#unless you live like right next to forest park. even then 'forest park' really should be called 'park with a forest in it' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alvfr · 4 years ago

Text

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

236 notes · View notes

tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

Text

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

115 notes · View notes

redux-iterum · 4 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

46 notes · View notes

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

87 notes · View notes

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

51 notes · View notes

enkelimagnus · 4 years ago

Text

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

16 notes · View notes

lucy-frostblade · 4 years ago

Text

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

9 notes · View notes

nyaheum · 4 years ago

Text

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

6 notes · View notes

mountain-jumper · 5 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

13 notes · View notes

stitchwitchsapprentice · 5 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

4 notes · View notes

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.”

—————————————————

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

#00Q #00Q fan #Q #quartermaster #00q fic

20 notes · View notes

doomedhowell · 5 years ago

Text

Life Finds A Way

Summary: Dan and Phil in the Jurassic Park world! With a genderswap twist. Daisy and Penelope are sent to Isla Nublar to check out the upcoming Jurassic World amusement park. Daisy wanted a nice trip, wanted to see some dinosaurs, and hang out with co-workers. Nothing more, and nothing less. Unfortunately, a dinosaur breaks out of containment and all hell breaks loose.

Triggers Warnings: dinosaurs, violence, injury, blood, swearing

Word Count: 3,162

Artist: @phanomeheart [will link later]

Beta: @et-in-cinerem-reverteris [thank you so much for being an amazing beta!]

[READ ON AO3]

A/N: I’m so excited to post my fic for the @phandomreversebang! I’m so happy with how it turned out and hope that everyone loves it. Yes, this is my third Jurassic Park crossover. I just really love Jurassic Park. This is also my first Gender Swap fic to match with the theme of how all dinosaurs are female. So, please let me know how I did for my first Gender Swap :]

“I should have never agreed to this. I should have just stayed home when I had the chance.”

Annoyed, Daisy rolls her eyes as Penelope complains for the millionth time. They’ve only been stuck alone together for thirty minutes, but with the amount of whining Penelope has done, to Daisy, it feels like they’ve been trapped in this jungle for an eternity.

“Penelope... If you complain one more time, I swear, it won’t be the dinosaurs you have to worry about!” Daisy warns, glaring at Penelope, who responds with a frown.

“Are you threatening me, Ms. Howell?”

Daisy sighs. “Seriously? You’re still calling me by my last name? We’ve known each other for ten years,”

“Well, considering you’re practically my arch nemesis in this job, yeah,” Penelope nods.

“Arch nemesis? I think you’re taking it a bit too far now,” Daisy scoffs in response, shaking her head.

“Ask anyone who knows us. They’ll tell you the same thing."

“Oh, whatever. Just be quiet. We’re trying to hide from dinosaurs. Specifically, a t-rex,” Daisy seethes. “Unless you want your head chewed off, then by all means, keep talking.”

“You’re in a mood today,” Penelope mutters.

“Well, you’re not the only one suddenly wishing they had stayed home!” Daisy cries.

Suddenly, the ground begins to rumble. Leaves shake and nearby animals scatter as the all-too-familiar sound of loud footsteps and roaring echoes throughout the forest. Adrenaline shoots through Daisy’s body. She looks over at Penelope, who stands frozen in shock, having the exact same realisation as she.

“Fuck. Penelope, we have got to get out of here.”

Poking her head out from the bush they’ve been hiding behind, Daisy gasps when she sees a Tyrannosaurus Rex heading directly towards them.

“Now! Let’s go!”

“Go where?” Penelope shrieks with panic when Daisy grabs a hold of her wrist tightly.

“Look, Penelope, I don’t know! We’ll figure it out along the way!” the brunette exclaims, yanking the frightened woman in the opposite direction of the T-Rex. Frankly, she has absolutely no idea how they’re going to get away from this terrifying situation, but one thing she’s certain of is she’s not giving up without a fight. She’s too young to die, and she still has so many hopes and dreams she wants to conquer.

All Daisy wanted was a nice trip to Isla Nublar, with a group of co-workers, Penelope being included, and check out Jurassic World that was meant to be opening next year. They were here for an advisory trip. Nothing more, and nothing less. And yet somehow dinosaurs escaped from containment, and now Daisy is running for her life with someone she considers to be an enemy.

She and Penelope Lester have never gotten along - always one-upping each other whenever they got the chance to, calling each other silly and childish names whenever they were near one another. And now, somehow, Daisy finds herself running for her life from a posse of escaped dinosaurs with no one else but Penelope fucking Lester; her number one competition, little miss goody two-shoes, the face of an absolute angel…wait a minute- what?

Daisy quickly shakes her head, pushing those thoughts away. Now isn’t the time for that.

“We’ve been trying to get back to the park for like thirty minutes!” Penelope whines.

“I know that, genius, but we have to keep trying, alright?” Daisy groans in response. “I mean, we can’t be the only ones out here in the middle of the jungle running for our bloody lives!”

“Well no, of course not. The other girls must be out here somewhere as well. Honestly, whoever thought that it was a good idea to have our group split up is an idiot.”

Daisy snorts. “I’m telling Louise you called her an idiot.”

“Howell!” Penelope shouts, glaring back at her enemy. As she does so, her eyes widen as they land on something much, much worse than Daisy Howell; a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Chasing after the two women. She screams, and starts running even faster.

Daisy is unable to stop herself from bursting into laughter at Penelope’s reaction. “What the hell, Lester? Did you forget we were being chased by a bloody dinosaur?”

“No, shut up! I just haven't looked at her yet!” Penelope cries.

“Keep running!”

After a few minutes of constant sprinting, Daisy and Penelope find themselves standing on the edge of a waterfall. The T-Rex is right behind them. They can both hear the rumbling of the ground.

“Now what the hell are we supposed to do here?” Penelope asks with panic, glancing back.

“Obviously we’re supposed to jump if we want to outrun the dinosaur,” Daisy replies, trying to catch her breath from all the exercise. She looks over and rolls her eyes when she sees Penelope’s eyes widen for the second time. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look. It’s the only way. The T-Rex isn’t going to jump into the water after us! I’m pretty sure they don’t even swim.”

“And, how exactly do you know that?” Penelope asks, frowning.

Daisy sighs with annoyance, and then harshly grabs Penelope’s arm, shoving her forward.

Penelope lets out a scream as she falls into the huge mass of water. Daisy looks back and squeaks when she sees the T-Rex quickly catching up with them. She doesn’t need another second to think before jumping in after Penelope, who’s already swimming out of the pool and back onto dry land.

Daisy pops back out of the water, gasping for air and looking around with panic before making her way over towards Penelope, gripping onto the grass as she hauls herself up from the mini-lake. “I’m never saying yes to one of Louise’s trips again,”

“At least not to Isla Nublar,” Penelope mutters, groaning and flopping onto her back.

