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alvfr · 4 years ago

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Bittersweet Hotch

Gif by the lovely @dudeitiskarev

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+, minors DNI Words: 3.9K (look at me writing something shorter than 15k, huh?) Warning: Semi-public sex. Anal play (fem receiving). Love. Description: A short version of Hotch's POV from Chapter 1 of Bittersweet ("Accidents" Part 5). Link to the full series in my masterlist - will probably make most sense if you’ve read those first 💕

(Warning: Very NSFW below the cut! 18+)

Bittersweet Hotch

There were a lot of reasons why Aaron loved you.

The bigger things, of course, such as your intelligence, your sharp humor, and your heart. Your unbridled compassion for the whole world, however undeserving at times, where Aaron occasionally filed himself in the latter category. Just occasionally though, not all the time anymore. Not after you had made it so blatantly clear how good you thought he was and he found himself striving to live up to those expectations. Surprisingly, it worked.

So yes, the bigger things were almost self-explanatory for why he loved you. Why anyone would love you, really, if they got the chance. Then there were all the little things. Small drops accumulating all the time, like water on a mountainside patiently eroding the seemingly impenetrable rock. One drop after the other until the dam broke and Aaron finally realized he loved you, even if he had done it for some time already. How you hummed to yourself if you thought no one was around, how you always stretched right after waking up, and how you lit up at the sight of him without noticing it yourself.

It was subtle, of course, especially when you were at work. But after Morgan had deftly pointed it out to Aaron — who had asked how the infamous bet started — it was impossible to ignore. He could see how other people on the team had picked up on it. It sometimes made it unbearable to maintain the rigid professionalism you had agreed on at work because now Aaron noticed it all the time. Whenever you walked into a room, you would seek him out first. A small glance, maybe a split second at most, but always there. At home, in more relaxed surroundings, you dropped your guard down further and he could see how your pupils dilated when you caught his eye. And lately, you got that small smile on your lips too, a smile that had Aaron convinced he would do absolutely anything for you.

It was that smile of yours that had made him bold enough to say those three words for the first time back at his kitchen. After that unsub clocked you with a two-by-four and Aaron had to physically restrain himself from beating up a local SWAT officer. Your reaction to those three words had not been as he hoped for, at least not at first, but it had improved quickly. He had come to realize that although you were — like him — keenly intelligent and —also like him — profiled people for a living, you were just as stupid as he was when it came to love. Just as human and vulnerable. There was something incredibly reassuring about that and in all honesty, it just made him love you more.

It meant he had to work harder though, to make you realize how serious he was about this. About this relationship, about you. This promotion they offered you, the one that forced him to squash down his selfish desires to keep you close at all times, was a good thing. It was good for you, and where he had let Haley play the second fiddle in favor of his career and his goals, he was not going to subject you to the same. He could be supportive — he wanted to be supportive — and if that meant sacrifices on his part, so be it. Hopefully, you’d realize he was serious about both this relationship, but also that he took you seriously. As a person, a partner, and a profiler.

The forced hierarchy from your jobs should not and would not seep into any other areas of your lives together.

All of these things had been clear in his mind when you stormed into his office earlier, kicking the door shut, and demanding answers. He loved that about you too. How brazen you could be and that you were comfortable enough around him now to be brazen, even here. Time had gone by quickly, but he could recall just like yesterday when he had held an impromptu performance review here in his office. When he had tried — in vain — to lay down some boundaries, but still found himself unable to say outright that this couldn’t happen. You and him? Impossible for so many reasons. The age difference, your jobs, his son — so many obstacles that had been swept away by those steady drops of water. Things he eventually forgot were obstacles at all unless someone pointed it out for him.

And as he watched you chew your bottom lip raw — so obviously conflicted about this offer and so obviously looking for some kind of permission from him to take it — he realized he would do anything for you. Maybe that was why it had happened? He certainly hadn’t planned it, but seeing your wet eyes after he asked you to move in — again, not the reaction he planned for — he had acted on instinct. Anything to turn that confusion into something simpler.

It started as a kiss. Just a simple gesture of affection and a physical distraction. And perhaps your boldness had rubbed off on him or all those whispered confessions how you fantasized about being bent over his desk played a part, but the next thing he knew, he had pushed his hand up the skirt of your dress. By then it was too late to back down. The way your breath hitched when his fingers brushed against the silken part of your inner thigh skipped through both ears and brain and lodged straight into his libido. And then that perfect mouth of yours had dropped open when he ran his finger against the thin material of your underwear. Using his trigger finger to carve out that well-defined slit marking the entrance to something downright holy — he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to, and despite your half-hearted pleas, you didn’t want him to stop either.

You hadn’t been wet to start with, but it took seconds before he felt the fabric dampen. Blood rushing to swell your lips and that tight bundle of nerves he loved to rub, suck, and bite when the occasion called for it. He thought he could tell the difference with each of your heartbeats and he’ll admit he got lost in the moment.

A calculated risk on many levels, but when you shuddered and tightened around his fingers — two of them pumping into you with sloppy wet sounds — he knew he would have come in his pants if he’d been twenty years younger. Sometimes he hated that he was noticeably older than you, other times he silently thought it gave him the opportunity to show you the sexual experiences you deserved. He had another kind of patience now than when he was young, another kind of appreciation for giving as well as receiving pleasure, and let’s face it, another kind of stamina. Not necessarily better, but different.

The sight of you fully dressed, knees knocking against his where he caged you in the chair, and with a glow to your cheeks would forever be burned into his retina. He’d never able to see anyone sit in that chair again without remembering this moment and he was unable to decide whether or not that was a good thing.

It was at least part of the reason why he stayed hard — rock hard, so uncomfortably strained against the stretchy materials of his boxers — even while driving to the city. Trying and wanting to make good on his offer for lunch. And he could smell the faintest wafts of your juices on his fingers and that didn’t help one bit. For a second he had been tempted to let you help him as you had offered — unzip and lean back as far as possible in the seat, pushing your head down and feeling the rasp of your teeth when he pushed too hard at one point. No. He had tried, he told himself, to make this about you. All about you.

There was still a limit to his willpower.

“Aaron,” you had said when the car was parked, the forest empty besides the two of you. As if nothing really existed outside the two of you. Your lips were swollen from his kiss where you leaned halfway over the console. Your eyes were heavy-lidded and focused on him, pinning him in place with your unbridled sincerity. “You just need to decide if you want me to suck your dick or not before you fuck me.”

It took less than a minute before he was shoving his dick into your wet and open cunt where you laid splayed over the passenger seat in the SUV. The door stood wide open to allow him access to you, with the chill of the Virginia forest whispering across the bare skin of his thighs and yours alike. Outdoors, in the middle of the day, when you both were supposed to be at work and not fucking like two teenagers at the end of a forest road. You with that fancy dress rucked up to your midriff, and him with his pants and boxers nestled around his ankles. He didn’t even bother stepping out of them, working with what he had and shoving himself into you through the car door.

The agent and the lawyer in him mumbled something vague about indecent exposure, but drowned out at the sight of you throwing your head back when he snapped his hips forward, your wet open lips pressed against and around him. You weren’t even worried. Another part he loved about you. Spontaneous, risk-taker, daredevil — call it whatever the hell you wanted, but he loved it. It. You. He loved you.

It always felt like the first time when he pushed into you, that heated way you almost sucked him in, squeezing around his dick like a tight fist. Pure velvet fire consuming his dick, and his fingers scrambled for hold, searching for those soft parts of your body that yielded to his grip. He could feel your insides tighten whenever he hit a particularly good point and he kept the pace brutal because you asked him to. At least he thought you did — you at least swore incessantly and it was hard to tell the fuck me’s from the ordinary fuck’s. You always swore like this when you didn’t have to be quiet — and sometimes even then — and it was all breathless and beautiful and he strived to give you everything you wanted. Everything he had.

He loved the way he could see your breasts bounce even under that tight dress he had all but tricked you into wearing today. And when you had to turn around, he loved the way your ass jiggled every time he thrust into you. He loved the way his fingers fit on your body, how pliant it was, somehow always making room for him — be it his fingers, his dick, or his tongue.

You made a spectacular sight and he didn’t know where to focus. On the faint reflection in the window on the other side where he could see your eyes tightly closed and mouth hanging open. On the curve of your waist, flaring up to your hips where his hands held you. On the ripple passing through your thighs and ass cheeks every time he went all in so his balls smacked against your undoubtedly swollen clit. Or on your puffy wet lips gripping around his dick in rhythm to his hips snapping forward, a clear mirror of how your other lips looked like when they locked around his cock.

His mind felt blank and he was aware he was saying something. Trying and failing to put his thoughts into words, mostly groaning your name and saying how beautiful you were over and over again. Because you were. Jesus Christ, you were. It was partially as a distraction for himself when he reached around to find your clit — two fingers, pulling the hood back a fraction so he could move better around it — because he wanted to fill you up now.

He wanted to pump you so full of his cum you’d feel it for the rest of the day. It was a little caveman-ish, but he was done trying to deny he loved seeing his white spend pool out of your hole. A claim, a mark, an undeniable sign of where he’d been. Of what you’d done together and how you’d let him use your pussy. The only thing that could compare was seeing it in your mouth, a small pearly shimmer of something that was his gliding over your tongue.

This distraction wasn’t working. Fuck. Aaron felt the drops of sweat run down his back — despite all his cardio, his dress shirts were tight and warm now with the brutal pace he’d set. God, you were exquisite. Knees spread wide on the seat, bottom of your ass resting on your ankles on either side of his thighs. Wide-open and fucking gorgeous. He wanted to make you come around his dick again. He needed to make you come around his dick again. To feel what only his fingers felt earlier, how you’d squeeze and pulsate and buck your hips to get deeper and more. Fuck.

His tie hung loosely over your back and occasionally censored you from his view. Breathing hard, Aaron flung it away and — acting on some kind of instinct or just pure debauchery — he pooled spit in his mouth and let it drop down so it hit that perfect little asshole of yours. You obviously felt it — he heard both a gasp and had to increase his grip so you wouldn’t fly right off his dick, but most of all he saw how you tightened and that little asshole became momentarily smaller. Fucking exquisite. He checked your reflection in the window, saw the full-on mask of pleasure, and more blood left his head to pump into his dick so he wondered if you would feel it thump inside of you.

He could debate how good of a distraction it was, but at least the sight of his spit running between your cheeks kept his focus from how his dick felt in your pussy. Aaron knew he was good at multi-tasking, but this was almost too much. Remembering to keep fingering your clit — aided by how you squirmed against his hand — and trying to keep a steady pace with his dick — again aided by how you also pushed back to meet his thrusts — and wetting his thumb thoroughly before gliding it over your asshole.

Worth it, he thought vaguely, based on those positively angelic sounds you made. Even with how you swore, it sounded like gospel. He barely remembered to ask if it was okay —if it was good, if this was accepted —so mesmerized at the sight. He had done this before — always carefully, always asking for permission — not really for any other reason that in some positions, it felt like your body offered it to him. And you liked it and where Aaron hadn’t had any particular fantasies about it before, it struck that caveman-gene in him again that this was another hole to fill with his cum. Another part of you to claim in the most depraved way possible.

Maybe down the line, but so far you had never gone further than what he did right now. Rubbing a slick finger around that tight little ring he couldn’t imagine fitting even his pinky inside. It took some willpower to let his hand follow the rhythm of your body — sometimes you pushed back against his dick so hard his finger would have poked into you whether you wanted it to or not — but he wanted this to be good for you. Needed this to be good for you.

But when you told him to fuck you, and rub your clit, and don’t stop, he wasn’t going to question it.

He groaned, mostly because of how you squeezed your pussy around his dick — again like a tight fist that you might as well have sucker-punched him with — as he pushed the very tip of his thumb into your ass. Tight. Hot. Only wet because of his spit, but based on your sounds, not exactly painful. He rubbed your clit harder, hoping to ease any discomfort there was or at least distract from it, and worked his thumb gently around. A vision of his thumb buried down to the hilt floated across his mind. Another way to grip you, using your ass as a balance hole to pull you back onto his dick, and he closed his eyes while involuntarily working your clit harder as if he could transfer some of his quickly approaching climax into you.

Another time, he reminded himself and tried to focus on your words. That didn’t help. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Aaron, please don’t stop. And in the same breath, you told him to come inside you — to fill you up — and that you were moving in with him and you wanted him to keep going and he couldn’t.

On your instructions, his thumb was inside to the first knuckle and he could feel himself now, could feel his dick where he was balls-deep inside of you. The further his thumb went in, the easier it got too, almost like you were sucking him in and he tried to remember to wiggle it around, loosening you up some, wanting this to feel good for you. But you were so tight and wet and you weren’t happy with how he’d slowed his pace on anything because you obviously wanted more.

He kept rubbing your wet little clit, almost on auto-pilot, but had to stop thrusting before he came before you. Did you have any idea of how good you felt? On his dick like this? Gushing wet and spread open and still so fucking tight? The slick sounds of his fingers on your clit drowned in your breathy pleas for him to keep going.

The words made it through the haze in Aaron’s mind, where all he could see was where the two of you were joined. Yes, he could do the fucking laundry. Yes, in his apartment. Yes, you were moving in. Yes, you were close to coming and you sounded so desperate he had to try. His wrist burned from circling your clit at the awkward angle, but he’d wear a wrist brace for the rest of the week if that meant feeling you lose yourself to a climax around him.

But he was so close. His balls tight and throbbing, bursting with cum he wanted to shoot inside of you. Wanted to watch it ooze out of your swollen glistening cunt afterward, use his fingers to push it back in, and then let you lick them clean. He wanted to do all of that. But not before you came first.

Almost holding his breath, he pulled his dick out with a lewd squelch, fighting to keep the rhythm on your clit even though you were squirming and swaying all over the place. Both of you were so close and you shoved your hips back to meet his next thrust, and your tight, tight asshole swallowed the rest of his thumb, and thank god that made you almost scream as you came because Aaron only lasted two — three — four more thrusts into your tight, tight pussy before he followed. He felt it in his whole body, the way the dam burst, and his nerve-endings exploded as he came.

The quiet forest engulfed his loud groan, the sound of your name in his chest, and your thin whimpers of unbridled pleasure. He desperately grabbed onto your hips to steady himself, keeping you from pulling away, wanting everything pumped into you. He halfway pulled back and buried himself all the way in again and grunted your name like he had traveled ten thousand years to the past and reduced to nothing but animal instincts. His balls pulsated, shooting string after string of cum into you, more than he would have expected. Hopefully enough. Filling you up to the brim, just like you’d fucking asked for, and enough to eventually run out of you to coat that expensive lace he’d bought today.

He clutched your hips like a lifeline — like you’d clutched that folder earlier today in his office — like your pussy clutched and milked his dick. He still twitched inside of you, still on the cusp of the orgasm, and he breathed hard to counteract the light-headedness. You were so perfect for him in every way, just so tight that he could feel his own cum coat around his dick in the limited space.

I love you, he thought and memorized every curve and line of your back, not enough breath in his lungs to say it just yet. Slowly coming down, he massaged your hips where he had left his marks yet again. Fingerprints dug into your skin in slight bruisings, ones you seemed to appreciate. You breathed equally hard as him, but looked at him over your shoulder, so flushed and gorgeous and deserving of the world.

I love you.

It was in your eyes, your smile, and often coming out your mouth too. Not right now as you only panted slightly, but you looked at him in a way that stole his breath away all over again.

I love you.

You had looked at him like that so many times before you said it for the first time, and Aaron knew you had held back. Patience. Trust. Understanding. It was in your every move and conversation with him. He didn’t know if he had earned it, but he hadn’t lied before of how grateful he was for it. Now it was his turn, he realized, to show you the same. To adapt to your schedule and your needs like you had done for him.

Like you were doing right now when the sound of his ring tone cut through the foggy aftermath of your orgasms. Not even hesitating, you reached out for his phone — Aaron swallowed a grunt when the movement pulled his dick from your gushing hole — and handed him both phone and some wet wipes. You had never tried to compete with either the job or Jack, and Aaron loved you for that too. Even if he deep-down knew he should have prioritized differently at times, you had made it so he didn’t have to. You had made everything so easy. Always, so easy, because apparently you felt he was worth it.

Try as he might, he couldn’t find anything but satisfaction in your eyes now either as you watched him try to listen to Garcia. If you kept this up, he might start to think he was worth it too.

He wanted to be worth it, he realized, watching the wicked glint in your eye when you sucked his fingers clean after the call ended. Wanted to have you and this and everything forever.

There were many reasons why Aaron loved you, but most of all because you had made him believe he could love again at all.

A/N: First time writing this "you"-style from Hotch's POV and looking for feedback. If it's confusing or if it’s unclear who’s POV it is. Also first time writing smut from a guy’s perspective and accepting feedback on that as well 🥰

As always, I strive to be inclusive of my reader-inserts, so please let me know if any descriptions or phrases needs changing.

Remember to reblog if you liked it! And that comments feed my creativity just as much as caffeine 💕

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #accidents #criminal minds fanfiction #tumblr exclusive

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tundrainafrica · 3 years ago

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Title: Do you love daddy?

Summary:

“Do you love daddy?” Luke repeated. His eyes were wide, he was probably reading into her soul.

Hange didn’t want to give him too easy of a time mind reading. “Of course I do,” she said.

“How come you never tell him you love him?”

Luke asks Hange a question and Hange reflects on it.

Written for Levihan Week 2021, Day 2: Confessions

Link: AO3

Notes:

Levihan Week Day 2 Prompt: Confessions, organized by @levihanweek.

I edited this half asleep to meet my own internal deadline for day 2. I hope it still suffices. Feedback is very much appreciated!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

There was a small forest near their house. In fact, Hange had decided on their permanent home mainly for its proximity from the park.

In the middle of the park was a small, small forest. But to Hange, it was ginormous. Or at least, what you would consider ginormous in an urban setting. It held adventure. It held mystery. It held some breathtaking liberation, something withheld from her during her years as a commander.

That particular weekend was a lazy weekend. It was just her and her son. For some parent-child bonding, Hange was ready to get lost in the forest. Before she could even dive deeper though, reality rammed into her in such an abrupt, yet such gentle and adorable manner. “Do you love daddy?” Luke asked.

With those words alone, Hange could almost hear the curiosity burning inside him. She kept her eyes trained ahead, focusing on the forest. The woods were small, the forest was only large enough for a few small kids to play some hybrid between tag and hide-and-seek. The trees were of a safe size, some convenient shape that framed their surroundings.

It was a beautiful view, something she didn’t see often, especially when cooped up in the office forty hours a week. She decided to enjoy it and let whatever answer to that question come organically.

Do I love Levi?

The forest held more than adventure. It held something silent and invisible. Along the way, she had suddenly become aware of the breathing of her son, the rustle of the leaves. He was only inches away from her. In surprise, she turned back to her son while attempting to conceal the discomfort. She willed herself to keep her chin up, her eyes a reasonable size and her breathing very much even.

“Do you love daddy?” The kid repeated, his eyes wide. He could probably read into her soul and she didn’t want to give him too easy of a time mind reading.

“Of course I do,” Hange said.

“How come you never tell him you love him?”

“I do.”

“Corbin says his parents tell each other they love each other everyday,” Luke said.

Corbin… Was that a friend at school? It was nothing more than a passing thought. If it demanded to be something else, Hange didn’t notice, her thoughts had embedded themselves into something a little more pressing. “Luke, you don’t think I love daddy?” she challenged.

The young boy cocked his head to one side and shrugged. “You don’t tell daddy you love him…”

Hange could have sworn she did. She found herself racking her memories for some hint to an answer, some hint to reassurance that would suffice for her son.

When Hange indulged that nostalgia, the trees blurred for a second, the greens extended beyond the frames of her view. The sky that wiggled themselves through the canopy as streams of light disappeared for just a second.

Why don’t we just live here together? They echoed inside her and with it, they sent a rush of confidence through her. “I love him.” She had enough confidence to introduce it as if it were a well thought out proposition. She turned to his son.

