#i was supposed to be put on auto approval for chats

[roadtogracelandx45]

There are days that I love my job and days where I loathe it entirely. Today is one of those days

[searchingwardrobes]

Not the Type: 1/7

Here it is, my contribution to the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ ! Aka, the Bring it On AU no one asked for. I have a love/hate relationship with this movie. On the one hand, I love it as a rom com. On the other hand, as a sports movie, it’s awful. I was a cheerleader myself, and did a brief stint coaching, so I have some issues with this movie. First of all, where is the coach?!? Can you imagine a male driven sports movie without a coach? Remember the Titans with no coach? Glory Road with no coach? Miracle with no coach? I mean, come on! And do you really think a high school is gonna let their students do stunts that can potentially cause paralysis or death without adult supervision? And while they do portray the cheerleaders as athletes, in my opinion, they still hyper-sexualize them. The girls are also way too catty with each other. I can tell you from personal experience, that you need massive trust to do those stunts. Just sayin. Anyway, this whole soap box is to say that this is a LOOSE adaptation of Bring it On written by someone who loves the sport it portrays. But don’t worry, this modern day Lieutenant Duckling AU will have plenty of fluff, feels, flirty banter, and epic kisses. I would like to say this is the cheerleading version of @welllpthisishappening​ ‘s Blue Line universe, but I don’t pretend to be that brilliant. Laura’s writing did inspire me as I wrote this “sports fic,” however, so massive props to her: the queen of sports writing!

Massive thanks to the mods of the Captain Swan Movie Marathon event as well as all of the other writers. The discord chats have been a blast - especially when you all helped me brainstorm a title for this. Thanks to @hookedonapirate​ for being an awesome beta and to @rumdrum91​ for giving the first chapter a quick once over even while you are insanely busy.

This fic is about . . . 85% complete? It will be updated every Saturday. I’ll shut up now and get to the point . . .

Summary: Emma Swan first notices him in the stands at the Friday night football game. She can tell right away Killian Jones is not the football type. Then again, she's not the cheerleader type either, but here she is with pom poms. Life hasn't ever gone the way Emma planned. Lately, that's actually been a good thing. Maybe Killian Jones is a good thing, too.

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​ @kday426​​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @nikkiemms​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​ @carpedzem​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​ @superchocovian​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​ @jennjenn615​​​ @snidgetsafan​ @spartanguard​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

Bounce left, bounce right. Two hip shakes. Roger rabbit, Roger Rabbit. Bobby Brown, Bobby Brown. Cabbage patch. Electric slide. Repeat.

Emma repeated the steps to the dance like a mantra in her head. A cheerleader was supposed to smile all the time, but she couldn’t conjure one up as she bounced through the choreography that dated back to 1989. Okay, maybe they threw in the cabbage patch in 1994, but still. This shit was old.

The band sped up as they played through another round of “Louie, Louie,” and the cheerleading squad was racing through the dance like a tape on fast forward. The band thought it was hilarious and never ceased to tire of the schtick.

Emma was doing what felt like her hundredth Roger Rabbit when she caught sight of him. A large book half covered his face, so she could still see his arched brow and smirk. She held his gaze as she went into her Bobby Browns, and he lowered his book, still staring openly, a crooked grin filling his face. Was he mocking her? She stared him down as she did the cabbage patch, and his eyes widened. She tilted her chin as she went into the electric slide, and his tongue swiped his lips.

“Louie, Louie” finally, mercifully, ended. Emma whipped her ponytail as she broke the guy’s stare. She bounced up and down, waving her pom poms and shouting “Go Knights!” Mary Margaret had finally gotten her to stop rolling her eyes.

“Well look at you, Emma Swan,” Ruby said as they all turned to watch the game and cheer the offense.

“What?” Emma stood at attention, just like all the other girls, her poms on her hips.

“Don’t play dumb, Emma,” Ashley quipped on her other side. “We’re better at it than you.”

“That guy,” Ruby explained. “You were having cheer sex with him.”

“Cheer sex? Seriously?”

Emma tossed her poms down to the ground and tightened her ponytail angrily. She hated football season.

🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Emma whirled around to find herself face to face with the guy she was definitely not having cheer sex with. Whatever the hell that was. She rolled her eyes. Mary Margaret couldn’t do anything about it during half time.

“Just because I’m baring my midriff and my skirt barely covers my hips doesn’t give you permission to ogle me.”

His blue eyes widened. Very blue, actually. No! It didn’t matter if his eyes were pretty; he was a creep.

“You misunderstand me, love.”

“Not your love.” Though he did have a hot accent. What? No! Nothing about him was hot.

He sighed. “Look, I couldn’t help watching you. All the other girls had fake smiles, but you . . . “ he shrugged. “You looked like you hated being here as much as I do.”

Emma blinked in surprise, and her gaze darted to the hardback copy of The Two Towers clutched in his hand. She also took in his slightly disheveled hair, slender build, and Pink Floyd t-shirt. Clearly not the football type.

The students in line behind them for the concession stand grumbled for them to move, so they both shuffled forward.

Emma smiled apologetically and extended her hand. “Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones.”

“So, what are doing here, hipster?”

He chuckled and ducked his head. He looked a lot more bashful than he had in the stands.

“Granny insisted I put down my guitar, stop singing depressing songs, and get my ass here to support my foster siblings. Her words exactly.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “You’re Ruby’s new foster brother!”

He leaned closer and winked. “Guilty as charged.”

******************************************************

“Cheer sex, Ruby!” Emma snapped as she returned from the concession stand with her bottle of water and bag of pretzels. She lifted the items up on auto-pilot for Coach Ava’s approval, which she received. The Coach insisted on healthy snacks during games and practice. Some of the girls chafed at the rule, but Emma had no problem with it. The last thing she wanted was someone hurling from the top of a pyramid because they had just wolfed down chili cheese fries or something.

“What?” Ruby asked before taking a bite of the apple in her hand.

“Cheer sex,” Emma repeated, “with your foster brother? Ew!”

Ruby rolled her eyes as she chewed and swallowed. “Let me emphasize the foster part. If you wanna bang Killian, I won’t stop you.”

Emma let out a groan of frustration as several of the other girls giggled. “I’m not banging anyone.”

“Exactly! And why is that, Emma?”

“Leave her alone,” Mary Margaret admonished. “Just banging someone isn’t what she needs.”

Emma appreciated Mary Margaret’s positivity - usually - but she wasn’t in the mood for another speech on true love. “I’d actually prefer a complete change of topic.”

“Good,” the girls jumped at the sound of Coach Ava’s voice behind them, “because you only have five minutes left of half time to finish those snacks. Which is kind of hard to do when you’re yapping.”

“Okay, coach,” the girls grumbled good-naturedly. They all loved Ava, and not just because she was Mary Margaret’s mom. She really cared about all of them and was both tough and fair as a coach. Better even than some of the gymnastics coaches Emma had had. Emma had never planned on being a cheerleader, but Emma was used to things in her life not going according to plan. That was usually for the worst, but lately she had to admit it had been for the better. She hadn’t planned on being adopted by the Nolans, either, and that had been the best thing to ever happen to her. When the social worker brought her to her new foster mother, Ruth, and foster brother, David, she had fully expected it to be nothing more than yet another brief stay. She hadn’t expected to be loved.

She hadn’t expected to love in return.

Emma tossed her empty pretzel bag into the trash can near the stadium stairs. She took another swig of her water, then tossed the bottle into her cheer bag that was monogrammed with her name and a megaphone. It was cheesy and matched the bags of all the other girls.

She hadn’t expected to like this group of girls, either. Hadn’t expected to find a group of athletes, but she did. Yes, since age thirteen, life had been surprising her rather than throwing her curveballs. Maybe thirteen was actually her lucky number. Now she was seventeen and had an actual family in addition to fifteen sisters.

With pom poms.

🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈

Emma crammed her first and second period books into her locker, grabbed the stuff she needed for third, then slammed the door shut. She took off down the hall at almost a sprint. TV and movies were shit in portraying high school. Kids hanging out by their lockers chatting at any and all times of the day. Complete and utter lies. Storybrooke High gave kids five minutes - five minutes! - to get to each class. There were some breaks where she didn’t have time to stop at her locker, but her American History book weighed about three tons and she refused to lug it around all day. She didn’t care if it was completely out of her way. She was chucking that book, damn it, before she threw her back out. Three weeks into the year, and she had it timed down to the second.

She did not have time to be slammed into and knocked to her rear end. “Hey!” she shouted at the jerk who’d plowed into her.

A hand reached down and hauled her to her feet. “Apologies lass.”

She knew that accent before she looked into those blue eyes. She suddenly realized she was still clutching Killian’s hand in hers. She yanked her hand away.

“Yeah, well watch where you’re going next time.”

He grinned in a way that was three-fourths charming and one-fourth roguish. “A pleasure as always, Swan.”

Then the ridiculous boy bowed over her hand and kissed it! She rolled her eyes. He arched his brow.

“Advanced Trigonometry?”

He was offering her a pad of graph paper that had her homework scrawled all over it. She snatched it from him and stuffed it into her bag. It was then she realized the zipper was broken. Great. Just great.

“Why are you so interested in my class schedule?”

He shrugged as he rocked back on his heels. “I’m impressed is all.”

She lifted one shoulder, then dropped it as she attempted to balance her busted backpack in both arms. “My mom insisted on one advanced course this year, and math’s the one subject I don’t suck at.”

He tilted his head. “Intriguing.”

“Why?” she snapped. “Because you assume cheerleaders are moronic sluts?” The bell rang, and she dropped her head back with a groan. “Great! Now you’ve made me late.”

She shouldered past him, and her hackles raised when she heard his low chuckle. He laid a hand on her arm before she could move away and lowered his head to her ear.

“Most guys would find your attitude off-putting, but I love a challenge.”

“Sure you do,” she muttered as she stalked away.

At practice that afternoon, she was informing Ruby that her brother was an absolute pain in the ass.

[reyesstrand]

25. “What the hell were you thinking?!” and/or 31.“You haven’t lost me.” if they inspire you? 💖

thank you for the prompt!! this one kind of got away from me and is longer than expected but i guess that just means more of these two!! 

all prompts are from this list. also available on ao3!! 

It’s been a year and a half since they moved to Austin, and TK finally feels like he’s found his home. 

He misses Manhattan, and it sits in his chest like a dull ache; he misses the pre-shift, morning stops at the local deli; he misses the constant buzz of the city; he misses late-night train rides and rescues on the tallest high-rises along the New York cityscape. But he’s forged out a place for himself here in Austin — he’s found his new-favourite hole-in-the-wall diners and the best clubs downtown and savours the weekly backyard barbecues Grace initially makes mandatory after she finds that most of the crew has some form of lingering homesickness, but has now just become a tradition that all of them look forward to. 

TK’s also come to appreciate his dad’s team of doctors; Owen’s now entering his second six-month round of chemo, though his scans are continuously getting better and everyone seems to be hopeful, TK still finds himself anxiously standing by his father’s side throughout it all. Owen teases that he’s going to wear down the floor because of his pacing whenever he’s able to tag along for appointments, but TK shoots him a glare, because he can’t let his dad know just how badly he needs him to be okay. 

Carlos is always there, and he’s the light at the end of the tunnel. 

He’ll have dinner ready if he’s able, after a long day of waiting in treatment rooms; sometimes, though, he’s just there when Owen retreats to his room for a nap and TK wants to cuddle up with him on the couch. 

It’s where they end up today, after TK does the dishes despite Carlos’ multiple attempts to shoo him away from the sink. Hands barely dry, TK lets out a long sigh as he drops onto his and his dad’s couch, where Carlos is already sitting after TK sent him to relax after making dinner. It’s wordless, between them — Carlos opens his arms and TK rests against him, relishing in the quiet comfort provided by a pair of strong arms wrapping around him. 

After a few long moments of silence, Carlos presses a kiss to TK’s hairline before saying: “I’ve been thinking that you need a break.” 

“Hmm?” TK’s already half-asleep against Carlos’ chest, though he knows he wants to be able to stay up and make conversation with his boyfriend. He’s also vaguely aware that it’s barely eight, but his eyelids feel weighed down with lead. 

“You’re just proving my point, Ty,” Carlos says softly, TK finding it unfair that he seems to want to talk to him even though he’s now running his fingers through his hair. “You’re running on fumes.” 

“I’m fine,” TK insists, the words spilling out on auto-pilot. He really does feel fine; he knows he’s exhausted, but so is his whole team. Plus, he’s not the one with cancer; he’s not the one left feeling weak after sitting through hours of treatment that’s supposed to save him. But even when TK does have bad days, he automatically turns to his sponsor or his therapist or Paul, in a pinch, because he won’t let him weasel out of talking about his feelings. TK tries to prove himself — he sits up and keeps his eyes open, though he’s unable to stifle the yawn that pushes past his lips. “I’m just a little tired.” 

Carlos gives him a look. “You’ve looked worn out for weeks now. And I thought maybe you could take a few days, we could go have a little roadtrip or something so you can relax.” 

TK sits up straight at that, suddenly alert. 

“I can’t just leave my dad, or my team,” TK says, listening for any creaking floorboards at the top of the stairs. The last thing he needs is his father walking in on a conversation about his well-being, because he’ll never hear the end of it. “I’m fine, Carlos, seriously.” 

“Baby—” 

“I swear.” TK cuts his boyfriend off, offering him a small smile to try and prove it. “As amazing as a trip alone with you sounds, I just—I just can’t leave him right now, okay? I told him I would be by his side through all of this, I can’t just take a break when he needs me.” 

Carlos looks like he wants to say more, but just sighs and takes TK’s hand, running his thumb along his knuckles. Finally, he whispers, “I think I should head home.” 

“Hey, wait,” TK says, as Carlos moves to get up. “I’ll think about it, okay? But for now I just…” 

“I know, Ty,” Carlos assures him, briefly framing his face in both hands, kissing him gently. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

TK just nods, and after he watches Carlos drive off, he scrubs a hand down his face and drops back down onto the couch. 

* * *

He doesn’t bring it up to his dad. 

They’re all in the firehouse, waiting around between calls, and TK knows he should just casually bring up Carlos’ offer. But he knows his dad will tell him to go, and TK really doesn’t want his dad to have to shoulder the weight of his treatment on his own. Not when he doesn’t have to. As he scrubs down the pump panel on the truck, his mind drifting, TK jumps when Judd taps out a few beats on the space next to him.

“Christ, a little jumpy there, kid?” Judd comments, and TK shrugs, standing back from the truck and winding the rag around his hand absently as he turns to talk to the older man. 

“Just got some stuff on my mind,” TK says, and when Judd opens his mouth to comment, TK puts a finger up. “Nothing that you need to worry about, seriously.” 

Judd lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Duly noted. I just thought I’d let you know Reyes is here.” 

TK probably visibly perks up, because Judd huffs out a fond chuckle. 

“He’s talking to Michelle, he was clearly looking for you though,” Judd adds, as TK claps a hand on the taller man’s shoulder before turning, tossing the rag in the general vicinity of the cleaning supplies as he sets out to find his boyfriend. 