“Hey, don’t get too comfortable,” Daisy says as she pushes herself onto the land, looking over at Penelope. “We’re not safe yet. There’s still other dinosaurs out there we have to be careful of.”

Penelope rolls her eyes in frustration. “I honestly hate you so much,”

The brunette doesn’t reply, only feeling a pang of sadness as she pushes herself back onto her feet.

Penelope looks at Daisy and gasps when she sees a bloody wound near her ankle.

“Hey, your leg!” she quickly pushes herself up to crawl over to Daisy, who glances down and frowns when she sees that her leg is in fact injured, only she didn’t feel the pain until Penelope pointed it out.

“Oh,” she mumbles, bending down to touch the gash. “I must have hit my leg on something jumping into the water. I’m sure it’ll be fine. There’s nothing we can do about it at the moment, can we?”

Penelope looks up at Daisy and frowns. “Will you be able to run with an injured leg?”

“I’ll be fine,” Daisy snaps, glaring at Penelope, startling the older woman with the harsh tone in her voice. “Besides, why do you care? I’m sure seeing me suffer will bring you joy,” she scoffs angrily before taking a step forward and wincing when pain shoots through her leg.

Penelope watches with concern as Daisy starts limping away, before jumping up and following her.

“You’re honestly the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met in my life,” Penelope grumbles.

“Anything else you wanna get off your chest while you’re at it?” comes Daisy’s angry reply.

“Erm, maybe now isn’t the time for this. We’re running away from bloody dinosaurs and are supposed to be figuring out how to get back to the island.” She pauses. “Do you think the group will leave without us?”

“They better not, or I’ll sue every single one of them once we get off the island.”

Penelope lets out a sigh. “Daisy, I just don’t understand why you like... totally hate my guts,” she says, catching her co-worker off guard. “I mean, I don’t remember doing anything super horrible to you.” They’ve never had a conversation about why their relationship is so tense, or how they actually became enemies in the first place. It's never something Daisy wanted to discuss with the older woman.

Daisy hesitates as she thinks about what she’s going to say.

Is she really about to confess her love to someone who’s supposed to be her arch nemesis? She never planned for any of this to happen. She never planned on telling Penelope even after ten whole years of knowing this woman and secretly being in love with her, because they were supposed to hate each other, not fall in love.

“Look,” Daisy begins, stopping to glance over at Penelope and forgetting that they were currently running for their lives. “I never… I never actually hated you, okay?”

“Really?’ Penelope asks, raising her eyebrows. “Because it sure seemed like you did.”

“Well, because I thought that you hated me, and that… hurt me. I never hated you, not from the start. Actually, in fact, it started when we first met. I- I tried to be your friend, but you gave me the cold shoulder. I thought you hated me, and that hurt me, because I…” she mumbles, shaking her head in disbelief. “Fuck. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but-”

“Daisy? You’re starting to worry me...” Penelope frowns.

“Penelope, ugh, shut up, okay? I’m trying to tell you that I- I l- love you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” she cries, taking a deep breath. “I love you, and... I’ve practically been in love with you ever since the very first time we worked together on a project, but you obviously never felt the same way that I felt. You always had to be better than me at everything we did!”

Penelope’s eyes widen with shock at Daisy’s confession. “I-” She begins, stunned.

Daisy yelps when the two suddenly hear a distant roaring, alerting them that a dinosaur is nearby. “Fuck!”

“We have to go!” Penelope cries, grabbing Daisy’s hand and leading the way.

“Penelope, my leg!” Daisy is trying her best to keep up, but the pain is starting to become too much for her to handle, and they’re nowhere near close to being safe.

Penelope stops running and looks at Daisy. “Are you heavy?”

“Excuse me?” Daisy snaps, finding the question slightly offensive.

Penelope rolls her eyes. “That sounded rude. I’m sorry. I mean, do you think I’d be able to lift you?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t know. I don’t think I’m that heavy. I work out a lot?”

“Of course you do,” Penelope mumbles, shaking her head. “I have no other choice, so-”

Daisy yelps as she’s suddenly being lifted off her feet, and being carried in the arms of Penelope. She had no idea that her co-worker was so strong! If Penelope Lester can actually manage this without getting either of them killed, then Daisy will be incredibly impressed - not to mention grateful for saving her life.

“What can I say? You’re not the only one who works out,” Penelope replies with a grin, earning a laugh from Daisy. “As much as I’d like to continue this little conversation, there’s a dinosaur chasing us…”

Penelope somehow manages to carry Daisy as she finds her way out of the jungle, eventually coming across an abandoned old building with two broken down Jeeps inside of it. “Oh, yes! Perfect! This is exactly what we needed to get out of here!” Penelope exclaims when she spots the cars.

“Perfect? What are you going on about? They’re broken. They’re useless!”

Penelope rolls her eyes and leads Daisy over to one of the Jeeps, opening the door with a free hand and carefully helping Daisy to sit down in the passenger seat.

“Good. Okay, sit there while I work on getting this thing up and running again,” she orders while walking around to the front of the car, ignoring the annoyed look Daisy is giving her.

“Honestly, do you even know how to get one of these started? This thing is probably ancient.”

“I fixed cars with one of my old friends as a summer job. So, yes, I should be able to get it started. If not, then I’m afraid I’ve failed my friend, and that simply cannot happen,” Penelope replies with sass as she pops open the hood of the car, looking around at what she has to work with. “Okay. We’ve got minimal time left here. Please let this work so we can get the hell out of here.”

Just like that, Penelope actually manages to get the vehicle running again after about fifteen minutes of cursing and frustration, surprising Daisy once again with her hidden skill. But Penelope certainly wasn’t going to give up when they were so close to the island, and Daisy still needed help with her injury.

Daisy glances back and peaks through the window of the jeep as Penelope celebrates fixing the car. Suddenly, she notices the shape of a T-Rex on the edge of the jungle, and lets out a gasp.

“Penelope! We’ve got a problem!”

“Wha-?” She looks up and gasps when her eyes land on the T-Rex. “Shit!”

“Come on! We’ve got to go!” Daisy yells, flailing her arms in panic.

Penelope slams the hood of the car shut and runs over to the driver's seat, jumping into the car and fumbling around with the wheel, trying to get the car started as fast as possible. “We’re almost there. Fuck! I’m not gonna lose this for us,” she says, feeling confident for the first time since being stranded and being chased in the jungle by a bloody dinosaur. After starting the car she looks over at Daisy to make sure that she’s alright, but frowns when she sees how the other woman is staring at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Penelope questions curiously.

“No reason. You just... look really hot right now,” Daisy admits, smirking slightly.

