#the Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nursemimosa · 7 months ago

Note

Will you write in detail about the girls befriending and falling for their partners? The summaries from the pairing memes are so cute, and I'd love some Fifi/Larry dialogue! I need to see her pick on him.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :) you're in luck, I have a whole bunch of info already transcribed from when I made the edits of the meme templates, and from my (recently heavily updated btw; OC info carrd), so I'll post them here again, and annotate them as well! for you, and anyone else interested, they'll be below the cut (plus this will be good exercise to help me start my fic's outline)

let's start with my knight x princess girls first; Dendraine (Dendra x Raine). dorky sapphics.

Dendra is a very close friend to both Raine and Fifi upon their arrival to the academy. She meets Fifi first, and they have a kind of playful nemesis type relationship. It is through Fifi that Raine meets Dendra, as Fifi had been working at the academy for a little over two and a half years when Raine arrives for her work study. Raine is paired up to work with Fifi.

Dendra seems to be particular about how Raine feels, often asking if she needs a bite to eat or having her accompany her during a workout. Raine has been sickly her entire life (think Wally from RSE/ORAS, who she does have a connection to as a fond friend in my ficverse btw), and she's also a bit of a lonesome wallflower that doesn't bloom until she meets her friends. (Dendra going "Osu! Hey new girl!" to her tho...)

When she hears about Raine's plans to become a Coordinator, she doubles down and insists that Raine train with her more often to help her gain stamina since I can imagine them being pretty arduous (and in my ficverse they're more like concerts). They train pretty frequently (with Fifi, Miri, and Saguraro in tow).

Both Raine and Dendra seem to be harboring unrequited feelings for people they know. (aka in my fic, Dendra likes Tulip and Raine has always been in love with Jasmine. Raine knew Jasmine back then, and she loved that even though she was shy like her, she was very strong. In my roleplay days, Raine was totally obsessed with her, and I decided to carry that over haha)

Despite this, Dendra finds herself frequently wondering about Raine's well being and how she is feeling. This culminates in her realizing that she may have developed feelings for Raine and leaves her at an impasse- every interaction with Raine leaves her flustered, they're both complete dorks whenever they interact! Tulip and Miri toootally chide her on her crush and ask if she's confessed yet.

After an event that leaves Raine crestfallen (spoiler I guess: but she loses a contest and sprains her ankle in front of her old crush who prior to this, implicitly rejected her), she begins to see Dendra in a new light. Like wow this girl has been by her side all this time....

Raine goes through a bunch of things and realizes she wants to be a teacher and a coach for contestants, based on her experience in the circuit and she will have to do so outside of Paldea. Dendra panics, because she realizes that time is running out to tell her that she likes her. It is shortly before Raine leaves that Dendra confesses her feelings, and Raine responds; saying that she will make sure to prioritize seeing Dendra first whenever she has the chance to visit Paldea, which, while not a direct answer; reassures Dendra. They're long distance girlies 🥹 I don't think Raine would ever leave Paldea in full as her found family is there but this is how their early relationship would play out.

and for the fan favorite plainpancake (both on here and on twitter!? thanks 4 da luv guys)

Larry might have been the first friend that Fifi ever made upon her arrival to Paldea from Unova, as she had originally worked and lived in Medali before moving to Mesagoza. She found solace in the variety of resturants there and upon choosing the Treasure Eatery as her after-work spot, Fifi would find herself frequently running into Larry. After like.. seeing him three times in a row she introduces herself by making idle conversation with him about the food (he ordered the same thing every time she saw him). He's a lot more quieter than she's used to, but she thinks he's a good listener, and deems him friend worthy. She is very used to people rudely telling her to quiet down since she tends to get excited about her favorite things & he's polite about telling her, which she appreciates. She worked with colorful people of all types in the entertainment industry, so she doesn't judge, and in fact, tries to match his energy. He isn't annoyed by her, but doesn't really respond much to her either. Food helps bridge the gap.

From there she makes it a self-appointed tradition to share a dinner with him at least once a week. This continues even after she gets a job in Naranja Academy and moves to Mesagoza. Their friendship starts off quietly and cordially, but Fifi grows comfortable with sharing snippets of her day and eventually going on long winded diatribes about her special interests, much to his chagrin. Whenever she has something she can't really discuss with her friends at the academy, he is usually the one she ends up (drunkenly) pouring her heart out to for better or worse.

Also important; She did not know anything about his roles in the Pokemon League until after she takes on the Gym Challenge. She is taking on the gyms to work on a complex she has with battling and battling against close friends makes her a little nervous (this isn't why she has the complex though). She wins against him the first time, but is completely blindsided by the fact he's in the E4 and it causes her to choke and lose.

After she loses to him she begins to feel smaller and wary around him, feeling like a weak nuisance, so she takes a siesta from dinners at Treasure in the meantime. After a brief respite (chaperoning a field trip in Kitakami, and touring Blueberry Academy with Raine), she finds that one of the main reasons she took her loss to him so hard was because she looked up to his skill (his lack of motivation be damned).

also. she likes him. she doesn't realize it, but she's always liked him. Dendra and Rika cannot fathom this at all and pick on her immensely. "THAT guy? Mr. Milquetoast?? REALLY?!" Rika would totally tell her that he was asking about Fifi during the time she took a break from Treasure just to make the woman flustered. (also a big deal and kinda hilarious since before that, she's been with other ppl in the music industry and even had feelings for Raifort who did not reciprocate)

Fifi's initial confession would probably happen after an incident I have planned involving Area Zero and her being scolded by the League about it. Larry felt unsuited for a relationship as he has expressed little interest and desire for one through the course of his life, causing disappointments in previous relationships (aroace king I feel u). Fifi has stuff of her own, and both felt they would be too busy due to their different jobs. Fifi suggests taking things slow, or even agreeing to stay close and seeing how things develop, to which he tenatively agrees. She confesses once more later on, and he responds saying that he "quite enjoys [her] company", which she gleefully takes as a reciprocation and embraces him. It's sweet and cute. they simultaneously "we're close friends marrying for tax benefits" but also do cherish each other's company. can't wait to write it all.

As for dialogue:

F: "I didn't think ya'd get so into the show*. Whadda ya think about it? Who's your fave?"

L: "Evie. The main character. She's ordinary like me and appreciates simplicity. I understand that. And when she gets overwhelmed and has to hide away in her room to decompress.. I felt seen."

F: "Heh... I always figured you'd be a main character lover. Not that there's anythin' wrong with that."

L: "Your tone of voice implies that there's something odd about liking the main character. Am I right?"

F: "Main characters are usually seen as plain and blank slates so that the audience can grow more attached to them via means of projecting on to them. It's not a bad thing! I just think it's funny. Not only didja pick the main girl but the one who's Tera Twinkle attribute is linked to her Eevee. The Normal type. You're so predictable!"

L: "So I'm plain and a blank slate.. I see. Nice to understand how you see me." F: "Guh! I didn't mean it that way. The main character is supposed to be warm and caring, even if others see them as plain. I think there's something to be said about finding joy in the mundane, right?"

L: "No offense taken. I feel joy sometimes. I'm pretty happy right now (his face is cardboard as fuck).

F: "ahhhhhh.... I'm friends with un-sugared oatmeal!" (she pats him sympathetically on the shoulder or something like that and he doesn't react idk)

*Fifi is obsessed with a magical girl show from her childhood involving magical girls and eeveeloutions that I made up for this universe. Thinking of calling it Eeeveelution/Evielution Twinkle. I think she could bond with Penny over it too lol

#mimosaask #shots-vs-sandstorm #this is pure word barf and i wrote A LOT even tho a lot is copy paste from my files hope yall get what i was sayin' tho lol #mimosa misc #oc x canon stuff #oc insp tag #mine #my OCs #oc #oc fifi #oc raine

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 5 years ago

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The Not So LoneSome Knight Part 8

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X, 7 X

The three-hour ride is passed with only the mellow tunes exuding from Kitt’s speakers. The selections were predetermined given the drastic differences in musical taste between Michael and Bonnie.

The aura of tension, ever-existent, looms like a thick immovable fog. Their destination seemed so far away, much farther than a simple drive. The distance is fully reminiscent of the oceanic expanse that settled between the two human agents since their little quibble at lunch. The space felt nearly insurmountable to overcome with futile gestures and neither one dared to speak for fear of accidentally affronting the other.

Parking in front of the Stevens’s house, all the agents took some time to orient themselves to their new surroundings.

“Michael?” The melody collapses into temporary extinction. While Kitt intended to address both passengers, he was more in the habit of speaking directly to Knight when he was in the driver’s seat.

“Uh, yeah, Kitt?” He puffs out, stretching his lanky legs out under the steering yoke. Who would have thought that three hours straight of driving could reward a person with a plethora of muscle spasms?

“I'm afraid I don’t understand.” Kitt starts, pausing to figure out how to phrase his continuation.

Michael not missing the opportunity to be a comedian returns, “there’s a lot of things you don’t comprehend, buddy. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

The Bostonian voice patiently replies, “If you hadn’t so rudely interrupted, I would have already said it by now.”

Had Kitt not adequately defended himself, Bonnie would have jumped to his rescue. She had taken great pains to create his current hard drives and CPUS. To this day, they were more advanced than any other mechanic had created. Any note of their failure would reflect poorly upon her. Alas, she allows it to slide. Her attention instead turns to focus on the economic situation of the neighborhood. She might not have had the same schooling as Michael, but she worked enough cases to know that people who were financially hard-pressed were more apt to turn to a life of crime, wittingly or unwittingly. As much as she hated to suspect it, it wasn’t entirely of the realms of possibility here. Maybe, Kent Stevens ran into some kind of financial ruin? Money could buy an awful lot of luxuries, things FLAG agents like herself, did without. Worse still, cold hard cash had the power to shift even some of the strongest loyalties. Benedict Arnold, case-in-point.

Kitt eagerly proceeds. “There is nothing special about this place. It’s fairly nondescript. How would anyone know that Kent Stevens and his family lived here?” A note of disappointment colors his inflections. It was clear he had been expecting something grander. He wasn’t wrong. Stevens’s house was a delightfully understated cottage that looked very much like every other place on the street.

Michael’s mind immediately skips to the idea that this could potentially be an inside job or set-up. Hypothetically, the theory made some sense. It just didn’t feel right. He can’t explain it rationally. It was more the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck than something of concrete substance to build upon. But why would anyone deliberately hand over their own address to dangerous felons? If they were smart, they wouldn’t even to escape detection, because it invited too much trouble. So the thought is shelved for now.

Kitt’s question becomes trapped in Barstow’s calculating mind. Bonnie has a sneaking hunch of what the answer might be. Her face takes on a slight pallor, her expression souring. She sits up straight and turns to look at Michael and the center console before speaking. “The local White Pages still have residential addresses listed. Don’t they? And, if that is the case, then someone might have known about his work for the Foundation and through some digging, discovered it.”

Scanners whir in approval. “She’s right, Michael. I just referenced the latest edition of the local White Pages and his address and number are both listed.” To prove the findings, the material flashes up on to his screen. Kitt specifically hones in on the black and white print.

Knight harrumphed. He wasn’t upset that Bonnie was correct. No, that part was a relief. Rather, he found it exasperating that they had managed to get nowhere fast with this investigation. The number of people who had access to Kent Stevens’s address had just increased exponentially. Which, by virtue meant the pool of suspects just went from being a cutesy little fish-tank with a handful of individuals to an industrial-sized fishnet full. “Great. That won’t make our job any easier.” But when had the Foundation’s business ever been a stroll in the park?

Resolute a measure of hopeful expectation lingers in his azure orbs as they gaze fondly at Bonnie. “Well, there’s only one way to narrow down our search. That’s talking to Mrs. Stevens.”

Bonnie eagerly nods.

#the Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #the Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic part 8 #the not so lonesome knight #knight rider #bonnie barstow #Michael knight

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luckhound · 4 years ago

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— heavy burdens.

pairing. kaeya/gender neutral reader

genre. angst

description. on an important anniversary, kaeya gets drunk off his ass, bonds with a fellow captain, and realizes some burdens can’t ever be set back down.

warnings. spoilers for kaeya and diluc’s character stories. mentions of alcohol and a character (kaeya) being under the influence.

note. four months later and i’ve finally finished this fic after writing it on and off for that whole time mskfjdks a big thank you to sierra, miya, and grace for reading over the previous drafts of this and giving me their honest thoughts, love you ladies <3

He hadn’t expected to get shitfaced when he had first stepped foot in the tavern. Honest.

His plan for the evening was as follows: Go to Angel’s Share, chat with patrons, share some laughs, learn some secrets, and see where the night goes. Only the information he gleaned would tell how it ended; with him stumbling back to his quarters for a night’s rest, or ruminating on how to dismantle schemes that enemies of Mondstadt were concocting in the shadows.

So, the usual. Nothing too noteworthy.

Then he happened to overhear a conversation on the way there.

The two civilians spoke in low, somber tones about how it has been exactly one year since Master Crepus’s death and his son Diluc’s subsequent departure from Mondstadt. How terrible, they mused as they shook their heads, that the new winery master hasn’t been heard from since. He must still be in mourning over his father.

Kaeya nearly stopped in the middle of the crowded street. Was today really the one-year anniversary of Master Crepus’s death? How had it managed to slip his mind? He’s been busy lately with a promising lead, true, but to think that he would forget...

Which, long story cut ruthlessly short, leads him to where he is now. Tuning out his tumultuous thoughts with the help of alcohol and secrets.

Upon entering the tavern to raucous cheers, he had flitted from table to table like the social butterfly he's purported to be. The usual suspects greeted him with varying levels of warmth, inviting him to sit and keep them company. Stable hands and bandits alike shared a drink with him, words spilling from their lips like the fine wine they supped on.

After some time, though, he grew tired of their monotonous days and banal gripes. So he retreated to the bar counter. As he nursed a Death After Noon, he kept an ear out, listening carefully even as he chatted with Charles between customers.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t heard anything juicy yet. So and so is complaining about his wife, while someone else is haranguing her boss, and another is celebrating their birthday. Dull and uninteresting.