He’ll never get over the jump in his heart rate when he sees Carlos. Even now, it’s been a couple days since he saw him in person, and TK bites back a stupid smile as he approaches his boyfriend. Michelle catches his eye over Carlos’ shoulder and shoots him a wink; she says something to Carlos that causes him to turn around and when he does and catches sight of TK, she squeezes his arm before turning toward her office. 

“Funny running into you here,” TK drawls, taking in Carlos’ civilian clothes, appreciating his affinity for tight shirts. Before Carlos can say something in response, TK tugs him down for a quick kiss, all too aware that they're in the middle of his workplace. “I’m sorry if I was shitty the other night.” 

“You weren’t,” Carlos insists, dropping his hand from the back of TK’s neck, letting his thumb linger against his skin, sending a shiver through TK. “I just wanted—” 

Abruptly, his dad’s voice rings out over them. 

“TK, can I have a second?” 

He looks up and sees his dad, arms folded casually on top of the railing, leaning his weight against the balcony as he looks down over them. TK wants to gesture to his boyfriend, wants to indicate that they’re kind of in the middle of something and don’t exactly have all the time in the world together outside of work, but he just can’t. Not when it comes to his dad. So TK offers an apologetic glance toward Carlos before he bounds up the stairs, catching the start of a conversation below him as Paul moves in to chat with Carlos. 

“What’s up, is everything okay?” TK asks, once he’s come to stand next to Owen. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I approved your vacation request. You’ve got next week off.”

TK probably looks as bewildered as he feels, because his dad’s mouth quirks up into a smile when he takes him in. 

“Wait, what vacation request? I didn’t—” 

“I might have overheard you and a certain someone the other night,” Owen explains, and TK groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And after I had a one-on-one chat with Carlos, I approved you for some much-needed time off.” 

“Dad, you didn’t need to do that,” TK feels a strange twist of emotion curling up in his chest; he’s slowly come to accept his dad and his boyfriend communicating and interacting when he isn’t around, but he can’t help but to feel small over his dad thinking he needs to do things like this for him. “I’m a big boy, I can—”

“TK, I can see how tired you are,” Owen says, and TK really can’t object to that fact. “And Carlos can, too. You’re always out there putting others before yourself, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to want to decompress with someone you love.” 

“I want to be there for you, dad,” TK meets his father’s gaze, adding: “I promised, remember? I’m going to have your back through this whole process, and that doesn’t include me taking time off and not helping you and—and losing you, I can’t do that—” 

“Hey, son, it’s okay,” Owen’s always good at reading TK, and he rests a hand on his son’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You’ve done so much for me, and I’m feeling better — thanks to you. And you know what? You haven’t lost me. You haven’t lost him, either.” 

Owen jerks his head toward the ground below them, and TK glances down, and takes in his beautiful guy, easily folding into the dynamics of the 126. 

“It’s okay to put yourself first for once, TK,” Owen says softly, and TK finds himself slowly nodding. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before crushing his dad in a hug. 

“Okay, okay, you’re welcome,” Owen says, squeezing him back just as hard. 

After a moment, TK runs back down stairs and doesn’t say anything — he just moves from one hug to the next as he wraps his arms around Carlos. 

“So what roadtrip plans did you have?” TK asks, mostly into Carlos’ ear, and when his boyfriend grins at him and kisses his temple and squeezes him even tighter around the waist, he can imagine a week off with the other man and the rest that’ll really work to wake him up again, and he finds that he can’t wait. 

[psychopersonified]

Tea and Soju

Bridging piece between “Are we ever going to talk about this?” and “KIdnapped!Q”. The events here feed into the plot but can be read as a series of drabbles. 

Tags: Established relationship, but open secret. Intimacy in plain sight. Bond feeling his age. Mostly fluff with plot points. Tiny bit of angst. Q-Branch being weird.

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

Christ, he feels like a teacher on a school trip. “Might I remind the class that the french police are notoriously speed adverse and do not take well to British nationals breaking the law on their home soil?”

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

SIS HQ, M’s Office - 12th Floor 

Eve hands him his next mission dossier without preamble when he enters the antechamber to M’s office. 

“He doesn’t want to see me today?” 

Eve shakes her head. “Crisis in Hong Kong. He’s tied up with the station chief all morning. Besides your next assignment is a more or less a straightforward reconnaissance.”

There is no such thing as a straightforward in their world, Bond disagrees in his mind. He flips open the file and takes a seat on the edge of her desk, ”What is it?” 

Eve comes around to stand next to him:

“MI6 Persons of interest: First is Marco Sciarra. Formerly linked to Silva on the periphery and several other possible terrorist links. Word has it, he’s meeting with an entrepreneur by the name of Kim Min Jun in Geneva next week. Which brings us to the second person: Mr Kim is connected to one of the Korean Chaebols - grandson to the Chairman,” Eve points to his picture in the file. 

Kim Min Jun is a handsome man in his mid thirties. Perfectly coiffed and flawless skinned. The photo looks to be a media shot; designer clothes and posture befitting a princeling from a privileged background. His expression in the picture is cold and slightly imperious. 

“You know how it is, the chaebols control nearly all aspects of the Korean economy including politics. So what he’s doing talking to someone like Sciarra piques our interest.”

Curious indeed. “What do we know about Sciarra and the princeling? And why Geneva?” 

“Sciarra we know very little except he’s a fixer of sorts. Procuring equipment and expertise for his clients. You’re going to have to fill in the blanks for us when you track him,” Eve is apologetic on behalf of the research team.  

“Kim we know more about. He’s dabbling in cryptocurrency at the moment. The Korean government has banned ICOs so many crypto start-ups are registering in friendlier countries. Switzerland has one of the friendliest regulations for fintech startups. Kim is unveiling his ICO (Initial Coin Offering) to investors next week. His new cryptocurrency is called- $PECTRE.”

Considering the concerns around cryptocurrencies and their use, I suppose that’s fitting. Is it really spelled that way?” Bond points at the name on the printed page. -Classy-. He thinks sardonically. Eve chuckles.

The next page his is cover brief. He reads it out loud, “Cover story… CEO Private Security Contractor. Should be easy enough to fill out.” He likes the ‘private security’ covers, its the easiest for him to slip into considering it is essentially the same skillset. 

“The timing coincides with the Geneva Motor Show and the EBACE (European Business Aviation Conference & Exhibition) so there will be influx of fat cat corporate and private executives around the city with their private security teams - seems like a good reason to explain you and your Walther’s presence.” 

“Hmm… What’s this?” he reads the next paragraph. They have teamed him up with the freshly minted 008. Logical - considering Agent Park is speaks Korean, he can work the Chaebol angle while 007 tracks Sciarra. 

Then Bond sees it, the two other cover names belonging to people he knows well - Mr. Collin Mitchel and Mr. Nishant Chowdhary will be joining them on the trip. 

Eve can see Bond’s hesitation, “Well, your cover will look rather silly without a ‘fat cat’ of your own to secure won’t it? … M approved their request to attend the auto and aviation show yesterday afternoon, so it’s a happy coincidence. Besides, they can help run your Ops.”

Q will be pleased about his shopping trip getting approved. All that engineering in one place, it was all Q could talk about for days. This mission will take almost three weeks just looking at the timeline, bookended by the two exhibitions. Mr Kim’s ICO launch will happen in between that, but intel has him arriving early for preparations. 

Altogether, the mission parameters seem perfect and spending a so much time with Q in picturesque Geneva is something he can only dream of - but it does mean he is weighed down with the task of ensuring security for both the boffins. 

It would not have mattered in his younger days; what with his cavalier attitude towards the lives of people he crossed paths with on his missions - to the point that even the previous M rebuked him for it (e.g. Strawberry Fields). This older and wiser 007 can feel the creep of responsibility and the extra precautions he will need to take. 

Eve the omniscient seems to sense his emotions, smiles kindly at him - and despite being a decade younger, she tells him, “Time to grow up James.” 

——————————

SIS HQ - Cafeteria 

Friday afternoon 12:30pm

“So, we finally finished the analysis on Hayden’s phone... I know, its been over a month. There’s been so much going on with the spike in ransomware attacks on UK targets and Hayden hasn’t been the most cooperative.” Mark is sitting opposite Q on the crowded communal cafeteria bench, chewing on his pesto pasta salad. 

It is peak lunch hour and the place is chock a block full. Q is still waiting for his lunch, “Anything of interest?”

“It looks like a rooting malware was downloaded into his phone at one point and then removed to avoid detection. We’ve gone though the logs of each app to find what might have been compromised but we still can’t find anything…”

At that moment, Agent 007 appears from behind Q. He drops a brown envelope and an armful of packaged food onto the long table. He then picks out a sandwich and a bottle of iced tea and wordlessly slides it in front of Q. The agent then squeezes himself into the small opening on the bench between Q and the next occupant. He has to sit straddling the bench, perpendicular to the table and angled towards Q in order to fit. 

Mark notices that Q doesn’t even flinch at the sudden invasion of his personal space, his attention still on Mark even as he unscrews the top off the bottle and begins to unwrap his sandwich without so much as an acknowledgement of 007. 

Taking his cue, Mark continues, “The likeliest target was his email, but they’re mostly administrative, we don’t send classified information through emails. We’re combing the logs to see what could have interested the hackers.” 

“Is this about Hayden?” 007 asks, catching up to the conversation while inhaling his massive panini sandwich. 

Mark nods, “It’s going to take more time to figure out if the hackers got anything useful out of the whole thing.”

007 considers, “They went though all the trouble of setting up a trap like that - it would have taken months. No one expends resources like that unless they know what they want out of it...” 

He shifts the sandwich in his hands, stuffing a piece of chicken that escaped back into the bread before he continues, “They would have known MI6 wouldn’t be so callous with classified information. So perhaps Hayden wasn’t the actual target - he might have just been a vector. A way to get into the system.”

Q finally turns to 007, “But it is unlikely that they would spend time rooting around our systems for information they might find relevant, it would take too long. Not to mention the navigating layers of security. The longer they stay inside the system, the higher chances of being found out.”

“Precisely. If it were me, I’d use the access to engineer it so that my target -gives- me what I’m looking for. Then bugger the hell out of there before they realise it.” Bond emphasises the word ‘gives’ by tapping a forefinger on the table top. 

“She managed to slip away, but as I understand, DEF CON was her opportunity to break things off with Hayden - even he mentioned as much. I’m willing to bet their final rendezvous was to allow her to remove the malware from his phone. Think a bout it, why remove the malware unless you’ve already got what you need and you’re covering your tracks?” Bond takes a swig from Q’s iced tea. 

“Bond, if it were you, what would you do with the access?” Q asks prompting him further.

“It would depend on what I’m looking for. If we take it that Hayden was not a random target, then consider what his position and clearance will give him access to. I could use social engineering to pose as Hayden and requisition seemingly innocuous information that might point me in a direction or to confirm intel,” Bond takes them thorough his thought process.  

Mark thinks out loud, “His emails just contain administrative stuff. Meeting schedules, budgets, department rosters, project timelines… hiring and resignation notices—“

Bond cuts him off before he misses the point, “Put motive aside for the moment and look at the behaviour. If we work on the premise that the information was given to the hacker, try checking his inbox - though it’s likely the hacker would have deleted it. So check his deleted email logs, even if they emptied the bin, I’m sure you have ways around that don’t you?” 

The two boffins stare at him for a moment. The type of work they do meant that they are naturally wired as detail oriented and deep technical thinkers, but can sometimes miss the forest for the trees. 

Mark swallows the last of his mouthful, expression excited. He picks up his trash and water bottle and starts to extricate himself from the bench, “Good chat 007. I’m going to—,” he makes a flailing gesture in the direction of the lift banks, indicating he was going to get right on it. “I’ll update the both of you later!” he calls back to them almost as an afterthought. 

—

Moment later, another SIS employee slides into the vacated seat, grateful to have found an opening. But once she realises who is sitting across from her, she seems to hesitate before nodding politely to Bond and Q who return the gesture. 

The general population in SIS are a little wary around the Double-0 agents. Something about knowing definitively that the person you’re facing has taken a life possibly with their bare hands - even if it is in the service of the nation that makes most people uncomfortable.

It is exactly how 007 likes it anyway; keeps the small talk at bay. Bond turns his attention to Q, his voice dropping lower now that it is only two of them in the conversation, mouth inches from Q’s ear, “What are you doing after lunch? Do you have time to talk about Geneva?” he taps the official looking brown envelope on the table. 

“Ah, I have a meeting with the people from Aston Martin at Tintagel House. Shouldn’t take long. We can discuss after that?” Q suggests. 

Bond perks up like a child trying to guess his Christmas present. “Oh? Am I getting a new car?”

“You realise that there are twelve other agents we have to outfit besides yourself…” Q gives him a pointed look, reclaiming his iced tea that Bond stole.

“Besides, it might end up being an electric car; and we know how you feel about any vehicle we issue you that has anything short of a V8 inside.”

007 at least had the temerity to look sheepish. He recalls the heated argument several years ago with Q-Branch the last time they attempted to send him out with a hybrid car. An argument he may live to regret, now that the technology has progressed so rapidly. 

“Can I come with?” Bond asks, trying not to sound too needy by concentrating on wiping his fingers with a paper napkin. It has been over month ago that they agreed to share living arrangements, but he’s been away on mission for half of it so realistically speaking, his wardrobe has spent more time in Q’s bedroom than his person. 

“You can wait in the lab. Or… you might even try locating that mythical office of yours. Legend has it you were given one, even if it might be a hot desk.” Q teases him. 

—————

Tintagel House, Albert Embankment

In the end, Q relents and lets Bond walk him the short distance to Tintagel House and the rented co-working space that Q-Branch employees use when they need to meet external vendors. 

The two representatives from Aston Martin are waiting when they arrive. Q introduces himself as Collin Mitchel from MTech R&D Consulting. Bond’s presence is explained away as ‘private security’ a convenient excuse when he wants to be ‘seen but not heard’. 

To the outside world, the four of them - Q (Collin Mitchel), R (Jenny Khoo), S (Nishant Chowdhary), and P (Mark Trent) are Senior Project Managers of MTech, a private engineering R&D firm specialising in IT security and customised equipment solutions. 

The little exclusive R&D company is the front that allows Q-Branch to procure components and equipment without being directly involved. Their role as Senior Managers is carefully crafted to position them high enough to have clout when dealing with external contractors but not high enough to warrant any further interest in them personally. A careful balancing act. 

This is their cover story for most of their day-to-day lives outside the walls of SIS. The first and most superficial layer of their identities. It is their public persona - the names on their takeaway coffee cups and the names the world would call them. 

As for the car, it is not a production car at all. ‘Mr Mitchel’ is custom designing a car to very exacting specifications. They have the chassis pinned down based on the Vantage. And the body will be a custom designed beauty, if the concept drawings are anything to go by - but the engine and other mechanicals have yet to be finalised. Collin is leaning towards electric as the small motors leave more room inside for ‘modifications’. The auto show will give him inspiration for how he can implement the vision.

Bond still doesn’t know who the car is for; Q refuses to say. Aside from the travesty of the electric motor, the renderings of the car seem exactly his style. Surely he is due for a replacement. His poor track record keeping cars in one piece not withstanding, the older V8 Vantage he is usually assigned is looking frankly anaemic at this point.