Luke narrowed his eyes. Through the years, he was starting to look more and more like his father. If Luke expressed emotions anything like his father, Hange could be certain, it was doubt written all over his face.

Luke didn’t believe her? Hange was in no mood though for a lecture. She was in no mood for a moment of introspection, especially when there were still lichens and moss around her she wanted to identify. “Let’s talk about that when we get home.”

The conversation was over. Hange walked ahead then into the forest and tabled that problem for later.

***

Children never forget.

Hange scolded herself for underestimating the boy and to add insult to injury, overestimating herself. She wasn’t at all ready for the talk, especially not in front of Levi. She had just indulged that bad habit of hers, that tendency to assume that a five year old would forget what the hell they had just said.

“Do you love each other?” Luke had asked. It came too out of nowhere, over half finished plates of homemade pasta and untouched bowls of soup.

Levi coughed violently then dropped his spoon. One hand flew to his mouth. “What the fuck.” It came out like a mumble, a second later, concealed by one smooth deep breath.

Hange was frozen, too frozen to even tell what had been her first reaction.

Levi composed himself quickly. “Why are you asking that?”

Hange had known him long enough to know though that he was raring to insert some curse into that query. “Of course we do” Her response was automatic. Still she found herself, flashing Levi a look.

He returned it with something unreadable, seemingly uninterested but with a sliver of surprise.

“How come you never tell each other ‘I love you?’” Luke asked.

“We do,” Levi said.

For a second, Hange was relieved. At least they were still in the same wavelength.

“When?” Luke asked.

“Sometimes… when you’re asleep,” Hange said. Once again, those words had been automatic, impulsive. They were a product of Hange's inability to process such complex emotions, especially with a five year old of all things.

It was a mistake, an utterly stupid mistake. How the hell Hange hadn’t seen through it, it was a mystery. Really though, five year olds were very unpredictable creatures.

Luke wasn’t sleeping that night and he was doing a shitty job pretending he was asleep. Their apartment wasn’t too small but the walls were thin enough that everything just went bump, sometimes the doors went creak.

Overcompensating maybe for her stupid move, Hange decided to just perk her ears up. listen closely and attempt to make sense of the sounds. A few reiterations later, Hange figured it out. Luke was walking back and forth from the bed to the door and he wasn’t doing such a good job. He bumped, he creaked, sometimes he whispered.

Eventually, Hange would have to come in and put him to bed herself.

Still, that could wait. “Levi. You wanna go back to bed?” Hange said, just loud enough for the sound to travel to the open kitchen. Levi was once again reorganizing the cupboard.

Levi looked back at her, his eyes sleepy and his expression just a little dumb. It was late at night and she couldn’t really blame him for his utter obliviousness and his apathy over the whole fiasco. He shifted his eyes towards the partially open bedroom door for a second, then he met Hange’s gaze. He made his way the few feet to the sofa. “Do you plan on doing anything about… that?” He settled himself on the sofa next to Hange and looked at her expectantly.

“He’s gonna fall asleep eventually.”

“I know the kid. If you don’t talk to him about this, he’s not gonna sleep,” Levi said.

“Talk to him about…” Hange was feigning obliviousness.

It didn’t seem to work with Levi though. “That love thing, whatever that is. I don’t know what even happened between the two of you.” Levi leaned back on the sofa. “But I want my son to get a good night’s sleep.

Hange sighed. “While we were playing in the park, he asked if I loved ‘daddy.’”

Levi turned to her, a deadpan expression on his face. “Do you love me then?”

Comically Deadpan. Hange couldn’t even make sense of it herself, the question, the reaction had come so abruptly, so unexpectedly that Hange had to look away for some space and peace, enough at least for her to come up with some sorry excuse of a response.

“Why? What’s so funny?” Levi pressed.

The more he asked, the harder it would be to answer. And Hange didn’t want to make a big deal of it too late at night. The wry grin on her face was all she could muster. “Sorry, it just came out of nowhere--- What the hell, why are you asking it like this, all of a sudden.”

“Because Luke was asking?” Levi answered matter-of-factly. Hange was starting to wonder, was she making a big deal out of those three simple words?

“There must have been a reason right? A reason we never really said those words...”

“Why don’t you?” Levi asked.

“It feels….” I love you. She echoed it then she moved her lips slightly, just enough to feel for herself how it should have felt to say it out loud. “Excessive?”

“Does it?”

“Well… People say it all the time but then they cheat on each other, they abandon each other, they fight and it just seems like… something people say to be dramatic.”

“Unless you mean it right?” Levi suggested.

“What if--- I just wanna prove it. I wanna earn and support the family. I wanna spend time with you and Luke and I wanna just commit to making the relationship work. I don’t wanna add any unnecessary verbosities to it.”

“Would it hurt to say it?” Levi asked.

“It feels tacky,” Hange admitted.

“Even for your son?”

Hange sensed the slyness, the amusement in Levi’s voice. The war freak in her wanted some retribution. Her mouth went faster. “Do you love me?”

Levi turned a beet red, a rare scene particularly since they had started living together. And before Hange could even confirm that it hadn’t been some trick of the light, he looked away.

Hange craned her neck, ready to take one peek.

Levi couldn’t look away forever. “Do I really have to answer that?”

“Why? What are you so scared of?” Hange didn’t bother to stifle the smile. She snuck it into her words instead as a soft chuckle. “You okay?”

Levi spun around, his head bent down. “You’re right. It sounds tacky.” He put his hand out, balled it into a fist and pressed it to her chest. “Other words just sound better.”

The hand was warm, familiar and with one gesture, Hange felt secure. “Dedicate your heart? So you said that because you love me?”

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I thought I was going to lose you too,” Hange admitted. “That’s why I invited you to live in the forest with me.”

“Back then, did you…” Levi raised his brows expectantly.

Love me? Hange took the risk. “Of course.”

“Then why did you stop yourself from saying it?” Levi averted his gaze. He hung his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s excessive, melodramatic,” Hange admitted. “Why put ourselves to that drama in the middle of the war?”

“But you still invited me to live with you in the forest.”

“Other words just sound better,” Hange said. She mirrored Levi’s tone of a while ago. She hovered her hand over his, and propped it.

Levi looked up once again. Their eyes met and once again, they connected. Like every other time before and Hange was looking back at those other words again.

“Other words just sounded better then.” Right, circumstances were different then. There were words that had just been off limits, too melodramatic, especially in the middle of the war.

The war was over. They were in their own house. They were basking in the peace of post war Paradis.

It could have been a force of habit that the words kept themselves in, even when Hange had opened her mouth to speak. “I love you,” she whispered. The words were heavy, they were looming and somehow when she let them free, some other tension she dind’t even know existed had broken free from inside her. She let out a laugh, too loud for too late at night. “I love you,” she said again, much louder that time.

“Me too,” Levi said. “I love you too.” His response was smooth, natural and not at all hesitant and Hange wondered how long he had kept it in or if he had ever even rehearsed it.

She grinned, gripped his hand harder and let out a long exhale. They were silent for a few seconds and in the silence, the thumps, the thuds were deafeningly loud. Hange studied Levi’s expression, the subtle smile that climbed up his lips.

There was another thud, a few more bumps and suddenly it was silent. On the way to their bedroom, Hange snuck a glance at the partially open door, looking at the lump under the bed, the movements even, the breathing peaceful.

Luke had fallen asleep. For Levi or Luke, or even for herself, Hange made one last gesture. “I love you.” She bent forward, planting a kiss on Levi’s forehead. “Sorry if it’s five years late.”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #lhw2021 #levihanweek2021

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redux-iterum · 3 years ago

Text

A Kindling: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Rusty jerked awake and banged his head on the bottom of the armchair he lay under.

His immediate reaction was to hiss and duck down again, silently bemoaning each residual wave of pain between his ears. The armchair, just tall enough to allow him space to crawl underneath, shifted above him. The top of his human’s head appeared upside-down to peer at him curiously, mane dragging on the floor. He blinked at them and they chuffed, eyes crinkled, before the head disappeared again.

Rusty waited for the last achy throb to fade away before he crawled out from underneath the armchair, stopping to stretch between his human’s feet and shake his fur out to the irritating dinging of the bell on his collar. He felt fingers gently scratch at his neck and between his shoulders, to which he responded with an obligatory purr. The fingers lifted away as the human trilled something in a high pitch. Rusty’s pelt brushed against one of their legs as he turned and headed for the next room.

His food was still there, in its bowl. Rusty ignored it completely, even as his stomach gave a hint of a growl. The stuff tasted terrible and never seemed to make him full. Not for the first time, he reminisced about his last home, where he had been given something soft and much more delicious.

His mind started wandering on the topic of new and old sensations, as it always did, and he distantly felt his feet carrying him through the overly-warm kitchen and to the flap in the door he’d learned to use on his first few days in this house. He barely paid attention to where he was going; he was in the throes of his dream, before he had been startled into the waking world.

It was always the same: he would be prowling through a place he had never been, yet felt right at home in. The place changed every time he dreamed. Sometimes the grass was tall enough that he had to rear up to see ahead, sometimes it was unending stone formations that curved oddly smoothly and arched above his path. Usually…

Rusty pushed through the flap into the night, walked across the yard with cut grass that irritated his pawpads, and leaped onto chairs and pots until he was at the top of the fence that separated him from the outside world.

Usually, it was what he saw ahead of him—a thick forest, so dense with trees and ferns and bushes that it was impossible to track any potential trails to follow, and rich with the scents of the wild. Even from this distance, through the dark and the petrichor from the rain, those scents seemed to find him at all times of the day and night.

Rusty breathed deep, enjoying the freshness of the damp earth and the many, many smells he could not identify from the forest. It was close. Very close—

“There you are!”

Rusty blinked in surprise and turned his head to see another kitten in the next yard, who did a much less graceful job of getting up onto his fence, scrabbling and puffing for air every time he had to heft his considerable weight to meet with his friend.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late, Smudge,” Rusty said once he had finally sat down on the rail and was catching his breath.

“Well, I was looking for you all day,” Smudge said, letting out one final huff before sitting up straight. “Were you inside the entire time? What were you doing?”

“Ehm…” Rusty cocked his head sideways a little in thought. “Sleeping, I guess. I was having a lot of nice dreams. I suppose I didn’t want to wake up.”

“Very unlike you, bud.” Smudge gave him an amused look. “Even the old homebody down the way asked where you were today. He said you weren’t around to scare his prey off.”

Rusty snorted. “He’s never caught a thing in his life and we all know it.”

“Well, neither have we,” Smudge said. “Just a matter of time with you, though, I suppose.”

Rusty frowned. “You could catch something one day, too—”

Smudge blinked slowly, unimpressed, and motioned with a paw to his own chest and belly. He was quite different from Rusty—black-and-white and much softer and rounder. He looked like how he lived, never moving far from his bed and food bowl if he could help it.

Rusty, ginger and much wirier, persisted. “Still, you never know.”

“S’pose we don’t.” Smudge glanced out at the forest before them. “Though I wouldn’t dare try, myself. Not over there, anyway, since you keep looking that way.”

“There aren’t really any other places to hunt, though,” Rusty said. “Unless we wanted to go—”

“’We’,” Smudge muttered.

“’We’.” Rusty nodded. “Unless we wanted to go further into the neighborhood and try that park.”

“Eh.” Smudge rolled a shoulder like the very idea of walking that far pained his limbs. “There’re probably ferals out there too.”

Rusty did not respond to this. He was looking back into the forest, thinking. He’d heard stories of feral cats living in those woods—wild giants that lined their borders with the fur of trespassers and ate the bones of helpless kittens and house cats. He’d been warned many times by the adults in his neighborhood to stay away from them, and to run as soon as he saw a hint of their eyes or caught the scent of strange plants and cut wood (whatever that smelled like, he wasn’t sure). Apparently there were even more feral colonies far away, but he knew nothing about them. What everyone was concerned about was the group in the forest.

“Mind a nibble on your thoughts?” Smudge said, jerking Rusty back to the present.

“Just—” Rusty looked between his friend and the woods. “Just wondering what’s in there.”

“Probably nothing good.” Smudge wrinkled his nose distastefully. “A bunch of mud and bullies, I’ll bet.”

“Really?” Rusty looked at Smudge sideways, head tilted a little. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of prey and adventures waiting past those trees.”

“Ohhh,” Smudge said with a grand sarcasm. “Lots of good times in there?”

“All of the good times,” Rusty returned. “And if there are cats, I’ll bet they’re not as bad as everyone says.”

Smudge huffed an amused breath. “Tell you what, you bring one back for me to see myself, one that’s real nice and friendly, and I’ll personally take you to the park tomorrow.”

A spark of something lit up Rusty’s mind. “You know, I might take you up on that.”

All of Smudge’s snarky demeanor vanished in an instant. “Rusty, I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” Rusty bunched up and looked over the fence, eyeing the best place to land.

“Don’t—” Smudge puffed up out of the corner of his eye and his volume rose. “Rusty, don’t.”

“No, no, we have a bet.” Rusty jumped and landed with, he proudly noted, barely a stumble. “I’ve got to go find you a feral.”

“They’ll eat you alive!” Smudge protested, looking genuinely anxious. “Come back here! I wasn’t even serious!”

“See you in a while, Smudge!” Rusty called over his shoulder, and started off at a trot through the soft, uncut grass.

“Rusty!” Smudge shouted, but Rusty didn’t look back. He simply padded along, ignoring his friend’s yells, only pausing for an instant as he hit the treeline before pushing his way past a fern. The forest swallowed him and Smudge’s voice faded away.

Rusty stopped a few steps in, eyes wide. The trees, he knew, were always taller than the houses, but up close they seemed to scratch the sky—he wasn’t sure he was even able to see their peaks from here. Some smaller forms of them, much more delicate and thin, fought their way out of the brush that covered almost every bit of ground. The ferns, soft and broad and fringed, took up what the brush didn’t, and patches of incredibly soft grass soaked up what little moonlight they could catch. Everything was vibrant, fresh, alive.

More than that, though, were the scents, so numerous and strong that they threatened to knock Rusty off his feet. Even the trees clouded his nose, and he understood instantly what smells the adults were talking about. The ferns and grass were almost delicious, and the packed soil under his paws smelled not only of rain, but of something that made Rusty’s stomach growl. Something like what he had eaten in his old home.

He wanted to find it.

Without quite understanding what he was doing, Rusty lowered his body into a half-crouch and he tried to pinpoint the scent past all the others. Experimentally, he opened his mouth, and the air brought him a taste that seemed to be coming from his right. He sniffed, turning slowly, ears swiveling.

Something rustled in the ferns, and something else lit up in his head.

Very slowly, very carefully, Rusty moved forward, trying to track the scent as he went. His shoulders brushed against the fronds, but luckily, they made no sound (“Luckily?” What was he trying to sneak up on?). He cursed in his head when his feet shifted the soil and the rustling stopped. He paused, and the rustling eventually continued, as did he.

He closed in on this unknown target, until he ducked below a fern that was blocking his view. In a little clear patch of ground, he could see something tiny and brown scuttling back and forth, digging at the earth or chewing on grass. It had a long, naked tail and wide ears, and Rusty had a vague idea of what it was supposed to be, based on a toy he had at home that looked about the same, save being much more brightly colored.

Again, not having a clue why, Rusty crouched further, eyes focused on the animal. He kept as still as possible, waiting for an opportunity to… do something. The animal was entirely unaware of him. He lifted one paw and took a step, pulling himself closer.

The bush ahead of him violently shook and the animal darted into the undergrowth.

Rusty straightened up, greatly annoyed. He glared at the bush, now catching a scent of something else. Something that was also familiar, but still as new as the rest of this forest. And, going by the continued shaking, something quite large.

Rusty had a faint idea that he should probably run.

#warrior cats #warriors redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter one #book one #arc one #a kindling

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silhouetteofacedar · 4 years ago

Text

Impersonal, Ch. 7

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, Rated E

The game had ended and he wasn’t surprised.

He expected this. He prepared himself all day Saturday by running six miles, jacking off twice, and mopping his entire apartment. He didn’t even own a mop; he actually went out and bought one. By the time Sunday morning rolled around he was ready for the inevitable collapse of their precarious sexual arrangement and greeted Scully with aplomb.

And then she paid for breakfast.

That was unexpected. When the FBI wasn’t footing the bill, they usually split the tab, or threw a “you can get the next one” down on the table alongside crumpled bills.

He had been joking about it being a date, but then she paid. And it meant something. Her big blue eyes pinned him to the booth, had him trapped and squirming like an insect on a card as she laid a hand over the check. “I’ve got it,” she said, and his senses were suddenly ignited. He could feel thick sunshine pouring over them, lighting up Scully’s hair like a smudge of cinnamon. Her lips looked so sweet and soft, and the very idea that he might never feel them again stole his breath. He felt dry and empty, a desiccated housefly body lying on a windowsill.

He thanked her for breakfast, and his throat was lined with dust.

Their parting was weird. Hinting that he was still available to her was an insane risk, and she turned it into a joke about Frohike. Unless she actually thought he was the one joking about Frohike, which he has to admit wouldn’t be out of character for him.

He’s tired of joking, tired of hiding, tired of dancing around his intentions. Tired of wanting and not asking, tired of being in his own damn way.

Scully has given him a graceful exit, a neatly drawn map back to their pre-sex starting point. And not for the first time, Mulder wads up the map and tosses it aside. Scully made her move; it was time for him do the same.

What that move would be, he has no idea.

It takes him eleven days. No wonder Scully took matters into her own hands the first time around. Inspiration strikes him during his drive from Alexandria to D.C. the next Thursday morning, when he crosses the Potomac and gets a glimpse of faraway blossoms.

He waits until 4:47 that afternoon to say anything.

“Hey Scully, you doing anything tonight?” he asks, rifling through a stack of papers as though he’s attending to FBI business and not trying to work up courage like a schoolboy.

Her glossy red head is bent over a file, pen at her lip. “Besides folding an obscenely large pile of laundry, my schedule seems fairly empty,” she replies. She looks up at him suspiciously. “Why, Mulder?”

“No reason, really. There’s just something I wanted to show you, get your opinion on.”

“Is it related to a case?”

He opens a desk drawer, pretending to look for something. “Well it could be a totally natural phenomenon, but who can say for certain without proper investigation?”

Scully sighs. “Fine, I’ll bite. And speaking of bites, I’m starving. If we’re going to work off the clock, can we at least eat?”

“Wanna stop for Chinese? We can take it with us. We’re not going far, the food should still be hot when we get to our secondary location.”

They take Mulder’s car, picking up several cartons of food from a restaurant in Chinatown a few blocks up from the Hoover building before making their way towards the National Mall. Mulder parks in the lot near the Washington Monument.

“You weren’t kidding when you said we weren’t going far,” Scully says, gathering up the bag of takeout. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“That,” he replies, pointing ahead.

Hundreds of cherry trees line the Tidal Basin, their leaves almost entirely obscured by tufts of blossoms. Scully steps onto the path, open-mouthed.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs.

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Pretty fantastic, huh?”

“Mulder,” she says in awe, looking sideways at him, “What are we doing here?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to see them.”

“At night?”

“Daylight’s for tourists, Scully.”

———

They’re sitting on the damp grass, endeavoring to split the last egg roll using only their dueling pairs of chopsticks.

“This is impossible, Scully. I’m going to use my hands.”

“Then I definitely don’t want the other half,” she says.

“Are you implying something about my hygiene?”

“I’ve seen some of the places your hands have been, Mulder.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Not what I meant,” she says softly. “But the point still stands.”

Mulder lays back on the lawn, his long coat fanning wide. Scully pulls an edge of it towards her, scoots closer so she can rest her pantyhose-clad calves on it instead of the grass.

“I’ve always preferred the blossoms at night,” he says. “There’s something ghostly about them, all pink and white against the dark sky. Not an ominous kind of ghostly, however; if good spirits exist, I think they’d look like these trees. You know most early European religions feature some sort of reverence for trees or forests, whether as spiritual gathering places or deities themselves-“

“Mulder.”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to eat that egg roll, or can I have it?”

