist (the black ghost) and der stille schonheit (the silent beauty)

During their nearly three years of activation, Alfred learned his partners name: Marinette. How she had wanted to be a seamstress before the war started, and how, regardless of how much her parents wanted her to stay in France, she wanted to America. To ‘carve a life for herself there’. The longer they worked together, the more attached he became to the girl, until one day, he found himself so far in love that there was no going back. Their courtship was short and their wedding was held in a small church in the French countryside with only the clergyman and his wife as witnesses.

It was near the end of the war, Germany was losing, their luck run dry, waiting for the inevitable. It was a simple infiltration, get it, get out. Something they had done countless time before. Only this time, something went wrong, they had gotten the information and were almost at the rendezvous when a sniper got a luck shot.

All Alfred saw was Marinette’s body jerk as her face froze in shock before she fell. Alfred knew she wasn’t going to make it before he caught her, though he was hoping against hope that she was going to ok. He didn’t remember much after that, one moment he was holding his wife, his partner, and the next he was waking up in a hospital back in England.

A platoon had found them when they had gone to raid the camp, only to find nothing but dust and the two of them. Marinette had held on longer then anyone had expected, though she died not long after they reached the hospital. Only three days before Alfred woke up, She was already buried, though they did have the decency to save her jewelry, including her wedding band and earrings, giving them to Alfred.

After the war, Britain wanted to activate stille schonheit again. They wanted to find Alfred a new partner. Alfred didn’t want a new partner! They didn’t understand that it didn’t work that way. You can’t just pick a new partner. They had to be bonded to a certain lever in order to maintain the balance. They needed to be compatible. But they wouldn’t listen. So Alfred did the only thing he could. He let Plagg and Tikki go. They already told him there was a guardian and they knew where he was. He would look after them. MI6 was not pleased when they found the black cat and ladybug miraculous missing, though Alfred’s story never changed. One morning, he woke up and both items where gone.

Alfred ended up moving to America, mostly because it was where Mairnette always wanted to be. Alfred had planned that, after the war, he would her by move them to America. So in a lot of ways, the move was for her.

He ended up in Gotham, working for Martha and Thomas Wayne, and after their deaths, became Bruce’s guardian.

Over the years, the stories of der schwarze geist and stille schanheit faded, falling into obscurity.

No one in the Wayne household ever questioned why Alfred always took one specific day off, year after year, disappearing for the day. They all had their secrets, their own demons, they wouldn’t question his.

[ayana-shaw]

Three days after her adventure with Luna in the city, Morgan pulled the trigger. She, Shaw, and Lennon had watched with interest over Luna’s shoulder as the only mortal among them singlehandedly set the plan in motion with a handful of expert keystrokes. It was a security breach that MI6 would detect relatively quickly, which was the whole point. And it was a security breach that allowed them temporary access to the dozens of cameras planted around the agency hideout. And it was that security breach that confirmed what Morgan had suspected -- Romi and Nick weren’t being held in the main MI6 headquarters in Vauxhall, but indeed in this small, undercover corporate building across the river in Bloosmbury. Exactly how Morgan had come to know of this location, Shaw didn’t even know. But she’d been alive a very long time and her network of acquaintances was far more vast than any of them could likely comprehend. It was an irrelevant detail, though, as the security footage of Romi and Nick in the hideout’s medical laboratory was the most important part of the puzzle, slotted neatly into place.

Two additional days of preparation later and Shaw found herself stuffed into the back of Morgan’s rental van, dressed in black and pressed shoulder to shoulder with Lennon. The fairer of her two choices, as she’d still not gotten over her conversation with Morgan regarding Luna. Luna, whom Shaw had unwillingly ignored and avoided since their sleepy and amicable return from their night in London. The girl was upset. Shaw could see it in the way she moved about the manor, the way she kept her eyes averted when they did cross paths around the house. It was fucking torture, and every hour Shaw had to actively fight the urge to shove into Luna’s room and simply claim the girl’s mouth, her body, her heart. They all belonged to her, Shaw was certain, but they weren’t hers to take any longer. As angry as she was with Morgan, the woman had been right and Shaw took the coward’s way out. Slinking in the shadows instead of confronting the problem head on. But she would rather feel the burn of Luna’s distant ire than be the cause of her sadness or heartbreak. It seemed the easier option, and it was the path she’d dedicated herself to.