The meeting ends an hour later. As Q walks them out of the building, the senior rep who’s known Collin for a while now asks a curious question. “Hey Mitchel, seeing that your office is so close the the SIS building, have you ever met an MI6 agent?”

Q is unperturbed by her question. It is a question that comes up often in various forms during small talk. “Well, they’d be shit spies if I can spot them,” is his practiced reply. He takes a peek over her shoulder at Bond who is standing to the side - listening to everything. 

“Ha! True… Imagine though, you could be having lunch at the place across the street and sitting next to someone like Jason Bourne.” The rep seems to find the idea titillating. 

“Nevermind the spies, imagine the kind of tech they have in there. I read somewhere that they’ve got submersible cars and portable jet-packs..,” the second rep, an engineer, chimes in. “Being the Quartermaster must be the coolest job.”

Again Q unconcerned. The codename has been around for decades, since even before Major Boothroyd. Q himself had heard the name thrown around in engineering school, used to reference the more ridiculous solutions that students came up with. 

“Yes, I suppose it would…” Q agrees with the assessment and leaves it at that. 

———

SIS HQ, Q-Branch - Lower Ground Floor 1 

Agent Marcus Park does not know the ‘rules’ yet. The newly minted Double-0 replaces the outgoing 008 who has miraculously survived to see retirement. Park is of Korean descent, mid 30s, former Captain in the Royal Army…… Tall and lean, at home in street fashion and cleans up well when needed. Tech and social media savvy, he’s the new generation agent - as long as he stays alive long enough. 

He’s been measured, photographed, scanned, sampled, pinched, poked and prodded all day in Medical and Q-Branch as they collect the the information they need to customise all the bits that will go into his kit. Marcus thinks the Q-Branch minions know more about him by now than he knows himself. They even know his bone density and which side of his molars he prefers to chew on. 

Thankfully by mid afternoon, Nish releases him temporarily to let him have a break.  He has taken the opportunity to make himself a cup of tea and have some biscuits. He returns to Nish’s workspace to wait for further instructions carrying his tea in a borrowed novelty Q10 mug. 

Nish is typing on his workstation, reviewing Park’s results but seems distracted - stealing surreptitious looks his way. A few other minions slow down as they walk by as well. As the new agent, Marcus is expecting some sort of hazing. Though he’s expecting it to come from the senior Double-0s. 

He thinks it is better to get it done with. “I get the feeling something’s up? Is the tea spiked?”

Nish tries to find his words, without making Q-Branch seem like weird people, but just ends up gulping air like a goldfish. 

“Earl grey? In the fancy tin?” Marcus prompts. 

“No. No… It’s not spiked. That’s the Quartermaster’s tin.”

“Ah, he’s particular about that sort of thing is he?” Mischief. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he taps the side of his nose. 

Josh, the minion occupying the next table waves his arms frantically at Nish from behind 008. He points repeatedly at the CCTV monitor mounted on the column above his workstation. On it, they can see feeds from all levels of Q-Branch, including the lift lobby and main doors of each floor - it is as much for security as well as work safety.

Nish takes a quick peek at the monitor and starts to worry. “Not exactly…. It’s not the tea, and Its not the Quartermaster you should be worried about.“

Okaay… Marcus is starting to think Q-Branch are a weird bunch. He had only been  officially introduced to Q in the morning. Marcus has been an agent for several years but stationed overseas. As a field agent, he normally collected his tech from his handlers so never expected that the skinny, floppy haired man-child he’d crossed paths with maybe twice in the SIS bulling was THE Quartermaster. He seemed normal enough from the brief encounter, perhaps bordering on patronising - but that could be just the formality that made it seem so. 

“Josh will make you a fresh cup!” Nish snaps his fingers urgently at the other man. Josh rushes up to Marcus to retrieve the mug. 

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself. This one is fine.” Marcus waves him away still holding on to the mug. Josh is paralysed, not knowing what to do. He can’t very well wrestle it out of the agent’s hands. 

Too late. 

”Ah 008. Nish. How is the fitting going?” Q’s voice carries from behind Nish. Nish does not have to turn around to know that 007 is with him. Josh slinks away quickly. 

“Quartermaster. It’s going very well. Taking a break, just replenishing the sugar levels,” 008 lifts the mug of tea and the plate of biscuits. If the Quartermaster is that particular about his tea he’s going to try and get a rise out of him. 

But Q does not react. Instead it is the man next to him that stills ever so slightly - no that’s not accurate, it was more like an almost imperceptible shift in body language. The body loosing that casual ease, control sliding into place.

A fellow double agent Marcus is sure. Predators know other predators. They study each other for a moment. 

Q realises they haven’t been introduced. “Ah 008, have you met 007?”

Both men extend a hand out for a polite shake. Introductions ensue. 

Nish uses the opportunity to signal to Josh to check his chat program. 

:: Make a fresh pot and get back here with 3 mugs ASAP! :: 

Josh flees to the pantry just in time, as the introductions finish. Nish then draws everyones’ attention to the data they have collected so far in the day. And when he runs out of interesting things to say about the data, he tries to shift the conversation to the new car for 008. 

“Ah, about 008’s car - how did the meeting with Aston Martin go?” Which was apparently the wrong thing to say.

There is no mistaking the hurt and affront as 007’s eyes go wide and the set of his mouth goes slack. 

Q grimaces at Nish and squeezes his eyes shut a moment before turning to face 007. The lowered tilt of his head and the apologetic smile up at 007 tells Nish that there might have been a misunderstanding about it. Oops?

What follows is an uncomfortable summary of the meeting with Aston Martin. With Q trying to convey his excitement about the project without offending 007 further. 

Marcus listens attentively, leaning casually on Nish’s worktable, asking appropriate questions and offering his input about the design and potential modifications - all the while taking sips from the mug cupped in his hands. With each consecutive sip, he notices 007’s stare get more intense, eyes like blue chips of ice - Bond seemed to be watching him drink.

Curious. Marcus is confident of his own charms, but he hasn’t even tried anything yet. Surely 007 would be much more discrete than this if he were interested. The senior agent is not conventionally handsome but he has a rugged charm - if you like that sort of thing. Still, it might be an enlightening experience. He catches Bond’s stare and flicks the tip of his tongue against the lip of the mug before taking the next sip. 

Bond is not happy. He is still smarting from the disappointment, then he has to listen to 008 ingratiatingly espouse the benefits of going electric with the new car and tolerate his drinking out of Q’s mug. And to top it off, 008 is now -taunting- him?? 

He doesn’t know when it happened, but Q is so attuned to Bond’s breathing by now he can feel the irritation radiating off the man standing next him. He thinks it is a rather disproportionate response to not getting a new company car for an agent his age - especially when he was never promised one in the first place. 

Nish thinks this afternoon is headed straight for a disaster. Why is Marcus molesting the mug - it is like waving a red cape in front of an angry bull. Bond is so still it it is foreboding. Where the hell is Josh??!

Josh finally appears with a tray of mismatched mugs filled with tea. He nudges his way in between 007 and 008 using the tea tray as a wedge. 

“Oh! Thank you Josh. You didn’t have to…” Q is bewildered; his minions don’t usually make tea for their visitors with the exception of Mallory. It is not encouraged to prevent the double-0s from feeling further entitled. 

Josh deliberately picks a spot on the table, right on the small strip of clear space in front of 008 to set the tray down. This forces Marcus to put down the Q10 mug somewhere else and help Josh clear a bigger area to fit and unload the tray. 

Nish swipes the mug in the ensuing distraction and sets it on the far end of the worktable away from 008. Bond catches the action and cotton’s on; then decides to take matters into his own hands. 

In a bizarre turn of events, 007 proceeds to pick up each fresh mug of tea and offers it to Nish first; then to Josh - who accepts it out of pure shock. And then finally to Marcus - who looks bemused as he accepts it. 

Then he leans very close to Q, a hand on the small of his back - voice intimate, “I’ll go get your tea.” Then he leaves for the pantry; collecting the Q10 mug when he rounds the table. 

This leaves the four of them (Q, Nish, Josh and Marcus) standing around the worktable in awkward silence. Q just shrugs and smiles tightly, not sure what has gotten into Bond today.

Marcus can tell something happened, and it had to do with tea - but is still not sure exactly what. He has to revise his assessment of Q-Branch and perhaps 007; they are DEFINITELY a weird bunch. 

—————————————————————

London to Geneva 

The twelve hour drive included several refuel and recharge stops. With 007 in his old V8 Vantage and 008 in a hand me down Audi R8 formerly assigned to 003. Q and Nish on the other hand were enjoying the brand new modified Tesla Model X. 

The Tesla was meant to be a support vehicle for handlers or other members of the support team that needed to be closer onsite - a mobile Ops centre of sorts. The large central screen was perfect for video conferencing and the software that controlled most of the car’s functions made it easy to add specialised ‘apps’ that increased its capabilities. The ‘summon’ mode that came stock with the car had been hacked to near true autonomous levels - turning it into a bulletproof infiltration or escape pod that could be summoned remotely if needed. 

To top it off, the boot space was now fitted with hot-swappable modules that could contain anything from an armoury, a medical lab, a mini workshop, a surveillance drone launchpad etc. depending on mission parameters. The teams could even use its batteries as a power generator for a limited time. 

All in all, another technological marvel courtesy of Q-Branch. But the best thing about it was also the simplest. The fact that the electric motors had enough punch to allow support teams to catch up to, or flee from hot situations. 

A fact not lost on the boffins during their test drive to Geneva. While the sport cars that 007 & 008 drove had higher top speeds, the Model X’s acceleration was as advertised - ludicrous. 

“Oh my God. This thing is insane! Check the accelerometer, how many Gs did we pull?” 

At motorway legal speeds, they were unmatched. Something the boffins took plenty of pleasure doing on the open road - overtaking the agents whenever they had the chance. 

Q tuts smugly at them as he pushes the car performance, “Oh hello 007, 008. Mind picking up the pace? We haven’t got all day…”. The dark grey Tesla pulls out from behind the convoy and shoots smoothly past the stunned agents. 

Over the 3-way call and the roar of his noisy V8 engine, Bond can hear Nish and Q hooting and cackling like teenagers. Drunk on instant torque - Nish even tried to egg the agents into a race. 

“Come on! Last one to Saint Quentin buys dinner!” Nish called out over the connection. 

“Where are they? Did we loose them?” Q ribs the agents. 

A testament to his growing maturity, 007 refused to take the bait. He could out manoeuvre them easily even with the handicap; but as senior agent on this mission, he’s not about to encourage dangerous driving that will attract the attention the french police and get them pulled over for no good reason. 

Agent 008 however, did take the bait - turning the section from Beaune to Saint Quentin into a light game of tag all the while quibbling with the boffins good naturedly. 

“Dinner is a broad term. Are we talking Maccies or the Ritz?” Marcus wants clarification. His Audi R8 pulling out into the overtaking lane and closing the distance. 

“Ah, there you are 008.” Q catches him in the rearview mirror. 

“Mate, the Ritz of course! Risotto with Grana Padano cheese and truffle oil and a bottle of the best Chasselas in the house,” Nish is surfing the menu on his tablet. 

Christ, he feels like a teacher on a school trip. “Might I remind the class that the french police are notoriously speed adverse and do not take well to British nationals breaking the law on their homesoil?”

“… wet blanket…” someone mutters over the line. 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with 007 having the slowest car of the lot does it?” Marcus goads. 

The roar of Bond’s V8 engine barely drowns out their laughter. 

By the time they arrived at the next rest stop, Bond had reached the end of his patience. He is not about to let the inexperienced boffins attempt to race a young impetuous double-0 through the twisty alpine roads with its sharp drops up to Geneva. 

He forces Nish to switch cars with him. As for Q, he pinned with a strong hand behind the neck like you would a naughty cat by the scruff - and fixed him with a disapproving glare. 

That effectively put an end to the game. Bond’s sports car was far less intuitive to drive - unaided by fancy tech and electronics, the performance machine required skill and experience to control. Nish has not much of either with the car, so had to treat it with respect.

Which left Bond driving the Model X with Q as passenger. It is essentially a glorified minivan in his eyes. 

“Since when were you the sensible one?” Q grouses, tapping on the navigation screen to check their arrival time. 

“Haven’t you been in my ear nagging about it for years?”

“And you chose now to listen to me?” 

“We can’t both be irresponsible at the same time.” Now there’s a sobering thought, the havoc the both of them can wreck on the world… maybe that’s why interpersonal relationships are frowned upon, “The world isn’t ready for it.” 

Q looks over at Bond and taps some options on the screen. Suddenly the car feels different, just as they are about to merge back onto the motorway. The instant torque that throws him into his seat when he puts his foot on the accelerator catches him by surprise. 

Twenty minutes into the drive and Bond has to grudgingly admit that the acceleration was addictive, and the silence a relief to his ears. The seats and suspension far less a strain on his back and the large screen is easier to read. 007 has to face the terrifying possibility that he might be getting… SOFT.

“Admit it, it’s not as bad as you thought it would be.”

“Yes fine, I’m starting to see what all the fuss is about. Can you drift in it?”

“Not quite yet…. We have figured out how to bypass the stability control and add it as a shortcut tile onscreen—,“ Q points to the red ‘Chase Mode’ button on the corner of the main screen.

“—but its a heavy car and no one in Q-branch has managed to get the tail to spin out without nearly killing themselves in the process.” Q grins at him, “You up to the challenge?” 

Bond quirks a smile as he puts his foot down on the accelerator to effortlessly and silently overtake a lumbering lorry.

“Sure, when we get home… But what happens if I need to turn the car OFF and ON again in the middle of a chase?” He’s not quite ready to surrender his internal combustion engine for a mobile phone on wheels. 

————-------

Geneva Motor Show - Palexpo, Grand-Saconnex 

Aston Martin Exhibition Stand

“Bond, if you stand like that next to the Vantage any longer, the press is going to think you’re a hired model.”

The agent is doing his patented man-in-suit ‘pose’ - that blend of deliberate insouciance he’s perfected over the years, feet right distance apart, one hand in his pocket. Hell, his suit is probably more expensive than what some of the actual models here are wearing. If Q was being honest, Bond makes the car look even better. 

Q knows what Bond is doing. He’d basically herded Q over to the massive Aston Martin stand and refused to let him leave. Dragging him back to draw his attention to one thing or another whenever Q tried to move on. The bastard is fishing for a new car and not so subtly hinting which one he wants. 

“Come over here,” he uses his free hand to gesture to Q, cajoling and demanding at the same time.

Q has to roll his eyes. He comes to stand in front of the information sign next to the car. He knows it already, the recently updated Vantage now has a 4.0 litre twin turbo V8 engine pushing out 503hp, 0-62mph in 3.6 seconds with a price tag that does not even bear thinking. 

Q does a bit of mental math, “At that price, not to mention the cost of the additional modifications, we usually want to get more than a single use out of it…” a direct jibe at 007’s track record. 

Bond just smiles cheekily and leans in close, “But surely if it meant the difference between if I get home in one piece or… several pieces, it’d be worth it. Consider it safeguarding Her Majesty’s assets.”