He passes her the carton. “And-”

“Why did you bring me here, Mulder?”

He glances at her and is surprised to see a tenderness in her eyes. His gaze returns to the branches above.

“I just figured I owe you a nice trip to a forest, and this one won’t require any paperwork.”

Scully smiles. “That’s a very considerate choice, Mulder, especially since I’m always the one doing said paperwork.”

“You’re more succinct and readable than I am, apparently. And Skinner clearly likes you better.”

“Didn’t you punch him in the face once?”

“That’s beside the point. I think he has a bit of a crush on you, Scully.”

She rolls her eyes. “What?” Mulder asks.

“I just… it’s nothing, It’s been a long day. And it’s cold out here.”

Mulder sits up and withdraws his arms from the sleeves of his overcoat.

“No- Mulder, don’t, I’m fine.”

“Move your legs,” he instructs, pulling the edge of the coat out from under her. He stands and drapes it around her shoulders before plopping back down on the grass next to her.

“Thanks,” she says. “Still, it’s getting late.”

He glances at his watch. “It’s seven-thirty on a Thursday. You got somewhere to be?” His arm bumps her shoulder companionably. “Come on, just a little longer. Maybe we’ll see something unidentified in the sky.”

He grins at her and the corner of her mouth twitches in reply. “Well, I guess I don’t have a choice,” she sighs. “You drove us here.”

He feels a slight increase of pressure against his arm and realizes that Scully is ever so slightly leaning into him. A gentle warmth glows in his belly, and he glances sidelong at her.

I’m a lucky son of a bitch, he thinks.

“How so?” Scully asks.

Oh. He said it out loud. He clears his throat, tries to steer his thoughts back into safer waters.

“Well, for one thing, I’m not dead,” he says. “Not for lack of trying.”

Scully nods solemnly.

“I’ve seen incredible things, things people spend their whole lives looking for, hoping for, believing in. I’ve tasted proof, held the truth in my hands. And in spite of everything, I’m still here. We’re still here. That’s pretty goddamn lucky.”

“I don’t feel very lucky,” Scully says softly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve fucked up every good thing I’ve ever had a chance at. My father certainly thought so, at least for a long time.”

They sit silently for a moment. “Without you, I’d be long dead,” Mulder admits.

“I know,” Scully replies. “I’m always awed by your resilience, actually. I can’t take all the credit for your continued survival.”

“Yeah, you can,” he says, getting to his feet and dusting stray blades of grass off his slacks. He holds out a hand and helps her to her feet. Her fingers are cool against his palm, and he wonders if she’d notice if he didn’t let go. Probably.

He wants to pull her in by the lapels of his coat, gather her to his chest, hold her for no reason other than he can. Kiss her brow, smell her hair, feel her small hands sliding under his suit jacket. He wants her just as she is, for exactly who she is.

But he’s a chickenshit, so instead he just walks beside her along the Tidal Basin, under the cherry blossoms, and doesn’t hold her hand.

They spend the five minute drive back to the Bureau in comfortable silence. Scully leans her head against the car window, and Mulder briefly wonders if she’ll fall asleep. He loves when she nods off while he’s driving; it makes him feel safe. She makes him feel safe.

He parks a few spots away from her car in the Bureau parking garage, turns off the engine. Scully gathers up her briefcase, leaving Mulder’s coat draped open on the passenger seat.

“Why are you getting out?” she asks, seeing Mulder unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I need a file from the office,” he lies. He exits the car and goes around to her side. “I’ll walk you to your door, it’s on my way.”

It’s twenty feet from her car to his. “Thank you, Mulder,” Scully says sardonically, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket. “If I weren’t armed, that would have been very thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. He takes a step forward.

“What are you doing?” Scully asks, one hand on her car door, keys in the other.

“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” God, she’s so small, this could so easily go wrong-

He pitches forward, bending down, and presses his lips to the fullness of her cheek. His nose brushes the soft skin under her eye and he inhales sharply, drawing back.

They blink at each other. “Bye,” Mulder offers.

Scully nods. “Yes. Goodnight.” She glances to the elevators. “Was there actually a file you needed?”

He just looks at her, and she presses her lips together in understanding. “Right. Well, I’m leaving, so… see you tomorrow then.”

Right. Despite recent events, the earth was still spinning.

Later, when he hangs his overcoat, he notices the faintest scent of her shampoo on the collar.

#awwwwwwwww they're so awkward and dumb #impersonal #my fic #txf fic #xfiles #msr #slow burn #also pls listen to 'Agape' by Nicolas Britell while reading this chapter it's the Vibe

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thosewickedlovelies · 4 years ago

Text

Into the Woods: chapter 2 | Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Instagram stalking ensues. Will you run into Frankie again?

Tags: no warnings AGAIN this is weird for me too but as mentioned I do have some smut planned for these two if anyone needs more incentive to read lmfao

Word Count: 2,783

A/N: As always, endless love to @yoditorian for this idea and her supervision of my writing about a social media platform I do not use 💗💚💗

Backstory / chap 1 /

---

Later that night, Frankie sits at his desk, poring over maps both digital and physical. Where could you live to have traveled to the same point in the forest as him within a day? He’s hiked along the edge of his side of the woods, and knows that unless he’s missed some major construction, you can’t be there. So now he studies the other side of the treeline, looking at the closeness of the towns, any tiny side roads that could lead to individual houses like his own. But his frustration is growing.

There aren’t any. Not any within feasible walking distance, at least. And you hadn’t been grubby enough to have been camping. Frankie frowns, tracing the small highway which cuts through the forest. There, not far from the turnoff to his home, was a parking lot at the start of a web of trails through the woodland. If you started there and completely ignored the predetermined paths, heading a course straight for the pond...

“Huh,” Frankie murmurs. It wasn’t much further of a hike than his own. So that means you don’t live within walking distance- he shakes off an odd twinge of disappointment at that- but he does have an idea of your hiking range, if he felt like trying to seek you out.

He shakes his head. Don’t be weird. That was something Santiago might do- deliberately roam where he knew you regularly went in order to find you again. Frankie isn’t nearly so forward. His style is slower, less aggressive. What he’s already planning is his next cooking trip to the pond. Plants need water, and you forage for plants- he figures it’s a likely spot to run into you a second time.

Frankie hadn’t spoken to you again after you’d parted today. Only caught glimpses of you through the trees, from where he had dutifully remained by his fire. But at some point between the twisting of the campfire smoke from one way to another you had vanished, and not long after, Oso had returned to him, flopping down on her side with a satisfied huff.

He snorted. “Well, I’m glad you got to make a new friend.” Frankie rubbed her belly with only a little jealousy.

Now, feeling restless, he decides to upload the pictures he took today. He’s almost immediately distracted, however, by a string of likes from a new follower- concluding with a familiar photo of Oso and Gloriana. A prickle of excitement runs through him at a reference to foraging in the username. No way.

Frankie leans forward in his seat, straining for a closer look at the profile picture. A grin spreads across his face when the page finally loads.

It’s you. You, mid-laugh, perched comfortably up on a sturdy tree branch. He quickly scrolls down to confirm; but this is definitely you. Lots of photos of plants, and woodland that looks remarkably familiar. Your bare feet in a stream. A busy street at afarmer’s market, you smiling with a stall owner.

Frankie laughs out loud at the sheer absurdity of it. Here he was, worried about coming off as a mega-creep, and you’ve already shamelessly checked him out on instagram. He’s never hit ‘Follow Back’ so fast in his life.

You try to quash the squirmy anticipation in your belly as you pull on your pack, organizing yourself for the walk ahead. There’s no reason to get excited, you scold yourself. Even if you do see Frankie again, you still don’t really know anything about him.

You’d tried to stalk him online, but there wasn’t much information to go off of from his instagram photos. The pictures themselves spoke volumes, though. You’d always thought you could tell a little something of people’s personalities from what they posted, especially from pictures with their friends. Frankie’s main group of friends had a certain look about them- military maybe, a sort of cocky surety in their posturing. Despite this, they’re often grinning in candid moments, a relaxed, unself-conscious affection between the men which endeared them to you. Them, and Frankie. It’s a shame he doesn’t post more photos of himself. You recall again the sight of him in the woods, shafts of sunlight striking his expressive features, illuminating his kind smile and earthen eyes.

Then you shake your head. Too much time alone with your ever-churning thoughts have you romanticizing your meeting, when in reality you have no reason to expect to run into him again. He’d said he was out there all the time, but you’d never spotted evidence of any fires, or of a giant dog gallivanting around the place. Maybe he didn’t mean the pond specifically, but the forest in general.

“Argh!” Looking around, you stomp your foot in frustration. In your distraction, your walking pace had slowed, and you weren’t as far along in your hike as you should have been. Resolving to focus on your surroundings (because you won’t see Frankie again if you don’t get to the pond in good time), you splash some water on your face to refresh yourself and stride onward.

As you get closer to your pond, you slow down again, this time deliberately. All your senses strain for any sign of Frankie, but you don’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary. Then you smell it.

Smoke.

For a moment you panic. Is it wildfire season? Can you run away from a forest fire? Who do you call for this??

Then you smell something else- something familiar and edible- and you nearly pop yourself in the forehead. Of course you smell smoke, you idiot. What did Frankie say he did out here?? Cooked. You were literally just thinking about his instagram.

What is that smell? You have got to see this.

You step carefully to avoid making too much noise in the brush. Now that you’re looking for it, the gray haze of campfire smoke is obvious as it drifts through the trees. You give its source a wide berth, hoping for a chance to observe Frankie without him knowing.

Your wish is granted. You’ve come at him from the side, and now have an excellent view of his profile, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he stirs something in the heavy-looking pan in front of him. After a minute he looks satisfied, and retrieves the pan’s lid from behind him, arcing his arm carefully over the flames as he places it. Frankie sits back, a gusty sigh blowing from his lips. As you watch, he tosses his cap to the side, running his hands through loose curls and scratching his fingers across his scalp. You bite your lip in a smile at the sight of his moment of self-indulgence.

You scan Frankie’s setup and the area around him, searching for-

“Ruff!” The dog you were looking for crashes through the bushes beside you, and you yelp in surprise, automatically stooping to soothe her.

Dammit, how does such a large animal keep sneaking up on you?

“Oso?” Frankie calls. He’s standing now, still hatless, a few steps closer to you than where he’d been sitting. He glances uncertainly between the fire and your approximate location. You hear him try your name next.

You swear quietly. “No, not you,” you add to Oso.

“It’s me,” you reply, straightening. “Sorry, Oso got me again.”

The pleased, upward tilt of his lips reverses as he shakes a stern finger at his dog, whose ears perk happily at all the attention. “What did I tell you? No more accosting strangers!” he scolds, though he doesn’t sound the least bit upset.

With a expectant glance at you, Oso trots back over to him. Frankie ruffles her ears, definitively undermining any negative impact his words might have had. You regard each other tentatively.

“Hi,” you say lamely.

His face crinkles back up into a smile. “Hi,” he returns. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Every possible conversation you’d mentally practiced since your first meeting flew right out of your head. “Well, you know.” You shrug lightly. “A person’s gotta eat.” Inwardly you cringe.

But Frankie is unphased. “I’d be really interested to hear about the kinds of stuff you find out here. This is almost ready, if you don’t feel like foraging for your lunch today.” He gestures behind him to the pan on the fire.

You hesitate, and Frankie seems to sense your uncertainty. “Only if you want.” He holds his hands up in a universal ‘no pressure’ sign, even going so far as to take a step back in emphasis.

You tell yourself to stop being so paranoid. This is what you wanted, after all. All your curiosity comes surging back as the wind shifts and the smell of his cooking sets your stomach growling. “Okay,” you agree. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Great!” Frankie beams. He turns- and promptly trips over Oso, still sitting beside him.

“Fuck!” He curses, hands hitting the ground on the other side of his dog.

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter. Is he always this prone to falling over? “Are you okay?” You make your way over to them.

“Yeah.” Now upright, Frankie seems flustered to find you so much nearer than before, his gaze flitting over you before he remembers himself. He turns to crouch by the fire again, snatching up his hat and re-securing it on his head.

You seat yourself a short distance away and observe. Oso has reclined on her belly on Frankie’s other side, her eager gaze fixed on the pan as he prods the food. Apparently deeming it finished, he retrieves three paper bowls from his bag and fills one each for you, himself, and Oso. With a small flourish and a nervous smile, he presents yours to you.

“Thank you.” You feel like maybe you should say something else, but he’s already moved to face Oso, murmuring something to her while he gives her her bowl. You decide to let the food do the talking.

And are glad you did when fresh, vibrant flavors flood your tongue. Your eyes flutter wide with surprise. “Wow, this is...incredible. How did you..?” You look between the steaming pan and his rucksack, unable to reconcile the feast of flavors in your bowl with how much you’d have to carry out here to achieve it.

The man blushes at your praise, gaze lowering briefly to hide his pleasure, but he looks back up at your question. “Trade secrets,” Frankie says solemnly. Then he drops the expression with a little laugh, his confidence clearly bolstered by your amazement.

“Just kidding, I’ll tell you. If-” he points his plastic spoon at you “-you tell me how we haven’t crossed paths before.”

That’s a fair deal, especially if it means you get to learn more about him. “I’ll do my best,” you promise. In between bites, you outline your gradual exploration of your surroundings upon moving into a nearby village a little over two years ago. This year, you decided to strike out into new territory- this forest.

“I found this pond pretty quickly and saw the blackberry bushes right at the end of the season last year. I’ve been coming here ever since, keeping an eye on it I guess. But this whole wood is really a gold mine.”

Frankie looks fascinated. “I had no idea. I know some plants, but I couldn’t even begin to guess what all is out here.” His mouth opens to ask more questions, but it’s your turn now.

“What about you?” you quiz. “How have I not seen you before if you’re out here ‘all the time’?”

“Well, I’ve been working my way over from the other side of the hill.” Frankie explains, gesturing to the gentle ascending slope behind him. “I only found this place earlier this year. Didn’t know it was someone else’s territory.” He offers an apologetic grin, and you duck your head, feeling a silly, pleased warmth in your cheeks.

“Anyway, I moved into my place over there about five years ago? But I had a lot to do at first. I made a ton of improvements to the house, I was starting a garden. The hiking was kind of a refuge from that at first, a way to quiet my thoughts when I was stressing myself out.” He admits this last part without looking at you, as if his stress is somehow something to be ashamed of.

“But then I realized that I actually enjoyed it, and it made me feel safer to know the woods in so much detail. So I made it a hobby. Started taking longer walks, mapping where I’d been. Brought whole meals instead of little snacks,” he adds wryly.

You laugh as his humor registers, completely engrossed in Frankie’s tale. He seems to notice this suddenly, and shuffles a little under your attention. “So that’s me,” he concludes, clearing his throat self-consciously.

Any foraging you intended to do today has long been forgotten. You’ve been sitting with your backpack on long enough that your shoulders have begun to ache, and you sling it off impatiently. Frankie seems to further relax himself at the sight of you settling in, leaning back on his hands, his empty bowl given to Oso to lick clean.

There’s one question that hasn’t been answered. “...so how did you end up on instagram?” you probe.

He laughs outright. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask,” Frankie teases. His lopsided grin suggests he knows the impression he gives off. His mirth is infectious, and you find yourself grinning back at him, although you refuse to be embarrassed. He was the one who had thrown his phone at you, after all. And he had stalked your profile right back.

“Well, I’m no photographer,” he begins. “But I like the act of taking pictures. Really stopping and looking at what’s around you, what captures your attention. I was in the army before this, and it was just in-and-out of so many places, not actually experiencing anywhere for real…” Frankie watches you from the corner of his eye, speaking slowly, as if reluctant to say something which might change your opinion of him.

“My friend’s wife- the one whose kid I’m godfather to- suggested I use instagram as a way to organize my photos, but also ‘so they know I’m still alive out here.’” He chuckles. “I kinda like it now- it’s like a public diary. Mostly it was a relief to find that I’m not the only weirdo out there who likes cooking in the woods.”

You breathe a laugh reflexively, but your mind is turning over his words. I keep an instagram, he’d said before. Like a diary. Well, that’s...really cute, actually.

“Well, that makes me feel really shallow,” you joke, unable to think of any deeper response to his unexpectedly meaningful answer.

“Nah.” Frankie dismisses your quip with an easy smile. He asks you about yourself, then. How you got into foraging, other questions inspired by the pictures he’d seen on your page.

For awhile you converse with the uncomplicated lightness of two strangers who know absolutely nothing about each other, but want to. As a dessert offering, you take out the tub of blackberries you’d gathered earlier. Frankie’s eyes widen at their size, fatter than any berry he’d see in the supermarkets.

His freely shared emotions- fascination, curiosity, delight- continue to confirm your impression of him. Safe. His mouth works as he savors the sweet fruit, lips puckering, head nodding in close-eyed approval.

You will yourself not to stare. Looking elsewhere, you glance up at the sky- and the angle of the sun sends you leaping to your feet. “Shit-”

Frankie startles. “What’s wrong?” He tenses, but remains seated. Oso jerks to wakefulness where she’d been dozing by his side.

“I’ve got to start back if I don’t want to be out here at night.” Hurriedly you check your phone to be sure of the time, your heart rate slowing upon seeing it’s not as late as you thought.

Frankie stands now to hand you back your container, still mostly full of berries. You pause. “Keep it,” you tell him. “Make yourself a campfire dessert.”

His lips part in surprise, but you step back before he can protest. “Or at least take them as a thank you. For the food...and the company.”

He purses his lips. “All right. I’ll save making dessert for next time, though.” He subtly searches for your reaction to his implied invitation.

Anticipation lightens your limbs, but you keep your feet firmly planted on the earth. “Next time.” You’re not sure you manage to smother the excitement in your smile.

---

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle, @tobealostwanderer

#frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fic #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier imagine #outdoors insta frankie

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enkelimagnus · 4 years ago

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A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 8, 4107 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Daddy issues, emotional breakdowns and rash decisions

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

Snow falls almost continuously for the next day or so, covering the forest and the mountains in blinding white. Every time Vex goes onto the look-out post over the cabin, may it be to clear the path for eventual work or to actually check on her surroundings, she finds herself unable to tell white stone from snow.

Her eyes meet an endless ocean of white, she’s forced to wear sunglasses when the rays bounce off of the snow and ice and blind anyone trying to watch the surrounding nature. It’s breathtaking.

She spends as long as she can on the lookout post, sometimes alone or sometimes with Vax. The endless white makes her feel incredibly small. When she’s alone, the only thing across the valley from her is the castle, in its white glory. It doesn’t loom the way it does when it rains. It stands, proud and tall.

Whitestone exhales in winter. It chases away the heaviness. The sky is bluer right now than she’s ever seen it here. Syngorn doesn’t get this beautiful in winter, it gets drab and wet and disagreeable. Whitestone thrives in the snow. Vex finds herself exhaling with it, breathing hard and free in the cold.

It’s exhilarating, the way the air almost hurts when you breathe it. She wants to stay here forever.

She’s spent a few early morning hours watching the sunrise on the lookout post, black sky turning to gorgeous colors and the winter sun making the white come to life suddenly. It goes from darkness to light so fast it’s almost dizzying. But she can’t stand forever watching. She’s getting a little too frozen for comfort, and she has other things to do.

She climbs down the almost frozen ladder, careful of where she steps and how she grabs. She makes it back down with no issue. The warmth of the cabin envelops her as she steps into it. It stings her fingers and feet a little as warmth and blood comes rushing back in. She busies herself making coffee in the morning, puts the aluminum pot on the stove.

Vax is still asleep, curled up on himself a little. His hair has gotten free of the tie at some point during the night and it’s going to be a bitch to entangle. She can already hear his whines as she brushes out the tangles. He’s always been sensitive when it comes to his scalp. It would be easier if he cut his hair, really, but he will probably kill her before he does that.