Which made for an incredibly tense atmosphere as the rescue mission commenced. As far as she knew, Lennon was oblivious to the whole of it, which she was grateful for. She was also grateful that their plan included splitting up. After successfully parking in the service bay of the hideout, Morgan hopped out of the van to follow Luna to the control center. Which left Shaw and Lennon to the actually finding of Romi and Nick. The newest member of their crew was clearly incredibly nervous -- less so for herself, but because Luna was here. And Luna was not invincible. “Don’t worry about her, ay?” Shaw spoke softly as they waited for instructions to come through the pieces in their ears. She reached for Lennon’s hand, which was gripped tightly to her own knee. “Luna’s supposed to be here. She’ll not get caught.” And even if she did, she had Morgan with her. Even estranged, Shaw trusted Morgan not to let anything happen to the only mortal among them. A fact that she had to keep telling herself in silence, lest she be as distracted as Lennon seemed to be now.

When Luna’s voice chirped brightly at them through the earpieces, she and Lennon hopped into action. Everything they did was quieter, stealthier than the way in which Luna had walked through the halls. Because unlike the undercover IT specialist, Shaw and Lennon actually weren’t supposed to be here. And with Luna’s eyes in the sky and directions in their ears, the pair of them crept carefully through the halls undetected.

“Three coats inside,” Luna’s voice warned them as they finally approached the locked door to the lab. They knew this would be a possibility. For the brief amount of time they’d been hacked into the security system back at the manor, they’d been able to study the shifts and movements of the guards. Had detailed the path and timing to getting right here to this door. But they had no way to prepare for what lay beyond it, and Shaw reached now for the taser gun at her hip. Lennon followed her lead and did the same.

“Door’s unlocking in three, two, one...”

On Luna’s cue, the door buzzed and Shaw pushed quickly inside. One of the scientists was right in front of them, a test tube in each hand and eyes wide to see the intruders before him. Shaw grinned, waved, then lifted the taser and pulled the trigger. The barbs stuck in his chest and the electrical current that shot through him was visible, body quaking for a few seconds before he collapsed to the ground unconscious. Not the sure fire method of a bullet that Shaw preferred, but Morgan had insisted they spare as many lives as they possibly could here. And so they moved on, stepping over the man’s body to move further into the lab.

The second two took longer to bring down, as Shaw hadn’t had time to reset her taser and Lennon was... well, unpracticed. A soldier, sure, but not a fighter. Luna would have been the better partner here, but the mortal was safer in the control room than here on the front line. Lennon took on the female scientist while Shaw focused on the third, who was shortly thereafter joined by a guard who’d overheard the struggle.

Shaw didn’t think to question why they hadn’t heard through the walkies that a lackey was on his way in.

Some fifteen minutes later, Shaw heaved herself up off the floor, having had to resort to a jiu jitsu hold that cut off oxygen to the brain. The guard lay unconscious (maybe dead, but not their concern now) at her feet and Shaw finally turned her attention to Lennon. Sweet Lennon, who’d somehow managed to tap into her inner army soldier and combat their enemies with determination and a strength Shaw hadn’t expected. There was blood beneath the blonde’s nose and a bruising eye that would be back to normal soon. Shaw clapped a hand onto her shoulder and gave her a breathless nod. “You did well, rookie.”

At the back of the lab, they found Romi strapped to a medical bed. Shaw whispered her name breathless, immediately reached for the straps that tightly held her limbs snug to the bed frame. Dark eyes flashed open below her, but Shaw wasn’t entirely convinced Romi saw her. She was stuck with needles, machines beeping and burring around her. A bit out of it, clearly, but the fingers that lifted and traced shakily over her wrist let her know that Romi understood what was happening. “It’s good to see you, too,” Shaw whispered through a shaky laugh, leaning forward to press a hasty kiss to Romi’s pale forehead. “Lennon, get her out of all this.” The blonde didn’t hesitate, mumbling an awkward introduction to Romi as she began tugging free the straps to free the rest of the older immortal’s limbs.