-Oh low blow-. That’s emotional blackmail. If they weren’t in public, Q would have smacked him soundly with the stack of glossy brochures he’d been collecting all day. 

“Or we could write you off as depreciated assets and be done with it,” that was extra mean, and Q knows it. So he softens the blow by handing Bond the stack of brochures to free his hands and starts to inspect the car - making a show that he is ‘considering’ the request.

He pops open the bonnet to examine the engine setup, walks around checks the tyres and breaks, checks the boot space before climbing in to examine the interior and driver’s setup and controls. 

Q is surprised when an Aston Martin executive lands in the passenger seat all of a sudden and introduces himself as the Deputy head of Engineering before drawing Q into a conversation about the car’s performance and clever electronic bits. 

In his peripheral vision, Q sees Bond round the car to stand just outside the driver’s door - trapping Q in the driver’s seat. Bond braces and arm on the hood of the car and leans into the cabin, ostensibly to listen to the explanations from the executive.  

Lecture completed, Bond finally allows Q to climb back out. Q grudgingly accepts a brochure from one of the marketing reps circling the stand and when he turns to regard Bond, silently asking -Happy now?-. 

The man is standing close - he picks the brochure out of Q’s hands, placing it on the very top of Q’s growing collection before handing the entire stack back to the quartermaster. A satisfied smile on his face that conveys -I want one-. 

Nish appears just then interrupting their silent repartee, “Q!— I mean Collin.” Nish hisses his name in a not quite whisper. 007 has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. The boffins keep forgetting to use their cover names. 

“Have you seen the concept Lagonda? That thing is ‘effing bonkers!” Nish is holding a champagne flute. “They’ve got drinks too yeah!”

Their priority passes as well as MTech’s connections score them invitations to exclusive launches by select manufacturers. For the boffins, it is Disneyland but with free alcohol. 007 can only hope that they will manage not to get too drunk on ‘gratis’ bubbly by the end of the day. 

———

It was not all play and no work for the agents though. The day proved to be a fruitful outing for all of them.

At the Bugatti concept unveiling, 008 spots his mark. Kim Min Jun is watching the event together with the other VIPs. Marcus makes his move, insinuating himself into his small entourage of young, rich, social climbers. He scores an invite to drinks and party that evening at the Mambo in the city. 

007 too finds his mark walking the show floor with a stunning woman presumably his wife. He watches as Don Marco and Kim meet briefly upstairs in the invitation only pavilion of the Bugatti stand. 007 takes his opportunity, swiping an unattended marketing pass from a table and goes up to the woman whom he later learns is Donna Lucia Sciarra. From her, he finagles their hotel name and duration of stay whilst giving her a tour of the cars on display. 

———----------------------

The Ritz-Carlton, Hotel De la Paix - 2:00am

Bond gets back to the Ritz at 2am. He’d spent the evening with Donna Lucia while her husband was away attending to business. While Lucia wasn’t averse to physical dalliances of her own, she was loyal to her husband and his chosen profession. She had enough understanding of economics to know that her own position and lifestyle depended on it. 

Which meant that 007 despite his charms could not get much information out of her other than a hint that Sciarra’s activities revolved around a client (presumably Kim). However the evening did present him with the opportunity to plant trackers and upload a virus into Sciarra’s laptop.

Now back at the Ritz, his room is oddly empty - Q is not in the room nor the connecting one. Neither bed has been slept in, nor was there a note of explanation. He checks his phone in case he missed a message - nothing. 

Bond searches his jacket for his earpiece and puts it back in, “Q? Are you there?” No answer, but a moment later a sleepy Nish answers. 

“Yes 007? I thought you’d finished with your objective tonight? The virus will continue to monitor and transmit data, but it will take time for HQ to shift through to find anything of interest. Did you need anything else?”

“Where’s Q?” voice carefully neutral. 

“Uhh… in his room? He said he had a headache and had me standby on comms tonight. Why?” Nish is starting to sound concerned. 

 Bond stamps down his rising unease. He’s about to request Nish to check Q’s location when the room lock beeps and the man himself enters, dressed as he was during dinner. Q is swaying on his feet a little, that and the flushed skin indicated that he might be slightly inebriated. 

Eyes locked on each other. “Nevermind. False alarm,” he tells Nish and removes the earpiece.

“Where the -hell- were you?” Bond is relived, but can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. 

Q is a little taken aback by it. “I…uh… 008 called, needing assistance. It seems Kim Min Jun has few topics of interest outside of the serial partying expected of a socialite. Financial investments is one and the other, engineering. He’s a software engineer by education though his actual coding experience is limited, however he does retain an -intense-“ head tilt to emphasise the world “—interest in the field.”

He’s rambling. Bond knows Q does that when he’s stalling. “What happened?” he asks, more gently this time. 

“008 was having difficulty maintaining Kim’s interest, so requested my help. We met up with him at his rented residence for a private party. Sciarra was present as well. Marcus did the requisite drinking, including most of my share, while I did the talking. Mostly about IT security, a little bit about encryption - fundamentals for the most part.”

Q elaborates while walking further into the room. He starts to empty his pockets and removes his jacket. When he’s done, he leans against the hallway wall - clearly tired.  

“After a while, Sciarra who hadn’t spoken much the entire night brings out a tablet. He had a game on it, some sort of storm the castle type strategy puzzle. The game is adaptive - machine learning adjusts the game’s response to the skill level of the player in real time. It does not have preset levels or preset game paths like traditional games.”

“I can’t imagine it would be something for commercial release, it’s terrible as a game - it felt more like a simulation. But to the right people, it would be entertaining I suppose. He asked if I could help him solve the game. He’d been struggling for weeks apparently.” 

Then more quietly he adds, “Park and I were concerned that if we did not indulge him, Sciarra would leave early… and that would put you in a precarious situation.”

Q braces for Bond’s exasperation, “Q… we’ve discussed this. You are not to put yourself in danger for my sake.” Sleeping with a colleague had its complications. 

“At no point this evening was Sciarra or Kim aggressive nor did I feel any immediate danger.. just a  general unease.” Q tries to defend himself. 

And quickly continues, “We spent close to an hour on it, trying multiple strategies before making significant headway. I wanted to leave after that, so made an excuse about being too drunk for anymore strenuous thinking. Sciarra did not seem inclined, wanting my help to finish it. Kim was more accommodating and let us leave. He seemed pleased though, enough to invite us to the launch of his ICO.”

Bond has a sinking feeling in his stomach. So that’s what Lucia alluded to, when she said her husband was out scouting for opportunities. What was 008 thinking? He’d tossed an unprepared boffin into shark infested seas and chummed the water. 

“Invite YOU, you mean… I think their interests rest solely in you at this point.” Despite the disapproval roiling off him, Bond can sense how uncomfortable Q is and steps in close, hands wrapping around his ribcage. Q melts into the comforting touch, resting his hands on the lapels of Bond’s jacket.

“I suppose… James, I’m going confess - I’m feeling somewhat out of my depth in this. Sciarra makes me nervous. And the personal manipulation feels… distasteful. Intellectually I understand the need for it, but it’s so different when you’re in the thick of it, that constant anxiety about being found out.”

“I’m guessing you felt a connection with Kim? The manipulation works best if there is a connection but also feels the worst.” Bond hopes the explanation would help. 

Q nods in agreement. “Kim is a good conversationalist, we have overlapping interests, in any other situation we could very well be friends. How do you do this?” It is a rhetorical question. He is beginning to understand what 007 has to do in the line of duty; how this line of work can alter your perception of the world. He recalls Bond’s file and the trauma of Vesper Lynd.

In a moment of drunken paranoia and insecurity of his own, Q’s internal commentary goes into a wild tangent - what if Bond with his training and psychopathic tendencies is toying with him? How would he even begin to tell? Cold creep of horror constricts his chest. What if one day James tells him that he’s done playing house? Itch scratched? 

He tries to distract himself by picking at a loose thread sticking out of Bond’s shirt where a button should be, the next one down is missing as well. How unlike Bond, he’s usually so fastidious with his wardrobe— ohh!

“Did she… pop your buttons??” The mental image is not helping his insecurities at the moment. This is nothing, just a couple of buttons - nothing compared to the cuts and bruises Bond comes home wearing all too often. But it is enough to remind Q that as recent as half an hour ago, Bond was in the embrace of someone else. There is even a lingering hint of her perfume. 

His expectations in this regard has not changed just because of their as of yet undisclosed relationship. Q can maintain a clinical detachment while reading about and even on occasion listening to 007’s amorous encounters in the line of duty. But he is usually spared the physical aftermath. James always return to him carefully put back and scrubbed clean of evidence so to speak. So to be confronted with it for the first time is jarring, especially in his current state of mind. 

Bond feels Q stiffen in the embrace. The gentle idling hands on his chest suddenly ceasing their movements - recoiling slowly into loosely balled fists. He grabs Q’s hands before they slip off his chest. 

The action snaps Q out of his spiral of paranoid thoughts, anchoring him. The cold tightness around his chest eases - the warm reality he chooses to believe in edging out the insecurities. 

Bond sighs heavily, he is going to have a talk with with 008 in the morning. Park should have checked with him before involving Q in this. The Quartermaster for all his eager willingness to help any agent in need; is not trained psychologically to handle up close deception nor does he have the right personality traits for this type of field work. 

“I need a shower.” 

“I could use a shower.”

They both declare at the same time. This makes the both of them smile, lifting the dark mood. 

“Care to join me? You scratch mine and I’ll scratch yours?” Bond starts to go in for a kiss but stops in time when realises that the taste the Lucia’s lipstick is probably still on his skin. 

“I’ll join you, but they’ll be no scratching involved.” Q is already starting to undress him, pulling his shirttails out of his trousers. “Shower, then sleep,” is as detailed a plan he can muster at the moment. 

“Oh, thank goodness.” Bond exhales, visibly deflating - the bravado bleeding out of him. He is no longer as indefatigable as his reputation suggests. 

“By the way, fair warning: I will likely be quite the tosser in the morning. I can already feel the beginnings of a hangover. Do you think throwing up now would help?”

“How much did you have to drink?” 

A less than attractive burp escapes him. “No idea. Several rounds, at least, of what they call Poktan-ju. It’s some sort of bomb-shot. Soju mixed with beer? Christ, those things are potent.”

Bond kisses his temple and guides him to the bathroom, “Come on, I’ll hold your hair.”

—————————————

Ritz-Carlton - Breakfast 

“You’re shagging the Quartermaster.” Park concludes after the lecture.

Not quite the response Bond was looking for after his talk about not putting untrained personnel in harm’s way; but one has to admire his cheek. 

“The bed in his room is always made. No personal items on the bedside table. The adjoining door is always open. There are no used clothing anywhere in his room or bathroom, only fresh ones the hotel laundry returns in the wardrobe. And even those have his jumpers mixed in with your suits…” Marcus checks Bond’s reaction, just to make sure he wasn’t going to need to avoid an impending punch. 

“The clincher though, is he leaves his phone charging in your room on the bedside table next to what I’m assuming is his side… I peeked. If you’re trying to keep it a secret, you’re doing a pretty shit job,” he finishes with considerable smugness. 

Bond wonders if the previous M hired the next generation based solely on the measure of their precocious impertinence. The four of them have been using the Quartermaster’s room as a meeting room every morning for sitrep before they got on with the day’s agenda. So he supposes it is only expected for an agent of Park’s calibre to catch on sooner rather than later. 

“Congratulations, you’ve figured out something every boffin in Q-Branch would have been able to tell you,” Bond deadpans.

A congenial chuckle escapes Marcus, “I have to say though, I’m somewhat embarrassed at how long it took for me to notice. For a short while I mistook your territorial displays as invitation. I was about to proposition you at one point… even if you aren’t exactly my type.” 

Now that, genuinely was surprising. The amusing confession is an olive branch, and Bond accepts it by not punching Marcus in the face to underscore the message of his lecture. 

And in regards to the lesson, Marcus concedes, “Fine! I’ll take your suggestion into consideration… for future reference.”

“Instruction—” 

“—Advice.”

“Direction.“

“Counsel.”

“Order.” Bond is beginning to understand Mallory’s accelerated hair loss over the last two years. 

“How about we settle at strong recommendation?” Marcus suggests affably, some measure of contrition in his cheeky smile. 

Bond just blinks slowly and sighs. Agent 009 must be certifiable to want to one day succeed Mallory into a leadership position. 

He looks over Marcus again. Despite the rebellious backtalk, the younger agent looks like shit warmed over. He is nearly slumped over the breakfast table. 

“Should we have your stomach pumped?” The pathetic sight pulls a shred of pity out of him. Q isn’t even awake yet and if Marcus drank most of his share for him; it is no small feat that the agent managed to get out of bed this morning. Bond is aware of the ‘fellowship’ drinking required in other cultures, so spares Park a second lecture. 

Marcus just waves the comment away. “Nnngh. Put a bullet in me and be done with it.”

—

Bond’s buzzing phone signals the end of the conversation. No caller ID, number withheld. He answers but says nothing. 

“You boys at MI6 just can’t resist a challenge can you?” a familiar voice says without preamble.

Now this is interesting. “Felix. How are you? To what do I owe this call?”

“The puzzle box. The dammed game. It’s a test. Sciarra has been toting that thing around for months. We’re not sure for what yet. But it seems your new boy and the computer nerd he brought along made quite an impression last night.”

-Ah shit…- “And how do you know this?”

“Standard stuff, you know better than to ask. What I can tell you is Sciarra’s been seen poking around Silicone Valley. Word is, his next stop was going to be Russia but seems you boys have given him reason to delay that.”

“What do you know about Kim Min Jun? Your guys have better access to South Korea than we do.” 

“Not as much as we’d like. The boy is a princeling, but only on the periphery - he’s a bit of an outcast. His connection to the family is through his mother who is the youngest of four. She was sent to the Europe for her education, where she met a man - a fellow student.  She had a child by him outside of her family’s approval.” 

“They married for the sake of appearances, but her family never warmed to him. He had some means, but nothing compared to her family. So eventually they split and she returned to Korea with their young son. Kim’s full name is Ferdinand Oberhauser-Kim Min Jun. Though he dropped the use of his father’s family name in favour of his mother’s surname Kim.“ 

“Alright so that’s his past, what about his current?” 007 continues to fish for information.

“Kim might not be a central figure or direct heir but he is still considered family, so there are… sensitivities involved. If it leaks that the we have interest in a family member of a powerful Chaebol, the political and public fallout could jeopardise international relations.” Leiter is being unusually forthcoming this morning. 

“I see… so is this a courtesy call or do you need something?” the bored tone belying the interest underneath. 

Felix clears his throat. -Here it comes- Bond thinks, “It seems your side has had better luck getting close to Kim. We’d like to know what he’s up to with the ICO. In return, we’ll tail Sciarra and let you know what he’s looking for in Silicone Valley and Russia.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, milking it for all its worth. It is not everyday that the CIA admits to being one step behind. 

Eventually he answers, “Well, no point doubling up on the same job.” He doesn’t tell Felix that, MI6 already has a virus in Sciarra’s laptop. Anyway, Leiter might have more information and a partnership might be useful in the future. If the CIA is also interested in Kim, there might be something larger at play. 