Can you blame him for getting so deep in his cups? There’s nothing else to do on such a slow night.

“So this is where you decided to hide out. Colour me surprised.”

Kaeya notes the shadow falling over the counter moments before a familiar drawl reaches his ears. He tilts his head up, blinking furiously when his vision blurs. The drinks he's downed thus far—how many has it been? He lost count after five, how unlike him—have certainly reached his bloodstream.

You stand beside his stool, your lips thinned into an unimpressed line. Despite how inebriated he is, the relevant information he has on you flashes through his mind. A Knight of Favonius. Captain of the Intelligence Team. Once a company grade officer, then sergeant, lieutenant, before ascending to captain upon the retirement of your superior.

As admired as he is by most of Mondstadt, you’re among the minority who are far from his biggest fans. For good reason, he supposes. During your first meeting, he had congratulated you on your promotion, before going on to flippantly insult your old captain. You’ve hated him ever since.

Which is why he’s puzzled by you approaching him first—outside of headquarters, at that. Such a phenomenon is rare, like catching a crystalfly in your hands.

“Captain! Fancy seeing you here,” he greets, adopting a jovial tone. Then your words register in his addled mind. “‘Hide out’, you said? Whatever would I do that for?”

You prop a hand on your hip. “You didn’t make an appearance at the meeting today. Needless to say, the Dandelion Knight isn’t too impressed with you at the moment.” You appraise him, looking underwhelmed by what you see. Ouch. “Strange. You don’t seem terribly ill to me.”

Ah. That. Kaeya had wanted to investigate some curious rumours he’d heard around the city, so he made up a flimsy excuse to dodge the captain’s meeting held this morning. Grand Master Varka likely hadn’t batted an eye over it, but not Jean. She’ll have concerns.

He hums noncommittally. The thought of annoying his oldest ally never fails to bring a smirk to his lips, but he isn’t quite in the mood right now. “Is that so. You must be here to sternly tell me to clean up my act then.”

You scoff. “Surely you don’t need a second babysitter. No, I’m off-duty, so I’m here for the same reason everyone else is: to drink.”

“Hear, hear.” He lifts his tankard as if to toast to you, but the sudden momentum causes him to sway dangerously in his seat.

“Careful!” Eyes widening in alarm, you reach out to steady him. “Geez, Alberich. How many drinks have you had?”

The palm of your hand is warm where it sits on his shoulder; he can tell that even with his furs in the way. He almost leans into the touch but catches himself at the last second. How mortifying. He can just picture your horrified reaction to him drunkenly nuzzling up against you.

Almost falling off his seat in a crowded tavern, instinctively seeking out your slightest touch... He needs to get a hold of himself. Or find a way to halt the conversation here, so he can resume drinking by his lonesome.

“Not nearly enough,” he answers airily, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. You drop your hand to your side; he makes a point to not stare at it as you do. “Where’s your entourage? I’m surprised they aren't following dutifully behind you.”

“They’re my subordinates, not my entourage.” You shift awkwardly. “And they aren’t here. It may surprise you, but they have lives outside of the Intelligence Team. They can enjoy one evening without their captain breathing down their necks.”

He eyes you in amusement. “In that case, you should join me. I would welcome the company.” He finishes off his tankard, then motions to Charles for another drink. The bartender doesn’t even ask which one as he takes the pewter mug. He knows him well by now, after all.

Kaeya expects you to turn him down and find a seat elsewhere. Usually, such an invitation is enough to send you running for the hills. You lean a hip against the counter instead, as if settling in. “If I am not mistaken, you’re needed at headquarters tomorrow. I strongly advise you to call it a night, Captain.”

“Aww, are you worried about me, Captain?” He manages a grin at the scowl his reply elicits. “Don’t be. It won’t be the first time I stumble into work hungover. Certainly won’t be the last either.”

“How reassuring,” you say dryly.

“I aim to please.”

He perks up when Charles returns with a full tankard. The delectable taste of Death After Noon still sits on his tongue, warm and heady. He very much wants to experience it again. When he lifts the mug to his mouth, however, he misses the rim. He steadies the tankard before it empties itself onto his lap, but some of the wine drips down his chin, ruining his vest.

Thank goodness he isn’t drinking red wine. Every adult in Mondstadt knows red wine stains are notoriously difficult to clean. Still, what a waste of a perfectly good sip.

“Oh, for Barbatos’s sake.” That’s all the warning he gets before his drink is rudely snatched from his hand. He protests but can only watch helplessly as you bring it to your lips.

Then you proceed to down it.

His brows raise higher and higher the longer your throat bobs. He's never seen you drink with such gusto before. Shouldn’t you be gasping for breath by now? But no, you empty the tankard in a single go, then slam it on the counter (Charles makes a face, but wisely says nothing) and meet his gaze without flinching.

Wow, is all that his intoxicated mind can conjure up at the feat.

“There, all done. Now let’s go. I am walking you back.” Your voice is firm, brooking no argument. How captain-like of you. “Wouldn’t want Mondstadt’s illustrious Cavalry Captain to be found passed out in an alleyway tomorrow.”

On any other day, he’d be mildly irked by your stubbornness. But he did just spill his drink down his front like a newborn babe. No wonder you brought up his rank. In your eyes, his conduct must not befit that of a high-ranking knight. He doesn’t care what assumptions people form about him, never has, but tonight has been a bust anyway. Maybe it's best to call it quits.

Sighing theatrically, he rises to his feet. “All right, I know when I have been beaten. But don’t change your plans on my account. I can head to the barracks by myself just fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” you say, “but letting you walk alone this late in your state would grate at my conscience. So would you stop talking for once, and let me take you home?”

You get what you want. Your words render him silent.

Home, you called the barracks. He supposes you consider that place your home. But is it his, truly?

He thinks of Khaenri’ah, nothing but a distant, bloody memory. He thinks of his father, and how in their final moments together, the man had stared through him like he wasn’t there. He thinks of the Dawn Winery, where he had spent several years causing mayhem. He thinks of Master Crepus, never dad, and a brother who doesn’t exist anymore.

No, the barracks aren’t his home. Maybe he’s never had one to begin with.

When he comes to, Kaeya registers you leading him in the direction of the tavern door, your hand on his shoulder blade. This quickly catches the attention of the patrons. They call out their goodbyes, some raising their tankards and others chuckling good-naturedly.

“Look at that! Our Cavalry Cap’n had too much to drink, eh?”

“What, are you tapping out already, Captain Kaeya?”

“Has to be escorted out by a fellow knight, no less!”

You wave over your shoulder. “Just doing my patriotic duty, that's all.”

Kaeya gives his audience an exaggerated wink (as well as he can with his one uncovered eye) followed by a lazy hand salute. His grin remains fixed in place until the door swings shut. The wooden barrier barely muffles the sounds of conversation and merriment coming from within.

Had it been that loud while he was inside? He hadn’t noticed.

He isn’t able to dwell on it for long, because you nudge him in the direction of headquarters. “Come on. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Let’s get to it.”

“Oh, very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know. I was being sarcastic.”

You nudge him harder, and he snickers under his breath as he walks.

This time of night, the cobblestone streets seem devoid of life. With the exception of Patton, who’s practically asleep standing up, the two of you don’t run into anyone. It's a stark change from how the city usually is, bright and bustling with crowds.

It suits him just fine, though. The crisp night air is sobering him up somewhat, the fog that had settled over his mind thinning. All too soon, he recalls everything he was trying to suppress.

Master Crepus. Diluc. His callousness and cruelty in forgetting them both.

In hindsight, he should have taken his mug back from you instead of just gaping like a fool. Sobriety is such a drag.

“You’re quiet,” you comment. You’re staring at him intently, your expression eerily similar to Timaeus’s when he is observing an alchemical reaction. It’s as if he is a specimen that you are keen on studying under a microscope.

He wants to scowl, to snap at you. “My apologies,” he says instead, as innocent as can be. “Were you waiting for me to strike up a conversation? Hold on a moment, let me think of a good topic...”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. It’s just, usually it’s impossible to get you to stop talking. The times I have seen you...indisposed”—buzzed as a bee, you undoubtedly mean—“that doesn’t change. You talk more, if anything.”

Curiously, your voice softens, an odd cadence colouring it. One he has not heard from you before, not directed at him at least. “I guess I’m just wondering if something is weighing on your mind. Is that what prompted you to drink so much tonight?”

By now, the two of you have walked down the stairway to the Knights of Favonius’s bulletin board. Of course, Hertha isn’t there this late to assign requests and bounties. The pieces of parchment pinned to the board flutter in the breeze. He stares at the sketch of a Ruin Guard, willing his sluggish mind to craft a suitable answer.

After a beat, his eye slides over to you. An impish grin curls at the corners of his mouth. “My, I had no idea that you watched my every move so closely. I’m flattered by the attention.”

Predictably, you sputter. “What even—that is not—you know what, if you want to dodge the question so badly, fine. We can just walk the rest of the way in silence.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Although his words were said to fluster you into changing the subject, as you had correctly deduced, Kaeya means them. You have noticed him far more than he realized. As Captain of the Intelligence Team, it’s your job to be observant and keep tabs on others. He knows that. Still, it’s disconcerting to learn that you’ve had a close eye on him in particular.

He operates from the shadows for a reason; he can’t have you jeopardizing that by shining a light on him. Five months into your new position, and already you have proven yourself to be dangerous.

As you wished for, silence reigns as the two of you turn into an alley and approach two flights of stairs, leading to the center of the city. Kaeya resists pressing a hand against the nearest wall for balance. He had walked down a stairway unaided just moments ago, despite how unsteady he felt. Surely ascending some steps would prove to be easier.

Rather than focus on his feet, he looks up ahead. From his position, he can just barely glimpse the blades of a windmill, ever-turning against the dark backdrop of the night sky. He keeps his gaze there as he climbs, his boots scraping against stone.

He clears the first flight of stairs with little issue. See? Nothing to it.

Halfway up the second, Kaeya stumbles.

His surroundings tilt, blurring as he fumbles for balance. It’s a futile effort. Thanks to how inebriated he is, his limbs are too heavy and uncoordinated. The stone below rushes up to meet him.

Before his face can greet it, however, you catch him.

Your side moulds against his, a hand clasping his hip while the other carefully grasps at his spiked pauldron. His gloved hand covers yours reflexively as his racing heartbeat settles. He feels you stiffen at the touch, but you don't pull away. Neither does he.

For a moment, not a word is spoken between you both. The alley is filled only with the soft sound of breathing.

Then you click your tongue. “So much for heading back by yourself. You can barely keep your feet under you.” Your voice lilts with humour.

He knows this song and dance. It has been ingrained in him after all these months. You snark at him, he snarks back. Rinse and repeat. Although this is the first time he has heard levity in your tone; the first time it has been aimed at him, that is. He almost hadn’t thought you capable of it.

He straightens with a chuckle. “First at the tavern, and now in an alley. I just keep falling for you tonight, don’t I?”

You blink owlishly. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Then a flustered expression crosses your features, before you compose yourself. “You are unbelievable.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, even as the corners of your lips twitch. “You would.”

Kaeya expects you to move away, so the two of you can resume walking, but you don’t. “Not that I mind having your hands on me, but...will you be letting go any time soon?”

“That depends.” A challenging glint appears in your eye. “Can you handle walking on your own? Or do you need me to cradle you the rest of the way to headquarters, like some damsel?”

He guffaws, taken off-guard by the retort. A reply escapes his loosened tongue before he can think better of it, “Archons, that sounded just like him.”

“Like who?”

“My brother.”

In the past, despite being underage, he was sometimes able to charm bartenders at Angel’s Share—new hires unaware of how to deal with him as of yet—into serving him drinks. Diluc would find him eventually, a disapproving twist to his mouth, and put a stop to it.

Back then, Kaeya was a lightweight and had to be supported back to headquarters. Diluc would scowl and roll his eyes the entire way, but there was still a softness in his gaze. His hands were strong, but careful; Kaeya knew that his brother would not let him fall. He could even be persuaded to join in when Kaeya began to sing, their off-key voices disturbing the silence of the night.

Come morning, while Kaeya nursed the inevitable headache and Jean nagged him about violating the Knights of Favonius Handbook, Diluc would snort. “Serves you right,” he’d say, then hand him a draught for curing hangovers.

Now Kaeya must weather the pain alone.

You tilt your head to the side, your gaze fixed on his. “I had no idea that you have a brother,” you say softly.

Had, he nearly corrects. But he has told you too much already.

This is why he is so careful when drinking in the company of others. Alcohol is a double-edged sword; as delectable as it is, it also loosens inhibitions. It’s what he relies on when charming information out of allies and adversaries alike, none of them the wiser of what they have given up.

How the tables have turned.

“Well, now you do.” A trace of bitterness enters his tone.

You eye him, quiet, before pulling back. You motion forward with your chin. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll never make it to headquarters at this pace.”

Relieved by the subject change, he listens. He makes a conscious effort to place one foot in front of the other, gaze trained on the remaining steps below. You stay at his side, closer than you were before. He can feel your hand hovering at the small of his back, ready to catch him should he trip once more, but he ignores it.

It won’t happen again. He’ll make sure of it.

The alley opens up to a view of the market district. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have long to enjoy the reprieve. The two of you turn right, away from the railing overlooking the main square, to climb two more flights of stairs. A left, and more stairways await.

By the time the Knights of Favonius Headquarters looms above you, Kaeya’s legs ache from the walk. He is very much looking forward to retiring to his quarters.

The knights stationed outside stiffen at the sight of you and Kaeya, standing at attention. They perform a salute in perfect unison. Do they rehearse that before every shift? Surely they must.

The guard on the left, with the glasses and unfortunate haircut, chirps, “Good evening, Captains! I hope you are doing well.” He appears wide awake despite the late hour.