Like this, with his hair covering his ears, he looks almost full-blooded. Vex swallows.

She hates those thoughts. They’re not hers. They’re the ones of the Syngornian elves. They’re the echoes of their comments, of their looks, of their whispers. They’re the memories of their father’s very words when they first arrived. He’d watched them so critically, observed their ears and their hair and their faces, searching for where the human ended and where the elf began. He hadn’t found what he’d wanted, of course.

The disappointment and contempt in his eyes at the moment he’d realized that they would never be mistaken for anything other than what they were is carved into her mind forever.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons Vax never wanted to cut his hair.

No, that couldn’t be it. Vax isn’t her. He was somehow much stronger than she was when it came to their father and Syngorn. He hated them, was clear about it and had given up on their approval years ago. Now he just lives his life and flips them off both literally and figuratively every single day.

Vex isn’t the same. She never could shake the desire to make Syldor Vessar proud. She never could shake the desire to be part of Syngorn, of its society, of the culture. Still now, it comes to her sometimes, the question of whether he cares about what she’s doing. Whether he’s proud of her.

She knows he isn’t. She’s not a full-blooded daughter, she’s not part of Syngornian society, she didn’t take to the education he tried to give her. She was supposed to become part of the courts, to look and act noble-born. She wasn’t supposed to sneak out of the house at night to go run in the woods for hours, sometimes even days. She still could dance well, she could cast a couple of spells, could carve woods and care for leather and saw if needed, she knew how to put her hair up the most appropriate way, knew how to apply makeup in fashion, but she wasn’t noble in any way. She wasn’t a good daughter.

She admits it has gotten easier since Velora, his new daughter, their half-sister, came along. She’s now the full-blooded perfect daughter. There’s no expectation on Vex and Vax anymore, just sighs and demands of good behavior, of not tainting the Vessar name further, as if they were responsible for their own existence, as if he wasn’t the one who conceived them. But Vex doesn’t feel any better.

She feels worse actually. Being discarded can be worse than being a disappointment. When they set fire to the Shademurk Bog and she couldn’t leave her own room for days, terrified and in pain, wounded in more ways than one, all he did was barge into the room and yell at her for endangering an important alliance with the Fey. In that moment, she realized she didn’t matter to anyone anymore but Vax.

And it still hurts, a slowly pulsing, forever seeping, ugly wound, that remains even when the ones Saundor had gifted her with are healing. She knows she’s stupid to care so much about a man that never loved her. But what else is she supposed to do?

The coffee pot starts gurgling and she turns back to it. Vax stirs in the bed, warm and almost soft this early in the morning, when thoughts and memories have yet to come to his mind. Vex busies herself with eggs and bread as he sits up groggily.

“Early riser,” he mumbles. “How long have you…”

“A couple of hours,” Vex shrugs and grabs two of the metal plates and puts them on the table, next to two mugs for coffee. “Did some work and made you breakfast.” She reaches to flip the toast over on the pan. It takes a lot of attention to toast bread that way. She enjoys it though.

Vax huffs and gets out of bed, stretching a little and walking over to the table and the food she’s now putting there.

“What’s the program for today?” He asks, as he reaches for his bag.

Vex follows his arm and raises an eyebrow. “Hmm… We should probably hunt while the weather is pleasant. It could start snowing and just not stop for a while and finding meat then will be a struggle.” She points out.

Vax ruffles through his bag before he takes out a couple of little pouches and a glass vial. The spices and vinegar Vex requested.

“Well that sounds fun. Do you want me to come?” He puts the spices on the table with a smile towards her.

“I’m probably going to need some extra hands to get it back,” she points out. “Unless you want to wait for my text and then come get me, you should probably come along. Besides, some time in nature will do you good.”

Vax puts on a falsely offended hair, hand going from the coffee-filled mug to clutching his chest. “That feels like an insult, stubby.”

Vex reaches over and taps his cheek slightly. “You’re pale. You spend too much time in city shadows.” She shrugs. “They won’t recognize you when you go back home. All tan and full of winter air.”

Vax nods quietly, looking down at the mug. He’s usually not that quiet when she mentions his lifestyle, especially disapprovingly. Something’s up, she can tell. He leans back a little, still staring at his cup. The coffee is steaming hot, and he seems to be fixated on the patterns the steam is making in the air between them.

She leaves him in the silence for a moment. Vax doesn’t like when people push for information, even her. And she had toast to watch. She finishes watching the toast right when the eggs on the other pan are done.

She piles the toast on a plate and turns around with the pan to put the eggs in their plates. Vax has shifted slightly, a hand up to his face, fingers against his brow bones. He looks preoccupied by whatever it is that’s not making him snap back at her.

When she finally sits down, he exhales and looks up at her.

“I can’t go home,” he says quietly. “Not to Syngorn.”

Vex frowns a little, leaning away from her chair a little bit. “Did something happen?”

Vax looks away from her, swallowing. She doesn’t like this at all. Bitter dread starts pooling in her stomach.

“Father doesn’t want either of us around Velora,” he says after a moment. “He’s made sure we weren’t welcome home anymore. We won’t be able to make it through the door of the house. And…” He stops, sighing. “I think he made sure the people I usually hang with would push me away too.”

Vex sits shell-shocked in her chair. The eggs and toast and coffee are all growing cold, but so is her heart, right now.

She should have expected it. She should have known. When she left for Whitestone, she’d made sure to let Velora know that she didn’t have to be what he wanted her to be. That she could run and fall and come back home with bloody knees. That she could punch anyone who bothered her, no matter how highborn. That she didn’t need to be a perfect elven daughter. Syldor had been furious. He’d basically slammed the door behind her.

Vax takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and slides it over the table. It’s cut roughly and the words on it are messy. Elvish. Don’t come back. It’s not their father’s handwriting, nor is it Devana’s, his wife. She guesses from Vax’s pained eyes that it’s from one of his so-called friends.

“What are you going to do?” She asks after a moment. “Do you still have things there?”

Vax shakes his head. “Nothing important. All I have is here, right now.” He points his chin towards the bag next to the bed. It’s small. “There’s some of your things too,” he points out. “I thought you’d want them here… I didn’t know then we wouldn’t be back.”

Vex’s head is spinning. A second piece of paper is put on the table. This time, the paper is beautiful, the handwriting perfect, and it’s signed by Syldor himself. Her eyes skim over it. The gist of it is the same as the other paper. The house next to the tower, the deep green velvet of the bed canopy.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asks. She wishes she didn’t sound as remorseful as she does.

“You seemed happy,” Vax shrugs. “I didn’t want to ruin that.”

Fuck, they’re alone now. Truly alone. Their mother is dead, their father wishes they were dead, they have no one and they have nothing and they don’t have a home. Tears burn as they rise in her eyes, as she tries to shove them down.

“I’m gonna stay here a little,” Vax continues. “And then I’m going to go to Westruun and stay with Gilmore until…”

Until what? Until he changes his mind? Until she stops wanting to stay in Whitestone? Until they grab a map, close their eyes, drop a coin and see where it lands, where they decide home will be?

“We’ll be fine,” she whispers, but she doesn’t believe it.

Why did he have to overhear her telling Velora to be rebellious? Why couldn’t she shut her fucking mouth and not try and bring Velora into the terrible path she’s on? Why couldn’t she be the daughter Syldor wanted? She hadn’t tried hard enough, and now, now it was too late.

She’s never good enough for anyone.

There’s a nudge against her leg. She looks down and sees Trinket. He’s making little noises, obviously aware of her distress, but she hasn’t heard them. She hasn’t heard a thing. The egg looks cold and congealed now.

She swallows. “I need to go and get meat for Trinket and us,” she says after a moment. “I need… to go and think.” She points out. “Maybe you shouldn’t come.”

Suddenly, they’re back to being teenagers, grieving and angry. All that Vex wants to do is go and run through the woods until she forgets where she’s from, until she forgets the weight of who she has to be. And Vax nods, the way he did fifteen years ago.

“I think I’ll go to the city again,” he says quietly. “Walk around.”

The same thing he’d do when they were teenagers. He’d stay in Syngorn, sneak around on the rooftops while Vex ran. At the end of the day, they haven’t changed. They’re 28, and yet they’re still the same broken-hearted thirteen year olds that ran out of Syldor’s house that first time.

Vex nods quietly. She stands and reaches for her quiver, strapping it to her thigh. She gets everything else ready, bundling herself up for the oncoming hunt in the cold. As her fingers close around her usual bow, her mind drifts to Fenthras, still hidden under her bed. She shoves the thought away. She’s not worthy of that weapon.

The door of the cabin slams in the silence. She’s greeted by blinding snow. Her instincts yell at her to run and she does.

She takes off running the second she passes the first ring of trees around the clearing. Her lungs burn with exhaustion as well as the icy air. The snow crutches underneath her feet. She runs for a while, until she feels like she’s miles away from the cabin. Her foot catches on a hidden branch and she tumbles down, knees and hands hitting the packed snow.

Her pants are wet and cold and her wrists and knees hurt from the impact but she stays there. She wants to scream and she wants to cry and suddenly, she’s 13 again. She’s 13 and howling at the moon because her mother is dead, her father hates her, and the only person that loves her is as broken as she is.

The moon is not out, it’s the middle of the morning and the sun is shining, but still she howls. Her ears ring with the strength of her own screams. If anyone hears her, they’ll think she’s a wounded animal. It’s fitting.

She’s a wounded animal, hands and knees in the snow, knees numb, face burning with a thousand needles and she screams. Her body is wracked with sobs and screams, she wants to break, she wants to sleep. She’s so tired. She’s so mad. She punches at wet cold snow. It’s packed dense and it hurts her fist as she rages.

She’s ridiculous, isn’t she? She’s an adult woman, and she’s sobbing now because her father won’t love her. Fuck. She wishes her hands were claws in the snow. It’s all so white. She wishes she could stop thinking.

It’s too cold to be out there on the ground, crying. This is ridiculous. Her hands are getting numb, and so are her feet. She lets herself fall into the snow, curls up on herself. She’s still shaking and crying, but she’s not screaming anymore. She’s too tired.

Her sobs eventually quiet, her body stops shaking. She’s just breathing now, harder than before, out of breath from her crisis. She’s cold. The snow has wetted her clothing and the parts of her body not covered by several layers are damp. Her hair is wet too, after she’s just spent gods know how many minutes curled up in the snow.

She doesn’t have any other option than to get up, hunt, and go back to the cabin. And then… She doesn’t know. As long as she can keep her post here in Whitestone, she has somewhere to be. She has a house, she has an income, she has a purpose. As long as she doesn’t find herself in a situation here, she’ll be fine.

Nothing like Saundor can happen again. She doesn’t have Syngorn to go back to anymore, in case something happens. There’s no more emergency exit. This is all she has. She exhales. Fuck. She doesn’t have anywhere to run to.

Gilmore’s nice, but she doesn’t belong there. That’s Vax’s emergency exit. She’ll only take space.

She just needs to be very good at her job. She needs to be indispensable to Whitestone and to the Alabaster Sierras park. She needs to stop making waves and asking questions. She’ll settle there, do her work, and let everyone forget that she’s anything but useful and discreet.

Vex exhales, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself down. Her heart is still pounding in her chest. She needs to shove down the hurt and anger at her father, the panic when she thinks of having to leave Whitestone. She needs to focus on her job.

She forces herself to center, to melt into her primeval sensing abilities. She needs to do her job right.

It’s far from as smooth as the last time. She doesn’t let herself breathe her awareness through her pores, instead, she throws it out of herself in rage, still a little shaky from her crisis. She pushes it out of her skull, out of her body, like she doesn’t want anything to do with it. Her mind tangles with the forest and digs into it, searching, hungry, a predator.

A howling monster of a mind shoves itself through the forest, in search of prey. There’s no fey. Relief floods into her, despite herself. She didn’t think he was a big player in her current state, but isn’t he always? Hasn’t he been a player of her crisis for the past five years?

She tastes ash again. Fiend. No.

She failed. She fucking failed. There were more than one and she missed one. It’s there, it’s violent and it makes her want to scream again.

She snaps back into her body and hits the ground again. Fuck. She failed in the one job she had to do. She’s useless here, isn’t she? She’s useless everywhere, after all. To everyone.

No. Fuck that. Fuck the fiend. Fuck Syldor Vessar and fuck Saundor. Fuck everyone.

She grabs her bow and starts running again, in the general direction of where she sensed the fiend.

She’s out there for what feels like hours, running, hunting. She’s hungry now, exhausted. She’s a little in pain too, and she doesn’t have time for that. She emerges out of the woods and onto a path that she immediately recognizes. She looks up.

Above her stands the blindingly white architecture of Castle Whistestone. She’s on Keyleth’s trail, where she originally found the fiend.

She focuses again. It’s much closer now, and it seems to be straight ahead of her. Except ahead of her is the stone of the rock formation on which the castle was built. There’s nothing there. How can the fiend be in there?

Vex’s eyes scan over the rock, searching for something, anything that will make sense. She’s desperate. She wants to succeed in something, one thing. She wants to find the fiend and kill it. She needs to.

The rock seems to be looser than the rest, smaller rocks shoved one on top of the other in a way that is unlike the rest of the stone around her. There’s a couple bushes in front of it, probably trying to mask the inconsistency. Except in between the two is a space for one thin half-elf druid to go through.

The issue with visiting the same spot every month and being the only one known to use that path is that it’s obvious to see where you disturbed the natural arrangement of wilderness. Vex knows Keyleth went through there. She knows her fiend is close. There’s no other explanation. Keyleth wasn’t smart enough to fool her.

She manages to move some rocks out of the way, though it takes her a while. She’s determined, and time is nothing important to her right now. She’s solely focused on finding what the fuck Keyleth has been hiding from her.

A tunnel opens in front of her. She takes a step forward. There’s not going back now, isn’t it? She waits for a second as her eyes adjust to the darkness.

The ground seems dry, preserved from the weather. A few feet further in, Vex can spot the remains of a small fire. Someone has camped here. She swallows. It doesn’t seem very used. There are some footsteps in the dust and dirt. Vex swallows. Maybe… maybe she should go get Vax. She isn’t far inside and she might need back-up.

But she doesn’t want him to rescue her again. She needs to be useful, by herself. He’s not always going to be by her side in battle, and she needs to do it by herself. She doesn’t want him there. She’s not a damsel, fuck. She’s strong.

She starts walking down the tunnel. It isn’t very long. A few hundred feet at most. The minimal light from outside quickly disappears however, and Vex finds herself walking in the dark. With a quick motion and whisper, she casts Pass Without a Trace. She’s going to surprise that monster.

She eventually reaches a partially crumbled wall, about a foot thick. A large statue has been moved away from the crumbled part. It had probably been used to hide the hole. This is not just a tunnel, this is a secret tunnel, on many levels. Vex looks back behind herself. She can’t see the entrance anymore.

She walks through the hole and into a storage room. Once again, it’s full of dust, with a single path going from the hole in the wall to the door. Whoever is going through this passage - and she guesses it’s Keyleth - doesn’t stop to check the dust-covered crates stacked into the room.

The door itself is closed, but it doesn’t hold to Vex’s skills. She’s learned to pick locks from Vax, and she’s become pretty good at it over the years. The lock clicks as it turns, and she takes a deep breath before opening it.

The room is plunged into darkness. It’s much larger than the storage room, divided into two paths, one going on the right and the other on the left of a central section. She sneaks in closer and she sees metal bars and the glint of chains. It’s a dungeon.

Vex’s breath itches. She shouldn’t be here alone. Fuck, what is she doing? She takes a step back. She’s being stupid. Her fucking pride and her fucking issues are getting in the way. This is not what being useful looks like. She turns around and starts walking back to the door when a light hissing sound reaches her ears.

She was supposed to be stealthy. Fuck, this is where she dies, isn’t it?

She turns around, quietly. Better to be seeing whatever is behind her. She’s supposed to be the one taking monsters by surprise, not the other way around.

A light turns on, deeper in, and flickers. Shadows pool over the floor, waves upon waves of dark smoke. It almost seems to stick to the stone of the walls. It overwhelms the space of the corridor, coming towards Vex. She should be running. Why is she frozen in place?

Footsteps hit the stone floor. They’re light, but Vex has sharp senses. Even with the light hissing of the dark smoke, she can hear those steps getting closer. Two feet, unless some are more silent.

They come out of the smoke like a nightmare. They’re tall and pale, surrounded in black, the smoke seeping out of their nostrils and mouth and eyes, of their hands. It pours out of them, sick and brutal and hissing at her.

A humanoid, with pale hair and glasses and one eye blue and one eye black. Something ugly twists inside of them as they twitch, head tilting to stare at her. The blue eye blinks but not the other one. It’s a deranged sort of wink.

“Well, hello, there. Who are you?”

#perc'ahlia #vex'ahlia #vax'ildan #vaxilmore #critical role #vox machina #fic

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angelwiththeblue-box · 4 years ago

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Starry Eyes Willex AU- Ch. 1

[READ ON AO3]

In Alex's humble opinion, spontaneity is overrated.

Movies and books and TV shows always like to show characters doing crazy things, like jumping into the pool with their clothes on. But behind the scenes, it's all planned out. The water is the right temperature, the lighting is just right, the script is all written.

Planning makes life so much easier.

Take, for instance, this summer. Alex has everything mapped out in planners and on bulletin boards.

This is his blueprint for the summer.

Plan one:

Work two mornings each week at Alex's adopted dad, Ray's, photography store. He works at the front desk, setting up appointments and making sure that all the photos are developed and ready to be picked up. Ray takes photos for a living. He used to take photos and videos of his late wife's band, Rose and the Petal Pushers. When she died, he moved to... here, adopted Alex, and started his own business, taking and developing photos.

Alex likes working at the store because for the most part it's quiet. Sometimes Julie, his adopted sister and one of his best friends, will join him, but for the most part, Alex gets to sit and work on schoolwork or his astronomy project.

Plan two:

Get photos of the upcoming Perseid meteor shower with Alex's astronomy club.

Astronomy is Alex's holy grail. Stars, planets, moons, and all things space, Alex is an expert.

Future NASA astrophysicist, that's Alex's goal.

Plan three:

Avoid all contact with his neighbors, the Covington family.

These three plans were all possible, until about three minutes ago, as Ray tried to convince Alex to go camping.

Alex knows absolutely nothing about the Great Outdoors. Alex doesn't even like being outside that much. Society has progressed enough that he shouldn't have to go outside unless completely necessary. If he wants to see wild animals, he'll watch a nature documentary.

Ray knows this. But right now, he's trying really hard to get me to go.

"Be honest, Ray, can you see me camping?" Alex responds.

"Technically, Alex, it's glamping. Trevor invited you and Julie glamping."

"Glamping?" Alex repeats, skeptical.

"Trevor says they have reservations for luxury tents in the High Sierras. Between Yosemite and King's Forest National Park." Ray explains. "Glamorous camping. Get it? Glamping!"

"You keep saying that. How can camping be glamorous. Aren't you sleeping on rocks?"

"It's a luxury camp ground. There's a gourmet chef, an outdoor firepit, and hot showers- the works." Ray says.

"Hot showers." Alex says, injecting every bit of sarcasm he can into his words. "Thrill me, baby."

"That's not the point. The point is, Trevor paid for the tents, but he can't go, he has some meeting, so he's giving the reservation to Carrie, to throw a 'last hurrah' of sorts with her friends before senior year starts."

Carrie Wilson is Trevor Wilson's daughter. Alex is kind of friends with Carrie. They used to be really close, back in middle school and freshman year, until Carrie started ditching him, Julie, and Flynn for popular kids.

Well, until last year, when Carrie started sitting with them at lunch again.

"So, are you going to go?" Ray asks.

"The Perseid Meteor is next week." Alex reminds him.

"You can bring your telescope." Ray points out. "And Trevor said that Carrie's been having a really rough time after what happened last year. It would be great for you and Julie to go."

Last year, Trevor managed to get Carrie's band, Dirty Candi, a shot to open for some big shot band, but Carrie choked halfway through the first song. Practically got laughed off stage. Trevor was heartbroken.