There is a hint of relief in Felix’s voice, “Always a pleasure doing business with you James. Oh and, wherever you found that computer nerd, I hope he’s insured. We don’t know how far this goes. We’ll be in touch.” 

—————————————————

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Enjoy!

[jflashandclash]

Traitors of Olympus IV: THE LAST CHAPTER!!!

           Their lunch went over the amount of time Pax had allotted, but there was no way he would cut it early. The appreciation on Merry’s face and the relief on Kally’s were worth every second of catch up he had to play, even as he bantered into the phone.

           “Are you suggesting this meeting is more important than my own affairs?” Pax let the iciness slip into Santiago’s voice. The other end of the line went into panicked silence. Everyone thought Santiago had disappeared for good, but he couldn’t yet. Not when there were so many unresolved legal issues to attend to and so many people Pax could mess with.

           Other than his phone argument, the van had been marked with uncomfortable silence. Alabaster spent the time doing his jaw stretches and exercises. Pax wanted to make a comment about a few other ways to work out Alabaster’s jaw, but—after one very awkward bathhouse incident where Pax forgot who he was—Pax had promised to check the mirror before he tried hitting on anyone. Or give tackle hugs. That had ended well with Axel.

           Axel couldn’t stand to look at him when he did this. He didn’t even like hearing Pax talk. Some disturbed part of Pax enjoyed it, like Muahahha! This is how if feels! But, Pax knew that was about as fair as betting against Prometheus or Tyche.[1]

On the note of feeling vindicated about triggering Axel’s trauma and why, Pax admitted, it was unfair, Pax had chosen to hang the Triple A Chimera masks in their throne room. That way, he would cringe every time he caught saw the Leonis Caput helm and had to rub the stump where his hand used to be. Call it the espresso shot of incentive for whenever he wavered on their cause or thought about painting weasels instead of going to one of Santiago’s business meetings.

           Axel didn’t choose to see Santiago again the way Pax chose to see the helm. Axel had voiced his opinion on the matter very thoroughly and with a lot of violent gum chewing. If Pax kept this up, and they found a way to attach an electrical plant to Axel’s mouth, Pax suspected they could power the entirety of Camp Othrys (Remastered) with his vehemence.

           As their white van pulled alongside the other pharmaceutical vans, Pax ended the phone call. He grinned at the others, shuffling to his feet. No matter how often he turned into Santiago, he never got used to the limp.

           “Good news everyone!” he said.

           Curiosity sparkled in Alabaster’s green eyes. He sat up on the opposite bench. “Did you get a dead body?”

           “I got a dead body!”

           Axel didn’t say a word or react as he exited the driver’s side. He didn’t wait for them either, going ahead through the back entrance’s hidden doors.

           Pax tried not to let Axel’s anger dampen his spirits. Instead, he focused on this opportunity: Axel had left Alabaster to his mercy.

Pax rose to his feet, almost stumbling on the bad leg.

           Alabaster hopped out of the van. He sighed and extended a hand to help him.

           Pax fished around his suit jacket—it became easier wearing the same clothes his dad did when he was morphing this often—and nipped a bite of his golden apple. He didn’t need to anymore. He had morphed into Santiago as soon as they dropped off the girls, but he enjoyed the sensation. Before Alabaster could withdraw, Pax morphed again.

           That way, when he staggered down and leaned against Alabaster for support, Pax looked like a voluptuous, hot chick whose curves barely fit in the now-tight business suit.

           Alabaster had a hard time looking at him. “Ajax,” he growled, though in threat or complaint, Pax wouldn’t know until Alabaster set him on fire.

           Pax grinned up at him. “The corpse is super fresh, only an hour dead. It’s the right height, weight, race, and age. How much time will you need to give him a proper, evil gimp leg and some Iago fangs?”

           That had been a fun experience. When Alabaster set to work making a mold of Santiago’s mouth from Pax’s morphed one, Pax had a hard time not trying to eat the bubble-flavored molding. Eventually, Alabaster switched the flavor to something much less delicious.

           Pax tightened his—her? Unlike Lapis, who demanded a certain pronoun, he never really cared what pronoun he used, even when his family jewels turned into… that didn’t seem fair that girl’s parts weren’t also called family jewels. They were as precious. Maybe family pearls? He’d have to consult Urbandictionary later. Regardless, her for now. Pax tightened her hand around Alabaster’s tie. The bracelet that Alabaster had made for Pax glinted along her wrist in the sunlight.

Witch boy had a much harder time rebuffing her when Pax was a girl.

           Alabaster swallowed at their proximity but didn’t withdraw. He looked exhausted, probably from hot-girl-overdrive from seeing Kally earlier. “To trick a mortal, a few hours. If the coroner identifying him ends up being a demigod…” he shrugged.

           Pax had forgotten, for a second, they were talking about altering a body. She nuzzled her face against Alabaster’s shoulder, her longer hair spill out the ponytail and across the two of them. Although the child of Hecate’s spell pouches were all by his belt now, his scent still hinted at the herbs he carried.

Other than that bathing house incident, Pax had been an upstanding gentlelady… gentleman… gentle person? Whatever. Which really meant she hadn’t had time to disrespect anyone’s boundaries, or so Pax kept telling himself. That and she feared she’d breakdown if she let herself get cuddly with Alabaster. She had to be strong. Strong Pax baby that used all that bottled up fear, pain, and anger to scheme. Muahaha.

           But Pax wanted hugs after not touching Kally the whole meal. And Pax had been so well-behaved recently. So much so, that Alabaster hadn’t set him on fire in months. Maybe…

           “So, I see you get hot and bothered by corpse talk. If I keep chatting about it, will you let me give your neck a makeover? Look at Axel. It’s all the rage these days,” Pax said. It had been so long since she properly flirted, she almost forgot to make her eyes super wide when she blinked up at him.

           “Ajax, I appreciate that you’ve kept to your promise for the last two months,” Alabaster said. “Don’t—”

           Someone cleared their throat by the back entrance of the temple.

           Axel must have doubled back from inside to give Lucius the automaton donkey a bucket of oil. He leaned against the door, arms folded, glaring, though Pax couldn’t tell if it was more at her or at Alabaster.

           Pax pouted.

           Alabaster tapped Pax’s bracelet.

           Pax’s Mist hand dissolved. The glove collapsed into nothing, leaving the red scarring of a stumped wrist.

           All his concentration faded. Pax morphed back into a boy, clutching his stump and empty glove against his chest.

           That was meaner than anything Alabaster could have said, but Pax carefully kept his pout. Making Alabaster question his sexuality for a few seconds: a victory that trumped all other loses, including that of a functional limb. Probably.[2]

           “Even if the Belizean coroner is a demigod, he isn’t paid enough money to pay attention to something like that,” Axel said, like his little brother hadn’t been trying to seduce his friend and use a van with sleeping bags the way teenagers were supposed to use a van with sleeping bags.

           Alabaster fixed his tie. The skin under his freckles was bright red despite the way he tried to glare. “If we can properly set up the body in the swamps of Belize, it’ll look more like a suicide than a murder.”

            “See, that. That’s exactly the kind of violence I want. Good ol’ autosacrifice!” Pax kept his smile strong. He refused to puff up his cheeks and pop them while thinking about autosacrifice: the amount of blood that he and Lapis had shed to contact the Vision Serpent recently. This time, he wanted to proceed as carefully as possible and get all the supernatural, visiony approval as possible before things went wrong. No more rash Pax baby.

           He led the others towards the backdoors of the temple. He was pleased to see some new recruit had graffitied kittens around the door entrance. The next hallway wasn’t nearly as cheerful—Matthias had been focusing so much on restructuring the new housing that he’d only managed to put up posters of bands for this area of redecoration.

           “Santiago is making a huge point to say he’s traveling to his home town for something important next week,” Pax said to and winked at Axel. “After that, Mr. Soon-To-Be-Legally-Pax-Patriarch, you and Lapis will never have to look at him again. Except in family photos. We should burn all our family photos.”

           Axel clenched his jaw in his best illustration of I can be hot, mysterious, AND mopey. “I don’t like that you’re doing this.”

           That was a conversation that Pax wanted to hear again about as much as he wanted to watch Alabaster cut off his useless hand again. Sure, in a few ways, he’d asked for both, but that didn’t mean he needed another bonding experience with a hatchet or a grumpy older brother.

           Nausea threatened his stomach as he thought about how much easier it could have been with Kally there. She wouldn’t have let the procedure continue without him being sedated. But, she wouldn’t have let a lot of things happen that Pax knew needed to happen.

           He shook off the feeling, jamming his stump harder into his ribs to force himself to focus. They got to the elevator at the end of the hall. It was already opening with the auto sensor Matthias had installed.

“Yea,” Pax said, “And I don’t like that my brother got attacked by an empousa and won’t tell me about it. You said you were going to find a way to easily change the subject from our updated style. You didn’t say you were going onto Vampire’s Anonymous. Did you at least give as good as you got?”

           Axel sighed. When he rubbed his bruises, his expression turned wistful. They got inside, and Axel pressed his finger into the scanner for a quick blood sample to get to the top floor. “Ajax, I’m pretty sure I’d kill someone if I tried to do this to their neck. And, I would never give you a lead that obvious.”

           Pax grumbled in Mayan. If Axel was leaving territorial marks, he could have looked into whether or not Reyna or Thalia had gotten a sudden propensity for scarves.  Pax couldn’t believe he’d been so busy that he didn’t even have a guess as to which girl was Axel’s new best friend and which was his nibble buddy.

           “When she’s ready for it to become public…” Axel trailed off. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. “Then you’ll know. I’m not exactly fond of keeping our relationship a secret.” There was a hint of bitterness.

           Pax huffed. “Augh, that’s no help either! Is it secret because of Thalia’s connection to the huntresses or Reyna’s position as praetor? You wouldn’t violate Thalia’s vows, but you also wouldn’t want to jeopardize Reyna’s already shaky claim as praetor. And I don’t know whether or not you thought relieving sexual tension through neck play was a way around Thalia’s vows—”

           “Ajax,” Axel warned. “Girlfriend or friend, I don’t even let Jack speak disrespectfully of someone I care about.”

           “Does Jack know?!” Pax demanded.

           Alabaster cleared his throat. “I think Lapis may have let it slip.”

           Which meant Lapis knew. Dude, Axel sucked at keeping secrets. “Ha! You didn’t mention Bast! Besides, if it was her, she’s not one to get catty with the other girls, but would be prideful about her including Axel in her pride.”

           “Not necessarily,” Alabaster said. “She’s supposed to be in the Duat. She’s been sneaking off to visit us.”

           Axel’s cheeks grew red.

           Pax’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

           “It’s not Bast,” Axel said curtly, eliminating one. “She’s a bit too… maternal and and—um—aggressive for me.”

           Pax shook his head. “Ah, having a hot familial figure that wants to bang you. Now you know how I feel when I go on lunch dates with my half-sister.”

           Before the elevator dinged for the complete stop at the top floor, something phased through the shiny metal. It scurried up Pax’s pant leg, tiny nails tearing into the silky fabric, saving Pax from Axel and Alabaster’s glares.

           Between the “Aye! Aye! Aye!”s, Pax laughed. Baller, his weasel, burrowed into Pax’s sleeve, nesting into his armpit. Once the door opened, two more weasels scurried about their feet. Axel knelt down to pet Hunnie on the nose and accepted when the weasel wrapped around his hand in a battle strike. Alabaster tossed Nietzsche, the albino, something.

           All three took off after whatever the dark object was as it scuttled further into the atrium. Obsidian doors were in the wall across from the elevator doors, one ajar to allow the rodents to enter. Pax wasn’t sure what to do with remodeling the atrium yet. It was imposing, as he felt like it should be, but they also lacked something fun, like bean bags and a dartboard with Jason Grace’s face.[3]

           He really wanted Matthias to design a twenty story slide or fireman’s pole from this room to the bottom of the temple. Matthias said that would kill too many new recruits. Pax argued that it wouldn’t if they made it end in 20 feet of feathers. Alabaster said Pax didn’t understand the science of impact, but that Alabaster would see if he and Lou Ellen could make some kind of Mist buffer to accomplish the task.

           Giggles interrupted Pax’s thoughts.

           Just inside the doorway, he could see three girls duck out of sight. The sunlight in the room had glinted off their crimson skin so they looked like vanishing demons or, as Pax preferred, ethnically-ambiguous cartoon characters.

           “Huh, Euna must be tending to the—” Alabaster started.

           Pax gulped and sprinted for the door. “Cho!”

           Axel immediately caught up along his side as they busted through the doorway. “What?!”

           “I let Hiro loose!” Pax said. He’d meant it as a kind gesture—honestly, his littlest brother needed to get out from time to time, but Hiro and Euna hadn’t been in the same room since—

           They skidded to a stop inside. Everything sounded peacefully quiet. In Pax’s not-peaceful life, he knew that meant everyone had probably killed each other. The sound that shredded the peace was a blade sliding against another blade.

           Comforting.

           More giggles erupted.

           Axel and Pax scanned the room. There had been a lot of adjustments. The massive walnut trees expanded to form a canopy over the front section of the enormous throne room. Light could still come from the square dome at the top of the ceiling, especially with the mirrors they added to optimize the amount of sun, but the atrium was still dimmer than pre-forest times.

           In the center of the room, where Eris’ pithos once sat atop an alter, was Joey’s statue, still smiling with pride. That and the throne were lit magnificently. Pax had made sure of it. Both to honor Joey and to annoy her if she could still sense the brightness.

           The two tables that had once been used for meetings had been removed, leaving the throne in the back as the only piece of real furniture.

           In a maze across the ceiling, Pax had added metal bars, like monkey bars constructed by a maniac, with ladders installed on either side of the wall to reach them.

           That’s where they found the chaos.

           A fourteen-year-old half-Japanese boy dangled from the bars beside a tree that was further from the rest. His legs bobbed uselessly under him as he scrambled to catch one of the crimson nymphs.

           Pax knew there would be sixteen of those monstrosities in total, but he only spotted about a dozen in the branches, playing Keep Away with his littlest brother.

A crimson nymph curled up in a softly sobbing ball away from the others. Near her, Pax caught sight of Euna. She was, Pax assumed, pruning some of that nymph’s branches. Although most of the branches were thicker than her arm, Euna snipped them off with single strikes.

           He knew the last nymph would be by the former fire pit, and was too small to play with the others. Euna had already named that dryad Resilience since it was a sapling stubbornly sprouting from Santiago’s tree stump.  

           The walnut trees had red leaves, like the color of the nymph’s skin, hair, and eyes. Something about not having enough light for typical photosynthesis—bla-bla-bla—chemistry—bla-bla-bla—child of Demeter. All Pax cared about was the fact that Euna had NOT decided to prune Hiro’s functional limbs.

           Axel and Pax sighed in relief. Alabaster strolled in behind them, unconcerned.

           At their hurried entrance, some of the nymphs disappeared back into their trees. Euna set her shears down, then touched the snipped off sections. The bark rippled, healing over the nubs to leave little more than a scar. She knelt down beside the sobbing dryad, gently brushing away her tears with her work gloves. “Your branches were criss-crossed. We had to pick the strongest branch, since they would have been sickly if we kept both,” she said.