Penelope blushes instantly, never thinking Daisy Howell would ever call her hot, but here she is. “Fuck. Now’s not the time for that, Daisy,” then backs the car out of the building. As soon as they’re outside, the T-Rex has nearly caught up to them, which they both realize simultaneously with a scream as Penelope speeds off towards the island, which is thankfully now in view, and Penelope is suddenly grateful for the summer she spent fixing cars, otherwise they’d still be stuck in the jungle.

“Thank God the park isn’t officially opened. Otherwise, everyone would be dead!”

“Something tells me that the park is never going to open after today’s events,” Daisy mutters. “Now speed!”

“So demanding,” Penelope teases, before she puts pedal to the metal and floors it.

Finally.

Finally the girls make it back to the island. They find their group. Not everyone is there. Some of the girls haven’t returned from their duties yet, which worries the group as there’s still four girls missing.

“Don’t worry. We’re not leaving the island until we find the others,” Louise tries to reassure Daisy. “Now, what the hell happened to your leg, and… why are you both wet?”

“We had to jump into a waterfall to get away from the T-Rex,” Penelope explains, before frowning slightly. “Wow. That’s a sentence I neer thought I’d say. Anyways, she was still following us when we were coming back to the island. I hope there’s someone to take care of that when she finally reaches us.”

“Don’t worry, it’s being sorted. We’re safe,” Louise replies. “Come on. You need medical attention.”

Louise starts to help Daisy, but Penelope suddenly rushes to take her place, surprising them both.

“Wait! Let me,” she interjects, carefully wrapping her arms around Daisy’s waist, helping her stand up. She looks up at Louise and smiles innocently. “Lead the way?” She holds onto Daisy protectively, and Daisy instantly melts into the hold, grabbing onto Penelope for balance.

Louise looks at them back and forth. “What happened while you were in that jungle?”

Daisy blushes and looks up at Penelope. “A lot can happen while you’re running for your life,” she says, maintaining eye-contact with the woman next to her. “By the way, you smell awful.” She laughs when Penelope lightly punches her on the shoulder.

“Come on you two. You need medical attention, immediately,” Louise pushes again. “Weirdos.”

“I do feel a bit lightheaded,” Daisy mumbles, groaning in pain as Penelope starts walking towards a medical tent set up for the girls who were also injured.

As Daisy is being looked after by a nurse, Louise and Penelope stand aside chatting together.

“So, have you two finally kissed and made up with each other or what?” Louise asks.

Penelope rolls her eyes as she looks over at Louise. “Kind of. Turns out Daisy is in love with me.”

“Well, yeah… even a monkey could have told you that,” Louise snorts.

“What?” Penelope asks, frowning. “Has everyone known about this except for me?”

“Yup. Kinda sad that it took you ten years to realize this, but… I guess life always, uh, finds a way, right?”

“Yeah. I guess so,” Penelope replies with a soft sigh. She shakes her head before walking over to Daisy, who the nurse has left alone for a second to grab more medical supplies to help with Daisy’s injury. “Hey, by the way... I don’t know if I made this clear or not, but I don’t hate you either.”

Daisy blinks a few times as she looks up at Penelope with shock. “Wh- What?”

“Do you wanna go on a date when we get home?” Penelope bursts out, glaring when she hears Louise laughing at her. “Oh, shove off, Louise! Mind your own business!” She looks back over at Daisy. “Look, I’m not really good at this whole dating thing. My longest relationship lasted two months...”

“That’s okay,” Daisy giggles. “Neither am I. I would love to go on a date with you when we get home. But, it better be more than just a boring old movie. I’m an adventurous kind of girl, y’know?”

Penelope lets out a sigh of relief when Daisy speaks those words, “yeah, I can tell,” and then she quickly leans down and presses her lips against Daisy’s, bringing the younger woman into a sweet and soft kiss. When she pulls away, the girls from their group are cheering loudly for the two. Everyone has known about the Howell vs. Lester feud for years, Penelope imagines everyone is relieved that they’ll no longer have to put up with the constant fighting from the two. Penelope coughs, blushing. “What a day, huh?”

Daisy laughs. “Yeah… I guess you could say that,”

“Now, hold on a minute. You’re telling me that it took a bloody dinosaur chasing you through the jungle and running for your lives to get you two together?” Zoe asks, who’s also being looked over by a nurse, speaks up, throwing her arms up, Daisy and Penelope both bursting into laughter. “Honestly.”

#phanfiction #phanfic #phandom reverse bang #prb2019 #au #angst #fluff #crossover #comfort #enemiestolovers #genderswap #injury #oy

25 notes · View notes

witchyclipse · 5 years ago

Text

Master Of Balance

Posted first on ao3! Check it out there too!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412821/chapters/53549695

Chapter One

The Princess and Elder Mechanic

Rysheladon, one of the coldest planets in the galaxy . The planet was so cold most ships tend to stay far , FAR away from it . Coldest it has ever gotten was below -647 ° which to the people and creatures who inhabit the planet was slightly more than a walk in the park. Thirteen months of winter in a year with only one for spring , two for summer and one for fall , you kinda get used to the never-ending "freeze your ears off" weather.

The planet was on the very edge of the outer rim , almost past it . Rysheladon seemed very similar to Earth yet instead of 75% being water, 80% of the planet had enormous trees that overlooked even the tallest of buildings. They seemed to touch the stars to the citizens who resided there. Often there had been tales the elders would tell the young-lings of their ancestors reaching the stars through the spirits of those very trees. They would call the trees spiritus trees because of the stories.

In these large forests resided many terrible and kind creatures . Large beasts to the smallest of insects that would enchant the unsuspecting traveler if you weren't careful enough , which is why the people of Rysheladon decided to dig underneath the cold surface and make home below away from the cruel weather up top . Though not all could afford to live below so others created tall civilizations atop the surface . For traders of any kind lived above whether they were wealthy like the people below. Only the rich or royalty were able to live beneath the surface . The royal family lived the largest tunnel and cave systems in the below, while the poor people above lived in the terrifying and never ending sea of forests .

Many years ago there had been word of the eldest daughter of the royal family coming to bear a child , but a child with no father. So she had been cast out to raise her child alone and in the cold harsh land above. Never to return unless the child was dead . The eldest princess was to bear the weight of the throne and craved that power unlike anyone in her family ever had before so when she had been tossed out , the eldest daughter had been devastated. She hated the being growing inside her . Each day closer to the child's birth gave the princess more hatred and anger towards it so she came up with a plan. No one would miss this child, so why keep it? She could easily leave the infant to the storms and creatures of the forest so why shouldn't she?

That was how the eldest princess decided on giving her own child up to die . No remorse , no love , not even a hint of guilt in this poor woman's soul for her own child . But you see, the reason she wasn't happy with the child was because the infant would have no father.

That is because the princess had never been in bed with a man before .