At least the one on the right looks appropriately haggard. “Welcome back,” he grunts.

While Kaeya brushes past them with a nod of acknowledgement, eager to head inside, you stop. “Good evening, Athos, Porthos. Your shift ends soon, I hope? It can’t be terribly interesting, standing watch outside headquarters so late.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Captain!” Athos, as you had referred to him, says. “Guard duty may not be glamorous, but it is still important.”

“Much as I agree with the lad, I can’t bring myself to be so damn cheerful about it,” Porthos sighs, his words tinged with self-deprecation. “Must be ‘cause of these old bones.”

“That’s not true, Sir Porthos. Your bones aren’t that old!” the younger knight argues, prompting the older to shake his head with a chuckle.

“Athos isn’t wrong,” you add. “You are far more sprightly than most knights I know.”

“If that’s true, then Mondstadt is in trouble.”

Smiling and shaking your head, you finally pass by them, climbing the short steps to return to Kaeya's side. He lifts a brow as he pulls on one of the large oak doors, holding it open for you.

It’s almost comical how quickly your smile disappears. Your eyes narrow as you enter inside. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he says breezily, following after you. The door falls closed behind you both with a loud, echoing thud. “Just that I didn’t know you were so chummy with the guards.”

It is blindingly bright inside the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, as if it isn’t nearing midnight. The sconces on the walls are lit up, as is the chandelier hanging in the center of the main hall. The two of you make your way towards the—joy of all joys—staircase. The barracks for knights are located on the second floor, and on the floor above that, separate quarters for the captains.

“I am off-duty right now. It’s not unprofessional for me to speak informally with them.”

His eye widens. “Why, I never said it was unprofessional, Captain.”

You grind your teeth so hard he can practically hear the enamel wearing away. “You implied it.” No, he didn’t. Your distaste for him has you imagining mockery where there is none. As if Kaeya has any room to judge someone for acting unprofessional.

“I did? That’s news to me.” Privately, he marvels at how easily he can agitate you. Him, no one else—he has observed you long enough to know your prickliness is reserved for him alone. Maybe that’s why he annoys you further instead of clearing up the many miscommunications that tend to occur. Not that you’ll believe him, even if he’s being completely honest.

You huff. “How the Dandelion Knight manages to put up with you, I’ll never know,” you mutter.

“How rude, Captain! Jean doesn’t put up with me, she considers me indispensable.”

You cut a look at him. “Yes, I’m sure she thought the same when you failed to show up to today’s meeting.”

“Must you bring that up again? I shudder just thinking of the lecture she’ll have ready for me in the morning. Perhaps my mysterious ailment should plague me for a little while longer...”

“Prolonging the inevitable will do you no favours.” You pause briefly, then add, “Ah, I almost forgot to mention. After the meeting, I ran into Inspector Eroch. He was waiting outside and asked after you. He seemed irked when I informed him that you were absent today.”

If Kaeya was not so skilled at masking his reactions, he would’ve perked up at that. He might have even stopped in his tracks or whipped his head around to look at you. But he knows better than to give himself away so obviously. He leisurely climbs the steps, his features revealing only vague interest. “Oh? Somehow I doubt he was upset out of concern for my wellbeing.”

You glance over. “I wouldn’t know. He did not say anything when I asked why he wanted to see you, or if I could pass on a message. He just brushed me off and left.”

“Don’t be hurt by his shameful conduct, Captain. I for one enjoy your company immensely.”

You ignore his thoughtful statement. “I thought that he might have had a prior engagement with you, which you missed due to being terribly ill.”

He shrugs. “If we did, I don’t recall it.”

That earns him another look, longer than the one before. He doesn’t flinch away from it, his expression remaining serene. Privately, he wonders what you know. Are you merely intrigued by what Inspector Eroch might want with him? Or are you more aware than you’re letting on?

After all, Eroch is the one Kaeya has been secretly investigating for the past year.

Looks like the inspector has caught on. About time. No doubt he wants to figure out just how much Kaeya knows—which is not much, unfortunately. He knows that Eroch has more than just Mondstadt’s best interests in mind; a Fatui spy like him would have just the opposite. But he is unsure what the man is up to, or who he even is.

He does, however, have an inkling. Several, even.

Inspector Eroch had been insistent on covering up the details of Master Crepus’s death. For the good of Mondstadt, he claimed, not wanting the citizenry to lose faith in the Knights of Favonius. Grand Master Varka had ultimately sided with him. It resulted in Diluc resigning his position and leaving the city a year ago.

Kaeya had kept an eye on the inspector after that. He knew there was more to the situation than just preserving Mondstadt’s trust in the Knights, and it had everything to do with the dangerous and evil power Master Crepus had harnessed. It was only a matter of figuring out what. And once he has all of the information...

Well, he knows what Diluc would do, once upon a time. Blazing with righteous fury, he’d take his findings to Grand Master Varka, insisting on Eroch’s arrest and expulsion from the Knights of Favonius. He would see it as retribution for how poorly his father’s death had been handled.

But Kaeya suffers from no delusions. Maybe he looked into Eroch because of Master Crepus. Maybe he wanted some kind of revenge for what happened. Maybe he yearned to atone for his past inaction. None of that means he has any heroic intentions.

If it serves his interests better, he won’t expose the inspector immediately. He will hoard his knowledge instead, keeping his cards close to his chest until it’s the right time to play them.

That is how he has always operated. Master Crepus's death and Diluc's departure have not changed that. For a brief, nonsensical moment, he wishes they had. Then common sense returns to him. A foolhardy sense of justice is of no use to him. He’ll leave that to Diluc.

While he extricates himself from his wayward thoughts, you turn away to clear the last few steps. “If it is important, surely he will try to approach you again,” you say.

“I look forward to it with bated breath.”

You scoff, rightfully skeptical, but don’t respond. Clearly, you are content to leave it at that.

He wonders at how easily you let the subject drop. Had you suspected something, you would have pushed to learn more, wouldn’t you? Now is as opportune a time as any; it’s late, he’s tired and drunk, and the both of you are alone. Does that make you oblivious, or an idiot, or crafty?

Having made it to the third floor, the two of you make your way down the hallway. His quarters are before your own, three doors on the left. He stops in front of his door, reaching into one of many hidden coat pockets to produce his key.

He glances at you. You have yet to leave for own your room. “You don’t have to hover at my side, you know,” he says with a touch of amusement. “I may be tipsy, but I am no longer in any danger of being harassed by ruffians or passing out in the streets. Unless you're secretly harbouring nefarious intentions towards me, Captain.”

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” is your unruffled response.

Chuckling under his breath, he unlocks his door and lets it swing open wide. It’s dark inside, faint moonlight shining through the small window above his desk. Coupled with the sconces out in the hallway, however, there is enough light for him to stumble to his bedside without stubbing a single toe. He doesn’t bother to close the door on you; he has nothing to hide.

Kaeya knows what his quarters must look like to a stranger. They’re a mess, as if someone had searched them in a haste and not bothered to clean up afterward. The walls are bare, save for a map of Mondstadt that he’d hung up ages ago. Tomes of all sizes and loose leaves of parchment litter his oak desk, pushed up against a wall. A quill lies abandoned atop a half-finished note with ink drying on its nib. His closet door is cracked open, a discarded boot dissuading anyone from forcing it shut.

Yes, his quarters are a mess. But he knows exactly where everything is. Should someone actually attempt to search his things, he would know immediately. Not that they would find anything particularly damning. He isn’t foolish enough to leave important documents or sensitive information lying about—nothing he is unwilling to part with, anyway.

“Horrifying, but unsurprising,” he hears you mutter to yourself.

Kaeya doesn’t even consider slipping out of his ruined clothes or engaging you in further conversation. Now that he has made it back to his quarters, all he can think about is the sweet embrace of sleep. He sinks into his unmade bed, draping an arm over his face.

You continue to linger in the doorway. “You should change before you fall asleep.”

“Mhm.”

“You'll regret not doing so in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.” He still doesn’t move.

“Alberich. You stink of booze.”

“You sure know how to compliment a guy, Captain. I’m impressed.”

You sigh, long and loud. He waits to hear the door close behind you, only for you to walk up to his bedside. Your steps are slow, hesitant yet purposeful. He stiffens, immediately on-guard, but fights his instincts in order to remain still. What are you planning?

He feels you grip his boot. Metal jingles as you undo the buckle. Then you pry it off.

He lifts his arm to peer up at you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” You set his boot on the ground, then move on to the other one. “If you won’t change, you should at least take off your shoes. You’ll dirty your sheets otherwise.”

Oh, you make it so easy for him to twist everything you say into an innuendo. For once he resists the urge. “You forgot something,” he says instead. He wiggles his sock-clad foot at you. Just to see if you will do it.

You grimace, swatting his leg away. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to be anywhere near those.”

So you say. But you’re taking his boots off for him out of your own volition. There is no need for you to do any of this. It’s not your duty to stop him from drinking himself into a stupor, or walk him back to headquarters unharmed, or all but tuck him into bed. Yet here you are.

What is it that you want? There have been plenty of opportunities for you to try and take advantage of his drunken state, but you have sidestepped every one. Frustration brews in his sternum.

“Do you do this for everyone who you hate?” he finds himself asking, tone purposely lighthearted.

You pause in your ministrations to stare at him. “What? I don't hate you.” At his disbelieving look, you insist, “I don’t. You have always been a pain to deal with, sure, but I never once felt that way.”

He smiles, unconvinced. “Not even when I insulted your dear old captain?”

“Insulted my... That was months ago, when we first met.” Despite your bewilderment, you take a moment to contemplate his question. “I was upset with you, yes. But now that I’ve had this position for some time...maybe your assessment wasn’t off. When I was lieutenant, I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my captain. They were too set in their ways and scorned most criticism. I respected them, and still do, but I shouldn’t be ignorant of their faults.”

Your gaze meets his once more. “In a way, what you said that day led me to realize that. You weren’t badmouthing my captain; you didn’t have a vendetta or want to get a rise out of me. At least, I don’t think you did. You must have legitimate issues with their leadership, as a captain yourself.”

He watches you shrewdly. Your tone was even, your expression clear. He cannot detect any deception from you. Of course, that means little. Still, perhaps you’re telling the truth. Perhaps you don’t hate him after all.

A headache, newly formed, pounds at his temple. If he were more sober, he would be better equipped to handle such a revelation. He’ll have to come to a proper conclusion later.

You fiddle with the buckle on his remaining boot. “And what about you?”

“Hmm? What about me?”

“You have ample reason to look down on me. Most of the knights know that you aren’t just Cavalry Captain and Quartermaster. Your role is more important than that. Surely you would make a better...” you trail off, your jaw working silently.

Kaeya knows how that sentence ends. Surely you would make a better Captain of the Intelligence Team than me. It doesn’t come as a surprise.

Up until now, he thought he knew you well. You made it no secret you loathed him. You have never said so explicitly, but he has a talent for reading people. It’s a classic case of envy. He has seen it many times before. You compare yourself to him and find yourself wanting. It colours the way you interact with him; your words brusque, your gaze narrowed.

Not only did he insult your captain, but you consider him more capable than you. Your hatred makes sense. It’s predictable.

Or so he believed, until tonight.

“You know what, never mind. Forget I asked.” Uh-oh. Seems he took too long to respond. You busy yourself with unbuckling his boot, avoiding his eye.

If he were to be honest, there are many ways he could answer you. He thinks you are a better captain than your superior could ever hope to have been. He thinks you are a leader capable of inspiring undying loyalty in your officers. He thinks you have a deep, unflinching love for Mondstadt and its people. He thinks you constantly push yourself to greater heights, to the point it lights a fire in him as well.

He admits to none of those things, in the end.

“Give yourself some credit, Captain,” he murmurs. You glance over in surprise. He meets your gaze. For perhaps the first time in a while, he hopes his words sound sincere—not because he doesn’t mean them, but because he does. “I know the officers under your supervision think you’re a good leader. They wouldn’t want anyone else to take your place.” Certainly not someone like me.

Instead of reassuring you, however, his answer seems to do the opposite. You look frustrated. “That isn’t what I...” you trail off. You search his features, silent, before your brow furrows. “I can’t tell if you mean what you just said. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever can.”

He takes care not to allow his features to visibly harden. Of course you would doubt him, the one time he tries to be honest with you. What else did he expect? Maybe you don't hate him, maybe you never have, but that means little. You won’t ever fully trust him. To be fair, the feeling is mutual.

His mouth tastes unbearably bitter. It must be the wine.

“At this point, I’m willing to say just about anything if it’ll mean I can get some shut-eye.” He feels no satisfaction upon seeing your shoulders stiffen. He still manages to grin. “Well, Captain? Any other requests?”

“No,” you say. Then you tug off his boot with a brisk motion.

He stifles a yelp. “Hey, now! No need to be so rough.”

“My sincere apologies.” You set the boot down next to his other one, your lips thinned. “I should go. Wouldn’t want you to lose more sleep than you already have. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, after all.”

Talk about vindictive. Despite his irritation, he has to fight a smile. Knowing you, you’ll see it and take it the wrong way, as you usually do.

Having finished removing his boots, you turn and walk for the door without another word.

He’s struck with the odd urge to stop you. To reach out, take your hand in his, and tug you back. Not because he wants something from you, or needs to tell you something. He wishes you would stay a little longer, that’s all. Wants the silence to be filled by your voice instead of his thoughts.

Now he knows he’s had too much to drink. He’s contemplating such ridiculous things.

Before his addled mind can catch up and he can say something, apologize perhaps, you shut the door behind you. Your footsteps travel down the hallway, slightly hurried. The door to your quarters creaks open then closed.

He’s too late. It’s for the best.

Kaeya lies back and stares up at the ceiling. His vision swims, as if he’s adrift at sea. Closing his eye only makes it worse.

His mind pores over the events of the day. Investigating Eroch, remembering Master Crepus and Diluc, visiting the tavern, running into you. He feels restless, pulled in several directions at once.

