#this post has gone in three entirely different directions in the tags good for me good for me

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi!! i recently got into johnlock and the universe has somehow directed me to your blog (which is an absolute godsend omfg). have you got any good possessive!john fics?

Hi Lovely!!!

AHHHH!! I’m so glad you enjoy my blog!!! <3 Thank you so much! <3

AHHH you know what??? I don’t get asked this all that much at all! I think mostly because it’s easier to find Possessive Sherlock fics and people then just... forget LOL

So guess what?? You’re the prompter for any fics I actually tagged or filed with Possessive John! <3 A pioneer you are! LOL I’m combining it with a few of the Obsessive fics as well, since I don’t have many new ones.

As usual, gang, feel free to add your own!! <3

POSSESSIVE / OBSESSIVE JOHN

See also: 

Specifically Jealous John b/c of Other People

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

Display by 221b_hound (E, 2,377 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Tattoos, Public Hand Jobs, Exhibitionism, Possessive Sex, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John) – A new client has been flirting with Sherlock and, finding no joy there, with John. John seems annoyed to be second-best, Sherlock thinks, so Sherlock decides to give the departing woman (and maybe also John) a demonstration of who, exactly, John belongs to. But there's more than one level of sexual jealousy and more than one display of possession going on here, outlined in the window of 221b Baker Street. Part 2 of Lock and Key

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w.,1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex/Hand Job/Frottage) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures ||  Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Heavy Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say 'oh well, at least we tried'. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.”

My Life for His by QuinnAnderson (E, 8,816 w., 1 Ch. || Guardian/Protector, Greek Mythology || Growing Up, Sex, Religious Themes, Suicide, Minor Character Death) – It began when Sherlock was eight, and he attempted to climb all the way up to the highest branch in the old willow tree in his back garden. He'd thought he was still small enough that it could support him, but the second he'd grabbed hold of it to pull himself up, the branch snapped, and down he went, plummeting a solid twenty metres. The odd thing was, he never actually hit the ground.

Of Course I Forgive You by allonsys_girl (E, 10,735 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Canon Divergence, First Time, Frottage, Wall Sex, Infidelity) – What if things had gone differently on that train car?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Obsessive John) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time, Obsessive John) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Free Falling by twistedthicket1 (M, 203,574 w., 38 Ch. || Guardian Angels AU || Guardian Angel John, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Kidlock / Teenlock, Light Mystrade, Passage of Time, Possessive John, Drug Use / Overdose, Victor Trevor, Graphic Bullying, Big Brother Mycroft, Hard Drug Use, Depression, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John, Panic Attacks, Nightmares/PTSD, Pining, Healing Abilities, Kidnapping, Violence, Torture, Blow Jobs, Virgin John, Emotional Development / Attachment, Mortality, Happy Ending) – All Guardian angels are born with a Chosen human. When this child is born, the angel comes into being to protect and care for them during their life on Earth. For John Watson, all he cares about in the world revolves around his Chosen, Sherlock Holmes. Watching him grow up though, the angel soon learns that God must have had a sense of humour the day he decided to make Sherlock, as trouble seems to follow him like a magnet wherever he goes. John can't decide what's worse, the idea of losing his Chosen one, or the fact that he may be breaking the most taboo law of heaven as he disguises himself as a human to better protect and befriend the beloved detective he's always watched from afar. He was meant to care for him. But what happens when caring evolves into something more? What happens when an emotion an angel is supposed to be incapable of possessing comes to life suddenly and viciously inside John's chest?

[malfoys-demigod]

Thinking Out Loud - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Requested by the lovely @the--queen-of-hell​​​

A/N: We agreed to set their ages to 19 during the post war year 

5 months. 

5 months to be exact when the ultimate wizarding war had finally ended. Some people can agree that 5 months can be so quick that they already forgot that time flew swiftly by in a blink of an eye. For you, 5 months since the war felt like 5 weeks since the war. 

The many things that you’ve experienced first-handedly were still too easily played in your mind. First was when you thought your friend Harry had died. He was the one true person who could have saved the wizarding world from the biggest disaster the world could have faced. Seeing his body roll out onto the floor was just hard to process. But finding out that he was actually alive to save everyone was just a relief. Then there were your parents. The people you have loved the most for your entire life. It was just a shame that they were placed under the situation of being Death Eaters. You obviously knew that they did not have a choice. It was either they played pretend Death Eaters or risking your life and theirs. They kept promising you that you would be alright, that they would be alright, and that you could return to becoming a normal family just like the time before Voldemort chose them to be Death Eaters. 

The possibility of returning to a normal family was so high. During the war in Hogwarts, you were fighting, defending yourself from the other Death Eaters who in their eyes saw you as a traitor. “Traitor!” they’d call you as they tried hexing the life out of you. “You should have joined your parents like the pureblood you are!” they kept telling you. “Let’s teach her the consequences of becoming a traitor.” was the last thing a group of Death Eaters threatened you as both your parents Stupefied the group, running to your aid to check up on you. 

Knowing that there was no time to do this, you grabbed their arms and tried making it to the ends of the corridors which had a door to seal off the Death Eaters who were regaining consciousness from their hits. You could hear them grunt angrily as they started hexing in your direction. When you made your way outside, your parents hugged you tightly and told you, “Our dearest, Y/N. Know that we will always be in your heart as we love you with all our hearts.” as they cupped your face tightly. Your eyes widened, realizing why they had said that. “No.” was all you begged from them. They looked at you sympathetically and gave you one last hug and ran back in to fence off the Death Eaters that were going after you. “I love you, mother and father.” was all you could say as they started closing the doors, looking at you with an uplifting look. “GO! RUN!” your mother said as your father finally locked at the doors. 

Fighting off the tears in your eyes, you turned around and ran as fast as you could, returning to the battle. Aside from Harry and Dumbledor, you couldn’t name a single person you have witnessed that had the same courage and passion as your parents. They were the people that motivated you to become as courageous and passionate as them. You knew in your heart that if you ever became a parent, you would do the exact same thing as them and save the life of your child. 

You were very fortunate enough to have Narcissa and Lucius as your other set of parents. Of course you couldn’t love them enough just as you did with your parents but they have been nothing but welcoming and supportive of you. Ever since the war, you have been living in Malfoy Manor with them and Draco. Aside from being that important person in Draco’s life, they were more than happy to grant you their home as they were great friends with you parents. 

You father was like a brother to Lucius. They were best friends since birth as their families knew each other well. Their friendship grew stronger during their Hogwarts years. If one of them had detention, it was very well known that the other would tag along in their detention because they were the cause of whatever reason the professor had to send them off. After their Hogwarts years, they became work-mates as your father became a respective wizard in the Ministry, just like Lucius as they always playfully competed against each other in their respective jobs. Your mother and Narcissa on the other hand had a similar story. They despised each other during their first years in Hogwarts. Why? They were after the same boy that they have been childishly crushing on. It was a little girl-to-girl competition for them as they tried going out of their ways to have them get noticed by their crush. Discovering that the person they were crushing on was only interested in boys, their small rivalry thawed, apologizing in the end for being obsessive over the same person. They became best of friends after they started helping each other out when they began crushing over different men who were your father and Lucius respectively. According to them, they always had these double dates at first since they were both too shy to have individual dates. Who knew later on, they’d be having catch ups even after they all settled down with children. 

Lucius and Narcissa consider their deaths something always worth remembering. They always get reminded of the good times they shared with their best friends whenever they look at you. Lucius would get reminded of your father’s humor and intelligence whenever you make a joke or study with Draco. Narcissa would remember how much of a beautiful person your mother turned out to be whenever you dressed up for dates with Draco or simply looked exactly like her when you let your hair down. From the minute they heard about your parents’ deaths, they swore to take you in like the daughter they never had and protect you for your parents. 

They were very much happy to have you. It also made Draco the happiest person in the world. This young man loved you with all his heart and it was also his idea to take you in after the war. His heart broke as well when he found out about the death of your parents. They treated him as if he was their son as well. Draco couldn’t stand seeing you sob the minute the war ended. Before he and his parents had the chance to leave, he ran to the entrance doors of the castle to a sobbing you. He thought he lost you but seeing that you were alive by the steps wanted him to drop to his knees and thank Merlin for protecting you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m here,” Draco spoke as he tried to calm you down. “M-my parents.” was all you could blurt out but Draco already realized what you meant. He didn’t do anything but wrap you in his arms as he tried having you stand up. He kept apologizing for what happened. “I should have been there to protect them, to protect you.” He said, “Come home with us.” He advised. Draco briefly explained how he could take you home with him as you could both heal emotionally and physically from all the trauma. You had no other choice but to follow him since his family was practically family. 

Now, 5 months later, there you were with Draco, laying on his chest as you both cuddled in your shared bed. There were no words being exchanged at the moment as the both of you appreciated the sound of the winds outside as it was soothing to the ears. You were practically cuddling in bed with Draco silently now for an hour that he assumed that you were asleep already. With his thoughts on you swimming around his head, he started thinking out loud. 

“Oh, Y/N. Sweet Y/N,” he started speaking out loud as he stroked the loose strands of hair falling out of your frame. 

“Wouldn’t you believe it has been 5 months since everything happened? It’s still difficult for me to realize how long it has been. It still feels like we had just gotten home from Hogwarts. I carried you to my room as we laid on my bed, exactly the way we’re laying right now. The only thing that changed is the way I feel about you. Now don’t be alarmed, sweetheart. Ever since the day we came back home, there were many things that I've been thinking about but there was this one thought that I’ve been seriously considering dearly. I love you with all my heart. You know that. You’re the reason why I strive to become a better person everyday. Without you, I wouldn’t be this person, a person who is currently transforming to become a whole new person inside. I constantly want to thank you for that but I just don’t know how. I know I’m not completely transformed yet but I really want to be a better person everyday and I believe that with you by my side, you could help me realize that everyday can be a new possibility to becoming a much better person. I know we're only nineteen but I feel like I’m ready to take our relationship to a whole new level. We’ve gone through so much together and I just want to propose my love for you officially. I just want to ask you the big question already which is: Will you marry me, Y/N?” 

With that, Draco sighed as he thought you weren’t awake to hear all of this. Fortunately, you were awake the entire time. 

You stopped yourself from crying the minute he asked the big question. This was very unbelievable. Not because he asked early but that it was actually happening. You were more than proud to hear every word that came from his mouth. He truly was transforming. 

Happily hearing the question, you slowly face your boyfriend with a warm smile. “Yes, a thousand times.” You softly reply to him as you watch his eyes widen with a sudden surprise. 

Draco froze for a good three seconds realizing that he did not come prepared with the best engagement ring yet. He looked down at his family ring, the one he constantly wears to show the Malfoy pride. 

“With this,” he said, removing the ring from his finger and transferring to yours, “I welcome you to the Malfoy family. Of course the ring is temporary. Not to worry, dear. I will bestow you the best ring in the entire world once we get things settled.” 

You cupped his face with the hand that had the ring as you looked at him with sweetness in your eyes. “It’s beautiful. I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

“I love you more, Y/N Y/L/N soon to be Malfoy.”

[lost-in-the-80s]

Winter Memories pt. 2

Pairing: Axl Rose x reader

Words: 3,156k

Summary: The pressure of making a new album is finally hitting Axl. To get rid of some stress he decides to take a trip to Norway, however, he did not expect to meet a mysterious woman there.  (smut + fluff)

A/N: I am back with part two!! Let me know if you liked it! Sorry it took me so long! There will be some lines in norwegian again, the translations will be below in italics.

Warnings: Mature content, swearing and unprotected sex. (Use a condom, guys!) ​​

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car​​ @ladieswttda​ @teasid​ @metalheartofgold​ @slashscowboyboots​ @ginny-rose-sixx​  @rumoured-whispers​ @normatural​ add yourself to my tag list :)

Tagging who showed interest for a second part: @sugwinter​​ @vinylvintage​​ @fosterchild-3203​ @littlemisscare-all​​ @ultrabithc​

Part 1

A year passed after that weekend. December arrived and Y/N got ready to spend another weekend at Anna's cottage.

As she packed her bags, she couldn't stop thinking about Axl, the mysterious redhead she had met the year before. He never left her mind, not even for a day.

But finding him would be impossible, so she ignored her heart's pleas that begged her to go to the United States to look for him. Her best chance was to hope he was in the cottage.

During the flight to the mountains, anxiety washed over her body. It was the longest two hours of her life. Her stomach was full of butterflies, as the memories of that night filled her mind.

Taking a taxi she asked the driver three times to go faster, ignoring the fact that the track was slippery with snow.

As soon as she reached the cottage she strode toward the front door, hoping to see him already waiting for her. But he wasn’t there.

After asking Anna she was sure, he wouldn’t come. His name wasn’t on the schedule list, nor had been since that weekend in December.

Han må ha gått videre med livet sitt, og du fortsetter å tenke på ham. She thought to herself.

He must have gone on with his life and you silly keep thinking about him.

Y/N tried to stick to her routine schedule, but spending twenty minutes on a bus to go skiing seemed too tiring. So she spent the entire Friday in her room, reading and whining about her life.

The next morning she woke up late and walked slowly down the steps. She had decided to have breakfast and go back to the airport, catch a flight to Oslo and try to forget all of that. Staying at the cottage brought too many memories to her mind.

“God morgen, Anna” She said calmly.

"Good morning, Anna."

“God morgen Y/N" The lady replied smiling.

"Good morning, Y/N."

Looking at all the breakfast options, she just couldn't feel hungry, so she took a big mug of coffee and sat at a table, sighing when she realized she had sat at the same table he was at the previous year.

After a few minutes, Anna came over, pulling the chair across from her to sit down.

"Hva skjer, Y/N?" The lady asked, touching the younger woman’s hand on top of the table.

"What's going on Y/N?"

“Det er ingenting, Anna, du trenger ikke å bekymre deg.” She gave a weak smile.

"It's nothing, Anna, you don't have to worry."

"Det er ikke gutten?"

"It's that boy, isn't it?"

Y/N looked out the window, avoiding the lady's gaze.

"Han så veldig trist ut dagen han reiste."

"He looked really sad the day he left."

She looked at the lady, seeing compassion in her eyes.

“Ikke bekymre deg, Anna. Jeg klarer meg. ” She smiled, trying to look convincing.

"Don't worry, Anna, I'll be fine."

----

During the next two years, she improved. She focused on work and was able to be distracted from her own thoughts.

She had a few boyfriends during that time, but she couldn't help comparing them to the redhead, and given his color and brilliance, all the others became gray and opaque.

During the nights, his face appeared in her dreams, they were always together and happy and she hated waking up every day and knowing that it would never go beyond that, a dream.

Sometimes she could even go a week without thinking about him, but then something simple reminded her again. Like when she wore the sweater she was wearing that night.

She felt stupid, it was ridiculous to feel that way after so long, especially for someone she only met for a weekend. But every time a rock song played on the radio, she remembered him.

He had said he worked with rock and she always wondered what he meant by that. Was he a band manager? Or was he a member of one of the bands that had already crossed her ears? She would never know and maybe it was for the best.

"Y/N!"

The sound of her name made her look up from the papers she was signing.

It was Hanna. She had moved from the United States to Norway the previous year, working in the office's accounting. The two became close very fast and today they were best friends.

"Hanna..." She looked up smiling.

“Guns n Roses will be playing here in June!! I can't believe it, I thought I would never see them live again! ” She gave little leaps of joy.

"Hmm that’s great, I'm happy for you," Y/N said, smiling at the girl one more time before going back to work. She didn't listen to much music so going to concerts and festivals was not quite her style.

"Come with me?" She crouched down in front of the table.

"Oh I don't know, you know I don't like these crowded places."

"Please. I don't want to go alone. ” She made puppy eyes, staring at Y/N.

"Do not look at me like that!" She pointed her index finger, but Hanna was persistent. "Ah, fine, I'll go with you!" She gave in.

"Yess!!" Hanna celebrated as she stood up doing a victory dance.

Y/N started laughing, making the girl stop.

"What's it?"

She pointed with the pen. Looking back, Hanna saw her boss shaking his head as he looked in her direction.

"Shit!" She scratched the back of her neck, sitting on the chair in front of Y/N’s table. "Do you think he's going to fire me?"

"No ... but he'll think twice before inviting you to the Christmas party this year." She giggled a little.

"Thank God..." She breathed a sigh of relief.

"What day will the concert be?" Y/N asked, going back to signing papers.

“June 10th. I'm going to buy tickets today after work, I'll bring yours tomorrow.”

Hanna looked like a child when she was happy, which always relaxed Y/N's serious mood.

"All right." She prolonged the first word, writing the day on a post-it note.

---

June 10th arrived and Hanna made sure they arrived two hours ahead to get a spot close to the stage.

Wearing denim shorts and a black T-shirt, she accompanied Hanna across the field until she reached the edge of the stage. At least she would be able to see the show up close.

The hot afternoon sun went down and a cool breeze came with the night, but Y/N's irritation didn’t fade away. The band was almost an hour late for the concert and every few minutes someone was bumping into her, making her wish she had stayed at home.

The stage lights came on and a guy with black curly hair came on stage, playing a riff that sounded wonderful to her ears.

Kanskje jeg vil glede meg over denne konserten. She thought to herself

Maybe I’ll enjoy this concert.

Soon the rest of the band members appeared and she became convinced that it would be a good show. That's until the vocalist entered the stage.

He was wearing tight white shorts and a leather jacket, his hair in a red bandana and her heart missed a beat.

Her mouth was slightly open and she put her hand on her chest, to make sure her heart was still beating.

It was him. Axl. The guy from the cottage.

He funnily ran and danced around the stage and his voice sounded so different from what she remembered. But there was no doubt, it was him.

"What's it?" Hanna screamed near her ear when she saw that her friend was not moving.

"It's him!"

"Who?"

"The guy from the cottage!"

She had told Hanna about the event, although she had never mentioned his name.

"Axl Rose??" Hanna's eyes widened, looking from Y/N to Axl and to Y/N again. "Holy shit!"

For the rest of the concert, Y/N couldn't take her eyes off of him anymore. But he hadn't noticed her. They were on the side and he spent more time in the center.

But then the guitar solo started and the same guy from the beginning took over from Axl, who started to leave the stage.

He was smiling, laughing at something and then his eyes shifted to the right and he saw her. The smile disappeared completely from his face and stopped walking.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds before he walked over to the edge, making the fans next to Y/N scream out of control.

"Good to see you." He smiled, lowering himself in front of her.

She nodded, smiling, not being able to form words.

Fans around her started trying to push her to get closer to him, the screams making it impossible for her to understand what he had said.

He could tell by her face that she didn't understand, pointing sideways with his thumb and making a sign with his fingers that meant later.

"Backstage later." He spoke again and she could read his lips, finally managing to assimilate the information.

She nodded quickly, giving him a thumbs up.

After the solo, the band played a few more songs before finishing. At every chance he got, Axl came over to her, singing while looking into her eyes, making a huge smile come over her lips.

When the show was over she pulled Hanna by the hand, heading backstage. Where a security guard at the entrance made her stop.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, Axl is waiting for me." She said with a small smile.

"Identification, please."

"She showed him the concert ticket."

"This is the common ticket, I’m sorry Y/N, but you can’t pass."

"Wait! Y/N? ” A man in a red button-down shirt appeared behind the security guard. "Are you Y/N?"

She nodded.

"Let her in, Axl wants to talk to her."

"What about this one?" He pointed to Hanna.

"She’s with me!" Y/N said, taking her friend's hand.

"Let her in too."

The security guard made room, letting the two pass.

"Come, this way." He started walking down several corridors. "I'm Doug Goldstein, by the way." He turned for half a second offering them a small smile.

"We're here," he said after almost a minute of walking.

Opening the door there was a spacious room with several couches, all the members of the band were there, except him. There were other women in the room, some on the lap of the band members.

"They are groupies." Hanna whispered in Y/N's ear.

"What is it?"

"They like rockstars, travel with bands and sleep with them."

Y/N nodded, understanding what she meant. "Lucky for them, they are very cute."

"Aren’t they?" She laughed softly.

"Hey, I saw you two at the gig!" A tall, blond guy said getting closer.

"Oh my God, Duff McKagan noticed me during the gig!" Hanna said, putting her hand on her forehead as if she was going to pass out.

Duff laughed.

"And you are?" He offered his hand for them to shake.

"My goodness!!" She gave a little squeak. "I'm Hanna and this is Y/N." She shook his hand. "I shook Duff McKagan's hand!!" She looked at Y/N. "Do you believe? Me?" Hanna pointed to herself.

Y/N and Duff laughed.

"Is she always that excited?" He asked as he shook Y/N's hand.

"She is a huge fan." She said laughing.

"I am! I am! I even have a T-shirt signed by Slash. I paid

200 bucks on it.” She said the last part with a little remorse for the money spent.

"We can get you another one, I can ask the guys to sign it for you." He smiled a little and Hanna smiled, nodding quickly.

“So you are the famous Y/N! Axl has talked about you for years! ”

Before she could answer she heard his voice saying her name.

Looking to the side, Axl was standing in the hall, wearing only his shorts while a towel was slung over his shoulder.

Det forblir varmt. She thought.

He’s still hot.

He nodded, indicating that she should follow him, so she did.

After a few steps, Axl stopped, opening a door that had his name written on it, and letting her in first. As soon as he closed the door, her lips were glued to his.

Their kiss was hot as summer rain and urgent as if they only had a few seconds to do it. Her hands touched his face, bringing him closer, while his hands infiltrated in her hair, gently pulling the strands at the top of her neck.

A small moan left her lips and he smiled during the kiss, pulling away just long enough to say, "God, how I missed that sound."

He moved his hands to her waist, starting to walk farther into the room, taking her with him.

"Axl." She sighed his name when their lips parted.

He moved away from her a few inches as he stroked her face with his right hand, the left one remaining on her waist, keeping her close.

"Fuck, you haven't changed a thing." He looked at every detail on her face, as if he wanted to memorize it.

"I missed you." She smiled, touching his face.

Axl closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of her touch.

"I missed you so much, you have no idea." He opened his eyes, kissing her again.

The kiss grew hotter and when she realized Axl's hands were on the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms, breaking and kissing and allowing him to remove the garment.

He let out a small growl in the kiss when she pulled his hair gently and he lowered his hands to her ass, squeezing her flesh before he propelled her upward.

Y/N intertwined her legs around Axl's waist and he started to move towards a sofa in the living room. He laid her down gently, removing his lips from hers just so that he could make a trail down her neck, slowly going into the valley between her breasts.

She moved her hands to her back, unclasping her bra and allowing Axl to enjoy her nipples. He took one of them to his mouth, sucking lightly by biting the skin while his fingers played with the other, causing a small moan to come out of her lips.

Y/N moved her hand towards Axl's shorts, feeling his already rigid erection over the fabric, making him moan and look her in the eyes. His gaze was filled with lust with a touch of malice, his pupils dilated.

Continuing his kisses to the south, Axl stopped at the waistband of her shorts, unbuttoning the garment and removing it from her body. His fingers caressed her core over her panties, making her gasp.

He slowly removed the last piece of clothing from her body, applying soft kisses to the extension of her leg, until the material was finally free and she was completely exposed to his gaze.

He stood up, removing his white shorts, tossing them on the floor before removing his sneakers in a hurry. He wore no underwear and the sight of his free and throbbing member made Y/N bite her lower lip while she sat down.

Axl climbed onto the couch, kissing her again. She moved her hands to his shoulders, pushing him to sit on the sofa, his back against the armrest when she climbed on his lap, making him smile mischievously.

Y/N touched his member, running its length a few times before collecting some of her juices with its tip and positioning it at her entrance.

Slowly she started to go down, keeping her gaze fixed on Axl's, she felt him fill her completely, letting a small moan leave her lips with the sensitivity.

She started with her movements, going up and down. Axl's hands found her hips, squeezing them firmly and guiding her movements until she reached a steady rhythm.

"Axl" She moaned his name, throwing her head back and allowing the sensation of pleasure to take over her mind.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful." He moved his lips to her now exposed neck, making her moan even more.

After a few minutes, Axl started to move his hips, meeting her movements, hitting her G-spot with strength and precision, making a loud moan leave her lips.

"Yes, moan for me, baby." He moved his thumb to her lips, allowing her to suck it, and he grunted at the sight.

"Axl ... I’m going to ..." Her breathing was rapid when she uttered the words between moans.

"I know baby. Cum to me. ” He said, moving his right hand to her clit, applying precise movements that made her moan even louder, if that was possible.

A cry with his name filled the room when she reached her peak, rolling her eyes and feeling her legs tremble with the wave of pleasure that spread through her body.

Axl's hands cupped her face, bringing her close to him as they continued to move. He enveloped her in a deep kiss and her hands tugged at his hair, knowing it was his weak spot.

"Oh, fuck." He groaned after a few minutes, parting their lips, but staying close enough that their noses would bump up every few seconds. "I love you." He said looking into her eyes, his thrusts becoming sloppier.

"I love you." She whimpered due to sensitivity, she could feel her walls tightening for another orgasm and she scraped his back with greed when a long moan left her lips and she closed her eyes.

“Fuck… Y/N.” It was all that Axl could say before they could both be hit by another orgasm, his jets filling her while her walls tightened his member, their juices mixing inside of her.

Sweaty and out of breath, all that could be heard in the room were their heavy breaths.