Nick was next, and Shaw quickly darted through the adjacent rooms of the lab, praying to a god she didn’t believe in that she would encounter Nick before bumping into another scientist or guard. The fourth door she shoved open contained inside it a large glass tank, filled with water that glowed with the fluorescent lights of the small room. Accompanying said tank with another scientist that Shaw quickly subdued with a well placed punch to his throat, causing the man to choke and gorble as he crumpled to the floor. The tests clearly being performed here made Shaw’s stomach churn, and she climbed the platform beside the tank with a fury pounding in her steps. 

Nick was in that water, floating freely with no tubes, no oxygen. Just dead, with wires of all colors stringing out from various parts of his body. 

“Bastards,” Shaw hissed as she carefully lowered herself into the water to retrieve her friend, tugging his body to the surface and fighting against his dead weight to pull him free of the tank.

It brought up anguishing memories, horrifying images of dreams she’d had of Val’s headless body being flung into the ocean. Forgotten, lost for eternity. A cold and watery grave that a man with soul like Val’s didn’t deserve.

Shaw cried out beneath the heavy weight of Nick’s body on her shoulders, but she managed to find her footing. Settled him as stably as she could in a fireman’s hold and hurried back to the main part of the lab to find Lennon helping a wobbly Romi to her feet.

“Nick...” Romi called softly to her lifeless husband and Shaw simply shook her head, trudging on ahead to lead the other two promptly from the lab. “You can fuss over him when we get home, Ro.”

“Luna, we need a path back to the garage,” Shaw called, transmitting to their counterparts in the control. Ten seconds later, they hadn’t received a reply. It made Shaw stop, dripping wet, and Lennon nearly walked right into her. 

“Why wouldn’t she be answering?” Lennon asked behind her and Shaw turned, eyes hard.

“Luna. Come in.”

Twenty seconds of silence, no answer.

“Shaw--”

“Luna, come in!”

“Shaw!”

“Bloody hell,” Shaw muttered under her breath, powering through the sudden terror in her veins. They had to get back to the van. They had Romi and Nick, who were little more than dead weight to them right now. If they encountered more guards, they’d be useless and Shaw wasn’t willing to fail here. “Pick it up, Len, we have to get them to the van.”

Despite the protests from Romi behind her, Shaw pushed forward. Left, right, right, left again. She weaved back through the halls in the reverse directions they’d been given by Luna, praying she hadn’t made a mistake. Miraculously, they made it back to the garage in decent time. It would seem no one had yet realized that the independent contractor they’d hired for IT was related to the laboratory break-in, and the van was still blessedly here. Unguarded. A beacon of hope and success.

They were just loading Romi and Nick into the back of the van when their luck ran out. Shouts from the hallway rang through the cement walls of the garage and multiple shots fired. Shaw ducked, and beside her, Lennon cried out in shock and pain. She’d not have been used to being shot like the others were, who could take a bullet and manage little more than an irritated groan. “Get in,” she hissed, all but shoving Lennon into the van behind Romi, who had weakly dragged Nick’s limp, pale body into her lap. “Take care of each other,” she instructed to the lot of them, ducking again when more shots fired.

Shaw slammed the rear doors of the van shut and whirled, dropping again when the three guards at the garage entrance lifted their pistols. “Luna! I swear to god!” she shouted as she advanced on the guards, performing an evasive tuck and roll as they simultaneously squeezed triggers on her once again. By the time Shaw reached the small group of them, she’d taken a few bullets herself, but they didn’t deter her. These guards were clearly not privvy to the treasures they’d been protecting, as they seemed equal parts confused and horrified to find the woman they’d shot not only moving, but kicking their asses. By the time Shaw had stolen one of the pistols out of thick, sweaty hands and fired off two rounds each into two of the guards, third was dragging his sorry ass back down the hallway, calling into her shoulder walkie for backup.