"Hey Dad! How's persuading Alex going?" Julie joins us at the receptionist's desk, pushing herself up so she's sitting on it.

Alex groans. "You put Ray up to this?"

"C'mon, Alex. It'll be fun!" Julie says, poking his shoulder. "Please."

Alex drops his head on the desk. "I'll think about it. I'll talk to Carrie and get the details. And then I'll decide." Julie cheers, and Alex hears her high-five Ray.

"Sweet! I'm gonna go find Flynn!"

Alex lifts up his head as Julie leaves the store.

"Thanks, Alex. Means a lot to Trevor." Ray says, patting Alex on the shoulder, before heading into the backroom. "Oh! And one more thing! I got a notification that we got a package delivered today!"

"But we didn't- oh."

Since the Covington's 'costume' shop (they call it a store to become someone else, but it's a costume store) is a door away from Ray's store, their mail gets mixed up a lot. Which means that someone has to go get it.

"Yes, oh. Do you mind getting it?"

"Could Julie or Carlos get it?" Carlos is Julie's biological younger brother. He's six years younger than both Alex and Julie and is an adorable menace.

"Julie just left the store, you know she's not there. And Carlos playing baseball." Alex groans.

"Thanks, mijo!" Ray says, before leaving the room.

Alex reluctantly puts up a homemade 'On break, be back soon!' sign and trudges over to the Covington's to pick up the missing package.

As long as Alex doesn't run into Willie everything should be fine.

If you want to be on the taglist, message me and I'll add you!!

#willex #willie x alex #julie and the phantoms #willex au #willex fanfic #jatp #jatp fanfic #willie wilbur williamson #willie jatp #alex mercer

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nyaheum · 4 years ago

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My Eurovision Final 2021 List

Pretty much definitive. Unless someone really fucks up their performance in the final - or gets way better. (Right, Moldova?)

26. Belgium

Not to be that person, but Albina was robbed. I'm sorry, but I just can't like this song. It feels weirdly out of place, in a way other slow songs don't. There's nothing happening. I dislike the chorus. I just...bleh. Sorry.

25. The Netherlands

This is one of those songs that could climb up depending on the live performance. In the studio version, the background music and the beat are too loud, if you ask me, and are extremely distracting. It just hurts my ears. (The part before the last chorus is amazing though.) If they "fix" this in the finale, I'll be on board and probably but it somewhere around P17.

24. Bulgaria

I don't like slow songs, you know. I'm not sorry. I just don't like this, but I don't mind listening to it (at least).

23. Spain

I don't even like this song very much, but his backstory just makes me...so sad. His grandma, who introduced him to Eurovision, died of Covid. I just want Blas to do well. At least not get last. :(

22. United Kingdom

I'm pretty confident they won't come last! It's fine. It's a pop song. The staging seems to be boring. I don't know. Next!

21. Albania

She's good. I don't like anything about the song that isn't the first fifteen seconds. Huh. (She also starts second...I feel bad for her.)

20. Norway

I get his story, I understand what his staging and the song means, but urgh, I just don't like listening to it. This is just not my kind of music AT ALL. Sorry TIX. ILY.

19. Greece

Will the green screen be keyed out better this time? Come in and find out! It's fun, but I won't want to listen to it more than once or twice. Won't make it to my Spotify Playlist, but is completely fine otherwise...you can also see her going through the steps in her mind while dancing which makes it look very stiff.

18. Sweden

It's Sweden. It's fine. Tusse is cool. Shrug.

17. . Azerbaijan

It's...too perfect. The performance, everything. It feels slightly stiff at times. Better performed than Greece, and I like the song more in general, but not a lot.

16. Moldova

It used to be so much higher but! that! performance! what was that! i also never want to see kirkirov again thanks

15.Israel

Purely juding the song here, obviously. It has grown on me in the Semi and now I quite like it. I don't have anything else to say about it, though. The whistle notes are cool as hell.

14. Germany

I can't vote for Jendrik, but I will cheer for Jendrik. It's fun, it's something else, finally Germany is letting loose a bit. I want to fight all the bitter Germans on TikTok who do nothing but complain about how we could send "something like this", asks themselves "what even is this" and yell "and we'll get zero points again!". Meet me at the Aldi parking lot tomorrow. Jendrik might not feel hate, but I certainly do.

13. Finland

Let's rock! This is not really my kind of music (I'm more the Rammstein kind of person), but it's cool as hell and I think it will do well. My only fear is that the voters that do like harder music will vote for Finland instead of Italy (because it's more extreme) and therefore Italy will loose votes. (I know they are two very different kinds of music, but if you don't like Europop...)

12. Cyprus

This has grown on me, I have to admit. Is it my favourite? No. Will I still enjoy it opening the show? Yeah, absolutely.

11. Serbia

Yeah, let's party! I just vibe with this, no other reason.

10. Portugal

Wild Card Time! You cannot tell me the staging isn't amazingly well thought out. Plus, the song is actually kind of nice, if you hear it a few times. Of course, the casual watcher will only hear it once, but it's still good.

09. France

Surpirse! As much as I talk "negatively" about France, I actually really enjoy the song. I just think there's (at least) eight songs that deserve to win more. It's good though.

08. Iceland

I was not terribly fond of this song at first, but the live performance made me really appreciate it. I feel bad for them for not being able to be in the arena, so maybe that plays into my opinion too.

07. Malta

I like Malta, it's fun and upbeat. The outfit is still a bit meh, but other than that - FUN.

06. Russia

MANIZHA I LOVE YOU YOU ARE SO COOL. Oh yeah, and the song is very different and I really like it.

05. San Marino

LET'S GO, VALENTINA'S BACKYARD 2022. Listen, San Marino is pure fun, pure party, they have Flo Rida AND they close the show. What more can you want?

04. Lithuania

I don't feel like I need to explain this one.

03. Switzerland

Fight me, I like the staging. It's very modern and he still hits all his notes while doing his little dance. Plus, Gjon just seems like a super cool dude. And the song still hits hard. (feeling wise)

02. Ukraine

The forest rave has arrived and demands to be heard. You either love or hate Ukraine, and I love it. (And if you hate it, I'm very sorry, but you're just wrong.)

01. Italy

I believe in Måneskin Supremacy and you should too. Even though they're my favourites, I would not terribly mind them NOT winning, unless France wins instead of them. It's complicated. I love them, but I also love every song in my Top 5 and it's hard to actually rank them.

#eurovision #esc #esc 2021 #eurovision 2021 #list #another list!#i love lists!!!#you can't stop me!!!!#long post

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oh-so-scenarios · 5 years ago

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Hello Again...❦| 00 (ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ)

⤳ Tʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪs ᴍᴀɴʏ ʏᴇᴀʀs, Mʀ. Pᴀʀᴋ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴍᴀɴʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs. Bᴜᴛ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴇᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

⤳ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ!Jɪᴍɪɴ x ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⤳ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ғʟᴜғғ, ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ!ᴀᴜ, (ᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ) sᴍᴜᴛ

A/N: This series will be mostly from Jimin’s POV. For this chapter though, we will have an MC’s POv. It’ll feel like you’ve been thrown into the middle of things which is good! lol

***Please ignore any errors! It is unedited!

(Word Count: 3.90K)

Next ◀ ▶ Series Index | Masterlist

Y/N:

Time. Time is everything. At least working for Mr. Park it is. 32 days, I have been here for 32 days and I still shake with nerves every day.

8am: make sure the cooks have begun Mr. Park’s breakfast.

8:45am: breakfast is set. Mr. Park eats, alone.

9:30am: print all of Mr. Park’s appointments and place them in his office.

10:30am: prepare for appointments and point them towards Mr. Park’s office. Do not let them enter early. They must enter at the appointed time.

12:30pm: Mr. Park’s lunch should be set in the dining room. He will eat alone.

The rest of the day continues like that. It’s...a routine. A strict routine. Nothing should be done a minute later or a minute earlier. Though I’ve never seen Mr. Park’s anger when something is done late, I’ve seen the fear in the eyes of other workers when they seem to be running late.

Every 4 days the gardener is expected to do touch-ups on the large garden on the further right back of the house. The maid is to show up every weekday at 2pm and leave by 5pm. She cannot stay a minute longer.

Who knows why Mr. Park is so strict about these details, but I am determined to keep them. I am….the coordinator? That’s the best title for my position. I make sure everything runs correctly and on time. If anything is out of place, I’ll be the one to blame.

The coordinator before me was a frail older woman with a friendly smile. Mrs. Yoon was her name. She wore thick black-rimmed glasses and her years working here did not take away from her kind nature. Though she has told me that Mr. Park is a difficult man to work for. His expectations are high.

I expected as much. Such a time mannered schedule for one’s home life gave it away. However, I do not know what Mr. Park’s work life is either. I assumed his work must be successful to have such a big home, but no details were given.

“Do not answer, unless you are asked.” Those were Mrs. Yoon’s parting words. Do as little talking as possible and just stay on schedule.

Sounds easy enough. The workers know the deal and are able to keep up. They have no choice but to keep up.

The pay here is wonderful and the hours are good. 7am to 7pm, 5 days a week. The posting online for the position was vague, and I thought I was going to walk into some type of scam. I am glad that I took the risk.

Despite working here for 32 days, there is one thing that hasn’t happened. I have not met Mr. Park. I have not seen him once. My first week here, I thought I was being tricked. Is there really a man that lives here? The house is barely decorated, there is no personality to the place.

If it were not for the appointments that come in daily, I’d assume I was looking after a ghost home. I stood in the kitchen with the cooks, sitting at the circular table that was sat in the further end of the kitchen. That’s where we usually sit for our lunch breaks. I was about 30 minutes late to take my break. However, it was worth it, in the end, to see that Mr. Park’s lunch was prepared on time.

This is only the second time I’ve decided to stay in the house to eat. Going out to eat or ordering was always a hassle. Mr. Park’s house was on the outskirts of town, surrounded by a light forest area. The closest house was about a mile away.

I barely made it back in time to enjoy my food, and delivery men were always getting lost, resulting in my food being cold by the time I received it.

Ami, the head chef, suggested cooking lunch for me along with the other kitchen staff, seeing as Mr. Park allows them to do so.

I gladly agreed, and it’s been easier on me since. The food was amazing. Absolutely delicious and I couldn’t get enough. But as I sat at the table, enjoying the rice along with the side dishes, a thought entered my mind.

I glanced over at Ami who had just walked through the swinging door that led to the dining room.

Mr. Park is in the other room. This is the closest I’ve been to him, hearing some soft chatter from the dining room. Ami locks her jaw as she grabs a plate off the kitchen counter to join me at the table. The other kitchen staff has decided to go out to eat, seeing as they won’t need to be back for some hours.

“What’s up?” I asked, my brows furrowing.

“Mr. Park isn’t in a good mood today. He’s arguing with someone on the phone.” She explains, “Sowe really need to be on top of our game.”

I sighed, “He must be a grumpy old man.” I took another spoon of rice, not noticing Ami’s amused eyes on me. When I finally look up, it’s because her hissing laughs were breaking through.

I stared at her confused, not sure what was so funny.

“You’ve never met Mr.Park! I totally forgot!” She said in a small voice, “Did you think Mr. Park was an old man?”

I raise an eyebrow at her, “He’s not an old man? What is his middle-aged?”

“Not even close. He’s not even 30.” She mutters before taking a bite of her phone. My face scrunches up in question. Mr. Park is a young man?

“Huh.” I said letting out a harsh breath, “that’s interesting. I wonder what type of man is so rigorous with his time.”

Ami rolls her eyes, her long black hair pulled into a tight bun on her head. She wore her white chef’s coat with her loose black pants.

“All the times I’ve met him, he’s been very kind. He smiles and says hello, then goes about his day. He gives bonuses often, as long as you do your work properly.”

Before I could respond, I heard some noise from the dining room. Both our heads turned as we heard a crash, followed by a frustrated groan.

“Don’t send her!” The voice hissed, “I am not going to play these games with you!”

I look at Ami with wide eyes and she shrugs, “It must be a business call of some sort. Clients get on his nerves sometimes.” She took another spoonful of food into her mouth, glancing at the doors that led to the dining room.

My brows furrow in thought before I ask my next question, “What type of work does Mr. Park do?”

Ami freezes for a second, her eyes glancing around as she thought for a moment. She lets out a huff of air as something dawns on her.

“I don’t know, I never looked into it. I just cook his food, nothing more.” She gives me a knowing look. It’s clear that no one pokes to know more about Mr. Park. They simply do their job and leave. Fair enough. I know when to poke for more information and there isn’t any.

Even if I am a curious person, I won’t ask questions. I’d rather go about my work peacefully. It isn’t till we hear a distant door slam closed that Ami stands from her seat, a groan leaving her lips as she moves towards the dining room doors.

“You go on with your schedule, I’ll clean up whatever mess he left.” With that, she disappears into the dining room. I finish up my lunch, making sure to clean up my mess and set the plates into the sink. I rush out the other kitchen door, bringing me to the big looby area of the house.

“Mr. Park’s next appointments will be arriving,” I muttered to myself. It’ll be less than 10 minutes before they arrive. I walk through one of the doorways on either side of the grand staircase. One doorway led to the living room with the other took you down long and wide hallways.

I made my way down the hallways as quickly as I could. My grey pencil skirt wasn’t tight, however, it did restrict the full movement of my legs. My simple white blouse had long sleeves and was warmer than it appeared.

I learned after my first week that it was usually cold in the house. I had to figure out all the small things on my own. It’s always cold in the house, Mr. Park likes to keep the curtains drawn. He doesn’t like to see dust anywhere and his appointments are the most important part of his day.

He spends hours with just a single client at times, but he will never posh back an appointment for another client. The time they paid for, is the time they will receive Maybe he’s a therapist?

I rush into the small office that holds employee paperwork and other things. This is informally my office. I spend some time in the small room, making sure everything is running smoothly. I have two computer screens, one of them displaying all the security cameras in real-time. There is another office for security, but they rarely need to leave their space. I grab the red clipboard I’ve become accustomed to and my black pen.

I check the list of names and times, hauling myself through the hallway just in time to catch the outline of a body behind the door. The tempered glass on the black double doors that led into the house always made it easy to see when guests arrived.

It was noted that I should answer the door before they need to ring the bell. Mr. Park doesn’t like the sound of his doorbell. I rushed forward and opened the door, seeing an older man in a sharp suit standing with his fist up.

He must have been ready to knock on the door.

“Name?” I said trying to catch my breath. I glanced down at the clipboard, knowing it was Mr. Gwan.

“Mr. Gwan,” He answers, “I have an appointment for 1:15.” My eyes move to the clock hung up on the wall above the door. Just a few more minutes.

“Follow me,” I say, finally recovering from my running. Mr. Gwan closes the door behind him, and though it is my first time meeting him, I can’t help but stop my motions.

He narrows his eyes at me, his eyes moving up and down my body. I would usually be offended, but it wasn’t in that manner.

His hair was grey, with some traces of while in his eyebrows. His skin was wrinkled, showing his age. He was taller than me with a lean frame. His all-black suit reminded me of something that would be worn at a funeral.

“Do I know you?” He questions.

I chuckle awkwardly, “I doubt it, sir. Have you meet with Mr. Park before?”

“Of course,” He snickers, pointing towards the hallway. I smiled at him before I started walking again, with him following close behind. He knew where he was going.

“I come to see him every few months.” He giggles, realizing I must be new, “Mrs. Yoon finally retired?”

Though it was a question, he already knew the answer,

We turn a corner, Mr. Park’s office door just insight.

“Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Mr. Gwan repeats. We stop in front of Mr. Park’s door and I turn to face the man. His eyes held kindness. They were such a light brown, that they almost looked golden. It looked like they were glowing in the dimly lit hallway.

“I don’t believe so Mr. Gwan, I might just have a familiar face,” I gesture towards the door, “Please, Mr. Park is waiting for you.”

I stepped away from the door and watched as Mr. Gwan opened the door, and stepped into my Mr. Park’s office. The door wasn’t opened so widely that I could see into the office. I spun around on my heels and made my way back to my office.

For the next hour, I’m sitting in my room, going through the appointment booking email to make up Mr. Park’s day tomorrow. The emails never explain the appointments. Mr. Park simply sends me a list of the appointments he has approved and the few he hasn’t.

It wasn’t till I heard the hard taps against my window that I realized it was pouring down. Just as I turned to the window behind me, I caught a crack of lightning,

“Oh! it’s really pouring huh?”

I was sure it was going to clear up in the next few hours, but as I ushered in the last client, it was clear the rain wasn’t letting up. The man took off his drenched jacket and hung it up on the rack.

He’s a regular, so I gladly let him walk to Mr. Park’s room himself. I shut the door, wondering what exactly was going to happen. The wind was howling, the rain was pouring and thunder was roaring. There is no way an uber is gonna get through all this forest to come to pick me up. I am screwed.

The time was 5:30pm. Mr. Park has his dinner at 7pm, and my workday ends at 7pm. However, it doesn’t look like I’ll be leaving at 7.

It’s not long before Mr. Park’s workday comes to an end. The last client leaves and I am sitting there wondering what to do. Ami and the rest of the kitchen staff shuffled into my office earlier, voicing the same concerns I held. I sat at my desk, staring at the phone. All I have to do is press a single button to ring Mr. Park’s office. I don't know why I’m so nervous, seeing as he’s just my boss, this being my first interaction with him, I’d like to make a good impression.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as my desk phone began to ring, the light by the number one letting me know that it’s coming from Mr. Park’s office.

I answered quickly, not wanting to leave him waiting.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Yes, Ms. L/N?” A kind voice spoke, “this is Mr. Park.” He paused, almost waiting for me to respond.

I caught on slowly, finally replying with a small yes.

“Yes, the weather outside is getting worse. The storm won’t pass for the rest of the night. You and the rest of the staff are welcome to stay the night. I have enough room.” He states, “Please make sure the rest of the staff know.”

The phone clicks before I could even reply, leaving me with the hung up dial tone. I put the phone back to the receiver, almost sighing in relief. He is just as kind as Ami said. His voice was light and enticing. There was a nurturing nature to his voice like he could sense my stress.

However, my relief was short-lived as my office phone began to ring once again.

“Hello?”

“Ms. L/N.” This time it was from the security office, my eyes jumped to the screen with the video surveillance.

“Does Mr. Park have another appointment?” My eyes settled on the camera pointed towards the front door just as the guard spoke. Standing there were 3 figures. I could vaguely make out one man and two women. The man is clearly older, seeming old enough to be the younger woman’s father. Her long black hair was parted down the middle and tucked behind her ears. She wore a casual black dress and the older woman beside her stood in a red blouse and black dress pants.

“No, he doesn’t.” I finally answer, “I don’t know who these people are.” I answered, noticing the girl wiped the rain from her face. Oh right! It’s raining!

I’m finally taking in their wet appearance, her hair now starting to stick to her face. I frowned, worried that they would get sick. It doesn’t seem like they have coats with them. How did they get here? I didn’t see any car in the driveway.

“I will go check Ms. L/n. Please don’t worry about it.” The guard said before hanging up the phone. I put the phone down, nervously tapping my fingers on the wooden desk. I hope this doesn’t disturb Mr. Park’s dinner.

Or was he expecting guests for dinner? I’m usually gone by this time. The guard ends up calling Mr. Park, seeing as I soon see two figures walking into the lobby, one of them being very unfamiliar. The guard isn’t who has my attention. It’s the dark-haired man who was clearly slim fit. His hair was messy, and he ran his fingers through his hair as the guard explained the presence of the three guests. He wore a plain white Tee shirt and grey joggers.

He walked some gracefully, his head held high with his hands tucked into his pockets. That’s Mr. Park? He doesn’t look a day over 25! What could such a young man be doing with such a fortune? I couldn’t see his face clearly, just because of the angle of the camera, but he’s obviously handsome.