Yes this child had absolutely no father. So how did it come to exist ? There was no logical explanation to it. The child should never have existed yet here it was , growing inside the poor, angry, and abandoned princess. Months ago she had felt an energy consuming her while she slept but never once had she been bedded . Doctors checked just to make sure, she was indeed a virgin soon to give birth to a baby but what the hell kind of baby would it be if it had no father?

Soon the baby was born, it was a baby girl with small tufts of dark hair on its fragile head. The baby seemed perfectly human, and almost resembled her mother completely . Except for the small birthmark on its back which looks oddly like a sword of sorts, a Jedi's sword? No, she must have been losing it .

After resting for a day she haphazardly swaddled the infant in a blanket and walked towards the forest. Not caring that the baby had not been fed yet , not caring that it wailed as if it were dying. 'Soon, soon the child would know death' the princess thought to herself as she walked deeper into the forest until she found a small frozen over lake . One of the only lakes she'd ever seen. It was beautiful , but a dangerous area even for an adult . Quickly the princess settled the baby on a frosted over ledge and wrapped the baby up once more for good measure . She then stood up and started to walk back out of the dreaded forest , never once turning back to look at the now sleeping baby girl.

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

Quietly walking along the trail he had made in the forest , an older man who appeared to be around 60 years in age started to trot along through the thick woods . He hummed a small tune to himself as he walked . Nothing pretty but still had meaning to him, His name was Percival the machinist . Or that's what people had been calling him since he was much much younger.

His humming quickly came to a stop when he heard what seemed to be the wailing of an infant. Why was a baby out here? He quickly started walking towards the sound, an infant should never be out in these woods , he thought to himself . Surely he heard the crying get louder as he came closer to it . When he appeared by old Lake Ziosashra and saw the small bundle wrapped up on a stony ledge he moved to assess the situation.

"Aw why hello there little dear. " Percival called to the infant as he reached down to pick it up . "Well I'll be damned… who would've let such a beautiful little baby like you out here , huh?" He cooed to the bundle in his arms . The child seemed to calm down quite a lot just by being held,'T his baby can't be more than a few days old. Why is it out here?' , Percival thought to himself . He looked around seeing that there was most definitely no one else around. " Guess I'll just have to figure out how to keep ya myself huh? Is that alright, little moon? " the old man asked the baby , knowing that it wouldn't understand him but he smiled happily at the smiles and giggles that came from the child.

" Guess that's a yes. " he chuckled to himself. Quickly and carefully, he made his way off the stone ledge to the ground below with a nice crunch as his feet hit the snowy terrain. Making his way back to the trail he looked down at the little one calmly babbling to itself . "Well we have to give you a name don't we dear? And figure out if you're a little girl or a little boy… " he looked at the lake as the sun lit up the frozen top . Such a beautiful , great big lake.

He untucked the blankets from around the baby , quickly taking note that the baby he has all but suddenly decided to care for was a girl . " Hm…. Why don't we call you… Ziosa?" He said wrapping the baby back up to conceal it from the wicked weather around them. The baby made a strained noise almost like a yell of sorts . Percival laughed a little , " Apparently not. Little moon doesn't like that . Well we can figure that out later , for now let's get you out of this cold . " , the old man said walking to the trail he had just been on minutes before he knew what would happen.

'The force surely does work in mysterious ways .' Percival though as he made his way to his mechanical shop and home. All the while holding the baby girl close to himself as if to shield her from the cold weather .

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

Once Percival had made it to his home he set down the small infant on a makeshift couch of his, quickly taking off his multiple layers of jackets and cloaks to fight against the cold world. After that he started a fire in the fireplace that was about 10 feet away from where the bundle of blankets sat on the couch. " lets get it a little warmer here why don't we. " Percival said to no one in particular in the room . The baby girl babbled as if to respond to his words .

Once the fire had been started he walked to his room to find a few thicker blankets and saw one on the end of his bed . " I'll need to find her clothes later…. This'll do for now", again talking to himself. You do that a lot when you've been basically alone for 30 years, all except for the occasional customer and many many ships that needed repairing in his shops garage .

Walking back out to the living room he picked up the girl out of the ragged old blankets and quickly swaddled her to the best of his abilities . He'd never taken care of a kid before but damn he had always wanted to raise one . Just never found the right woman to settle down and have a couple of kids with. He rocked the baby in his arms for a bit, humming the same tune he had been just before he found her. Apparently it had lulled the girl to sleep because the next time he looked down, he saw that she was fast asleep nuzzled in his arms.

Percival's heart could almost burst at that moment . He really needed to think of a name for her but he's a mechanic not someone who's creative, in all honesty he could hardly make up blueprints of his own personal projects . Slowly and carefully, he placed the sleeping baby down on the couch again. He then placed another blanket on top of the swaddled little girl hoping that she'd stay warm with all the blankets and the roaring fire that was going.

Suddenly there was a very loud knock on Percival's front door , he almost jumped out of his skin at the random knock . He wasn't expecting anyone today and it was his only day off which usually meant everyone would leave him alone. Again the very loud knock sounded from his front door , he checked to see if the infant was still asleep , which she was . He grumbled a bit walking towards his door and opening it, " What the hell do you want it's my damn day off-"

"Don't start fussin' at me old man I'm just here with ya groceries like usual." , a tall woman said . She had long black hair that hit that hit the middle of her back, half of it braided in sections. Her skin was a dark blue with green in areas. " alright alright Arthala get in before you make me freeze the last bit of life I have off.",Percival said as he moved to the side to let her come inside. " Like ya have much of that anyways , Percy. " , the woman better known as Arthala said walking in .

Percival quickly closed the door and locking it walking over to check on the baby again as Arthala started talking ,"Its colder than usual out there. People in the city say it's goin' to break records tonight so- what are you doin' perc? " , Athala looked up from her place by the door to see Percival bending down and tucking in something to the couch . " Ah oh yeah… so I was on my daily walk and found something near Old Lake Ziosashra ." , the man said now standing up straight and looking at the very tall woman who now stood in his small kitchen. "Something? Oh please tell me ya didn't find another dying bird , ya could get sick.", Athala said looking at her friend .

Leaning down , Percival carefully picked up the bundle of blankets and you could practically hear Arthala's jaw drop. " You found a baby!?" , she yelled . " Will you be quiet!? Yes I found a baby , she was left all alone and abandoned near the lake. " , Percival whisper shouted walking towards the kitchen swaying the child back and forth to keep her asleep.

" Why would you bring a baby home? You can hardly take care of yourself !", the tall woman said coming closer to look at the bundle of blankets her friend held . "What was I gonna do, let the bats eat her? Someone had already abandoned her… I mean look at her. She's just so beautiful I don't know why anyone would ever leave a sweet thing like this out there to die ….. I just had to bring her home 'Thala" , Percival told the woman standing beside him . "She is quite cute… but how will you take care of her? She can't be but only a few days old… " , Athala asked .