She leaned her forehead against his, holding his face with both hands as he hugged her.

"You don't know how much time I spent looking for you." He whispered.

She opened her eyes to meet his gaze.

"I hired a guy, but he never found you." 

She removed some locks of his hair away from his sweaty forehead. "I went back to the cottage the following year, but you weren't there."

"Shit, I was on tour." He giggled a little.

"When I was told we were going to play here, I couldn't help but hope that you would come."

"Well, I'm here now." She smiled sweetly, kissing his lips.

“Come to America with me? I don't want to be away from you anymore. ”

She stopped for a few seconds, thinking about his proposal.

"Please." He pleaded in a whisper.

Slowly she started to nod. “Yes, I will go with you! I don't want to be away from you anymore either. ”

The two smiled at each other before engaging in another passionate kiss, glad for finally being together again.

[phoenixtakaramono]

Does Bing gē Have Descendants in ‘The Untold Tale?’

This topic has come up a few times since The Untold Tale takes place in the PIDW universe (post-Bingge vs Bingmei extra), I figured I might as well compile and archive my official answer here for me to refer my AO3 readers to in the future for convenience’s sake. I hope everyone doesn’t mind. :) I’m always happy to answer questions!

TL;DR

Q: Will we see Bing gē having fathered children with his harem of 600 or so wives in TUT?

A: For TUT, the answer is a definite “no.” There were a lot of factors which’d contributed to my decision. I’ll try to explain my reasoning down below.

Context

In PIDW, it is canon that Luo Binghe has a bountiful number of descendants with his harem of 600-or-so wives. It is a detail that has been mentioned even in ch1 of SVSSS and in ep1 of the donghua.

(SVSSS Excerpt - ch1)

(SVSSS donghua - ep1)

I like to plan things ahead of time. So from very early on, I knew this would be something I would have to decide on whether or not to address when I’d finally decided to expand TUT from just a prologue into a full-blown story. And after contemplating it, I decided against adding children into the story. It is because 1) it would make the situation more complicated, and 2) it would take TUT in a different direction that wouldn’t be fun for me to write.

I’m a very decisive writer, meaning when I make my mind up about something, chances are I won’t change my mind. This is because I would have already planned it into my plot outline, which means changing a decision would require me to change other details in the other chapters I have planned for that story. (I’m typically not a spontaneous writer; I try not to write spontaneously because when you’re a writer who rotates through multiple WIPs with different characters across different genres or writing styles, you inevitably have writer’s block because you probably won’t remember all the ideas or the direction you had whenever you return back to a different WIP. To reduce this shortcoming, it helps me personally to have a plot outline. This way I can return to any WIP, read my notes and then transcribe them into legible paragraphs, find a way to transition between the story beats I have to hit for that chapter, and then eventually post the final draft to AO3 when I feel it’s ready.)

Having made a decision, I knew I had to set it up in TUT and give a “reasonable explanation in-story.” Hence, in ch2, we see:

(Excerpt I - ch2)

Basically the set-up is TUT takes place post-Bingge vs Bingmei, but between “the third or fourth book” of the hypothetical PIDW webnovel series aka before Airplane wrote the fanservicey chapters where the luckier of LBH’s wives give birth to children during the harem drama plots and the children are probably rarely, if ever, mentioned again in the story as a lot of stallion novels tend to do.

(Excerpt II - ch2)

(Excerpt III - ch2)

Contrarian Tendencies

You know the saying: Monkey see, monkey do? In my case, it’s monkey see, monkey do not do.

A little fun fact about me as a writer: if I have already seen a fanfic where someone has already written a concept or idea into their story, chances are I will just avoid it entirely in my own stories. I don’t know why this aversion exists, but I’m assuming it’s because of my counterculture hipster inclinations and an intrinsic fear of plagiarism which has been beaten into all of our skulls since adolescence. There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by other people’s works. Technically everything’s been done before in writing so, as a writer, a good rule of thumb is to always try to give it your own unique spin on things. So for me, my brain somehow interpreted this a step further. This is a reason why I try to avoid reading stories from whichever fandom my WIP is from during the writing process of updating a fic, because this is how I get influenced. Once I see an idea or interpretation from another fanfiction, it influences me to not want to write it into my own. This is a very strong unconscious impulse for me. I guess this is just the neurons in my brain’s thinking that this way, it won’t be something my readers will have read before and the story idea will come across as different or fresh, and mine. In a way this is also how I show respect for fanfiction writers in the same fandom—by being inspired to not be inspired, ha. I like to think every story in the world serves a niche audience, so seeing a diverse range of originality and interpretations in a fandom is a good thing. This is also how I feel when I am able to identify certain popular tropes or depictions or patterns in a fandom; 99% of the time, it makes me feel a compulsion to “go against the grain” or write the opposite. For example, you have no idea how long it took me to come around the idea of incorporating the fanon “A-Yuan” into TUT. However cute it is, the moment it dominated the fandom (well, “dominated” is an exaggeration; it’s more like I’ve seen enough, especially in the Original LBH/ SY | SQQ tag), my gut reaction was to nope out of using it. But after seeing a lot of comments in my inbox with readers affectionately calling SY “A-Yuan,” I’d contemplated it for a long time and it wasn’t until ch4 that I decisively decided that yes, I can have Bing gē calling SY “A-Yuan” in TUT—but it has to be at the right moment for maximum dramatic and emotional impact. (See this thread that started it all. And this is the small sneak peek I wrote where LBH will call SY that for the first time.) <- This is the rare 1% where I actually conformed to what’s popular.

In this case, when I finally decided to expand the prologue into a full-blown story, coincidentally I had just recently read a good Binggeyuan (Bingyuan) fanfic which featured a kidnapped Shen Yuan interacting with Bing gē’s harem and LBH’s children/descendants. I’d liked their portrayal and even thought the children were cute. <- However, with me having reading this, the problem came up: I felt the familiar stubbornness in me rearing its head. So knowing myself, if I had included children, it is very likely the direction that I would have gone down for TUT would have been the opposite. To further complicate matters, you have to keep in mind the kind of writer I am. I tend to like grounding stories with a semblance of realism, no matter if the genre is pseudohistorical fantasy, romance, sci-fi, etc. And this writer has seen and read quite a few harem and palace intrigue Chinese dramas/ premises.

For further context, in those types of “historical” C-dramas^, in that sort of environment which fosters scheming, competition, jealousy, etc, it is almost expected to see heirs aka children aka descendants harmed along with the women. Innocent parties are often victims in these sorts of cutthroat premises, to underscore the underlying message the show or novel wishes to present. (See Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace. See Yanxi Palace. See The Legend of Haolan. See Nirvana in Fire. See The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage. Etc.) And me being me, this would be the direction I would take. Remember, while TUT is meant to emulate a legitimate danmei C-novel reading experience in a fantasy world, I do drop pseudohistorical and cultural Easter eggs into the story. So trust me when I say you would not like the direction TUT would have gone down in, had I made LBH have children with his harem. I mean, theoretically yes, we could’ve seen endearing children characters from me, but you would have also seen me addressing a lot of the baggage that comes with (see Comment III Excerpt down below).

The situation with dissolving Bing gē’s harem is already complicated enough. As his romance with Shen Yuan develops, I didn’t want to have an additional headache thinking about how to address the issue of LBH having children already. Divorces in a pseudohistorical context is already a heavy topic—even more so when it’s divorces with children in the mix. Naturally I will still have SY and LBH eventually discuss the matter of legitimate heirs since LBH will essentially become the Sacred Ruler of all Three Realms and it’s a traditional precedent for an emperor to bed his empress, noble consort, and imperial concubines until he has his heirs (plural, because the rate of mortality was high in ancient China). In TUT’s case, at that point in the story SY will remind LBH that he’s essentially an immortal sovereign so there isn’t any need for an heir unless he wishes to retire. Furthermore, he will inform LBH that he could set a new precedent since he’s already different from the other emperors from history (with him being of half-Heavenly Demon and half-human cultivator lineage); as long as LBH is fully aware of all perspectives of the situation, he doesn’t necessarily need to conform to all traditions if this is something he really feels strongly about. But this future conversation(s) is likely the extent of it.

But wait, you say, what about a certain someone who’s going to be transmigrated as an imperial crown prince? Isn’t he going to be in that sort of vicious upbringing? <- Yes. But that’s an entirely seperate matter. In a way, since I’ve decided Bing gē will not have had any children or descendants in TUT, with Airplane, this now presents an opportunity for me to show the consequences of being one of the many children of an emperor with a harem of women vying for one man’s attention—and the power struggle that’d ensue in this kind of environment. It’s an interesting What-If parallel, if you think about it.

AO3 Comments

Although these are just small excerpts from replies I’ve written before, it’s nice and orderly to just compile them here for everyone since these will be buried underneath all the comments as TUT updates:

(Comment I- ch3)

(Comment II- ch4)

(Comment III- ch4)

Because of seeing comments that have asked me for my thoughts on whether or not I will include LBH’s children, I’ve had so much fun seeing theories thrown around: from LBH’s blood parasites being able to control conception, to someone’s headcanon about LBH being a hybrid and all that entails scientifically (think: mules). I will say in TUT, it’s more the former since in PIDW he’s supposed to have descendants; we’re pretending Bing gē doesn’t have any yet (and now definitely won’t, especially after having heard SY’s “prophecy”) because he subconsciously does not want children due to certain fears, trauma, etc. And his Heavenly Demon’s “blood parasites” (blood manipulation) is a convenient story device to explain why no wife has gotten pregnant yet.

I hope this explanation makes sense! Mainly I just wanted to have this archived on tumblr so that I have this post to refer to moving forward.

On a side note: especially since ch4 had been posted, quite a few people have actually mentioned they’ve read my replies to other comments and/or I have seen different people having hopped onto other readers’ comment threads (for example, imagine my pleasant surprise when I saw a reader you lovely person, you helpfully jumping in to respond to another reader’s questions about TUT, and their answers were actually aligned with what I would’ve answered!), so it’s always such a thrill whenever I see this level of engagement happening. I can’t explain why, but seeing this happening is just so cute to me. It really makes this writer feel so warm and fuzzy inside!

[cooliogirl101]

Hello! TLM is my favourite Bleach fic of ALL TIME and I wanted to say thank you so much for writing it!!! I’ve obsessively gone through the TLM tags and AUs and I’m still impressed and amazed by how awesome (and terrifying) Sayuri is. I love your writing style and how you really flesh out all of your OCs :D anyway, after going through all the tags I realized I still don’t know how Sayuri and Tousen’s first meeting went and why it makes Sayuri so terrifying?? If you don’t plan to write it (1/2)

(2/2) Can you still tell us how it goes? Also, what was the original direction you planned to take TLM? It seems Sayuri goes along with Aizen’s plans but what end did you have in mind before you abandoned it, and how were you going to get there? No pressure to answer but it’d be awesome to know :) Again thank you for sharing your awesome writing!! I love all your AUs

~~

Thank you so much for sending me this message anon-- it really means a lot to me that even after all this time, people still remember and care about the characters I’ve created. 

To be honest, I didn’t have a firm direction in mind when I started writing TLM. I just saw all these stories with positive character development, where the person in question becomes a better person throughout the course of the story, and thought to myself, hmm, what if I wrote an SIOC story where the MC just...heads in the opposite direction. An SIOC that starts off, all things considered, as a reasonably kind, decent, empathetic person and evolves into someone who commits atrocities without blinking an eye, all in the name of love, loyalty, and keeping her little brother safe (that being said, I did imagine a few scenarios where Sayuri ends up on the side of the ‘good guys’-- see my black king au).

Regarding her obtaining Tousen’s loyalty...well the story there doesn’t start with Sayuri and Tousen, per se. It actually starts with Tousen’s unnamed friend (who I’m going to call Yui). 

Warnings: Psychological torture, suicide mention, manipulation

Yui, who saw Sayuri sitting by herself at lunch at the Academy (Sousuke was on a mission) and broke away from her group of friends just to keep her company. Yui, who loves drawing in a way Sayuri both misses and envies (for her, the act of drawing is forever tainted by the portraits of hundreds dead-- and no matter what people think of her, Sayuri has never delighted in death). Yui, who always keeps a bag of seeds on her to feed the crows that are a nuisance to everyone else. Yui, who seeks her out even after they both graduate and join different divisions. Yui, with her quiet kindness and soothing aura, like cool water on a feverish face. 

Yui, who spoke passionately about creating a better world, who believed so fiercely in the inherent goodness of people. Yui, who was murdered by the man she loved. 

Sayuri stares out the window, face as expressionless as always. Normally, the death of a high-ranking noble’s wife would have been news for weeks, if not months. The fact that Yui’s death has been hushed up, kept quiet to the point that only a select few outside the nobility even know about it, is as good as a confession. 

She glances down at her newest portrait, lips tightening for the briefest second. Then she leaves to find her brother. 

~~

Tousen Kaname learns of his only friend’s death nearly a month after it happens. He makes it as far as the gates to Central 46 (demanding answers, justice, revenge) before he finds himself wrestled to the ground, arms wrenched behind him to the point of dislocation, face shoved into the dirt. He can’t breathe, can’t smell anything except dirt and dust and his own blood, but he struggles anyway, screams his rage and grief into the air, cries murderer! for all to hear. 

“What are you doing? Stop,” a voice orders sharply, cold as frost. Kaname feels the guards around him freeze, even as the guard kneeling on his back shoves his face further into the dirt warningly.

“Aizen-sama,” one of the other guards says respectfully, almost reverently. “Don’t worry, we have the situation well under control. We were just about to escort the miscreant into a cell--”

“No need. I’ll take it from here,” the first voice says coolly. “Head back to your posts, you’re making a scene.” 

“Aizen-sama, please, there’s no need to trouble yourself--”

“I’ll decide for myself what troubles me, thank you,” she says shortly. The next thing Kaname knows, a gentle hand is helping him up and he lurches forward, clinging to it. 

“Please,” he says desperately. He doesn’t know who his savior is but judging by the respect-borderline-fear the guards had addressed her with, she had to be someone important. “Please, you have to-- my friend, she-- she’s dead, they killed her, and--please, you have to make them pay, you have to get justice for her, you hear me? She didn’t do anything, she was good and now she’s dead and-- and--”

“Calm down. Focus on me,” the voice-- Aizen-sama--orders, quiet but firm, as Kaname breaks off into a series of increasingly panicked breaths. He obeys, clinging to her voice and her hand like a lifeline, focusing on her aura-- like starlight, he can’t help but think. Cold and distant, but no less bright for it.

“Good,” Aizen-sama says quietly and Kaname feels his shoulders relax slightly. “Come with me. We’ll talk in private.”

It isn’t until Kaname finds himself sitting on an absurdly comfortable chair with a cup of tea in his hands, his wounds cleaned and bandaged, that his mysterious benefactor speaks up again.

“You’re Kaname, aren’t you?” She asks, causing him to stiffen. “Yui talked about you.” 

Kaname swallows, gripping his cup tightly. 

“You knew her?” He asks hoarsely. 

“I did,” she replies. Her tone is unchanged from before, still as emotionless as ever, and yet--

Yui had once told Kaname that he was the most perceptive person she knew. He reaches out with his own spiritual energy-- feels the tiniest ripple in a sea of composure that speaks of a grief that mirrors his own-- and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter how much she might pretend otherwise, Aizen-sama had cared for Yui. 

Which means that Kaname is no longer alone in his quest to find justice for his friend. He can’t deny the sheer, bone-crushing relief he feels at that. 

“Then please. Don’t let them get away with this,” he begs. “She deserved-- deserves better. She deserves justice.”

There’s a long pause. 

“A month,” Aizen-sama says finally. Kaname blinks.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“Give me a month,” she repeats. “Trust me, it won’t take longer than that.”

~~

This is what the rest of the world sees:

A week after his wife’s death, Fukushima Akito stops going to the social events and parties he’s known for. Those who are close to him say he hasn’t been sleeping well, that he’s lost his appetite, that he’s been drinking more.

“It’s understandable. His wife just passed,” people say. “He’s just grieving.”

Two weeks in, the heir to the Fukushima Clan starts talking to himself, shouting at things that aren’t there, crying for his deceased wife to leave him alone. He refuses to see anyone, even his closest friends. 

“He’ll come around. Give him time,” people say, a bit more worriedly this time. 

Behind closed doors, the servants whisper as well.

“Gone mad with guilt, I imagine,” one murmurs.

“Serves him right,” another says. “Lady Yui deserved better.”

Eighteen days after Fukushima Yui’s death, he starts complaining about bruises appearing on his skin that no one else can see. Twenty-one days after, Akito shatters a mirror with his bare hands, continuing to pummel the shards until his father and three cousins pull him away. Twenty-five days after, his screams wake the entire household-- his servants come running only to find him clawing at his neck.

“It-- it won’t come off,” he gasps. “The noose. It won’t come off!”

At twenty-nine days, he breaks down and begs for Yui’s forgiveness. 

Exactly thirty days after Lady Yui dies, his two best friends-- the heir of the Goto Clan and the heir of the Miyake Clan-- finally have enough and drag him out of the house.

“It’s not good for you, being cooped up in that house like that. No wonder you’ve been going crazy,” Miyake Kaede complains. 

“Look, we’re taking you out to have a good time and there’s nothing you can do to convince us otherwise,” Goto Dai adds.

And at first, it seems to work. Once he leaves his house, it’s like a weight has been lifted off Fukushima Akito’s shoulders-- he begins to relax, he laughs for the first time in weeks. Then at 4 p.m., he pulls out his zanpakuto and slaughters both of his closest friends without warning.

At 4:13 p.m., Fukushima Akito takes his own life.

(“That was unusually brutal of you,” Sousuke comments, looking down at the carnage from a nearby rooftop. Sayuri was many things-- ruthless, efficient, merciless-- but rarely cruel. 

“I suppose I was curious what it would take to destroy a person,” Sayuri says after a pause.

“And? Did you receive your answer?”

Sayuri hums.

“The thing is, Sousuke, if you want to hurt a man, you go after him. If you want to break him, you go after those he loves. But to shatter a man beyond repair...he has to tear down everything he loves himself,” she says slowly. “You saw Fukushima Akito’s face once he’d seen what he’d done, when the illusion fell away and he saw the bodies of his best friends in front of him-- there’s no coming back from that.”

“Did you predict that would happen? That he would end up killing himself?” Sousuke asks curiously.

“Does it matter?” Sayuri asks indifferently. “He was finished either way.”

Sousuke looks at her for a moment. There’s no joy on her face, no satisfaction or pride, simply the steadfast resoluteness of completing a job that wasn’t particularly enjoyable, but which had to be done.

“Sometimes,” he says slowly, “I think it was a good thing I ended up being the one with Kyouka Suigetsu as a zanpakuto, not you.”

He may have provided her the ability, but every single torment, every single nightmare Fukushima Akito suffered during the last month of his life? That had been all Sayuri. 

Sayuri smiles wryly.

“No, instead I ended up with Shiroi Seiun. Is that better or worse?” She asks.)

~~

One day later, Sayuri opens her front door to find Tousen Kaname standing outside her home. She’s mildly impressed, although not surprised, that he’s managed to track her down. 

“How did you do it? He demands in lieu of a greeting.

Sayuri pauses for a moment, then steps aside to let him in.

“I won’t insult you by pretending I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Fukushima Akito is dead. Is that not what you wanted?”

Kaname swallows.

“You killed him,” he says, voice shaking. Sayuri doesn’t bother to deny it-- she may not have been the one to strike the final blow, but she walked Fukushima Akito to his grave. “I...I should report you.”

“Then do it,” she says calmly. “If you truly believe I did something wrong, turn me in. I certainly won’t stop you.”

Kaname hesitates, looking torn.

“You...you won’t?” He asks uncertainly.

Sayuri takes a step closer to him-- watches him stiffen, sees him fight with himself not to retreat-- and brings his hand up to her heart, where her spiritual energy pulses the brightest. 

“You’re a sensor, aren’t you?” She murmurs, leaning in so that her lips are by his ear. “You tell me. Am I lying to you right now?”

Kaname’s brow furrows as he focuses. Her spiritual energy is as calm as ever, no fluctuations or dips that might hint at a lie.

“Why?” He asks after a moment. “You say you won’t stop me if I choose to report you. Why?”

Sayuri studies him for a moment, the way he broadcasts his every emotion on his face for the world to see-- the naked vulnerability of someone who’d never learned to hide his expressions.

“Yui spoke of you, you know,” she says quietly. “The blind boy with the gentle heart, who shared her dream of creating a peaceful world. She trusted your judgement but more than that, she trusted that you would always do the right thing. I believed in Yui’s goodness and so I’ll believe in yours.” She lets his arm drop. “If you truly believe that what I did was wrong, that I shed unnecessary blood-- that what I did was unjust-- then by all means, turn me in to Central 46. Make me accept punishment. But if not...”

Kaname turns his head away.

“Was it really necessary to target his friends too?” He whispers.

Sayuri exhales.

“There were three main factors protecting Fukushima Akito. There was his own family, of course. However, although the Fukushima Clan is fairly powerful on its own, its true strength lies in its allies,” she states. “The Miyake Clan has two seats on Central 46. The Goto Clan has four. With those alliances in place, Fukushima Akito was untouchable. Now, however...” She tilts her head to the side. “By tomorrow, the entire Fukushima Clan will cease to exist. The Miyake and Goto Clans will make sure of that.”

She pauses.

“As for Miyake Kaede and Goto Dai...they chose to protect Fukushima Akito knowing full well what he was, what he’d done. They were not innocent.”

Kaname’s jaw clenches.

“Still, you...you could have gone through the courts, you could have--”

“And I would have gotten exactly as far as you did,” Sayuri interrupts sharply. “Spiritual power and political power are not the same, Kaname. I may have plenty of the former but in this world, the justice a person receives is decided by the latter. Yui died for no reason and the courts let her killer get away with it because his family was powerful, and he knew the right people. Me? I made sure those involved were punished for what they’d done,” she says, voice hardening. “For the crime of killing his wife, Fukushima Akito paid with his life. For the crime of betraying Fukushima Yui, a member of their family, the Fukushima Clan will be destroyed by their former allies. And for the crime of shielding a murderer, the Miyake and Goto Clans lost their heirs. Now tell me, is that not justice?”

Kaname swallows. He has no response to that. 

“One thing you’ll learn, Kaname, is that the system fails,” Sayuri says after a moment’s pause, the anger in her voice replaced by something softer, tired. A deep sadness that makes something in Kaname’s chest ache. “Things slip through the cracks and all too often, it’s the innocents, the Yui’s of this world that pay for it, while their abusers, aided by the courts, go free. And when that happens, you have a question to ask yourself-- whose side are you going to take?”

~~

“And you say I’m the manipulative one,” Sousuke’s voice comes from behind her, amused. “What do you call that then?”

“I didn’t lie to him,” Sayuri protests. 

“Never said you did.” He pauses. “That boy...he’s blind.”

“Yes, he is,” Sayuri agrees. “Observant of you to notice.”

Sousuke laughs quietly.

“Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?” He asks, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You think he’s worth the effort?”

Sayuri pauses.

“I think he has potential. Might even become captain, someday,” she says. 

Sousuke’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, really? Care to bet on it?” He asks slyly.

The corner of Sayuri’s mouth quirks up.

“Sure, I’ll take that bet.”

(Ironically, she caused herself to lose that bet.

“Oh sure, when Kaname achieves bankai but doesn’t want to be captain, everyone’s understanding about it. Me on the other hand, I’ve never released my bankai in my life, and yet when I ask to stay a lieutenant, I get Kyouraku shoving a captain’s haori in my direction and telling me to be at the captain’s meeting in 10 minutes. How is that fair?”

“No one believes that you haven’t attained bankai yet, Sayuri.”

“But it’s true.”

“It’s true that you’ve never released it, not that you haven’t attained it.”

“I would have thought you of all people would be on my side in this matter, Sousuke.”

“I prefer you as my equal, Sayuri, not my subordinate. I would have thought you, of all people, would know that by now.”)

[grunge-mermaid]

grunge rewatches Doctor Who

01x01 "Rose"

I miss low-budget Who. now it's all lens flares and explosions

that is the most 2005 haircut I have ever seen

run

Christopher Eccleston was good

definitely the right choice to bring back the series, also the right choice to only do one season

I miss the simple sonic screwdriver

oh Jackie...

Doctor What

Rose is not playing your games, sir

oh man these graphics

plastic Mickey is uh something

TARDIS!!

lots of planets have a north

is Jackie Tyler the opposite of Donna Noble (always accidentally in the thick of it vs completely oblivious to everything)

wow Mickey really is terrible isn't he?

I would jump in that TARDIS in a nanosecond how do you even consider turning that down?

especially with Jodie Whittaker my beloved at the helm

01x02 "The End of the World"

oh hey it's the fob watch!

what is the date system in the year 5 Billion?

flirting with a tree. sometimes I forget Julian Bashir is not the only horny alien fucker

FACE OF BOE

the iPod!!

why are you telling this to the plumber?