Strangely, the three guests made no move to ring the doorbell or knock. They only stood there patiently, speaking among themselves. I narrowed my eyes at the strange behavior

I leaned back in my seat, watching as Mr. Park opened the door. He didn’t look pleased to see the guest, but they were not strangers. Mr. Park lets them in, shutting the door behind them, and leaning on the door with his arms crossed. I was so tuned into the camera that I didn’t notice the security guard left.

“They are friends of his.’ The guard says as he waltzes into the office, “But he doesn’t seem happy to see them. I can’t be sure if it’s because they are interrupting his schedule or if he truly doesn’t like them.”

I can only nod, “I see.” I glance back at the screen, watching what seems to be a heated conversation.

Mr. Park kept his position on his back against the door, arms crossed and his attention on his feet. The other three people stood in front of him, all talking at the same time. Are these clients? Maybe family members?

They are weird ones, that’s for sure. All three stood there, completely soaked head to toe, not minding the condition that they were in. Mr. Park is yelling. I could faintly hear it, and he was leaning forward, making the other three move back in...fear?

I get up from my seat as the voices rise in volume. I walk out of my office and tread lightly towards the lobby area.

“Jimin please!” A voice shrill. It must be the older woman? The voice was unsteady and shook as if the person was crying.

“How long are you all going to do this?” Another voice hisses. I’m guessing it must be Mr. Park, who I’m guessing is Jimin?

“Jisoo is a lovely woman, she is so accomplished, so powerful. Everyone is expecting a proposal! If this delays anymore--”

“Uncle, who’s at fault? Who has been planting seeds into everyone’s ears? I never once showed interest in Jisoo but you let your imagination build a fairytale ending in your head! There won't be one!”

Ahh, so they are family? I can hear them, but I can’t see whatever is going on, but it is time for Mr. Park’s dinner. He can’t run late. I don’t want his mood to turn sour as he realizes he is running behind.

I stepped out from the hallway, my presence not being noticed until I spoke.

“Mr. Park, it is time for dinner,” I said after a short gap of silence fell between the four adults. I finally laid eyes on Mr. Park. I must say...what a beautiful man. His features were soft, but the hard look in his eyes and his clenched jaw were not hidden by the kind features. His lips were pretty pink and his eyes a fiery honey brown. Even from where I stood, by the hall doorway, they stood out.

The other three people were standing with their back to me, their postures stiff. They can’t be friends. Friendships shouldn’t feel so tense.

His eyes didn’t leave the face of the man I assumed was his father. It was the older woman who turned around to glance my way, a look that yelled “ugh the help!” in a snobby manner.

But she quickly double-takes, her eyes widened. I am stunned by her eyes, almost the same hypnotizing light brown as Mr. Park. The longer I stare back at her, the more I notice the resemblance. It’s hard to miss.

Is that Mr. Park’s mother?

The room stays silent, the man I’m assuming to be his uncle having a staring contest with the man of the house.

“Are you fucking serious?” The older woman says quietly. She sounds defeated, and almost like she was on the verge of tears, again. I-is she talking to me? At first, I thought that she’s annoyed by my boldness. I interrupted a serious family conversation to announce dinner? I must be out of my mind.

The younger woman turned to look at the older woman gripping her arm for balance. The young woman’s confusion was momentary as she followed the stunned woman’s gaze to my meek presence. The young lady narrowed her eyes, scoffing.

“Wow.” She sounded annoyed.

I looked over my shoulder, checking to see if there was something behind me. They couldn’t possibly be talking about me?

I clasp my hands in front of me, trying to keep my cool customer service smile. I don’t do well with stares.

“Jimin!” The older woman calls. I look towards the master of the house. He’s still glaring at his uncle. It’s almost like his eyes could physically burn a man down if he stared hard enough.

“Jimin for fuck sakes!” The woman wails.

“What is it?” He roars back, looking at the woman. The sudden voice of his voice causes me to jump and that movement catches his attention right away. His eyes bounced onto me, the angry gaze dropping to sadness? Confusion? The emotions flash over his face so quickly I can’t keep up.

I muster up a small smile, waiting for him to say something. There was something on the tip of his tongue.

“Mr. Park?” I call out as everyone stares at me in silence. The uncle was also gawking at me. Their eyes held recognition.

“Y/n?” Mr. Park calls out. It feels unsure, as though he was worried he was calling me the wrong name. Does he not know the name of his employees? I’ve been working here for over a month!

“Yes, Mr. Park?” I hope my exasperation was leaking into my voice, as I was trying to keep my cool. All these people are staring at me like I’ve got three heads.

“What are you…” The uncle trails off, eying me up and down, “How are you…” He trails off again, turning to face me completely.

My eyes move to every face, the questions in their eyes only are meeting with my equally confused face.

“I’m sorry but,” I pause, “have...have we met before?”

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buckthegrump · 5 years ago

Text

one stroke and you’ve consumed my waking days

Summary: Bucky has a penpal.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mentions of death,

A/n: this does take place in the 40′s but like reader could be POC if y’all catch my drift also this is for @writingbychelle ‘s writing challenge prompt is bolded

“I ship out tomorrow ya know,” Bucky said as he leaned against the trunk of the tree deep in the forest. He had decided that it was their spot, a place where they could be in public without really being in public. Hiding in plain sight, or so it goes.

“So you’ve said,” Y/n said. She picked up a small twig and twirled it around in her hand. “Is there a point to your ramblings? Or do you think that my memory is so short that you need to remind me every ten seconds?”

“My point is, I’ve heard that it’s awfully boring the downtime. Unless someone, such as yourself, were to provide me with something that should entertain me.”

She scoffed at him and put the stick back down. “Oh, go fuck yourself.”

“That is not what I meant,” he said sighing but he still had a smile on his face.

“Ok, Barnes, what did you mean then?” She turned to him.

“Write me, please,” Bucky pleaded. “You are the only person I will really want to hear from.”

“And what about Steve? Your family and sisters?” Y/n spun around and walked away from him, knowing he wasn’t far behind.

“Well, of course, hearing from my family and Steve is a given,” he slipped in front of her and stopped making her stop as well, “But it doesn’t sound quite as good when I add so many people does it?”

“You truly are a ladies man aren’t you?” She raised her eyebrows and took a step only for Bucky to stop in front of her again.

“The only lady’s man I care to be is yours,” Bucky said.

She stared at him surprised by the commitment implied by his words. She smiled sadly at him.

“Barnes, you and I -” she began.

“You worry too much about what people think,” he whispered.

“It’s not what they think that scares me, Mr. Barnes,” she looked around terrified that someone would venture this deep into the park, “but rather what they do when they don’t like when someone is different than they are.”

“And that’s the beauty of letters, no one can tell you what’s different,” Bucky said. “And hopefully in the future things will be different.”

“That future seems to be a long ways away,” she said and looked down at the ground.

“I’m just asking you to write me, nothing more,” he said.

Y/n lifted her chin and looked at him. “I suppose I could find time to write you a letter or two.”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Bucky smiled at her in such a way that earned him the smallest of smiles in return.

* * *

James Barnes,

I hope you’re happy. I told you I would write a letter and here I am. Taking time out of my day to write you a letter. Things here are just as they always are. I hope this letter finds you well. I’m sorry to say that I started writing this letter only to realize that I haven’t got much to say. So I shall end the letter here. Sorry I couldn’t entertain you in the way that you’d hoped.

Best wishes,

Y/n L/n

P.S. Steve is well, although if he says that he hasn’t gotten into another fight since you left. He’s lying. He got into one the other day. He’s fine, and I cannot believe I’m writing this but you should see the other guy. Anyway, bye again.

Bucky folded up the piece of paper carefully and placed it in his bag that was under his bed. He pulled out his paper and pen.

“What are you smiling at Barnes?” One of the men in his unit, Smith, asked from his bunk.

Bucky continued to write but tried to repress his smile.

“Nothing,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, right!” Private Davis said. “Who’s the dame?”

“Leave ‘im alone,” Fraizer said sitting on Bucky’s bunk. “But it is someone from back home?”

“I’m trying to write something, can I please get some quiet?” Bucky asked.

“Fine, fine,” Frazier waved him off and got off the bunk. “But make it quick.”

* * *

Y/n open the mailbox and immediately saw the envelope and her breath got caught in her throat.

She threw the rest of the mail on the table in the entryway and took her one piece of mail and ran to her room.

“And just where are you going in such a hurry?” Her mother yelled after her.

“My room!” She said and slammed the door behind her.

“Y/n! Don’t you go slammin’ no doors!” Her mother yelled.

“Sorry, Ma!” Y/n yelled back with a grimace.

She jumped on her bed and opened the letter.

Dear Y/n,

There are a few things I would like to address from your letter. Number one, I am overjoyed that you wrote me. You don’t know just how happy it made me. Number two, I could never not be entertained by what you have to say. I don’t mind your ramblings so much.

I feel I should tell you though, all the other boys teased me relentlessly over the smile that I couldn’t wipe off my face no matter how hard I tried after I read your letter. But I fear that you will find some sort of joy in the idea of me being teased.

So Steve really got into a fight? And actually landed a few punches? That might be the most surprising thing I’ve ever read.

Yours truly,

Bucky

P.S. Didn’t anyone tell you that you should open a letter with ‘dear’?

She pressed the letter to her chest before placing it in the drawer of her bedside table. After grabbing everything she would need, she rolled onto her stomach and drafted her next letter.

* * *

“Oooo,” Smith teased holding up an envelope. “Looks like Barnes has got another letter!”

Bucky snatched the letter out of his hand and glared at the younger man. “Fuck off, you piece of shit!”

“You kiss your mama with that mouth?” Davis gasped.

“I fucking hate all of you,” Bucky muttered, he grabbed his notebook and pen before leaving the tent.

It was one of the rare occasions that the weather was nice and Bucky didn’t feel the need to stick around his unit if they were just going to make fun of him.

He found a semi-secluded area and sat down.

Dear James, (happy?)

Had I known that you were so easily entertained I might not have wasted so much energy in worrying over the lack of content in my last letter. As for your second point, you seem to forget about all the times you found creative ways to get me to stop talking when I was rambling.

And no, Steve didn’t land any punches. I was only joshin’ ya. But Steve did get into another fight but he held his own ok. He’s getting tiresome waiting around while all the other boys get their assignments. He misses you. And I know you’re going to tell me to tell him that he should be happy he is the only eligible man in the area. But not many will give him the time of day. And it’s not like there’s much room for our social circles to overlap so I can’t invite him out with my friends.

I don’t mean to worry you, and I know that you will worry no matter what I say, I just thought you should know the truth so that you don’t read one of his letters and worry even more when all he ever tells you is how good he’s got it.

As for the boys in your unit, I do take a small joy in knowing that you aren’t going to come home with a big head. I hope they continue their teasing, someone has to make sure you stay grounded in my absence.

It’s odd not seeing you. I miss you, but don’t let that get to your head.

Come home soon,

Y/n

P.S. Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s rude to only talk about yourself without asking how the other person is doing?

* * *

Y/n was walking down the street. An unopened letter in her bag. She was on the wrong side of town for her, but she had to see Steve. The trek to his apartment was unusually quiet. She supposed she had the war to thank for that.

Not that she liked the war in any way. She just found it refreshing to walk around and not have to continuously fear for her safety.

“Y/n,” Steve greeted when she finally got to his place.

“You do realize that if you don’t write him and I stop mentioning you, he’ll get suspicious. And you cannot write him from boot camp.” She bounced on the toes of her feet. “I still cannot believe that you actually got into boot camp in the first place.”

“Y/n, I’m begging you. Cover for me, tell him that I’ve fallen ill or something -”

“Oh, yes, because that will put his mind at ease. Great idea Steve,” she rolled her eyes.

“Just find something?” Steve begged again. “I can’t sit around here and do nothing while Bucky and other men lay down their lives.”

She huffed and glared at him. “Fine, but when he comes home I will throw you under the bus.”

She turned back towards the stairs and began her descent.

“Thank you, Y/n,” Steve called after her.

“You owe me big time, Rogers.”

* * *

Dear Y/n, (yes very happy thank you)

I’m glad my misery has brought you joy. Damn, I miss your smile. And your laugh, I know you always say that you don’t have much to laugh about but anytime I got you to smile brought me a sense of pride. Also, I didn’t hear much complaining when I interrupted you. Besides, as much as I like listening to you talk, I enjoy kissing you more.

Thank you for being honest with me about Steve. And I should’ve guessed that he hadn’t gotten any good punches in.

And I’m sorry for coming off as rude. How are things with you? I hope that you aren’t getting into too much trouble. And tell your ma that I miss her food. Everything they feed us here doesn’t taste like anything. If we’re lucky we get salt to ‘season’ our food with.

I’m sorry this letter is so short I’m writing it in secret so that I don’t get made fun of again and I can hear them looking for me.

I miss you too.

With love,

Bucky

P.S. How many times to I have to tell you? Call me Bucky.

* * *

Bucky,

You can either have ‘dear’ or ‘Bucky’ you don’t get both so make up your mind. But I thought you liked it when I called you James?

Things here are good. Ma says that the second you get back your to come over and eat some real food. I suspect that she will also want to talk to you about something, but I can’t figure out what about.

You assume that I enjoy kissing you as much as you do me. I do but that

I don’t mind a short letter James, as long as I get to hear from you.

You signed the last letter with love. Did you mean it?

My best,

Y/n

P.S. Steve hasn’t gotten into any trouble so far as I know. Promise

* * *

Y/n, (two can play at this game)

A compromise, when you refer to me as Bucky no dear necessary but when you write to James, you must add some sort of affection to it.

I actually have an assignment tomorrow, and I know you won’t get this letter until after but I know what you would say if you were here. You’d tell me to be careful. I will have you know that I am always careful. Or do I have to remind you that I’m not the one who constantly is getting into fights?

And yes, I meant it. I do love you. The war will be over soon and then I will go home to you and we can finally have the life we deserve and if you truly feel we won’t find that in New York I will happily run to distant lands for you.

Your ma loves me, I don’t know why you continue to be surprised by this.

Anyway, I will send you again soon and cannot wait to hear back from you.

All my love,

Bucky

* * *

Y/n sent him another letter, a short one detailing how things were going at work, but when it took longer than normal to respond she feared the worst. It had been about two months since she last heard from him and she hadn’t heard from Steve either. She knew where Captain America was, he was plastered on every poster across town, it would be hard to miss him.

She still couldn’t get over his growth spurt though, she wondered if Bucky knew. Probably not because Bucky would’ve found a way to get back here just to kick Steve’s ass.

It was two weeks after Steve had gone across the seas to visit the soldiers when she heard from Bucky again.

Dearest Y/n,

I cannot apologize enough for not responding sooner. I was indisposed and couldn’t find any time to write. I’m sorry if I worried you at all but I’m back.

I’m glad things are going well at work and I hope nothing too drastic has changed since your last letter.

Although, I find it funny that you failed to mention in all of your writings that Steve not only grew but is now a superhero? Like from comic books? Because I know that you knew he went off and did something stupid. I thought you loved me.

Respectfully,

Bucky

P.s. I’m not really mad

* * *

Bucky, (I stand by my you can only have one)

Well, I didn’t know he left to become a superhero but ok I didn’t tell you he’d enlisted and actually been shipped off to boot camp.

If I had told you, you would’ve been distracted and I want you to come home. And clearly, you found him so now the two of you can look after each other.

And as long as you’re ok, I’m ok.

I hope that you are not lying to me about your well being because Steve may lie to you but he won’t lie to me.

All my love,

Y/n

Bucky stared at the letter. ‘All my love’, Bucky knew that she liked him but she had restrained from using language as strong as ‘love’. He had been keeping himself from writing the next letter but he could no longer justify not writing it.

* * *

She didn’t find it odd that he hadn’t responded although, it had only been a week and he’d gone longer than this before.

So she went about her day to day life. It wasn’t until she got an unexpected visitor when she began to worry.

There was an urgent knock at her door and when Y/n opened it Becca Barnes was standing there. Y/n knew something was wrong before Becca could even open her mouth.

“Becca, what’s wrong?” She asked. Although she could probably guess. Nevertheless, she hoped she was wrong. That Becca was having boy troubles and just needed an opinion on what to do.

Becca released a shaky breath not looking away from Y/n. “It’s Bucky.”

“Did he -?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish her question.

“He’s dead, Y/n,” Becca said tearfully, “I’m sorry.”

Y/n leaned her body weight against the doorway unable to keep herself upright without extra support. Becca was still talking but she barely made out what was said until the end, when Becca handed Y/n a box.

“These are things I think you should have, I’m really very sorry,” Becca said. Y/n pulled her in for a hug. “He really loved you.”

* * *

It was a few weeks before she opened the box. After the funeral, after countless nights crying into her pillow, after forgetting only to remember moments later that she would never speak to him again.

She sat on her bed just as the sun was beginning to rise. Her hands trembled as she removed the lid and caressed the contents. There were a few trinkets that she recognized. There was a letter addressed to her sitting on top of everything.

She almost didn’t want to read it. Because once she had that was it, she would have no new interactions with Bucky. They would never know what would’ve been.

Curiosity got the better of her and she opened the envelope.

Y/n, my love,

This war seems to be never-ending. I miss my home. I miss a bed that doesn’t feel like rocks. I miss you.

I’m not sure what I will do once I get back, job-wise. What does a veteran do after he’s served in the war? That is about the only thing I’m uncertain of though.

I do have plans for other things. Specifically you and me. Don’t think that I don’t plan on asking you to marry me, because I do I just thought I would give you a warning so it doesn’t come as quite a shock. And if you say yes, I will buy you a house, or we could live in the city if you prefer.

Honestly, as long as I have you nothing scares me.

I probably shouldn’t have told you that I plan to propose when I get back, but you know me always jumping the gun on something.

Forever yours,

Bucky

P.S. I’m not sure if I want you to respond to the proposal thing or not, so if you decided to do so please be gentle

She laid her head down on her pillow and stared at the ceiling, unmoving until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

2023

Bucky hadn’t even dared to dream that he would find someone from his past still alive. But when Sam mentioned that his sister, Becca, was still alive he didn’t waste any time in finding her.

They sat on Becca’s porch and Bucky listened to her tales from her life and the adventures she went on. She tried to apologize for believing Bucky to be dead up until just recently but Bucky insisted that it wasn’t her fault and even if she’d known there was nothing she could have done to change what happened to him.

Near the end of their visit, before Becca made Bucky promise to come back and spend more time with her, which of course he would, she gave him a box.

“I was holding on to this but now that you’re here, I think you should have it,” she said not giving him any context as to what was in the box.

When he got back to the apartment he was currently sharing with Sam, a temporary situation because Bucky wasn’t sure how much more he could handle, he sat in his room and opened the box.

Laying on top of everything was a note addressed to him.

My dearest, James,

I have been putting off writing this letter for a while now, but now seems as good a time as any to do so. It felt odd not writing you back like there was so much left unsaid, unfinished.

For clarity’s sake, I think you should know that I would’ve said yes. Without hesitation, my answer to your question would’ve been yes. And I think we would’ve done well in the country, somewhere upstate. Closer to the city so we wouldn’t have to deal with small-town mentality, but I’ve always wanted a house with a porch.

And whatever job you wanted, I would’ve supported you.

It’s been years since I got your letter and people are telling me to move on. But I cannot find the strength, not that it matters anymore. I’m not sure if anyone has told you but I’m sick. Terminally so.

I’m actually relieved, this means I won’t have my friends and family telling me that I should find someone new because I don’t think I’d be able to. No one could ever live up to you in my eyes.

That and I will get to see you again.

I will see you soon my love.

Love always,

Y/n

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x Female Reader #michelles2kwritingchallenge

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optimistic-dinosaur-nacho · 5 years ago

Text

Imprisoned - Chapter II

Chapter II

Story Rating: 14+ Warnings: Violence, Murder, Mentions of Murder, Language, Gore Summary: Y/N is Andy and Laurie Barber’s 14-year-old daughter who is a high-grade student in Archer Middle School. Her best friend, Alice Miller had been gone for a while. They search for the lost student and find out that Alice Miller’s body has the prints of Andy and Laurie Barber’s daughter, Y/N.