Percival tried to think about what he would do on his walk home . "Honestly 'thala I have no idea yet but i'm going to keep her. I'll just make up what to do on the way ." , he said quietly still rocking the infant . " You can hold her if you want to." he told his friend who was transfixed on the sleeping girl. As Athala nodded he slowly placed the baby in her arms. "Oh look at ya, aren't ya just a beaut? " she cooed to the girl. " Does she have a name yet Perc? " , " No… still thinking about that but you know i'm not creative. Got any ideas? " , Percival replied as he looked up to his friend. " If she was found near lake Ziosashra… why not Zio? Or maybe 'Ziorah' . Rah means ethereally beautiful to my species and she surely fits that description…" , Athala said to her friend.

Percival smiled looking down towards the sleeping infant that was snuggled up in his friends arms, " Ziorah… that sounds perfect. Alright little moon, I dub you Ziorah… my daughter. "

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

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed chapter one of this story involving my baby girl Ziorah! Please feel free to share and comment any feedback you have or even questions! I'd love to hear what you have to say! If you'd like to see what Ziorah looks like please check out my instagram! I'll hopefully make this story into a comic with time but for now I'm writing it out and making some art of certain parts. Hope you've enjoyed this first chapter!

More to come soon!

23 notes · View notes

semiramis-audron · 5 years ago

Text

There’s British things in British Columbia

It was half past six when the medics finally packed up their equipment and the police had finished their report, made all the photos for the property damage charges and the insurance and allowed him to finally close up the place.

It hadn't been that big of a deal. He wouldn't press charges for the door or the glass. But there had been humans involved and hurt, so there was no way around calling an ambulance and the police. Doing things the human way was so… involved.

So he had to wait for them to arrive, while the bouncers held the demon who had been the reason for the fight. Really the human started it but… ah well, no use crying over spilled glass and blood. The human got fixed up and was on his save way home. As was the lady, who thankfully suffered no harm and as far as he knew also the demon. A friend picked him up and made sure of it... as he was assured…

Trevor locked the door to the pub and began putting up the chairs while the dust and wood and glass on the floor moved itself into a heap and then hovered towards the bin. He mopped the blood off the floor and sighed at his shirt, and his watch. They were cleaned a finger snap later, but the glass of the watch had cracked, the mechanism had stopped. He could fix that later, or get a new one. Maybe Richard would like to help him pick one.

He reached for the bandage tape at his ear. The area was throbbing with pain. Even more so when he realised too late that hair was stuck to the tape. A sharp breath of air through his teeth and he pulled it off all the way. The gauze pad came off dark red, the bleeding had stopped by now. He removed the hair gel before his fingertips felt for the stitched gash. The wound closed swiftly, there would be no traces left in a day or two. The pain subsided a little, nothing to bother a healer about.

He looked around the pub. All done.

Fixing the door would need to wait a bit to not seem suspicious. Then again, no one was going to even attempt a break in to begin with, so he wouldn’t lose sleep over that detail.

How late was it anyway? He checked his phone. Almost 7… And there were several messages. Huh.

All of them from Richard. Did he get wind of what had happened? No, the messages were from earlier in the night… day… Right he was in… Vancouver… they were 8 hours behind London.

Apparently he could see all the skyscrapers of the city from the meeting room.

Trevor imagined it was a great view, if one wasn't afraid of heights. There was supposed to be a meeting and the other party was late? So Richard was busying himself.

They had a bowl of maple candy with the city flag of Vancouver pressed on at the reception desk, but it was for kids visiting the tower for the lookout platform. So he wasn’t supposed to get one, sadly. But he had charmed the lady and got a sealed bag full.

He did have a childlike wonder to him sometimes, Trevor admitted.

Earlier in the day he had also been to the Capilano Suspension Bridge in the nearby forest, in also terrifying heights.

✉ You can walk through the treetops! It's all safe and up to code ;) They are very strict about their regulations. And so many trees! You would love it! ✉

Trevor couldn't help a sensible chuckle escaping. He did imply that he enjoyed it whenever Richard sent him updates and fascinating things that he encountered on his travels. The photo on the bridge was breathtaking. It was kind of Richard to take his time to make it. And yes, he would probably love it there. If he had been aware of the messages earlier, he would have asked him for more pictures. Accursed timezones…

The other party of the meeting had been a no show according to a later message, so he got a selfie of Richard in front of the McDonald's on Main Street with it's architecturally intriguing angular glass roof. He was holding a box of nuggets. The message implied he was craving nuggets, and an evil >;P smiley. Outrageous!

He was staying in Canada for another day since the meeting was now planned for the next afternoon and Jeff had made it clear that the partner had in their previous, very lucrative deals, always been reliable. So should be given some leniency especially in this important case.

Richard informed Trevor, that he was reminded of him, when he learned about the British Properties a good 700m air line from the bridge, where only people with an actual British passport used to be allowed to live. They excluded non-white and Jewish people in olden times, but were less racist now. At least something?

After that Trevor was treated to some facts about Richard’s hotel.

His balcony had wooden covered flooring that smelled like freshly cut pine trees. They must use a special varnish. He was going to try and find out about that tomorrow.

And the Lookout of the Vancouver Harbour Center was clearly visible. Not as high up as the meeting room, but equally beautiful.

According to the bartender at that Hotel bar, it was regularly used as a set for movie shoots, because Vancouver was considered the “North Hollywood” with how important it is to the film industry.

To Richard’s delight, they also served sushi. It was from the same bartender, that Richard apparently learned that the so-called California Roll wasn’t invented in California! It was invented in Vancouver, by a Japanese Chef, owning a restaurant nearby.

Trevor yawned slightly in the dark, wondering whether he should be concerned about Richard finding a more interesting bartender than him. He took off his shoes and made it to the kitchen, pointing a finger and a snap at the stove, heating some water for tea to settle down while scrolling through the messages.

He was further informed him that Richard could see the hills of Stanley Park from his Hotel room, and that all of the grey squirrels found in Stanley Park, which is by the way 10% bigger than Central Park, are descendants of eight pairs of grey squirrels that Vancouver received as a gift from New York City in 1909.

And that the Beaver Lake in the park, was ironically beaverless until just 2008.

Also, that he was again reminded of London and Trevor, because right next to the Hotel was an apartment building called London Place and because Vancouver, due to its geographical and vegetational zone, had one of the mildest climates in Canada, but more rain. So kinda like London. But more trees.

✉ So if you want me to check out any trails or trees for you tomorrow, drop me a message. <3 ✉

Right, Vancouver was basically in a rain forest.