I know I said I'd jump in the TARDIS in a nanosecond but those are things you should have considered before getting in, Rose

the Doctor has a point with the Deep South comment

diversity win! your racist flesh trampoline is trans!

let us mourn her with a traditional ballad *plays Britney Spears- Toxic* genuinely one of the best moments of the entire show, classic & new

why does the Sun Filter Descending warning sound like the fucking drive through at the Dairy Queen?

fyi, Cassandra, there's an e on the end of "j'accuse" so you pronounce the "s"

honestly, the British grasp of the French language just astonishes me (most of this rage comes from Escape to the Country and Great British Bake Off)

you...you need to be clever to turn a dial in the opposite direction? ok doctor

I think I had that Rimmel mascara in high school

01x03 "The Unquiet Dead"

ah fuck. zombies. I really hate zombies. I have internalized kinemortophobia

(bc I myself am a zombie, in case the joke wasn't clear)

(yes I had to look up the word for a fear of zombies)

"an error has occurred please try again" Crave really trying to protect me from myself

oh there we go

no, Crave, I refuse to skip the best New Who intro there ever was

Gwyneth my beloved

"you look beautiful considering you're human" excuse me sir who was calling out Rose on her racism just one episode ago?

but god dang Billie Piper in a Victorian dress

the skin on my neck is crawling right now but I'm gonna power through

I'm gonna power through all the zombie episodes

what the Shakespeare is going on? heh

ohhhhhh noooooo not the creepy hissing-whispering bullshit no please no

angry Billie Piper in a Victorian dress with a cane? that's just cruel

officially a Rose/Gwyneth stan over here

Bad Wolf!

STOP WITH THE CREEPY WHISPERY CHILDREN'S VOICES I BEG OF YOU

"time isn't a straight line, it can be twisted into any shape" vs "wibbly wobbly timey wimey" sums up the difference between Nine and Ten perfectly

ok one more episode for this post (but I will probably keep making these)

01x04 "Aliens of London"/ 01x05 "World War Three"

oh for fuck's sake it's the slitheen

I mean this was first and foremost a children's show of course they're gonna have fart joke aliens

as someone who has recurring nightmares about her parents thinking she's gone missing (despite being active on social media and tagging my location in posts) & declaring her dead after a relatively short period of time, this is literally one of my worst fears. top 5 easily

more Bad Wolf!

I know this was 2005 but "you're so gay" as an insult in an episode written by a gay man who was also the show runner and therefore had the power to, you know, cut that line (or not even write it in the first place), is...odd?

HARRIET JONES

wow I really hate Mickey

like, I'm not missing the implications of a working class black man accused of murdering a pretty white woman and that is absolutely unfair

but seriously what a useless man-child

another diversity win! your genocidal fart monster is a bi/pan philanderer!

(ok so they don't indicate the gender of the "young farmer" he was having an affair with but I'm extrapolating bc they said "a mistress and a young farmer" instead of "two mistresses")

I do appreciate when shows are quietly queer but we also need good, solid, obvious, positive representation and we're not there yet

these graphics are killing me

ah fuck it's a two-parter

fine

I'll watch part 2

sorry this post is so long

(not sorry enough to put it under a cut tho)

"electricity slurping" is not a caption I expected to see but ok

yes, Mickey your basic Nokia is gonna get a really good pic of that fart monster, good work

ok that's more the fault of 2005 technology than Mickey's and it's better than nothing

I just really dislike Mickey

why were those steel barricades installed in 1991?

what was happening in 1991 that would necessitate that installation?

wouldn't it make more sense to have them installed sometime during the Cold War instead of right after it ended?

I know it was Uncertain Times after the Soviet Union collapsed, but they certainly weren't anywhere near as much of a threat in 1991 as they were in, say, 1962

Harriet Jones using her Karen energy for good

oh actually that's a pretty good picture for a 2005 Nokia

Raxacoricofallapatorius!

...why is the Prime Minister's desk covered in skittles?

voicemail dooms us all. does it ever

Harriet Jones is a tory isn't she?

that's all for this round of grunge rewatches doctor who (I got distracted by reddit around the voicemail line).

[maxbernini]

sekou and zoe :0? for 3 headcanons

tysm anon 💕 sorry this is so long i’m on mobile & can’t do a read more

zoe m (assuming it’s her and not wtf’s zoe lol):

- zoe is THE postergirl for “pretending you’re famous in the shower and being interviewed”, which is cool, we all do it, except zoe doesn’t limit herself to the shower, nor is she silent. many times ava has come home to find zoe in the kitchen telling an invisible oprah a highly exaggerated version of her life: something about kieu my once being SO lovesick zoe thought she had a fever and had to carry her to the hospital, bridal-style, and also there were zombies. it’s an easy way to make nora laugh too, but on her worst days, zoe will hold her and when she’s calm, give an “off the record interview” where she details why she loves her sister, the strongest person she knows

- she writes fan-fiction. it used to be self-insert type stuff, you know, “my mom sold me to one direction” and the like, but actually...really really good? she had a solid wattpad fan-base for a reason. nora used to make her story covers on photoshop. she sticks to ao3 now, posting devastatingly gorgeous 30k pieces once every six months or so that garner their own mini fandoms. i’m not going to say what medias she’s writing for, but i’m not ruling out a certain cursed never-ending CW show, nor something completely different and wild like....RPF about the buzzfeed unsolved guys or whatever. or maybe less famous, very niche buzzfeed people which makes it better/worse (she gets her own ‘10 Lines In This Fanfic About Our Employees That Will Make You Cry Into A Pillow And Demand We Start A Union’ article)

- when the instas went on their social media detox / camping retreat / whatever the fuck it was, zoe enjoyed herself more than she thought she would. they were there to help constantin, yes, but it was healing for her, too. she, kieu my, and finn shared a tent, and on the last night, she stayed awake far longer than she should’ve, listening to their breathing, listening to the trees. if she concentrated hard enough, she could make everything fade away until she felt, for a strange, single moment, that she was the only person in the entire world. it was honestly comforting, all that peace and quiet and numbness, and yet, when asked about her exhaustion the next day, she says she stayed up on guard to protect them from any bears or serial killers; ismail immediately pretends to stab finn (“i was the killer all along!”), and amidst all the ensuing dramatic chaos, zoe thinks: i am very glad to not be alone. i am very glad to be alive.

sékou:

- with an older brother and two older sisters, sékou’s the ‘baby’ of the family but they don’t baby or other him at all. they’re all close, despite the miles between them: his parents came with him to canada, though his dad, a doctor (and his son’s biggest defender, especially when it came to getting diagnosed within an ableist, racist healthcare system) had to stay in paris a little longer to sort out work stuff with the pandemic, meaning he and his mom spent the first few months alone - “but not lonely!” she says every morning over breakfast; she doesn’t mind cooking it because she loves him and he helps with dinner anyways, as that’s how he unwinds after school. dealing with numbers in recipes helps him stay sharp whilst allowing him to relax and have fun

- other unwinding techniques include IT-related commissions, video editing, art history, philosophy, and, of course, urbex. since it’s canon that la mif are too depressed to urbex now that he’s gone, i’ll say it’s the opposite for him. he does urbex in canada, and it’s nice to finally be with people who follow maps and put safety first and are rather clinical - though not necessarily boring - about their approach. he becomes the president of his uni’s urbex club, the quickest anyone’s ever risen through the ranks. still, sometimes down in those tunnels it’s dark enough that it’s easy to pretend he’s back in paris, the indecipherable shapes around him his old friends. he tags their initials on a wall, and never tells them, his own little secret

- determined to not fall out of touch to an irreparable degree though, sékou sends la mif letters/packages, often very personalized: it starts with, like, memes for jo, film recs for max, political articles for maya, positive affirmations for lola etc, before becoming an international small gifts exchange because everyone involved is extra. noticing two new guys on the group insta, sekou thinks it’d be rude to exclude them, figuring there’s no harm in sending a tiny boxing glove keychain he saw at the store the other day, or some sewing tips his eldest sister, a fashion designer, passes along. bc skamfr is often an unintentional comedy (eg: the car), everybody in la mif assumes they’re the only one getting sent stuff bc nobody talks about it out of guilt (“what if he’s not sending them things...”). so it’s quite a shock when sékou flies back home for summer and he and redouane are like, immediately going in for a hug, the first to do so, and bilal presents sékou with a homemade bowtie. max is very pouty about it but max is pouty about most things so jo elbows him in the ribs and they all hash it out at maya’s that night; sékou takes one look at the place and thinks: i’m glad your taste in decor is better than your wardrobe, and then thinks: i’m not sure where i want to live, there are so many things i want to do and discover and become, but there’s no where else i’d rather call home right now (is he talking about the city or his friends?? you decide!)

give me a character and i’ll tell you three pieces of headcanon i have about them! 

[jackiebuckley]

I kind of posted the prologue to my fic and posted it 🥺🥺 so if you wanted to check this out. I'll be posting it below with the info. Maybe comment for future tags or whatever 💅🏻💅🏻.

In case you wanted to leave comments and what not THIS is also up on here. ×××

Title: if it Stings. Let it burn

Word count: 2,552

Rating: teen and up (nothing yet)

Pairings: aaron hotchner/lorelai gilmore. More to come :)

What identifies a home. Is it a group of buildings that blend together with browns and reds on concrete walls? Is it blues of skies and greens of grasses in parks? What about the people? Passing by you in hurries as they find themselves needing to move to work or elsewhere. They hurry along not wanting to disrupt the pattern that everyone so gently crafted. 

And with and things what happens when your home is reached. When something happens to push everything to the side. What happens when your safety net, the thing that you most rely on catching you — snaps. Do you hold on, dangling with what could verses couldn't happen? Do you push your hope to the back of your mind, hopeful it's just one mistake? One simple thing falling short of something wonderful, beautiful. Or do you fight back, letting your chains become loose, and watching as you learn to gain your wings? Finally free to be who you wanted to be. These things aren't as likely without a reason. Something that makes you want to jump.

November 19th

The road back from Stars Hollow wasn’t too bad. It was a pretty straight and narrow line for the most part. But as for any road, it wasn’t safe when it came to the incoming cold.

“I should probably head home before the first snow comes in. you know how the roads get.” the voice of a boy in his late teens spoke, his car was warming up on the side waiting for him to climb in and go on the road. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you. Stay safe.” the voice of a girl no older than 17 spoke as she waved him off. They had talked whenever the other came into town. In this case, what the girl didn't know was that this would be for all she knew, the last time she would see him. 

Music played from the stereo as he changed the radio, again and again. God, it seemed all these stations only played the same nine or ten songs. Especially in a small town like this, it was all they could hear when moving around the different areas. Yet all of it from top to bottom made it so he never wanted to leave. Some remixed version of Amazing Grace could be heard. Fixing his eyes back to the road. As he stopped at the stop sign in front of the road he looked before driving more down the road. 

“Stop the car.” a voice popped in from the back seat. Fight or flight mode turned on and he realized that he would do anything at this moment to 

“What?!” panic rose in his voice. 

“STOP THE CAR.” he slammed on the break. That was the moment that everything went dark.

November 21st

"Living in a small town, I knew everybody and everybody knew me."

-- Anna Nicole Smith

 “Chip Macenstoch, 18. He was last seen leaving back home. They found his car with the keys still in the ignition but no sign of Chip seen.” Penelope's voice carried as she clicked through the slideshow she had on the screen. “Matt Schoenfeld, found with his window wide open, his bed was empty. There were no signs of struggle.” she clicked through the slideshow again. “The only connection between the two is a last reported conversation, and the area they come from.” she clicked off the slideshow. 

“Stars Hollow according to tourist websites, it has a population of less than one-thousand.” JJ offered as she looked through the file sitting in front of her. 

“And we need to be there before anything happens to turn that town’s population any less…” Hotch sighed as he made his way to standing up.”wheels up in thirty.” he offered, and the room dispersed. 

Not much happened here, not much has happened in the last seventeen years she had lived here with Rory. there had been some slight scandal involving the town priest. But nothing huge here or there. This though was a shock. 

The cold of the November wind lasted an ongoing chill to the brunette at the desk as she communicated with a woman on the phone. “It's a week before Thanksgiving it might be a little rough in order to get enough rooms.” the brunette behind the desk offered. “Yes, we do offer breakfast. Yes there's double bed rooms.” she offered. “three rooms for today? Will do. Thank you." She sighed as she moved from the desk to the small entrance to the inn. She ran a hand through her hair. So much had happened to their small town within the past few days. Two teens vanished without a trace. Both teens, very safe, smart boys. She looked out the window. 

"They canceled school for the rest of the week. Which, while I should be relieved.  They said they were canceling due to the vanishes in Stars Hollow. Which is weird." Rory spoke appearing from next to her.

"Woah Woah Woah — slow down speedy," Lorelai responded in return to her daughter's tangent.  The cases of the missing boys had made news in all the towns nearby, her parents swore they wanted Lorelai and Rory. to come to stay with them until it all blew over. It didn't seem like a good idea though. With a week till Thanksgiving they could use as much help in the Independence inn as possible. Plus — it was home to them. Even if their home seemed to be a little crooked. "Go get something from Sookie to eat to work at the tables.  Okay?" She offered. Seeing her daughter nod before walking off. 

It took some time, but as Lorelai was writing down some notes she saw from the corner of her eye two cars, she knew from the looks of the black sleek vehicles, that these were the guests they were waiting for. “It’s go time Gilmore,” she stated to herself, waiting for what was to happen next. 

What was there to expect from a small town that didn't even show up on a map? Was there something to expect from a place where some who exited called the "friendliest town on earth?" From the bright-eyed townsfolk who walked around looking like they belonged in a Disney film to the distinct smell of farm life and coffee beans that drifted throughout the entire place. Was there more than the sidewalks that cracked and crinkled yet how this place seemed to call the names of those around them. 

This place looked as if it hadn’t experienced constant shock and trauma. As if it was the perfect Disney town where birds braided hair and good peeked at every corner. As if truly things were perfect. The biggest shock factor had been when they found out the Organic Milk wasn't truly organic. So this really was the worst possible thing to happen. Emily commented that it looked straight out of a Hallmark film. And the little inn they were staying in, definitely brought more of that message forward. The agents walked out of their cars, into the small lobby area. Immediately seeing how it was decorated. They wouldn't be spending too much time here, but it did have a nice way of being subtly decorated for the holidays. “I’ll go grab our bags.” Derek offered as Reid mumbled a fun fact in the direction of Emily. 

“Welcome to the Independence Inn. I’m Lorelai.” a bubbly brunette offered and JJ stepped in. 

“Pleasure to meet you Lorelai. We should have three rooms under Garcia?” she offered, knowing Penelope had set them the reservation. 

“Oh yes yes!” she nodded as they stood in the center of the room. “4, 7 and 10A are all open and ready for you.” she smiled and Hotch wondered how this woman was so bubbly and full of energy. He would have mentioned it but Emily did with a comment of 

“Someone clearly had their coffee.” she commented, getting a roll of the eyes and a comment of “be nice.” from JJ. 

There was something about the way that the place had a small humming of home to it. It was a shame they wouldn't get to experience the town. Sure they were probably going to be in town for Thanksgiving, but that wasn't a reason to celebrate. There was a lot of wonder in the town. From the little Cafes and Diners they saw as they entered into the area. They had a place called Luke’s recommended to them a good nine times. He knew they would most likely eat there at some point for their trip. They just needed to get something established for the case first, figure something out. There also seemed to be a lot of mystery, from the woods that surrounded where they were. He had a lot of questions. From what other things lay unstirred behind these walls. 

And what about the bubbly brunette who walked around. Bright eyed as she talked to all the members of the team , asking them different statements as JJ happily conversed. To Reid, looking like he was absolutely shocked that someone could talk as fast as he could. Maybe there was something about her young daughter. Well not super young. Probably late teens. The way her eyes flickered around whenever someone would ask her something. How when Derek and he had pulled her for questioning she asked a few times if this would be on any kind of record for her

 “Do you have anyone we can talk to for an alibi?" Derek asked from beside him. And Hotch could tell right away. There was no way in hell this girl had anything to do with this. From the way her doe eyes shined, curiosity to the brim of them. To the way the books in her arms sat perfectly. She was grace, and he could tell that she was the woman in the lobby's daughter. 

“My mom and I have a movie night every Tuesday Night. My boyfriend came to watch with us. You can ask him, or my mom, I was home.” she commented and a mental note was made to ask. After Hotch included his own question. Wanting to get more of an idea for what was happening.

“Is there anyone with foul wishes or harmful intent for him?” he added in his own question. 

"Everyone loved him, he would come to town meetings and see if anyone needed anything. He came to a town meeting the night of his disappearance. Next thing we knew the newspaper came in with news that he was gone." She explained. She explained Chip and his role in the town. He was a local farmer's son. He would come into town every week to get supply and then he would come back home. "Is he okay?" They had found his truck on the side of the road. But they didn't have the heart to tell her that there wasn't much hope of where he was. 

 They sighed. Looking at one another "we'll keep you updated — okay kid?" Morgan stated before Rory as they learned her name was walked off. Running over to where her mother was waiting. As they prepared to go back for some of them to the scene of the crime. And others to remain questioning. Hotch ran a hand through his hair. There was something about these small towns that hit harder than anything else. from the way they came together, which meant it would hit harder knowing there was someone among one of them causing harm. 

What they had learned about Rory Gilmore. Real name Lorelai.  Bright eyed girl, smart, charming. Going to attend an ivy league within a year. She had a knack for reading lately getting into classics. "In Cold Blood" had been one of her favorites lately

He found that as being ironic. But not a funny irony. More of a cold irony. 

They had to be cautious with their next moves. 

 "Miss —." Morgan paused looking for a name.

"Lorelai. Lorelai Gilmore." She offered and her voice was rushed but still had music to it. 

"Do you mind if we question you?" He asked and Hotch watched as Rossi and Morgan took the brunette to the dining room. He watched as they walked away, she had some kind of wonder the way she did things.  

JJ approached him, "sir we should probably head back out. See if there is anything we missed." What was there to miss? This looked a lot like the rest of the things they had seen. He hated cases where the  best thing was to wait for whatever came next. Spend a day or two and see what pops up. Immediately as he stepped into the cold, feeling of air hitting his face he climbed his way into the car. Allowing Emily to take the wheel as they went to what was next. 

It wasn't that he didn't trust his team. He trusted them more than anything else. This case just had so little to go by at this moment. He didn't want things to crash and burn before they even started. They go back to the scene of the first abduction and immediately they’re back to not noticing anything new. What they did notice was their victim’s parents were standing off to the side, their arms wrapped around each other. Hotch had seen this look plenty of times before. Had seen the way their entire bodies would collapse, it was as if all they had known was crumbling. He tried his best not to get involved in the cases, he knew it wasn't the best thing to do. So he continued to push it aside. 

 “Please tell me you found my son.” someone would ask, at first when he started in the field he didn't know what to tell them. How did you break someone’s heart? Take away the hope they have kicking in their soul. He was called cold, broken. So that is what he allowed himself to become. He hardened his shell and bounced back stronger than anything else. 

His voice finally beckoned out of him as he looked at the family. “He's gone… they found his body in the creek.” he looked at them, his eyes not leaving the couple. He hated this type of news. 

“What do you mean he’s gone?” the response would come and then they would see the body pass on the stretcher. Tears would fill the eyes and he wished that all of this didn't happen. Yet it was. Bad people filled the earth. 

“No, no no, that can't be him. It can’t be my baby boy.”

He didn't know what stirred him out of all of this, but when he noticed Emily and Reid “we asked around and according to people nearby the last seen person near both of them has been identified.” 

“name?” Hotch offered. Hopefully, this person would have some kind of connection that could truly get them closer to where they needed to be. Even if they only had only been here for less than a day. 

“...Rory Gilmore,” Reid stated, he noticed the connection between the name and the situation.

The daughter of the woman back at the inn. This case just got a lot more intense.

@willlemonheadsupremacy

[wedreamedlove]

[FIC] Sea Anemone

Rating: T Characters: Xu Mo/Reader Word Count: 2670

Tags: Mild angst. ABO. Omega!Reader. ?!Xu Mo.

Summary: An excellent hunter approaches their prey in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. But, in nature, bright colors are a warning for poison.

A/N: Set in the same universe as Bai Qi's "No Other But You" but they're not connected.

Xu Mo was taking the day off.

This is what you’re told when you drop into his office at his research institute. You are looking for him because you know he returned from an overseas trip in a morning flight today and that he would choose to continue working instead of resting like a normal person. However, contrary to your expectations, he actually took a leave of absence.

Concern is your first and foremost emotion at this abnormal situation. After all, it’s rare for Xu Mo to take any days off and you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard of or seen him being sick. In your mind, the intelligent man is always in good health and more likely to be the one taking care of you for being sick or overworked.

You step out of the research institute, shading your eyes from the bright sunlight, and it only takes a second to decide on your next action. You take out your phone and give Xu Mo a call.

He answers at the fourth ring, “Hello. Is something the matter?”

For a moment you don’t recognize the voice that answers. Xu Mo’s usual dulcet tone is hoarse and exhaustion clings to his words.

“Hello?”

You respond hurriedly when you hear him again and explain how you came looking for him at his work, but he wasn’t there and so you became concerned. Were there any problems with his flight? Was he feeling okay?

“Ah…” He hums, “The trip made me more tired than I expected, that’s all. It’s nothing serious. If you were looking for me to talk about the next program on your show then I can—”

You immediately cut him off. Nope, he’s not to exert himself at all today and he needs to rest.

There’s a pause at the other end of the call, as if Xu Mo is surprised by your vehement rejection, but then he sighs, “… I’m not that fragile. But, very well, I’ll be good and listen to you.”

His voice gentles in the second half, lowering slightly, and it seems to carry one part resignation, three parts helpless warmth, and six parts doting. It tickles your ear and lets loose a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach because he sounds like he’s indulging you, and will happily do so for any other demands you have.

You clear your throat, pulling your mind back together, and check the time to see that it’s just past noon. You ask whether or not he’s eaten lunch yet.

“No,” he says at first, reconsiders, and then adds more onto his short answer, “But I don’t have much of an appetite.”

His reply sets you off. You know it’s likely he hasn’t eaten anything this entire day, especially when you consider the time zone differences during his flight, and so he should fill himself up with a light meal. Even if he’s going to take a nap later, it’s better to pad his stomach with something. Keeping to a regular meal schedule is important to staying healthy.

The next thing you hear is his laughter.

You ask him what he’s laughing about, growing flustered at the amusement in his voice.

“I’m glad to see all those times I told you to take care of yourself has made an impression on you.”

You realize that every word you just lectured him with are things he tells you when you’re sick. Your cheeks warm even as you grumble about how he should know better then and you shouldn’t have to repeat his own words to him. But, since he hasn’t had lunch, you offer to head over to his place to make something. Or you could grab something outside for him. It was actually why you were looking for him in the first place; you wanted to catch up over lunch since both of you haven’t seen each other after he left for his trip overseas.

“There’s no need. I can make something at home. It would also be inconvenient for you to return to work afterward.”

You insist though, especially now that the idea has settled in your head. Work is in a quiet period, which is how you even have the time to find him for lunch, so you only need to send a quick message to Anna. Besides, he probably doesn’t have any ingredients at home since he just got back from a long trip, and didn’t he say he was going to listen to you today?

Xu Mo surrenders when you bring up his earlier words, “I did and so I suppose I can only give in to my stubborn girl. But don’t rush back and be sure to button up; the weather is cool today.”

You promise to be careful, understanding his implied meaning, and give him an estimate as to when he can expect you in front of his apartment before you hang up. After you make sure the scent glands on your neck and wrists are still covered by your clothes you set off in a new direction. Time to go grocery shopping!

~~~

You stop at your apartment first to put away your work bag, coat, and store the groceries that you bought for yourself before you step back out to go to the neighboring door to knock.

It only takes a few seconds after knocking before the door opens to reveal Xu Mo. He’s wearing a well fitted black turtleneck that outlines his lean figure over dark gray slacks; however, these dark colors also emphasize his sickly paleness and the circles of exhaustion under his eyes. Putting aside your concern, somehow you ended up wearing the opposite of him with a cream cardigan over a short sleeve shirt and jeans.

He pauses upon seeing you, something flickering through his eyes too fast for you to catch, before he smiles gently and steps aside. “Please, come in.”

You thank him and head inside.

This isn’t your first time entering his apartment but it’s instinctive to breathe in whenever you enter someone’s space to get a general idea of them, because scents are the most important communication tool in this world and anything could change in an instant. However, you just feel your usual slight sense of discomfort and, ironically, it’s this sense of discomfort which reassures you that this is Xu Mo’s space and everything is normal.

Unlike most of, well, everyone you know, Xu Mo has a mild—almost bland—scent. It’s a clean smell but at the same time impersonal and, while you can see signs of someone living in this apartment, there’s no sense of possession. Alphas, Betas, and Omegas all love to mark their homes and their scents release automatically in places where they feel comfortable and safe. But you just assume this is his scent and it’s always carried this intrinsic quality, so it would be rude for you to bring it up and make a point out of it.

Xu Mo closes the door behind you as you go into his kitchen and start to bustle around, putting away the groceries you bought and also setting aside the ingredients to make a light meal for two. However, when you see him reaching out to help you put things away, you make a noise of exclamation before slipping yourself between him and the groceries.

Nope! You remind him that, like you said earlier, he’s not supposed to do anything today and you’re going to take care of everything.

Xu Mo presses the joint of his finger against his smile, as if to control the involuntary lift of his lips. “You’re bristling like a kitten.”

You bare your teeth with a light reprimanding growl. This cat has claws.

He holds up both hands in front of him and complies with your order for him not to do anything. He even gets shooed out of the kitchen, except he only goes as far as the entrance and then leans against the doorframe there, watching you with warm eyes. You realize this is probably the best you’re going to get and so you turn back to the kitchen, pulling out your personal apron which you shoved into one of the grocery bags when you dropped by your apartment earlier.

You roll up your sleeves first before reaching for the apron, but the cardigan you’re wearing is loose and the sleeves continuously fall down. You struggle over this for a while until you decide to shrug the cardigan off without much thought, so that you can just wear the apron over your inner shirt.

But a well-defined hand beats you to the apron and then you hear over your head, “Let me.”

There’s an odd note in Xu Mo’s voice, but since you’re facing forward you can’t see his face. He puts your apron over you and ties the strings into a knot behind you with quick, efficient movements.

You tilt your head back to flash him a smile and thank you. He returns your smile, eyes dark, and raises his hand to touch your head lightly before he steps back and leaves you to your cooking.