           The nymph sniffed and crawled up to lean into Euna’s long, black hair that hung over her shoulder.

           Euna awkwardly patted her back. Then, she gently set the nymph back into her tree.

           Once done, she brushed her gloves on her jeans and walked towards them. The vines and leaves dangling from her hair and limbs seemed to whisper with each step. Pax loved the fact that she hadn’t learned to control the whole “god glow” thing. It meant he wouldn’t trip over her when she found odd areas to nap or that he could use her as a nightlight.

           At Alabaster’s raised eyebrow, Euna shrugged. “It’s not their fault that they’re full grown and have the mental capacity of toddlers.”

           As much as Euna looked disinterested, she had been tending to these trees, and the former-fire-pit-new-garden, religiously. Axel and Pax had been worried about their favorite homicidal Korean until they brought her into this room and the dryads flocked to her like creepy, Satanic ducklings to their mother. When they were a little more developed, he was sure they’d run shrieking, “Mom’s home!”anytime Euna returned from missions.

           The creepy blood-born babies brought Euna peace and purpose beyond murder. Plus, it sort of solved the satanic dryad infestation. Still there, but at least they were more like pets and Hiro’s playmates than unwanted rodents. (Pax heard that most people didn’t want rodents in their houses, which he thought absurd.)

           Euna smiled at Axel as she tossed something at his head from her pocket. “Happy early birthday.”

           Axel caught it, flashing a fanged grin. They’d been playing a lot of “surprise” catch to work on her situational awareness. He held up the glass vial with something gold and fleshy inside. Attached to the lid were a pair of familiar sunglasses that seemed to glow with an internal fire. “Is this—”

           “A trophy from our fight last week?” she said. “Yea. Congrats. One down. Eleven to go.”

           Axel looked ecstatic. He hugged the heart-jar close to him with one hand, then held out the other in a fist. “Pound it,” he said.

           She fist bumped him. Her dark eyes searched around in lazy confusion. “Why isn’t Kally with you?”

           “Yea, Ajax, why did we deviate from the plan?” Alabaster asked, shooting him a side-glare.

           Pax had been hoping to avoid this conversation for as long as possible. At least now he had the perfect illustration as to his reasoning. “Because you just gave Axel a heart in a jar as a birthday gift.”

           “I thought it was very considerate and sweet,” Axel objected. He stepped around the group, walking towards the back wall. As he crossed paths with Joey’s statue, he nodded a greeting, then he continued forward, to put the jar in the section they’d designated for trophies.

Pax pondered over installing a modern art piece on the back wall. They already had the Triple A Chimera helms mounted there and Phobetor’s piccolo-hatchet. If they were going to have a menagerie of random godly item and organs, you might as well shape them into a weasel.

“Where’s Lapis?” Pax asked, watching Hiro snatch at a dryad. The girl giggled and hopped to a different branch. He swung down from the monkey bars, onto the tree, not realizing how hard he’d smashed his knees into another branch. They needed to buy him shin guards or a riot shield for his legs.

           “With the new recruits,” Euna said. “How’d the talk with Reyna go about the soldiers defecting from New Rome?”

           Axel snorted. “We’re protecting defectors and her reputation is on the line. How well do you think it went?”

           “So it was the huntress!” Pax said and snapped his fingers.

           Euna gave Pax a confused glance. “Do you mean Thalia? She hasn’t been a huntress for… um…” Her eyebrows furrowed. “The middle of the sweet potato harvest?”

           The fact that time had become difficult for their sprouting godling wasn’t the part of that sentence interested Pax.

           “A month,” Axel supplied, patiently “You and I celebrated her physical sweet sixteen with her, Percy, and Annabeth about a month ago.”

           “Holy Titans,” Pax whined, “So she—”

Before he could start guessing, Euna waved him off, sprinkling him with dirt from her gloves. “It didn’t have to do anything with me or Axel.”

           Axel shook his head. “The prophecy she was trying to prevent is over and she has paid proper homage to her fallen friend. She had some other reasons, but they didn’t have to do with any current romantic intentions.” The way he said it labeled the topic clearly with Off Limits.

           “Hrm, and an argument between you and Reyna could easily end in a nomnom fest. Augh!” Pax ran a hand through his hair, messing up the gel and pulling more out of his ponytail. “How have I become such a terrible information gatherer?”

           “I don’t know. You were gone on one of your ‘business’ meetings,” Axel said.

           The first month had been insane. Pax had to meet with a lot of contacts, both in the pharmaceutical world and mythological one, to prove Santiago wasn’t dead. He and Claymore had spent many a torturous session on how to conduct a business meeting without discussing anything serious, so Claymore could handle emails that involved real dealings. And, there had been the rebranding. Pretending Santiago had found God or whatever they decided to change some of the “business” practices.

           Technically, Pax supposed, Santiago had found some god.

           Pax’s stomach clenched to think of some of the stuff that happened to him when Axel was too “busy” during their time at Camp Othrys. One glance at Axel’s bitter glare, and Pax calmed.

           “Hey,” he protested at Axel and Alabaster’s scowls, “I got this. You promised me. Six months. I know that’s an insanely long time for neither of you to have an aneurism, but I have four more months of unquestioned Pax tyranny and I think I’ve been taking pretty good care of us so far. Reese’s Sticks for everyone!”

           “Yea, but how much of that time have you spent as you?” Axel asked. His ears flattened against his hairline.

           Alabaster nodded. “You haven’t pulled a single prank in a month or worked on any art projects. Matthias has a calendar recording it.”

           Euna made a face. “How does Matthias have time for that?”

           Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them, swearing prank vengeance on Matthias as soon as he had time to conduct a proper prank. He pressed the stump of his hand into his ribs. His eyes drifted to Joey’s statue, to what Hera had done to her, and to the Leonis Caput helm and to what the god of war—former god of war, he corrected gleefully—and the goddess of love had done to Axel. That was why he had to do this.

           That’s also why he couldn’t break down in front of the others. They needed a strong leader, else Alabaster wouldn’t be able to focus on cracking the curse of Joey’s statue, Axel wouldn’t be able to finally relax enough to play bump in the night with the girl he liked or set up the training regiment for their newbies, Euna… Euna would probably do whatever Euna wanted to, but he liked to think she’d have a harder time focusing on her new god-powers and sanity without him putting forward some effort.

           And, he wasn’t ready to admit to them the problems he was still in denial about, like the times he’d gotten stuck as Santiago and called Atë in a panic as he scratched and clawed at his own face. At Santiago’s face? Pax looked too much like the photos to glance in mirrors anymore. That’s when the private lessons started of How to Be a God 101. Atë had taught him how to alter a single feature on his face, so no one would notice the gashes. She had taught him a lot.

He forced himself not to tremble.

           Pax gave them a devilish smile, realizing he must have missed a response from Axel. “If I fail, you’re allowed to pull my ear off. If it works, I’m punishment-free for another six months.” He winked at Alabaster. “Then I can coddle Witch boy without interruption.”

           Alabaster sighed. “Ajax, don’t make me sabotage Camp Othrys to maintain my dignity. I will.”

           “I will be allowed to court him in polite, gentlefolk fashion,” Pax corrected. “Girls can court people too nowadays, Witch Boy.” He winked again.

           “You’re not a girl,” Alabaster said, not looking at him or Axel. Axel made the terrible mistake of thinking Alabaster was the older of the two, so would blame anything that happened on him.

           “I can if I want to be,” Pax said. This was when he was supposed to bump Alabaster’s hip if he was acting normal, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when he had been Santiago so often. He wished he could pretend, like he had for that second by the van.

           “Kally hits hard now,” Axel observed, saving Alabaster a response. He rubbed his shoulder, the same spot that Kally had given each of them a solid welt.

           Pax refrained from touching his with his stump. He and Alabaster exchanged a glance before Pax glared at Axel. “I know your vetting process for Axel’s List of Requirements for Taste in Sexy Ladies. Don’t get any ideas.”

           Axel laughed, clearly not catching onto Pax’s threatening tone or the way Alabaster had set a hand on his spell pouches. “I’m just saying that she must still be training with Mr. Paine,” Axel said, “She must be bored, or even scared having to deal with monsters on her own. You said you were going to bring her, Ajax, and tell the others about this.” That bitterness returned to his voice. “And I think Lapis is going to kill you if we don’t have Merry start sessions with Hiro.”

           “Look at him. He’s as happy as a condor with a deer carcass,” Pax said, gesturing to where Hiro had latched himself to one of the braches and was biting at the bark. They really needed to get him down before he fell again. Hiro didn’t need the lower half of his body when he was doing the horizontal swing of the monkey bars, but he struggled more with the vertical jumps on the trees.

           Hiro, as they discovered, did not like looking up. It sent him into a fit. So, Pax reasoned, they would just make it so Hiro could move all around the temple without much up to look at. That didn’t work though when one of the more malicious dryads tricked him to the lower branches and he couldn’t boost himself up to climb and couldn’t use his legs to jump down.

           “For now. You know he’ll fall apart when his medication wears off,” Alabaster muttered.

           Pax couldn’t argue. “We do need a healer…” he said softly. “I just don’t know if Kally is ready for… this.” He gestured widely to Santiago’s throne room with its demonic dryads and eerie gloom and doom.

           “Are you trying to make sure someone is comfortable?” Euna asked skeptically.

           “No, I live to discomfort others,” Pax said.

           Alabaster sighed. He reached into Pax’s pocket to withdraw his phone and set it into Pax’s hand. “We need a healer in more ways than one.”        

           Axel’s shoulder slumped. “And maybe someone to keep us in check. If it ever gets to the point that you don’t feel like you can have Kally here, maybe we’ve gone too far.”

           Pax wanted to say Exhibit A and point to the heart in a jar, but he knew they were talking about his recent fad for dress up. Just one more week though. Then some poor Belizean tourists would find “Santiago Pax” dead in a swamp and his will would divvy up his fortune with his recently acquitted son, Axel Pax, as the executor.[4]

           Would that change anything for Pax though?

           There was still so much to do. Others could do it so much better than Pax, well “Pax” as himself. It had been so much easier not being himself.  

           If Kally were here, he would have to do things a different way. She could read all of them like a book. Stupid authors and their assumptions on people’s—haha—character. She wouldn’t let him do his weekly visits with his half-sister, or sequester himself in his room under the guise of business meetings, or talk to the new recruits as Santiago because Santiago was so much better as a leader than he was.

           Maybe she could help him find a balance between serious, tyrant Pax and that soft child-prankster. What he normally was. If nothing else, her presence would get Alabaster and Axel off his back. Kally would probably be so lost adjusting the first week, she wouldn’t be able to keep track of him and his movements or who he was. If he set Alabaster up as her tour guide, then they’d both be too distracted—

           What was Pax thinking?! He had to be there if Alabaster and Kally would be battling for cutest and most oblivious flirt.

           Axel had thought this through too well.

           Pax sighed heavily. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, squared his shoulders, and tried—as best as he’d learned with one hand—to smooth his hair back into a tighter ponytail.

           Alabaster tapped the bracelet on Pax’s wrist.

           Mist emanated from the silver and gold band and twisted until it formed a hand. Pax still got phantom limb spasms, but at least the Mist hand worked. He smoothed the gel back down. His stray hair, this week he took to calling it One Who Dodges Hair Ties, popped out to curl down his cheek.

           “Can I at least make an official announcement?” Pax pouted.

           Axel stepped out of the path to the throne. After a split second of her staring off into the trees, he dragged Euna out of the way too.

           Pax walked through the room. As he passed Joey’s statue, he gave their marbled friend a quick kiss on the cheek, something he’d done every day they moved her here. Had he found out that she had a crush for him before she died, he’d have teased her relentlessly, and decided to make up for it during her stone age.

           “I bought you a pre-released recording session for EXO,” he said, “I heard Suho’s vocals can crack any girl’s hardened heart.”

           He set the CD at her feet. He still couldn’t believe people bought CDs. That was supposed to be for creatures that walked the earth hundreds of years ago. Later, they would have to pull the old CD player they’d salvaged out of Santiago’s room to give her some easy listening.

           Pax continued forward, forcing himself to look at the Leonis Caput helm on the back wall. It felt right to have a heart in a jar nearby. The sight made him wonder if Alabaster had put Pax’s severed hand in a bottle of formaldehyde and it was now floating somewhere in the Witch Boy’s laboratory. Pax wished he could still move the limb despite being severed. Then he’d make it wave to Alabaster every time he knew Alabaster was in his lab. Questions to ask Atë when next he saw her.

           Finally, Pax leveled with the throne of bones that was sewn together with tendons. He’d thrown a smiling panda car seat over it. Baby steps in remodeling.

           When he sat down—bones were very uncomfortable; Pax didn’t know what his father had been thinking—he saw Alabaster mid-eyebrow raise, Axel trying not to avert his gaze, and Euna staring off at Hiro as he chased a dryad around the canopy.

           He cleared his throat. “I promise to kidnap Kally—”

           “Bring Kally with parental knowledge and consent,” Axel corrected.

           “Hey.” Pax glared at the interruption. “We’re not shooting for gold and diamonds here.”        

           Euna shrugged, proving she was paying attention. “It went well with my dad.”

           All three boys shifted uncomfortably. “You call that ‘well?’” Alabaster asked.

           “Your dad hits really hard for a mortal,” Axel said, though Pax couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or a complaint.

           “He kept up with his military training,” Euna said, “I think he’s supposed to be visiting sometime this week.”

           Alabaster and Pax groaned. Mr. Song had a very strict expectation for his daughters’ livelihood and Camp Othrys II didn’t meet it.

           “Anyway,” Pax said, “I hereby say that Kally shall come here, but under one condition and one condition only.” He pointed a finger at Axel. “You tell me which girl got your neck.”

           Axel’s jaw started to clench, but his lips curved into a tired smile. “You know what? Deal. You bring in Kally, I’ll leave hints that any capable spymaster should be able to figure out.”

           “Ah, a challenge,” Pax said. He couldn’t decide if he was thrilled or annoyed. The fact that it was a question between the two emotions made Pax wonder if Alabaster and Axel were right: he needed to relax and smell the puff pastries.

           “Assuming you have the time to take said challenge.” Axel examined his claws on his right hand. His pointer and middle finger barely had new growth from when they ripped off in the Labyrinth. Pax decided not to ask, since it was so inappropriate—

           “Is it easier to court your girl now that those fingers have become more versatile?” Pax asked.

           Alabaster choked on a laugh.

           From somewhere in the trees, Hiro whistled.[5]

           Axel’s face deepened to crimson. Those fingers curled into a fist. “Ajax, you have four months left before I can rip off your ear.”

           “Allegedly,” Alabaster said.

           “I think it was a reasonable question,” Euna said, “Those claws have gotta get in the way.”

           Axel tried to keep his expression neutral as he changed the subject. “How are we going to tell Kally about this?” He gestured to their trophy wall: trophies from the minor gods that they had killed—two tiny gods and now one major. Ta-da! Pax was really proud of them for sticking to their New Year’s Resolution. Some people went to gyms. Some people slew a deity per month.

           “Maybe we should ease her more into this,” Alabaster said.