DEFENDING JACOB SPOILER FREE FOR THIS CHAPTER!

(If my story is somewhat accurate for the series I DID NOT know! This is my story with my ideas based off the trailer I’ve seen)

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII

Author’s Notes: I’m kind of liking this series.

Song Inspired: Painted Staircase by Active Child (Defending Jacob Trailer)

~~~

The sun was just setting on that night, the lights going off in the huge house. “Thanks, dad,” Alice leans over and hugs her dad. Eric was his name, he was a gentle guy and he worked in a warehouse just a few miles out of the town of Newton. Her parents were really nice but her dad just seemed very intimidating sometimes.

“All right, you girls have fun okay? I’ll be back around 9 and we’ll drop off Y/N afterwards, okay?”

“Okay, dad,” Alice says, Eric grins, “Keep your phone on you!” Alice gives him a thumbs up and she grabs Y/N’s hand to drag her up to the house. Who knows if Emily had drinks at the house. Her family was rich. She was a ninth grader but their friend Henry was known to Emily and he asked if she could invite them.

Which she did. She didn’t mind them. Or so they thought. They knocked on the door and they saw someone walk up to the door behind the colored glass before the door unlocks to Henry. “You made it!” He says. Alice walks in and hugs him, “We did!” Y/N then comes up and hugs Henry next before he takes them inside.

The party was crowded. A mixture of all the grades. Y/N turns to the dining room where the shouts and laughter came from. They were playing beer pong. Don’t drink. Don’t let someone urge you to drink. Her father’s words came into her head and she turns away from it.

“What’s going on?” Alice asked. Henry looks around, “Everyone here is drinking, some juniors from the high school brought in some drinks. Would you like to try some?” Henry asked. What the hell is wrong with them?

Alice paused for a moment.

Y/N turned her head to see the kids staring at her. Her hands twists into each other anxiously. Henry took Alice’s hand and guided them to the kitchen. Be careful, Y/N.

Andy was in the bathroom, scrubbing the dirt off Milo’s back after it just rained for an hour. Milo tends to be happy about rain and play in the mud. Andy pours water onto Milo, “You gotta stop with this playing in the mud, buddy.” Andy sees Milo plant his feet, knowing what had to come next, Andy pulls back when Mile shakes the water off of him.

“Bud, hey...” Andy gently takes Milo’s face into his hands and stroked his cheek, he smiled. Milo tries to lick Andy’s face who pulls away with a smile. “You’re a good boy.” Andy reaches for the cup in the tub and pours the water on the dog again, getting the soap off. His sleeves were rolled up but they were still soaked. His shirt was completely wet, he noted to himself a shower after this tub drains.

He unplugs the tub and reached for the towel on sink before heading over to Milo. “Out,” He says, Milo jumps out and shakes once again, getting water on the walls and mirror.

“Okay, that’s enough, bud,” Andy kneels down and rubs the dog’s fur down. He had short fur so he wasn’t dripping much water. Andy grabs his paw and sees them, “You need your nails clipped, buddy.” Andy finishes drying off the dog before Milo is set off running.

Andy takes the towel and drops it into the laundry basket, walking out. He steps into the living room and sees Laurie sitting down on the couch, searching for a show to watch. “What time is it?” She asked, Andy glanced at the clock and sighs, sitting down next to her.

“It’s 8 and a half,” He says. Y/N left around six and they hope she’d be tired by now.

“We can text her right now. See how she’s doing.” Andy takes out his phone and goes to his messages, finding his daughter’s name and clicks on the bar. How’s it going? He sends it and closes his phone afterwards. Laurie leans over, resting her head on his shoulder as she clicks on the show to watch. He brings his arm around her and sighs.

“She’s okay. I’m sure she’s having fun.”

Andy shuffles a bit while Milo jumps next to him and lays beside him. Andy puts his hand on the dog’s back and rubs it. “It’s just something I did in high school. I just hope she’s not doing something she’s not suppose to.”

“She knows. When she was little, she spitted your beer out on the carpet and dumped it into the sink.” Andy chuckles at the memory. “What did she say after that?” He completely forgot how she said it after she dumped the beer.

No, daddy. That’s bad for you!

“She said, ‘No, daddy. That’s bad for you!’ Then she gave you a water bottle,” Laurie smiles at the memory with a laugh. Andy’s smile never left his lips as he watched the show. He remembers having her on his shoulders as they skip rocks into the water.

Go to the park she goes with Alice now, he’d find her in the forest collecting sticks. The smile that never left her face. He can’t seem to get his off at the moment.

An hour had past. Andy was calling Y/N’s cell for 15 minutes and she never picked it up. “Is she answering?” Laurie asked. Andy doesn’t answer her and picks his phone up again, calling. That made Laurie put her hand to her forehead in fear.

The two stood in the kitchen. After two episodes that were 45 minutes long, they didn’t realize Y/N’s curfew was passed.

“Hey, you’ve reached Y/N Barber. I can’t get to the phone right now.” Andy drops his phone from his ear and sighs, he rubs his forehead with his hand. “We shouldn’t have let her gone out.”

“An, I’m sure her phone died.”

“She said it was 100%. She couldn’t have been playing on it through the whole time there because I’m sure there were a lot of things to do there-” The couple turn to the door opening and closing. Andy looks out to see the dark car drive off and the two rush to the front door.

“Y/N,” Laurie comes up and hugs Y/N, “Hun, why did it take you so long?” Laurie asks. Y/N looked up at her mother, “I’m sorry. I tried to call you but my phone died.”

“Bullshit,” Andy spats.

Laurie looks at him, “Andy.” Y/N looks up at her father who was completely angry but she knew it was out of fear. Her eyes look down at the ground, “I’m sorry. I tried to call...” She says. Laurie sighs and strokes Y/N’s hair, “Are you hungry?”

Y/N nods and Laurie turns away, “Okay. I made some dinner. You can sit at the dining table I’ll bring you a plate.” Y/N nods and walks over to the dining table as Laurie walks into the kitchen.

Andy follows his wife. “You don’t think that’s a little strange?”

Laurie pulls out a plate and grabs the food from the fridge. “Andy, she’s a teen. You know those kids get bored at some moment to go on their phones. Her phone is three years old, anyway.”

“She would’ve gotten my text then, right?” Andy asked. Laurie sighs once again, “Just relax. She’s home, she’s safe.” Andy couldn’t believe what came out of their daughter’s mouth. Yes, their daughter had a 3-year-old phone but she would’ve done everything else but on her phone.

That’s the reason she went out. Unless she didn’t expect it to be that boring once she got there. He’s gonna let this slide. He looks towards the dining room table to see Y/N playing with her fingers at the table. He walks away and heads into their bedroom, closing the door afterwards.

Laurie turns to look and walks over to the dining table. “Here you go, hun,” She says, Y/N gives her a small thank you. “How was the party?”

“It’s was good,” She says, putting food into her mouth. Laurie managed to grin, “I’m sorry about your dad. He just was...”Laurie gently shook her head.

“Scared?” Y/N asks, her eyes divert to her mother, who gazed at her. “Yeah... He was,” Laurie said. Y/N looks back at her plate and picks at it, now. Laurie looks at her hands and sighs.

“Why don’t you get some rest? I’m sure that party took the energy out.” Y/N takes her plate and takes it to the counter, putting it in the sink before walking past her mom. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, baby,” She says.

The sound of Y/N’s door closing, Laurie gets up and walks over to her bedroom. Andy sat at his desk with the one light on. “You should get some sleep as well.” He never turns to face her as he kept his eyes in front of him. “I will,” He replied.

Laurie doesn’t say anything else and goes into the closet to pull clothes out for a shower.

Leaving Andy at his desk.

Y/N woke up around 10 in the morning. Her head pounds as she lifts her head up to the light shining through her thin curtains. Y/N feels Milo leave her bed and goes straight for the door.

Y/N hears Andy and Laurie chatting outside in the dining room is sounded like. Milo gently scratches the door and Y/N stands up. She opens the door and Milo runs out into the dining room, meeting the couple who sat at the table.

Y/N comes out and sees them at the table in a bad position. She got the feeling they were waiting for her to come out soon enough to talk to her. Laurie and Andy look at her, her father seemed more upset than Laurie.

“Y/N, can you sit down for a minute?” Laurie asks, Y/N slowly walks over to the table and sits down in front of them. Andy didn’t even look at her, Laurie did. Y/N looks at them in fear as Laurie sighs.

“Y/N. How did you get home?” She asked.

Y/N froze in place. “Alice’s dad dropped me off-”

“Eric called us this morning saying Alice didn’t make it home last night. He didn’t see you there.”

Y/N was stuck. She waited for another question but it never came. She slightly flinched when Andy finally faced her, “Y/N, how did you get here?”

“I walked,” She spoke.

Andy and Laurie looked at each other at her response. “You walked home? You walked 3 miles from Emily’s house to ours? Where was Alice?”

“I left...” Y/N grips her hands, in fear she didn’t want to be yelled at. “You left Alice? Where did you see her last?”

“She was in the kitchen... I-... and then I just left,” Y/N closed her legs and felt the tears burn her eyes. Laurie looks at her, “Honey, what’s wrong?” Y/N diverts her eyes away from them, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry...” Was all she says.

Andy looks at her softly now, he looks at his wife who was torn as well. They hated to see their daughter like this. Andy reaches over the table, “Hey...” He says.

Y/N looks up, her red glistening eyes shining in the dining light. “It’s okay. We just needed to know where Alice was seen last. But you didn’t have to walk 3 miles to our home. You could’ve called us.”

“My phone... was dead...” She says, Andy looks at her and nods. Knowing they should’ve gotten it fixed a long time ago. “We’ll get that fixed. I’m sure I can take it in in a few days.”

Y/N gently nods and wipes the tears off her cheeks. Laurie looks at Andy, “Did he say he was gonna call the cops?” She asked.

Andy shook his head, “He’s not suppose to call them till 9. You’re to call a missing person after 24 hours,” Andy turns his head a little bit, realizing something. Laurie looks at him confusingly.

He looks at Y/N, “Hey, do you know where Emily’s house is?”

Y/N looks up, “I mean... she lives by the forest. You know by the park and stuff.” Andy diverts his eyes to his wife. “We can have a search team in the Cold Spring Park.”

“How will we get people to help-?”

“There are always people who search for missing kids. I can call Eric back and tell him about a search team,” Andy stands up and pulls his phone out again. “I’ll go out with the search team and you just stay with Y/N.” Laurie nods.

“How long will you be out there?”She asked.

Andy clicks on Eric’s contact and pulls it up to his ear. “As much as we need.”

A day went by and after that call, Andy got a search team for the look of Alice. He stood at the end of trail. There was a sign he read. Cold Spring Park. Him and his daughter would go down this trail sometimes. It’s the trail that leads to the school and to their home if Y/N would’ve taken herself.

He looked down the trail, knowing this trail goes on for miles. He turns to see Eric and his wife. “Hey, An,” Eric said, the two shook hands. “Eric.”

“I want to thank you for doing this,” Eric says, Andy nods, “My daughter is best friend’s with yours. She’s a good kid, she makes Y/N happy.” Eric smiles softly. The two look at the people who were in yellow and orange vests with the word search team.

Andy thought about the search team. If they don’t find her today. He could probably grab Milo for this search next time. He’s sure Milo can find her. Milo knew her.

Andy sighs. “Okay, let’s start. Would you like to explain to them about her?” He asked. Eric looks at him and nods. “Um...” He sees the people gather up, “Thank you all for coming to help us. My name is Eric Miller. I’m Alice’s father. She had bee missing for over 24 hours. Police had been notified and we gathered you to help us find our daughter.”

Andy nods and they started the search. People calling out to others, their eyes scanning through the woods. Eric and his wife were holding hands, hoping that their daughter would soon be found.

Hours had went by, Andy knew they went down for miles. It was starting to get late and so they had to end the search there. People wished and prayed the couple a good luck as they went on their ways.

Andy was left with the Miller Family. Eric spoke softly to his wife as Andy turned to them. “I’m sorry we didn’t find her today. I’m sure she’ll be found soon.”

Eric looks up from his wife. “We just hope she’s alive. We can’t live without her.” Andy nods reassuringly, he holds his hand out. Eric takes it and shakes it. “Thank you so much again for that.”

“We’ll be sure to check the park again.” Eric nods and they head back home. Andy enters his car and leaves the park, going back home to his family. It was messed up more than ever. Who knows what the Miller’s thought. What if they wished it was Y/N instead?

Hoped that Andy’s kid could get the same medicine.

They’re too nice to even think that. Andy gave them his prayers and hoped that they find Alice alive.

Seven days later.

Seven days. And they still didn’t find Alice. After their last one, Police took the stand and went on the search. K9′s and policemen all searching the area for the missing girl.

Eric and his wife stayed home.

They couldn’t bare to see if they’re daughter was more likely to be gone for three days. Andy was at work on the gloomy day. He had his daughter at home, watching their dog Milo with Laurie. He needed to get work done so he could be able to see his daughter’s show.

He was reading over the cases before his phone began to ring. He looked over and picked it up, “This is Andy Barber?”

“Mr. Barber, this is Officer Collins.”

Amber Collins is Henry’s mother. Andy stood straight, “Is there a problem?” He asked. It seemed to sound like dogs were going wild on the line with chatter. “We found her,” She says.

Andy felt relieved, “This call should be for the Miller’s, not me-”

“Mr. Barber, we found her body.”

He froze. That’s not what the Miller’s wouldn’t like to hear. After four days of missing, they find her dead. He inhales softly, “Where?”

“We’re in the park, on a trail that leads to the school. There’s a small pond.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” He says. He puts the phone down and gets in his car, driving off. He grips the top of the wheel. No wonder Y/N walked home. She couldn’t find Alice. Unless she told her she was leaving early and that gave an advantage for someone to take her.

He reached the trail to the park, seeing Officer Collins waiting at the entrance. Andy parks his car on the side and gets out. Amber smiles, “Mr. Barber, haven’t seen you in a while.”

Andy had his grey coat, he looks down the trail to see the people down there. Cop cars with their lights on and a few civilians looking. Andy looks over to Amber, “It has.”

The two walk down the trail towards the pond. The more he got closer, the more he would’ve gotten sick there. “One of our K9s picked her up at the last minute we were gonna leave the area for people to have their park back.” The smell was metallic and muddy like. Earthly and the mixture of blood, he knew this was bad.

They stop right at the small dip to the old pond that was below, people in hazmat suits taking pictures or looking down for remains. The air was taken out of Andy’s lungs as he saw it.

“Is that her?” Collins asked.

Andy saw the dress, torn apart from pieces. The blood seeped through the fabric by her chest. That dress she always wore to Y/N’s birthday parties. Amber didn’t need an answer when she could see his state right now. She turns away from him. “It’s nothing worst than a kid,” Amber spoke.

Andy hears someone come in view beside him and sees the detective. “Hey, Paula.”

“Good afternoon,” She says, Pam Duffy is a detective Andy would see sometimes during these types of things. It was rare though. “How you doing?” He asked. Pam inhales deeply before sighing, “You know, I just got a coffee from the Diner. Then I get called up for this,” She looks down at the body.

“How long before they get the prints?”

Amber sighs, “Well, there were no weapons around the area, but we might find some on the body. May take two days,” She says. Andy looks down at the body once again. The flashes around her made him feel sick in the stomach again.

How would his daughter think?

He doesn’t want to come home and say her best friend died. Murdered nearby their favorite park.

“Give me the papers after they are filed,” Andy says, Pam nods, “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“I’m sorry. I just... I have to go,” He said to them, they nod, knowing this was his daughter’s friend. The body was not yet to be proven it was her just yet. Her face was turned away from them, but he knew by the dress she wore. He heads out of the park trail and hopped into his car.

He closed the door and grabs the wheel. He leans forward into his wheel. He’s taking the case of his daughter’s best friend. He’d have to investigate the students someday.

Andy reaches back home, leaving his car in the garage. He walks into his home and sees Milo run up to him. “Hey, bud...” He says lowly, petting the dog nonchalantly. He hears heavy steps upstairs as they come down. “Hey, dad,” Y/N says, she stops to see his face. “What’s wrong?” She asked.

He stared up at her but then managed to smile, “Nothing I just... I planned on going on for dinner tonight.”

“Really? Where?” She asked. He sees her come down the stairs, “The diner. I just thought we would like some family time, you know?” He says. She smiles and hugs him, “That’ll be nice... Thank you.”

He reaches up to caress her head, he stared at the wooden floor. The thoughts of Alice and her body in that pond. He wraps his other arm around her back.

“You’re welcome.”

~~~

Oh, man...

I gotta work on that part two for that Chris Evans imagine

Hope you guys are doing well!

TAGS:

@joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @princess-evans-addict @chrisevans-imagines @elliee1497 @ifuseekamyevans @rororo06

Want a tag? Just ask!

#chris evans x reader #chris evans #andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #apple tv series #crime drama #cevans #jacob barber #avengers #captain america #laurie barber #daughter of the barbers #murder #crime murder #crime #tv drama #tv crime

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mountain-jumper · 4 years ago

Text

On starting wildfires

So I keep seeing a post about how starting a wildfire for a gender reveal is pretty dumb (which it is) so as someone who lives with wildfires every summer, I though I would share my two cents on fires.

1) yeah, a gender reveal bomb during peak fire season (especially after the same damn thing happened not too long ago) is dumb. Wildfires get started for all kinds of dumb reasons; Multnomah falls got torched after some kid was chucking fireworks into dry fuels. I've heard of fires stared by people parking their car in dry grass, people idling their car on dry grass, fires started by throwing away rags of linseed oil before they were dry, people burning an ex's love letters, people driving with brush caught in their undercarriage; no one intends to start a fire but that doesn't stop them once they get going.

2) yes, you can be held liable for the cost of containing a fire you start. No you are probably not going to pay it. When you hear about these astronomical fines after someone starts a wildfire, generally that's because fire management agencies want you to hear about it so hopefully you don't start the next one. Unless you are a power company or something similar, you are never going to actually pay the full cost. What it generally means is that the person responsible will have to pay a small portion of the fine (maybe a couple hundred dollars a month) for the rest of their lives. A painful reminder of that time you decided to do something stupid? Yes. Millions of dollars? No.

3) who caused a fire is a more complicated question than who caused the ignition. These destructive fires have a lot more to do with the conditions that have been created than the fact that they were started at all; the past century has seen massive fire suppression efforts and as a result fuel loads have built up to the point that suppressing further fires is incredibly difficult. There are some areas that I've been to that have more in common with a slash pile than a forest. Stories I've heard from a fairly recent, nasty fire include the fact that fire crews had to fight it road to road because there was too much downed wood to do anything else. As a result, any ignition source has the potential to spark a massive fire.

4) fires dictate forests and forests encourage fires. Fire ecology is a really interesting field and I would recommend anyone interested in fires to look into it. Suffice to say that every plant species (mainly talking about trees) has its own strategy for dealing with the fires it deals with. Ponderosa pines are adapted to frequent, low intensity fires, lodgepole pine forests are adapted to infrequent, high intensity fires. In turn, these forests encourage these fire regimes to a certain extent, such as lodgepole forests being prone to high severity fires that they can easily bounce back from. Heavy handed fire suppression efforts have thrown this out of wack causing high severity fires where forests are adapted to low severity fires and patches of juniper to be everywhere. This is why controlled burning and less draconian fire responses are being encouraged.

5) there are a lot more wildland fires than you think. In general, most people are only going to hear about large fires. These may happen a few times a season. I happen to listen to the radio frequencies that fires are called in on for my area and it isn't uncommon to hear a half dozen fires called in on a day following lightning.