~~~

Exactly like you said you would, you made a light meal which the two of you finished over a casual conversation. You asked about his trip overseas and did your best to understand all the scientific terms he brought up (although he always patiently explained to you anything you didn’t recognize) and, in exchange, he asked about your work and your days while he was gone. There’s a niggling feeling that you ended up speaking much more and for a longer time than him though.

Now, after lunch, you’re in the kitchen washing the dishes and setting them to dry while Xu Mo peels an apple at the dining table.

Originally, you were going to prepare the fruit you brought over, but before you realized it Xu Mo had already taken the apple and knife out of your hands and began to smoothly peel the apple. In his words, it was the least he can do, seeing as you did the cooking and washing. You decided to pass this job to him, especially after seeing him create a symmetrical and unbroken apple peel.

Leaning forward to scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on a pan, you shake your head to get your hair out of your way. But it continues to slide past your shoulder and cling to your cheeks until you’re fed up. You see that there’s an elastic band set on the counter though—it must have come from one of the groceries—and you pause in your dish washing to dry your hands and grab it. Pulling your hair up with a quick twist, you use the elastic band to make a messy bun on the top of your head.

The instant you do that you hear a sharp intake of breath and then a metallic tang spreads through the room.

You whip your head around, alarmed at the smell of blood, and see that Xu Mo has nicked his thumb with the knife. You rush over and grab his hand before he can do anything, not noticing how he goes utterly still when you come into his space, and lean down to examine the cut. Blood is welling up on his skin already but fortunately it doesn’t look like the injury is deep; it just needs some pressure and a band-aid.

You tell him this while inwardly patting your chest with relief and then you look up and freeze.

Xu Mo is staring at you with an expression that you’ve never seen before. The position you’re in forces him to angle his head down to look at you and, because of that, his eyes are half-lidded. His long eyelashes cast shadows over his eyes, making those royal purple irises appear darker than they are.

“Silly girl, did you forget what I am?” His voice is low.

You don’t understand his words. But then you do.

It only takes a second.

There is suddenly a massive presence. His scent floods the entire room, as if a dam which had been holding back a tumultuous torrent had burst, and you find yourself under the illusion that the room is filling with water—even though that can’t possibly be happening—and there’s a crushing pressure around you like you’re being dragged underwater, deep into a trench.

The edges of your vision darken—no, that’s just Xu Mo leaning closer.

His dark eyes encompass your sight, and they’re so dark you can only barely see a glimmer of purple. The fine hairs on the back of your neck rise. What should have been a blessing to see color in the black abyss is now a warning that something dangerous lurks in the water, circling just a little bit out of your senses but letting you catch glimpses of it to heighten your terror.

He comes even closer.

You’re not even breathing anymore. The air is caught in your throat as you stare at him, frozen with wide eyes.

Xu Mo’s cool breath splays across your face and you tremble minutely when you feel his nose brush past your cheek. The predator, the Alpha, in front of you is going to consume everything of you until there’s nothing left. He’ll eat even your bones.

But then it’s all gone as suddenly as it came.

You think you hear something snap and then your hair comes down from its bun, tumbling across your shoulders and covering your neck.

Xu Mo draws back, a serene smile on his face, and his scent recedes into him like a massive tide pulling back. The oppressive air is completely gone and you can breathe again, which you do, and you inhale what seems like a mouthful of wet air. The whole room almost smells damp, as if it went through a flash flood and now the tropical storm has moved on, leaving behind just a heavy blanket of humidity.

You gawk at him, dazed, until he reaches out to tweak your nose.

“Next time, don’t be so oblivious. Not all Alphas have my control.”

You’re brought back fully to yourself by his words and it’s only now that you realize how shameless your appearance had been around him. You were exposing your neck with your hair put up and you even lowered your head and bared your nape to him. Even if it was accidental, it's basically like you stripped and threw yourself onto him like a juicy steak, begging to be taken. No wonder he snapped.

He’s right in that you’re lucky you were around him instead of anyone else.

You ignore the small part of your mind that whispers how you wouldn’t have minded if he marked you right then and there. Not to mention, there’s now a small seed of curiosity about how he will look if he slips the reins of reason.

Xu Mo’s eyes darken as you continue to stare at him and this time he pokes your forehead. “What are you thinking about now? It can’t be you’re too comfortable to move from here?”

You suddenly realize that you have a hand on his thigh, his injured hand held in your other hand, and you’re still bent over and looking up at him. Heat rises to your face and you don’t need a mirror to know how red you are right now. Scrambling off and away, you holler that you’re going to grab a band-aid and rush out of the room with his gentle laugh sounding out from behind you.

Unbeknownst to you though, when your back is turned, the smile slips off from Xu Mo’s face and he grimaces in pain, raising his uninjured hand to press it against his chest. He curls his fingers into his shirt, right above his heart, and his eyes follow after your color, the shadows in them deepening.

[drivingsideways]

Based on this excellent post and tags  by @frankdelfino, and thanks to @rain-hat yelling in the chat window for twenty minutes, here’s a not-fic outline in the universe where Jo Yeong and Jo Eun-seop are actually brothers. 

So here's how this goes. This is RoK verse, monarchies are passé, thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

- Jo Yeong and Eun-seop grow up middle class, and look like peas in a pod, have completely opposing personalities and can generally be trusted to get up to the WORST POSSIBLE SHENANIGANS ever known to a pair of long-suffering parents who've had the temerity to have not one, but two sets of twins. Anyways, Eun-seop is absolutely the one GETTING them into the shenanigans, and Yeong is the one getting them OUT of it, despite the fact that Eun-seop is older by 4 minutes

-Eun-seop loses a year at school when he gets into an accident at 14; a drunk driver, a bicycle, and Yeong just a little too far away to do anything but call the ambulance and hold his brother's hand right until they force him to let go as they rush Eun-seop into surgery. He holds it again, once he's wheeled out, and right upto when he wakes up so he doesn't wake up alone (he hasn't gone home in 48hrs, I'm fine, thanks eomma, you should go home to the babies, they'll be scared without you.). Anyways, Eun-seop wakes up, demands to know whether he'll have a cool scar from the surgery (before he demands to know whether he will be able to walk again) and Yeong's like you're never going to be as cool as me, now shut up and sip this water slowly.  Eun-seop recovers, and Yeong's there through every single physio session and taking extra notes in class, and recording videos surreptitiously, so Eun-seop can see how all their classmates are faring and also failing at everything, now that they're in first year of high school. (Yeong would have stayed back a year at school, but Eun-seop forbids it, and uses his Oppa-pass, which he only uses when he's really serious about something, so Yeong has to listen)

- Eun-seop notices that some of his videos begin to feature a rather weird looking dude, who can be seen hanging out with this one girl. Eun-seop knows Tae-eul noona, her dad runs that taekwondo academy two blocks away, right? And there was that one time when Eun-seop was being bullied and Yeong wasn't there that day, and noona had stepped in and scared those assholes away. Anyways, so yeah, he also remembers that there was this other guy with her, who'd also clearly been ready to throw down, if those goobers had put up a fight, but later, he just grabbed noona's hands, checked for injuries, and given Eun-seop some candy that he got out from his bag.

Anyways, so Eun-seop is like why do you have pictures of Tae-eul noona and her weird boyfriend, and Yeong snatches the phone away and mutters, THEY'RE JUST GOOD FRIENDS, in all caps as though he knows anything about life or girls.

Oh my god, Yeongie, he says, you know she's way out of your league right? She's a senior? And like would absolutely beat you to shit, wouldn't need her weirdo bf to do it either-

HE'S NOT HER BOYFRIEND, Yeong says, loudly this time, as loud as the time when Eun-seop had replaced his hair cream with toothpaste and Eun-seop quickly recalibrates and gets it right this time, and he says, hushed,  Yeongie, my Yeongie, did you manage to fall for the one dude who'd give you a run for your money in "the person most likely to end up a serial killer" stakes?

He starts cackling so hard that his ribs start to hurt, and then his back, and Yeong (who's run away – RUN AWAY) doesn't come back to help him up. It's alright, Eun-seop will live, and also, he's gonna help his Yeongie get his guy, even if Eun-seop cannot see the attraction, and he thinks this isn’t going to work for many reasons, only one of which is that CLEARLY this dude- Kang Sin Jae, he remembers now- is in love with Tae-eul noona, which, props, anyone might see she absolutely kicks ass.

But the point is, the Jos are fighters, and he's damned if he's going to let Yeong slink away from this one.  

The next time he sees Yeongie- two hours later- they all have a bedtime in the Jo house, ok- he's like, fine, I'm sorry, and I KNOW YOU DON'T HAVE A SINGLE USEFUL THOUGHT IN YOUR HEAD, so I got this for you, ok?  What do you know about him?

Turns out, Yeongie has a whole folder on him.

Eun-seop's proud of his little stalker baby brother.

Anyways, that's how Yeong learns enough about sound systems so he can turn up for the post when the school band that Kang Sin Jae plays bass guitar for advertises for a sound engineer.

He turns up for the "interview" in his neat trousers, and button-down shirt and Sin Jae says, uh, are you Jo Eun-seop's non-identical twin? Aren't you just a freshman, do you really- and Yeong says, quietly, confidently, I can solve that problem you're having when you play your arrangement of The Wizard and Sin Jae stares at him and mutters, but can you do anything about how only three people turn up to listen, and Yeong tilts his head, and says maybe? Also, Eun-seop and I are identical, just fyi.

Anyways, yeah he fixes the faulty wiring in the speakers at the auditorium, and also gets more than three people to turn up (so what if it's all a bunch of scared looking freshmen? They've all been paid more than enough to bang their heads in time to the music and cheer later.)

But he never does ask Sin Jae out, that entire year, even though these days, Sin Jae smiles when he sees him, and puts an arm around his shoulder sometimes, after a practice, what are you waiting for, Yeongie, did I raise you to be this much of a coward? Eun-seop wails, but Yeong is like, Sin-Jae-ssi would feel awkward at having to refuse me if I did, and he needs a sound engineer more than a boyfriend, and that's fine.

(He needs at least three shirts more, a hair-cut and perhaps better taste in music, Eun-seop thinks, but doesn't say, because he knows Yeongie's fragile like that. Yeongie can take anything anybody says about him, personally, and will brush it off or dole out appropriate punishment, but if someone comes after someone he loves, he'll break the knees of the person and leave them for dead in a ditch. And obviously, he can't do that with Eun-seop, so Eun-seop doesn't say anything, he's a good elder brother.)

- Sin-jae and Tae-eul noona graduate and both of them go off to KNPU, and Eun-seop says, listen, nobody does that if they're not dating, at least. IF NOT ACTUALLY ILLEGALLY MARRIED. Yeongie, please, for the love of god, find a boy who's available. See, here's a list.

But Yeong just shrugs, and says, let me see your homework (because Eun-seop's back in school now) and then proceeds to put red slashes through everything and says, "apply your brains Eun-seop, don't act dumb when you're not". THE AUDACITY.

Yeong never dates anyone through high school, Eun-seop dates a different person every month.

- So Eun-seop is never going to have to serve in active military duty, because of his accident, but Yeong will have to. He's fine with that, and he'd rather do it in these two years, just after school, because that way, it's only really one year when Eun-seop will be at college before him, and that's fair, it evens out Yeong's having to graduate from school first.

-So off he goes, and there he meets Lee Ji-hun, who's an ass, Eun-seop clocks that straight away, born into some goddamn chaeobol family, but for some reason drawn to actual military service, because he has a hero complex. The only good thing he has going for him, as far as Eun-seop can tell, his that he took one look at Yeongie and decided that he was the best boy in the whole universe, and that shows good taste, Eun-seop will be polite to him, fine.

- Of course, the other thing that happens in those two years is that Yeongie gets brainwashed into joining the Navy- it's not brainwashing, Yeong tries to tell him, I get to protect the people I love, the country I love. And of course, Lee Ji-hun, fucking asshole, is just sitting there, nodding along as though any of this was fucking REASONABLE. You could DIE, Eun-seop yells, DO YOU REALIZE THAT. WE'RE STILL AT FUCKING WAR.

Yes, says his stepford-wife brother, womb-sharer, soulmate, exactly.

- Anyways, off Yeong and Jihun go to join not just the Navy, which would be bad enough, but the ROKSWF, that's insane, they're going to die, and what can Eun-seop do then but go join the NIS and immediately get picked for North Korean Affairs by an astute senior officer who listens to Eun-seop goofing around in the canteen on the orientation day and still get everyone to give him their portion of the only decent thing on the menu- the crème brulee- and says, I'm taking that one.

- It's a lot of paperwork and dull as ditches monitoring work at the start, and that's ok, Eun-seop can live with that, it means he gets time with the other twins, who are at a fun age. And that's how Tae-eul noona and Kang Sin Jae re-enter their lives because Eun-bi and Kka-bi are learning taekwondo from Tae-eul's dad. This is also how Eun-seop meets the love of his life and future wife Myeong Na-Ri, and it's ok if she doesn't know it yet, at least Yeongie is not here to see him turn into a complete doofus everytime Na-Ri so much as breathes in his direction.

- Yeongie and Jihun come back on shore leave (AFTER TWO GODDAMN YEARS) and that's when Ji-hun meets Tae-eul and falls like a ton of bricks for her; she manages to keep her sense of balance and also life in order, thanks, she's not going to fall for some floppy haired dude (his hair grows really fast out of its crew cut) who thinks that parallel universes are a thing, even if he has extremely long legs.

Meanwhile Kang Sin Jae has also cleaned up nice, Eun-seop will admit, and he's-he's a genuinely nice dude, ok, even if a bit brusque, and when Eun-seop finds out about eomeonim's gambling problems and that whole story, he's willing to admit that he may have been a tad harsh on Kang Sin-Jae way back when.

Anyways, that's the past, right, Yeongie, I can't imagine what a bunch of men locked in a submarine can possibly do except have orgies, please tell me that's what you've been doing? Please?

"Shut up" hisses Yeong, and then practically jumps out of his chair when Tae-eul noona and Sin Jae come over to their table at Na-ri's coffee shop. Yeong's in his uniform- he was on his way back from some conference thing he'd had to go to despite his leave- so that was the saving grace, because Eun-seop sees the subtle double-take Kang Sin Jae does,  because let's face it, his baby brother is the most beautiful, it's true, but then Yeongie is also red in the face and says "toffee" instead of "coffee" as in "Won't you get some toffee, Sin Jae-ssi?" and Sin Jae gives him a blank look while he decodes that, (gay panic, Eun-seop wants to tell him, my brother is a panicked gay, go easy on him), and finally says, uh, I don't think they have that flavor here?

- God, Eun-seop says later, I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU, BABY BROTHER. HAVE YOU BEEN IN LOVE WITH THE SAME BOY FROM HIGH SCHOOL? ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN? (AFFIRMATIVE ON BOTH) and Eun-Seop has FAILED, FAILED, FAILED. Alright, he says, taking a deep breath, how long do you have?

Two weeks, says his stupid fucking brother, and so Eun-seop has to go into EMERGENCY-FUCKING-MODE because he may have to DIE getting it to happen, but his baby brother is GOING TO GET LAID, AND BY THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE, EVERYONE'S FIRST TIME NEEDS TO BE SPECIAL OK, Ji-hun? Ji-hun nods, very seriously, and proceeds to describe his extremely un-special first time, and Eun-seop is like, wow, you probably don't know this, because you've got that puppy face that make people not want to hurt you, but every single woman you've ever slept with has faked an orgasm with you. Well, that discussion gets pretty heated, of course, and also comes to an abrupt end when Tae-eul noona pops in- she's come by to ask if they all wanna hang out and watch a movie this weekend- and look, noona's GREAT, and obviously the first person he needs on his ally list as soon as he makes sure she's not really in love with Sin Jae, because that would be bad.

"Hyungnim?" she says, surprised, when he asks, because Eun-seop knows the best way to get noona to answer anything is to play no games, and she says, "No, why?" and then, suspiciously, "Did that rat Jihun put you up to this?" And he says, absent mindedly, no I was asking 'cause Yeong, and noona yelps, "Jo Yeong can't be in love with me, shit!" and Eun-seop says, what, why, and that's how he finds out that hey, Kang Sin Jae may also have been a little into his idiot brother from way back when. "He was too young" Tae-eul noon confides, "Sin Jae didn't feel right about it, especially when he was graduating that year" and honestly, THIS IS THE SADDEST STORY EUN-SEOP HAS EVER HEARD AND HE'S WATCHED TITANIC FORTY TIMES AND CRIED EACH TIME OK?

- RIGHT. So maybe Eun-Seop and Tae-eul manage to get their idiot friend and brother a little push in the right direction. Well, noona basically goes to Sin Jae and says, for fucks sake, ask the poor boy out, I heard he's still a virgin for you.  And Sin Jae goes red in the face, and then green, because omg the PRESSURE, and then red again, and then ultimately does find Yeong one day at the coffee shop alone, as Eun-seop had assured him he would be - (Diligently reading some book? A recipe book? Italian recipes? Sin Jae may have mentioned one day that his favourite cuisine was Italian?)- and there's some part of him that melts, like the cheese on the cover of that recipe book, and he's like, uh, do you, maybe, and then rushed, I know this great Italian place, if you like, and yes, Jo Yeong would like very much.

- Jo Yeong returns to Jinhae Naval Command very much not a virgin, and Jihun returns still single, but undaunted by the task ahead of him; don't worry, Yeong-ah, he says, confidently, I'll wear her down, even if it takes me years, and Yeong knows Jihun, he knows how much of a barnacle he can be, and also it wouldn't be nice of him to shit on other people's happiness just when he's found his own, so he nods and says, yes, of course, and even listens to Jihun rhapsodize about Tae-eul noona's everything for about two hours straight. He texts Eun-seop at the half-way mark- kill me now, please-and Eun-seop is like, what's North Korea there for, then, I told you to dump his ass in the sea. But of course he won't, Jihun and he are ride or die, and it turns out dying is more likely in this case, because right about that time is when North Korea decides that it needs to remind the world that yes, they exist, and yes, the men that rule them are crazy fucks.

- What happens is this: Koo Seo-Ryeong is a brilliant pianist, who's one of the few DPRK citizens who's let out to see the world has disappeared with her mother and sister, while she was on tour in Australia. And look, she did it in Australia, it has nothing to do with RoK, except that Kim Jong-un has decided that it has, because her (estranged) father happened to be one of the top honchos in  DPRK military brass, and this was all clearly a conspiracy hatched across the border to get at him and the military secrets he knows.

- Eun-seop is there when the news comes in that there's a Sang-o class submarine in the waters at Jeongdongjin, and he's also there when it turns out, that yes, hello, they were trying to get the Koo family out, and he's also the one that gets a single line text from an unknown number that's the code he made Yeongie swear on everything they held dear that he would send if he was going behind enemy lines. Shit. Shit.Shit.

- OK, I confess, I don't know how this next part goes, reader, because I am not John Le Carre or whoever, and this is still NOT-FIC,  BUT SPY THINGS HAPPEN and at the end of the day, Eun-Seop has to choose between saving his brother and letting the Koo family back into the hellhole they'd just managed to extract themselves from, and listen, noona made him listen to Koo Seo-Ryeong's playing ok, and there's- even if she were a shitty musician, even if she were just some rat bastard politician or a fisherwoman- he knows he can't make a choice that is sending her back to her death, and the deaths of everyone she loves. And if he did, and if he did, just to save his womb-brother, his true love, his soulmate, his blood and bone and heart- why, he knows that Yeong would never forgive him, Oppa-pass or no. So he's gotta rescue Yeongie and save the Koo family AND STOP WORLD WAR THREE, good thing he's totally up to the task.

- MORE SPY THINGS HAPPEN AND HE SAVES THE DAY, OK.

- He does, and so this time he gets to be the rescuer, and honestly, this was a big one, and it totally evens out all the 15 million times in their entire lives that Yeong had rescued him, what does Yeongie think? Yeongie thinks he should shut up and let him sleep, and because he's a good oppa, the best oppa, Eun-seop curls around his baby brother in their too narrow bunk bed, just like they did when they were sixteen or ten or five or in the womb, and goes to sleep too.  

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #5

“on the run”

Notes: Yes, I’m a day behind, I’m hoping to post a second story tonight but let’s see where life goes. This story...I started out with an idea, and then that idea went in a very different direction as I started writing. RotS AU.

General Whumptober tag

Whumptober 2020 #1

Whumptober 2020 #2

Whumptober 2020 #3

Whumptober 2020 #4

~~~~~~

If you were here, Qui-gon…

Right. If you were here you’d probably shackle me up - wrists tightly enclosed in Force-dampening binders, restraining collar around my neck. Your harsh words would be an invisible whip against my true skin, your touch too soft for a monster such as I, pleading almost, far too kind than what I deserve for my crimes.

You would do all this, Qui-gon, your eyes dark with disappointment, letting no other man or soldier or droid handle me except yourself. Your failure of a Padawan trussed up like a common criminal (common? Perhaps not.), signed, sealed, and delivered personally back to Coruscant for my trial and probable execution.

And you would be right to do so, Qui-gon. So, so right. Force, part of me wishes you could swoop down right now, take me in your arms, the last friendly touch I would ever know before you placed my body on the electroguillotine’s platform to the cheers of the Senate, to the stony facades of the Jedi Council. One last bit of kindness, your hand on my cheek, before the killing blade would deliver me from my sins, before this would all just be over.

After all, it’s not every day a member of the Jedi High Council assassinates the Chancellor of the Republic on live holofeed.

Their faces Qui-gon, the way the Force shifted like two ancient, tectonic masses, colliding as Palaptine - or should I say Sidious - fell from his lofty perch, body plunging, down, down, down until it hit the subterranean floor of the Senate chamber with a sickening, exhilarating thud.

The similarities to my subterfuge as Rako Hardeen were not unmarked, believe me, Qui-gon. Palpatine, however, unlike myself, continues to be dead, two neat holes placed through the side of his treacherous head.

I feel, perhaps, that I have forsaken myself.

But you weren’t there, Master, you didn’t watch through thin slits of wavering consciousness, of azure and crimson rainbows, of the sneaking tar of decay that oozed forth from the man who would lead - would conquer - the Republic and the Jedi. You weren’t there as your Padawan - your friend and brother, the boy you so cared for (more than myself, I can now admit). As Anakin brought the two blades together at Dooku’s neck, executioner of a death sentence signed in familiar large, looping letters - “Sheev Palpatine, Chancellor of the Republic.”

It was him, Qui-gon. The Sith Lord was right there, the entire time, one hand on Anakin’s shoulder, leading him to perdition.

And I did nothing to stop it.

Nothing, until now.

Perhaps if I had been the one to perish on Naboo…perhaps none of this would have ever happened. But that is another world lost to another time, and the ‘here and now,’ as you would say, consists of a cold storage closet in the rear of a Rodian smuggler’s ship.

Three days I’ve been cramped in this space, my passage paid with the frozen Twi’lek guard lying at my feet, legs bent at unnatural, backward angles, the trickle of blood dripping from their nose now an ugly, improvised tattoo.

It’s cold, Qui-gon. A blessing, in some ways, as my departed friend here is unlikely to suffer the worst effects of putrefaction, but I feel even if I were to be on the sunny beaches of Scarif, I would still shiver at my own conscience.

I am tired, Qui-gon.

~~~

You visited me in my dreams last night, Qui-gon.

Neither the avenging angel of death nor the soft shepherd of comfort, you stood, distant, enigmatic as a Loth-Sphinx, as distant and maddening as you had been in life.

I suppose this should have come as no surprise.

Why? You asked me.

Why what, Qui-gon? Why did I kill Palpatine, why did I run, why did I make a fool’s promise to you all those years ago?

As to the last question, I believe - well, perhaps not believe, but fervently hope - you know the answer already.

To answer the others - what choice did I have? To witness what I had, to know Anakin was in thrall to this…this thing, that I would never convince him of Palpatine’s true intentions, that I had lost any trust, any esteem he may have still had for me with my own betrayals -

It was all happening too fast, Qui-gon. The situation on Mandalore, the battle on Coruscant, Dooku’s death. I briefly confided in Bail Organa, the Senator from Alderaan, hinted at my actions in regards to the Mandalore situation, on the way to Coruscant. He told me in no uncertain terms that the Senate would be forced to bring down charges of insurrection, even possibly treason, once they learned of my manipulations of the GAR.