The latest message was only a few minutes old. The light of the phone was casting eerie shadows on Trevor’s face, reflecting the message in his eyes. The dim coloured glow of the Streets of SOHO, shining through the window like moonlight through the stained glass of a church.

He hadn’t bothered about the brightness, but slowly the glare of the screen was beginning to irritate his tired eyes. He put the phone in his pocket and leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to boil, stifling another yawn, closing his eyes.

After this long night in the bustling pub, the quiet of his empty flat was a stark contrast. At first there was just the background hum of silence in his ears, then slowly the natural noises in it grew louder. The muffled sounds of the awakening streets outside became more clear and the soft pearly bubbling of the water. Finally he could hear himself breathe in the quiet of the morning, opening his eyes again, now more used to the dark.

He was looking at his clean and neat kitchen table, the polished counters and precisely closing drawers. Everything had its place in the greyish darkness. There was pristine and almost sterile order, even more so in the monochrome colours of the night.

And towards his living room, a bit more homely, that lay also vacant in the dull grey. The fireplace was empty, wood neatly stacked, the tv pitch black. Books and magazines shelved proper and no spine out of line. Unless SOMEONE took one out to leaf through it and didn't put them back properly. Or put them on the coffee table instead. Or just dropped his stuff there, even though he had a nightstand just for his stuff...

The coffee table was unburdened though. The flat was quiet, his solitude undisturbed, his privacy uninvaded and isolated from the life of human beings. He checked his watch, sighed at the shattered glass, then took out his phone again. The little circle next to Richard’s name was still green.