With a harsh exhale, he rises to his feet and locks his door. Then he begins his nightly ritual.

His pauldron is first to go. It hits the floor with a dull noise. Then he peels off his gloves and tosses them on the desk. The burns on his hands have long since healed, but he still deals with numbness now and then. Not many know they even exist; he doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of a potential weakness. His eyepatch follows closely after.

He removes the Cryo Vision from his belt last. He stares at it, its blue glow washing over his scarred palm and turning his skin a sickly brown hue. If it’s been a year since Master Crepus’s death, it has been about a year since he was gifted a Vision as well. The sight of it has been a hard reminder ever since. Of how he’d won a difficult battle. Of how he’d finally revealed the truth. Of how he can never speak it again.

He tucks the Vision under his pillow, then collapses back into bed. An odd sensation fills him, as it does every time he completes this ritual. It’s like he has taken off every scrap of armour he has and foolishly exposed himself to danger, despite being alone in the stillness of his quarters.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him under.

It never does.

#genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #genshin impact #kaeya alberich #m writes #i can't believe this is finally finished n uploaded... wrow #never thot i'd see this day #i'm nervy posting this ngl it's been. a while since i've written smth like this #hope y'all like it !!!!

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httpjeon · 7 years ago

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— ᴍ ᴀ s ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ʟ ɪ s ᴛ

welcome to my masterlist! please do not take and repost any of my fics to other websites. i have an ao3 at httpjeon and a wattpad at jvngukk. they are my only writing accounts outside of tumblr.

updated: 2/14/20 | latest fic

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a — angst f — fluff s — smut

kim seokjin

— change of pace | pornstar!au | s | 3.2k — read here ↳ synopsis: hardcore porn star Kim Seokjin begins his dabble in the world of vanilla porn. You’re his first co-star. ⇢ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴘɪʟᴇ

— folia | alien!au | a, f, s | 9.5k — read here ↳ synopsis: stressed from work, you’re sent on vacation to the beautiful, tropical planet of Liana where you meet a beautiful Folian man named Seokjin, who makes your vacation 10x better. ⇢ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴏғ sᴛᴀʀᴅᴜsᴛ

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min yoongi

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jung hoseok

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― beleaguer | e2l, neighbor!au | s, a | 2.4k ― read here synsopsis: your neighbor is a pain in the ass.

― hot bot: test | sex bot!au | s | 3.1k ― read here synopsis: as a product tester, you have one of the most sought after temporary positions in Hot Bot Inc. ⇢ ʜᴏᴛ ʙᴏᴛ sᴘɪɴᴏғғ

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kim namjoon

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― busanbaby95 | cam boy!jimin | s, f, a | 4.8k ― read here synopsis: your friend and co-worker does cam porn. After some unfortunate events, he asks you to join him in his…hobby. ⇢ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴘɪʟᴇ

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― lovebug | hybrid!au | f, s, a | 12k ― read here synopsis: hybrids are lovable companions for humans. unfortunately, most people simply want a cat or dog with which they can cuddle and love on. while looking for one to adopt, a lonesome hybrid of an unusual breed catches your eye.

kim taehyung

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― sehebon | alien!au | a, f, s | 16.5k ― read here synopsis: you find yourself on izo huen, home to the sehebon. luckily for you, you’ve arrived at an interesting time.

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jeon jungkook

― try out | pornstar! au | s, f, a | 6.6k ― read here synopsis: dating a porn star wasn’t easy. jealousy can run rampant if there’s no communication. ⇢ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴘɪʟᴇ

― simply.cute97 | cam couple!au | s, f | 6.5k ― read here synopsis: you’re popular camgirl simply.cute97. domjeon09 is your biggest fan.

― tattooed two | tattoo artist!au | s, f | 8.5k | ft. taehyung ― read here synopsis: your boyfriend’s best friend joins you for a night you’ll never forget.

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s e r i e s

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m i n i m a s t e r l i s t s

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curriebelle · 7 years ago

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Episode Ignis Feels Like Fanfiction and That’s a Good Thing

Ok so I’m having a Thought.

You know when people say something reads “like fanfiction”, and it’s meant to be a criticism? The phrase is one of those intangibles, one of those agreed-upons, where no one can define it quite accurately but everyone thinks they know what it means. Usually it’s a combination of deviation from the original tone, bleaching out character flaws and complexities, a lack of understanding of nuance, and a reverent or worshipful attitude towards old characters, moments, settings, and iconography (and iconography is just the Stuff. Star Wars iconography is lightsabers, wookies and Jedi robes).

That’s a pretty reductive description of fanfiction of course, because a lot of fanfic - whether it’s well or poorly written - doesn’t necessarily follow those patterns. Weirdly enough, saying a sequel or reboot reads “like fanfiction” often implies that the writer doesn’t understand something about the source material - that they’re oversimplifying, or they’re fanning about while failing to understand what a “good” sequel would actually require. And that’s pretty ironic, because fans - obsessive detail-hoarding, secondary-character-worshipping pastiche-crafters that they are - often know the source material better than anyone, sometimes better than the creators themselves, and they are very aware of what they are erasing or changing when they move Marvel into a fluffy coffee shop AU.

But I’m kind of digressing, because my point is that “this feels like fanfiction” shouldn’t be seen as a criticism, but rather as a gut feeling that we need to unpack. Sometimes it leads to legitimate criticism that, while worth addressing, actually has very little to do with fanfiction. And sometimes it leads to this weird 4:30 am conclusion: Episode Ignis is when “this feels like fanfiction” should be deployed as a compliment. Spoilers onward, for both Episode Ignis and FFXV.

I’m talking specifically about the alternate ending, here, which is tantamount to an FFXV fix-it fic. In this version Ignis averts the tragic ending of FFXV, and though he prepares to sacrifice his own life to do so, it ends up costing nothing. Ignis survives with even prettier hero-scarring than he gets in the regular plot. The episode fills in a sizable story gap after Leviathan knocks Noct out, and closes a few additional plotholes (I wondered what happened to that one obnoxiously overdesigned Imperial guy: turns out Ravus stabbed him). It spends some time with likable characters (Ardyn, yeeee) and underdeveloped characters (again, Ravus). Ignis gets roughed up and drenched, loses the glasses, and I’m 90% sure the animators made his eyes bigger in the cutscenes for extra pretty. He gains maximum plotline power, and Adam Croasdell voice acts the shit out of some sassy comebacks and anguished screaming (ok, this is unrelated, but when he’s doing the regular stormbind combo, it sounds like he screams FUCK in one of his battle grunts and it makes me laugh every time). He can liberate Altissia more or less by himself, and that’s before he drives a goddamn speedboat away from pursuant megarobots. So for anyone calling Mary Sue, yes, Ignis dives headfirst into that. He basically becomes Magic James Bond.

The whole episode is also pretty blatantly queer-coded. We get a very cuddly flashback to kid Noctis, and Ignis’s vow to stand at his side. Ignis is monomaniacal when it comes to finding Noctis. Noctis eiher drops the l-word, referring directly to Ignis and the freshly fridged Lunafreya (I’m still salty about that one, sorry), or says Ignis will always be in his heart depending on the ending. There’s a fantastic gifset going around of the official couples in previous Final Fantasies (Squall and Rinoa, Tidus and Yuna) declaring the exact same thing Ignis does in the alternate ending. “Rinoa, even if the world turns on you, I’ll be your knight”. “There’s no way I’ll let Yuna go”, even if I have to break all the rules of your stupid religion. Even if it costs my own life, I won’t let you take Noctis away. The queer subtext here is one of those things where it’s purposefully vague - just enough emotional evidence and physical contact that you can read romantic feelings there if you want, but just short of an actual romance to leave interpretations open. If you’re convinced Noctis and Luna were in love, Episode Ignis probably won’t debunk that.

So Ignis and his Episode are both powerful, emotional, pretty, potentially kinda gay, and ridiculously awesome.

And honestly, it is phenomenal.

Episode Ignis is a blast to play. His combat style is very fun and quick and fluid and flashy, and the grappling hook in the first portion makes you feel superheroic. Killing Ardyn, meanwhile, makes you feel godlike. It is an incredible surge of adrenaline to take on armies and deities by your lonesome. The gameplay and narrative reflect each other here, just like they do in the base game. FFXV seems happy at first, and the combat is pretty entertaining with all the goofy combo-attacks, but that game is a tragedy. It’s all the more tragic by how fun it is to begin with, and by the end it is painful to play. Characters get older, places fall apart, people die, and you have to escort Ignis around for a chapter while he grows used to being blind and Gladio constantly bitches at you for walking too fast. The photo mechanic is introduced to break your heart later, to show you how fleeting youth and pleasure can truly be under backbreaking destiny.

And in retaliation, Episode Ignis thrives on the power of Fuck You. Long commutes by car, mundane in the moment but peaceful upon reflection decades later? Fuck You, I have a grappling hook. Sections that force you to walk slowly through a dungeon and think about what you’ve done? Fuck You, I’ve got two daggers, lightning teleportation and button-mashing hands. Musings about the ravages of time, and aching nostalgia for youth? Fuck You, Ignis is prettier than ever. A tragic ending pre-ordained by prophecy? Fuck You, Ignis is going to re-write that fate by being clever, patient, and brave enough to sacrifice his life, but double Fuck You, he gets to live as well. Bullets flying, health bar low, multiple explosions and Atlas Ripped decking airships in the background? Fuck. You. It’s time to make some fucking soup.

With all that in mind, it makes sense that people might accuse Episode Ignis of being tone-deaf, of being fanfiction in all the “bad” ways - it neglects the nuance of the original, and papers over complex themes so everything can end up hunky-dory, but I still think that’s too easy.

Here’s the thing: Episode Ignis can only exist as fanfiction - or as alternate-ending DLC, I guess. FFXV is the story of Noctis and his story has an ending and it’s horribly, horribly sad, but it’s also what the story is built around. You might find it too depressing or too grim or you might find it just right, but it is well-structured. FFXV is careful with its themes and patterns and foreshadowing.

Because of that care, Ignis screwing Ardyn’s plans out of whack and saving Noctis from his fate couldn’t occur in the main game. FFXV is not about Ignis. It’s about Noctis. And the gameplay, built as it is around creating nostalgia - photographs, long car rides, camping, friendship - wouldn’t work if the ending wasn’t agonizing enough to make you long for the good old days. Maybe Noctis didn’t have to die or maybe he did, but the ending of FFXV was always going to hurt.

FFXV is an emotional project, and that project is to make the player painfully nostalgic. With that intriguing goal achieved, Episode Ignis exists as a response, and it can never really be more than that. It’s an ending I like better, but it is an alternate ending.

If you think about it, Episode Ignis didn’t need that alternate ending. It could have existed perfectly well as a companion to FFXV, filling in a much-needed blank (and without the alternate ending that’s exactly what it does). But in making a response to FFXV instead, they challenged a lot of assumptions FFXV needed to make in order to tell its story. FFXV assumes its prophecy is the only answer, as do its characters. FFXV yanks a great deal of agency away from Ignis, Prompto and Gladio when it asks them to sit still for a decade and wait for their friend to die without hunting for an alternative

Why can’t they try something else? Why can’t they defeat their nemesis on their own terms? I mean, who the heck does Bahamut think he is, anyway? Who says the ending can’t be happy, and the future can’t be bright?

Those are exactly the questions a fanfiction writer would ask. FFXV created those questions, and Episode Ignis addresses them, but in a way that acts as more of a breach than a closure. It’s one route to a happy ending - so maybe there are more. This is also the reason I brought up the queercoding in Episode Ignis. If there is any genre that needs a complete overhaul from grimdark tragedy into happy endings, it’s the scourge that is the modern queer romance story. There are so many of those bloody stories ending in anguish or separation or suicide or displeasure, and not nearly enough fairytales. Having a tragic ending overturned by the power of queer love is an insanely empowering experience, and that’s probably why you see so many posts about how Ignis’s gay love can pierce the veil of death and save the day. Episode Ignis didn’t need its queercoding any more than it needed its alternate ending, but the two make sense together: both of them are stories that people are absolutely aching for.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything quite like this - a company actively revising their story, overturning its mood, questioning its plot, granting a completely different ending, and then asking fans to pay 6.99 for it. It’s different from alternate film endings, because those are DVD extras and one always wins the theatrical release. It’s different from re-imaginings or adaptations because Episode Ignis is...just not quite that. It can’t exist on its own, unlike most remakes. Video games are always fluid texts to a certain extent, but now developers are even relinquishing the solidity of lore and cutscenes. It’s so odd.

At the decision point of Episode Ignis, you can use R1 and L1 to flip the camera back and forth, moving between a shot of Ardyn and a shot of Ignis. It’s a tiny, insignificant moment, one that almost feels like a mistake - like maybe the developers couldn’t figure out how to stage a normal shot-reverse-shot. But that moment became an oddly powerful synecdoche for what Episode Ignis was to me. If you want to look at this story from a different angle, well, go for it. Here’s another place you can point the camera. Maybe the sun will rise over there too.

#ffxv #episode ignis #what the fuck it's six am #happy 2018

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years ago

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The Not So Lonesome Knight Part 16:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X ,14 X, 15 X

Michael’s azure hues dazzle, vibrant in their appearance, as he contemplates the idea of Bonnie being turned into a robot. The imaginings were largely inspired by Rc3′s earlier commentary. If he tried hard enough, he could picture the wires, cords, and computer chips strung expertly together to make up her perfect body. Maybe, Rc3 wasn’t that far off? What else could account for Dr. Barstow’s expansive intelligence? Knight humorously considers, lathering the motel’s conditioner through the dark coils of his hair.

Helios and the Foundation both knew that Bonnie possessed an elite mind. Unfortunately, the one particular section of Helios that had taken interest in her happened to be corrupt with criminals. That was entirely beside the point. All Michael could do, was chalk the incident up to another time where he almost lost her. Internally, he was beginning to despise the word ‘almost’. It implied an inability to fully grasp what he so desired all-the-while, maintaining that she could still leave. If he waited too long, he could blink and she’d be gone again. This thought alone causes his eyes to dull with hints of sadness.