6) home owners have a lot of influence on whether their house survives a fire. Now there are always factors that are out of your control, but if you live in the wildland urban interface fire preparedness needs to start a long time before smokes start popping up. For one, if a fire crew cannot safely defend an area, they will not defend that area. The presence of an open area at least nearby that a person could survive as the fire front passes is a make or break criteria for whether a fire crew will be anywhere near your house when a fire is threatening it. Beyond this you should maintain defensible space around your house, avoid flammable materials such as ceder shingles, avoid ember traps like attached wood decks, and buy into fire protection programs should they be available. Basically half of the features that make a regular appearance in cabin porn photos will do you zero favors in a fire. I would recommend doing your own research if you live in the wildland urban interface, and it's likely that your local forest service or dept. of forestry office can help you out.

7) this year I've been hearing a number of stories of homeowners remaining in the face of evacuation orders and successfully defending their home. I have mixed feelings about this, but one thing that I do know is that while success stories are picked up and interviewed, failure will just mean another tally mark in the "died after ignoring evacuation orders" column. Look up the definition of survivorship bias and engrave it on your heart.

8) wildland fire fighters are very different from structural firefighters. Structural fire fighters are renowned for their cooking, tend to accumulate qualifications like hoarders, usually act as emergency medical personal, and are frequently the subject of calenders. Wildland firefighters are known to eat basically whatever, are largely seasonal workers with minimal qualifications, act as an informal manual labor force in their downtime, and can be some of the grubbiest people you could ask for if they have been camping for a while.

9) convict crews are a thing. While prison labor itself is a full can of worms in its own right, I feel like it would be remiss not to point out the fact that the labor market can be fairly hostile to ex-cons and that an inmate fire crew position can act as a gateway to a private fire crew position if not a government one. While prison labor is far from a perfect institution, I feel that a crusade against a program which can provide a pathway to a fairly well paying job in the absence of any higher education does very little good without larger reforms aimed at allowing people who have served their time to re-enter the workforce.

10) wildfires aren't evil. If an area burns it will recover in time, particularly if the fire fits within the fire regime native to that area. While fire scars can be ugly, a forest that is suffering from a lack of fire is (imo) a far more depressing sight. After every high profile fire there are narratives that the area is destroyed; Yellowstone, Multnomah falls, ect. The forest is more than a bunch of trees that can get burnt and destroyed. Wildlands have cooexisted with fire since long before large scale fire suppression was possible and it is hubris to think that we can fully control them even if we wanted to.

Sorry for the long post, but fires are a big part of where I live and what I do. If there's a take home message here it's that you should follow the advice of your local fire management agencies and that fires and fire management are a lot more nuanced than you might think. Only you can prevent forest fires, but don't think that that means that fire isn't important to the landscape.

#fire #wildfire #forest fire #firefighter #wildland fire #wildland firefighting

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stitchwitchsapprentice · 4 years ago

Text

A New Beginning

Wren's parents had insisted on her visiting her family in Stonewall that summer. She had begged them not to make her go. She wasn't particularly fond of her cousins. But her father insisted.

"It's your mother's family," he said, "you should get to know them."

Wren didn't know why her mother's family even lived in Stonewall. It was Zenxon's first great human city, so sprites would choose to live there was a mystery to her. But she knew she couldn't argue. She thought about asking her mother if she had to go, but chose against it. All her life, Wren had fought against her mother's culture, going so far as to dye her bright red hair black, as if it would hide her heritage, as if the students at Queensville high couldn't tell by the tree-bark like lines lacing her dark skin that she was mixed. So Wren relented. And that was how she found herself arriving in Stonewall by bus.

The city looked a lot like Queensville, only... more. Where Queensville had wooden houses mixed in with stone and brick, Stonewall was mostly... well, stone. "I guess they don't call it that for nothing," she said as she looked up and down the street around the bus station. In Queensville, she had been used to parks, filled with enormous trees, almost like miniature forests. But here there were no parks in sight.

"Wren!" Wren turned around to see a small woman, about her own 5'2" height, walking toward her. She looked like her mother--long red hair, blue eyes, and golden colored skin with the same tree-bark like markings that graced Wren's own. It was her aunt, Willowmist. Wren tried to put on a smile as her aunt reached her. "It's good to see you!" She hugged the girl.

"It's good to see you too, Aunt Willow."

"Long trip on the bus. You must be hungry. Do you want to get something to eat?"

Wren shook her head. "I'd rather just go to the house." More accurately, she would like to get back on the bus and go home, but that wasn't an option.

"Excited to see the family?"

"Something like that." Wren tried to match her aunt's wide smile as they walked to the car. They drove down the coast road--Wren's aunt said she might like to see the ocean. Wren kept the window down, so she could smell the salt and listen to shop bells all chiming over the sussuration of the waves against the old sea wall. The sound was nothing like Queensville.

They turned away from the coastal road, as if heading out of the city. Here, the stone houses were at last replaced by wood. Those that weren't had ivy growing up them, and other plants growing from holes in the mortar. Instead of fences, trees outlined yards, as the neighborhood had been built in the middle of an orchard. They pulled into the driveway of a house that, by the looks of it, had been built around a large tree. Wren stared.

"Do you like it?" Aunt Willow asked, "You were a baby the last time you saw the house."

"It's beautiful."

As she stood on the front lawn, gazing up at the branches coming out of the roof, three people came out of the house. First was her cousin, Sapphire, seventeen years old, who leaped off the porch and landed with the grace of a cat. She looked much like her mother, only taller, and with piercing blue eyes rather than green. Following after was her brother, Tideflame, one year her junior. His eyes were as blue as hers, but his hair was lighter, more of an orange color. Her Uncle Dusk followed. Slightly taller than his children, he also had blue eyes, set into dark brown skin with reddish-brown hair. He put his arms out as he greeted her. "Wren. It must be near a decade since we saw you last. How old are you now?"

Wren had to clear her throat before she spoke. Her memories of her mother's family visiting Queensville were not her favorites. "I turned fifteen last month." Tide and Sapphire gave each other meaningful looks when she said it.

"Well come on in." Uncle Dusk waved the family into the house. Wren had to catch her breath when she stepped inside. The family had gathered the living room furniture around the trunk of the tree in the center, and one smaller branch held a swing. The tree also held a ladder going to the second floor, and everywhere throughout the house were plants. Her mother had told her some about her childhood in the northern forests, but somehow, Wren had never quite pictured this.

Wren was sleeping in Sapphire's room, upstairs. Fortunately, there was also a staircase to get to the second floor, as Wren didn't think she could carry her suitcase up the ladder. A cot had set up for her opposite Sapphire's bed, and after Wren stowed her suitcase, she joined her family for dinner.

The kitchen furniture, unsurprisingly, was primarily made out of wood. The table and chairs were quite beautifully carved with designs that looked like woven cords. Wren's parents had a few chairs with similar designs. She knew they had come from her mother's parents, but she had never realized they were sprite designs. She tugged at one of her black curls, guilty for what little attention she had given to her mother's heritage.

They had a light dinner of salad and assorted fruits, which Wren guessed were all grown locally, if not in her family's garden. They talked some about Queensville and her parents and what kind of things she might want to do in Stonewall the next day. Then her aunt and uncle went to bed and she returned to Sapphire's room with her cousins.

Sapphire immediately picked up a basket of yarn in the corner and began to finger weave. Wren's mother had taught her when she was small, but she hadn't kept up the practice. The older girl paid her cousin little attention, but her brother hopped on the bed and said to Wren, "So, you just turned fifteen, huh?"

"Yeah." Somehow, Tide's tone of voice reminded her of when she had been small and he had tugged on her pigtails. "So, did you go to the forest?"

"Of course she didn't go to the forest, Tide." Sapphire didn't look up from her finger weaving. "Her parents probably didn't even plant a tree at her birth."

"Yes they did." Wren knew the sprite custom and felt a need to defend her mother.

Sapphire looked up now, as if surprised, but Wren knew it was pretend. It was the same face the human girls as school made after she had dyed her hair. "They did plant a tree? Where?"

"In... the back yard..." Even as she said it, Wren felt that she was saying the wrong thing.

Sapphire and Tide both laughed. "Well of course she didn't have a tree vigil," Sapphire said, "what's she going to do, spend the night in her backyard?"

"What's a tree vigil?"

Sapphire rolled her eyes. "Auntie Star really did go human, didn't she?"

Tide explained. "Sprite coming of age. You spend the night with your birth tree. Though it ought to be in a forest. We both did ours in Young Wood? Just east of here?"

Sapphire paused in her finger weaving. "I know where she could do it." She directed herself to her brother. "Cedar Grove."

"What's Cedar Grove?" Wren asked.

Sapphire turned those deep blue eyes on her. "You do know what forests are for sprites, don't you? They're cemeteries."

Wren went cold at that, and Tide laughed. "Oh no, she can't do that. She's afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Wren lied.

"Then how about we go tonight?" Sapphire suggested.

"Fine."

***

They waited for Wren's aunt and uncle to go to sleep before absconding out of the house. Then they climbed down the ladder, and Sapphire grabbed the car keys from the hook by the front door.

"But isn't it too late now?" Wren asked as they left the house, already second guessing her decision.

"Are you kidding?" Tide asked, "The sun hasn't finished setting yet. We'll get there right around midnight. It'll be perfect."

"She's not really worried about the time," Sapphire said, "she's just afraid of the ghosts."

"I am not." Wren held herself up straight, hoping to prove herself to her cousins. "Ghosts are a bunch of hooie."

Sapphire spun the car key on the ring around her finger. "Well then. We don't have anything to worry about, do we?"

"Besides," Tide added as he got into the back seat, "it's summer, so you'll only have about four hours of darkness anyway."

Wren made one last-dtich attempt. "Well, what if your parents wake up?"

Sapphire opened the driver door. "Then we tell them the truth. That you wanted to do your tree vigil, since you didn't get to at home." She looked hard at Wren. "You do want to do this?"

"Yes." Wren set her mouth and climbed into the car.

The drive to the cemetery was short and in the last of the fading light, Wren could see the tombstones sticking out of a variety of overgrown plants. It was the closest thing she had seen to a park since arriving in Stonewall.

"Wow." She couldn't help but gasp at the sight of it. It didn't look anything like the cemeteries in Queensville, with their perfectly kempt lawns. "Doesn't somebody take care of it?"

"The Cedar Grove Cemetery Society," Sappire said. "They took it over after the previous owner let it grow wild. But people liked it like that, so they mostly left it."

"It's basically a botanical garden now," Tide added. He laced his fingers together and put them down towards the ground.

"What's that for?" Wren asked.

"To get over the fence. Unless you think you can climb it."

Wren took one glance at the wrought iron fence in front of her. It was at least a foot taller than her, with only one horizontal bar at the bottom and another at the top. She looked at Tide. "If you stick me on the top of one of those spikes, I'll be the one haunting you," she said, and put her foot in his hands. Tide lifted her to the top of the fence while Sapphire helped her balance. Then she grabbed two bars and swung her legs over. She dangled for a moment, about a foot off the ground, and then let go, landing on the other side of the fence. When looked back at her cousins, she had a feeling they were not going to follow her.

"How am I going to get back out?"

"Oh that's easy," Tide told her. "They have tours tomorrow. So you can slip out when someone comes to open the gate." And that was that. There was definitely no going back now.

"Go to the east side of the cemetery." Sapphire pointed. "The louche corner is more your ambit."

"What?"

"It's where they buried the mixed-races." Wren followed Sapphire's finger and saw it. It was more overgrown that the other areas, though she supposed that if the people buried there were half-sprites like her, they might have preferred it that way. The graves weren't as nice either. There were raised coffins, or even decorated tombstones, just simple ones with a name and a date.

Wren picked her way through the grass and found a brick path that led her to the east corner of the cemetery, divided from the west side by a low wall. She stepped over it and looked around. Up close, she could see that the garden was well-tended. But it was also clear that many of the plants had grown their of their own accord. Some of the headstones had ivy on them, and the roots of a large tree nearby had cracked one of them.

Wren decided that tree was good enough and took a seat in front of it. "Mind if I sit here?" She asked the tombstone when her hip brushed against it. When no reply came, she said, "not very chatty, are you?" Happy as she was that there was no evidence of ghosts, without them it would be a long night. At least she wasn't cold. The southern coast kept the weather more temperate than in Queensville, even if there were fewer trees. She leaned against the one behind her and waited.

The first half-hour or so passed much as Wren expected. The last of the light faded from the sky, the streets quieted, and all she could hear was the rustle of the wind in the trees. She could feel her heart beating faster, but reminded herself this was all silly. Her cousins were only trying to scare her, as they always did. And maybe if she stayed here for the night, they would stop. It wasn't like she could go anywhere else anyway.

At one point, she heard a sound that might have been a cough, but when a twig fell on her head, she realized it had merely snapped in the wind. In the distance, a clocktower chimed midnight. She felt that the changing of the hour should signify something, but she didn't know what. And then came a second cough, louder this time, and a clear voice off to her left. "Ahem."

"Stupid," Wren muttered under her breath. Then she smiled, knowing that she would get to gloat to Sapphire and Tide for not knowing the cemetery had a night guard. But when Wren turned to face the voice, the person didn't look like a night guard. It was a young woman, dressed in an undyed gown finger woven in a common sprite pattern. Sapphire had herself been wearing a skirt much like it earlier. The woman was clearly a sprite--she had long red hair and the tree-bark patterning on her skin. She was tall for a sprite though--at least six inches taller than Wren herself. "Are you the night guard?" Wren asked.

"The night guard of what?" Asked the woman.

"The cemetery."

The young woman looked around her. "What cemetery?" she asked. Just as Wren has decided she was locked in a cemetery overnight with a total whack-job, the scenery around her rippled like a heatwave. The tombstones and the neat paths faded until she was sitting on dirt and pine needles, rather than grass. Wren jumped to her feet, and almost ran into a tree as she did so... a tree that had not been there a moment before.

"Who the hell are you? And how did you do that?" Wren had been in a transportation station once or twice, but it didn't look like that. And it didn't feel like that. If this person was an illusionist, she was damn good. She wanted to run, but she didn't know where to go. She didn't even know where she was.

"I'm Mary Wilde." The woman said it like she was surprised Wren had asked the question. "I thought you wanted to speak to me."

"Uh... no," Wren said, "so if you could just take me back now."

"No." Mary spoke forcefully, and suddenly, without walking, she was in front of Wren. Wren took a step back, but Mary grabbed her arm tightly. "You have to see. You have to understand."

And just as suddenly, they were in another part of the forest. This time, though, there was something about it that Wren recognized. "Wait," she said, looking around, "are we in Pine Hill?" Pine was a two hour bus ride away from Stonewall, and the famous forest could only reached on foot---this part of it, at least. But there was no mistaking that tree. When Wren's grandmother had died, her mother's family had come to bury her ashes at the base of that tree, to help it grow. And Wren and her mother still visited it once a year.

"They're grave markers," Mary said, gazing out at the trees, "all of them."

"Well, yeah," Wren said. She'd have thought that a sprite would know the sprite custom to bury their dead in the forests.

Mary's grip on Wren's arm grew tighter. "No!" She screamed. "They're grave markers!" The forest rippled again, and Wren jumped backward as she realized that she stood on the edge of an enormous hole. Inside were vehicles unlike any she had seen. None of them had wheels or wings that she could clearly see, although most looked to be smashed.

"I wanted to find our origins, to find why, of all the races, the sprites were the only ones who lived apart from humans." Mary stared straight ahead as she spoke, though her grip on Wren's arm stayed at tight as ever. Wren saw motion out of the corner of her eye, but Mary shook her. "Look!" She screamed.

Wren turned her eyes back to the pit. She realized that people stood on the other side of the hole. They were short, stocky figures, and taller lankier bodies lay on the ground. She watched as the bodies were pushed into the hole on top of the strange vehicles. "It's because they killed them," Mary said, "We killed them."

"Okay," Wren said, "We killed them." She hoped that Mary would let her go and take her back to the cemetery. Instead, she pushed Wren into the hole.

Wren screamed as she fell against the strange vehicles. Her hands clanged against the metal. It felt unusual somehow, too smooth, perhaps. But she didn't have time to dwell on it. Dirt began falling on her. "Hey!" She yelled, "Stop!" She stood up and tried to walk to the people who were now filling in the hole. She stopped when her foot squished. She looked down and screamed. She was standing on a body. A human body. And above her, the people filling in the grave, were all sprites.

"We killed them!" She heard Mary scream, and Wren ran to the other side of the hole, holding her hands up to protect herself from the falling dirt. She stretched her fingers upward, not quite able to grasp the top of the hole. She could see Mary's feet in front of her, but Mary did nothing. Then an arm grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her forward. Wren set her elbows on the forest floor as a hand pressed a cup to her lips.

Wren looked up. Two young men stood in front of her. They were tall sprites, like Mary. And they had her same sharp chin and tiny nose.

"We'll take care of this, sister," one of them said to Mary.

The other looked at Wren. "We don't want the humans reciprocating, after all." He titled the cup up to Wren's mouth. Warm liquid trickled down her throat. Then the brother dropped her back into the grave. Wren tried to scream, but no sound game out. Her head bounced against metal and dirt fell in her face. She tried to push it away, but her arms felt heavy. She couldn't move. She could barely keep her eyes open. The weight of the dirt on her chest grew heavy. She could feel it filling her mouth. No, she told herself, you have to wake up. Wake up.

"Wake up."

Wren opened her eyes with a gasp. Her body was stiff and someone stood in front of her. She grabbed the person's arm, determined to pull him into the grave with her if he wouldn't save her. Then she saw the blue vest he wore. On one side was embroidered Cedar Grove Cemetery Society. On the other was a nametag that said Dave: Tour Guide. Wren blinked and looked around. She was in the cemetery again. It was daylight. She was sitting on the ground with her back against a tree, in the same spot she had sat down the night before.

"Oh good," Dave said with a cheerful smile. "For a minute, I thought you'd been taken my Midnight Mary."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice told Wren this was meant to be a joke. But it fell away as she latched on to the last two words. "Midnight Mary."

"Yeah, she's right there." He pointed with his free hand. "Uh, can I have my arm back now?"

Wren realized she was still hanging on to him and let go. Then Dave helped Wren to her feet and led her to the front of the gravestone that she had slept by. "Mary Wilde. People say that if you visit her grave at midnight, a terrible fate will befall you." He laughed.

Wren couldn't bring herself to laugh. "What happened to her?"

"Oh, she was a time wizard. She wanted to go back and see how Nideon began--meet god or something--anyway, she fell asleep and never woke up."

"She died in her sleep?"

Dave picked up a fallen twig from the ground. "Not exactly. See, her mother had this dream the night she was buried. She imagined Mary screaming for help from her grave. It freaked her out so much that she had the body dug up the next morning."

"And?" Wren's stomach turned over.

"And she was dead. But... her body was in a different position. Her fingernails were ripped and bloody, and the fabric in the top of the coffin had been shredded." Wren said nothing to that, and she was grateful when Dave changed the subject to something more mundane. "What were doing, sleeping out here, anyway?"

Wren shrugged. "Tree Vigil," she told her shoes.

Dave nodded, then paused. "Isn't that... usually done in a forest?"

Do you know what forests are for sprites? They're cemeteries.

#52 weeks of writing #original fiction

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psychopersonified · 5 years ago

Text

Tea and Soju

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

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

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

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

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

SIS HQ, M’s Office - 12th Floor

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

“He doesn’t want to see me today?”

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

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

Eve comes around to stand next to him:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————

SIS HQ - Cafeteria

Friday afternoon 12:30pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

Tintagel House, Albert Embankment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

SIS HQ, Q-Branch - Lower Ground Floor 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————————————————

London to Geneva

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you chose now to listen to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————-------

Geneva Motor Show - Palexpo, Grand-Saconnex

Aston Martin Exhibition Stand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

———----------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Q?” voice carefully neutral.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need a shower.”

“I could use a shower.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How much did you have to drink?”

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

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

—————————————

Ritz-Carlton - Breakfast

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Instruction—”

“—Advice.”

“Direction.“

“Counsel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————————————

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#00Q #00Q fan #Q #quartermaster #00q fic

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