Shaw stood, breathless, and finally cringed at the pain radiating through her torso. “Luna. Get your asses back to the van.”

[spiritofcamelot]

Alley Cat of London (2576 words) by Linorien Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Paris Carver Characters: James Bond, Paris Carver Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, superhero au, Inspired by Miraculous Ladybug Series: Part 9 of 007 Fest 2020 Summary: There's a new local superhero in Havering and Paris Carver is going to get the scoop. She also wouldn't mind if she got scooped off her feet.

April 3

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m in disbelief as much as you are, but the kid has utterly disintegrated the lamppost before it fell into the street and crushed the people there. I can’t understand how he did it either. People of Havering, I’m sure I’m not the first to say it but we may have our own friendly neighborhood superhero. I’ll try to learn more.

“I must say young man, that was impressive. Such speed. However did you manage it?”

“Just got lucky. Right place, right time. Looks like you and your cameras were lucky too, Miss?”

“Paris Carver. Havering College Herald. Would you do us the honour of taking off your mask?”

“But then you’d know who I am. And so would they. I have to protect my friends.”

“What a mature reasoning. Viewers with so many young kids clamouring for internet fame its a gift to see something thinking bigger. But you do deserve thanks. What name should we use?”

“You can call me Chat Noir, Miss Paris.”

“What a gentleman. And there he goes! Well viewers you saw it here first. Chat Noir, our very own small town superhero is here to keep us safe. We’ll be sure to keep you up to date on all his adventures. From us here at Havering College Herald, we’ll see you round town.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[mimoza70]

MOTHER'S NOTE Dear Toshko, Good morning! I sincerely hope you don't make it to school today! Hope the new alarm clock helps! I chose it especially for you, it is shockproof and can raise the whole neighborhood. It's hidden in your room, it will take time to find it and stop. So, good luck! Dear son, despite many warnings, I still went to your school. It turned out that they had lifted the quarantine imposed because of the epidemic of mutated Marseille-Gornonil fever, transmitted exclusively by air and with an outbreak in your classroom. Everyone is healthy. Imagine my surprise, as at the entrance of the school I almost came across your classmate, Mrs. Stamatova. I'm glad she recovered so quickly from the food poisoning with Fugu fish, the two heart surgeries and the heart transplant from the hind, as well as the birth of the quadrupeds. The woman is in good health! He asks me what exactly I work for NASA and do I really travel to the Houston Flight Control Center every month. You told her that Peshko, our Jack Russell, was taken from there and flew twice to the moon and once to Mars. On his last voyage, aliens from the Orion Nebula implanted a chip that helps him fight intergalactic bears ... Brilliant. Your physical education teacher, Pehlivanov, asks how your father is doing. The poor little man is convinced that his paternal line is a distant relative of the English royal family and that your father is a secret MI6 agent with a status of 00. And I, the fool, thought he was an accountant. Apparently he disguises himself very well. Neisse. Ask your dad tonight how many confirmed murders there are for the crown that the athlete is interested in. Why did you tell him that if he didn't write you physical absences, you would find him a job in Oxford? The man studied English hard and learned to row, to be able to train the university team for racing. Last week he went out to sea in that narrow boat, and a strong wind blew. The wave turned him, almost drowning the poor man. The school psychologist refused to accept me. There the damage is irreversible. All your classmates are convinced that your brother is a freedom fighter who has been unjustly imprisoned in North Korea. There are persistent rumors that he has fled and is heading to Bulgaria. The children asked me not to let him come to school, they worship you anyway. There is no need for the Bulgarian Che Guevara to step on them. You didn't give me the heart to admit to them that your brother, as you know very well, is four years old, and now I'm teaching him not to use diapers. Todor, I had the opportunity to see your grades. And the absences, no matter that most of them are excused by some Dr. Shegaryan. The medical notes are masterfully crafted, well done. The signature seems to have been practiced for days. I see he prescribed you to come to school after ten in the morning, your selective dyslexia does not allow you to write homework. Tests stress you at school, you have to do them in private ... You made it up well. I asked the class to treat you like the other children, I convinced her that you were miraculously healed. So, good luck with your math class today! Dear son, you may notice some changes in your room. If the situation was a quarter of a century ago, say, your father and I would have applied the Makarenko method. And now you would write homework, because you wouldn't be able to sit on your ass. However, we live in the twenty-first century. The methods are different now. Look around ... You miss your computer. I hid it last time, but you managed to blackmail your father, the queen's agent, to tell you where it is. Now it's disassembled. The processor is in my handbag. Success! Guess what else is in my purse and it hums softly from time to time ... Your cell phone. I moved your SIM card to your old phone with a flashlight. It will do a great job if you come home in the dark in the evening. You will get your toys when you see high scores, arithmetic mean above 5.00. I know you can. And I don't want you to hack the school's website again and write your own grades, I'll just talk to your class again in two weeks. I hope she's there again this time, so that something doesn't happen to the poor thing again. I know you can, Todor, use your natural intellect and it works. I'm not going to Houston soon, you can always call me for help. And remember one thing, my boy, fail the talented, or the gifted. The stubborn succeed. You have been given much of Fate, and much will be required. There is no shortcut to success. This is how the universe works. With love: MOM