The tea kettle whistled and the water stopped boiling as the soft magical aura disappeared around it.

~~~~~~~~~~ 🍁 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richard was leaning on his balcony, shirt half unbuttoned. Zooming in on some of the more extravagant buildings to get a better look. There had been some changes made in recent years by starchitects, or those that were paid as much at least. And there were still suggestions in the air, as far as he was keeping track of the business. Maybe an opportunity or two might arise from this prolonged stay yet.

“Mind if I join you?” the voice was husky and a bit tired, but very familiar and unexpected. He whirled around. “Trevor!? Of course! Sure! Hi! I mean, yes, I’d be happy.” He welcomed him with open arms, then realising the gesture might be a bit much, dropped the arms a bit and smiled. The barkeeper was still standing in the door to the balcony, one hand clutching the frame. Also barefoot, as Richard noted.

“The view is even more impressive than you described…” Trevor pointed out, not making eye contact, with either Richard, or the view. “Ah, you noticed the high quality wooden panelling of the balcony too.” this was bad. Trevor was clearly stuck and apparently too proud to admit it. “I- didn’t send you any pictures of the bathroom, would you like to see it? The tub is huge and it’s spotless. Great for relaxing.” Richard watched as one naked foot touched the wooden boards and the knuckles on the already pale hand at the frame stood out white. The helplessness would be adorable if it wasn't born out of stubbornness.

Their eyes met. “It’s fine…” Trevor said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll look at it later…” And the brown eyes motioned towards their left hand. Which was reaching out for him. For Richard, to take it, silently pleading for help.

He put his fingers around Trevor’s wrist and felt him return the gesture. It was a safe grip, reliable. He slowly led the acrophobic man onto the balcony and offered him a chair. Into which Trevor slumped with an apologetic smile. “It’s really… high up… But it IS beautiful.” Richard sat down on the other chair, the little wrought iron table between them. Staring at the man who was now staring at the view with the colour returning to his face. "Thank you for dropping by, that's a welcome change." also a bit of an awkward one. Just sitting there, all settled into the chair now. Hard to make physical contact like that. Why did he show up all of a sudden. Why was he there in the first place? He never teleported to him before. Should he ask? Should he offer him a drink? A snack? A tour of the hotel? Of the city? He was going to ask! “Canada is bloody cold! Do you want tea?” Trevor huffed, rubbing his arms and looked at Richard who had been a bit lost in thought staring at the more calmly breathing man. He nodded with a soft “Uh… uh huh.” and a snap later there were steaming cups on the table. They smelled warm, and a bit of spices that made Richard think of winter. The milk still spreading in amber clouds through the liquid. The brew was sweet, and with a dash of something foreign, that didn’t taste like a bitter British cuppa. Trevor shuddered, rubbing his now socked feet together. “And you said Vancouver was mild! That’s better, do you need more sugar?” Richard shook his head, watching the goosebumps on Trevor’s forearms go down.

“Well, it’s not exactly Summer. You never teleported to me before?” He really wanted to say something and Trevor took his sweet time to answer, this was a bit nerve wracking. The night air hummed with the murmur of the city beneath them and the wind rushing around the skyscrapers like a serpentine river. Trevor kept sipping his tea. His breath afterwards was visible in the air. “You made it sound like an interesting city to visit.” was the blasé response after a minute or two. "But it's a bit late for sightseeing now, isn't it?" Richard leaned partially over the table, trying to make sense of this sudden behaviour change. “The sights I’m seeing are good for now.” Trevor looked away and back out over the balcony, clearly uncomfortable. He took another sip of the tea.

Richard slumped back in his chair, picking his own tea up. They fell silent again. Watching the change of colours in the street and the clouds above. Richard was sure the tea was different than what Trevor was usually drinking. He enjoyed the thought of sharing in something special. Bitter at first, then sweet and with a hint of something exciting. Trevor tea. He watched the angel’s eyes observe the sky and the blinking lights below them. One might even say, he looked relaxed now. How peculiar. What was going on?

The deep voice sent a shiver down Richard’s spine as Trevor cleared his throat. “It’s unusual for you to be so quiet. Are you okay, Richard?” The verbal equivalent of having his chair pulled out from under him. "It's unusual for YOU to come to me! I didn't think Vancouver of all places would do that." he searched the man's face for a real reason. "Well, …" Trevor sighed. "...my watch broke and I thought you could help." A smile popped on Richard's face. "Oh it's probably the battery, I'll charge it. For you, free of charge." a small wink as he took Trevor's wrist again. "The… glass is broken." his smile faltered a little when he saw the raised eyebrow. "And it's an automated watch, yes, no battery." that explained why he couldn't find one! His own always remained charged through himself. "No problem! I get tons of fancy watches from business deals, there's bound to be an automatic one among those." He flinched when Trevor pulled his hand back, rubbing the wrist around the strap a little. He hadn't actually held him that tight? Maybe a small shock when he had tried to charge a non existent battery?

"I was actually thinking about getting a new one from a watchmaker… or jeweller." Trevor didn't make eye contact, his face a strange expression that Richard couldn't decipher. "I was hoping, with your impeccable style, you knew a good one and… would help me pick one you think will suit me…" still no eye contact, but his face had become more rosey and, yep, the goosebumps were back.

"I just wear them as I get them? But sure we can have a look tomorrow?" Trevor sighed, and emptied his cup. Wrong answer apparently. "It's a bit out of nowhere, I'm sorry." Richard waved his hands. "No, I understand, keeping your schedule is important to you and you need your watch for that. There's actually a Vienna watchmaker with 30 years in the business, right here in Vancouver, we can go there. I walked past his shop today, I didn't know ‘cause he has no website. His name is Fritz Irrgang which is funny cause his watches are all going right. Very interesting old guy---" He had gotten up in excitement and now hesitated and looked Trevor in the eyes again. He didn't look annoyed as expected, he was listening, with an amused, soft smile, and half lidded eyes. "--- but it's almost 2 in the morning so we… can't go now…” Richard continued slowly. “-- it would be rude to get him out of bed---" thoughts trailing off into nonsense as he made sense of what he was seeing. Trevor's eyes weren't just half lidded. They looked tired and unusually reflective, shimmering. Then the angel sniffed. "I'm fine with tomorrow, if you have time." he smiled, then rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb and sniffed again.

Oh. Oh no.

"Trevor, it's almost 10 in London. - You should be asleep." The Brit laughed quietly at what sounded like honest worry in Richard's voice, though not sneering, really. "You're absolutely right.” he replied with a more firm voice. “- we should both go to bed." he got up and vanished the cups, ignoring the view from the balcony. He squeezed Richard’s shoulder, then waved at him as he went through the sliding door and into the hotel room.

Stopping there in the dark, with his back to the air demon, toeing off his socks. Unbuttoning his Barkeeper vest, taking it off. Folding it and placing it neatly on a chair, before beginning to unbutton his dress shirt.

He tilted his head a little back to the balcony. "Are you coming or do you plan to stay there all night?"

A speaking, nightly Fata Morgana in the middle of his hotel room. Unbelievable. Richard slowly made his way into the room.

"Please close the door and turn up the thermo, it's as cold in here as out there."

Richard closed the door and stared at what amounted to an optical illusion. Watched the white shirt slide down over the other man's lightly freckled shoulders, like the casual routine it probably was. Watched him slip out of it, the light from outside enhancing the soft shadows of his spine’s curvature and shoulder blades on the fabric of his close-fitting undershirt.

This mirage however seemed, though unbelievable, to be physically there. Trevor had not left and he was doing what Richard thought he saw him doing. Unless it was a cruel trick of the light. He could maybe try to reach out for it, touch it even, if he dared.

Trevor was in the process of folding his shirt when he felt two arms wrap around his waist, a chin coming to rest on his shoulder and a chest pressing lightly against his back. The comfort that hit him when he smelled Richard's aftershave almost rolled over him like a wave. "I'll keep you warm, okay?" The angel nodded into the embrace with a shaky breath. Fingers clutching into the fabric of the shirt, while the arms lowered in defeat. "This isn't about the watch, is it?" He felt Richard’s breath at his ear, on his temple, where a few hours earlier glass had cut deep. All pain that had still been there, now suddenly gone. He shook his head slowly, quietly, leaning into the embrace, closing his eyes. Like a hot, sweet tea going down his throat and spreading warmth and courage in his stomach on a cold Canadian night.

Then he felt Richard’s nose tousling his hairline as he kissed the nape of his neck. Gentle lips. A shiver going down his spine, goosebumps flaring up, heart beating faster, but also calmer... somehow. Richard’s hands moved to his belt buckle, until Trevor’s fingers interlocked with his. The angel shook his head almost imperceptibly, one hand still clutching the shirt. “I’d like to…” Trevor whispered hesitantly “... replace some old broken things… with new ones… but gradually...”

Richard nodded, warm face against the angel’s cold shoulder, taking the shirt out of his hand. “Gradually…” he replied, folding the shirt against Trevor’s belly, one hand guided by the angel’s.

The shirt appeared neatly onto the chair, as the two men-shaped beings sank into the soft covers of the bed.