Kitt was right to label him a coward. A coward who is constantly hiding his true feelings behind nearly impenetrable facades, Michael thinks to himself. He could blame it on the metal implant in his head, his time working in Intelligence, or even his life-times worth of trauma, and the number of losses he suffered. Heck, Michael could honestly apply just about a trillion more excuses but he doesn’t.

He lets a torrent of cold water followed by warm, rinse over all of his features, washing away his dour line of thinking. One day, he should free himself of the tethers of fear and dread that conspired to keep him and Bonnie apart forever.

Would he ever get a better opportunity to tell her than tonight? Michael ponders as he towels himself off and re-dresses. He can’t. He won’t! There has to be a better time, a better place than a motel, and a more convenient opportunity. He didn’t even have roses to assist his effort to woo her. Casting a wistful glance in the mirror, he reminds himself just how short he would always fall on the scale of measuring up to what Bonnie deserves.

In his departure of the bathroom, he finds himself greeted by the hums of the television which, was now turned on and casting it’s ethereal glow throughout the darkened room. Michael finds himself staring at Bonnie again. He can’t help it. She looked spectacular bathed in the luminosity radiating from the tv. Every one of her features seemed infinitely softened to the point of angelic glory under it’s careless caress. Even the look of determination she sported upon her countenance melted. From his observations, Michael gathers that she was multi-tasking, the way she always did when there were too many things burdening her mind.

Michael slings his towel around his neck like a decorative scarf, though neither end meets or crosses, as he strides across the room. After several minutes of silent observation, curiosity gets the better of him. “Whattacha workin’ on there, Bons?”

Turquoise hues begrudgingly lift upwards, departing from the pages of her splayed open notebook. The pages are jammed full of fresh equations, side-notes, and scribbled addendums. Bonnie had been working on adding more when he interrupted. Michael looked as shiny as a brand new penny with his damp mop of curls. The smile that accompanies his inquiry encourages her to answer. “I was...” Bonnie starts, praying he didn’t find her too nerdy to be attractive, “working on the coding mechanisms for the Foundation. Since some of the systems have been compromised, I’m working on making security-related improvements. I can’t really do too much without the computer physically in front of me, but this will give me ideas on what to try first.” She invitingly pats the opposite side of the mattress for him to sit down.

Michael can’t help but be impressed and his eyebrows elevate as he listens to her. “Ya mean all that jibberish is the code that will protect the Foundation?” He can hardly mask the surprise in his own inquiry as he seats himself beside her.

The brunette cocks her head casually to the side, stifling a soft laugh. Her eyes can’t help but dance with light as they focus on him.“Well, it is really a prototype of the code.” She should have known, that to his untrained eye, it would be interpreted as the equivalent of a foreign language filled with indiscernible hieroglyphics. Never one to excessively flaunt her intelligence, Bonnie slid the notebook closed and placed it and her pencil on the nightstand beside the bed.

Chewing the corner of her lip briefly, she adds, “and I was watching this show. I hate to say it, but they’re doing the repairs on that truck wrong.” Her gaze flashes towards the motion on the screen. Realizing that this made her sound overly critical, she tacks on, “not even terrible modifications are done that way. It is not only a fire hazard, but it is a good way to lose mechanical control on the road when you hit anything above fifty miles-per-hour.” She would have delved further into the complicated explanation but she really didn’t want to right now. “Feel free to change the channel to something better. I really stopped watching it intently about ten minutes ago when he started to cross the wrong wires.” She confides, slumping back against the pillows behind her.

Normally, Michael would hazard a guess at where the show’s mechanic went wrong but he doesn’t want to appear dim-witted, in her eyes, should his assumption be incorrect. So he willingly lets her remark evaporate into the air around him. He follows her lead, flopping back against pillows that rested against the bed’s headboard. He gleefully takes up the remote as he makes himself comfortable beside her. “What do ya wanna watch?”

“Anything but that last show and the news,” she answers with a half scrunched up nose.

Those requests were easy enough to abide by. He settles for something that appears to be a romantic comedy. It was hard to tell for certain if that was exactly what he landed upon because the movie was half-way through. Most women loved the silly Hallmark romances, right? Where could he go wrong? However, Bonnie wasn’t just any woman, so he studies her in order to gauge her reaction to his selection. To his pleasant surprise, she not only smiles, she hands him the champagne bottle.

“We might as well enjoy it since it’s free,” Bonnie offers. The way she said it, felt lame as it steamrolls passed her lips. The statement felt duller than she intended. Bonnie wanted to say something more meaningful, more intimate but that would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? He remains forbidden fruit.

Michael doesn’t even seem to notice the lackluster capacity of her suggestion. He cheerfully opens the bottle and pours them both a glass. They were certainly responsible adults. “So, what are we toastin’ to?” After a thoughtful pause, he jokingly adds, “and please don’t say this room or Devon.”

As strange as it might sound when Bonnie passed him the bottle, she hadn’t considered the idea that there would be a toast worth giving. At least, not one that should be shared between co-workers. She runs her pointer-finger slowly across her lower-lip giving herself time to think of something. Work. It was the safest of all of their options given their present predicament. Although, in her heart, she would prefer toasting to this night together. “How about a toast to us?” She eagerly proposes, her turquoise orbs hesitantly floating over to examine him.

Michael chokes in astonishment.“To us?” He parrots. He isn’t going to lie, he really enjoys the sound of that. It leaves so many wonderful possibilities and it swung open far too many doors.

Shifting in her place, she affirms. “Yeah. To us.” A proud smile steals across her lips. Bonnie pauses to untangle her thoughts before finally clarifying, “to us making a great team and resolving this case together.”

Leaning in, he smoothly returns, “I think I can drink to that.”

Lifting her glass the brunette breathes, “here is to us getting Kent back and rescuing the Foundation.” Of course, they hadn’t resolved the case just yet but what harm could a premature celebration be?

Setting aside their empty glasses, the two FLAG agents snuggle on top of the blankets to catch the remainder of the movie. While there are heaps of pillows around them, Bonnie opts to rest her head against Michael’s nearest shoulder. Every so often, the brunette would sneak glances up at him through the tangles of her long dark lashes. He is so close. Almost too close but she doesn’t pull away and to her surprise neither does he.

“Look at them, Michael! How do they not see it?! They are so in love and they are so perfect for each other.” She dreamily exclaims, pointing in the direction of the movie.

Michael’s azure hues snapped towards the screen the very instant she pointed. He had only been half watching the movie, the rest of his attention had been on her. He chuckles a little too loudly at her remark but the sound is edged with unusual jitters. “I don’t know.” His large hand massages the back of his neck because he is well aware that he is holding back just like the unfortunate man in the fictitious premise of the movie. “You’re right, though. It is glaringly obvious that they do belong together.” Maybe, this hadn’t been the right channel selection?

“Bonnie?” He asks, her name departing his lips in an adoring sotto voce. His gaze slowly flutters back down to her.

“Yeah?” She prompts in reply, cheating and focusing half of her attention on Michael and the other half on the movie.

He angles his head downwards and to the side slightly to get a better view of her. Swallowing sharply, he knows that this wasn’t going to be easy. There was a strong likelihood that what he is about to say will have him spending the night on the floor. Yet, he feels compelled to speak. “There is somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to tell you.” Michael starts, his brow glistening with sweat as he dares to meet her gaze.

Captivated, Bonnie concentrates fully upon him and she giddily prompts.“Oh? What is it?” Without giving him much time to impart his next statement she interjects “wait. Let me guess?” Her lips twist into a jovial grin as she speculates, “you want to tell me that your shirt is too big on me? Or I wouldn’t like a pair of your shorts because it’s got that funny hole in them?” She hardly finishes her assumptions before she falls into a fit of giggling.

“Well, yes... and no.” He starts, laughing till his chest hurt. His shirt was a little big for her. Still, Bonnie was practically killing him with the mental picture of her in more than just his shirt. However, it was ridiculous to imagine her wearing any of his pants, his shorts especially. His legs were at least a foot longer than her’s. Shaking off the useless imaginings, he tries to regain control of the more serious conversation he hoped to start. “First of all, my shirt looks it’s best when you wear it, over-sized or not. It has never looked better.” He almost suggests that she keep it, but he wonders if that is taking things a bit too far and too fast. “And unless I’m missin’ my mark here, you’ve already tried on my shorts. Haven’t you?” An air of playful accusation colors his tone. What had given away the fact she had tampered with his shorts, was the fact that they were folded differently than the way he had done them and then they were left on the bathroom sink for him when he went to take his shower.

His laughter feels like the presence of sunshine, balmy and wholly welcomed. She hadn’t been expecting his compliments and as a result, her face slowly stained red. The hilarious accusation, though it was spot-on, deepened the color to a lovely shade of plum. “Okay. So, I’m a little guilty. I was afraid you’d see too much of my legs. You don’t think I’m showing too much skin. Do you?”

Lord. Who suddenly turned the room’s temperature up a hundred degrees? So this was how it felt to be a cake in the nearly 400-degree oven. Michael’s gaze swiftly sweeps up the exposed expanse of her legs. “No.” He sharply swallows the lump of lust rising in his throat. “No, I don’t think there is too much showin’...” Heaven help him if he continued to vocalize the rest of that thought! “And I really have to tell you this or I think I just might burst.” This time his statement is firmer than he actually intended. “I...” He delicately uses his free hand to sweep some of Bonnie’s straying dark strands from her eyes before tucking them back behind her ear. He leans himself nearer until his lips are scantly a breath away from her’s. He can do this. Kitt was right! The whole fear thing was plain silly!!! He just has to rip the bandage off no matter the cost. His heart fiercely bellows out for mercy with every beat. “I....”

Bonnie smiles as he tucks her hair behind her ear, a corner of her lower-lip catches between her teeth. She has a sneaking suspicion that she knows just where this conversation is going and it terrifies her so greatly, she can feel the harsh throbbing of her heart all the way up in the hollows of her ears. The brunette can sense the lingering of his eyes upon her lips and her own gaze ventures briefly to his. If ever there were a silent, touch-less exchange of a kiss, there was one now looming in the air between them.

“I think I... lov...” He starts, his voice is huskier than he desired it to be. He was about to finish that statement when Kitt interrupts with a series of beeps.

“Michael?” Kitt innocently starts.

There is a mild explosion of exasperation in Michael’s tone when he answers, “Kitt? Can it wait? I’m in the middle of somethin’ important?!” Kitt’s timing couldn’t have been any worse not even on a bad day.

The Bostonian voice that answers holds an apologetic air, “I’m sorry, Michael. It can’t. A group of vicious-looking men are headed your way armed with guns and an battery-operated saw.”

Bonnie’s eyes round as she removes her head from Michael’s shoulder. The fact that these “armed” men were headed in their direction with guns and a saw couldn’t be a coincidence. Now could it?

The warning doesn’t come a moment too soon as a little less than a minute later their door comes crashing in, deadbolt and all.

#The Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 16 #my fan fic #bonniebarstowofflag

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years ago

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The Not So Lonesome Knight: Part 15

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X ,14 X,

The brunette stares at the door in his wake far longer than she probably should have, his shirt tucked between her fingers. This notion of putting on clothes that belonged to her annoyingly attractive co-worker felt bizarre. Was this crossing a boundary she didn’t even know existed until this very moment? Was it even crossing a line at all because Michael had freely given her the shirt to wear? It would have been different if she had taken it without his permission. Wouldn’t it?

Bonnie haphazardly allows her gaze to falter downwards examining the shirt’s entirety. She supposed wearing it for one night couldn’t harm anyone. It is warmer than she expected. Of course, it had just been removed from Kitt’s trunk but it might as well have come straight off of Knight’s back. It is this thought in particular that propels her towards the shower. The brunette luxuriates under the stream of hot water for longer than she probably should have given Michael’s impending return yet, she doesn’t care.

For someone as observant as Bonnie, it felt strange that she hadn’t discerned the sheer size of Michael’s shirt until the very moment her eyes peer into the mirror. In the glass’s silvery reflection, she can’t help but notice how dwarfed her smaller frame was when it happens to be draped in the cotton material. The blue fabric extends, reaching for the brunette’s kneecaps but never quite makes it. Rather, it falls short by at least four and a half inches, exposing a good length of her bare legs without being inappropriately indecent.

With a laugh, she considers the pair of Michael’s shorts she had discovered folded up inside of the shirt. Feeling exposed given her habit of covering up her lanky legs, Bonnie tentatively slides them on over her own undergarments. The result was hysterical even to her. The cinched elastic of the waistband was scarcely enough to hold the boxers up over the curve of her hips. So much for the extra covering! The ensemble was better off without the shorts. Besides, Michael might be fine with gifting her his shirt but would he really be comfortable with seeing her in his shorts? Michael would probably need to have them back. She isn’t entirely certain he is aware that he handed them to her in the first place. Bonnie slips them off and folds them up, leaving them to rest on the sink’s counter for their rightful owner.

Her sopping dark hair hangs down around her shoulder and she deliberates on pulling the sopping strands into one of her typical ponytails in order to avoid unsightly wet-patches. Imagining his reaction to those same unsightly patches, Bonnie eventually determines to pull her hair back rather than dying of embarrassment later.

Bonnie cringes at the thought of having to use the cheap, pre-selected deodorant sample left by the motel staff. Would it cover-up the pleasant scent of Michel that already encompassed her via his shirt? She hopes not. Bonnie figures she can’t very well share a bed with him without applying some form of antiperspirant. Please don’t smell worse than petrol, gasoline, or anti-freeze, she internally begs, giving the sample a tentative sniff. She is about to put it on when a wrapping noise against the door jolts her. Could the thieves have returned? Her mind races to life. If a sound could be applied to the rapid pace of her thoughts, it might have been likened to the sudden reeving of an engine.