[10kiaoi]

For the 007 Fest Anon prompt:  "This is my tequila, you can go and get your own!" Notes: Unbetaed as always.

The Jolly Roger’s a quaint little place- seemingly caught between being a traditional pub and trying to appeal to a younger crowd with fancy eye watering decor. 

Despite its proximity to MI6’s headquarters in London, it’s hardly the first choice of the paper pushers and bean counters squirreled away in their little cubicles. But his quarry comes here often enough that the staff knows how it goes after a tasting. 

The bar is silent. It is late yet early enough that most other clients have gone for the night, leaving only the trust fund babies to murmur sweet nothings in the far corners. The lone bartender eyes his entrance, suited as he is and with obvious purpose, with trepidation. 

He skims the room, finds his quarry at the end of the bar slumped over the counter circled by a truly incredible array of depleted shot glasses. He ignores how his heart drops sharply for a moment at the sight. The smashed glass sparkles under the glow of the neon lights. 

Bond prowls over under the watchful gaze of the bartender.  

“Right, I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Bond announces. He plucks the shot right out of drunken fingers. 

His victim whirls around, indignation on the tip of his tongue. 

Bond guffaws at the acidic hiss.  

Being climbed all over by his drunk Quartermaster is… An interesting sensation. Bond leans back as far as he can, holding the shot glass out of reach. 

“If I wanted to get sodding drunk,” Q grunts, miraculously not tripping over his words yet, “I’ll get fucking drunk.” He waves his hand threateningly.

Bond snorts, peripherally keeping an eye on the signet ring. 

 "This is my tequila, you can go and get your own!" Q whines, yes, that indeed is petulance on a level never seen expressed by one of the esteemed Quartermaster position before. 

Bond laughs a full belly laugh at the absurdity and ducks under the flailing arm. 

“And if you get shot on my watch, it’s my head,” Bond counters calmly, depositing the shot glass in the waiting bartender’s hands. He hoists a protesting Q up unceremoniously.

“Don’t forget to charge his card,” Bond reminds cheerily over the outraged squawks. The bartender nods solemnly, then returns to cleaning up. 

----

The whispers of breath tickle the back of his neck amidst the chill of London’s streets at 3am. It’s distracting, as is the face pressed into his back. 

The arms wrapped around him can so easily reach up and morph into a chokehold. Bond has to tamper the shiver that runs through him at the thought.

The arms clench threateningly. 

“S’your fault, no one ordered a piggyback,” Q grumbles. 

“S’your fault for drinking so damn much,” Bond mutters, “Can’t even walk without taking out your nose on the pavement.” He pauses, eyes flicking backwards. “I hope 001 was worth it.”

Q growls.

He shakes himself, resumes walking. It lasts 7 meters.  

“Pull over, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Q moans suddenly.

Bond’s eyes widen. He doesn’t let go. 

“Don’t you fucking dare! Sherry!”