What was one more charge, on top of the others, I thought.

It…it’s better this way, Qui-gon. The Jedi, while still under suspicion, have an obvious and convenient scapegoat, a Council member gone rogue, the underground actor fanning the flames of rumors of a coup. Anakin, while unstable, is at least now out of his orbit. Whether he stays in the Order or leaves, I cannot say, but I hope for his sake - and his unborn child’s - he leaves.

Don’t you see, Qui-gon? The only one who must suffer here is me and I will do so gladly.

Ah, but why not turn myself in, you ask. The deed is done, why run from my actions?

The Twi’lek’s crimson lividity has given way to a more pale ochre, abdomen swollen and nauseated. While the cold has stalled this inevitable process, I must confess to being a bit wary of my companion’s stability.

One more night, and we shall reach Mandalore.

I remain here, discomfited bunkmate to the dead, while Cody and his men span the galaxy, hunting for the wayward Jedi - the turncoat, the traitor, the aruetii…

But you see, Qui-gon, as the galaxy turns its eye on me, it distances its gaze from the Order, from the Council’s machinations.

If I had not acted, someone else would have - with far more dire consequences, I fear.

We spoke of it, you know. Taking over the government, stripping Palpatine of his power (and how laughable a notion that is, to strip a Sith Lord of their edged fury. Impossible to achieve without bloodshed.) It’s not that we wanted to usurp the government - even within the Council itself, there was strong dissent to even considering this notion.

Mace would have gladly fallen on his lightsaber to see justice served. As would Kit. And Plo. And possibly Master Yoda.

But their souls were clean.

Mine, on the other hand…

It’s late Qui-gon, and I fear tomorrow will be an unpleasant day.

~~~

You once said, Qui-gon, that upon finding a confluence of paths, there is no correct direction, that, in the end, there was only a decision, and the consequences thereof.

I find myself in such a place.

It seems the news of my actions reached Mandalore before I did, the civil war now at an uneasy pause, Maul neutered (and what does that say about me, that I could not achieve this victory when Ahsoka could? Perhaps I am too close, too near that fault line to act as she could.)

But they do not know, Qui-gon, what I do. Ahsoka may look on in muted fury, Rex dipping his head as he comms Cody, his only words a soft we have him, Bo-Katan radiant with indignation - why could you have not done this before?

Before we both lost her, before Satine’s legacy was burnt to the ground, before it came to this.

They wrap me in cords and shackles and the best Jedi restraints Mandalore has to offer, dumping me in the same containment cell as him, who takes one look at my sorry state, who knows what sins are written on my soul.

Maul throws back his head, and cackles, the sound of a hundred broken mirrors.

They only have one, he says.

He doesn’t need to explain further.

The Mandalorian sarcophagus. We both saw it, that first time on Mandalore, Satine’s cheeks turning pink, then red, as she explained the true purpose of the monstrous devices.

We would never use them now, she said. There’s no need.

We can only hope, you answered.

And now, it is a question of who is the greater monster - the being born of blood and violence, or the one who accepted it into his heart.

He would have been his new apprentice, Maul drawls, with a sick smile.

I know, I answer. I do know, don’t I? Knew this entire time and yet could do nothing to stop it - until now.

Will you accept your fate, Kenobi? Be hauled back to Coruscant in chains, your allies grinning as your head falls from the blade?

I should. Damnit, I should, Qui-gon! I am a Jedi, I do not fear death, for there is only the Force.

And yet…

~~~

We are leaving, Qui-gon, Maul and I. To what end, I cannot say. Do not fear for me, Master of mine. I am long corrupted, past redemption in this life and can only hope to use my darkness for an ultimate good.

There is much to be done.

May I feel your soft hand on my cheek one more time, Qui-gon, if only in my dreams.

Please forgive me.

I am sorry.

Yours in this life and the next,

Obi-wan Kenobi.

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Wangji gives friendship another try, and Lan Xichen has a pretty shitty day

warning for infidelity :D part of this chapter had been posted wayyyyy back (in fact, it was the very first thing I posted for this AU!) but it’s been touched up a lot

It is rare, this year, to find Nie Huaisang alone. So when Lan Wangji, one afternoon, sees the other boy walking alone in a garden with a stack of papers under his arm, he takes his chance and greets him. 

"Lan gongzi! I was thinking you'd taken a dislike to me," Nie Huaisang replies with a half smile. "May I help you with something?" 

A certain guilt makes its way in Lan Wangji's chest. He hasn't meant to avoid Nie Huaisang. If anything, he has wanted to check on the other boy for those past three months, at once still worried about his break down at the end of the previous year and quite stunned by the changes since his return. And he knows, of course, that Nie Huaisang would not have been opposed to a conversation, since the other boy often smiles at him when their eyes meet. 

Lan Wangji would have been happy to pursue the budding friendship they started last year, but Nie Huaisang’s entourage made it difficult. It is good that Nie Huaisang is not so alone this year, but did he really need to be friends with Wei Wuxian, who is the most irritating, and annoying, and clever, and gorgeous, and disrespectful person Lan Wangji has ever met?

"I was wondering if Nie gongzi would like to have tea."

"Really? I'd love that!" Nie Huaisang exclaims with a large smile that quickly dims a little. "Ah, sorry, that was probably too loud. I've gotten bad habits with the others, but don't worry Lan gongzi, I can still be quiet as well. When would you like to do that?" 

At the moment, Wei Wuxian is being punished for fighting with Jin Zixuan, while Jiang Wanyin is dutifully waiting for his father's arrival. Lan Wangji cannot be certain he'll get such a chance again. If he allows for this moment to pass, maybe when Nie Huaisang comes to have tea with him, Wei Wuxian will try to tag along. It would be absolutely awful. Lan Wangji doesn't want to have Wei Wuxian in his house, ever.

"If Nie gongzi is free now, I am as well." 

The older boy considers that for a moment.

"I had plans for later, but nothing too important. It’s fine if I miss out on that or if I’m late, especially if it’s to have some time with Lan gongzi. Let me just go drop those in my cabin," Nie Huaisang requests, patting his pile of papers. 

"Homework?" 

Nie Huaisang grimaces at the very idea. 

"No, I have been painting a bit. I'll just drop them and…" 

"I would like to see them," Lan Wangji cuts him. "Bring them." 

"Really ? Well, if Lan gongzi insists…" 

Lan Wangji nods, and Nie Huaisang easily gives in. With this matter settled, the two of them head toward the house Lan Wangji shares with his brother and uncle. When they reach the door, Nie Huaisang hesitates, his easy smile faltering a bit. 

"Is your brother likely to be there?" 

"Brother is helping Uncle deal with sect business, since Uncle is expecting visitors. Neither of them are likely to come." 

Nie Huaisang instantly relaxes at the news, which isn't a surprise. Lan Xichen has been complaining a great deal about the time he is forced to spend with Nie Huaisang, and how unpleasant it always is. Lan Wangji imagines the feeling is shared. It seems odd to him, because both his brother and Nie Huaisang are fine people with personalities mild enough that they’re easy to get along with. Still, if they’ve decided they can’t bear each other’s presence, it’s their problem, and he’s not getting involved in that.

That's why rather than to stay in the main room, as would probably be more proper, Lan Wangji prepares tea and then takes the other boy to his bedroom. That way, if Lan Xichen comes home, Nie Huaisang is less likely to have to deal with him. It also means that Nie Huaisang gets to see the painting he gifted Lan Wangji hanging on the wall. 

He looks absolutely stunned to see it there. 

"So you really displayed it?" he mumbles. "I thought your brother was poking fun at me because it's such a bad painting. I should have known better, it’s not like he has a sense of humour. Still, to put something so bad on the wall like this..."

"I like it," Lan Wangji protests. "Brother too likes it." 

Nie Huaisang snorts and crosses his arms on his chest, tilting his head to glare at his painting.

"I doubt that. He hates everything about me."

"Brother likes how you paint," Lan Wangji objects, inviting Nie Huaisang to sit at his desk, the only table available.

Nie Huaisang sits down. He accepts the cup of tea offered to him and glances at it, but quickly puts it down on the table, lips pinched. 

"Nie gongzi doesn't like this tea?" 

"I don't like any Lan tea, I think. You people always make it too light, it's just warm water.” Nie Huaisang presses a hand against his mouth. “Ah, sorry, that's rude! I'm so sorry, I'll make an effort to be more like before." 

"Like before?" 

Nie Huaisang nods and drinks some tea with a forced smile. 

"You like me quiet, right?" he asks. "I haven't had to be quiet in a while. I miss it a bit, actually. I like having friends, but it's so much effort sometimes, and it gets hard to keep up with people like Jiang-xiong and Wei-xiong. Thanks for the chance to… Ah, I probably speak too much as well?" 

"You speak less than Wei Wuxian, so it is fine,” Lan Wangji replies, unwilling to admit that he minds chatter a little less these days. After that month of overlooking Wei Wuxian’s punishment, he’s had to get used to it.

"Well, that's not hard,” Nie Huisang chuckles. “He even talks in his sleep sometimes." 

Against his better judgement, Lan Wangji finds that detail endearing. He adds it to the list of little things he keeps learning about Wei Wuxian, although he would rather die than confess such a list exists. 

"It is fine that Nie gongzi speaks more now," Lan Wangji states. "Nie gongzi said last year he was one to follow demands and not make them, I'm glad this is changing." 

"Oh, right, I never thanked you for that!” Nie Huaisang gasps, before breaking into a large smile. “But after what you said, I spoke with my brother when I went home, and he agreed to let me try different things. Lan gongzi, I'm very grateful for the kindness you showed me that day, and for your good advice. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Lan Wangji nods in acknowledgement.

In all honesty, and remembering the state Nie Huaisang was in after being told he failed his exams, Lan Wangji has some idea what the older boy might have done if not given some comfort and encouragement. Most of what he said was spoken out of fear that his brother might turn into a widower before even getting the chance to marry, and Lan Wangji was half certain that it was mostly nonsense but… if it helped Nie Huaisang, he’s glad.

“Since Nie gongzi no longer has to hide, will he show me his work?” Lan Wangji asks, glancing at the small pile of papers the other boy dropped on the floor.

“Only if you show me yours. Lan gongzi paints as well, right?”

Lan Wangji nods. He does, but only because it is what a young man of good birth must do. He doesn’t find in this the pleasure his brother and Nie Huaisang seem to take in it. Still, it is not unpleasant to have someone other than his brother appear excited about the prospect of seeing his work.

-

The day has been unpleasant so far for Lan Xichen, and he does not particularly expect it to improve. His uncle is in a terrible mood and making it felt around, all because of this business with Wei Wuxian, which is… 

If Lan Xichen could allow himself to be honest, he’d say the entire matter is ridiculous. Wei Wuxian isn’t an easy student, but he’s far from being the worst they’ve had either. As for this argument with Jin Zixuan, the fault is divided between the two of them, so it’s unfair that one gets punished more harshly. Certainly Wei Wuxian has misbehaved here and there, but he’s clever, and if Lan Qiren had just found the right way to get through to him, things would have gone better. 

Except his uncle isn't one to question his methods, and so Wei Wuxian must carry the blame alone. Much like last year when Nie Huaisang had to shoulder his failure alone, when surely, after how much effort the other Nie boys confirmed he put into studying, such bad results should have made any teacher question themselves. 

It is an unpleasant day, and Lan Xichen feels so rebellious that he asked to be excused when sect leader Jiang and sect leader Jin arrived, for fear he might say something he shouldn't. 

Leaving the adults to their gossips and complaining also means he is free to go inform his brother that Wei Wuxian will be leaving. This, too, Lan Xichen blames on his rebellious mood. He knows his uncle doesn't want Lan Wangji to have anything to do with Wei Wuxian, now that it is clear his upstanding nephew cannot influence the other boy and might instead be lead astray. Too bad for Lan Qiren. If there's finally someone who insistently wants to be Lan Wangji's friend, Lan Xichen wants to encourage that. 

And so as soon as his uncle allows him to leave his side, Lan Xichen heads straight for home. At this hour, his brother is likely to be there, either meditating or practicing the guqin.

When he enters the house, the faint aroma of tea in the air confirms that Lan Wangji must be there. The main room is empty, so he must be in his bedroom, most likely meditating. Lan Xichen is sorry to disturb him, but hopefully Lan Wangji will be grateful to be given a chance to rush and say a few last words to Wei Wuxian. 

As Lan Xichen walks toward his brother's room though, he is struck to hear voices coming from that direction. His brother is not one for guests and there is hardly anyone Lan Wangji is close enough to bring into not simply his house, but his bedroom. 

This mystery is quickly lifted when Lan Xichen reaches the door to his brother's room and finds him sitting at his desk, Nie Huaisang at his side. The two younger boys have spread a large quantity of papers on the table before them, paintings by the looks of it, and are so busy chatting about them that they haven't noticed Lan Xichen. 

It is so odd to see Nie Huaisang this relaxed. When Lan Xichen sees him in the distance with his friends, he is always jumping around, laughing and smiling and nearly as loud as Wei Wuxian. And of course during their weekly meetings, Nie Huaisang is sullen and closed off. Lan Xichen might be tempted to think that this is closer to how Nie Huaisang was last year, but even that would be inexact. Nie Huaisang never used to smile this much, and he always carried himself as if he were scared to take too much space. Nothing like this Nie Huaisang who is calm but clearly happy, and doesn't hesitate to reach across the table to take a painting. 

"Oh this one is so good!" 

Lan Wangji glances at the painting in question.

"Hm. It is brother's. He gave it to me to copy."

Nie Huaisang blushes slightly at the blunder. Lan Xichen expects him to drop the painting or make some disparaging comment, but instead the other boy inspects it carefully.

"Well, it figures,” Nie Huaisang sighs wistfully. “Your brother is a painter beyond compare… I could never even hope to paint with such controlled lines. Everything is just perfect, exactly as it should be… it must be amazing to be this good. I hope to be half as skilled someday." 

Lan Xichen’s heart races at the unexpected compliment. Considering how Nie Huaisang speaks to him when he is present, he would have expected him to say much worse things about him in his absence. Even if he didn’t want to offend Lan Wangji by insulting his brother, it would have been easy to say something more neutral, or nothing at all.

“Huaisang could ask brother to teach him,” Lan Wangji suggests.

“No,” Nie Huaisang huffs with a bitter chuckle. “Your brother has made it very clear to me that he thinks I should give up on painting to focus on studying. He’d never do anything to encourage me on that path. And even without that, he hates me too much to ever want to spend more time with me.”

It stings that Nie Huaisang would believe that, when Lan Xichen has repeatedly asked to see his paintings, only to be denied each time. It stings also that Lan Wangji just nods along and drops the matter, grabbing instead a different painting to inspect it.

"This one is nice." 

"You think?” Nie Huaisang pouts. “It could be better. I really like that view, but I can never do it justice." 

"It is nice," Lan Wangji insists. "I like it." 

"Really? You can have it if you want. Or… or if you'd like, I could paint something especially for you. As a thank you for your help." 

"There is no need." 

"There is much need,” Nie Huaisang grumbles. “You don't realise how much it changed for me. Ah! I know what to give you!” he exclaims, his smile turning devious. “I painted a portrait of Wei Wuxian a little while ago, do you want it?" 

At this most cruel attack, Lan Wangji looks away. In doing so, his eyes fall on the door of his room, only to find Lan Xichen standing there. Lan Wangji appears a little uncomfortable at this intrusion, but nods at him to acknowledge his presence. This, of course, attracts Nie Huaisang’s attention. 

The change is immediate. A moment ago, Nie Huaisang was relaxed and smiling easily, but as soon as he spots Lan Xichen he tenses and hurriedly grabs the paintings laid on the desk so he can hide them.

"I guess it’s getting late," he says stiffly. "I have other appointments today. I will go now." 

"You don't need to," Lan Xichen sighs. "I was just here to tell my brother that..." 

"Don't worry, I'm already gone," Nie Huaisang insists, dashing past Lan Xichen with a mess of papers held against his chest. "I know where the door is." 

Before either brother can stop him, Nie Huaisang is already gone. Lan Xichen isn't exactly surprised that things turned out like this, but he feels somewhat guilty for interrupting this conversation when the other two seemed to be having fun. Indeed, Lan Wangji looks mildly annoyed at him. 

"I just came here to give you some news regarding Wei Wuxian," Lan Xichen sighs. "I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible that uncle has decided to expel him." 

"Jin Zixuan provoked him," Lan Wangji protests. 

"I know, and I also think it's a little unfair, but uncle won't bulge. You know how he gets when he's sure he's right. At least you might have a chance to say goodbye, they're all discussing sect business now, and Wei Wuxian is in the courtyard for his penance." 

It says a lot about Lan Wangji's distress that for once, he doesn't even try to deny his interest in Wei Wuxian. Instead he hurriedly tidies his desk so he can head outside. Eager to help, Lan Xichen gathers the remnants of their tea (Nie Huaisang’s cup is still full, he can't help but notice) and brings them back to the main room so the servants can wash everything. He is then quickly joined by Lan Wangji who holds a few sheets of paper and appears uncertain what to do with them.

“Nie gongzi forgot those,” he explains.

Lan Xichen glances at the papers. They can’t be what Nie Huaisang offered to give to his brother, they’re only studies (excellent studies; it seems Nie Huaisang’s skill has grown even greater since the rabbits) which means he must have simply missed them in his haste to go away. Judging by his expression, it’s clear Lan Wangji feels he should return those without delay, but also that he’d much rather go check on Wei Wuxian.

“Give them to me,” Lan Xichen asks. “I have nothing to do right now, I can drop by the Nie cabin.”

Lan Wangji all but shoves the studies into his hands and hurriedly leaves the house. When he’s gone, Lan Xichen allows himself to chuckle. His brother’s crush is really adorable. It’s a shame that Wei Wuxian is leaving so soon, these two might have gotten somewhere with a little more time. And if it had turned into something serious, Yunmeng Jiang isn’t a bad ally to have. Marrying Lan Wangji to a servant’s son isn’t ideal, but everyone knows how much Jiang Fengmian favours his ward, so they could have gotten a real alliance out of it. Perhaps if Lan Wangji gets a little bold and offers a correspondence to Wei Wuxian, if they get to meet again… Lan Xichen wouldn’t mind having a brother-in-law like that to shake up things in the Cloud Recesses.

That’s a consideration for later, though. First, Lan Xichen has his own fiancé to think of. He takes his time heading for the Nie cabin, feeling no hurry to face Nie Huaisang’s bad mood for the second time in a single day. A shame because these studies are so good that Lan Xichen can’t stop glancing at them as he walks, half certain that he can recognise the exact view of them mountains they depict, and he would love to talk about that. Still, he’s half hoping that his fiancé won’t have returned to the cabin directly, and that he can drop the studies to one of the other Nie disciples. 

On a day like this, of course he shouldn’t have hoped to be lucky. As he gets close to the cabin, Lan Xichen sees Nie Huaisang in front of the door, having a conversation with a Lan disciple whose face is not visible from where he stands. Nie Huaisang does not seem particularly enthusiastic about the company, but still ends up following the other boy behind the cabin.

Lan Xichen goes after them. He tells himself that it is only because he needs to return the paintings, but there might be a hint of curiosity as well. The two boys are so taken by whatever they're planning that they don't even notice he's getting close behind them.

“I’m just saying you could have warned me,” he hears the Lan disciple complain when he’s almost caught up to them. “I waited a long time, I thought maybe something had happened.”

“Listen, if I wanted to be scolded, I’d go hang out with Lan Xichen,” Nie Huaisang retorts. “I got busy, that’s all. I’m barely in the mood at all, so count yourself lucky I’m not sending you away.”

The Lan disciple, whose face Lan Xichen still can’t see, shrugs. He then steps closer to Nie Huaisang who throws his arms around his neck as they lean closer to each other and…

Lan Xichen feels punched. His hand clenches on the paintings he’s holding, tight enough to probably rip the paper, but right now he can’t care about that because… because…

“What are you two doing?” he hisses.

It all goes very fast. Nie Huaisang pushes away the Lan disciple with enough force that the boy cries out and falls to the ground. The boy glances up and, realising who found them in this compromising situation, he scampers off hastily, trying to hide his face. Lan Xichen should stop him, because what just happened broke so many rules, enough that this boy could probably be sent away from Gusu Lan, but he’s too stunned to react.

Nie Huaisang remains where he is, looking rather annoyed as he crosses his arms and glares at his fiancé.

“Do you really have to ruin everything for me?” Nie Huaisang asks. “How annoying.”

“I don’t think you’re the one who should be upset,” Lan Xichen replies, rather more weakly than he would have liked. “I’m the one who caught my fiancé kissing someone else, aren’t I?”

Nie Huaisang smirks and shrugs in that cocky way he does now.

“And what are you going to do about it? Have the engagement cancelled?” he taunts.

“Is that why you did this?” Lan Xichen asks.

He knows that Nie Huaisang hates their engagement, far more than Lan Xichen himself does at this point. But he had assumed that Nie Huaisang understood how important the alliance between their sect is, how much Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie need to count on each other. Every day that passes gives more proof that Qishan Wen is preparing for war, this alliance is so important, regardless of personal feelings, surely Nie Huaisang is clever enough to understand...

“I know we can’t avoid getting married,” Nie Huaisang retorts with another insolent shrug. “But we’re not married yet, and I know you don’t want me, so… can’t you at least let me have fun with someone who does?”

“Do you like him?”

Just saying the words hurts because suddenly, Lan Xichen realises that he might end up living the same life as his father, with a spouse who only reluctantly tolerates his company and would rather be anywhere else. He remembers how wistful his mother looked sometimes, especially toward the end. He doesn’t want to see that expression on Nie Huaisang. He certainly doesn’t want either the lonely life his father condemned himself to.

Nie Huaisang laughs to his face.

“You Lans, it’s always about love and all,” he mocks. “I don’t care about that. I just want to have a little fun with someone before I’m forced to be faithful to you. Kissing people’s nice, you know?”

Lan Xichen flinches. Nie Huaisang smirks, walking closer, leaning toward him, his head cocked to the side.

“Ah, but actually… I guess you wouldn’t know, right? Bet you’ve never kissed anyone, eh?” He steps closer still, slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey. “Lan gongzi… want me to be your first kiss? I’ll make it good, I swear.”

It’s a shameless proposition, one that Lan Xichen should immediately refuse. Instead, his eyes fall on Nie Huaisang’s lips and he aches to feel them against his, to hold the other boy close, to touch him, to...

Nie Huaisang laughs again.

“Right, of course not. Well, I can’t make you want me, can I?” he snickers. “Whatever. I’ll go now. But please, next time… don’t interrupt, okay? It’s rude to bother people when they’re having fun.”

He saunters away as if he doesn’t have a worry in the world. Lan Xichen watches him go, once more filled with hatred for this fiancé he didn’t choose.

It has to be hatred.

He refuses to give another name to the gnawing coldness inside his chest.

[psychopersonified]

Legend has it...

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

A glimpse into Bond’s shared office with the Double-Os. Explore a little more of Q’s recent backstory prior to meeting Bond. Mostly banter and fluff, but there are spots of emotional poignancy - it all ends well so it is safe. 

This one was inspired by a few things: like Bond in his Naval uniform, HRH Prince William’s real life weeklong stint in the Secret Service incl MI6.

Tags: Not dating, dates. Clueless Q but getting there. Intimacy in plain sight. Naval uniforms. 006 is a bit of a cad. Banter. Humour. Q Origins. 

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

“So you do have an office. A rather nice one in fact. Why then do you insist on doing your paperwork amidst the clutter in Q-Branch?”

Bond looks cagey, like he’s hiding something. He clears his throat and mutters, “The WiFi is better down there.” 

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

SIS Building, Level 9 - Double-0 Division Office

Of course Bond knows where his office is, the Double-0s share a bullpen somewhere on the 9th floor. Only Agent 009 ever uses it with any regularity, so the man practically has the whole space to himself - which if you consider the square footage alone, makes his office larger than Mallory’s, even if it is not as imposing. He’s even arranged his desk so he sits apart, monopolising the fantastic view behind him. 

Bond is mildly peeved. 009 had put him charge of housekeeping the Double-0 office though who made him the boss of the division is anyone’s guess. Agent 009 fancies himself Mallory’s deputy, which if you ask virtually anyone in SIS, he is - informally at least. 

In all honesty Bond can’t argue with that, 009 is possessed of good leadership skills and experienced enough to carry it well. It is just that aside from 009, Trevelyan and himself, all the other agents are away on mission. 009 is with Mallory and Tanner, busy finalising the itinerary for the coming royal visit by The Royal Highnesses Prince Charles and Prince William - a weeklong visit to the British Intelligence Services (which included MI5, MI6 and GCCHQ) so they are understandably swamped with the planning and coordination. 

The least Bond could do is to help out by doing this comparably small task of making the division office presentable for the visit. Alec is present in the office with him, but practically useless. He had injured his arm (bullet wound) during his last mission and it is conveniently in a sling at the moment. From the sounds if it, it was merely a flesh wound that Alec is milking for all it is worth in the face of menial labour. 

What this all means at the end of the day is that 007 is on his own - it reminds him of boarding school, only this time all his roommates are gone and he is saddled with the responsibility of cleaning clean up before the professors come to inspect their dorm or they all cop the punishment. 