           Pax had to agree. Glancing from Joey’s statue to the Leonis Caput helm, he felt a smile crawl onto his lips. A malicious glee made him tap the armrest of his bone throne. In an instance that made him realize just how desperately they needed Kally to keep them in check, he leaned forward and asked, “The real question is: One down. Eleven to go. Who are we going after next?”

 ***

All the Author’s Notes!

This concludes the Traitors of Olympus series. For those of you who have made it through all of this madness, I can’t thank you enough for taking this journey with me, and it has been a crazy journey. (Pax is sobbing behind me. I think I saw Axel wipe a tear away too. Nope. Nope, that’s just him showing off his claws…) I hope you were able to enjoy this ending (it is VERY different than its original conception) and I really hope you’ve enjoyed the ride! As always, I’d love to hear any of your thoughts on the series, favorite ships, favorite scenes, favorite characters, or even for you just to say a quick, “Hi!” XD You guys rock and made this possible! (I’m not crying while writing this, I swear)

By September, I’m aiming to have the first short from Tales from Mount Othrys out, the prologue to this series, so you might not be rid of me just yet. Hold onto those pitchforks!

 ***

Thank you so much to Mel, my betatester and close friend, for inspiring me and encouraging me to keep going (and doting on my babies while I traumatize them). I would have crashed and burned forever ago without you. <3

And, lastly, I wanted to write a quick dedication to my Merry: I know you’re never going to read this, but this is how I wish things could have gone for you and your Nikhil. I’m sorry everything didn’t turn out like a storybook ending—you did everything you could with what was given to you. Please, remember that, and remember to take care of yourself. Nikhil, I hope you’ve found your favorite place to jam to comedy R&B in the Elysian Fields, hanging with the other heroes, like you, who are so good at bringing a smile to people’s faces.

***

Footnotes:

[1] Tyche vs. Prometheus. I think Tyche would win, because luck always destroys careful planning.

[2] Yea, I know Pax hit on him as a girl. Pax will still consider that making Alabaster question his sexuality, since Pax believes Alabaster’s sexuality is exclusively dedicated to his laboratory.

[3] Some things never change. Though Jack does think Jason Grace and Axel are now friends much to Pax’s pouty distaste.

[4] In Mel’s betanotes, she read this first as the Pokemon, “Exeggutor” and thought of an Axel version of that. I mean… Axel is both a psychic and nature type….

[5] Melbeta note, “HIRO FUCKING WHISTLED YOU GO YOU SMOL CHEEKY LITTLE PAX GET YOUR KICKS WHERE YOU CAN GET THEM XD XD … OH GOSH THAT PUN WASN’T INTENDED AND WAS MEANER THAN I EVER MEANT I’M SO SORRY!” Jack, “I couldn’t stop laughing at this. I think you understand why I needed to put this in here XD”

[theswiftarmy]

#12 - Swiftie House: A phone call with Joe Alwyn, The Lover’s Lover

“Swiftie House!” One of the two Swiftie Soldiers guarding the door to Taylor’s hotel room barked at the other. “I want to be in Swiftie House!”

“Well, this isn’t Harry Potter!  It doesn’t work like that—you can’t just pick a house!”  The other yelled back escalating their quarrel.

“Why not?  I want to be in Swiftie House!”

“Because it just doesn’t work like that.  And besides, if it WERE like Harry Potter, you couldn’t pick anyways, The Sorting Hat picks the house.  You sit on the chair and The Sorting Hat is placed on your head, then the hat picks FOR you.”

“Swiftie House, I WANT to be IN Swiftie House—“

“Well, you are in Swiftie House OBVIOUSLY —So, just calm down.“   He pointed towards Taylor’s room.

“Woo hoo! SWIFTIE HOUSE!!!”

“We’re all in Swiftie House.  Taylor is The Sorting Hat and SHE picked us to be in Swiftie House because SHE is The Lover.”

“Love her.  She’s The Lover.”  The first soldier said staring straight ahead in a hypnotic gaze.

“Yes, I know, that’s The Swift Army motto.”  The second soldier rolled his eyes.

“I LOVE being in Swiftie House!”  He said, breaking out of the hypnotized eyes.

“Well, technically we’re in a hotel right now and not a house—So, it’s Swiftie Hotel, but yes, we all love being in Swiftie House.  I love it too.“

“Guys, I’m on the phone with Joe!  Can you keep it down please?”  Taylor called out from inside one of the bedrooms in the opulent hotel suite.  She was lying sprawled out on a king-size bed in The Ritz-Carlton Suite at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Los Angeles.  It’s amazing how quickly she was able to travel back to LA from Nashville and still make it in time for her preshow rehearsals for the American Music Awards after storming The Big Machine Records offices—Which by now was completely surrendered to the Swifties—One could say that she’s quite the SWIFT traveler.  Eh?  Eh? Anyone?  No?  Okay then. I guess laughs weren’t allowed on this flight.

Taylor had a private plane complete with chirping crickets to keep any and all jokes related to her last name company since, unfortunately the laughs were not allowed to board the flight as they were considered checked baggage and were forced to ride in the cargo hold below, their “ha-ha” and “he-he” sounds muffled by the barrier that separated the passenger cabin above and baggage area below, additionally the sound of the engines droning away were enough to completely block out the laughs leaving only the chirping of crickets and the inflight music choice, every Taylor Swift song ever made, on shuffle, and on repeat.  And one Hanson song… MMMBop, because that song was catchy, and also why not?  You gotta problem with Taylor Swift’s music choice? I didn’t think so.

The taking of the Big Machine headquarters was her Fort Ticonderoga, an early win in the Big Machine war, Ethan Allen and Benedict Arnold’s ghosts would approve.  She stared at the leftover eggs benedict platter she ordered earlier, the coffee now cold, and her thoughts meandered.  The platter sat on a cart beside an Ethan Allen chair.  As she chatted with Joe Alwyn, her lover, she wondered if one day far in the future, the ghost of her name, Taylor Swift would become nothing more than a furniture collection, or perhaps a clothing line.  Historic battles fought and won, and now all people know is that catchy marketing jingle associated with a holiday sale event, or brand bearing the same name.  Funny how her lover would have been on the opposing side of a war all those years ago—If she were born at that time period, my how their current Romeo and Juliet love story would be different, although, her entire life would be different. In 1775 a woman didn’t even have a chance of being what Taylor Swift is today.  Times they are a changing… She was certainly no Margaret “Peggy” Shippen.

Although, as an interesting parallel with Peggy Shippen, yes, Taylor was born into a fairly well to do family in the same state of Pennsylvania, and much like Peggy, she longed for something more in life than to be courted off by a good looking boy—but unlike Peggy she had a choice over her own fate, she was no loyalist spy for the British army, instead, she commanded her own damn army.  That’s right. What women can achieve when you peel away the patriarch.  Am I right? Hold on Beyoncé is on the other line, she has something to add… Who run this world?  Girls.  That’s right, and you’ll like it.  Partly because you’re under Taylor’s mind control from her music and you have no choice but to like it.  But also, because times they are a changing…

The Swiftie Soldiers stood in a foyer by the suite entranceway, they were suppose to be practicing their dance moves as they were also background dancers for Taylor tomorrow night in the American Music Awards performance.

“Sorry Taylor!”  They hollered back.

Taylor looked over at the full size grand piano she would use to practice on. Lover had to be perfect, just like the lover on the other end of this phone call was.  She needed every second of her performance to shine so the whole world would be on her side.

“God, these backup dancers are driving me up the walls—I can’t take it Joe, ugh, I miss you so much.”

“And I miss you my dear.  Would you like me to say a bunch of British words for you with a British accent?”

“You’re already talking to me with a British accent.  But, oh, I love it when you talk British to me.  You’re my lover you magnetic force of a man. You London Boy, you.”

“I still don’t get why I can’t just pick my own house.”  The backup dancer Swiftie soldier guards began to bicker again.

“Because it does not work like that.”

“Guys!!!!  ON. THE.  PHONE.”  Taylor yelled.  “You’re supposed to be keeping a look out and practicing for tomorrow night.  Less talky, more walky and dancy.  I’m expecting that Tuna will be here any minute and then I’ll need to make another call to a certain someone to make an offer for an exchange for a certain SOMETHING.”

Sushi meowed from Taylor’s side.

“Well YOU can talk all you want.  That’s right.  Cats are an exception to the rule, to my rule, as queen of this Swiftie army.” She waved a stick with a feather at the end of it in front of the cat, and the cat reached for the feather, taunted by Taylor.  Sushi the cat was unable to get ahold of what it desired, but unable to stop trying. Whatever Taylor wanted the cat to do, it would have no choice.

“How come the cat gets to talk and we can’t?”  One of the dance guards said to the other in a lower voice trying to keep his question from reaching Taylor’s ears.

“Joe, my lover, can you hold on a second?”

“Yes dearest lover.  For you, I would walk around the world for your love.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but that’s not necessary right now, I’m just going to put you on hold.”

“Taylor, I will wait for all eternity.”

“I only need about thirty seconds.”

“Or thirty seconds, I’ll be here my Lover.”

“Oh, I know you will.”  She smiled and thought to herself, because you don’t have a choice.

Taylor placed the phone down and got up from the bed letting her hand run along the linens.  Plush 400-thread count linens—400 thread count!  What a waste she screamed in her mind.  400 thread count!  And my lover isn’t here with me to share this.

She picked up a sonic blast attack device and walked into the other room. She set the device to low and placed it on ‘auto’.  The device began to play a series of Taylor Swift songs mashed together and layered on top of one another.  She placed the device on a small table in the foyer near the two bickering Swiftie Dance Soldiers, and stared them both down.  She smiled sweetly.

“Guys… I need you to be quiet for the moment.“ She said soothingly. “Okay?”

The solders didn’t say a word, they simply nodded.

“Listen to my music, love my music.”  She sang out.  They continued nodding back.  “When the KatyCat Kitty Cat Guard cat convoy out on mission returns, you come get me. Until then…”  She placed her index finger over her lips, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

“Yes. Taylor.”  They said, in a Siri like voice.

She patted them on the head.  “When The Lover is on the phone with her lover… She needs everyone to be quiet.”

They continued bobbing their head to the beat of the music in perfect synchronization.  

“Good.”  Taylor felt a surge of power pulse through her from head to toe.  She pivoted on her feet, and went back to her conversation with Joe.

@taylorswift

[fallenangelspnfanfic]

Fireworks

A little Dean x Reader  I wrote on the side

Contains a lot of FLUFF 

Hope you’ll enjoy 

I am so thrilled. LIKE, super duper hyped. Dean said he would let me drive the Impala today! Can you imagine? Dean letting a girl at the wheel of his precious Baby? At first, I thought he was teasing me, but when I peered into his emerald eyes, searching for any kind of mischief... all I saw was genuineness which, to be honest, was kinda unsettling coming from the elder Winchester.

But, HEY!  Who the fuck would turn down the once in a lifetime offer to drive this sweet 67 chevy? Not me! So, I gladly accepted and now, I'm standing in front of my wooden drawer searching through the dozen plaid shirts, looking for the best outfit for this date, like a fifteen years old chick would do.

Oh yeah, date.

I wouldn't usually dare to call it a ''date'' but since it isn't a hunt nor a supply run and that it only included the both of us going away for an entire day, I can't think of a better word. I can still recalled how he hesitated when he asked me out. We were on our way back from a ''pain-in-the-ass'' ghost hunt that turned sideways. I was sitting in front as Sam tried to catch some z's in the back seat.  

''Y'know there's a vintage auto fest not far from Lebanon this weekend... And Sam doesn't wanna go, but man... How bad I wish I could go and display Baby, giving her the love she deserves...''

''Then go? You're a grown ass man, Dean. You don't need your brother by your side 24/7!''

He laughed, his freckled nose wrinkled a bit in its own adorable way and my heart skipped a beat, per usual. I had the biggest crush on the eldest Winchester, for many years now.

''I know, sweetheart...''

*Heart melting like an ice cream left under the sun*

Sweetheart.

I know, I know. Dean calls every potential girls that pass his way Sweetheart, but... I can't help those feelings that twirl inside me when he calls me nicknames.

''I was just wondering if you... would like to come with me? I mean, it could be fun y'know.. Just the two of us, hanging out... It's been a while...'' he glanced nervously at me since I wasn't answering. He had been all flirty-flirty with me during the past weeks but hey, we're talking about Dean Winchester. How am I supposed to know if his advances are serious or not?

''And... and hey, I could even let you drive to get there, and don't worry I won't disappear on you and let you by yourself if that's what you're thinking..and-''

___/\__/\_/\_______________¸

''I CAN DRIVE THE IMPALA?!''

And yeah, that was my answer, basically. Just gotta add a couple groans coming from a grumpy half-asleep Sam and a couple mumbles from me and that was it.

Damn, I haven't put mascara on since.... let's say ages. My hair is almost done now, I've been curling it for almost half an hour, Jesus. So glad I don't waste my time doing this every morning. Being hunter has its perks.... Sometimes.

*Knock Knock Knock*

''Y/N, are you ready?''

Dean entered my room without my approval, as always. Damn, he looks hot in that khaki shirt.  I discreetly bit my lower lip as I observed him.

''I could've been naked, y'know.''

I heard him behind me sucking his teeth in disappointment.

''Well, better luck next time I guess.''

I laughed.

''You're such a pig.''

''Well, the pig is done waiting so...''

He locked his arm around mine and pulled me as I finished twisting the last strand of hair, almost dropping the burning iron on my bare feet.

''Okay okay, damn, let me at least turn this thing off!''

He let me go and sighed.

He doesn't even seem to appreciate that I've arranged myself for this... Hell, I don't even know if he sees the difference.

''Alright, I'm ready, Winchester.''

Maybe I was wrong thinking this would be some kind of date..

'' I can't wait to spend the day with you, sweetheart. We gonna have a blast.''

..Or not.

----------

I lifted my eyebrows, dumbfounded that  he opened the garage door for me.

''You feelin alright, Dean?''

He chuckled as I passed before him. My heart is racing with the anticipation of being at Baby's Wheel.

''I can be a gentleman from time to time, Y/N. And you know it, don't act so surprised.''

I laughed, but to be honest, I haven't even heard his answer. I'm waaay too excited for what was next to come. I turned around and put my hands together as if I was waiting for the consecrated bread, waiting for him to give me the keys... but he looked at me, puzzled.

''What?''

I glared at him, he better not.

''Well... You told me I was going to drive so, the keys, please.''

He snickered as he analyzed if I was being serious. I noticed how his luscious lips trembled as he held back the laughters.

''You... You thought-''

He bent down and hit his knee as he bursted out of laughing.

That, son of a bitch. That smoking hot, son of a bitch.

He regained his composure once he saw I wasn't entertaining his behavior.

''Alright, alright... You're right, I told you I was gonna let you drive. There, I'm sorry..''

He reached for his pocket as he got closer to me.

Yesssss

He's not that of a jerk, finally. I couldn't hold the growing smile on my face. I was going to drive the Impala! FINALLY.

And then, out of the blue, he poked my nose with his index finger and a whispered to my ear.

''Passenger side, beautiful.''

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

 We passed an amazing day, even if I didn't get to drive the car. Jerk

Anyway, it was really fun to see Dean in such awe in front of those old cars. He looked like a child in front of a candy store but, as he promised he didn't leave my side. So, now I know more about cars than I thought I ever would.