Doing the first thing she can think of, she barricades herself in the bathroom. Bonnie’s heart gives a heavy, painful thump against her rib-cages before beating out a series of SOSes in her ears. Her turquoise orbs seek out a weapon but the only things available to wield in battle were towels, a shady looking toilet plunger, and soap. If she was crafty and quick enough, maybe she could fashion something out of the rod used to hold up the shower curtain. Standing on the thick fiber-glass ledge of the tub, Bonnie finds herself reaching for the rod. The brunette fumbles the second a familiar voice beckons to her. Thank heavens for quick reflexes or she would have ended up falling face flat into the hollow of the still wet tub.

“You okay in there, Bons? It’s just me!” He slips the door shut in his wake. Michael is extra careful to bolt the door. Tonight, he wasn’t going to be taking any chances.

Through gritted teeth she manages, “I’m fine.” Truth was, he could have easily given her a heart-attack. Although, the longer she considers it, the sillier she felt. She had been fully aware that Michael was going to be returning. Why her brain had automatically leapt to the worst-case scenarios, she couldn’t directly say. Maybe, it had something to do with the fears lingering in her mind regarding the previous break-in.

Scrambling downwards, she cracks the door open. “The water should be warm again if you want to take your shower. I’ll be out in a minute and the bathroom will all yours,” she communicates. Her departure from the bathroom, however, is made conditional. “Before I come out, you have to promise not to look.”

Michael places one of his large hands on his hips and flashes a smug grin in the direction of the bathroom door. “Oh?” The pad of his thumb is slowly dragged across his lip as he contemplates rejecting her demand. “Okay. I won’t look. Scout’s honor.” He makes a show of raising his hand in the boy-scout salute. He even turns his back to her and presses his eyes closed as a gesture of good faith.

Bonnie gradually emerges from the bathroom and slowly traipses across the room.

It is a real shame Michael had never really been a boy-scout and so he cast a glance over his shoulder at her. Although his full vision is clouded with his eyelashes, he can still make out her figure. Forgetting himself, he whistles. He can feel a strange glow warming the slopes of his finely chiseled face which, boasts a rare blush. A blush that is worn with pride.

The sound causes Bonnie to spin around on her heels. “You peeked! Didn’t you!” Twinges of indignation seep into the accusation. She should have expected him to pull a stunt like that. Huh?

“Maybe. Just a little.” He motions with his hand. “But can ya really blame me?” Michael cheekily prompts. He turns to face her refusing to conceal the fact that he is gawking at her any longer. Azure hues sweep upwards from her ankles, up the refined clean-shaven curves of her exposed legs, till his vision fixes upon her reddened face. Michael feels confident that his shirt has never better than it did on her far prettier frame. If he didn’t know any better, he was falling harder than ever for her. “You’re prettier than a picture.” Speaking of pictures, he’d like to take about a thousand different ones of her the way she looked in his shirt. The fabric seemed to hang with deliberate ease upon her more curved features and it fell loosely around her middle and legs. How was it he had never taken notice of her legs before now?

“What happened to Scout’s honor?” She laughingly questions. Bonnie hates how aware she is of his ogling. She can feel her entire face burning a horrible shade of crimson.

Running his hand sheepishly through his curls he returns,“must’a forgot all about it. Then again, I never made it outta cub scouts. ” His grin never wavering. “Maybe you should do a tune-up on my memory banks with those special tools of yours?” He bravely suggests.

“You’re incorrigible, Michael Knight!” She plucks the nearest pillow from the bed and swats him with it.

“Would ya want me to be any other way?” He prods. Chuckling loudly, he heads for the shower. He’ll definitely need an arctic blast tonight.

Sitting on the bed she watches his retreat to the bathroom. Was there a cryptic message in what he had said? She figures all of the day’s excitement had to be tainting her interpretation so she elects to drop it.

#The Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 15 #bonniebarstowofflag

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years ago

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The Not So Lonesome Knight part 14

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X

When he had inspected the room to a satisfactory degree, Michael did as he said. He left to give Bonnie some privacy but not without making sure she had some of his clothes to change into. Incidentally, he had left her with his favorite shirt. No matter how many times it had been washed, his cologne seemed interwoven with the material. He can only imagine how strong it smelt coming out of his overnight bag. Michael had always been confident about the scent, until now, when the person he actually loved might be enveloped in it. What if Bonnie found it off-putting or repulsive? The car keys are jangled apprehensively in his hands as he makes his way back to Kitt. He had work to do. He can’t dwell in the realms of his own petty and worrisome thoughts.

The upholstery of the driver’s seat practically absorbs his aching muscles while he converses with Devon Miles and Rc3.

Exhaustion is evident in the bags forming underneath the patriarch’s eyes. The stress, though it is not directly acknowledged, perches upon his pursed lips. “I am afraid that I’m not entirely comfortable with you and Bonnie staying at that motel when there has already been one break-in. Are you absolutely certain it was only your room that had been vandalized?” Devon questions, an air of skepticism sneaking into the undercurrent of his English accent.

“Yeah, Devon. You’d think, I’d notice if someone else’s door was missing too.” He doesn’t mean to be snarky, it just happens. While he hadn’t taken the time to look before, he certainly did now, if only to appease his own sense of curiosity. “I just checked again and they are all there. All but one. All but ours.” He glumly reiterates.

Reginald peered up from the paper he had been reading, his eyes radiating the same sense of unease as Devon’s. Although he does not say it, he is every bit as worried as Devon is.

“As much as I despise saying it, dear boy, it feels as though you’ve both been targeted.” Devon prompts.

Michael nods in agreement. “Funny enough, I’ve gotten that feeling too.” He glumly states.

“Did you get anywhere with the surveillance video?” Devon questions.

Kitt replies, “no. I’m afraid not, Mr. Miles. There is no footage covering the room. It would seem, their cameras are there solely for aesthetic purposes. They don’t actually function. I did some digging while we’ve been talking and unfortunately, there is only one other camera in the vicinity.” He hated having to burst the hope he had built up but he does it as promptly and delicately as possible. “Unfortunately, the resolution is useless. There is nothing on the film other than a series of indiscernible shadows.” He can’t disguise the disappointment in his voice not even through the use of the vocal modulators.

“There is one thing that keeps troublin’ me. Why would they take Bonnie’s clothes? You think they were lookin’ for somethin’ she has?” Michael asks.

Rc3 perches himself on the edge of Devon’s desk. “Michael, my dude, you don’t think they have an impostor Bonnie they might try to pass off on us. Do ya? That kinda stuff only happens in the movies.” Cracking a large toothy grin, he adds, “maybe these guys wanna turn her into a robot? You’d have to admit, she’d make one fine version of RoboCop. Well, in her case, it would be Robo-Mechanic. It’s pretty rad...”

He is met with two glares and had Kitt been capable, he might have shot one at Reginald too. “What?” Rc3 shrugs playfully. “Stranger things have happened.”

Devon was not at all entertained by the conjectures from the newest addition to the staff. While he failed to find it comedic, part of what Rc3 suggested was not overly far-fetched. Could her clothes have been absconded with so that they could attempt to pass another off as Dr. Barstow? The thought is disconcerting, to say the least. But why? Squinting in thought, Devon remarks, “we’ll bring out the Mobile Command Center in the morning. I have a feeling we will need all hands on deck with this one.”

“Do me a favor? Huh? Bring Bonnie out some of her own clothes while you’re at it. I know she is dying to be dressed more civilly and comfortably.” Michael adds. He knows she will probably only tolerate his clothes until she had her own to return to and it saddens him a touch.

Rc3′s countenance warped with genuine concern. “How are we supposed to know what she wants from her closet?”

The poodle-permed agent shrugged. “I don’t know. I usually grab the first things I can find. Just make sure it is tasteful. Okay?”

Before signing off Devon insists, “do me a favour, Michael. Try not to get in any more trouble before we arrive. It seems you’ve done enough poking of the hornet’s nests for one night.”

Michael laughs nervously. “What kind of trouble can I get into with Bonnie at this hour?” Maybe, he should have thought before he spoke those words aloud. They definitely sounded better when they were housed in his cranium.

Kitt was about to compile a list before he realized it had been a hypothetical question. Devon and Rc3 knew better than to offer up suggestions. Instead, they politely signed off.

#The Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 14 #bonniebarstowofflag #bonnie barstow #michael knight

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years ago

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The Not So Lonesome Knight Part 17:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X ,14 X, 15 X 16 X

The two FLAG agents aren’t given much of an opportunity to react. Michael finds himself making an agonizing split-second decision. Does he race across the room to retrieve his gun in the off-chance that he could neutralize a few of the uninvited interlopers or does he pull Bonnie as far from the looming danger as possible?

Adrenaline and instinct kick in simultaneously. His protective hands urge Bonnie out of bed and towards the bathroom. Internally, he prays that his body can fashion enough of a shield until he could barricade her behind the door. It is not a full-blown plan but it was the best he could formulate under the circumstances.

Bonnie blindly ambles in Michael’s wake, having been partially paralyzed by the cold terror swirling through her entire circulatory system. Her trembling fingers curl tightly around his hand as she cowers in his shadow. “Think these are the same guys who broke into our last room and then stole my clothes?”

“I don’t know, Bons, but I’m pretty sure we’re about to find out. I’m thinkin’ there is a very high likelihood these goons are one and the same.” Michael replies stiffly, through his tightly clenched teeth. An air of control attempts to filter through the panic in his azure orbs.

Reflecting on the earlier incident when she had been scared enough to look, Bonnie makes a terrible realization. “There is no back way out of this room. Is there?”

He could feel the heavy pang of his heart against the insides of his rib-cage. “No.” He grumbles, despising the very sound of his own reply. That was a problem Michael hoped he wouldn’t have to manufacture an answer for. However, now that Bonnie mentioned it, it sent his mind reeling. His lips purse firmly together. While he didn’t mind putting himself in precarious positions, he never wanted to do so with Bonnie. Tonight, it would seem that he’d have no choice. They were trapped! Offering Bonnie a shred of hope, Michael adds, “but we’re going to be fine. We have the upper hand. We have Kitt. Remember?”

How could she have ever forgotten about Kitt? There was hope after all!!!

While they move, Michael pulls the com-link close to his mouth. “Kitt? Where are ya, Buddy? We’re gonna need ya.” He beckons, the tension in his chord laying thicker than peanut butter. He continued edging himself in front of Bonnie as the Colombians close in upon them like a pack of ravenous wolves.

Instead of receiving the typical answer, the line of communication fizzles into an unexpected and eerie static. Not even the swishing of Kitt’s continual moving scanners offers a response.

Bonnie designed all of Kitt’s functions far better than airlines did black-boxes!! Kitt doesn’t just unexpectedly fail!!!

Before the horror could fully register a rough, heavily accented voice, barks for them to cease their retreat with the promise of firing upon them should they fail to comply.

Their movements towards the bathroom halts in response. Bonnie’s uncertain gaze flashes up to read Michael’s reaction to the threats.

Michael finds himself weighing the options. While conceding to the enemy was never a reasonable nor wonderful solution, he can’t risk further endangering Bonnie’s life or any of the other innocent motel patrons. They are heavily outnumbered two to eleven, outgunned, and surrounded. From his experience as a cop, Knight quickly assesses that any attempts to put up a fight would be futile and could potentially end in bloodshed. Especially, if he couldn’t rely on immediate assistance from Kitt. After a moment’s deliberation, Michael decides to make a proposition. “I’ll tell ya what. I’ll come with you willingly if ya promise to leave her behind and that you won’t harm her.”

Bemused, the hardened Colombian enforcer’s brow rose an inch. His harsh lips upturn just enough to emit a laugh before giving a gruff reply, “No.” Taking steps towards Michael and Bonnie he adds, “you see, we no negotiate with you. He wants you both, we give him you both.” The stony cold expression never wavered even as he snaps his fingers to command his host of foot-soldiers. Within seconds, Bonnie and Michael are surrounded by seven of the eleven men. That left four guards, two on each side of the door.

Obviously, making a deal with the goons wasn’t on the tables. Michael’s shoulders slump in defeat. Pulling his nose into a scrunch and delivering a snarl, Knight retorts, “just who is this leader anyways?” He pauses before sarcastically spitting, “the king of the Looney-bin?”

The head enforcer’s eyes narrow.

Michael’s wisecrack draws a brief hint of a smile to Bonnie’s face. If she wasn’t so scared, she might have allowed herself to laugh freely. Somehow she believed that any display of amusement would not be well-received. Especially, when she and Michael both have the barrels of high-powered guns nuzzled uncomfortably into their backs.

“Senior Orlando Calderone and his mistress send their greetings.” The enforcer’s gravelly voice finally conveys.

The two FLAG agents find their countenances exuding maximum confusion. The name revealed certainly didn’t ring a bell. Who was he? Who the hell was his mistress? What did they want? To the best of their combined knowledge, the Foundation never delved into the illicit activities of anyone owning that name. However, the mistress could be any woman at all, even Grace Stevens. In a way, it felt as though, they were still getting nowhere fast.

Although, the last name Calderone did give off a faint spark of recognition somewhere in the shadowy recesses of Michael Long’s mind. But the memories that belonged to Knight’s previous identity were buried, heavily dusted over and mangled in the cob-webs of time. He says nothing to that effect, worried that any minuscule sliver of remembrance might result in the placement of a bullet in his head or heart. Or worse, in Bonnie’s.

Bonnie, having found herself with a distinct distaste for the enigmas known as Calderone and his mistress, vehemently retorts, “yeah. Well, you can tell them just where to shove those greetings!”

Unaffected by the woman’s pointed words, the enforcer instructs his soldiers to do a pat-down on both the agents.

“I’ll save you the trouble, my guns over there,” Michael remarks. He just wants to get this over with as fast and painlessly as possible. One of the goons immediately confiscates the weapon. Much to Knight’s annoyance, hands still inspect every inch of him.