“Would you stop your moaning?” Bond snaps irritably at his ‘roommate’. “All you have to do is feed the bloody papers into the shredder, you’re not a complete invalid.”

“I’m doing that! It keeps jamming!” Trevelyan slams the cheap plastic feed cover shut, having just unstuck the temperamental machine - possibly because it was cheap.

“Take the staples out first will you? And feed the thicker papers in one at a time.” Bond instructs. 

“Arrrgh! This thing is mind numbingly slow...” Alec continues to moan. 

“You have to empty it Alec. It’s not a bottomless pit.” Bond reigns in the temptation to throttle the other agent. 

The childish part of Bond is indignant, it is not fair. He hasn’t stepped into this office space for almost two years, preferring to do his paperwork and research in Q-Branch where he’d cleared a small empty space on Q’s workbench. Other times he would commandeer the makeshift Q-Branch lounge with it’s well worn Chesterfield sofas. If anyone asks why he’s there, he just uses the excus that the WiFi is faster down there despite not having a shred of either empirical or anecdotal evidence. 

Bond’s prolonged absence from his office means that his desk has since been converted into a catch all purgatory; collecting detritus from all thirteen agents - things that they couldn’t be bothered to decide to keep, file or dispose. There are at least two years worth of interdepartmental circulars, equipment manuals, Health & Safety reports, copies of expense claims, greeting cards, even copies of his premature obituary - piled a foot high over the entire surface of his desk. Even his chair hadn’t escaped the treatment. 

Bond continues to sort through the papers, sending those that need disposal to Alec’s growing ‘to shred’ pile. The other agent shoots him a dirty look. 

“Do you smell something?” There is a stench coming from somewhere around his side of the room that has been bothering Bond all morning. 

“Aside from your poor choice in aftershave?” Alec’s juvenile insult is automatic. 

Bond rolls his eyes even though they have their backs turned to each other. “No really, smells like weeks old bin.” He wrinkles his nose. 

Alec could care less as he is wrestling with the shredder bin. He finally manages to wriggle free the overfull collection drawer with a Neanderthal yank. Strings of paper explode absolutely everywhere. “Bloody fuck!”  

Bond turns around, Alec is trying to keep the mess under control by trying to shove the bin back in, which of course is now impossible. Her Majesty’s finest, ladies and gentlemen. 

“James! Hand me a bin liner will you?” Alec requests with some urgency. His useful arm pressing down on the springy mess threatening to overflow.

Bond grabs the roll and lobs it in his direction. The other agent only has the use of one arm so he can’t conceivably catch the projectile. It hits Trevelyan square on his injured arm. “Oww! Bond what the hell?!”  

“Stop your whining, you’ve endured worse. Now, clean it up.“ 

Minutes go by and countless invectives later, Alec has the situation under control. No, that’s too generous. The damage has been somewhat contained - with the majority of the shredded mess now in the bag, Alec ties it off then declares, “I need a break. I’m going to take these to the incinerator.”  

“Already? You’ve only been at it for an hour.” Bond can’t believe the lazy arsehole. There are at lest four more boxes awaiting his attention. 

“Try doing it with one arm, it’s hard work man.” he grouses. 

“Will you stop milking it. Take the blasted sling off, you don’t even need it.” Truly annoyed now.

“How dare you! It’s medically prescribed.” Alec defends himself with exaggerated affront, hefting the bag over a shoulder. 

Bond huffs in resignation, “Fine, then get me coffee while you’re at it please.” 

Alec is already heading out, his back is towards the other agent, he flips him off with the hand on his supposedly injured arm, “Not bloody likely!” and disappears out the door. 

A moment later, Alec’s booming voice carries down the hallway, “Oh hello Quartermaster. Come for a visit have we?” 

“Hello 006. How’s the tidying up coming along?” Comes the softer reply.

“It would be quicker if 007 would pull his weight. Look at this! He’s making me do all the work. Have a word with him will you?” he shakes the bag on his shoulder for emphasis.  

“Trevelyan!!” Bond warns from inside the room.

“Ah! There he goes again. Toodles Q.” Alec hurries off before 007 makes good on his threat. 

Q peeks around the door into the legendary Double-0 office. “Heard that you’ve been put to task. Came to see it for myself.” Q says cheerily.

Bond is standing behind a desk, a stack of papers balanced on one forearm, another held in his other hand hovering between two piles he was making. All around him are open box files labelled with post-it notes. Agent 007 doing filing. The rumours were true - only the Queen or in this case two Princes could compel Bond to clean up his office. Either that or hell really has frozen over.

“If you’ve come to gloat, please make it a quick one - before I set this place on fire.” 

Q steps further into the room. It’s a generous size. Each agent has a set comprised of a decent sized desk, high backed chair, side cabinet and a tall cupboard. There are even a little plaques on the desks engraved with their names. So very civil service. 

The room itself is divided into roomy cubicles and arranged into four rows of three. However, One set stands apart, closest to the panoramic glass windows and looking ‘over’ the others - Agent 009, Q presumes. 

On one wall there is a setup of communal facilities like a bulletin board, stationery cupboard, printers and a shredder. Speaking of the shredder, the poor machine is in a state; the collection bin is detached and lying on its side a few feet away. Scattered around the base of the shredder and indeed all over the carpeted floor are bits and strings of shredded paper; like someone had a fight with the machine and lost. The static from the carpet is going to make this mess an absolute pain to hoover up. 

Q comes to stand in front of Bond’s executive sized desk and picks up his name plate ::James Bond C.M.G, R.N::

“So you do have an office. A rather nice one in fact. Why then do you insist on doing your paperwork amidst the clutter in Q-Branch?”

Bond looks cagey, like he’s hiding something. He clears his throat and mutters, “The WiFi is better down there.” 

Q looks skeptical. He would know, he had worked with Mark to add secure repeaters all over the building’s dead spots. They had carried out WiFi speed and coverage tests all over the building and there isn’t any significant difference anymore. “That’s a common misconception, 007. We’ve tested the speeds—“

“—Yes well, it just feels that way.” Bond cuts him off before Q pokes more holes in his excuse with inconvenient facts. 

Q decides to let it go. Instead, he makes a slow circuit around the room out of curiosity - observing the individual touches that each agent has added to their space, a little glimpse at their personal choices and preferences.  

For example 001, their longest serving female agent, silver haired matriarch with a razor sharp wit that could cut through any armour better than depleted uranium bullets - but collects tacky porcelain teacups from her travels. Q fears she might become a politician someday and maybe even Prime Minister.

Then there is 008, who is retiring by the end of the year. Poignantly he has pictures of his family all around him. An ex-wife whom he still loves and is battling serious illness; and teenaged children that he has missed out on most of formative lives. His retirement couldn’t come soon enough. 

When Q is finally done snooping, he comes to a stop at the cubicle opposite Bond’s and seats himself on the edge of the desk, “Ugh something smells ripe….”

“Yes, it reeks in here.” Then suddenly Bond looks up concerned, “It’s not me is it?”

“No…don’t think so.” Q reassures distractedly. He turns around in place, sniffing. “It think… It’s coming from around here,” he spies the owner’s name on the plaque - Alec Trevelyan. Q gets up and rounds the desk. When he bends over closer to the desk drawers the smell gets significantly stronger. “I think it’s coming from in here.”

“What is it?” Bond asks curious now. 

“Well I’m not opening it! Who knows what kind of souvenirs 006 brings back from his missions,” Q backs away from the desk, images of severed ears and pinky fingers briefly crossing his mind. After all, they are all barely restrained psychopaths at the best of times. Although if that were true, what does that say about Q then; that he prefers their company to that of most people - well not all of them, just one in particular if he were to be honest. 

Bond laughs, knowing exactly what Q is imagining, “No stomach for the macabre?” he crosses the short distance to Alec’s desk, gently moving Q out of the way. “Besides if he were to bring back a souvenir, he would be sure to pickle them first.”  

He’s teasing of course - but nevertheless, as he hooks his fingers under the drawer pull, he braces himself for what he might find. The drawer slides out smoothly, releasing a noxious plume of rotting stench.

“Oh Christ!!” The smell nearly makes him gag. Q covers his nose with the sleeve of his cardigan and leans over Bond’s hunched shoulder to see. In there lies what looks to be the remains of someone’s putrefied lunch or lunches. A banana so rotten its has liquefied into black slush, a circle of half eaten soft cheese sitting on top of the rotting liquid that is now absolutely overgrown with mould and the piece de resistance - a quarter tray of what must have been sashimi of some kind. The rotting seafood, vegetation and cheese slurry a potent combination. 

Fucking Alec is always leaving food around to the dismay of his colleagues that share the space. It is no wonder then, there is every so often the passive aggressive ‘cc all’ email from some returning Double-0 about clearing out leftover food and a reminder to consume all food in the break room at the end of the hall outside. 

Bond slams the drawer back shut and retreats to his side quickly, herding Q along with him. 

Q looks a little green around the gills, “I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that I ate lunch before I came in here.” 

“I hope you don’t mind being one agent short, because I’m going to kill Alec when he gets back.” Bond resolves.

“IF he comes back you mean. You know him, he’s likely absconded to an early dinner by now.”

Bond dreads the implication, ”There is no way in Hell I’m cleaning that mess up.” He draws the line at that. Nope. No way. 

Speaking of killing agents, there is a small stack of printed cards on the corner of Bond’s desk. Q picks them up, he’d seen these before, several years ago. It’s Bond’s premature obituary from the small ceremony the service held in his honour. Q was a senior tech then and had not known Bond other than brief glimpses when he came to pick up his kit. 

“Are you shredding these?” 

“Rather odd to keep them.” A curios thought pops into his mind, “Where were you then, Q? Had you joined the service?”

“I was Senior Tech, equivalent to Nish’s S position. It’s likely we never crossed paths but you would have been familiar with my tech in the field… You didn’t spend as much time in Q-Branch then as you do now.” Q tries to needle him about that again.

Bond sidesteps it with an expertly placed question, “Did you come to my funeral?”

“No, it was a small private affair. Only the old Q and R went. Besides, I was atoning for my sins then.” The question triggers Q to reminisce about those few months before he met 007 and how much his life changed within that short span on time. 

——

Flashback: 3 years prior...

45 minutes before the start of The Istanbul Incident.

The phone rings down in Q-Branch’s general line. After the sixth ring, “Anyone going to pick that up?!” Engineering Minion A calls out as he wipes his hands on an oily rag. Its early, 7:30am so Q-branch is mostly deserted. Minion A is loading ammo into 008’s BMW before the agent arrives to pick up his car. 

Nobody answers, so Minion A has to trudge over to the phone. For his trouble, he is rewarded immediately with a string of expletives as greeting coming through from the other end. It is too early in the morning for this, “Look either you calm the hell down or I’m hanging up.”

“Where are the cyberboffs in Q-branch?!” the voice on the other side demands. 

Minion A takes a deep breath and explains that it is early, they’re not in yet but he’ll check. He finds a still sleepy Q (who is currently still Collin Mitchel, holding the S rank) in the small pantry hidden in the back of Q-branch nursing his cup of tea. Hair in a wild mess as usual. He informs him about the call and warns that the person on the other end is in a right mood. 

Q picks up the transferred call to a frantic Mark of IT-Branch on the other end. “Fuck Mitchel! Please tell me its you guys messing about the Level 5 servers right now! I know we said surprise us but it’s a little early in the day don’t you think??” Mark is referring to the CyberWar games that IT and Q Branches usually play on Friday nights to strengthen MI6’s cybersecurity. 

“What are you talking about? I’m hardly awake enough to operate anything more sophisticated than a kettle…” Q sighs as he removes his glasses and rubs his sleepy eyes. 

“Collin…” Mark’s voice goes dead serious as he attempts to calm down, “… I’m not dicking around right now. If it’s not you or anyone in Q-Branch, then why the hell is my system logging unusually large data downloads from Level 5 severs?”.

That gets Q’s attention. Mark is one of the best in IT-Branch and and they share a mutual concern about the state of MI6’s cyber security preparedness. There have been times when Q has thought of asking Mark to transfer to Q-Branch, coaxing him to the ‘dark-side’ as they call it. So Mark’s uncharacteristic panic is like a jolt of adrenaline that wakes Q up faster than the strongest cup of tea. Q punches the speaker button and replaces the receiver before grabbing the nearest chair, spinning it around and settling in front of a console. He logs in and pulls up the data traffic log Mark is monitoring. 

Over the past year IT and Q Branches have come to a truce so to speak. Q-Branch will provide the cybersecurity tools and IT will carry out the implementation. What it meant was that Q and his colleagues would build the encryption and protocols, but it was up to IT to roll it out, monitor and patch. So just like what they did for the field agents, they made the weapons but it was up to the agents when and where to use it. In the event an active threat was present, they will work together to repel the attack. IT was in the midst of overhauling the systems - but as anyone can imagine, with so many layers of legacy systems, it was a slow process. But at least it no longer resembled Swiss cheese. 

They’ve secured the most sensitive files with the latest encryption at least - but that is always double edged, put too many padlocks on a door and you’re telling the burglar where you’re hiding your best stuff. 

“I see it. When did it start? Q switches to his game voice. Crisp, efficient.

“15 minutes ago. I was on my morning run when the alarm came through. I ran back as fast as I could.”

“Can you shut down the server?”

“Not while Ops is running. They’ll loose access to classified files for cross-referencing. As well as the encrypted satellite feeds that run though it. We’ve got Eastern Russia running right now and Istanbul is coming up soon.”

“Has M been informed?”

“Not yet. I was hoping it was you guys mucking around.” 

“Mark, I don’t have full access to the servers from Q-Branch terminals. I can hack it, but I’d rather not cause even more alarm.” 

“Get up here then! M and Tanner just arrived, you can work up here and.... I’d rather you came with me to face M.” 

“You’ll have to buzz me up, I don’t have full clearance.” 

A second later he hears Mark’s muffled voice yell something to someone in his team.

“Davis is going down to get you now. Fuck. …Mitchel is this it?”

The question hangs heavily. They’ve been predicting something like this to happen for a few months now. In the last 18 months, there has been an increase in breach attempts on MI6 systems. Together IT and Q-Branch have managed to repel most of them or limit the extent. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. Both sides using each successive attempts to gauge skill and strength. 

The elevator ride up to Q-Branch was excruciating. Q now understands why M wants to have the two branches working closer together, the bureaucracy is eating into their response time. 

When Q arrives at IT-Branch, Mark is tracing the source. M and Tanner standing close by. It’s coming from an MI6 laptop - using the credentials of an Agent Sebastian Ronson who is currently on mission in Istanbul. Q slides into the station next to Mark, they fall into practiced ease. Mark will defend the keep, and Q will chase the trail. 

“Contact Agent Ronson, now!” Tanner tells Mark. Mark calls the mobile number registered to Ronson in Istanbul. 

*Click* an automated female voice informs them that the number is currently not in service. 

They pull up the Istanbul Ops file, Ronson has three other field agents with him. He calls the other numbers with the same result. He calls the hotel next, but the front desk informs them that the men have checked out. 

While Mark is trying to make contact, Q is tracing the breach, trying to identify the affected files. To his relief, the files in this partition were not just encrypted, they were protected with a copy prevention and decryption protocol that he had written. He didn’t know what the files contained, he didn’t have that security clearance. He just built the moat and the fortress that surrounded it. What the higher ups put in it was anyone’s guess. But one thing he did know was that whoever wanted the data had to physically retrieve Ronson’s authorised hard drive to to get to it. 

He informs M as much. 

Something about the this whole situation seems odd, ”Ma’am if the hackers anticipated that they would need an authorised laptop as a file cache, and they’ve cut off Ronson’s communication with us - the only logical assumption is that they not only know the location of Ronson and the team but they have a plan to retrieve that laptop.... and very soon. Before we re-establish communication or Ronson suspects something is amiss.” 

Tanners eyes go wide, M goes very still. This would mean the hacker’s plan is live - making this a life threatening emergency.

“Do you know what files were downloaded?” M asks. 

“I can show you the list of files, but I don’t know what’s in it.” Q pulls up the log and moves aside for M to look for herself. 

One of the folders makes M’s heart skip a beat. It’s a summary of field reports from across NATO agencies informing each other of their activities including embedded undercover agents and informants. The idea was to coordinate efforts and reduce doubling up agents which might increase suspicion and also prevent ‘friendly fire’ so to speak from multiple agencies working independently. It’s not a list per se, but it would be fairly easy to put the information together into one. 

M points out the folder to Q, absolute certainty in her voice, “He’s after this folder. Can you delete it remotely?” 

Q activates remote access of the agent’s laptop and gets to work. 

::ERROR. Remote access denied. Sys admin required::

Q tries 3 more times with different admin credentials with the same result. Now they’re in real shit. 

“Mark I’m locked out.” Q looks to Mark. Mark tries an even higher level credential and still nothing.

“We have to pull the plug—” Mark tells him. 

“—Wait till I’m done. If you do that now, the download stops, and the hacker will know we’re on to them and cut the connection.”

“Isn’t that the point?” M interrupts him sharply.

“Ma’am, if he already has the file you think he’s after, and everything else is just a blind grab, then this is the last chance we have at wiping that drive. I need him to remain connected until I can hack in and execute the delete code.” 

M sees his point. Use the other files as bait, the hacker doesn’t actually know the right folder yet. Q turns back to access the laptop through backchannels, several long minutes later, he finally manages to get in. He has partial access, one of them happens to be turning on the webcam on the laptop. 

“Come on, come on…” The webcam turns on, but no-one is in front of it. “Mark, the webcam! Try getting through to Ronson.” Q broadcasts the feed to the main IT room monitor and the video conferencing camera attached to it.

While Mark scrambles into action, Q continues to chip away at the hijacked laptop’s protocols to gain delete access. Over his shoulder and speakers he can hear Mark trying to make contact with their agent, accessing the laptop’s volume control remotely and cranking it up as high as it would go. 

“Agent Ronson! Can you hear me?… Agent Ronson?” 

There are sounds of men talking in the background, and suddenly Ronson comes into view. 

“Agent Ronson! Your position has been compromised. You need to move urgently. You are to remove the laptop drive and destroy it immediately.” Mark informs him. 

“What? What’s going on? We’ve just finished our morning briefing and about to head out.” These precious few seconds of confusion will cost Ronson his life. 

“Abort mission, get out of there and destroy the laptop!” M steps into view of the camera and barks the order. 

Ronson finally realises the severity of the situation, but it is too late. He barely has time to draw his weapon when the sound of a door being kicked open is heard. Automatic gunfire sprays into the room, including two right into Agent Ronson’s torso and its over. Ronson collapses into the armchair, as they watch, impotent. Few seconds later the assailant pushes shut the laptop screen from behind. They never get a look at the person. 

In those few seconds before that, Q finally gains access. Just after he executes the secure delete code, the connection is terminated. The screen goes dark. Q doesn’t know if it worked. 

All eyes are on him. Not just his superiors, but the rest of IT techs, the room is dead silent. 

“I..I can’t be sure it worked. If they shut down the laptop before the drive is wiped, it would mean the data is still on it. But they will have to still break the encryption on the files to read it. That buys us time—”

M starts walking away before he is even finished talking. Tanner on her heels. Q can hear her rapid fire orders to him as they turn to enter the main Ops room and to her office. 

“Where is 007?”

“On his way.”

“Who else do we have in Istanbul?”

“Eve Moneypenny, junior field agent.”

“Get her on the ground to support 007.”

“Medical evac for Ronson and the team?”

“Still trying to contact them…..” Their voices fade away as the doors close. 

Mark and Q share a look. -Shit-….doesn’t even begin to cover the magnitude of this cockup. Q can’t stop the feeling of crushing disappointment building inside. They’ve lost this one. 

Mark in an uncharacteristic fit of anger-filled frustration, picks up his mouse and hurls it at a wall. There is nothing they can do anymore, Ops team will handle it from here. “I’m going to shower,” he announces to the quiet floor. Q notices that Mark is still in his running gear and sweaty either from the run or the emergency. 

Q waits till Mark is out the door before slowly rising and facing the rest of the IT techs staring at him wide-eyed. It’s literally first thing in the morning and they’ve just watched a field agent take two right in the chest. Not an everyday occurrence. 

He takes a deep breath and starts rattling off orders even though Q isn’t technically their boss. 

“Revoke Ronson’s credentials, check and update credentials of all the other agents in the field that we can contact, pull the activity logs and study the hack, comb the application code for a trojan, check the other servers to see if anything else was downloaded, request for Ronson’s laptop to be returned as soon as Ops can recover it…..” and so on. No one questions him, and the floor bursts into a hive of activity. 

Weeks later, when the dust settles and the forensics completed, they would learn that Agent Ronson was never aware of the breach. Ronson’s laptop was just an entry point, they intercepted data traffic through his WIFI. It was excruciatingly simple once they examined the remains of the laptop. The hackers switched out his secure mobile hotspot and used the same network name - a moment of inattentiveness on Ronson’s part and that was it. A key logger captured his credentials and the hacker used it as an entry point to gain access to the system, releasing a virus that burrowed into deeper levels of the classified database. 

———

Two Weeks later…

The young woman about his age in the monochrome pantsuit looks over at him,”What are you in for?”

Her question stops Q’s nervous pacing outside the conference room. 

“I mean we’re both here for the Istanbul investigation…” she coaxes. There is no smugness - just deadpan with a hint of dark humour to her tone. She doesn’t look so great herself, her hands have kept up their anxious smoothing of the fabric covering her thighs. It somehow puts Q at ease, knowing he’s not the only one here facing the firing squad. 

Might as well, she’ll hear about it in the meeting anyway, “Failed to delete Ronson’s computer hard drive in time. What about you?” 

“Shot the double-0 agent who was in the middle of retrieving said drive,” the woman replies wryly.

“Ah... that is unfortunate,” was all Q could come up with. He’s heard the story. It was all everyone could talk about the past weeks. So this is the junior agent with the dubious honour of being the first field agent to kill a Double-0 through friendly fire. 

Then because Q is an emotionally bumbling halfwit who thinks humour solves everything, he adds, “Do you think they’ll put us in neighbouring cells? I hear the dungeons are pretty bleak this time of year.” 

Instead of the exasperated look he is expecting, the woman regards him and smiles slowly, “Eve Moneypenny, Station-T.” She eventually offers as introduction. 

“Collin Mitchell, Q-Branch” he reciprocates, shaking her hand.

—

The meeting goes as expected. No intel about the drive or any sign of decryption activity. 007 is still MIA, no body was recovered - if they don’t find a body in another week, they’ll call off the search teams. There is now serious pressure to restructure how Ops is carried out. They can’t have Ops, IT and Q-Branches working separately without a clear chain of command not in this day and age. 

In addition to that, the incident brings home the need to have the handlers and agents work much more closely, like a ‘hand in glove’ so to speak - instead of fobbing them off to a constantly rotating shift of support team. Ronson second guessing Mark’s information was a result of a combination of factors; the unexpected mode of communication and him not knowing who Mark was and therefore not trusting the information. Precious seconds wasted in establishing veracity of the information likely cost him his life.

Agent Moneypenney is suspended from field duty. Pending reassignment possibly to a desk job. Q is temporarily assigned to IT branch to help with securing MI6 systems - he has already been helping out Mark the past few weeks, but this order means he has to dotted line report to IT-Branch Head Timothy Hayden who hates his guts and second guesses everything Q does. It is not going to be pleasant. 

Outside the SIS building in the park across from the train station, Eve and Q sit morosely on opposite ends of a bench, picking at their lunch arranged between them. 

“Well, I think we got off lightly all things considered.” Eve speaks first. 

“Speak for yourself. Hayden still wants his pound of flesh after the print-pocalypse I caused two years back. I’m going to be debugging applications for the rest of my life if he has any say in it.”

Eve snorts, then a few moments later very sombrely reminds him, ”I killed someone Collin.” 

Q hangs his head. Perspective. “OK. You win... “ He says very gently, trying to lighten the mood. “…So much for our promising careers in espionage.”

They eat their lunch in silence for a while before Eve speaks up again. “I thought of going to see his next of kin; you know... to make amends. Tell his wife and children how brave he was, how his last moments were spent defending his country. Least I could do... Maybe even ask for forgiveness one day.” Eve’s face crumples, her voice cracking. 

She draws in a long shaky breath, then through a thick sob she says,“Tanner tells me he didn’t have any. This bloody -job- was his whole life.” She gasps, a hand coming up quickly to cover her mouth and nose, muffling the earnest sobs that were wrecking through her now. Before this, she had held steady for two weeks to the day since she pulled that trigger. 

He doesn’t know what to say, up to two weeks ago he had been mostly sheltered from the more gruesome aspects of his job - Ronson was the first agent he’d ever seen killed live, not a recording after the fact. One moment he was talking, the next, fatally wounded - his story ended right that moment. Ronson had an ex-wife, no child.

Not knowing what else to do, Q moves their lunch away and scoots close, wrapping his arms around Moneypenny and she does the same for him. They don’t say much after this. But it is the start of their standing Thursday lunch. A friendship forged through mutual adversity and tragedy. The both of them having to work their way back into M’s good graces. 

——

Back to Present…

“Oh? Not classified is it? Would you be able to tell me about it?” Bond looks genuinely interested. 

“Over dinner… if you can finish up here by then.” Q raises an eyebrow at the amount of work still to be done. 