“...I’d like that…” Trevor mumbled curling his back up against Richard’s chest, pulling the demon’s arms tighter around himself. Richard buried his face in the angel’s surprisingly soft hair, breathing calmly, deeply. No gel tonight? He smelt incense and styrax but also salt and a hint of iron. “Sleep well, Trevor.” The tension in the other’s muscles broke away as he relaxed and he felt the skin noticeably heat up. The demon chuckled and kissed the angel behind the ear, before closing his eyes as well. “... thank you, Richard…”

#RichardNTrevor #AsheesRichardDickinson #Trevor Matthews #visiting the colonies #bringing tea #it's called an engagement watch you uncultured jelly bean

2 notes · View notes

dyscrasia-eucrasia · 5 years ago

Photo

<<Prev | Next>>

Part 25

"So… what now?" Angel asked as Demie shoveled the last few lettuce leaves into his mouth. "You wanna just go home?"

Demie slumped back in his seat, looking out of the windshield at the diner. He turned the camera over and over in his hands. "Which road are we on?" He asked.

"WV-2."

Demie turned and looked out the passenger window. He seemed pretty deep in thought, but like he was conflicted about something.

"Y'know," he said after a little while, "if we turn around and keep on 2, up through Point Pleasant, we could be in Wayne National Forest in about forty minutes."

"Isn't that in Ohio?"

"Yeah." Demie left it at that.

"I thought you wouldn't like Point Pleasant, with the whole Mothman thing," Angel said.

"I'm not saying we stop in Point Pleasant," Demie said tersely. "I'm saying we just drive through it to Wayne. I don't wanna go home right now, and Wayne Forest is like… really pretty and shit."

"Okay, okay," Angel said, putting his hands up. "I gotcha, no need to get heated." Going to a national park with Demie actually sounded pretty idyllic. Angel didn't really get out into the wilderness much - his parents had worked all day every day, including Christmas, so they never had time for vacations. He'd been camping a few times, at the insistence of an ex-boyfriend, and while he had hated the mosquitoes and the lack of running water, there had definitely been something very intimate about sharing a tent with someone under the open sky.

Demie reminded him a bit of that boyfriend - they were both bearded white guys who were really into making their own food and who were lowkey hipsters. But that ex had turned out to be an asshole who thought that 'free love' meant that he could cheat without consequences.

Angel wasn't sure if Demie was like that. He didn't know what Demie's philosophy on love and sex was, and he didn't want to pry. He was, after all, supposed to be a friend, not a lover. But he hoped, on the off chance that anything did happen, that satyrs were monogamous.

As Angel pulled out of the parking lot, Demie rolled down his window and hung his arm off the side of the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Angel could see him lean back against the seat and close his eyes. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled in a loud whoosh.

"Feeling any better?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, I…" Demie rubbed one of his horns, seemingly trying to piece together his thoughts. "It sounds fuckin' lame but I get these, like, panic attacks sometimes when I leave Billy Brook."

"Doesn't sound lame at all," Angel said. "I sometimes get panic attacks when I go out into the country. I get it, y'know. I'm an outsider out here and it's scary being in a place that you aren't sure is homophobic or racist or whatever."

"No offense, dude, but sucking dick isn't the same as not being human," Demie grumbled.

Angel frowned. He did take offense to that, but he wasn't sure if he had the right to. He supposed Demie was right - he had no idea how it felt to live being mistaken for a literal monster. Still, he didn't like the way Demie had said it.

"So, do you go up to Ohio a lot?" Angel said, switching subjects. He didn't really like hearing Demie talk about homosexuality. He had it in his head that he could eventually change Demie's mind on the subject, but being trapped in a car for an hour didn't feel like the right time to attempt to do so.

"Yeah, sometimes," Demie replied. "Most of my cousins live up in Ohio."

"How many cousins do you have?" Angel asked.

"Mmm…" Demie shifted in his seat, pulling his hand back inside the car so he could silently count off on his fingers.

"Like… eight first cousins?" He said. "And then maybe fifteen second and third cousins. And some more that I don't really know how they fit in, since they're half maenad."

"What's a maenad?"

"Crazy ladies. That's what it literally translates to, that's not an insult. They're human chicks that worship Dionysus, when we have Bacchanalias they go fucking insane. In ancient times they'd get so crazy that if someone who wasn't one of them or a satyr crashed a party, they'd tear them apart with their bare hands."

Angel whistled. "Wow," he said.

"Yeah. It's nuts."

"So, you said you've got cousins who are half of whatever they are--"

"Maenads."

"Right, maenads. You've got cousins who are half maenad, so does that mean satyrs can like… breed with humans?"

"Yeah, I mean, you kinda have to these days, unless you're cool with marrying your third cousin," Demie said.

Angel glanced over at him. "You're kidding," he said.

"Nope. There's only like a hundred of us in West Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio. I think there are some more in the deep south, but it's not exactly easy to take a road trip and go see them."

"So… wait, you said that the Bacchanalia or whatever is everyone getting drunk and having sex in the woods. Does that mean you guys go have orgies with your cousins?"

"What, like that's any fuckin' weirder than a gay orgy or whatever," Demie said, bristling at the question.

"What do you know about gay orgies?" Angel said, looking over at Demie for a moment.

"Nothing, but I'm sure you're about to tell me," Demie grumbled.

"I have never been to an orgy in my life, gay or otherwise."

"Really?" Demie sounded genuinely surprised. "I would've thought… I dunno…"

"What? You would've thought what?"

"I dunno, you're just like… a really good looking guy. I would've thought you'd be going to, like… a bunch of sex clubs or something. No homo, though."

Angel knew he probably shouldn't be flattered by that, but he kind of was anyways. He wasn't sure if the conversation had answered his question about monogamy, though. Not that he had asked it aloud or anything. It did raise another question as to whether or not Demie had ever committed incest, however. That wasn't something he particularly wanted to think about.

Fortunately, it was Demie's turn to change the subject now.

"Hey, what kind of music do you have?" He asked. "No offense but I don't really like The Cure."

"Some offense taken, but I'll forgive your lack of tastes. Here," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening up his music app. "Knock yourself out."

Demie took the phone, holding it delicately, like he was afraid he was going to accidentally crush it. "What happened to your screen?" He asked.

"Dropped it walking up the stairs," Angel replied. He didn't want to bring up how Demie's brother had responded to his DM. Even if it had been a positive interaction, he wasn't sure if he should bring up Marius at all. The subject seemed to be a bit of a tricky one for Demie, and he didn't want to make it seem like he was stalking his family. "I need to get it fixed, but for now just be careful touching the screen and it'll be fine."

Demie was quiet for a bit as he scrolled through Angel's music collection. He held the phone awkwardly, holding it in his left hand and using his right index finger to scroll and tap. It was like watching an old man try to use a smartphone.

"You listen to Queen?" Demie said after a minute.

"Of course. Why, do you like them?"

"Fuck yeah, they're amazing."

"Huh. Sorry, I didn't expect that from you. Since Freddy Mercury was gay and all."

"I'm not a homophobe, you know," Demie said, that bristly tone back in his voice. He didn't dwell on that thought for long, though, as he hit play.

Angel had expected him to pull up Bohemian Rhapsody - that was the song everyone defaulted to for Queen - but instead what started playing over the car speakers was The Prophet's Song. It was a good song, in his opinion, but it was one of those album fillers that people never talked about.

They sat in silence through the guitar intro, and when Freddy began singing, Demie did so as well, clearly knowing the lyrics from memory. His voice was much deeper than Freddy's, being a thick, deep baritone, but it provided a counter melody to Freddy's voice that gave Angel shivvers.

There was the blast from the guitar as the time signature changed, and Demie lifted his hands and began to air guitar. It wasn't the kind of air guitar Angel was used to - it wasn't big and flashy, and Demie's fingers moved as if he were actually playing the chords. It was more like he just really, really wished he had a guitar in his hands.

Demie continued singing along, his voice swelling and filling the car. Angel got a bit of that same feeling he'd had watching Bacchus in concert - that massive flood of emotion that washed over his whole body. This wasn't as angry and violent as Bacchus had made him feel, though, instead making him feel powerful and epic, like the main character of some fantasy film. He still felt horny, though.

Angel wasn't usually the kind of guy to sing in the car, but the energy radiating off Demie was infectious. He couldn't help it. He opened his mouth and began singing along as well. His voice was out of key and he stumbled over the words - he hadn't sung his high school and didn't really pay attention to the song when he normally listened to it - but he still did his best to meet the high notes.

Somehow, Angel managed to make it through all eight and a half minutes of the song, trading off on the round parts with Demie (which were made a lot easier by virtue of having another person in the car to sing them). When the song finally ended, Angel let out a manic shout, shaking his head and shoulders, which had tensed up over the course of the song.

Demie jumped. "Sorry," he murmured sheepishly. "Got carried away."

"No, dude, that's fine, oh my God," Angel said. "Don't ever apologize for singing around me, holy shit. I fucking love your voice, man."

"Ah… thanks," Demie muttered, sinking lower in his seat.

"Holy shit, that was epic," Angel said. He was out of breath and had started sweating and he didn't even care. "Dude, bring up Bohemian Rhapsody, I'm sure you'd absolutely kill that song."

"Y-yeah, sure…" Demie said as he fumbled with the phone. They spent the rest of the drive singing along to Queen, though none of the songs really filled the car with the same energy as the first one.

#writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #gay fiction #lgbt fiction #mlm fiction #original characters #wright art #w:demie and angel

6 notes · View notes