Bonnie lets out a low growl at the invasive manhandling as one goon took a little longer on her than he should have. Before she could insist that he take his hands off of her, Michael strenuously interjected on her behalf. “Come on, Man! You and I both know she hasn’t got a weapon under there. Leave her alone.” He shrugs off the hands that were on him and threatens to grab the no-good pervert with the intention of flinging him across the room. It is clear that the Colombian had provoked his ire.

“It’s okay, Michael. He’s done.” Bonnie shoots the Colombian foot-soldier a glance that practically dares him to defy her. There is something familiar about him. She has seen him before and somewhat recently too! But where? Her eyes squint as she attempts to recollect where. At the first convenience, she might ask Michael if he knows. That is, if they survived the miserable ordeal long enough.

((this is the first time I’m publishing a chapter without the following being written already. But I figure I’ve made everyone wait long enough.))

#The Not So Lonesome Knight part 17 #The Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #my fan fic #the long awaited chapter that I've been delaying posting because I wanted to make it better- is here

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years ago

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The Not So Lonesome Knight part 13:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X

The walk to the front desk might as well have been ten miles long, covering densely forested terrain, with the amount of time it took for the FLAG agents to get there from the trashed room. Neither Bonnie nor Michael dared debate the cause of their discovery, though it weighed heavily on both of their minds.

When the receptionist spotted them, she grinned widely. Cheerfully, she greeted, “ah, Mr. And Mrs. Knight! We’ve been expecting you!” She barely gives them time to correct her assumptions when she continues, “we’re awfully sorry about the trouble you’ve encountered with your previous room. We were made aware of the situation, not more than an hour ago. Anticipating your return, we’ve upgraded your accommodations for free. We’re going to give you the best room we have to offer.” Two keys are slid across the marble counter-top in their direction. “Enjoy your stay in the honeymoon suite.”

Uncertainty floods both Flag Agent’s eyes at the same time as their gazes awkwardly meet.

Why hadn’t the motel informed them of the situation? Especially, if they were made aware of the break-in without the addition of their complaints? It was strange, to say the least. That, however, was not one of the more pressing matters at hand. The fact that the hotel assumed they were married took precedence. At least, in Bonnie’s mind.

“No!” Bonnie protests loudly, physically recoiling. Her exclamation draws the attention of several onlookers in their direction. She repeats herself. “No.” The second time, the word escapes her in a far softer tone. The pent-up frustration is clearly evident in the slight quivering of her usually steady hands. The receptionist is locked briefly in the cross-hairs of her turquoise orbs. “I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding! We’re not married!” She could almost feel the swirl of gossip that would carry that piece of information throughout the motel. She wasn’t that kind of woman!

A wistful glance is shot in Michael’s direction but he is being of no help. He is too busy chuckling like a giddy squirrel. She could have taken it a step further and argued that they weren’t even together which, in most respects of the phrase, happened to be the Gospel truth but she doesn’t. Her reputation couldn’t withstand another blow. The brunette can feel her forehead throbbing, foreshadowing the incredible makings of a headache. This was turning out to be a night from hell with her clothing getting snatched and the room situation not improving. “Don’t you have another room? A single or something?” She prods.

“No. No misunderstanding, I assure you.” The woman behind the desk remarks. “You asked for two singles rooms together. Right? We give you the largest of single rooms together.” The woman gestures with her hands the joining of spaces. She listens, almost offended, by Bonnie’s near refusal of the best room. It is fairly obvious that such an offer has never been rejected before in the motel’s history. She counters Bonnie’s next inquiry with, “we’re sold out. We just sold our last room at seven this evening. The only ones left unoccupied are your room from last night, the one without a door, and the honeymoon suite.”

In the grand scheme of things, this predicament was quite comical. Michael, having ceased in expressing the humor of the situation, languidly drags the pads of his thumb and middle finger across the backs of his eyes. A part of him can hazard a guess as to where the mishap in translation occurred between the receptionist and his favorite mechanic. She must have gone the long way around, having meant to ask for adjoining rooms. Now, here they were.

Sure. The honeymoon suite wouldn’t have topped the list of desired accommodations but it could be worse. They could be gearing up for a night in state lock-up surrounded by real felons. Sensing that the receptionist's explanation was grating on Bonnie’s already unraveling nerves, Michael intervenes. His one hand gingerly presses to Bonnie’s nearest arm as the fingers from the other hand clutch around the room keys. “It’s okay. It’s better this way.” He starts deploying his natural charisma and charm. Michael tips his head conspiratorially closer before murmuring in Bonnie’s ear, “listen. If whoever trashed our room comes back, I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you were in the room with me.” He is treading lightly, trying not to insult her lack of brute strength while also getting Bonnie to see the situation his way. Sharing the honeymoon suite shouldn’t be a problem for them after sharing a bed the previous night.

Knight’s reasoning makes sense, as resistant as Bonnie is to admit it. Her shoulders drop as she parts ways with a frazzled sigh. “Alright.” She ceases her petitioning with a placating rise of the hands. Turning back to the front desk, she prompts, “you wouldn’t happen to have a roll-a-way cot? Would you?”

The gracious receptionist's dark brows furrow together tightly. “No ma’am. We lent all of them out for the night. Some family with a horde of kids came in and required all five of our roll-a-ways. I’m sorry. If you’d like I can put one in your names when they next become available.” Her unwavering smile almost vanished when she thought Bonnie was about to argue with her again.

Michael too tired to watch Bonnie hit walls with the motel staff over room arrangements, presses, “do you think I can have a look at your surveillance footage?”

“Do you have a warrant?” The receptionist questions, looking him dead in the eye.

Michael clears his throat and straightens his stance. He hadn’t been expecting her opposition. “Well, no. But I was hopin’ I wouldn’t need one.” He cast her a doleful expression in the hopes that it would work wonders on the lady’s stubborn resolve.

“Why don’t you come back when you have one?” She quips.

It is clear that her patience wearing thinner than the coat of polish atop her fingernails so he dares not press her further. Instead, he’d do things the hard way. He’d hack into the system using Kitt’s extensive programming. “Sorry, we’ve troubled you this evenin’. We’re gonna go and check out our room and settle in for the night.” He states. If his remark was intended more for Bonnie’s or the receptionist’s ears he does not directly specify. Michael then makes a show of offering the brunette his arm. “Come on, Mrs. Knight. Our room awaits,” he teases. Michael is well aware that he is instigating but he is enjoying this too much to care. His lips pull into the widest grin that could ever fit upon his handsome face without warping it. Bonnie Knight. It had a kind of ring to it. Didn’t it? He kind of enjoyed the idea of claiming Bonnie as his, though he’d never venture to say that aloud. If only, he could be so fortunate.

“Very funny,” Bonnie grumbles. She wastes no time in linking arms with him even while she isn’t in the most upbeat of moods. Their progress is cut short when the brunette abruptly halts. “I just thought of something. Without my bags, I don’t have my pajamas...” She bashfully allows her voice to trail off. A part of her is too frightened to even meet Michael’s gaze.

Impishly, Michael teases, “you won’t need ‘em anyway.” A flash of lust colors his eyes while they sweep over her. An indecent thought definitely crosses his mind but he continues with the exuberant explanation of his statement.“We have the honeymoon suite.” He feels his external temperature rising by several degrees. The warmth translates into a shade of Salmon on his cheeks. As a result, he quickly diverts his gaze. A boyish mirth soon takes over the spaces in his azure hues that the lust once occupied when he dares to look at her again.

“Michael!” Bonnie chastises in the form of a hiss. Her heart thunders to life at the implication. She swats him with her free hand. “I’m being serious here.” He definitely shouldn’t quit his day job to become a comedian.

It took a lot of effort to return his expression to anything close to serious. When he finally manages, he replies, “you won’t need ‘em. You can borrow one of my shirts and a pair of my pants for the night. If the pants fit.” He knows his clothes were hardly the comforts of her regular night attire but he still them offered up the only things he had on hand.

Had it not been such a late hour, Bonnie could have called Rc3 to immediately bring out another set of clothes but she was left with very little option other than to accept Knight’s offer.

“I’ll inspect the room then I’ll give you time to shower and change. While you’re doin’ that, I’ll see what Kitt and I can dig up in regards to the surveillance videos. We’ll also update Devon and Rc3. I’ll even be sure to tell ‘em to bring out some new clothes for you.” Michael outlines his plan. Internally, he hopes she will agree to it as he hadn’t formulated an alternate one. “Hows that sound?” He questions.

Bonnie gives him a sheepish smile. “I like the sound of that.” While she had no choice but to have clothes brought to her, it still felt weird to ask Rc3 to rummage through her closets. They were all family at the Foundation and she trusted that Rc3 would be discreet about what he’d uncover in the way of unmentionables. Tasking Reginald with this mission, however, might mean she would have some really interesting wardrobe choices handed to her. That isn’t to say he didn’t have a fantastic taste in fashion, he did, it just wasn’t the same as her’s. His own sense was louder, more boisterous than her own. But entrusting Rc3 was definitely better than the alternative options of wearing the same clothes she had all day or traipsing about in Knight’s clothes. All she can do now is hold her breath and hope she survives the night.

#The Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 13 #bonniebarstowofflag #my fan fic #my fanfic #tw: long reply

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 5 years ago

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The Not So LoneSome Knight: Part 12

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X

The three-hour ride back to the motel was full of lively chatter regarding the findings of the case thus far. The strange circumstances surrounding the five-hundred-dollar deposit drew a myriad of speculations that perplexed all three agents. Each one offered up their own untested and unproven theories. Each new theory puzzling the agents more than the last.

With each forward churning of the wheels towards the motel, the shades of dusk deepen in the skies around them. When they finally arrived at the motel, the hour was hedging towards midnight. Exiting the cabin, Bonnie and Michael stretch out their limbs.

“Ya know somethin’ Bons? I gotta a feelin’ I’m gonna sleep clear till mornin’. I’m exhausted.” Michael remarks, barely biting back a yawn.

Bonnie sheepishly smiles knowing exactly what he meant. The past twenty-four hours had felt elongated as if, it stretched on far longer than any period ought to. “Same here.” She readily agrees as they traverse the pavement together.

“I’m gonna make sure you get settled and then I’ll check to see if they have my room ready,” Michael casually remarks, sensing her unease about his following her to the room.

Just as they rounded the corner to the room they shared last night, Kitt calls over Michael’s comlink. But he doesn’t have to say anything for at that very moment, Bonnie and Michael found themselves face to face with the cause of Kitt’s alarm. The door leading to the room they had shared last night had been splintered down.

“Someone has broken into your room.” Spilled Kitt’s Bostonian twang.

“Yeah. We see it, Kitt. Tell us somethin’ we don’t already know.” Michael grimly states.

Michael edges forward, placing himself between Bonnie’s slender figure and the wide-open room. His gun is extracted from the holster effortlessly and he slowly breaches the entryway, mindful that the person who ransacked the room could have lingered in the hopes of landing an ambush. It was highly unlikely that someone would do something so foolish in a public place but he wasn’t about to take that risk. Especially, not while Bonnie was with him.

The pulse of adrenaline collectively teases at their eardrums. All traces of sleepiness between Bonnie and Michael had seemingly evaporated in light of the new circumstances. The room was obviously not in the state they had left it in. The sheets lay in tangles on the floor, the mattress hung lopsided off the frame with the evidence that it had been flipped, the phone took up residence on the floor it’s connective cables severed and frayed by way of a knife.

“The responsible party is already gone.” Kitt assesses skillfully having done a thorough scan of the tossed room.

Bonnie slips past Michael to check on where she left her bags and shouts, “Michael!”

With one hurried stride, the poodle-permed agent finds his way to her side, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder as she peers into an empty corner. His own gaze locks on the same spot. At first, confusion mars his countenance. It hardly seemed like anything to get worked up over until he recollected what had been there in the first place.

“They are... my bags.... they’re gone!” Bonnie frantically states. “Why would someone take my clothes?” She spins to face him, a hair away from turning hysterical and not in the comedic sense. A static sensation ripples down every vertebrae of her spine as she considers the fact that the intruder could have been after more than her fresh laundry. Thankfully, she had taken her notebook containing Foundation codes and all her forms of identification with her to Grace’s house. Otherwise, those documents and her badges might have been absconded with.

Michael wished he had an answer for her but he doesn’t. Was this a simple robbery? The inner police detective cast that line of thought into doubt. If it had been a simple robbery, why had the television, radio, and phone been left behind? Surely, those things would have more value than Bonnie’s bags. Right? If it wasn’t a simple robbery there were more frightening possibilities. One of them being that someone knew where they were staying. He quickly runs down a mental list of the people who had been told of their accommodations. He quickly rules out the Foundation staff he trusts- Devon, Rc3, Kitt, and a few others. Then he moves to the broader spectrum. There were a select few who had been gifted that information and all of them, unfortunately, had motives to see the FLAG agents come to harm. Whose toes had they stepped on? Where had they trampled them? Why? And how? The investigation seemed to be turning up more inquiries. Were they closer to the answers they sought than they originally thought? Damned if he knew.

One thing was certain, neither of them could stay in this room for the night. Especially, since the door was inoperable. “Maybe, while we’re at the front desk getting our rooms changed, I can take a look at the security cameras.” He offers, in an effort to settle Bonnie’s nervousness.

“Good idea.” Bonnie agrees. She didn’t want to stick around the scene of the crime a moment longer than she had to. Bonnie only hoped the staff at the front desk of the motel would be more helpful than they had previously been.

#the Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 12 #the Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic #Knight Rider 1982 #my fan fic #bonniebarstowofflag

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 5 years ago

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The Not So Lonesome Knight Part 9:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X,

The two human FLAG agents received a cordial reception by Grace Stevens. She was close to Kent’s age by all observational estimates, though a lot shorter in stature. Her kindly face was framed with shoulder-length hair that fell in splendid orderly spirals around her shoulders. Her eyes, though burdened with worry, were a smooth hazel that could almost be likened to melted chocolate. The woman even in her troubled state exuded the kindness of a maternal figure. She refused to rest until Bonnie and Michael had both made themselves comfortable and had accepted beverages.