Alec chooses that moment to swan back into the room, two ladies from the secretarial pool in tow, one on each arm. They gingerly lower him into his chair and he sighs in excessive relief. The ladies coo soothingly at him, massaging his allegedly sore shoulders and back.

“Awfully nice of you to come back.” Bond says but refuses to acknowledge his theatrics. 

“I had to, left my pills here. Sam dear, could I have some help with these?” He pouts pitifully at her as he hands her the blister pack of pain medication that was on the table. Then,“Ta, so kind of you,” when Sam pops the requisite number of pills into his mouth and Ginny brings his coffee to his lips. 

Q shakes his head at 006’s antics. He can be such a loveable cad. Not too long ago 007 was reputed to be the same - twin terrors that made M rethink her decision on a daily basis. 

“Oh, and we brought your coffee as demanded.” Ginny comes over to hand Bond his coffee - it is no longer hot but warm. She glances apologetically at Q, “Sorry we didn’t get you one, sir.” 

“Well, now that you’re back, mind finishing up here?” Bond shakes a box of papers awaiting the shredding machine for emphasis.  

“Ooooh… give me a moment. The meds haven’t kicked in.” Alec moans woefully, which prompts the women to renew their fussing over him. 

“Really sir! Can’t you see Alec isn’t fit to do any heavy lifting?” Sam admonishes Bond. 

Her audacity takes Bond aback, he glances at Q and spreads his arms in a ’look what I have to endure because of Alec’ gesture. Q smiles back at him sympathetically. 

An idea forms in Bond’s mind. He makes a show of stapling a stack of papers that needs to be filed. “Oh bugger!” he proclaims loudly. “Ran out of staples. Alec do you have any refills?”

Alec still basking in the female attention pulls open his desk drawers distractedly before turning to look. Within seconds, the stench of his past meals come back to haunt him as it wafts intrusively into the room. He slams the drawers back shut again. 

“Oh! What is that smell?!” Ginny straightens, alarmed. Sam recoils as well. Both women stepping away from his desk instinctively. 

Alec shots to his feet, eyes wide, “Whoops! Looks like break time is over. I ought to get back to finishing the housekeeping.” 

006 quickly usher the women out, sending them on their way with a wink and a flirty quip, “I’ll see you ladies later this evening. 5:30? I shall count down the hours.” 

When they are out of earshot, he rounds on 007, “You bastard!” 

Bond’s infantile snickering turns into outright uncontainable laughter. “How is it my fault? Throw your dammed leftovers away.”

“Oh I’ll throw something alright,” Alec grabs his empty coffee cup and is about to pitch it at Bond’s head when Q slides in front of him. Q levels them both with his Quartermaster stare, quelling any further childish escalation of hostilities. 

“Well now, if the both of you are quite finished sabotaging each other, perhaps you’d like to bring those boxes and the offending drawer down to Q-Branch?”

Twin looks of confusion.

“We have an industrial shredder and a power washer down in the lair... If you gentlemen would like the use of it.” Q smiles and nods his leave. 

——

Day of HRHs Prince Charles and William’s Visit

Q-Branch is abuzz with activity, even more than usual. The labs are cleaner than they ever will be again. Not pristine, but not quite the mad scientist lair and far less a safety hazard than it usually is. 

Everyone has on their cleanest lab coat, overalls and PPE. Q’s even had a haircut and attempted to tame it with ‘product’ this morning. 

Center stage for this portion of the visit is the modified Aston Martin V8 Vantage recovered from 007’s latest mission - with a battered front end and deep gouges along its flanks. On top of Bond’s decorative additions - it was also generously riddled with bullet marks, much of it concentrated on the pockmarked windscreen and windows, none of which penetrated the bulletproofing thankfully. 

Q nearly had a fit, it would have been impossible to repair the damage in time; but Moneypenny had the brilliant idea to turn the narrative in their favour - a gritty, uncensored example showcasing the dangers their agents face in the line of duty and the tech used to keep them safe. And what better way to bring the message home than to have the actual agent that survived the ordeal; Commander James Bond aka 007 regale the Royal Highnesses with the story himself. 

So they left the car pretty much alone, other than rolling it into the centre of Q-Branch. It cut a forlorn picture sitting there, with its damage on full display - gun barrels sticking out, boot open and bits of carbon fibre hanging off. It looked like a squashed insect in the middle of a clean floor. 

As for the man of the hour himself, he had sauntered into Q-Branch right after the tour of the Double-0 office was done. He’s there practicing his story, memorising the script Eve wrote for him. Not that he needed a script to remember what happened - he was there after all, but he tended be a little sarcastic and churlish with his words, at least in his written reports so the script was an insurance against that. 

Moneypenny had insisted that 006 & 007 wear their military uniforms as it added to the pomp and circumstance, Mallory agreed. So Bond and Trevelyan were in their Naval uniforms. Trevelyan was somewhere in the building making full use of the uniform and the effect it produced on anyone inclined to go home with him. Last Bond saw of him, he had amassed a small entourage of both sexes in the cafeteria. 

*Pheeeww-whiit!!* 

There were loud appreciative catcalls and whistles when 007 made his entrance to Q-Branch wearing his immaculate Naval Commander ensemble. He’d politely tipped his hat to everyone as he went around looking for the Quartermaster to present himself - curios to see if it produced any effect.

“How are the preparations coming along?” He found the Chief Overlord in the back pantry making a cup of tea and had sidled right up behind him to rumble in his ear. Q chokes on his tea. Bond quickly rescues the mug from the quartermaster’s hand while the man sputters and recovers from the fright. 

“Bond! How many times have I told—,”Q’s words are cut off abruptly when he turns around to face the insufferable agent. 

“… have I… I…,” He tries to restart his standard tirade, but it dies on his lips so he gives up and resigns to just staring. His brain is frizzing out, Q’s sure. The only thought on his mind is what a dashing figure he cut - those magnificent the gold braids on his cuffs, the eight gold buttons glinting in the light, the shoes polished to perfection. 

He could almost forgive this man for ruining his prized car. Almost. -The navy colour brings out his eyes-. And for loosing the rifle. Maybe. -What do all those insignias mean?-

A minute later, and Q is still lost in contemplation. Bond leans in close again, blue eyes shining, “Are you nearly done with your assessment?” He brings Q’s rescued mug up to his lips and takes a long sip, never breaking eye contact throughout. 

Q’s eyes trail down to Bond’s throat, the way his Adam’s apple bob against the white collar and dark tie as the agent swallows. At the sound of Bond clearing his throat, Q’s eyes snap back up again to regard the agent in the eye. -What were they taking about again?-

“Right. Yes. Preparations. Everything’s ready… And how are you with your script?” Q reclaims his mug, clutching it with both hands to protect it. The bastard has taken to stealing his drink at every opportunity, ever since that night of the party* here at Q-Branch. 

“All squared away in here,” Bond taps his temple with a finger. “The hair’s new,” He makes an observation of his own. He brings up his right hand and lightly cards his fingers through Q’s fringe. It breaks up the neatly gelled hair, letting a few pieces fall more beguilingly over his forehead. Personally, he prefers the perpetually messy look Q wears on a daily basis.

Q is transfixed by the presumptuously familiar gesture. All he can do is let his gaze drift along the hands, up to the white cuff peeking out of the navy sleeve, the triple gold braid rank insignia on the sleeve, up the arm to the crisp line of the shoulder and back to Bond’s face. 

Those fingers that were a second ago in his hair lowers slowly to touch the back of Q’s hand that is wrapped around the mug, drawing a slow teasing circle on the skin before circling his wrist to pull his hand and the mug up to the agent’s mouth - stealing another long sip. When Bond finally withdraws, his bottom lip graze lightly over Q’s forefinger. 

Q’s breathing has transformed into embarrassingly short and shaky pants. -The fucker doesn’t even drink tea on a regular basis- so all this, is for Q’s benefit. And it is highly effective. The warm flush that has crept over his cheeks throughout the ordeal, spreads like wildfire over his skin right down to his groin at that final touch. 

It comes out as an almost whimper, “Is it just me, or is it too warm in here?… Perhaps I should check on the settings. It wouldn’t do to broil our royal guests.” Q edges along the pantry counter, out of the agent’s magnetic circle of influence - he needs all his faculties intact right now. 

“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Bond catches his cardigan sleeve just before he is out of reach. 

“Yes, of course. See you after.” Q ducks out of reach as soon has Bond’s fingers release him.

  ——

Post Royal visit…

-It is perfectly normal to have a standing Friday night dinner with a colleague isn’t it?- Q questions the reflection in the lavatory mirror.

The royal visit to Q-Branch had gone off without a hitch. M was mighty pleased, 007 was engaging and respectful, his minions competent and efficient and all of Q’s live tech demonstrations went smoothly as rehearsed.  

Now that it was over, Bond was waiting for him outside so they can adjourn to their dinner appointment. The prospect of spending this evening with the agent, as they almost invariably do countless nights before this, feels daunting all of a sudden. What the bloody hell is wrong with him tonight? This is so uncharacteristically like him.

Q knows that Bond loves to tease. And Q has permitted and played along all this time - but he’s not sure how Bond would feel if the agent knew how many less than ‘proper’ fantasies of Q’s he has had a staring role in. Q feels bad about using the agent like this. He genuinely enjoys Bond’s company and tries to stay in it for as long as the other would permit; but sometimes Q thinks he might be imposing on the agent’s down time.

-This is karma- Q thinks. His sins finally catching up to him. That blasted naval uniform and its amplifying effects on Bond’s already considerable charms - he can’t think straight when the agent is in it. Squashing his arousal has been especially difficult this evening. He doesn’t want to cause Bond any discomfort... in case the agent notices. 

Perhaps cancelling tonight would be the decent thing to do; and maybe put a stop to subsequent dinner invitations. Oh but no… the thought of not having these evenings with Bond hurts him like a round kick to the chest. A curious if painful reaction, one that he is not prepared to examine just yet.

-Oh you selfish prick.- We all know how short a Double-0’s tenure can be. Bond should be spending his time with someone he has a chance of developing a consequential connection with; not humouring a romantically challenged quartermaster. There he said it, happy? 

Where had this melancholy mood come from? -From the depths of your guilty conscience you dolt.- Or maybe its sexual frustration?

By the time he’s done with with the self recriminations, Q’s so morose he’s close to losing it emotionally. He had turned his back to the mirror at some point, and is now leaning against the sink counter, head bent, a hand in his hair, phone in the other. He seriously considers calling Eve, she knows how to deal with… squishy emotions like adult. 

But before he can make the call, the lavatory door creaks open. It is after hours, so there shouldn’t be many people still about. 

“Q? Are you in here?” Bond’s voice calls out. Shit. He must have been waiting too long for this liking. 

The man steps into view. One look at Q and immediately concern colours his voice. “Q, are you alright?” Then seeing the phone in Q’s hand, “What happened?” He steps in close, wrapping his hands around Q’s elbows. 

“I uh… I… I don’t know where to start.” Q is hesitant for a few seconds, looking for his words. But then it seems the cork on his bottled up emotions pop and it all comes pouring out.

“Bond… I feel… somewhat guilty. These dinners, I mean. I sometimes feel I’m taking advantage of your time. I’m not imposing am I? And please be honest. I won’t hold it against you. I know you Double-Os have this weird game about flustering the quartermaster, but I don’t want you to think I take the game seriously and that I’ll withhold any tech you’ll need because of it. If you have somewhere better to be, please don’t hold out on my account—” 

He feels a full on ramble developing. Maybe he should stop talking so the man can answer. Or maybe he’s afraid of the answer and that’s why he can’t stop talking. 

“—Don’t get me wrong, I genuinely enjoy these evenings with you. I look forward to every one of them in fact, but I don’t want you to feel like you -have- to continue with them because of some silly game. We both know your down time is precious and you don’t have many opportunities to socialise outside of your cover. So it would be immensely selfish of me to continue to take up that time…“

Q pauses, not because he ran out of things to say, but because he ran out of breath. He gulps air like a drowning man and continues… because if he stops talking, he just might start blubbering like some hysterical idiot. 

“You ought to be spending this time more constructively, with someone you care about and have that reciprocated. Not that I’m indifferent… your welfare concerns me greatly. Hence this overdue lecture about not wasting your time on something that would essentially amount to… to… to nothing.” -Oh wow… that fucking hurt to say out loud.- Right in the diaphragm, just under the sternum. Q unconsciously presses a thumb as close to the spot as he can get. 

He meant every word of it. He wouldn’t stand in the way if Bond found someone he would rather spend time with. -What is he even saying, of course he wouldn’t be in the way, he had no claim in the first place.Silly dolt.-

“Not that there are any expectations on my side.” Q is quick to put him at ease on that front. -Liar-. Why is he even saying these things? It was just dinner between friends. Why is he being so bloody melodramatic about it? -Shut up. Shut up.-

Q gives his head a shake for finality, “Bottom line is, I’ve taken advantage of you and I apologise.” He finally looks Bond in the eyes, or tries to. The man’s face is blurry, Q thinks to reach up to clean his glasses but realises to his horror that it is unshed tears that is clouding his vision. -Well isn’t this perfectly humiliating.-

Bond is studying him with intense blue eyes - searching for something. The moment stretches…

It reminds Q of that silly Netflix show where the characters roll a dice and their futures split into six different outcomes. For the first time Q wonders if there exists a timeline where he and Bond could conceivably end up more than friends. There is a likelier chance that in some timeline, maybe even this one - Bond walks into the sunset with some femme fatale he picks up along the way. Alive and whole with the possibility of finally finding the happiness he so deserves after years of tragic sacrifice. And Q has no choice but to shake his hand and watch him go. Knowing Bond, he’ll probably ask to keep the DB5 too. 

-Well, good luck getting that thing serviced at any random garage.- Q digs his thumb harder into his diaphragm to distract himself from the flaring discomfort. 

Bond’s voice is low and soft when he finally says something, “Q… this might have been longest ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech anyone has made. Are you breaking up with me?”

That earns Bond an involuntary chuckle even through his unshed tears, “Don’t be facetious… *sniff*…I’m being serious.” Bond is right though, this whole conversation was silly, they were just friends. What kind of person weeps over dinner with a friend?

From Bond’s point of view; he knows if he leaves Q to his own devices tonight, the quartermaster will play the gentleman and logic himself out of going out with Bond ever again. Even if that’s not what Q wants himself. Bond can’t risk that. 

At the same time, he doesn’t want to push too hard, not when Q hasn’t had a chance to process his own revelations. He has heard enough between the lines of Q’s rambling admission to be fairly confident that his affections are not in vain. All that is needed is patience. 

Bond chooses his words and tone carefully, “You’re right… in some aspects. My time is precious, and perhaps limited—,” wry smile,”—So the fact that I choose to spend it with my quartermaster says something about the depth of my fondness for his company. 

“As for taking advantage of me, in so much as it is possible,” this one, he is less clear how Q came to the conclusion, “It is true, if there was anyone in the world who might be capable of it, it would be you. But only because I allow it.” He gives Q a few moments to process what he had said. The quartermaster wasn’t the only one who can tiptoe around a subject without actually referencing it. 

Bond studies Q as he mulls over the words. He would make a terrible poker player. Q fidgets when he thinks; self soothing gestures - fingers stroking his own hands or turning an object over and over. Over the last half year, those unconscious self soothing gestures have spilled over to include Bond himself, if he is in close enough proximity. Q’s favourite is the tie pin if available, and if not, the cuff links on his sleeve. The satisfaction he derives from be being a source of comfort to Q is unquantifiable.

This evening is no different, despite the ‘breakup’ speech, Q’s fingers have found their way to a gold button on Bond’s uniform - the pad of his thumb worrying over the embossed gilt crown and anchor motif. 

“So… it’s not an imposition then? You don’t mind this?” Q summaries felling terribly silly, now that the melancholic fog is lifting. 

“Q, not even terrorist with a gun to my head can compel me to give up state secrets, what makes you think I can’t fend off an unwanted dinner appointment?” This statement coming from anyone else would have been hyperbole, but from Bond, it puts his little freakout into perspective. “Believe it or not, I look forward our evenings as well.” 

“Ah. Right… “ More contemplative fidgeting with the gold button. Then a deep breath and a noisy sniffle, “Does the invitation to dinner still stand? Some food would do me good I think.” Maybe it’s the low blood sugar that is causing this silliness, Q’s certainly going to play it off that way. Though he suspects this weekend is going to be one of quiet introspection about this oddly personal relationship developing between them.

Bond smiles, leaning close to whisper in his ear, “Dinner always stands.”

Q lets Bond lead him out of the washroom and into the lift, thankful that no one was around to notice how long they spent in there.  

In the lift, Q rests his back and head against the side wall. Bond is crowding close next to him, despite the empty lift. He has his arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the same wall, body angled towards Q and watching him contemplatively. 

“You don’t mind my aftershave do you?” Bond asks all of a sudden with cheeky grin.

“What?” The bizarre question makes Q turn his head to look at him.

“Its not offensive or overpowering is it? You know, in case its off putting to the marks.“ Bond continues, verbally nudging Q to play along, to fall back into their usual banter. 

“I didn’t think it appropriate that I should have an opinion about it before.”

“Well, what if I want you to have an opinion about it now?”

Q can’t stay away from their usual play for long; this time it is him that initiates, leaning in close. Bond tips up his chin automatically, to give his favourite boffin better access. Q presses close, nose just shy of touching the underside of Bond’s jaw and takes a long whiff. 

It’s the end of a long day so there is only the barest hint of aftershave mixed with his natural scent. -God. He smells good.- 

Q passes his verdict, “I… I suppose if I were to have opinion about it, I’d say you smell… perfect.”

————The End————————-

Extended scene….

The lift dings and the doors open. Bond and Q part reluctantly back to a semi-respectable distance. But not before a waiting SIS employee on the other side of the door catches sight of them in what could be construed as a compromising position. 

What’s-his-name takes longer than normal to step into the lift, dawdling on the threshold trying to make up his mind to get in or take the next one - despite the virtually empty lift. 

The man in the Navy uniform is undoubtedly a Double-0, but the younger one he isn’t so sure, one of the boffs in IT or Q-Branch from the looks of it. If they’re carrying on a secret affair, he doesn’t want to be an unwitting witness - rumours have it, those Double-0s have a way of making interlopers… disappear. 

His indecisiveness makes both men shift their attentions towards him. Both expressions quizzical. Navy man sweeps an arm round the empty lift, welcoming him to enter.

“I’ll… um… take the next one…” he says awkwardly and steps quickly out of sight. 

——————Fin——————-

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

Q’s Origin story might make more sense if you read my attempt at writing Q’s backstory in the plot outlines below: (they’re not full fics but you’ll get the sense of who this version of Q is.)

Series 1 Pilot here. 

Series 2 Episode 1 & 2 here. 

And Episode 3.

Also I’m lazy, so some of the other Double-0s are based on pre-existing characters from other fandoms. 

009 is based on Harry Hart (Galahad) in Kingsman.

001 is based on Emma Thompson in Johnny English and Late Night, I love how comedically irreverent and straight talking she is, I can imagine her being fed up with the way everyone else talks in their roundabout way and calls them out on it.

[dcbbw]

WIP Wednesday 5-13-2020

Thanks for the tags, @ao719​ and @burnsoslow​ (My #GreysAnatomyCrew).

Life has been more hectic than usual for the past two weeks: I have three projects running concurrently that I am managing at work, along with another huge project looming on the horizon; may aunt passed away very recently after a ten year battle with Alzheimer’s; and I am just starting to dig my way into the rabbit hole that is reading and reblogging.

I am working on stuff and hope to begin posting some fics beginning this weekend, but no promises.

Below are some works in progress, including another glimpse into Riam family life (once I birth these babies!!!)

PS--How is a WIP post over 1800 words? (See photo above)

Family Retreat (Riam):

“Hey, you! I thought you were with your brothers and father.”

Frac picked a granny smith apple from a crystal bowl on the kitchen island. “Naw. They’re doing little kid stuff.”

Riley arched a brow as she turned the on the burner so the potatoes could begin to cook; she reached in the refrigerator for a package of bacon.

“Little kid stuff? Need I remind you, you’re only older than your twin by three minutes and your younger brother by two years??

“I’m a whole day older than Fric!” Frac protested.

Riley shook her head with a chuckle. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Don’t call me that!” Frac didn’t like being reminded that he was royal; it meant he was different.

His mother pressed her lips to his cheek, giving him a noisy kiss before she went back to preparing dinner. Frac began wandering the kitchen.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Steak, mashed potatoes with sour cream and butter, fried cabbage with bacon,” his mother responded absently; she was debating pepper juice over the cabbage leaves.

“Vinegar for the potatoes?” Frac asked eagerly. He loved the sour potatoes as much as Liam did.

“On the side.”

“Dessert?” her son asked hopefully.

Riley nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen island; at the end, were pans of corn pudding and baklava cooling.

A huge grin split the teenager’s face before he fell silent, chomping loudly on his apple. Finally, he spoke.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yeah?” Riley looked over her shoulder briefly before placing bacon slices in a hot pan.

“Are you and Dad gonna get a divorce?” Frac’s voice was small, scared.

Stairway to Heaven (Riam)

A/N: This fic is inspired by @ao719’s Remember Me; it’s the story Riam’s ending. I may never post this.

Night of Riley’s funeral:

Liam’s nurses helped him into his pajamas and into bed. The once tall, strong, broad shouldered King was now weak, frail, and bent over. His charm and vibrancy had been diminished greatly due to his stroke.  Liam had lost a lot to his stroke: his strength, his speech, his mobility. His dark eyes were clouded and dull. His ready smile had been stilled.

It hadn’t mattered while Riley was with him. Just as she had when they first met, she saw Liam and not what he had become.

And now she was gone.

He lay on his side as covers were drawn over him. Normally he faced his nightstand so he could use his functional arm to sip water through the night. But tonight, he faced Riley’s side. Tears fell from his eyes as he gazed at the empty pillow. The lights turned off and the door shut as the nurses left to allow the King Father to sleep.

Liam lay in the dark, crying as he stared at Riley’s pillow. It was the end of the fifth day without his Riley by his side. Without smelling her perfume, or hearing her soft voice talk to him; talk for both of them. Without feeling her arms wrap around him.

Without hearing her tell him she loved him. Their entire married life, Riley had never been one to say sentimental words; she was one for actions. But once she was diagnosed with cancer; once Liam suffered his stroke … his wife told him constantly how happy Liam made her, how he had changed her life. How much she loved him.

He would ever hear those words again fall from her lips. Today they had sealed the body that once held the life of Riley Brooks inside the family mausoleum.

His tears fell harder. The lump in his throat seemed especially large; perhaps it was his sobs forever entrapped within him that made it seem that way.

Liam smelled her before he saw her; a gentle wafting of rose and vanilla tickled his nostrils. He looked curiously at her side of the bed before his eyes darted around the shadowy room. When they returned to the pillow, she was there.

Riley.

His Queen was laying on her side, smiling at Liam. The brown ringlets he adored so much framed her face; they were glossy in the moonlight. She wore a strapless white velvet gown that hugged her curves. She was young and radiant, the way she looked when they first met and began their journey of life and love. Her lips were painted dark cherry. Elbow length white opera gloves covered her hands and arms.

Liam heard noises: muted laughter, the tinkling of silverware against china, music. He wanted to look around and locate the source of the sounds, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Riley. If he looked away, she might disappear.

Her brown eyes shone with love as she laid her hand against Liam’s cheek. With a silent whimper, Liam leaned into her caress. Riley pressed her lips against his. I love you, so much reverberated throughout Liam’s mind. His eyes searched her face, memorizing every detail. He wasn’t certain how long they lay there, but it was too short.

Riley’s eyes were regretful as she caressed his cheek again. “I have to go now.”

Liam’s eyes grew wide with sadness and panic while he shook his head as quickly as he could.

“Yes.” Her voice was sad but firm. “I love you, my King.” Pressing a kiss to Liam’s forehead, Riley disappeared.

Discontent—Chapter 4

Liam’s kisses on her shoulder made her moan as she arched her back against his chest.

“Good morning, my love,” he murmured against her skin.

“I’m sweaty, and I have morning breath.”

Riley wanted to tell herself she didn’t know why she had said that. Her husband, who she had not been in the same room with for more than five minutes for almost a year, was kissing her good morning and all she could do was say … that.

But she knew why she said it.

Riley needed to be perfect. She was now in competition for her husband’s affections.

“I don’t care. It’s you, Riley. That’s all I care about.”

Silence as Liam’s words hung in the space between them and Riley tried to pluck them from the air to hold in her hands.

Liam shifted, his manhood pressing against her buttocks. “Will you be at the plenary luncheon?” His voice was soft, laced with pleading.

Riley had not thought that far ahead when she boarded the jet. She had not thought that far ahead when Liam claimed her as his last night. She hadn’t thought that far ahead when she opened her eyes.

Baby steps.

“Yes,” she said softly. “You still need to rehearse,” she reminded him.

Liam had a soft smile on his face as he rolled Riley onto her back. He pressed his knee between her legs, opening them up to him. “After breakfast,” he promised before his lips covered hers.

The Commoner’s Wife:

A/N: As mentioned before, I am getting back into this fic now that I have had a brilliant (subjective) idea for the conclusion of the story. We’ll see how that works out …

When Drake opened the study door, he was stunned. He stumbled backwards a few steps, feeling sucker punched at the sight of Liam’s naked ass, and the sounds of the King … his best friend … fucking.