People started to leave around 5 and we thought we should hit the road as well.

''Hey, mind if we make a stop somewhere before getting back?''

I looked at my side, Dean was staring at the road but I could see the shade of a grin drawn on his face.

''Uhm, no I don't mind. What's up? Hungry?''

He scoffed and then looked at me, with one of those smiles that just take your breath away. Why is he so flawless?

''Uh, no sweetheart, there's a spot that I know not far from here... Sam and I used to linger over there when we were younger. It's pretty awesome.''

He has something in mind, I can feel it. Besides his many not-so-subtle glances that he kept throwing me and that big ass blanket that was covering a mysterious package in the backseat, it was pretty easy to riddle that the eldest Winchester had planned something else for the rest of the day.

''Alright, we're almost here, beautiful.''

Dean took a sharp turn and now I really had no idea where we were off to. I could hear the gravel hitting the underside of the Impala as we drove on a dirt track.

''Dean, where are we? It's getting dark and I'm hungry now, I hope you packed something to eat, smartass.''

''I thought you knew me better than this, Y/N/N.''

He finally turned off the car, but let the lights on. I jumped out the car and inhaled the sweet perfume of the nature that surrounded us. I heard Dean rumbling in the backseat of the car so I decided to explore a bit, where the hell were we?

----

''There you are.''

A regular person would have be frightened by the sudden sound of a voice breaking the quietness of the darkness, but I heard Dean's stealthy steps a while ago..

What I did not expect was the sudden warmth of his fingers intertwined with mines. My heart was stammering in my chest as I tried to decipher what was happening.

I stared at him with my brows furrowed but he only squeezed my hand as an answer and pulled slightly so I would follow him. So I followed him, quietly. Too afraid to talk and to sound like a chipmunk as my throat tightened.

We followed a little wooded path that lead us into a vast field filled with blooming...

''Lavender... Wow.''

I took a long-ass breath as he let go my hand, the smell that was emanating from the field of flowers was stunning.

''Do you like it ?''

I turned around and for the first time since we got out the Impala, I saw that he had been carrying, trapped under one of his arm, a wicker basket filled with what looked like food and bottleSSS of wine and over it was sitting a wrapped blanket.

''Extremely''

He unrolled the blanket at my feet and invited me to join him as he sat down.

I joined him as I giggled, he really planned all of that for me?

''I gotta admit, Dean, never thought you had the ability to be romantic.''

He chuckled as he opened a bottle of red wine and displaced a plate filled with vegetables and different kind of cheese.

''To be fair, I was planning to stop at some drive-thru before coming here. Sammy's the one suggesting all of that.''

He actually had a chat with Sam about bringing me here... Did he ask for his brother's advice? What in the...

''Oh, makes more sense... Broccolis also blew up your cover to be honest. ''

Cracking up a joke is always good, even when you're nervous as fuck... right?

''BUT, I'm the one who thought about....''

He searched through the basket until he reached out what he was looking for and he seemed pretty proud with himself as he exhibited the gigantic package.

''Fireworks! Wow, been ages since I've seen some.''

''Yeah... Sam and I used to pop some of these when we were kids and Dad left us behind. Man, I can still see the wonderment in lil' Sammy's eyes.''

He was pouring wine for the both of us in some plastic cups when I decided to speak my mind.

''So... Dean, tell me. What's the meaning of all this? I mean..''

I noted how the side of his mouth raised in a smirk as I started my interrogation. He gave me a cup and lifted his to make a toast and we both took a sip.

He brought a hand to his chest out of nowhere, as if he was about to take the oath.

''I solemnly swear that I am up to... no... no good, if that's what you wanna hear.''  

I pointed an accusing finger to him as he mimicked Harry Potter with the cutest british accent I've ever heard.

''Don't make fun of my favorite movie, Winchester... Plus, you're really bad at it.''

We both laughed it off. I can't stop staring at him, he looks so, peaceful and calm, which is so weird to me. He's usually so tense and angry.

''I've really been looking for spending some quality time with you, Y/N. It's been a while and I know I can be a real ass-hat from time to time.....''

He was looking far away in front on us as he regained his seriousness. I just knew, that what he was saying came from deep within him, so I just kept listening.

''I can be harsh with you and I sometimes don't weight my words... It's just a constant fight I have with myself, every time we're on a hunt. Seeing you being in danger and risking your life... it's ... pissing me off in so many ways...But at the same time, I know you chose this path on your own....''

Okay now at that point, I just wanna jump on him and sealed off his lips with mine, Chuck, help me.

''You're so... friggin important to me, Y/N. I can't afford to lose you. That may sounds stupid... but your presence is like a soothing balm that calms the pain that has accumulated in me over the years.''

He took my hand in his and finally dared to peer in my eyes.  Our shoulders were leaning against one another and his nose was so closed to me that it brushed the skin of my face. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would actually run away from my ribcage.

Fuck it

In a instant, I turned my head completely and slammed my lips to his delicious one, nearly knocking all of his breath away from his lungs. I hoped that he would actually react and move his lips along with mine, but my heart sunk as he stood still. He hardly had a moment to react that I stopped the kiss and turned my head away.

What was I thinking?

''Why did you stop?''

He gently pulled my face towards him again, his hand resting below my ear, his thumb caressing my cheek as I feared to look him in the eyes. I barely had time to form an answer as his hand drifted to my hip and pulled me closer. I tried to control my breath as I inhaled sharply. I was against his warm chest, I could feel how chiseled it was under my hand as I splayed against it. The urges striked again as soon as I felt his stumble nuzzled the skin of my neck. My arms reached up and tangled around his thick strong neck. His green eyes were filled with dedication that made my heart fluttered.

''Come here, sweetheart.''

He pressed his lips against mine once again, but this time I felt his tongue pressing to the seam of my lips, asking access to delve Inside my mouth. I could feel the slight burn of the wine on his breath as our tongues danced together. His lips were warm and his hands were now wrapped around my waist. We broke apart for air and I rested my forehead against his.

He smirked and I smiled shyly.

''Best fireworks, ever.''

[theisbifamilyisbi]

TIFI Chapter 1.7 Coup de Legacy

I think that’s a fitting title. 

In this chapter, I go on a roller coaster. 

This is an ominous beginning. And don’t be fooled, the household is so big it can’t handle a thumbnail.

Reeses cares more about the kids than their own parents. 

Reeses: “If I kill this child, would I be the next in line for heir?”

Lollipop: “Try me bitch.” 

For whatever reason, Twix is always geting in trouble and I never actually see her do anything. Although there was a trap in the bathroom for like two chapters that no one has hit yet (These gross peons don’t wash their hands after they use the toilet!) that I think she put there. 

Twix: “Watcher, why do I have to stand in the GROSS TOILET AREA?”

Yes, I am making the watcher from Sims Medieval their god.

Someone left their smol animal in the snow and it might be dying. I’m not sure.

Pocky: “If it’s a dog can I has it?”

Pocky has the dog lover trait and I don’t know if my game can handle the size of this household and pets at the same time.

Someone used the toy chest Issy wished for! Wow. I think that’s Twix? 

ISSY FOR THE LOVE OF-

Abraham is questioning his life choices. Most notably: the one where he married the baby factory. 

Issy wanted a party, so I did a party. This was actually a lot of fun. 

I DIDN’T INVITE YOU GET LOST.

Beau: “THE VOICES, THEY SPEAK! I LISTEN NOT TO THEIR CRIES”

MOCHI.

Don’t be fooled, Reeses peed himself at the same exact time as Mochi. -10 for me.

Reeses: “Who is this Reeses fellow who peed himself? I know no such candy man.”

This is the fun part where everyone gets presents, and Twix gets about ten because she just kept grabbing. 

Screenshots to prove it. 

Twix received three of the bee things, three toy ovens, three or four bears, and potentially a few more things I forgot about. Reeses got the video game, Mochi the easel, and I think Pocky got the fishbowl. 

Pretty fairy girl is pretty. I hope she makes nice kids to outgrow the ugly townies. Like Connor there. Connor married Tori Kimura in this chapter, somewhere, since Fiona McOld died and Iqbal Aldied.

I don’t know how I feel about this.

Lollipop: “Strange human, release me.”

Also, I think that’s the Langerak boy crushing on KitKat. 

Connor tell your son to STOP.

You know, Claire’s daughter hasn’t had much luck with her face these last few games I’ve played. Claire died this chapter. Actually, a lot of old people died.

I wonder if the graves slow my game?

WHERE ARE YOU TAKING MY HEIR. 

Yeah, that better be as far as you go. 

Even in the winter, people still enjoy the sandbox. That’s the Langerak kid who likes KitKat. 

Right, Snickers still exists by the way. This is him. He aged up. I forgot about him. 

Snickers: “If not for my good trait, I may have snapped and killed everyone here.”

o-O

This is the kid of the guy who Issy tried to flirt with when Abraham was playing hard to stalk get. I think he also liked one of the girls. Dunno. 

Look, here’s Twix getting in trouble again! I don’t know why. 

Snickers: *Snickering* “You’re in the way of the garbage.”

Twix: “Don’t you forget. I’m mean-spirited. I will make you c r y.”

I realized KitKat was missing. Here she is, on a random lawn doing homework. 

Here is a kid who looks like he might break his neck. I don’t know whose kid this is. Sorry. 

Abraham might burn down the house. 

Abraham did not burn the house down. However he has like a level 6 or 7 logic skill and is still level 2 in the medical career. Abraham pls. 

Also, that bush. That is the murder bush. 

I don’t care about the points I’ll lose: SOMEONE DIE.

Ah, our first victim.

Snickers: “This seems like an unsafe bush that I should not touch, as I am a precious u n k i l l a b l e child.”

KitKat got caught by the police for being out after curfew. Whoops.

KitKat: “I swear, wasn’t my fault officer.”

KitKat is grounded, among other upset moodlets. This means you can pretty much assume she’s entirely red for the rest of the chapter. 

I mean, that’s okay, it’s just not what you’re supposed to wear. 

Considering the fact KitKat has the natural cook trait and not Pocky, Pocky really likes cooking whereas KitKat has never touched the stove. 

All I’m saying is Reeses likes the kids more than anyone else. Skittles likes them when they’re in the other room, but Reeses takes care of them and stuff. 

Speaking of Skittles, I have no idea where she goes. She doesn’t do anything interesting which is why there are so few pictures of her. 

Issy: “WAFFLES!”

I had to remind you she was here. And that she’s pregnant. Again.

Were trying for a good portrait picture this time. Preferably brighter than the other one. 

Mochi was also painting at the easel she got for snowflake day. Pocky looked like they were about to fight as she walked past.

Also I thought this was a good shot to show off Mochi’s face. She has Abraham’s nose. 

Twix is in trouble yet again. Haha. 

Clearly the best place to bond. 

Mochi has finished her first painting! 

Prom overload coming. 

Mochi actually looks so good in her formal attire. 

Pocky looking freeesh. 

I mean, okay. I expected like, KitKat or Pocky. But that works. 

Helmut, is an incredibly average dude. But he’s sweet. He’s called her daily looking to chat. 

It’s kinda weird brother and sister are prom king and queen but I guess they don’t look too related.

Pocky didn’t really have much of a good night. 

EXCEPT FOR THIS. HAHAHA I APPROVE.

That’s the first time I’ve seen this message for prom, but WHAT THE HELL THAT’S SO MEAN.

Mochi found a dude, which is cool.

There was honestly so much more. SO MUCH MORE. But I figured it’s kind of boring to see the same messages so. 

Look at dem crowns. 

I am determined to get a decent painting of her. 

And then she went into labor. Snickers is concerned. 

Skittles does not care. 

Skittles: “Mother, you have had so many of us you should no longer feel pain.”

You would think Abraham would be kind of used to his wife having children by now. 

Issy: “Glow my child, shine!”

Sugar Daddy Isbi is actually very pretty when she grows up and I’m not sure what traits she has. I’ll remember them for the next update. 

So, KitKat was off on a date while Issy was giving birth. 

That’s the Langerak kid I think. They talked for like seconds. 

He left and went into the spa. KitKat didn’t seem to mind though.

KitKat: “I don’t do blondes.”

FUCK THESE LAMPS. THEY RUIN MY SHOTS.

Twix: “Isn’t that picture older than I am?”

SHE FINISHED IT TOO. WOOO.

Lollipop: “I don’t trust you to hold me, old man.”

Abraham: *Traumatized for life*

Sometime later, I forgot Twix existed and she aged up.

I don’t remember what trait she got either, since she’s not important and my game is closed and takes twenty minutes to open. Like Twix is so unimportant I always forget her name, I forgot to put her in my family memo where I keep track of traits and etc, and I keep think she’s Mochi.

The llama mascot is back. Abraham and he are ready to brawl. 

Issy: “Chicken legs, Daddy.”

Daddy: *Does not realize her nickname yet*

These two blocked the door for awhile. 

Why is your artistic ability regressing!? 

Skittles: “Mom I swear if you even THINK of having another baby-”

Snickers: “This house is already trash!”

KitKat: “Ooh, another date? Wait, what do you mean you’re not the blonde guy.”

Issy: “Waffles!” (:

KitKat: “Weren’t you into my sister?”

Rudolph: *sweating* “I’m tired okay.”

This child is not ready for what is going to be coming. 

Tanning at night, that makes sense. What, are you paling instead? 

Well, this was to be expected. 

KitKat: “If I date you can we not?”

Issy: “WHY WERE YOU TANNING AT NIGHT?”

KitKat: “MOM STAHP!”

Rekt.

Mother daughter bonding. Exactly what I want to see! 

And no fucking lamp in the way 

Shit. I get points off for this, because this is just sad. How do you get a toddler to pass out like this. 

I’m not sure where these ramen noodles came from. How do you even get ramen in this game? 

I updated the graveyard. It’s getting pretty full. 

Well damn, Mochi survived. 

I thought this was a nice shot, even if he’s out breaking curfew. 

Did I mention Issy decided she wanted another baby?

Other than this being a good movie, that’s me right now. 

Hooray! Lollipop’s birthday! She got the Perfectionist trait. I don’t know why I don’t have a screenshot of her.

Oh. I know why. 

Twix isn’t that ugly from the side like this.

Pocky: “It’s my birthday bitch and I’m going to fuck everything up.”

Yeah. 

She fucked it up.

Issy: “MY DAUGHTER IS LIKE ME!”

Well fuck, you rolled the insane trait.

Pocky: “What the fuck mom wasn’t talking to herself all these years!?”

Pocky: “I can feel it coming. The stupidity. The insanity.”

Please stop.

Pocky: “You can’t make me, Voice.”

Pls. Pls no. 

On that abrupt note, bye Reeses. 

Bye KitKat.

Onwards to PURPLE BABIES. 

Well this is awkward, Issy is literally still pregnant and I now need her to auto finish the Abraham portrait. 

Scoreboard:

Births: (9) +45 100K Simoleons: (1) +40 Honor Roll: (2) + 10

Bladder Fail: (5) -25 Passing Out: (2) -10

Total: 65

I went down :(

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Next:      Pocky’s first chapter as heir!