Once they had all settled into place, Michael makes his move. “Mrs. Stevens, when did you first notice that your husband was gone?” He’d start off with the simpler questions, the ones that stood the least chance of upsetting her.

“Please, call me Grace.” She politely corrects. His question gave her pause. “When he never came home two days ago.” She apprehensively worries her lower-lip between her teeth.

Michael scoots forward in his chair. “Grace, I know this is goin’ to sound cruel and I’m sorry.” He prefaces his next inquiry. “But what makes you think that this was an abduction and not somethin’ innocent like a last-minute work trip or gettin’ away for a day or so?” The curly-haired former police detective hated asking things like this. Often times, it dredged up unpleasant things that couples or families have been denying. Everyone had their dark secrets.

Thankfully, Grace hadn’t taken offense. Dabbing a tissue against her watering eyes, she answers. “Kent is a darling. He never goes anywhere without leaving a note or making a phone-call. He calls me at least twice a day.” Giving a mournful look at the phone she lets out a sob. “Its been silent the past forty-eight or so hours. The only people to have called were Devon Miles to tell me of your impending arrival and the local Police seeking out more information.”

Bonnie feels a lump forming in her throat at the sight of the other woman’s anguish. Delicately, she places her cup of coffee upon the nearest table before crossing the room to sit on the arm of the chair beside Grace. With all the ginger care possible, the brunette allows her arms to encompass the older woman’s shoulders. Her own turquoise hues shown with empathy as they beheld her and then returned to Michael. A silent entreaty lays etched upon her lips for him to get to the bottom of this and end Grace’s suffering.

Michael can read it expertly, that look in Bonnie’s eyes. His heart gives a painful pang against the walls of his rib-cage. He folds his fingers into a pyramid fashion, pressing them to his lips as he contemplated his next question. “Have you checked your bank account for any sudden and large transactions? Or noticed anyone strange observin’ your house?”

Grace’s head lifts slightly. “Why woul... would I need to check my bank account? You can’t be suggesting that my Kent would do something like that.” Disbelief paints her features and she peers up at Bonnie practically begging for an explanation.

While Bonnie was taken off guard, she calmly articulates a reply. “Well, if we look at your account, we can see if anyone is forcing his hand and having him remove large sums of money. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to trace his location off of any recent transactions.” Haphazardly, she flickers her gaze towards Michael.

“Bonnie’s right.” He affirms. A part of him swears he has never been more grateful to have her along on an interview. She tactfully kept open a door that was going to be readily shut on him.

Grace then remembers that Michael had asked about suspicious activity outside of the home and she nearly bolts upright. The abruptness of her movement almost causes Bonnie to fall off her perch. “There was an odd car outside about a week ago. I remember because it didn’t look like any of the ones owned by neighbors.”

Now, they were getting somewhere. A bolt of enthusiasm fizzles excitedly through Michael’s veins. “Good. Can you describe the car?” Dare he hope for a good description of something that happened so many days ago? His cop and army instincts advised him not to. Eye-witness accounts were notoriously unreliable at best. At worst, they wasted countless hours and time was something that just could not be so uselessly fiddled away. His bleeding heart, however, determined that any clue no matter how small or mistaken could be helpful. So he opts to follow his heart.

Grace’s eyes squint, striving to conjure up a picture of the vehicle out of thin air. She supposed that informing the two agents that it was green and had four wheels wouldn’t be of much help. So she tries harder. “I’m afraid I can’t be much help there. It was a hideous shade of forest green with a dented fender. Oh, and it had a Florida plate.” Sniveling briefly she adds, “there may have been a decal with the word Miami on it.”

The word ‘decal’ reminded Michael to consider the lapel from the picture. But first thing is first. He stored away the clues that he had been given. Green, Florida, Miami. None of them made much of an impact as they currently stood. In fact, chances of finding that car again were slim to none. But he couldn’t tell Grace Stevens that and he knew Bonnie understood.

“Does Miami mean anythin’ to you in particular?” Michael pries. His inflection wary of making too many harmful implications without evidence first. “Did he have something goin’ on there?” He’s treading as carefully as possible.

Grace’s eyes round. “I can’t say that it does. But I made a habit of never digging too deeply into his work affairs. Now, I always wished I had paid more attention.”

It was always too late when most people started to care, Bonnie’s experience practically whispered. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know you needed to.” She cooes encouragingly. “But you’re doing the right thing by calling us in. If anyone can find him, we can.” Her words give off confidence. The will to believe that they could successfully resolve the matter.

“I have one more question before Kitt and I get to work. “Was your husband a member of any specialized society? I noticed a lapel pin attached to his suit in a picture that the Foundation furnished.” Michael prays he is not overwhelming her or startling her more than she had been already. His hands unintentionally gesture to his upper left chest as though, he were pinning one on himself.

“Why, yes, he is. He’s a member of the local chapter of the Free Masons. He was with them long before we were married.” Grace affirms. “Is...is that important?” She ponders aloud.

Standing, Michael answered, “it just might be.” But there was a heavy emphasis on the word ‘might’ as he didn’t want to run the risk of getting her hopes up only to dash them.

Bonnie accompanies Michael on his journey to the door. In a hushed tone, she pries, “you don’t we’ll find him alive. Do you? Is that why you think there hasn’t been any ransom demands or threatening phone calls?”

His sturdy fingers curl around her arm and pull her close. There is a familiar earnest spilling from his azure hues as they sweep over her. He doesn’t want to have to start weaving webs of dishonesty that might come back to bite him in the butt. Especially, not with her. His shoulders take on a faint slump. “We’ve gotta try. But I’m not gonna lie, it doesn’t look good.”

She knows she can trust his answer by the gravity that accompanies it. “Michael?” She debates if this was as good of a time as any to tell him that she loved him. After all, he’s heading in to danger. Instead, she offers, “be careful. We don’t know who we’re up against.”

A smile, genuine and none-too- shy finds his lips. “You too. Wait for the call from Devon with the names of the security crew. If they don’t match the ones given to by the company guys when they arrive, you need to immediately call me and Kitt. We’ll drop everythin’ to get here as fast as we can. If nothin’ excitin’ happens, Kitt and I will return and collect you so we can get back to the motel to regroup.” He lovingly assures her. “Either way, I’ll be back for you. You have my word.”

#the Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #the Not So Lonesome Knight part 9 #bonniebarstowofflag #Knight Rider fan fic

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 5 years ago

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The Not So Lonesome Knight Part 6

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X

Where in the Devil were his employees? He can’t help but wonder. They were certainly long overdue!

When they finally arrive at the restaurant, the Foundation’s salt and pepper haired Patriarch is waiting and had apparently been doing so, for a good allotment of time. Devon Miles cast a vexed glance down at this wristwatch. His marvelous topaz eyes radiate impatience which, was tempered by a more merciful nature. His lips are pulled tight into a frown though the relief is evident upon his countenance upon catching sight of the distinctive hard-top taxiing to a stop.

“Kitt, you know the drill.” Michael cheerfully states, shifting the gears into park. They’d been through this routine more than a hundred times by now. Plus, he had every confidence that Kitt would go into surveillance mode as they discussed the case. While, it felt like overkill, Michael really didn’t want to lower his guard. Especially, if someone was preparing to strike out at the Foundation. His detective instincts knew it was a very real possibility.

He exits the cabin and skids his way over Kitt’s hood so that he can promptly open the door for Bonnie. Sure, the day hadn’t been off to the best of starts. Though, he really did enjoy the kiss. Gazing at her now, with that same embarrassed flush upon her face, made him all the more certain that he wanted to be with her or alone the rest of his life. But he can’t imagine upsetting her. He had already come dangerously close to provoking her while they were getting dressed. So it is with earnest that he feels compelled to show her how he felt without the assistance of fancy words.

Flattery and chivalry weren’t things Bonnie was fully accustomed to. So her hand instinctively had flown to the door handle but before she can grasp it, the door is swung wide open before her. She stares long at hard for a second at his proffered hand before allowing her own fingers to graciously curl around it. The grasp parts when she rises to stand upon her own two feet. “Thanks.” The gracious word is imparted, just a hint louder than a whisper. The brunette can feel the tropical scorch rising back into the curves of her cheekbones. Internally, her heart gives a petitioning thud. Tell him, tell him. Her mind chants to no avail. Her tongue was unready and unwilling to gift any such nonsense a voice.

As they walk she can feel the reassuring pressure of his palm residing over the small of her back. He’d always done that for as long as she could remember. For some reason today it felt different. Dare she consider it a loving gesture? No. It had to be a silly trick of her sentimental imagination! Besides, when Michael had learned that she was the one he had been kissing, his azure orbs had almost vacantly searched her. She had interpreted that as Michael showing a polite indifference. Who was she trying to kid by fancying that last night would have any significant impact? Michael was notoriously allergic to attachments. He moved from one girl to the next in pursuit of the next hot fling. Bonnie didn’t want that. She didn’t want meaningless relations. Even more so, she didn’t desire a lowly unimportant place in his life. Still, with his hand pressed against her, the mechanic allows herself to cling to a tiny shred of hope that she may still earn something more than his passing affections.

“My heavens,” the elder gentleman starts, the very minute Bonnie and Michael were seated. The richness of his purely English accent slipping into every syllable. “I was beginning to think you two weren’t going to show.” His gracefully veiled reproach was well deserved given they were definitely more than one hour late. Fidgeting, he readjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket before he picking up the menu to give it another once over. “What in the Devil kept you? I trust you have a good explanation.”

He is met with bashful glances and two definitive apologies. Michael is the first to clear his throat. “It’s my fault, Devon. There was a mix-up at the hotel.”

“Oh?” Devon questions. His graying brow quirking just enough to show that his curiosity had been piqued.

“Well you see,” Michael commences, ready to launch into the whole spiel when Bonnie interjects.

Bonnie, never really one to slouch, allowed herself to sink lower in the comfort of the booth. “It’s a long and uninteresting story, Devon. Let’s just say the front desk made the phone call to the wrong room.” The excuse sounded plausible enough. Didn’t it? She cast a worried glance at the two from over her own menu.

Michael looked as if he had been physically struck. His tongue was ready to dispute part of her explanation when he thought the better of it. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Undeserved shame compels his head to droop. His mind considers the potential that he wasn’t the great company he thought he was. Try as he might to focus on the menu, he couldn’t. Her words kept rolling like a bowling ball down an endless lane, over and over in his mind. What had she meant by her statement? Why did it feel like she had been speaking in some kind of code? Or was he simply too unintelligent to decipher any message she was trying to get across? Why was it so hard to communicate with her?!

Bonnie snagged a glimpse of Michael. Her heart sinks inside of her chest as his expression bordered on the precipice of offended and angry. Had it been something she said? Worry grips tightly around the slowly thrumming muscle. Each of its beats dredged up fear that he loathed her. How could she backtrack now? Swallowing sharply she feels her appetite fleeting.

Devon, who to this point is still blissfully unaware, cheerfully prompts, “so what will you to be having?” He suspects that his lovely mechanic would resort to ordering something health-conscious and wise while, his haphazard agent would opt for something bathed in grease. His topaz orbs linger with considerable interest upon them.

Bonnie and Michael both had the misfortune of locking each other in the cross-hairs of their gazes when they went to answer. Immediately, they both allow their eyes to falter downwards.

“Well? We don’t exactly have all day.” Devon prods. He was beginning to suspect that something is amiss. They had been getting along so splendidly the other day and now they could barely stand to look at each other.

“Go ahead, Michael.” Bonnie coolly states, in an effort to take some of the pressure off of herself.

Under his breath, he bitterly grumbles, “why don’t you just tell me what I’m allowed to have and what I’m not.” He thinks that it is said in a soft enough tone that it wouldn’t be audible over the other lively conversations around them but it’s not. She always criticized his choices. Particularly, when they came to food and women.

Bonnie’s menu flops down onto the table with a click. “What is that supposed to mean?!” It was her turn to have confusion and offense tattooed to her countenance. Honestly. She can’t even believe he said that!

Small sparks of repentance flicker through his gaze but are quickly snuffed out to something colder than ash. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, its just that you...” The unfinished accusation sits like bricks in his tone. Catching a peripheral view of Devon, whose face clearly bespoke disapproval, he recants. “It’s nothing.” Like an admonished child he ducks behind the cover of his menu and he dwells there for several minutes in silence. “Guess, the double cheeseburger looks good.”

“Nothing?” Bonnie prods, not fully willing to let it go. “Michael, if it was nothing you wouldn’t have mentioned it. And now, I want to know.” Want definitely was not a strong enough term.

The curly-haired agent’s menu is dropped beside her discarded one and he leans across the table. His hands fold together like a shuffled deck of cards. “Well, you apparently know what’s best for me. What was it you said a while back, you anticipate my every need?” Every yearning but one. The most important one. The one that revolved around her. “And everythin’ I tend to order is considered junk or trash.” He doesn’t even remember where the hell he was going with his statements so he abruptly ceases. In the undercurrent of his discourse lay a deeper meaning. One he had tried to impart to her that morning. But it lodges stubbornly and quite painfully somewhere inside of him. It changes form and escapes as an unintentionally harsh rebuke that he immediately wishes he could erase.

Her words had been taken so far out of context it was hard to piece them back together. Where was all this coming from? She is so taken aback by his commentary all she can do is glower. In a low grievous tone, she quips, “it’s none of my business if you want to poison yourself.”

In that instant, Devon’s suspicions were confirmed. Something had gone on between them since they had parted ways. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to be good. Astonished by the cruelty of their banter and wishing to save face for both of them Devon interrupts. “Yes. Well, to each their own. I’m sure you’ll both make the appropriate selections.” He only gives a pause long enough for their orders to be placed with the waitress before directing their attention back to the case. “About Kent Stevens...”

#the Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 6 #my fanfic #knight rider 1982 #bonniebarstowofflag #read more just because it's super lengthy

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