Fucking Drake’s wife.

He wanted to cover his ears to muffle Riley’s moans as her back arched her off the sofa. He wanted to close his eyes so he wouldn’t see the convulsions as his wife’s body entered le petite mort.

Looks, sounds, actions that were supposed to be reserved for Drake because he and Riley had vowed to forsake all others.

He needed to hit something, but instead settled for screaming his disbelief as his fists clenched and unclenched.

He was so angry; it was if someone had painted the room and all its occupants red. Yet, for all his fury, there was a tiny piece of him that was not surprised. That wondered why it took any of them so long to speak the truth they all shared.

Drake knew it was not yet even 10am, but he needed a drink. He needed to numb himself; he needed to stem the tide of answers flooding his brain. As he walked past the sofa, he saw Brooks tighten her hold on Liam, and in the midst of all of his anger, pain pierced his heart.

She’s clinging to him. She doesn’t care that I’m here, that she’s caught in all of her lies. She doesn’t care that she is filling the hole in my heart with salt.

Fuck you, Brooks!

Upcoming DC AU:

While Riley had always pined after and lusted over Liam, she knew she wasn’t his type.

He was always with a short, skinny white woman.

Always.

Which is why she kept them both in the friendzone. He really was her best friend, and one night of nookie was not worth losing his friendship. Because men tended to quit it after they hit it. Until they got horny again.

Which is why she had trouble believing his weekend confession. His alcohol fueled confession. Actions spoke louder than words, and his actions showed Riley Liam liked his women shorter, thinner, and lighter.

Which is why she was now so disappointed and hurt: Liam had lied to her in one of her most vulnerable moments. Telling her how he had been waiting for her, how he wanted to date her.

Lies.

He had used her to escape a sticky situation.

Liam was a dick. A big, fat, dick.

Riley had reached her building; she climbed the front steps and had just entered her lobby when her phone rang. She fumbled in her coat pocket for it.

“Hello?”

She opened her mailbox, sorting through piles of junk mail, tossing the entire pile in the mail basket.

“Hey, babe. What you doing?” Keith The Bootycall’s raspy voice whispered in her ear.

Riley rolled her eyes but answered him honestly. “Just got home.”

“I miss you. I wanna see you.”

Riley climbed the short flight of stairs that led to her apartment door.  Of course you do. “When?”

“Half hour?

Riley pushed her key in the lock.  Why not? At least Keith was an honest dick. “I’ll be here.”

 What are you working on: @sirbeepsalot​ @katedrakeohd​ @glaimtruelovealways​ @choiceslife​ @bobasheebaby​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @blackcatkita​

[aelaer]

[1/2] Now this is an actual ask as in asking for help. 👀 I have a problem with Steve and Tony. I spent too much time too early on reading anti/not-friendly post-CW fics about 'Team Cap', and because of that I have been unable to see Tony as a flawed human or Steve as a good person. It's a pattern I've become too familiar with, and even recent stories are often going into that sense. I have been trying for some time now to do something about it, but either the method was bad, or I couldn't

(I tagged a couple people in this post – if you were tagged, the question directed to you is wayyyy at the bottom! Feel free to ignore of course.)

You really hit me with a doozy with this ask. I might offend someone for not thinking the exact same way as them with… everything this topic entails… Steve, Tony, anti-fics. Followers from last year know what happened last time I talked about poor and OOC characterization in fanfic, lmao. Beware The Easily Offended! This Is A Critical Thinking Of Your Hobby Zone! I Am Being Critical Of Specific Types of MCU Fanfic!

Please don’t click the read more button if you can’t handle an opinion that might not match yours. Really. I’m fine with discussing different opinions in a mature manner but if you have issues with people saying they don’t like a specific type of plot, this post is not for you. (The read more button doesn’t appear on the original post for followers using the mobile app, but it works on desktop and in all reblogs. If you don’t see a cut and don’t want to read, just skip it, please).

Yeah. Okay. Moving on. Can’t say folks weren’t warned.

I’ve had this in my drafts for several weeks because of the abuse I got the last time I wrote something critical about certain plot points used in fanfic. I was definitely a bit reluctant to look at this specific topic from an analytical and critical look as I remembered that, but hey, it’s really easy for a coward to use a sockpuppet account and throw abuse. It’s harder to be a minority voice with stark opinions contrasting the popular trend. I’m okay with having a minority opinion amongst the MCU fandom.

(PS - you’re welcome to disagree with my opinions, so long as you’re respectful about it. Remember there are individuals behind the screens!)

Concerning Character Flaws

So the thing about really well-written characters is that they are flawed in some manner. Anyone who thinks Tony or Steve exist without flaws – and I mean real flaws, like arrogance, believing they’re always right, short tempers, and other *real* character flaws that both of these characters have – well, if they don’t think they exist with these flaws, how well do they know the character?

You don’t have to know a character well to be a fan of said character – there’s no rules about that – but if you’re going to write fanfic, and that fanfic entails the character you love against a character you don’t particularly like, I’d say any writer looking to do anything resembling a good job would do their due diligence in figuring out the strengths and weaknesses of both characters before writing the characters themselves. These mental lists of characteristics should be equal for both characters. No, “good abs” is not a character strength if you have no physical aspects in the other character strength column. You don’t have to like a character to still write them well.

Even professionals don’t follow this rule when, say, shows get new writers or comics get different writers, so you might consider me silly expecting those dabbling in fan fiction. But yeah, if an author wants me to take a story seriously as something with quality, I expect the characters to resemble themselves in some manner.

(This level of resemblance varies when you purposefully choose for the protagonist to be evil, be in a completely different time period, etc, but authors who do this *well* still get core personality traits solid, even if morality is out the window or the profession is entirely different. I have a lot of examples from the Sherlock fandom of total AUs that pull this off well – haven’t read nearly enough AUs in the MCU to have a good collection here).

But a resemblance of character, of capturing the three-dimensionality of a character, is what anti-fics simply fail to achieve. The characters they’re anti against usually suffer cases of Flanderization, if they’re not completely out of character altogether in showing traits that were never displayed in the canon, ever. I don’t know why anyone would be interested in such stories, myself, and remain baffled at their popularity. Is there some sort of enjoyment in seeing such a 2D rendition of a character in what is otherwise meant as a serious work and provides absolutely no sense of proper conflict between two characters? Not for me; it immediately takes me out of the story and when it gets too much, I abandon the story. It’s just not enjoyable for me. Turning a canon protagonist into a strawman is just lazy writing and offers nothing to the writer’s favorite, preferred character.

Concerning Steve’s and Tony’s Flaws

Every real human being has some sort of personality flaw that is decidedly unattractive. Some people are really good at showing it very rarely (and are some of the best human beings), but with these two characters we see them at their greatest heights and lowest of lows. Ironically, they actually share a lot of the same flaws, but display them in different manners in canon:

Both men believe they are the best man for the job and will do it without consulting someone who could actually fight against it - or go completely against them. Tony with Ultron is the easy example here. He’s the smartest man in the world and can tackle the issue of protecting it on its own. Steve, same issue, and his job is “helping Bucky”. *He’s* the one who can handle Bucky, the only one who can handle him - big thing in both WS and CW. If both of them had utilized their friends and allies a lot more, a lot of issues could have been avoided.

Both men are sometimes hypocritical. Steve promotes teamwork in all his speeches but again with the Bucky situation. Just… everything Bucky, man. Tony signs the Accords and immediately goes against them with what he gives to Peter, who most assuredly did not sign them (tangent: if he HAD joined the Avengers at the end of Homecoming, I have no idea how that would have gone since Peter would have had to reveal his identity to the UN and then there’s the whole ‘still a minor’ thing, and yeah, Homecoming’s end scene just makes me go nuts). But anyway, their occasional hypocrisy is one of the most realistic aspects of them because most human beings are hypocritical sometimes.

Both men are sometimes arrogant. Tony’s self-explanatory with his genius-playboy-philanthropist-billionaire. One thing he does not suffer from is low self-esteem in regards to his abilities. His arrogance comes from his genius. Steve’s arrogance lies more in his deep-seeded belief that he is on the moral high ground – and one reason I think a lot of people dislike him so much, because moral superiority is very much a faux pas in this day and age for some millennials and many Gen Z folk. He has a very, very solid sense of what is right and what is wrong, and that rubs some folks the wrong way. Tony is more morally fluid – but he is not by any means immoral.

Both of them have a really solid list of strengths as well. As this ask specifically is looking to find the good in Steve, I specifically Googled pro-Steve articles for you to click at your leisure (and one with both). If you need to go back to canon, I highly recommend rewatching The First Avenger and The Winter Soldier, which introduces Steve brilliantly and then lets Steve grow further in the second film.

(Note: I actually prefer Tony to Steve in terms of personal favoritism, but how a very loud segment of Tony fans have treated other characters has led me to be more vocal about the strengths of others, especially Steve and Wanda. So Tony might be in my top 5, but mean-spirited Tony fans have moved me to be a champion of other characters, if only to show other fans that there are indeed Tony fans that do like the other characters and treat them – and their fans – with respect).

Bringing Balance (to the Universe…) Fanfic-Style

This addresses the second part of your ask in regards to the fanfics. And this is where I started running into trouble, too, mostly because, well, just how many Stephen and Steve fics are there? Yeah, exactly. Stephen’s my main guy. So I did some research, outsourcing, and reading.

Here’s two I knew of before cuz Stephen’s in them in some capacity:

Identity Theft by KitKat992 - it stars Peter and both Tony and Steve play integral parts from what I recall. Good story too, very engaging.

A Dysfunctional Senior Year (series) by ApolloLoki97 - this also stars Peter and has a large Team As Family aspect, so it shows the entire Avengers team as just decent people. My favorite part is naturally part 3 because Stephen comes in that one, haha.

And to find other stories, I went into the Anti-Accords tag. It was nice to find fics that didn’t have such a love of hypocritical authoritarianism. Aannyyyyway.

Making Sense of Chaos by SparkedtoLife - mind the tags. Seriously, it’s heavy duty. Yet another Peter fic because he’s way more popular than my favorite character, qq. Lots of Netflix Marvel characters too! Anyway, deals with not only Tony and Steve really well (and has a different dynamic with Tony that isn’t IronDad, so that was a nice change of pace), it also deals with the Accords situation very realistically. And none of those are even main plot points. If you can handle the very serious, sensitive subject that is the main plot point, I highly recommended it. It’s a very masterfully done work.

Atlas by nanasekei - Stony. Treats all characters with respect and both Tony and Steve as three-dimensional, flawed humans with some serious self doubts. Also highly agree with the author that Thaddeus Ross sucks and is basically one of the biggest people to blame for Everything Going To Shit.

Homecoming by an orphaned account - Some Stucky. This is a lovely one-shot of things I basically wanted to happen when the team got together again but didn’t. Sigggghhh. Everyone is definitely in character in this one, traumas and healing and all. And look, another person realizes that trusting Ross is a really horrible idea.

Locks Not Replaced by Riverdaughter - first this writer has a Tolkien-based username so yay. Anyway, the fic starts off by Tony realizing that he almost killed Steve during the fight with his repulsors, and it was only Bucky that stopped him. Do people seriously think he’d survive a shot to the face with that power? This is one reason the ‘Steve tried to kill Tony’ people piss me the fuck off. What do you think those repulsors shoot, fucking rainbows? Honestly, guys. Anyway, mini rant over. This fic is great. Author comes in with a Cap favoritism but treats Tony well, and honestly Tony turning a blind eye to everything and ignoring Ross is what I like to think happened in canon (he clearly dislikes the guy). And also I love the Robin Hood parallels. Love love love. I think this fic is my favorite of the ones listed in this section.

Meeting Your Heroes by Riverdaughter - naturally after reading that fic I went to explore more and found this gem. She’s not incorrect in saying Tony wasn’t a good mentor at the beginning - I think he had his own growth after Peter’s actions in Homecoming especially (though even through Homecoming he was trying, just… not always successfully lmao). Anyway love these two together. It’s great.

Photograph by slytherclaw420 - A scene we deserved in Endgame and didn’t get. Sigh. Definite IronDad feels here. Hopeful Steve, rebuilding of a friendship.

And uh, an honorable mention of sorts:

Balancing the Scales by MoonFire1 - I’m not recommending this fic for good characterization or plot. It really doesn’t have either. The fic was written in retaliation for the nasty Tony fans completely trashing Steve’s character. You should only read this if you want to see the argument from “the other side” and if you want to see an anti-Tony fic like you’ve seen anti-Steve fics. Don’t harass the author though. This is presented as a counterargument to anti-Steve fiction, for those interested to read the other sides arguments. I don’t like the nature of the fic, but I loathe that “not Steve friendly” has 30 fucking pages of works with tens of thousands of kudos, so one anti-Tony fic (with a comparatively small three pages under that tag) really doesn’t compare. Ugh. I hate the anti culture in this fandom so much. Loathe it. It’s such a nasty energy! Why would you indulge in such negativity? But as I’ve mentioned before, I appreciate authors aware enough to tag it so I can avoid it. I wish that part of fandom culture didn’t exist, but well, can’t change it. Just can criticize the fuck out of it on my blog. Maybe encourage people to think less one-sided in the process if I’m lucky.

But there’s probably more good characterization Steve fics to be found, so I am forcefully recruiting two people via tag:

If you’re looking to dabble into Stony fics with good-guy-Steve, if anyone would know of any, I’d imagine it’d be @babywarg.

You don’t know this person, but @cairistiona7 has actually known me the longest of anyone here on tumblr (half my life! HALF! She even knows my real name :P She betaed a LOTR work of mine a decade ago I ended up never fully publishing… thanks again for all your help there…). Anyway, she’s a big Bucky fan, and Bucky friendships is the best thing. So if anyone would know any wholesome Bucky and Steve stories, it’d be her. (Or really I’d take any of your recs, Cair, as I’ll probably enjoy them as well).

I hope this was helpful to you md, and that I didn’t piss off too many of my followers in the process of answering this lol.

[stipethom]

I wrote some Cablepool fics some months ago but proofreading is such a bitch, so they were incomplete for now. I’m just gonna post some parts of it and hopefully there are more Cablepool people who loves mpreg as I do.

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In summary, Mpreg theme uses pregnancy to describe how women and gender/sex minorities are impregnated with the unspeakable powers of patriarchy. Pregnancy is not just a biological phenomenon; it symbolizes embodied experiences, where women’s body is changed and exploited as it bear the burden of child labor. And by forcing such changes upon male body, it declares that any sex and gender that is seen less than a “man” can thus be a “woman”, and that whoever they are their struggles and pains are similar to that of women’s in this world.

In mpreg fics, there’ll be tears, fight, divorce, and broken hearts. It’s fan-favorite melodrama. It’s barnyard humor. It’s self-service to the writer’s own kink.

It is all of these. Or, it’s none of these.

-

They put all kinds of wires to link Wade with medical equipments. X-rays him, scans him, takes some blood from him. They declares that what’s inside Wade is not a parasite. Not another tumor nor a clog. It is, as the tag suggests, a fetus.

Some other X-students gathers as soon as the word is out: the Deadly mouthy ‘pool’s pregnant. The next session, Wade is unhappy with the amount of audience in the supposed waiting room, looking expectedly at him. From hindsight, it’s better they were there at the time, to spare Wade the horrors of explanation.

Unplanned male pregnancy should have been a comic relief since it’s Deadpool. But when the results indicate that it belongs to a certain Nathan Summers, who recently died, it is no longer a joke.

Cyclops, as his role in any other Cablepool fics, has to be the last one to know it. He learns of the identity of his future grandchild and immediately decides to rushe back to the mansion to confront whatever nightmare awaits him. He briefly talks to Hank, in order to prepare himself before talking to Wade. Eventually, a consultation team that comprises of Cyclops and Beast visits Wade’s at his apartment, who just comes back with discounted pregnancy tests from CVS.

“We must talk about your condition, Wade.” Scott says solemnly.

“Sorry, Grandpaclops, will remember to use protection next time. Guess I should never underestimate dicks from the future.”

Scott clenches his teeth. His expression is hidden under his ruby optics, but Wade can see the tiny creases around his mouth, and he gets the feeling that Scott is anxious. Ans so, so very tired. Hank clears his throat and starts talking about his discoveries. Half of his talk is explaining his daring theory of why life form can be conceived inside a male’s body, which Wade doesn’t listen to. The other half is some warmings on what a pregnant man should not do. Given Wade’s profession and personality, Hank makes 100% sure that Wade listens to him. Scott seems to be holding breath as the other mutant talks with a professional calmness.

The talk ends with “We still don’t know exactly how it happened, but It’s going to be a big responsibility—your responsibility.”

Scott tries again. He keeps his voice strategically even, a little raspy than usual, as if he practiced this conversation in front of a mirror too many times.

“It’s yours, as much as it’s Nathan’s. It’s up to you to ... keep it.”

“Or you can move into the X-mansion—”Hank stops promptly when Wade starts laughing.

“So your guys are what, showing parental support for the guy your son never actually married, and you never even doubt it’s a parasite?”

“We ruled out that possibility.” Hank says, “you know, you don’t have to do this.” He pauses briefly, making sure every sentence is carefully worded. “After what happened, you—in fact, nobody should do this alone. It’s unfair that you have to deal with it on your own.”

Great, now they think of Wade as some mourning ex-lover of Nate’s. He has to find something witty to say, or he’ll just embarrasses himself in front of these two good-intentioned, somewhat guilty-looking X-men. There’s a sorry somewhere that he can reads directly from the thin air, sorry we are so sorry for pushing you away, we are sorry we didn’t accept you—and ignored your feelings— now we are here to make it up for you. No, this ain’t right. They don’t know about him and Nate. All they see is this, which makes them assume all kinds of things about them, about Wade, that Wade doesn’t even want to think about.

He decides to take advantage of their out-of-no-where-guilt because it is better than pity, “OK, wait, is this the part where we hug and cry on each other’s shoulders? I have a feeling there’s always a but. Besides, Hank, you just violated the confidentiality agreement without my consent!”

“I’m truly sorry, it’s an unprecedented situation.” Hank tries not to look shameful. “And, no, no buts. All we’re offering is a place to rest before the, that is, if you want to keep it, It’s very important when it comes to—“

“Nathan’s spawn.” Wade helps him finish the sentence. “That’s why you X-men fucking care. “

Cyclops doesn’t say a word, but he thinks so loud, he is practically radiating sadness and anger, and worst of all, the anger is not even directed at Wade.

Wade snaps.

“Tell you what, I’m gonna fucking keep this little shit till it’s got eyes and fingers and then I’ll fucking abort it! I’ll put it in a filthy jar and sell it to Mister Sinister, and it will be none of your fucking business!”

—

Of course Wade didn’t abort it. And he did move into the X-mansion.

Everyone seems worried. After all, X-men are worried all the time—but they also look slightly relieved. If Wade ignores the eyes they are giving him, the whispers they exchange when they think he is not looking, he almost feels nothing has changed at all.

The big question, after the several years after Nate died, still hangs in the air. Every time someone looks at Wade, there’s a why in their eyes. A mutant like Nate, who is supposed to be a man of proper taste and good integrity, the reasons that he chose to be with Wade is unthinkable.

Any sane human would tell Nate what he did is ridiculous. Like the voice in the back of Wade’s mind. It tells Wade all the time that he cannot possibly believe that him and Nate could last any longer—or long enough to have any consequences.

Being pregnant is not the consequences. It’s the last one of the bad decisions he’s made after all the other ones. He knows the voice is right, and his life sucks mostly because he doesn’t listen to it. This time, he feels a certain remorse satisfaction in disobeying the remaining sense of reason in his head.

Keeping the baby to prove a point is as desperate as it’s poorly intended.

He knows how fucked-up this is.

—

In hindsight, it’s fucking creepy that Wade, Copycat, and Domino all slept with Nate.

Here she is, gonna pop open that can of worms.

Domino has to come to him at his most inconvenience. She knocks three times on the door, each time more curt and determined. She will probably shoot a hole in the wall to make a new door if he doesn’t let her in.

Wade opens the door, grimaces at the way she look at him and meet his eyes. He is a good few inches taller than Dom, but he never feels big in front of her.

She brings in an air of feline elegance and the fresh scent of hair shampoo. It’s endearing for her to allow people to see her like this, yet not entirely unguarded. He catches the innuendo of a more secret, private conversation.

Her eyes touch him lightly, hair flares with the effortless chic style many would be jealous of. There are a hundred things Wade lacks that she owns.

The night is getting dark and the wind is getting wild, he probably should close the window before the storm.

Dom is less of a coward than him, who could barely come up to people and tell them the truth. That he got himself into this long before he understood the true meaning of having someone and then losing them.

She is pretty and deadly as always, not jadded by battles and gunfire. She looks at him with a sadness of someone who think they have the pieces of a puzzle that Wade misses. Or at least they think they know.

“Why do you keep him, the baby—.” She leans against the wall, arms crossed. “He’s not going to be Nate. Nate is not here anymore.“

“Wow, wow, lady, now you’re just projecting too hard.”

“Wade, look. It took me a hell lot of drinking to accept that he’s really gone this time.” She keeps her voice steady and manages to be soft at the same time. “I hear you talk to him like, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m not projecting.”

“Just so you know, I talk to my tummy all the time. Totally healthy habit. Been like this since I’m in my mom��s womb.”

“You’ve been talking to him and you sounded like—never mind.” Now she is just being weird. Wade feels offended that someone dare to outweird him without his royal permission. “The baby—you are drowning him with things he’s not part of.”

“Drowning would be a damn boring way to die.” He comments. “In fact, I’m whispering murder thoughts to him so he can grow up into a killing machine. A cyborg one. Just like his dad.”

“Wade, I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Oh sure, you’re here to remind me to invite you for the baby shower, which I am seriously going to reconsider with the guest list.”

A strip of dark hair falls on her cheek as she hesitates.

“You know why I’m here.”

Honestly, Wade’s fed up with this. He didn’t respond, instead, he peels off his mask, challenges her to look directly into his eyes.

She looks flustered, but her thin shoulders are as still as granite. This close, Wade can see how her breast heaves under her loosely-fit shirt. It fucking hurts when he rips through her facade and finds something a lot like the reflection of his own pains. They both had Nate in the past, and now that Nate is the past, they are weirdly equal. They had different Nates, but Wade wants all the Nates.

The voice in his head is so loud that he can barely think his own thoughts. Is that why he came to her after Wade left Providence, for her is smart enough to ask for only what she deserves?

Does she come here to pity Wade, or is she seeking compassion from Wade? He feels an old, dull bitterness creeping up his spine.

Domino backs off a little, “I never liked you.” She says. They both know it, so it’s not really a confess. Something is blown in to the window, making a cracking sound. Both of them shiver. “I couldn’t believe it was you, of all people. “Oh, so she did care. She was not as nonchalant as she pretends to be. “But now you are-you are not just yourself-I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

It stings.

“Does that mean I can finally make your face my new bathroom tiles? Because I love baby poo on black and white.” He quirks a smile. “Oh, And by the way, I reject your nanny application. Bring your broom next time.”

“You hate me for a dead man.” She says dryly, “what does that make you...”

Her voice hitches.

“What does that make us. If we are still loyal to him.”

The wind is loud, and others must be awakened by the noises by now. If wind could talk, it must be full of broken sentences, murmuring and fleeing from the untrimmed trees, circulating in the flying dirt and the waving foliage. Some sleepless mutant girls on the second floor mutters in an annoyed voice.

Dom reaches out to him. Her arms are pale but firm. They are suddenly within the distance of a kiss. He feels his cracked lips nearly brushes hers like a breath.

She jumps back, hitting the nearest surface to her face. The window panes creak from the shockwave, sending the whole room whirls. For a moment they were close enough to dig out each other’s heart. The framed painting falls to the ground in broken pieces behind them. It is relatively intact until Neena steps on it.

“A hard loser, aren’t you.” Wade breathes.

Neena just smiles.

“It’s just you who can’t let go.”

She stubbles on the cracked frame before storming into the bathroom. Wade hears the hot water pours out of the faucet and makes maps of mist on the hanging mirror. Her reflection from the mirror shifts, and from Wade’s angle, he can see her tears.

A small sob sound leaks out of her beautiful mouth. Wade feels envious yet again. He doesn’t understand why it changes how Dom sees him, as if sharing pain with him would be some comfort for both of them. But it doesn’t, he wants to scream, and it shouldn’t. He hears other mutant kids are giggling through the wind, and he is so, so envious of them.

Before he closes his eyes, he feels a light patting on his shoulders, and then all the light runs out with the slapping of the door.

He knows this is fucked-up.

“Nate,“ he murmurs, “If you don’t plan yo come back, I don’t think I can survive this—your too-young-too-be-dad dad, your ex-girlfriend, and your very possessive and angry daughter who refuses to meet me yet—I now understand why you want to elope with me into the future. I’ll forgive you for never asking me to actually run with you, but I know you always wanted to.“

“It’s fucking worse when people try to care. They don’t know you. They don’t know how fucked up you are. All they want is to keep a memoir, and I’m their freaking memoir. What did we have, sweetheart, did we ever agree on anything, huh? Did you even think about what it would be like for us to be together long enough to have consequences?”

“You see, Nate, I’m the one living with the consequences now. Except that you’re not here.”